A Series of Moves

The Eve blogoshpere has been too quiet, and I've been too busy with other things to blog, much less properly play Eve. Where did I leave off? Oh yeah.

So... I decided in the end that, since there were only three days left til my alt could fly my recon ships, I might as well move the small amount of gear I had in the wormhole into the lowsec system we were currently linked to, grab a shuttle to fly back to Evati, and have my alt fly the rest back at the earliest convenience. Moving out didn't take very long. I think if we'd had more people in the w-space and active, it might not have been so painfully dull, and we may have scored something. As it was, with only a handful of alliance members on sporadically, there wasn't much to do.

I'd left the bomber and the Arazu in the incredibly quiet(!) lowsec system our wormhole dropped me in, bought a shuttle and was partway home when I passed through the Hellcats' old main base of Vitrauze. It felt good to see the place again, and being inundated with cheerful welcome comments in Local from our old blues was even better. If only I'd not been in such a rush and decided to fly the bomber back, I could have got in on the fun they were having -- I was sad I had to turn the fleet invite down.

But it got me thinking. It'd been a while since we'd used the secondary base out in Amamake. In every corp I've been in, I was always happier if I had a secondary base to go to when I wanted a change of scenery. Why not move my stuff from Amamake back to Vit?

To the alt!

It took a couple days to get everything moved over, and I've spent the last couple weeks out there, saying hi to old mates an especially the Tuskers (<3 ya, guys!), Ghost Festival and Veto. The Hellcats have reopened our old office, and our other members have invitations to stick a couple ships in, as well. Once I'm back from holiday, the corp will reopen recruitment(!), using our secondary base as a place to run Hellcats-only ops from, so that we can get a sense for how well the recruits work within the corp.

Unfortunately, I've not been able to do much, since I've been working on the last chapter of Space Captain Starke (it is epic, and will be done tonight!), and spending the rest of my time trying desperately to find a job before I face deportation (my student visa expires in a month. It's not fun).

Tomorrow, when my boyfriend gets off work, we'll be catching a train across to Glasgow to spend the night, then an early-morning flight to London, and then up to Reykjavik for a week of fun and geekyness. I've been looking forward to this trip all month! Hope to see some of you up there ^_^

Scar

Day... how long? I've forgot how long I've been sitting in this forsaken w-space system. Let me check my mail. Day five, I think.

Damn is this place dull.

It's pretty, mind, in a 'someone dropped a handful of oil pastels in the sink' sort of pretty. Rather bland, too, the number of cosmic anomalies is fairly low.

Pretty but unremarkable.

I made a safespot in warping-distance to the corp tower once I realised how awful being inside the shields is. I didn't really believe Cerys when she'd said the shields gave her a headache, but... it's true. After a bit spent sitting there, the horizontal banding and the way it wavered started to make my temples pound.

This may be the longest I've ever spent continuously in a ship. I can't particularly recommend it -- a stealth bomber is not the best of places to be stuck with four crewmembers who also only want to get home. Privacy is minimal, and thank fuck the air scrubbers were just serviced; as it is, we're begining to get a bit snappy. It's crazy that, while craving each other's company, we drive each other mad just by all being stressed and lonely.

To distract myself, I chat to people in various channels and scan around looking for... well, anything. After three days of that, I was clawing at the walls of this spacious prison I've come to think of as Scar (for the red-edged black gap in the otherwise fairytale nebula). It was so quiet, so... empty.

Scar's scar.

I spent most of today probing around. We've had a few visitors from other wormholes that have opened into Scar -- a Vagabond and Navy Caracal the other night, a couple different people in cov-ops ships today. Nobody sticks around long. Every wormhole I find, I bookmark, hop through for a peek to see where it leads, bookmark and scan, then go back through. The bookmarks are all placed in a can so that others in the alliance can grab copies.

Today was the best I've seen since joining Mynx in here. Wormhole number one led to Caldari lowsec. Number two led to a class-2 wormhole system which was dark, unimpressive and had signs of occupation. Number three... oh, number three. The entrance to the second w-space system was opened sometime during the day by one of its occupants. I think I fell in love with the system the moment I saw it.

Blue-green nebula. Red giant star. Yeah, red giant. I've never seen a red giant system before, probably because the physics which makes stargates function makes those systems impossible to link to the network. I couldn't get enough of looking at the place, flitting from planet to moon to planet, discovering the quite well-fitted tower the occupants had put up.

Wow.

I scanned around a bit, hoping to find any more wormholes which led to k-space, but they mostly only had asteroid belts. I hung around a bit longer, taking picures and marvelling at the site before reluctantly deciding it was time to go back.

Do I really have to go back?

The only reason I didn't decide to ride the spatial disturbance current was that my other ships were still in the corp hangar back at the tower in Scar. I'm hoping to find an exit close to Evati so I can move all my gear back out in one go. For all the wonders out here in unknown space... there's not enough to entice me to make a permanent move.

Whoever you guys are in J110043, you are so damn lucky to have a view like that.

HearSay

..tirrrp..

..tirrrp..

..tirrrp..

'Mmh... what?'

..tirrrp..

'Oh... f'ksake...'

..tirrrp..

..tirr-*click* 'Hello?'

'...Shae?'

'Whooizzit?'

'Shae, why isn't there visual? It's Aevylen.'

'...Mom..? It's the middle of the bloody night, here.'

'Well, how should I know that? I just had...'

'Mom...'

'...a fantastic lunch with the director of-'

'MOM... what do you want?'

'I'm not allowed to call my own daughter?'

'After sixteen years and not bothering to check receiver time, you need a damn good reason, or I'm closing comms and going back to bed.'

'Well, I was out having lunch with the director of finance from AuralImage Ltd... you know, Egonics' audio-production company? We went to this great little place down the Crystal Boulevard, it's at the top of the deRohe tower, and the view from there is absolutely fantastic by the way, you'd love it...'

'*sigh*'

'...And I was on my way back to the office and I was checking out the latest Sunrise Daily on my new optical implant -- they're all the rage down here, by the way, if you pay for the upper-end ones they overlay on your irises, too, to create colour effects -- and there was a picture of you on the third page! So I thought it would be great to catch up with you, and maybe-'

'Waitwaitwait... what?! What was the article about?'

'Oh it was some minor politician they spotted at an orgy in a pirates' den a couple weeks ago. The picture was of him with his "mysterious mistress" *giggle*'

'Hahahaha mistress. In his sordid dreams. I love that spin, "orgy". Hahaha fucking genius.'

'Watch your language, dear-!'

'Fucking make me, Aevylen. It was a party. I bet you've seen wilder ones with your friends from whatever fad company it is you work for now. At least we didn't need to pay people to take their clothes off.'

'They said two men were-'

'They'll say anything to get people to pay for subscriptions. That shit's not worth the code it's embedded in, honestly.'

'It's important information for anyone who cares about the political climate in the Federation, Shae-'

'You're disgusting. You leave Dad because you can't deal with his political career, and you still have the nerve to say that? You only called me because this gives you something to brag about with your little friends. Do you know what impression your precious editorials give about the Federation?'

'Shae-'

'Lazy. Decadent.'

'Shae-'

'Self-absorbed, uncaring about anything more than where the next nightclub hotspot is and who's supplying the newest legal narcotics.'

'Shae-'

'If that's the way things are in the Federation, it's not surprising the Caldari were able to roll right over all those systems in lowsec and auction people's lives off to the highest bidder!'

'Young lady!'

'Oh screw you, you woke me up in the middle of the night because of some overblown gossip. Yes, I was there. No, I wasn't there with Inhonores. He's bottom-feeding scum and was trying to leech on me the entire night. Other than that, it was a fun party, any orgies occurred afterwards and in private, and no I didn't go to them, I spent the night with my boyfriend. And no, I'm not telling you who he is because you forfeited your right to mother me when you left us to follow your precious career categorising fashion trends. Is it fulfilling? Do you feel good knowing you've improved some faceless woman's social life?'

'You're one to talk! I'm improving people's standard of living, and you're out destroying their livelihoods. Don't you feel proud, killing some child's parents for a little ISK! Inhonores is trying to atone for his past, at least. You could at least give a shit about the shame you've heaped upon us!'

'Oh, pardon me for destroying your social cred. I didn't realise you would know what a broken family feels like. You think I don't know what I do? Fuck off, Aevylen, don't come back until you can tell one evil from another.'

'Don't you dare-*click*

'*sigh* Bitch...'

..tirrrp..

..tirrrp..

'System, block all calls from last ident and any that are associated with it.'

..tirr-

'*sigh* ...I need a drink.'

External Publishing v 2.3

‘What do you think’s going to happen?’

‘Did a spy tell the bad guys Capt’n Starke was there?’

‘Why did Capt’n Starke make his guys go through the gate ‘steada fighting?’

‘What d’ya think’s gonna happen?’

For the rest of the week, the children could talk of nothing else, peppering the adults with unanswerable questions. ‘Space Captain Starke’ had never ended on a cliffhanger. It was the talk of the village.

The teachers could barely get the younger children to focus on their lessons until one of the older students suggest they relate the lessons to parts of the show (If Alistair warps from planet 14 to planet 2 at 6AU/second and Captain Starke warps from planet 2 to planet 14 at 8AU/second, where will they pass each other if the planets are 20AU apart?) It was frustrating to rework lessons, but it kept the kids on-task.

At the community meeting that week, several parents raised concerns that the obsession with the holo-serial might not be such a good thing.

‘I can barely get them to focus on their homework.’

‘I had to suggest that Space Captain Starke would go collect firewood because he would understand the importance of keeping the house heated. We shouldn’t have to do that!’

‘It’s a good thing we only have the one projector here in the hall. Imagine if there was one for every house, we’d never get them outside.’

‘Two of the kids came here asking to watch old recorded episodes. I had to remind them that the projector is used for other things.’

‘Speaking of which,’ Scall, the chief communications analyst, piped up, ‘The last week or so we’ve been picking up an increase in Amarrian comms traffic nearby.’

‘How near?’

‘This system. It could just be militia fleets passing through…’

‘This is Thukker space. They would be mad to base here.’

‘Still, I think we ought to cut our broadcasts and recall all but the receiver satellite.’ Scall glanced around at the suddenly worried faces, knowing that what she was suggesting would reduce the colony’s contact with the Republic to nearly nothing. She hadn’t thought it possible to feel homesick for a place she’d never seen, but the thought of bringing the comms array in made her heart ache.

‘You think they’ll notice the array and find us?’

‘In a word, yes. It would be difficult to miss in a system this quiet.’

‘We’d be cutting ourselves off from the rest of the cluster, Scall.’

‘There’s still the focussed-band FTL transmitter on the ship here. It’s been refurbished, we can use it in an emergency.’

After debating options, the community council decided it was for the best. Scall and her team spent the rest of the night recalling the comms satellites. Aoli from the engineering crew started running through the numbers to reduce their electromagnetic signals to a minimum while still maintaining power to the water pumps. Once the satellites were stored, the ship’s refurbished generator was dropped to the barest trickle.

************************************

Space, the final battleground. The stargate floating above the small moon flares; once, twice, so many flashes they seem to occur simultaneously. As if on cue, the space around the stargate floods with ships.

STARKE: (voice-only)
Scouts, keep an eye on Local, tell me if it spikes. Everyone pick your targets and engage; this is a free-for-all. Warp out or jump if you need to.

STARKE’s Jaguar assault ship banks down and left, falling into a rough orbit around an Amarrian Omen-class cruiser, autocannons spitting fire as he kicks the afterburners in.

EDGRIET: (voice only)
Captain, we need to wipe these guys out fast.

STARKE: (voice only)
I hear you. Nobody pod these guys, it’ll take them longer to reship.

Bright explosions blossom as two enemy ships go down; the Amarrian forces, outnumbered, are dropping rapidly. The view shows for a moment STARKE’s piloting interface: shields fluctuating as boosters pulse, speed hovering at three-quarters as he turns for another pass, enemies bracketed yellow and red, the primary target highlighted by spinning arrows. Around him, ships sweep past; missiles, laser beams and blaster pulses flare. The stargate flashes as someone leaves the system, and the view switches to AVION’s Retribution. His control panel displays the list of pilots in their squad, STARKE highlighted at the top. Half of the Nova Elite’s names are flashing, damage display bars showing varying amounts of red. The alerts fade one by one as Amarrian ships die or flee under the onslaught. The Nova Elite and TLF forces move to a dead-space in between planets, where they are joined by those members of the fleet who had to leave the fighting.

STARKE takes stock as the fleet recuperates. Two frigates and a cruiser have been lost from EDGRIET’s squads, the pilots warping their pods to safety and returning to base. The Nova Elite have lost drones and an interceptor is smoking, its hull held together through the pilot’s sheer force of will until one of the other pilots can bring a remote hull-repair unit online.

STARKE: (voice only)
Commander, your boys ready for the assault?

EDGRIET: (voice only)
Are we ever. Vash, head on over to the control point near planet five, wait for the Captain’s signal to attack. Warping squad to control point near seven.

As one, the four squads enter warp, descending upon LORD GRIMLOK’s base like avenging demons, a coordinated attack upon the sentry posts first cutting off communications to the rest of the Amarrian Empire. Before the embers have even faded, SPACE CAPTAIN STARKE calls for the fleet to regroup, leading his Nova Elite and the TLF forces against LORD GRIMLOK’s base of operations

They are met with fierce resistance: LORD GRIMLOK himself, commanding his dreaded flagship, the Righteous Blade, brings his entire fleet to bear. It infamous Holder chooses to attack the invading force rather than make his escape; he is confident and assured, knowing that this time his nemesis is on Amarrian ground. The scene shows LORD GRIMLOK seated in a non-capsuleer captain’s chair on the bridge of his Armageddon battleship.

LORD GRIMLOK: (shaking his clenched fist at his adversary)
You won’t escape this time, Starke. This is the last time your Matari filth will taint my stars! Amarr Victor!

The battle is joined, furious and dizzying; where the earlier fight was a deadly dance, this one is a slugfest. Primaried frigates on both sides vanish in bursts of superheated gas as the gap between the fleets narrows, and then the Nova Elite and TLF are among the Amarrian fleet, the heavier ships unable to track the lighter wolfpack at close range.

STARKE:
All ships, focus fire on Grimlok’s ‘Geddon! Take that sonuvabitch down, then worry about his support.

Under the combined firepower of over thirty ships, the golden battleship melts quickly, its captain unable to reach his escape-pod in time. The support put up a token resistance, but most flee the system while STARKE’s forces take out their next set of targets. Voice-comms protocol has already collapsed; the pilots are cheering, laughing and chattering amongst themselves, and it’s all STARKE can do to get their attention and remind the pilots that they’re a long way from home in hostile space.

…………………………

STARKE steps off the gangway from his Jaguar, hair still damp from a post-pod shower. He turns to run loving eyes over the battle-scarred hull before slipping a pair of shades on and turning to leave. His way is blocked by COMMANDER EDGRIET, who has appeared as if from nowhere.

EDGRIET:
That was some good work today, Captain.

She eyes him appraisingly as he reacts with surprise.

STARKE:
I’m certain it’s no more than you would expect of your own men, Commander. We owe you for your help today.

The Commander smiles at him.

EDGRIET:
It was a pleasure, Captain. I’m wondering if I could call on that favour now, rather than later?

************************************

The community hall erupted with a wave of cheering. The final shot of Lord Grimlok’s flagship exploding filled the room with a nova-bright flare before fading to dark red and then nothing. Among the children, Nikitta and Nareen were hugging while Komar did a wiggly victory-dance on his seating cushion.

Behind the rows of youngsters, the adults watched. Many were grinning at the children’s excitement, but a few looked puzzled or concerned. In the close-knit community, most had known Tiia Edgriet before she’d left for the Republic, and even five years on she was still recognisable.

Havah looked up at her husband. ‘If that’s really my sister… how real is this?’

Elaqh shook his head. He’d been wondering the same thing.

************************************

Sylar Starke sat with his feet up in yet another station-side bar. Alistair had joined him, and they sat talking quetly, sharing stories of their early days as pilots. Al noticed her first; Sylar turned to look.

‘Commander Edgriet. Have a seat.’

The tiny Sebiestor woman smiled and brushed her hair back over her shoulder. ‘Thanks. That was bloody clever, staging the final fight like that. Where’d you get the Amarrian ships from?’

Shrugging, Sylar took a sip of his beer. ‘Stole most of them. The pilots are ours, we’ve staged setpiece combat before. The ones I called primary after the ‘Geddon blew up were all empty of crew members, only a pilot in the pod.’

‘Very clever.’ Edgriet looked impressed, then thoughtful. ‘I’m glad you let me add the favour request into the script. I need your help, Captain.’

The two men sat up straight, looked at each other across the table, then at the Commander. ‘We were wondering about that,’ Alistair said.

‘You’ve still got some of that makeup on, you know.’

‘Yeah, I’ve not properly washed it off, yet.’

Tiia Edgriet leaned forward on her elbows on the table, long, delicate fingers interlaced before her. ‘You may recall that I have a bit of an ongoing disagreement with the General.’

At their nods, she continued, ‘This is because our intelligence has discovered that the village I grew up in has drawn Amarrian attention. Slaver attention. And the General – much less the Rebublic itself – can do nothing.’

‘Why’s that?’ Alistair looked keen; his expression had sharpened, his eyes taking on that look Sylar recognised all too well.

‘It’s in Ubtes. Thukker territory. We have no jurisdiction to go in and bring my people out, and while the Amarr don’t have any more right to operate there than we do, they have fewer scruples about it.’ Tiia looked severe. ‘I need to get my people to the Republic, or they’ll end up with the same fate our ancestors so narrowly escaped, and the slaver raid is planned for sometime next week.’

The CEO and the XO of the Nova Elite looked at each other; they could read each other well enough that speaking was unnecessary. Sylar turned back to Tiia. ‘What is it that you need us for, exactly?’

She smiled a little. ‘Leave the TLF. I’ve talked this over with my own men, and they’ve all agreed to this couse of action. We’ll leave with you, form our own operating corporation. We’ll be operating as independents, and because even the Thukkers can pick up your broadcasts, we’ll have evidence that the Republic isn’t involved. …Just tell ‘em I bullied you. What do you say?’

************************************
To Be Continued Next Week!
Same EVE Time, Same EVE Channel!





This article was first published on EVE-Mag.com – an independent EVE magazine (www.EVE-Mag.com). Reprinted with permission.

Delayed by Steampunk and Amanda Palmer

Yes, the third part of Space Captain Starke is overdue by a day. This is because I've had to re-write part of it, and then the last two days were interrupted by this thing called a 'Social Life', also known as 'dressing up, going out and having fun'.

Space Captain Starke will be up later today.

Another milestone

It's the 20th of August 2009.

For most of you, this is just the date that the next Apocrypha patch is deployed.

For me, this marks two years since I started playing Eve.

When I first picked up the game, I hadn't a clue what I was doing. I'd watched Sapphrine, Mebrithiel, Giganticus and my then-flatmate Suze'Rain play the game, so I had a vague idea what I ought to be looking at. Cerys Magente and solosnake had regaled me with stories of what they'd done in the game when we were at a games conference here in Edinburgh earlier that month; it wasn't really til Cerys mentioned how she started Eve working with Privateers and solosnake yelled 'You BITCH!' at her in the middle of a reception full of game devs that I actually started thinking the game sounded like fun.

Suze helped me get started, but the choices I made in the end were all mine. I started Eve with something just shy of 900k skillpoints, one of several hundred newbies wandering around in highsec. Suze didn't think I would stick around for more than the two-week trial period. He was nearly right: I got incredibly frustrated with the ten-part newbie mission, and my paranoia was running high -- I'd never played an MMO before and had no idea what to expect. Suze introduced me to some friends in the game, watched me rage over the incomprehensibility and cower in terror in the station, and went off on holiday for the weekend. One of his friends, Abbel Nightroad, took pity on me, convinced me to fly with him into lowsec to go ratting, and by the time Suze returned I was having an easier time of things and I'd paid for my subscription.

I joined Abbel's corp at his invitation, started pvp'ing successfully with something like 1.2 million skillponts (see?! it's not the SP, it's how you use it!), and never really looked back. It wasn't easy, but it was fun. I learned from roaming Upper Syndicate and the lowsec areas around Stacmon, highsec wardecs and pirating in Kor-Azor. Things changed, as they do, and I tried living in nullsec for a bit. That was a mistake, and it wasn't til I joined the Hellcats that the fun in the game really returned, for me.

And now I've been in Hellcats for nearly a year. I've watched the average online population in Eve more than double from 17,000 (if there was more than 21,000, we were in for a lagfest) to 49,000. I've paid for an update to Shae's portrait after deciding I was tired of her looking like a heroin addict. I can passably fly every Gallente ship I want and starting to consider cross-training. Part three of Space Captain Starke is sitting open in Word on my other computer waiting to be edited, and the next big trip will be to FanFest in October.

Here's to the next year.

External Publishing v 2.2

Sylar Starke strode through the corridors of the Tribal Liberation Force logistic support station in Hek, confident and self-assured. On the outside at least. Inwardly, he felt awkward and uncomfortable in this place, heart of the Minmatar Republic’s militia organization, and despite Alistair Avion’s presence at his side, his first instinct was to turn on his heel and leave.

‘This doesn’t feel like such a great idea,’ he muttered.

His second in command smiled slightly. ‘Give it a chance, Syl. It can’t hurt to at least find out if we can work with them.’

‘People are staring.’

‘Of course they are. You’re recognizable and I’m Amarrian. Relax.’

Sylar peered at Alistair from the corner of his eye. ‘You have that camera implant recording, don’t you.’

‘We need reference material.’

The Brutor grunted quietly. ‘Just don’t get caught.’

They reached their destination. From the muffled voices coming from the inner office, there was a mighty row in progress. Valklear General Lyre Hadhradir’s secretary, a harassed-looking Intaki, gave them a helpless look and asked, ‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘I didn’t know we needed one.’

The secretary shrugged and rubbed his stubbled jaw. ‘It’s not a requirement, but the General often has a full schedule. You’re lucky today, she’s just finishing up a, um… meeting.’

The office door slid open and a petite Sebiestor woman stalked out on long strides, barely sparing a glance for the room’s occupants. Sylar blinked as the closing door interrupted his view of her hips, then turned back to see the General eyeing him in much the way he might examine a stray dog. After a quick study of Alistair at his side, General Hadhradir stepped forward and offered her hand to the Brutor capsuleer.

‘Captain Sylar Starke, I presume?’

Sylar nodded, trying not to wince at the woman’s grip. The top of her head was at his eye level, but he still felt as if he was looking up at her. ‘It’s an honour, sir.’

The General laughed, a quick, humourless thing. ‘I should be the one saying that. My nieces and nephews idolise you. I’m more curious about why you’re here. Given your reputation, you’re rather the last man I’d expect to see in my office.’ She extended her hand to Alistair with a studied scowl. ‘I’ve seen enough of your work to figure out how it’s produced. I’ll have to ask you not to use any actual camera footage from this—‘

‘Of course not, sir, though I may ask if you’ll help us stage the scene later.’

General Hadhradin gave a quick nod. ‘We’ll see. Come in and have a seat, gentlemen. This ought to be interesting.’

************************************

‘Ma?’

‘Yes, Nareen?’

The two of them were up to their elbows in the week’s laundry, sleeves rolled up and hands reddened by the hot water.

‘How d’ you think Capt’n Starke will beat the bad guys?’

Her mother grinned. ‘You kids have been obsessing about that a lot haven’t you?’

‘You heard us?’

‘Well, you were being quite loud about it.’ Sapha chuckled as her daughter hid her face behind a soapy shirt. ‘I think he’ll have to ask for help from the Republic, sweetie.’

‘But Capt’n Starke, he hates the R’public.’

Sapha leaned back, stretching her spine after so long hunched over their work. ‘He doesn’t hate the Republic, Reenie. He thinks they don’t do enough. I bet if he asked and made a good argument with them, they’d help out.’

As they stretched the damp clothes over the lines to dry, Nareen’s mother mused at the sort of person who would create a serial holo like ‘Space Captain Starke’. It was a noble but utterly pointless thing: raising children’s spirits brought strength to the people who lived planetside, never knowing more than what the news services and government broadcasts had to say. Even out here, Amarrian propaganda stained the FTL comms relays, and the small community’s technicians were careful to block the less-scrupulous channels.

After the colony’s founding, their parents and grandparents had removed anything which smacked of the Amarrian religion, so that their children could grow up free. There were still arguments among the governing council regarding how much was ‘enough’. After generations enslaved, they had only the broadcasts from Minmatar space to guide them, and even some of those preached the Amarrian way of life.

************************************

SPACE CAPTAIN STARKE stands before THE GENERAL of the Tribal Liberation Force, a commanding presence in the small office. THE GENERAL is an equally powerful presence, but the Brutor woman remains seated behind her desk, looking solemn and serene.

STARKE:
As Chief Executive Officer of the Nova Elite, I wish to ask the assistance of the Tribal Liberation Force in removing forever the stain of Lord Grimlok from Matari skies. The operation will be perilous and we cannot do it alone.

THE GENERAL looks at STARKE carefully.

THE GENERAL:
I assume you have a plan already?

ALISTAIR AVION:
Indeed.

AVION steps forward and places a portable, palm-sized holo-projector on the desk. The device blinks to life and a map of New Eden appears in the air.

AVION:
We now know the location of Grimlok’s secret base.

The hologram focusses inward on a region, then a constellation, and finally a system near the edge of Amarrian space. A tiny point of red light between and below the second and third planets pulses ominously.

AVION:
Our scouts checked it out, and it appears to be the real thing. He has a handful of small guard compounds throughout the system.

Four more points of red appear on the map.

AVION:
If we take those out first, we remove Lord Grimlok’s ability to call for help in time. Once we secure his base, we can end his tyranny and bring the Minmatar one step closer to freedom.

THE GENERAL uses a stylus to examine the statistics of the target emplacements, frowning as she thinks.

THE GENERAL: (muttering thoughtfully)
It won’t be easy… but we’re accustomed to this sort of work out here. It’s not hit-and-run like your usual guerilla tactics, Starke.

STARKE:
This is why we came to you, sir.

THE GENERAL snorts, her full lips curved in a small smile.

THE GENERAL:
You sound mocking even when you’re being polite. I’ll lend you two strike gangs – twenty good men and women – on the condition that, for the duration of our work together, your Nova Elite fly under the TLF. I want no dishonour on our name, Captain.

STARKE frowns a little, but after a moment’s consideration he gives a sigh of resignation and nods.

STARKE:
Agreed

THE GENERAL stands, and she is nearly the same height as STARKE.

THE GENERAL:
It will be an honour to work with you, Captain.

THE GENERAL offers her hand, first to STARKE, then to AVION. They shake firmly.

STARKE:
Likewise, General.

************************************

‘See?! I tol’ja he would ask them for help!’

Nikitta shushed Nareen, who was pointing triumphantly at the screen. The village’s children sat on cushions on the floor of the community hall – once the cargo bay of the ship their grandparents had slaved aboard – gazing raptly at the latest weekly episode of ‘Space Captain Starke’.

Nareen’s mother leaned over, tapping the flat of her hand sharply against the back of her daughter’s head. ‘You said that because I suggested it, honey. Don’t claim others’ ideas as your own, and hush so the others can hear.’

Rubbing her head – nothing was hurt but her pride – Nareen slumped sulkily as Sapha returned to her seat at her husband’s side. Risga wrapped his arm around her.

‘I wonder if that’s really the General,’ he murmured. Sapha nodded. There was something different about this week’s episode.

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Sylar Starke hovered above the station in Dal in his Jaguar assault frigate, awaiting the rest of his ‘strike force’. The General had allowed the Nova Elite to temporarily join the TLF so as not to be marked neutral, and they’d worked out a method to make Sylar appear to be leading what was, in fact, a bog-standard bunker lockdown in a contested system in Amarr space.

Nineteen frigates, assault frigates, cruisers and interceptors – the best of the Nova Elite fighting force – undocked one by one and formed up around him. ‘Cap’, are you sure these guys won’t shoot us? Some of us are flashy, y’know…’ said Cherry. The Pator girl was one of the outlaws who had joined recently and she’d not yet worked to raise her status with CONCORD.

‘They better not; we’re marked as allies now. Isn’t that right, Commander?’ Sylar asked, discreetly reminding his crew that they were now on shared comms.

‘That’s right, Captain,’ Blade Commander Tiia Edgriet responded. ‘Any of my boys shoots you, he has me to answer to.’

Sylar grinned. The Commander ran a tight outfit to match what she normally wore, and after their non-introduction the other day when she’d stormed out of the General’s office, the Sebiestor woman had warmed to him. Or so he liked to think. The cluster needed more women like her.

Commander Edgriet was the real commander of the strike force. Her fleet instructions would be relayed to Sylar via a private comms channel, which he would then issue to the fleet. It was understood by all pilots that once they were underway, the entire operation would be recorded, comms and all. All the ships had been rigged with flight recorders which would send the feeds from their piloting interfaces to the specially modified covert ops frigate the Nova Elite used to film their fights. The TLF’s pilots had become extras.

‘Your boys ready, Captain?’

‘Always, Commander.’

‘We’re jumping in now. Meet us at the Vard gate.’

The Local comms population in Dal spiked with the arrival of twenty TLF pilots, and Sylar felt the pleasant surge in his ship’s systems as the second gang’s commander, Spear Lieutenant Imkara Vash, brought her fleet bonusses into play.

‘Oh, that’s good Lieutenant. Are all your massages this… invigorating?’

‘Wait until you feel my full-body special, Captain,’ the other Sebiestor woman chuckled. ‘Claymore is worth every penny.’

‘I can hardly wait.’

The run out to Arzad was uneventful, save a few neutral outlaws fleeing through their massed ships on the gates as the scouts checked ahead. ‘Let them go, don’t give yourselves timers.’ Sylar’s reminder was more for the benefit of the recording than that of the pilots. Nobody needed to be told the gate controllers wouldn’t permit someone to pass through if they’d acted with hostile intentions.

Arzad itself was a totally different story.

‘Riva here, there’s an Amarr fleet on the gate,’ one of the scouts reported. ‘Holding gate cloak, looks like two full gangs waiting for—shit!’

‘What happened, Riva,’ Sylar asked tightly.

‘Bastard inty decloaked me.’

‘You make it out?’

‘In my pod, yeah. Going safe off the gate.’

Sylar cursed to himself; this was unexpected. An icon lit up in the corner of his vision and he switched to the private and unrecorded comms with Commander Edgriet.

‘One of the neutrals we passed earlier may have been a sympathiser. There’s probably a scout watching us here.’

‘Great.’

The gate flared suddenly and the safed scout reported, ‘They all just jumped in to you.’

Swapping comms, Sylar made a snap decision. ‘Jump-jump-jump. Everyone into Arzad and hold your gate cloaks.’ They would have to shake the hostiles before they could get to work.

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To Be Continued Next Week!
Same EVE Time, Same EVE Channel!





This article was first published on EVE-Mag.com – an independent EVE magazine (www.EVE-Mag.com). Reprinted with permission.