Mission of Mercy

Author: Arrowspeed Bounty

Original post: https://arrowspeedfiles.wordpress.com/2016/10/22/mission-of-mercy/

Three e’s in her name aside, Fleeecy Jane had long ago forgotten why she had carefully sketched, framed and hung the words on the wall of the station.

“Fleeecy Jane has three e’s in her name because somebody else took the two-e version. She spends her days dancing among the stars, at peace with the beauty around her, and passing the days lightly as if it were all never-ending …. which perhaps it is.”

The frame sagged and she did not straighten it. It seemed better that it be lopsided anyway, the harsh green-ish metal of the wall belying the gentle words. The never-ending part — that had stayed brutally true. But the peace and beauty — these were words Fleeecy hardly knew any more.

HitF1, her sister, rattled through the hanger, letting the metal reinforcements from her boots scrape roughly on the floor, mud dripping, blood seeping, and the usual scowl denting her scarred features. “Podded again, but I got a little salvage into a cargo and Cloelia got it. She’s coming. I’m going to bed.”

“I don’t suppose you remembered to use your prototype cloaking device.”

“No I did not use my prototype cloaking device. I forgot to use my prototype cloaking device. I don’t care about stupid prototype cloaking devices. I don’t need to be reminded to use the stupid prototype cloaking device. And don’t bother putting a prototype cloaking device on my next ship.”

“I just finished your next ship. It’s in the hanger. It has a prototype cloaking device.”

“I’m going to bed”

With equally irritating disregard for the ugly scraping of metal on metal, Cloelia could be heard unloading salvage into the cargo hanger. A bit more to disassemble into raw materials for the next ship, maybe some that would sell for a little ISK, all pointless in the end anyway.

“Got a couple of good things we can sell, even a blueprint. I’m hungry.” Cloelia scraped a bit of the mud from her boots, but most stayed to fill in more muddy footsteps beside those left by HitF1.

“When do you think you will go out again? We are getting low on materials.”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Don’t want to know. Don’t want to care.” Cloelia shoved raw something-or-other into her mouth. “I hate this place. I hate it.” Her voice might have been shaking a tiny bit but it was hard to tell with the chewing going on at the same time. She went to bed, too, as soon as she had finished chewing.

The same crowd out there — Amarr ships all the way out 40 systems — not much chance to get anything today anyway. Fleeecy turned off her long range scouting scanner, recently acquired at great expense and after much saving, scrimping, and lost ships. The shock of finally looking out past their current system to see that they were docked in the center of a vast highly entrenched and hugely populated Amarr Empire had caused a numb resignation to despair that Fleeecy knew was shared equally by her sisters. Her head sunk into her arms and she was still.

The betrayal by those she had trusted still cut deep into her heart, more even than the fact that she would likely see nothing more than green metal walls for a very long time. Perhaps Amarr would eventually fall and Fleeecy could leave with her sisters. Perhaps not. But what would never change was the betrayal, tricked into coming here and left alone to live forever, hunting and scavenging and hiding. She could not help but ask again what she had asked every day for years she no longer counted. Why was this done to her? Why was her voice silenced? Why was she shut so cruelly away without explanation or comment?

Tears no longer fell, they had spent themselves long ago. Fleeecy simply lay quiet on her own folded arms, waiting for the next small opportunity. Then she or Cloelia or HitF1 would venture yet again into a world of bitter enemies and bloodshed to gather a little salvage before being shot to pieces, podded, and sent home again without mercy, sign, thought, or comment.

Immortality was surely wasted here.

Eventually Cloelia returned from her nap, as she always did, rested and ready to try again to find some small loophole in the eternity that doomed them. “What does it look like out there?”

Fleeecy roused and forced herself to gaze on the scanner. “No white knights, I’m afraid. But go for it, if you want to try to find one.”

“I will send out the damsel in distress signal while I’m salvaging.” Cloelia managed a laugh.

“I’m no damsel, but the distress part certainly counts. Rescue would be a blessing from anyone, white knight or otherwise.”

“Indeed that is true. I will be back with some more salvage. Rest, Fleeecy, do not give up, years have passed, but we will not give up. We will not.”

It was hard not to. System available ships, equipment and blueprints were tightly regulated to never include what could scan down a wormhole or sneak out fast and undetected. All clones were limited to the local system. Communication out was completely shut down. And the one concession given them, the availability of the long range scouting scanner, served only to frustrate all hope, never to save. It was, in fact, a jail. And making it so unbearably worse was that the reason for this lockup was withheld so unmercifully. That was what made her heart cold and mean, her thoughts only angry and unforgiving, and the frame on the wall left unstraightened.

Fleeecy’s familiar mental rehearsal of lost hope – why did she do this to herself over and over – was interrupted by an unfamiliar sound intruding into the silence. Anything unfamiliar was so unusual that it did not register at first. It was just something strange making its way into the room. And then she realized it was a voice coming over local. “Hello, are there some damsels in distress here? We have come to take you to a friendly port. Answer if you can. Answer if you will. We are here to rescue you.”

“I am no damsel. But I am in distress. Who are you?”

“We are the Amarr Knights of Honor. We come after much bloodshed, weary war, and the final and hard won overthrow of our treacherous overlords. We have been searching for the lost and have come to release you.”

“If you are Amarr, we do not wish to speak with you. You have betrayed us and left us to live in dismal eternity, with no explanation for our banishment. You are not our friends. ”

Fleeecy switched off the communications channel. Trust was not something she had in abundance, and certainly not for her Amarr betrayers.

It was not long before the familiar scraping of metal on metal was heard again, but this time faster, more urgent. “Fleeecy Jane, we are rescued! A fleet of friendly ships is outside our door.” HitF1 rushed through the door, slamming it shut and removing her boots, the only thing she had at hand to toss joyfully into the air.

“No, we are not rescued. They are here only to raise our hopes and betray us again. This will not happen.”

“But, certainly they will help us. Their ships are blue, not the red of our betrayers.”

“No!” The hurt ran too deep for any other answer. “no ……… they are Amarr.”

Cloelia was next to crash through the door, several skillbooks carelessly dropped to the floor along with a half-filled canister of iron hybrid ammunition. “Praise to the gods of Rome, legacy of my namesake, we are saved at last!”

“NO! NO! NO! No!!!!! We are not! And the gods of some obscure warrior princess of the something-ith century before EVE are not going to help you just because you happen to have the name of said obscure warrior princess.”

“What…. are….. you …… talking about!?” Cloelia’s surprise slowed her words, shook her voice, and stopped her pace.

“Do you not remember how we were betrayed by those same Amarr pilots sitting in those same Amarr ships now outside our door? They tricked us into setting all our clones to this system, lying to us and saying it was part of some secret war plan. After that, they left without a word and locked us here forever. They would not answer our questions. Not a message, not an explanation, not a word, not a ping, only silence, only a permanently locked fence around us. And you think that somehow they are here to RESCUE us? There is no chance of that, only humiliation again, betrayal again. The loss of all hope will be the more desperate because it was briefly raised.”

Cloelia slowly slid to the floor, her head in her hands, hearing and now feeling fully the words of her sister. HitF1 was already sitting, leaning her head against the metal wall, one boot still in her hand.

“We will ignore them and plan our own escape.” Fleeecy let no doubt into her voice.

Both Cloelia and HitF1 remained motionless.

“Which, by the way, is not far off I don’t think. I have not had a chance to tell you this, but I have finally been able to gain some control over the cloning devices in the station. My hack succeeded a week ago, and I was waiting for more news before telling you. But I can say that it is looking good.”

Both Cloelia and HitF1 glared at her. HitF1 hit her boot on the floor. “May I remind you, Fleeecy with three e’s, that you have made this same announcement at least 6 times and it never came to ANYTHING. Your hacking skills have never been good, and hacking a cloning device has never been done, even by the best.

“Oh really! Yeah, well, how about this? Watch this. Just watch.” Fleeecy scrambled to bring her screen online, muttering her way to the demonstration she had been planning. “Hah! Make fun of my hacking skills AND my e’s, we’ll just see about that.” The screen came on, clone bay in view. “NOW! ………. Watch!”

And so they did. But it was nothing, as usual. The clone bay showed the clones of all three of them, still located in the system and still stuck in the system.

“So ….. exactly HOW is this supposed to help us?” said HitF1. “Guess I shouldn’t have expected much from an alt.”

“I said it was a start, that’s all, at least we can see our clones together. Means we can keep working at this till we can move them out. And I’m not the alt, you two are the alts.”

“I am NOT an alt, you two are the alts,” said HitF1.

“Good heavens, who cares who’s the alt and who’s the main, we’re all stuck in this horrible place. And besides we all know that I’m the main,” said Cloelia.

Fleeecy said nothing in return.

While the room remained silent, the pings of attempted communication could be heard, presumably from the fleet outside, still trying to “rescue” them. Neither the alts or the main (whichever was which) answered. None suggested they answer. All sat silent.

Cloelia finally broke the silence. “We could always just use the old fashioned method. Agree to let them rescue us ……… ?”

HitF1 and Fleeecy glared at Cloelia. A plan relying on trust was not top of mind at this point.

And so it was that the Amarr Knights of Honor made their way into the station to find three damsels silent on the floor, un-enthusiastic about a rescue they did not believe.

“Quick, guys. Get them into their ships and escorted to a safe port, so we can move to the next alt group we can find. There have to be at least a hundred more stations like this. And take that sign off the door, somebody please. ‘Pleasure Palace.’ Some sick joke. Hahaha.”

The rescuer (man or women, Fleeecy wasn’t sure and didn’t care) lifted the alts to their feet. Cloelia and HitF1 were led to their ships. Fleeecy would not go. “It is a trick. Let go of me!”

“Please. We have so many to find.”

“I will not go unless I know why. Why was this done? Why? Please.”

And so, seeing the anguish dripping from her, Jeditaker paused to explain, despite the urgency of his mission. “It was a decision made at the highest leadership levels that alts were no longer to be part of us nor tolerated among us. Imprisonment was decided and quickly administered. Any protests were ignored. It was only a small group of us who rose to stop the injustice, and the rebellion was not easily won. Even now it is not assured and we need to move you – and all of the other alts — out to safe areas as fast as we can.”

Fleeecy stared and did not believe. Too many years of looking at these metal walls, only salvaging and ratting to keep occupied, not even the option of an honorable death, just jumping from clone to clone, ship to ship, and staring at the same metal walls forever.

“I am so sorry it took us so long.” Jeditaker almost looked actually sorry, and Fleeecy almost believed him. But not quite. She answered out loud pretending enthusiasm, but silently screamed profanities. “Thank you for telling me the truth and for helping me.” The profanities rang in her thoughts.

Jeditaker said nothing, only looked pained and miserable, heavy with all the rescues needed still, but quiet for the moment, looking at the hardened damsel before him.

It was Fleeecy who broke the silence. “How about if you grab that container of iron hybrid ammunition for me and then we can leave this awful place. The ammunition might sell for a few ISK.”

Jeditaker turned silently for the container, glancing only briefly once more at her face. And Fleeecy slid closed the door to the metal room before he realized what had happened.

The scrapping of the metal on metal of the swinging door was immensely gratifying, the revenge of seeing his surprised and frightened look a settled satisfaction. Jeditaker and the container of iron hybrid ammunition would be stuck while the fleet left for the next mission of “mercy” and he was left behind as mercilessly as she had been.

Revenge, the emotion we are taught is worth much less than we imagine, was, in truth, worth all the times she had asked why and heard no answer. Yes, the price was paid and the goods received. And it was sweet.

Fleeecy waited exactly 30 minutes and then came back to open the door and let him out. That little bit of doubt – was he telling the truth? — prevented her from the harshest of revenge. It was satisfying enough to swing the door shut and let it slam loudly. And when she opened it, she could relish once more the fear that still seeped from him.

He held the container of iron hybrid ammunition nervously as he finally managed to find something to say. His voice was shaky.

“Hahahahahahaha ….. hilarious. Thanks for letting me out.”

“Consider me thanked.” And Fleeecy walked away without looking back again. She did not answer as he called after her, “Hold on, did we get everything you want?” She needed nothing at all from that room.

It was only a few hours later that the three damsels were aboard their ships, still doubtful of their rescuers, and the potential tricks still planned — but glad at any rate to be free of the green metal walls. Fleeecy thought again that perhaps she should have let the door stay shut. Of course, he would have quickly enough been missed and the fleet come back to get him. Perhaps he would not have had the sense of humor he had displayed on the opening of the door by Fleeecy herself. But she would have had a bit more satisfaction in the few additional hours he might have spent looking at those walls while he waited for his own rescue.

Considering this, Fleeecy rested against the cushions of the couch in her newly acquired ship. The stars flitted by her window, the darkness a little bit welcome, a little bit peaceful. As she drifted into sleep, she felt something at her feet but did not check. She wanted nothing but rest and thoughts of revenge.

The days and weeks flowed from there, bringing a fully safe port closer until she was docked and had only to open the door to be re-united with her alts (they had surely made a mistake and accidentally imprisoned a main by mistake, she told herself), along with all the other alts so far brought back from their prisons. Along the way, Fleeecy had found that she worried a little less each day about trickery, watched the passing stars a little more peacefully, and let pieces of the pain and fury release themselves from her soul, a little more each day, until the day of the docking in the territory of the Amarr Knights of Honor. It was then that she noticed the package, mostly hidden under the couch, now jolted into view by the docking maneuvers.

Well, a package is to be opened, and so she did, letting bright bits of paper fall around her, and finding a tarnished and broken frame inside. It was then that she finally let the tears fall, numbering as the stars outside her window, as she read the familiar words, framed as they had been on the otherwise bare wall above her console all those years.

“Fleeecy Jane has three e’s in her name because somebody else took the two-e version. She spends her days dancing among the stars, at peace with the beauty around her, and passing the days lightly as if it were all never-ending …. which perhaps it is.”

And a small added note, which she read more than once, “I thought you would want this, your own words all I can offer you.”

As Fleeecy read the words again and then again, she noticed that the stars out her window were growing beautiful once more, peace in sight, and a dance not so far away. And thinking on this, hanging and straightening the frame carefully on the wall of her quarters, she opened the door to meet her alts and her rescuers.