Sansha's Nation

It was a small street cafe, probably the pride and joy of the owner who had spent every day looking after a small group of regulars with idle chat on the important topics of discussion that day. Elizabeth tried to imagine how it had been, but all she saw were the boarded up windows and the street furniture they had piled up as a makeshift barricade.

The three avatars had been crouched here for near 6 hours now, the position would have been impossible for a human, but Elizabeth and her colleagues bodies were housed much deeper into the station, held suspended in full immersion sarcophagi with only their minds active keeping vigilant watch over the deserted street.

Sansha's zombie army had crashed into the system two weeks previously and had quickly overrun the native Imperial defence fleet, not that there had been much deployed to defend such an out of the way system to begin with. Now that the colonies planet side had been bled dry it was the turn of the main station, huge ships of designs only capable of emerging from Sansha's own insane mind had been patrolling just outside the defencive perimeter since they first appeared, they burned any ship foolish enough to try and run the blockade with fiery lances of laser energy, the weak commercial vessels singeing black before rupturing and spilling atmosphere, debris and biomass into space forming tiny nebulae around the slowly spinning metallic skeletons.

It had been on that very first day soon after the Imperial message clipper had beamed its terse message to the commanders of the defence forces that they were to expect no assistance or reinforcements before turning tail and burning back for the gate that the call had gone out for volunteers. To Elizabeth it had been a simple choice as soon as she saw the first refugee transport with its hurriedly painted Sisters Of EvE medical corps logo, disabled then boarded by the patrolling battleships. Elizabeth had been watching the departure from a viewing platform high above the garden deck, bunking an afternoon off from her day job as a waitress in the commercial sector, hoping against hope that the transport would get away but with a forboding knowledge that it probably wouldn't. She had walked straight from the view port in the upper deck garden to the Fleet recruitment office and sat at the tail end of the que, not even bothering to submit her notice to the manager at the cafe. After 3 hours she had seen a young overworked rating who had simply asked her name, taken a scan of her implant and handed her a commission paper into the cybernetics division.

Now here she sat, a sergeant with her two troopers, guarding an intersection in that very same upper garden deck, the professional soldiers had been given the important areas to defend, docking bays, factories, military installations and as this was Sansha's Nation they also guarded the primary residential areas. The volunteers had been assigned all other areas as well as being used for logistics and the only reinforcements in system.

There had been nearly six thousand recruits since the invasion, most of those being in the first three days, heavily outnumbering the Imperial Guards five hundred professional career soldiers. The entire industrial capacity of the station has been requisitioned to build them all mechanical warrior bodies and the sarcophagi to operate them from, as well as the fully autonomous drones and other paraphernalia of modern urban warfare. Those who had not volunteered had thrown themselves at the few remaining transport vessels still docked, some got through the blockade, however most didn't and were swallowed whole by the Nations military machine.

Elizabeth could understand the desire of people to escape whole, the scriptures spoke of the evils and sin of living your life in a body crafted not by God but grown in a laboratory cold and lifeless until your consciousness was burned from your skull and poured in, did your soul follow you? was it destined to burn in purgatory until you finally rejoined it? would that separation taint you in the eyes of the Lord on His Day of Reckoning? Certainly the few capsuleers Elizabeth had encountered and the stories she had heard led her to believe cloning did not involve the soul in any way they were cold, arrogant and distant in the extreme. Why she had chosen to volunteer then sometimes confused her, with its golden promise of a one shot clone escape to the heart of the Empire, provided she fought to her very last breath, death would be her escape to the rest of her life.

Scanning the far reaches of the road for the 3rd time in as many minutes Elizabeth returned to the open forces comm channel to listen for any signs of action from any of the other volunteer detachments, as for the last few hours it had degenerated into random chatter on any number of topics, least of which was the impending firefights. It seemed people wanted to think about just about anything else she didn't mind this but hoped it would clear up when Sansha finally made his move.

She was getting used to her adopted body, she had been living, working and training in it solidly from the moment she was first immersed in the cold fluid back in the cybernetics division barrack room. That had been a shock, lying back into the vat of fluid, the interface socket smoothly connecting into the base of her skull and her thoughts immediately transferring to the towering construct stood over her, she had been able to look down in time to see the thick fluid cover her own face and the capsule lid seal her inside. The construct itself was a terrifying beast, it had been designed by the best military minds in the Empire to be just that. Standing two meters tall a body of interlocking matt black armour plates protected a biological mix match of organs and  electromechanical devices that was part bred, part grown, part built, all for the purpose of destruction.

Mounting an incorporated weapon on each arm it was capable of laying down heavy fire, and accurate too utilising the fire support programming and servo assisted muscles, whilst moving as nimbly and faster than any human soldier, Elizabeth's construct was armed with a simple but effective chain gun on her right arm capable of spewing out a stream of solid projectiles from a large box magazine, the left arm was a twin barreled grenade launcher, capable of loosing 5 rounds a second of a variety of ammunition types. However the Fleet had restricted the volunteer corps to the use of EMP and stun grenades after the first few days in simulation suggested explosive grenades were not the best idea.

Adrian spotted it first, crouching to Elizabeth's left, as he gazed up through the crystal dome, a star had begun moving across the backdrop, then another and another gradually expanding and gaining a pale blue halo of the drive plume, Sansha was on his way.

After a few minutes 15 of them were visible as large vessels, but not of the fearsome nightmare configuration, these had a more businesslike look, blunt nosed with multiple swellings around a central docking port come airlock for grapple magnets, these were boarding vessels and they weren't headed for the docking bays.

Elizabeth hurriedly called out into the intel channels trying to get hold of someone in the command structure, as two of the vessels slowly nudged up to the dome, large rubberised suction cups emerge from blisters around the blunt face and pull the ship tight to the dome. Small nozzles buried within the contacting surface ooze a thick sealing fluid gluing the blunt face to the crystal. A quick flash of laser light and a line is scored in a perfect circle the 2 meter ring of crystal tumbles slowly as it falls and shatters into a thousand pieces on the landscaped park below. There is nothing for a few moments, then the central eye irises open, a sudden roar startles Elizabeth, she turns to see a thin smoke trail rise rapidly from beyond the lake, arcing across the sky it enters the iris, a muffled crump is heard. The external hull of the boarding ship contains the incendiary device easily however the boiling gas spreads throughout the large open interior incinerating the very atmosphere until a blaze of flame billows from the open iris, followed shortly by a few charred bodies tumbling down until they are caught short by flaming abseil ropes.

The second boarding vessel was more cautious, a laser turret mounted within the airlock cut swathes through the neat treeline slicing through gazebos and benches, setting neat rows of flowers to flame, also dislodging the missile emplacement long enough for the first shock troops to leap from the dome free falling until the bungee cords pull them to a halt just off the floor.

"We meet them where they land", the three troopers begin running towards the drop zone, leaping hedgerows and park benches, darting through alleyways between little shops, bars and clubs. creeping up on the final corner Elizabeth launches a volley of mixed EMP and stun grenades high over the buildings, waiting for the first detonations they rush out, chain guns and launchers spreading death and confusion. The most recent landers get cut down where they are, heavy metal slugs ripping through flesh and armour alike, one unfortunate taking a flashbang to his face, those already down drop to a crouch and begin returning fire from light laser carbines, multicoloured beams cut lines through the air around the constructs, glancing blows easily dealt with by the heat dissipation elements within the body armour, some more direct hits blow flakes of the laminate armour off, designed to ablate rather than spread large amounts of heat into other areas of the suit it gave good protection under even heavy fire, provided it was for short durations only.

Elizabeth piled into cover behind a small confectionery delicatessen, the two other troopers taking similar positions nearby, the situation begins to develop into a standoff, with sufficient Sansha forces landed to keep the troopers heads down, they are restricted to taking shots at the newly arriving Sansha as they plummet from the dome. The local comm channel is filled with similar tales, Sansha boarding in unexpected areas, pinning inexperienced volunteers into firefights that are going nowhere.

A thermal warning alerts Elizabeth to a rapidly rising temperature in the gardens boundary wall behind them, turning she sees an arch of metal glowing ruby red, signaling to her comrades they bolt just as a third boarding ship begins unloading its brain dead cargo directly through the hull of the station.
"Its far too open out here, and we are outnumbered, head for the main street,"
Taking a contorted route through the jumble of small buildings they head out of the garden, where the industrial/commercial district met the wide open space of the garden, the narrow corridors hemmed in by any number of shops boutiques and manufacturies of any and all types should serve to focus the zombies into a killing zone.

Reforming a short distance into the passage they take positions behind counters and concrete plant troughs, a brief lul ensues as they await the inevitable assault. A crackle issues through the comms and almost immediately two large black figures charge into the passage, barely holding their fire the 3 troopers allow the newcomers to join the new barricade.

A storm of small fist sized spheres bounce down the passageway registering the danger the constructs turn to protect themselves, an instinctive biological response that turned the weaker side and rear armour to the following detonations. No sooner had they gone off than beams of light began burning holes through the smoke, scrabbling to their feet the troopers begin retreating down the passage loosing volleys of grenades and long bursts from their chain guns at any shadow or swirl in the smoke. A second set of detonations erupt from the ground, from spheres on delayed fuses, one trooper is lifted from the ground his legs blown out from under him. Leaving the man to hold his position the remaining four continue to pull back.

"Hold them off as long as you can, then disconnect and return to base for a fresh body", Elizabeth calls out to the fallen trooper, a short fusillade of chain gun and grenade launcher on full auto is followed by the crack and sizzle of rapid fire lasers, a muffled whoosh and crack of the constructs overloaded powercore detonating  punches a column of heated air high into the air dragging the lingering remains of the smokescreen with it.

The battle rages on throughout the day, each time a construct falls his pilot checks out a replacement from stock returning to the battle as soon as he can get to the frontlines, Sansha's seemingly endless minions march forwards pressing ever further into the station. The cost is high, every corridor, every street, every intersection and shopfront is littered with the broken bodies of unfortunates from a hundred worlds, mutilated long before they arrived on this station they finally find an end.

Despite a lack of actual physical exertion, the mental strain of fighting and dieing over and over many times during the day was beginning to get to Elizabeth, she was making mistakes, everyone was. The supply of constructs was beginning to dwindle as the industrial sections fell, or the supplies of raw materials were used up and still Sansha showed no sign of slowing his advance, huge transport ships had docked once the ports had been captured, pouring zombies in by the thousand.

Elizabeth found herself backing up a corridor she had walked down once a fortnight earlier, they were backing towards the barrack rooms calling into the comm channels again she heard other volenteers abandoning the constructs and engaging the self destruct on their capsules as Sansha broke in. Loosing off a burst of grenades down the corridor she turns to check the label on the nearest door, not hers but not far off. The pause and distraction has allowed Sansha to get a clean shot at her, the blow knocks her from her feet, sliding back down the corridor she comes to rest against the wall, this door is hers, damnation, no time for a change of body, this was the final stand.

Dragging her smashed legs behind her, she drags herself along the corridor to get some cover, the chaingun not providing much purchase on the hard metallic floor, but wriggling along she gets to the doorway propping herself up she smashes the magazine from the fallen marine construct next to her,

"Now its playtime"

She snaps the new magazine into the grenade launcher, its contents immediately registering on her HUD, a 33% mix of HE, EMP and Incendiary rounds, Grinning she swings the barrel down the corridor and lets rip. Shock waves and flashes of flame mix with the blue energy waves from EMP rounds, bringing the chain gun to bare she adds a clatter of heavy slugs into the killing field, not releasing the trigger even after the grenade launcher starts cycling air. She is still walking the chain gun back and fore as the Sansha start picking their way through the glowing deck plates, stepping over the charred and still smoking bodies of the earlier wave.

The low ammunition alarm sounds in her head as the chain gun cycles onto its last clip and automatically switches down to semi automatic fire mode, calling up the targeting cross hair for the first time that day, she begins picking off targets as they leave cover, a single round per man, head shot, body or even legs, the 20mm projectiles are sufficient to take them off their feet or drop them, the lack of supporting fire however allows Sansha's numbers to come into play, the number of strikes to her armour increases, at first flakes knocked of here and there, but it rapidly becomes constant, damage alarms sound as the armour thins dramatically with the increased thermal input, Elizabeth puts the powercore output to critical and continues picking off as many as she can.

The warning tone sounds in her mind for, she cant remember how many times she has died today, the familiar flash of light, wrench on every muscle and stab of pain to the core of her mind and then the awakening in another construct, the start up sequen... no wait this isn't another construct, this is her, the real her. The memories of her latest final moments come tumbling back to her of the battle a mere 100 meters away, the realisation that her body was now in impending danger, that Sansha himself was coming for her, and her alone. Fear rose within her real and powerful for perhaps the first time that day as she engaged the exterior cameras and panned around the bay.

Clear, for now.

Then the door explodes inwards, Sansha's nation swarms inside, and the other capsules around the bay begin to detonate as the pilots flee, burning their bodies and transporting their consciousness deep into the assumed safety of the Empire, Elizabeth engages her own destruct sequence and watches the Sansha for probably the first time, shocked into how human and how ... not they are. The total lack of emotion on the faces even as chain gun rounds tear through flesh and muscle, the bodies go down without so much as a grimace or cry of pain, they simply stop moving forwards, the momentum carried on by the next man. Most of the sarcophagi burst, destroying the body within before the Nation gets to them, Elizabeth however witnesses where they do not, and a pilot is dragged screaming from his fluid he screams all the way out of the barracks.

Sansha turn as one towards her, the eyes fix on the cameras as if boring straight into her own eyes, seeing her hiding deep within, they move forwards, she checks the counter, its going to be close, very close, why did they think a 30 sec timer was a good idea? the first man reaches her platform, climbing up, he stands on the casing, a second and third pile on, fingers scrabbling at the seals, nails tear blood flows along the joins, one gains purchase,

The door begins to yield,

Elizabeth can do nothing,

The door is pulled wider,

Arms reach inside,

One of them grasps her leg and she kicks out,

Another one gets her arm, she is pulled forwards,

Her head breaks the surface of the fluid, she stares with her own eyes into the insane grinning face of Sansha,

The charge detonates

Elizabeth falls to the floor, the fluid running off her body, a medical technician gently takes her arm, she screams, slipping in the fluid she falls on her back, quietly sobbing she curls into a ball,

Safe at last.

A Day In The Life

The gloom slowly fades as the artificial lighting is increased across the vast hanger bay to simulate another perfect morning. Distant echoes of morning prayers filter from congregations of commoners down the main public processions, and from private chapels high up in the walls overlooking the vast open canyons within the station. Smells of cooking begin to sift out from countless cafes and street vendors, from high class restaurants to the greasy spoons hidden down back alleys.

All this commotion has little effect on the sleeping form of a young lady, sharp shafts of light penetrate through the patterns in the thin curtains painting clear images on the far wall. Three soft taps are heard, a door silently sweeps open. They do not even register to the girl still alone in her mind, a small head appears around the door shortly followed by the body of a small Matari child, she walks across the room and draws open the curtains flooding light into the gloomy chamber. The child pads back to the doorway and retrieves a small hand cart which she guides back towards the bed, kneeling down she addresses the sleeping form softly as if not wishing to awaken her,
"Mistress Incarn8, Mistress Incarn8, morning has risen and I have your meal ready, Mistress?" her voice conveys a mixed message of an eagerness for her to rise with an almost hidden wish that she will not.

An arm emerges from the tangled bedclothes, a muttered curse and a low groan,
"What time is it child, can you not see I am sleeping?"

"Uughh Mistress it is past 10  and ..." the girl is frozen to the spot, a rabbit caught in headlights, the interruption stops the mumbling girl in her tracks,

"Leave the food here and go select my wardrobe, I shall be attending central today, so something suitably intimidating I think, go now", the arm waves dismissively towards the door, and the child quickly leaves, closing the door behind her.

The bedclothes remain motionless for a moment or two more, before a pair of legs emerge, one tanned bronze, well toned and healthy. The other is missing, replaced by a metallic prosthetic from just below the left knee, its slivered glimmer contrasts with the golden hue of the rest of her body, but she shines all over as if oiled or lit from within by some lantern. She regards the trolley briefly before padding, and clicking, across the marbled floor towards her wash room. The sounds of flowing water waft into the bedroom when the young slave girl returns with a second trolley, this one supporting an elaborate full length dress, headdress, a pair of scruffy black combat boots along with all the assorted undergarments and tools required to attach them to a body.

Fully three parts of an hour later, the young girl is again banished from the room as the older woman now ready to face the day, her hair, body and face made up to maintain an image of Amarrian power. Clad from neck to toe the dress screams out, "Yes I am female, but don't you dare treat me like one, I am strong, I am self assured, I am not a man and I don't care." A jet black bodice hides her true curves, yet supplies her with a respectable if discrete profile. Spilling from her shoulders and hips, a dark blood red cape and trailing skirts once again cover up and yet still accentuate her figure, hiding the truth and allowing you to imagine what you will. Her feet, hidden behind the heavy hem line of her skirts, are clad in most definitely not feminine combat boots, thick and heavy they provide a sturdy base for her to pile her image around.

Taking a mechanised walkway to the central district Evil stands gripping the support frame lightly with one satin clad hand. Staring into the distance on not object in particular with her straight black hair streaming behind her as she is whisked along the increasingly busy route. Stepping lightly from the platform, the glove is peeled off and discarded, almost instantly it is collected by one of the stations army of cleanerbots which scuttles back into a small opening in the wall clutching its prize.
Making rapid progress along narrower streets now, her attire is beginning to blend in with more and more of the locals as the incomes and apartment prices begin to soar. Not so much as glancing into the shops and fashionable boutiques lining the route she suddenly stops short causing others matching her pace to avoid the new obstacle.

Turning she looks at the name above the stall that has caught her eye, 'Rigel's Labour Bazzar', it was a simple slave market, tarted up and trying its best to look respectable true, but a slave market all the same. Quite what it was doing on such a prominent street was another matter entirely to the one aspect that had caught her eye deep in the gloom. There was the usual mass lists of Brutor available for hard labour displayed on vid screens along the one wall, no one bothered displaying an example of them as they were more trouble than it was worth to have in polite society.
Along the back and opposite walls there were displayed the house broken sebestors and other members of the less physically able tribes where looks and condition mattered to a potential owning family. Tagged to each cage was an info screen proving genetic stability, training received, expected years of service remaining and all the usual information required by the intelligent shopper, but none of this was what Evil had homed in on.

At the far end next to a particularly old and haggard looking Vherokior cook was a separate cage containing only one example of a young girl who was curled up on the floor dressed in what would take a significant stretch of imagination to describe as rags. Evil stood next to the cage looking down on the girl she realised what had caught her eye, the girl was not Sebestor, nor even Vherokior as she first appeared, she wasn't even Matari, turning to the wizened old man who evidently was Rigal from the way watched every customer come and go,
"Hey, store man get over here," the sharp tone of authority cut straight through to muscle response skipping any thought process the man may have had,

"What is it my dear?" croaked the old man, "You like the look of this one, ehh?"

"Cut the sales talk Rigel, what in Gods good name are you doing with a Jin-Mei in your store? you did know that didn't you? she is from the Federation you know, have you any idea how much trouble that could cause you?" the barrage of questions seemed to confuse the old man, before his eyes widened signaling he had finally got around the concept.

"She is a Gallante? but I don't understand, she came in with the shipment just like all the others" the man began to stumble over his words, "I just put her out here as I thought she looked prettier than the usual ones, I was expecting quite a good price on her"

"Well of course she looks prettier you stupid, blind old man she isn't Matari" the severity of the snapped response was like a slap in the face, and the man visibly reeled from it. "As for getting a good price, HA, you will be lucky to avoid time before the council." Letting her threats settle in she pauses to watch the child again, still curled up, it is obvious that she is now awake and aware of the argument, although whether she spoke enough High Amarrian to catch its meaning Evil couldn't be sure.

"So, what can I do? I have to get rid of her, I cant be dragged to the council not with my reputation to keep I'll be ruined!" Rigel is visibly worried

It should never be this easy, chuckled Evil to herself, "Well, if you are that worried about the authorities Rigel perhaps I can be of some assistance to you? You know full well that capsuleer vessels are off limits to inspections, and I just happen to be a capsuleer with a vessel here in station" she can barely contain the grin at getting one over on the old geezer.

"You would do that for me? ohh bless your soul young lady, I shall be in your debt" the old man confused by the sudden onslaught against him has allowed his experience to be sidewashed, there is no law preventing the salve of slaves of any race, providing the correct documentation is in place.

"Have no fear old man, it would be an honour for me to aid you, I should pay yo a small fee though as I would not like to keep you out of pocket," slipping a small datapad from a concealed pocket, she taps a few symbols on the screen and smiles, "There you go, transferred all legal and proper, she is off your hands and no more concern of yours."

The old man fumbles in his pocket, retrieving a large bunch of keys he fumbles about to unlock the cage, swinging the door wide he switches to a rough tribal tongue, "Get up girl, get out of my shop, you belong to this lady now, do as she commands"

Looking up in vague incomprehension at the man, then the woman standing over her, she attempts to reposition her rags, which are doing little to cover her up, "You have any clothing or material she can wear? it is not proper to take her through the streets like this," Evil commands the man. Then switching to a flowing tongue of contrasting sounds, she commands the girl in her own language to get up and be ready to leave for a new home.
"You speak Gallante? whatever use do you have for that?" queries Rigel returning with a rough sheet of material that looks for all the world like it had been mere moments before a sack of potatoes.
Taking a haughty tone, well more haughty than usual, Evil replies, "Does the Lord not command that 'Know thy enemy that thou shall smite them from the world?' It is hard, is it not, to know your enemy when you cannot even speak to them"

Wrapping the sacking around the Jin-Mei girl, Evil leads her from the shop.
"So what is your name young one?" she whispers as they head back towards the apartment,
The girl looks up, and in a crackled voice "I have no name, I was No 274 in my shipment but I am now yours, I do not know my current name"
"Well child, pick yourself a real name, one you would like to be known by"
After a few moments thought, she look sup again, "Shaharakhh"
A grin spreads across Evils face, "Shaharakhh, daughter of the Matari goddess of fortitude, a somewhat pointed choice of name I feel. Fitting though it is, I feel I should adjust it slightly to make you sound a little less Matari perhaps?" Raising her eyebrows the girl makes no response to the questioning,

"Mmmh," Continues Evil, "You do know where you are at the moment don't you? This is Kador Prime, you are in the belly of the Empire my little JinMei, so how about we round it of to Shan, Shaneyeah, Shania, that works I think. You know what it means, I know you chose it, and co-incidentally in my own native tongue of Khanid it means Petal, which is a nice name I think."

"Shania, hmm" the girl tries on the name, and smiles.

A Butlers Tale

It is still dark, I cannot remember much of yesterday my mind is still foggy from the drink and the sounds of the festival. I cant quite remember making it home afterwards so that should explain the hard surface I have awoken on, my ears still thrum with the beat of the big drums. It was a good festival seeing in the new year in style, the whole of planet Byorkholm or Vard VII as is officially known would be waking up with a hammering head but sound in the knowledge that this year would be a good one. It was only my second time at the new year festival as only those who have come of age and proudly wear their tattoos are permitted to spend the night thanking the spirit world for a bountiful year and requesting good harvests in the next.

As my senses gathered I catch sounds of a woman's cry, not of surprise, terror or pain, but a gentle sad sob of someone resigned to the sorrow. I try to peer into the gloom, it is too dark, why is it so dark? even in the middle of the night the stars should show through. No matter I decide to see what the matter is with the woman and attempt to sit up, I am caught short by my wrists which seem to be held in chains. Chains? ohh no what did I do last night? I must be in the cells that would explain the lack of light. I lean back again, and listen into the gloom trying to pick out any voices or a hint to my location.

I slip into dream, I am back in the thick of the festival swirls of colour, people and the flames of torches blur around me as I spin within the crowds around the many bonfires that blaze into the night. I have my eye on a pretty little thing dancing around a far fire, I have been unable to approach her before and tonight when the energy dies down I may make my move, I will be 18 next year and it is about time I chose a wife. Suddenly there are cries of surprise out to the east, people stop dancing the singing falls to silence and eyes rise into the night. Muffled thumps echo across the plain whilst in the dark sky colourful explosions, fireworks spread the celebrations far up into the air, illuminating the countryside with the colour, the crack and boom of them echo off the valley walls.

I am aware of the sound of many people around me, I can hear hundreds of people straining to be quiet. This is wrong, even the city cells cannot contain that many people, and certainly not in one room. The thrumming of drums I had heard before turns out to not be within my own head, but surrounds me, I cannot put direction to it. A sudden flash of light, a vast ceiling is revealed, then disappears, then revealed again as the lighting catches. Blinking in the sudden dawn I catch glimpses of my surroundings, I am lay in the middle of a heavily tanned sea of humanity. Muscled Brutors chained down to the floor as far as the eye can see out to high metallic walls. A door high up in the far wall slides open, three figures step out onto the balcony they are clothed head to foot in dark robes. They are too far for me to hear any sound, yet one carries a datapad or clipboard while another pans some device across the room. As suddenly as they enter the leave and the cavern is once more plunged into darkness.

The sound of fireworks ripple across the sky, the crowd cheering each crack plume of colour, mixing in however is a deep rumble, a star falls from the sky in a streak of orange, then another and another. Screams begin far to the rear of the crowd, I turn in time to see a massive ship, its shields still glowing from the rapid entry into the atmosphere bear down on us and disappear over the lip of the valley followed swiftly after by the crack and whiplash of the punished atmosphere. It starts to rain, large blobs of water splash into the dust, the crowds start to scatter, screaming and running in all directions. The vision of the golden ship only tens of meters above us flashes through my memory. The rain stops as soon as it starts, but it is wrong, the droplets on the ground start to smoke, a mist is forming around my ankles my eyes start to run and so do I.

The room shudders, an echo of metal on metal rolls through the cavern and the thrumming winds down into silence. Large panels in the wall open many hooded figures are silhouetted against the dim yellow light spilling in. They move slowly but deliberately down the ranks of men, leading them out line at a time, before too long I am approached, my chains disconnected from the floor and remaining connected to the man either side of me, we are led from the cavern into the light.
In a small room we stop, our guides leave and the chamber door closes, a metallic voice sounds out in heavily accented but understandable Matari for us to undress, mere seconds later steam erupts from wall floor and ceiling vents, hot to touch but not to scald the water is laden with the tang of a chemical passenger.
Lead out again, redressed in simple but ill fitting garments I feel as though I am on a production line. We are bustled from one room to the next, barrages of tests follow the cleaning, physical exertions, scans and screenings of many types, culminating in an intelligence test. Knowledge of our own world, others in the Republic and then others I had never heard of, questions on belief, my replies of tribal spirituality receiving the obvious scorn of my unseen examiners.
Finally exhausted and confused I am led into a smaller holding room, with only a few tens of other men, and left in silence.

The crowd is now in full panic, not knowing the direction of safety people flee in all directions knocking people down in their haste the mist now burning in eyes throat and leaving a bitter taste in the mouth. Some, the weak, old and youngest are already succumbing falling to their knees clutching at their throats struggling for breath as about them the fit race for distance in blind panic. I hear the bark and snarl of some wild dog, the snap and crackle of some unknown origin I am running, barely able to see I come face to face with a wall of armed men. Cloaks billow in the wind revealing blackened body armour beneath, every third man struggles to hold to heel what I can only describe as a beast from the depths of hell, to call it a dog would be to call the mighty rift valley a crack in the ground. One of them points a gun at me, a flash of blue lightning leaps out and wraps itself around my chest, searing pain floods through me and I collapse to the floor, the world goes dark.

We wait in the room for probably 3 days, I try to talk with some of the other men some of them talk back, others only speak a dialect of basic Matari I have never heard before, they peel off and stay in their own group talking their own gibberish, likewise those I could converse with kept to ourselves. The door slams open suddenly on the third day, the hooded men order us out brandishing short batons that crackle with blue static. Around 200 Matari are assembled into a central hall, hooded guards encircle us and we are sat down, a pair of men, dressed in fine robes walk in, they are not hooded, and the light glinting of their bald polished heads standing at the front they converse quickly and unintelligibly with the hooded guards, nods and quick gestures are exchanged and then a shake of hands. One of the robed men walks out with a guard, the other turns to face the assembled men, "Congratulations, you are now the property of Lord Malakon II," he announces in accented but passable Matari tongue, "I trust you will serve your new Master with the honour and respect due him, consider yourself fortunate as I am told there are far worse fates in this cluster" and with an evil grin he walks out.

After being transported for what seems days on the hard deck of a cheap battered transport, walking out into the marshaling yard of the station seemed to be one of the hardest things I had had to do, I glimpsed through the great windows of the station a small watery world as we were herded back in smaller groups to the dropships. It had been almost 2 weeks since I had felt the sun on my back, that day seemingly years ago, preparing the fires for the great festival, now I walk across a dusty landing strip, chained to the man before and behind me, in the distance there is a small cluster of low buildings, ahead of us much closer is a large warehouse. The snake of humanity wanders across the plain shuffles into the warehouse and once again sits encircled by guards.

A side door opens, robed figures enter, followed by a man who, without needing to tell you you know he is in charge, the way the others watch without watching, keep out of his way and nod their heads before addressing him. I hear a Matari a few rows behind me speak to his neighbour, questioning if this is "That Malakim guy", a guard responds instantly, thrusting his baton against the man nearest him, not the culprit, but the discharge from the rod passes along the chain 20 men twitch and cry out as the shock passes through them.

"Greetings, and welcome to Palas III, I am Lord Malakon the second, this is my installation and you fine young men are here to operate it for me. Now, I am sure you are all eager to get to work but I thought I should come down and see you first, I have need of a few of you who are willing to join my house staff," motioning towards one of his aides, who points out 5 young Matari at the front, 2 men and 3 women, to the guards who unchain and lead them from the room. "Finally one more thing before I stop keeping you from your tasks, today is my daughters birthday the Lord has blessed me with her presance for 14 years now and I have promised her an addition to her personal staff as my gift this year, I hope you all wont mind but I cannot accept volunteers for this role, as she has said she will make the selection personally."

The side door opens again and led by a robed man a young girl rides in on the back of one of the hellish beasts I had seen back at the capture, gripping the animal by its pink collar she casts her gaze across the room her eyes not coming to rest on a single face, she turns back to Malakon "But Daddy they are all sooo ugly, you promised me you would get nice looking ones" her choice of announcing this clear and sharp across the room, in the same accented Matari as Malakon had spoken spoke volumes about her views on our place in the social rank, she saw us as dirt and wanted us to know it. Switching to what I assume was their native tongue Malakim spoke rapidly to the girl obviously attempting to circumnavigate a tantrum, finally it seems he won, and she turned back towards the waiting masses.

Guiding her hell beast down an aisle she cast a scathing glance at the nearest folk who tried to shy away, which is difficult to do when you are shackled to two other people trying to shy away in opposite directions. Eventually she nears me, I return her gaze, probably unwisely but as you can imagine I wasn't exactly in the best of moods to be belittled by a 14 year old, she halts by pulling on the beasts collar, points at me and calls to the nearest guard, "I want this one", he marches over sharply and snaps me out of my chains in broken and barely understandable Matari he says "tough break laddie", my hands still bound are attached to a lead and the girl leads me from the room.

And basically that's how I became head of household for the capsuleer you now know as Miss Incarn8. Of course the first year or so was rough, Mistress was and still is a cruel master but I count myself lucky I avoided the mines. After all, even Reggie, that deamonic hell beast, is a big softie once he gets used to you and its the same with Mistress, a sharp tongue and a wicked sence of humour, but I believe she cares deep down somewhere and for that I will lay my life down for her if she demanded it.

No 43, signing off.

Heros of the Empire

I don't normally venture this far into the Amarrian Empire, but as I was here I did what I always do in a new place, hunt down the local bar. Now you may ask, a bar within the Eternal Empire? but yes, they do occur here. Of course they are not the hives of debauchery that you get across the other empires, it is almost a shame to refer to these palaces as bars, but palaces and bars they are, one and the same. I walk in through the entrance way, and am instantly stunned into motionless, the floor appears to pull away from me, deeper and darker than would seem possible, it draws the eye out to the walls where hanging tapestries rich in gold adorned with the vibrantly coloured crests of the local holding families stretch up into what has to be a projection of some kind. Dark purple clouds boil across the ceiling, swirling around the edges of the tapestries, muted lightning flashes across, hidden yet visible, a marvel it has to be said to rival even our own Crystal Boulevard.

The room was large and made it appear far emptier than it really was, small groups of Amarrians huddle around tables, the murmurs of their conversations float across the hall unintelligible, yet obviously solemn and serious. Considering the cosmopolitan cross section of most empires these days there is a remarkable monocultural vibe hanging in the air, other than a few Civire hanging with some of the groups who, I might add, are looking exceedingly out of place, there was only the Matari bar staff to hint at the fact the universe was not solely an Amarrian place. The Matari themselves did not appear to show any signs of their life of manual labour so I expect they were chosen for this duty from a young age. I initially consider that the Amarrians may have been trying to fool themselves into believing that all slaves serve under these conditions? A quick look at the local clientele would suggest that a large number of the patrons were far enough up the social ladder to be holders of some stature. Either way the Matari do not appear to be conductive to any kind of questioning, and as for asking the Amarrians I have no intention of getting deported quite so early in my trip.

I move across to the bar, and engage the proprietor in conversation, the old Amarrian is obviously weary of dealing with a foreigner operating alone as he spent a good 5 minutes inspecting my visa documents before allowing me to purchase a drink. Eventually though I start talking with him, I still have a report to file and as in any situation cluster wide, if you want to find something out go and ask a barman, they, for some unknown cosmic reason, know virtually everything. The old mans eyes light up at the question of knowing any stories I could tell the folks back home. He tells me he knows the story of a great warrior pilot, who took on mighty odds and came out victorious. Expecting a tale of some long dead Imperial general, probably back in the days pre-revolution, I give in and trying to feign interest I ask him to recount the tale. The old man grins a toothless grin at me, his eyes wander across the room and he croaks "why don't you ask her yourself", surprised I follow his gaze to a young lady who is lay along a couch at the far end of the room. Obviously guessing my disbelief he added, "You know capsuleers change bodies just as often as you or I change shirts, she may be  far older than you can imagine, although I wouldn't mention that to her, heh heh"

I gaze across at her and try to see a vicious space warrior, yet all I can see is a petite young Khanid lady perhaps in her early 20s, nothing particularly special about her you may suppose at first glance. She hasn't dressed particularly differently to other ladies I have seen, a simple full length dress mostly an intense satin black with a deep blood red bodice. It has to be said, an unusual colour choice for the bipolar Amarrian dress sense, usually vibrant rich colours or plain to the extreme. She does have a very large slaver hound lying at the foot of the couch, but then this is the Amarrian Empire where slaver hounds are popular pets.

It would seem I have been staring at her for a little too long, she has clocked me, and is returning my gaze with a sly smile that conveys no warmth whatsoever, her eyes gleam from beneath the unconstrained strands of her long black hair. The barman, unseen beside me half clears his throat "seems she likes you, I wouldn't keep her waiting." It appears I had completely missed whatever signal she had sent, but that the barman had picked up on, and I had been summoned to explain myself.

The girl kept her reclined position as I approached and sat opposite her, my new closer perspective had revealed one unusual aspect to her attire, peaking from beneath the hem of her dress were not a pair of close fitting heels as I had expected, but a pair of heavy duty combat boots. "Who are you, and what are you doing this far from home stranger?" her question, blunt and delivered quietly yet with a scathing force. I explain my search for stories and the barman's recommendation of asking her about great heroes of the Empire. The last phrase almost elicits a laugh from her, "hero of the Empire" she rolls the phrase around as if trying it on, "No, I don't think so, I may have worked for the Empire, I may even represent it, but I would not consider to wear such a title, I am independent. Yet stories of great battles, yes those I can give you." Her eyes seem to glitter, and a wicked grin creeps across her face.

She launches straight into a tale before I can begin to question her on anything about herself, and seeing the passion with which she talks, I do not dare interrupt her. "The first I heard of it" she began. "There was a general call to arms, at the time I was attached to a small band of renegades, small time trouble makers really, we based out in Pator right in the heart of the Matari Republic." She explained how a corpmate had become involved in a standoff over a container of ore, facing off against multiple opponents wanting backup before acting. "I raced to get my ship undocked faster, cursing the sluggishness of even the cruiser sized hull, knowing that at any minute something could spark or the whole thing could blow over, either way I would miss it. As I popped into system I was informed it was not over, thanking God for his blessings I kicked my Devoter into warp to the field of battle."

Watching her tell her tale, she appears proud, defiant and just about all the arrogant descriptions you can throw at the Amarrians, yet even though she fits them all I cannot seem to dislike her for it. "Arriving at the scene I found the fight yet to have materialised, but I got my first concrete evidence of the enemies strength, 2 cruiser class hulls, the Minmatar Bellicose and far more deadly Gallante Thorax, 2 Minmatar Thrasher class destroyers, 2 Rifter class frigates, and a Gallante Tristan. Quickly assessing their potential, and perhaps wanting to show off a little in front of my corp" her grin reappears again, "but I was younger back then, I like to showoff a lot more nowadays. Anyway, I decided that I was able to handle them, I believe I even mentioned a line involving being able to tank those muppets, whatever a muppet is" She seems totally absorbed in living the memories of this day, the words hastily shuffled into place to keep up with her racing mind.

"I took the can, and immediately my targeting computer went nuts, klaxons and warnings sounding off as 7 ships locked and began trying to destroy me, the cacophony of autocannons, blasters, missiles of various sizes, mixed with the slow ponderous ping as my systems locked each of the aggressors. 4 pulse laser batteries slowly twist and elevate to position, puring the righteous fury of pure energy across the vacuum of space into the thorax cruiser. Its shielding flickers ripples spread from the point of impact as it struggles to cope with the abuse it is receiving before too long however plumes of gas and flash frozen liquids are venting from numerous gashes burnt into the smooth hull. Its end is spectacular, the reactor core receives a hit, and in a flash the ship is vapourised. The bellicose both thrashers, a rifter and the tristian follow in quick succession, one rifter escapes. The devoter prowls among the wrecks then disappears into warp.

"What surprised me most was that after the Thorax went down the other ships did not leave, despite the fact the Devoter possesses some of the most powerful and specialised warp disruption technology it can only hold one ship down at a time." She leans back, broken from the spell of memories, twiddling with the long fluted glass she has long since drained of contents, switching to an analysis of the events she continues. "Although I destroyed them without mercy I have to respect them for staying to fight before an enemy that they obviously saw they could not beat. Part of that I learned later was due to a mis-identification of my ship, thinking I was flying a simpler version of the same hull they would have assumed an easy kill."

She lapses into silence, focuses directly onto me, raising her eyebrow, "So, does that fit your needs?" I assure her that it does, making my excuses I explain that I need to write up her tale and make for the exit. I can feel her eyes boring into my back all the way out.

I cant explain why, she seemed nice enough to talk to, yet your subconscious keeps tripping the fight or flight reaction an irrational paranoia not to take your eyes of her for fear of being ended in a horrific manor. The casual ease with which she described her many victories, death and destruction, all in a days work, I know combat pilots have to deal with this sort of thing, but she didn't so much as bat an eyelid.

I pack my bags soon after and move on to a different area of the Empire. Evil Incarn8, she only ever told me her callsign, fitting I feel, I shudder involuntarily despite the warmth of my cabin, the last thing I would want would be to end up in one of her tales.

Down to Earth (or some Earthlike planet anyway) with a bump.

A flicker of energy ripples across the bubble which forms the visible portion of the wormhole, A sole harbinger class battlecruiser emerges from its depths. Scarred and battered by its last month away from the daily maintenance provided within the station hanger bays the harbinger swings its bulk around and warps away.


An inglorious return perhaps, but nonetheless a valuable lesson learned, namely "Evil Incarn8 does not like 0.0 space".


Simple, blasphemous to many I would wager, yet the truth. Although I cannot place my finger on a reason or reasons why exactly I don't get "it", I can't even say I hated every second, the guys and gals I served with out there were great fun to be around. I shall recall a few instances I particularly enjoyed from my time out there before signing off to return to planning my next experiences.


On one of my first days out here, Simon decided we should go and meet the neighbours, wave the flag, a little light fraternisation as it were. So 5 of us set out in our battlecruisers to travel the 8 or so jumps to the nearest outpost we had docking access at. It was thrill I give you that, knowing that at any gate there could be a fleet a bubble and instant death, jumping in frantically screaming at the scanner to tell me I was safe and not yet to be blasted into atoms. To tell the truth when we finally arrived uneventfully at the outpost I was drained, the very thought of trying to appear upbeat optimistic and chipper to the locals was beyond me. I perused the local stores in an attempt at a little retail therapy shocked at both the lack of stock and the extortionate prices charged this far from a ready supply base. Not before too long we were called back to our ships for the return journey, another bout of paranoia and nerves were wasted on a quiet trip home. A pointless tale of a simple trip you may say, possibly yes, but for me it was my first fleet/gang manoeuvres in 0.0 sec space. Safe once more within the shimmering gossamer bubble of our floating home, I dropped from my pod crawled to the showers and fell asleep beneath its warming jets.


Most of the rest of my time was spent earning the right for our system to be awarded status for improved scanning systems for access to rarer asteroid fields or the more intricately hidden pirate bases. My harbinger proved itself well adept at dispatching the regular pirate patrols throughout the system, even once coming out on top verses one of the Angel Cartels junior officers in a top of the line Battleship.


Another highlight was when we expanded into a neighbouring system that had been vacated by a departing alliance, we had to clear out a starbase they had left behind. I was mightily impressed by the scale of the capital class vessels brought to bear, and the speed at which we dispatched the structures.


Even though these were good times, I have now said my goodbyes to Simon, the new people I had met within the alliance and Cherie who has seemingly embraced 0.0 with a greater vigour than I could, not to mention she has probably been embracing a lot of the alliance members in less public situations as she is that kind of person. I departed 0.0, returning to my old haunts within the safe envelope of the Khanid Kingdom, I am looking for a new adventure...... say, those wormhole systems were very pretty weren't they?

A new life

I quickly shut down the comn system, canceling the powerup sequence that was awakening my ship, no doubt turning the area around the chief engineer into a no-go-zone for the next few hours. Changing back to more formal attire, I summon my go-between to meet me at the monorail terminal, they say us eggers are all powerful, be that as it may but we wouldn't get anything done without an army of attendants.

Melissa was my primary contact in Soumi she handled all the details that were beneith my attention, a bright young girl of sound Khanid stock, in the weeks I had based here I had got to know enough of her that I could even reference her by name. She awaited me at the terminal, and fell into step as I entered the compartment.
"I am leaving the area as soon as I have my affairs in order, see that the ships are stored well and the crew dealt with, have the level 4 officers reassigned to Amarr Prime."
Leaving her to sort out the necessary arrangements I hurry back to my apartment, packing away takes less time than I had imagined, I hadn't created as big an imprint on the place as I thought I had. Never-the-less I press onwards to the medi-bay.

Clone jumping, one of the supposed wonders of the modern era, allowing a capsuleer to exist as a transient concience, flitting between mortal bodies at will. The very concept of it goes against every teaching and moral fibre I posses, however for the well traveled it becomes an evil we live with.
Stripping back down, somedays I am unsure why I bother getting dressed, I recline back into what I can only describe as a casket, plugging myself in I enter the access codes for my body in waiting, many light years away. The command completes, my world goes black.

The world reappears, blurry and smudged through new eyes.

First thing on my mind, shopping, what can I say its in my DNA. I head straight from the medi bay out into the vast expanse of warehouses, I have my eye on a nice harbinger, a decent choice for a first dip into the unknown I think.
I go for a basic setup, true to what I know, with one alteration, the Micro-Warp-Drive, a technology I usually have little use for but my contacts say will become invaluable in 0.0.
Setting me back a chunk of my hard earned ISKies there she stood, shiny and new, that new ship smell still floating down her corridors.
I undocked from the station straight into the mid day rush, ships everywhere, quite the shock for a girl from the sticks where 3 ships at a gate is a busy day.
The new harbinger handled itself well, as for the micro-warp-drive I have always believed a ship of this size is not built for speed, it feels wrong somehow, but in another way ohh so good. I buy a few additional modules and spare drones. To be quite honest I was floating not too sure what I needed not wanting to overpack, but terrified of forgetting something. Realising all I am doing is delaying myself, I oversee the final loading procedures, then pod up and ship out.

I meet up with my fellow travelers a jump or two out of Amarr itself, Cherie in her own harbinger, and Simon hauling quantities of something out in his Bestower.

I slave my nav computor to Simons and we turn as a one, warping to a point millions of miles from any object revealed on my scanner. A momentry shuddering the very walls quake with the energies pulling me out of warp.

Returning to normality my instruments show wild energy readings, the very fabric of space is wrong my scanner picks up objects that are similtaniously very far away yet right before me, the camera drones are struggling to focus on a, on a what? it was a bubble but seemingly of nothing. I could see around as well as through it, a wormhole, the product of a shockwave eminating from the destruction of a drone hive and the splintering of a planet, but you all knew that right?

Our ships dissapeared into it, my world changed, I left the safety of CONCORD space and entered a beautiful new world, a direct link deep into lawless 0.0 space. You may say it was fortunous, you may say the simplicity of the route was fate, I dont believe any of that tosh.

I allow my ship to be pulled into another warp, and we arrive at what is to be my home for the forseeable future, a small rough collection of structures huddled against the cold reaches of space withing the protective shield of a Gallante control tower. We sit in a high orbit around a small rocky moon, A clear blue oceanic planet hovers in space further away towards the small yellow star, not a spectacular system, but she is beautiful in her own way.

I have to admit as I retire for the night and head for my shipboard quarters, watching the pulsing of the shield twist the form of the moon though my porthole, its oddly bewitching.

I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

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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