Wednesday, 10 March 2010

The call...

The bustle in the corridors outside stirred me to wakefulness, the rise in traffic passing my small berth usually woke me in a gentler and more pleasing manor than any alarm or wakeup call I had ever tried. Rolling over I stretch and reluctantly emerge from the warm pit I had burrowed into the night before.

Not long after I was ready to face the day, over-brewed cuppa in hand I wander out onto my balcony overlooking the hanger. Ever since returning to Amarrian territory I had adjusted my attire more befitting a lady of my status, technically being an heiress and all. This morning I had selected an elaborate figure hugging, yet sufficiantly discrete, dress. Fashioned from satin a shade of red so dark you would consider it black it was tailored to a line that invited eyes to wander, yet also warned not to be caught at it. This was all topped off by my headdress that functioned more as a neck brace, once again style and image over function.

From my balconies vantage point high on the wall of the Emperor Family hanger I cast my gaze over the assembled flotilla of Navy and private, mostly pod equipped, ships. In the distance I can just about pick out the glittery sheen reflecting from the ruby red plating on the prow of my Paladin class Battleship. My pride and joy she had cost me a small fortune, and as with any lady I had treated her to the best I could afford and she repaid me with unquestioning performance.

A sharp trill broke into my morning routine, a new message, I left it where it was as I was already in motion towards my Fleet contact, apparently there were yet more Blood Raiders detected, sometimes I wonder if there even is a border guard, or perhaps why the Raiders still attempt to operate so deep within the Empire. Although it is of little matter to me, I get some combat and on top I also get paid no matter the reasoning.

After a short monorail ride down the procession of ships I disembark before my own bay, turning to the ship parked next door I smile again, a little game I like to play with the locals.The previous evening I had intentionally docked next to an Apocaylypse class Battleship, a petty little trick but getting one over on the neighbours always tickles something deep inside me.

"Walking through the corridors towards your pod deck makes an importaint first impression upon those selected to be your crew", this was a lesson I took to heart and stuck to rigidly. What crew would serve, let alone lay down their short lives for a scruffy wretch? So I always took time to compose myself before arriving onboard. I would be disrobing soon enough to enter my pod, but those few minutes between rising and becoming one with your vessel were as importaint as any tactical manuver.

Settling into my cabin I carefully remove my headress, setting it onto a stone bust sat in a dark recess of the room, kicking off my flat low heeled shoes I pad back across the room before stripping back down to my pilots jumpsuit. In all the years since I left the acadamy I could have switched to a more stylish or functional suit, however it was only ever the pod techs who saw me in it and they hardly counted, they were strictly seperated from the rest of the crew, a girls gotta keep her decency somehow and if it means denying a few assets the meagre benefits usually enjoyed by shipboard service, so be it.

Comfortable at last, I curl up in a large chair positioned near the viewport, I fire up the comms link to negotiate my next assignment for the fleet, when the flash of an unread message catches my eye. Acessing it, it is a personal mail message, my heart skips a beat, from Mr Templar, a short message, simple and to the point.

A route is open, we leave today.


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