The Three

Author: Lite Sabre

Original post: The Three part 1, The Three part 2

Entry for the YC117 Pod and Planet Fiction Contest in the A Day in the Life category.

The Three Part 1

We are Three

We are three, yet we are alone.

The Universe of Eve, more than 7000 systems linked by a network of star gates.

The Universe of Eve, home to great empires and the near immortal Empyrean pilots, yet we are still alone.

It is no surprise then, that we chose an uninteresting, relatively empty system to make our home. The single unassuming golden star is home to no permanent orbital trade hubs. It is seldom visited and that is how we like it.

Around the seventh moon of a dead barren planet orbits our tiny, innocent looking solar ice compression facility. Except for the slight pulse of the blue shielding through the darkness of space it would almost look abandoned.

‘Father, how did we get here?’

I look to my right at the young woman. Like me her skin is blue, she has no hair and her impossibly white eyes catch my attention. Her face bares our hall mark pattern of tattoos, we like to call them our face-plates. She smiles gently in my direction.

‘Do tell, please!’ exclaims another young woman on my left. Slightly older than her sister and unmistakeably one of the lost. The tattoos on her face are slightly different than those of her sister. Her eyes seem to gleam a bright white, endearing a response.

‘How many times must I tell you? I am not your father’ I reply slowly, but gently.

‘Come on old man! Tell us, how did we get here?’ responds the younger sister, eagerly clasping her hands on the silent control table that sits before us.

I shiver with the stirrings of the memory. The room is warm and although small is a comfortable relaxing area. Even so, I feel the growing dread as I recall the pain, the violence, life, flight and the death.

Pain

I almost cry out as I remember the sudden sharp agony and blinding bright light as I awoke for the first time in my cryo-tube. The memories seem so distant and many seem to have slipped away completely.

My life started as a young Amarrian shuttle pilot, sandy hair and skin with a youthful full face complete with broad nose.

I was so lucky, assigned to the grand golden Amarr Warship Fearless. The AWS Fearless, so powerful and proud. An Armageddon class battleship with a long and noble career upholding the virtues of the Amarr Empire. Like me, the vessel was swift and agile. Unlike my small shuttle she had teeth that could rip through the shields, armour and hull of those who dared cross her.

My mind returns to the present as I reach hesitantly for the Jovian Sunspot. I love that drink, pale blue Caldari iced water with a small golden globe of Amarrian spice floating at the heart of the liquid.

I glance at my two companions whose white eyes look on expectantly. Their face-plates almost seem to glow, reflecting the lights of the soft pulsing control panels that line the walls of the small crew quarters.

More settled I focus once more on my story. I recall the loss. Why did they come? At first it was easy. Large, cumbersome probes called Seekers, scanning everything in their path. Their search patterns random yet foreboding. What are they looking for, what is their purpose? How dare they enter Amarrian space, encroaching unwelcomed on our sphere of influence.

It was easy at first to pick them off. They didn’t even return fire, just trying to escape. A good warp scramble lock was enough to prevent this and our weapons would rapidly reduce them to the melted metal that they so deserved. Over time they seemed to adapt, returning an inadequate fire that was easily absorbed by the shielding of the mighty Fearless.

Then, the structures slowly appeared. Alien in nature, lurking within our systems. Their technology immediately identifiable as that of the Jove.

I reach for a quick sip of my Jovian Sunspot, named after the lost Jovian Empire. No one has seen a Jove for some time, yet when I look in the mirror now I see an image oddly not dissimilar to that missing race. Far more technologically advanced than the other races that occupy Eve, it is they who created the devices that gave birth to the immortal Empyrean pilot. Combining cryo-stasis, cloning technology and enhanced communication techniques it was they who gave the gift of the Empyrean capsuleer pilot.

Tall, thin, no hair and blue. Sounds familiar I think as I return my Sunspot to the control table before me. However, importantly they lack the face-plate. We are mere shadows of the glory that has gone before us, but one day maybe their might shall return to the dark universe that they left behind.

Violence

Ordered to approach the structures, advanced technology at stake the AWS Fearless drew near.

The structures are huge, tall pillars of metal. Their purpose to seemingly observe in secret the lesser races of humanity. They tower formidably before us as the golden form of the Fearless draws near.

Then the Drifters. Unlike the probes these are sleek, rapid, devastating with their fire power.

There was no warning. Two of the advanced battleships warped instantly onto the grid.

Fearless by name, fearless by nature our vessel turned toward them. Gun ports being brought to bear, shields activating and warning sirens blazing. Without thought we rushed to our combat stations.

Being a lowly, yet Amarr proud shuttle pilot my secondary function is shield technician. I help maintain and manage the shields that protect the small supply bay. The hold is full of technical supplies required to keep the Fearless on station. It is many ways the heart of the great ship, but is also its weakest spot. A well placed laser thrust could easily penetrate and result in a chain reaction as the technical supplies are ripped apart within the belly of the mighty Amarrian war beast.

The intruders are powerful. The Fearless shudders as her shields struggle to repel the thrusts of unknown enemy weaponry.

It’s strange, fighting an enemy when you can’t see them. Now on station all I can see are the madly flashing shield sensors that report the local impact of the enemy volleys. I’ve never felt the Fearless buckle like this before. The enemy firepower is truly incredible.

Yet, the Fearless remains, holding solid on grid. Upholding the honour of Empire and Empress the mighty golden warship surges towards her powerful foe. We can sense the vibrations as her own great weapons return fire.

Cheers erupt as we expect the normal silence to follow, the enemy sliced apart, blasted remains floating dormant in the dead of space. All sense of victory is rapidly tattered as even stronger incoming fire tears the shields apart, as though knife through paper!

The shield sensors and command panels themselves explode. Fires rage, given extra life by the rich oxygen atmosphere.

Secondary armour plating manage somehow to withstand the onrush of violence. Amarr engineering at its best, but that is the last thing on my mind as I rush through the devastated storage hold to the emergency jettison station. Last resort protocols in place to eject all stores from the cargo hold in the unlikely case of penetration of enemy fire. That includes the shuttles used to ferry duty crew between ship and station.

Desperately I climb aboard the small Amarr shuttle, choking on the quickly spreading smoke. Reaching for the automatic launch controls I plan to auto-jettison the fragile vessel and return to my combat duties in the chaotic cargo hold.

A devastating explosion, a thunderous sound and then darkness.

The Three Part 2

Life - Part 1

Sharp agony, blinding light as the cryo-tube opens, spitting its human content and pale blue cryo-waters upon the metal flooring of a medical facility.

I crawl disoriented, slipping amidst the blue mess that gradually spreads through the empty room. Empty, except for the medical bays that line the wall and additional cryo-bays that stand ominously empty.

As I slip and slide, near naked on the floor my mind lurches back to the present.

Reaching for the nearby Jovian Sunspot, emptying its contents in one gulp I speak hesitantly ‘Like a Jovian Sunspot, an Amarr spice amidst the blue ice Caldari waters’. My nerves relaxed by the consumed fluid, I return to the story.

Somehow, I gain my footing, examining my outstretched arms, apparently stained blue by the cryo-fluid that spans the floor. I totter to a nearby mirror, expecting burns and scars from the fall of the Fearless. What greets me is at first too shocking to comprehend. It isn’t the blue skin, the white eyes or even the face-plating that upsets me, it is my missing golden hair.

I speak slowly, spluttering angrily ‘Where is my hair?!’

The door nearby is locked and I scan the control panels for the portal or communication controls. From the corner of my new white eyes I glimpse a sudden pulsing light reflected in the mirror. For a short moment I see my tattoos glowing.

The interface. At first a sharp pain above my right eye and then an impossibly rapid set of images.

The data! Much of it lost now, but some images I still recall. The Amarr Research Vessel Significance mission logs! I see it now and for a short span of time I seem to understand it all, but as just as suddenly the realisation is gone.

The images hurtle across my fragile mind: Seven great ancient motherships crossing through the Eve gate. Almost the last to cross before the gate catastrophically closes behind them.

Seven huge motherships, cumbersome and slow. Lacking warp capable engines it takes them 30 years to reach the worlds they will call home. Most of the passengers, the Jove asleep in crude cryo-stasis tubes, their minds living in a simple virtual world known as the construct. The construct and their sleep tubes maintained by the Architects.

These are the first of the Jove. They survive civil war after the Eve Gate smashed closed isolating all from their ancient home, Earth. Rapid images flow, Jove science perfected in alternative realities within the construct. Their constant drive for perfection resulting in cloning technologies, reproducing yet sterile. The Jove disease, the side product of their tampering. Their emergence from isolation to help unite the young empires of Eve in the Concord Accords. The short Amarr Jove war revealing the true strength of the Jove. The creation of the immortal Empyrean pilots, known more commonly as capsuleers. Then again rapid collapse, return of the disease, flight of the Architects. Carolines star exploding a mysterious green glow amidst the countless stars of Eve. The Jove gates collapsing in cascade failure. Jove seeking sanctuary in their sleeper modules, hidden deep and seemingly safe within wormhole space.

Life - Part 2

The images accelerate as though trying to hide the truth. The Other and the Empress! Princess Jamyl assassination and subsequent cloned reanimating using recovered Jove technology. Her mind, partly occupied and sometimes dominated by the Other!

Compared to the Other we are mere empty shells. He is the true enemy. Was it is his influence that tore apart ancient Terran relics causing the Seyllin disaster as their cargo of Isogen-5 exploded wiping out entire star systems, ripping open the very fabric of space, creating random wormholes that just happen to lead to the hidden homes of the sleeper communities, Jove held in suspended animation for the day that the Jove disease is defeated.

Like any good capsuleer set upon adventure and exploration it was not long before the Empyreans stumbled upon those same sleep communities. Unknowingly the subsequent looting of these apparent forgotten caches of advanced technology awakens the vengeance of the Jove.

Sleepers seeking the Other? The Other, born seemingly within the Construct itself and now set loose in the mind of an Empress to realise his ultimate goal. His efforts to dominate the Templars, the forerunners of the Dust Warriors. His efforts defeated, but at the loss of the ARV Significance and her gallant crew.

The last desperate efforts of the ARV Significant captain to transmit the mission logs, a warning of what is to come.

My mind wheeling, battered by this rapid series of images I stagger, almost falling as the medical bay doors slide effortlessly open. Two figures rush to my side wearing the expected white lab coats. An old man, with white hair and beard to match excitedly grabs my shoulder. A younger woman, beautiful with long golden hair also helps support me.

Stupidly all I can whisper is ‘Where is my hair?’

Guiding me toward the now open door, they talk more to each other than to me, their supposed patient.

‘It worked’ bubbles the man rapidly.

‘Can’t believe it!’ gasps the woman, excitement almost robbing her ability for speech.

‘Come on old man!’ she adds as she helps me along the station corridor.

Old man! Yes, I remember, I was young before, not blue, no white eyes and I had hair!

‘Where is my hair?’ I repeat idiotically.

‘Sorry, old man. That’s what happens when the DNA strands mix’ she answers quickly.

‘Enough!’ commands an unseen voice behind me. There is a third person, a man I cannot see. Heavy purposeful steps behind me. It is now that my enhanced senses first make themselves known. I’m in a station adrift in space, there is no background pulse in the decking plates that would otherwise indicate powered flight. The man behind me, a slight clicking as the holster of a hand blaster taps against his military trousers.

I can sense all this, amazing. Even so, in this mere mortal form I am weak, supported by two and followed by one.

Ahead I see the small frigate, an Impairor. Slightly larger than a shuttle, fast, nimble, but weak. Often referred to as a rookie ship, a trainer, suited only for the most basic of interstellar exploration. Like all Amarr ships it is gold, even this small vessel expressing the strength and power of the Amarr Empire.

‘Really you shouldn’t be awake yet’ whispers the woman.

‘Don’t worry, once the memory implants kick in you’ll remember your training’ explains the elderly bearded man, who even though fragile at this time is far stronger than my mere mortal form. His steadying hand on my shoulder guides me towards the awaiting vessel. ‘Your clone is installed in the medical bay of Kew III. If by some unfortunate circumstance you get hit by pirates then your backup clone will instantly animate complete with your memories and a new backup clone will be generated in its place. That of course assumes that your evacuation pod fails to speed you to the safety of the station of your choice’ explains the elderly man, as though repeating a training manual.

I’m an Empyrean! A capsuleer! That explains the pain along my back as a result of the spinal docking clamps that connect me to the automated systems of the pod, the fully automated command centre for any ship that encases it. All this a result of combining Jove technologies, but why do I resemble as Jove and why doesn’t anyone seem to care?

Instead of asking the most pertinent of questions I find myself uselessly repeating the question ‘Where is my hair?’ as the effortlessly lift me into the egg shaped pod that now resides within the Impairor scout ship.

The spinal links snap painfully into place, the pod starts to close, my mind prepares to interface directly with the ships automated systems as my memory implants start to rapidly impart the knowledge necessary to control my new ship.

‘That’s what happens when DNA strands mix’. That phrase dominates the multitude of command signals that fire through my enhanced synapses.

Flight – Part 1

A capsuleer, the ultimate life form, their life renewed afresh in the body of a clone in the event of untimely destruction. Able to communicate via a direct neural link with the ships control equipment, I explore my new environment.

A visual display dominates, with a heads up display at the bottom listing shield, armour and hull strength. Weapons, defences and auxiliary systems all accessible with a mere thought.

It is this direct interface that makes capsuleer piloted vessels far superior to the manually operated vessels such as the once proud Fearless.

Having flown a shuttle before, I am not unaccustomed to direct control systems, but this neural interface takes control to a whole new level. Sensors monitor other vessels in system listing their identities and any local communication chatter from the myriad of Empyreans who constantly explore the universe of Eve.

A separate system tracks targets within relatively close proximity, indicating whether they are hostile or friendly. If only the Fearless had such a system and pilot, maybe her fate would have been different?

Then a painful jolt, my face plates burn as my mind accesses sensitive research material via the mainframe. For a moment I witness an even more advanced control system. A system entirely surrounding the capsuleer. A system designed for small vessels, so rapid in its response that most weapons will be unable to lock.

A single phrase ‘Valkyrie’ and then the connection is severed as automated firewalls fall into place.

As a shuttle pilot I have never ventured beyond the proximity of supply station and mothership. Now I am free! The stars hurtle by as my small vessel moves rapidly toward one of the huge star gates that interconnect the systems of Eve. The star gate is huge, a sign of Imperial power.

Who invented these manmade wormholes remains a mystery. I try to interface directly with the wormhole command systems, but my face plates remain cold. I must learn to control this unique power.

My thoughts do not linger, for wonder is renewed as my vessel enters warp for the first time. The velocity so fast that the stars themselves blur to a tumbling crescendo of light as my ship hurtles to the next system. I have warped before, but only within the confines of the once mighty Fearless. Now at first hand the sight of light bent beyond all physical laws is truly astonishing. Then suddenly, the arrival. Vessel jerking to a halt, its hull now projected beyond the destination gate in a new system. The latent energy temporarily affords me a cloak as light continues to bend around me.

Although these high sector systems are well defended by the ships of the Empire danger can still lurk. With eternal life, some Empyreans show absolutely no fear, choosing the way of the pirate. They launch suicidal attacks, aiming to inflict a major victory before being hunted down by powerful Concord security vessels.

Their escape pod returning to the nearest space station or even awakening afresh within their new clone they will then rush back in a newly registered, innocent looking vessel to loot the remains of their victim and indeed their own wreckage.

I quickly scan the local grid display for signs of danger and for a moment I sense the presence of a covert ship. Fearing the worst, new to my immortal life, I still fear destruction. Quickly I align to Tew III and power the warp for final approach. As soon as my vessel moves its cloak drops and for an instant I am vulnerable. A deep intake of breath as my ship, unmolested enters final warp to my new home. Tew III is a huge permanent trade hub under the direct control of the Amarr Empire, its structure rich in gold as is common amongst all stations held under the sway of the Amarr military. It holds countless docking bays, one for each Empyrean while others have dedicated functions serving the thousands of mortals who also make this station home. It houses direct links to the interstellar markets, repair bays as well as research and development facilities.

The weeks that follow are more lonely than I have ever experienced. Shut away in my private crew quarters at Tew III I only interact remotely with the Corporation agents who offer missions befitting a newly graduated Empyrean. Rapidly I learn the skills necessary to pilot more advanced craft, my favourite being the Catalyst.

It is far more powerful than my original scout ship, a destroyer shaped like a single wing, able to deliver significant damage, designed for close quarters combat. It’s a foreign vessel, Gallente in design, yet for some reason nationality now seems to serve little purpose. The days when I cheered the Amarr cause are well gone. Maybe it is the knowledge gained from the ARV Significance mission logs that have bought my devotion into question, or more likely the strange transformation into some form of hybrid-Jove cross breed.

Flight – Part 2

This new life is strange, I am immortal, my powers growing, yet I am alone, shut within my crews quarters, the doors to the main station barred separating immortal from mortal, separating me from any last connections I may have to my old world.

Incoming message scrolling across my communication panels. An unknown agent name ‘Ascendant’. Unusual, Agents normally list their offers and rely upon the capsuleer to make their selection. My feeble blue fingers press the receipt button. Safe within my captain quarters I rely on manual operations, freed for a time from my automated pod control system. It’s a rare period of rest when one can in a small way experience the old feelings of mortal life.

The screen is illuminated by a familiar face, the women from the clone laboratory. Her beautiful face etched with concern, glancing furtively over her shoulder at a younger woman who in turn seems to constantly watch for approaching danger.

Quickly Ascendant speaks ‘Warlock! Finally, it’s you! They know, they know about your interface with the Significance mission logs. They’re coming Warlock!’

‘Who? Do they have my hair?’

‘This isn’t funny, they’re dangerous! Get out of there, get out while you still can!’

Ascendant seemingly reaches for the viewer controls as a sudden metallic clanging dominates audio. The viewer image starts to break up in a series of short and prolonged screen blackouts and finally dies completely.

Quickly I put plans into motion. Commands are sent to sell all items I can and reprocess those I can’t. My trusty Catalyst is fuelled and armed, its small cargo hold brimming with the few items I choose to take with me.

My flight is planned, first Shedoo then on to Finanar, try to get as much distance between myself and the Amarr covert operations team who must even now be on their way. In a way it’s exciting, moving on, exploring the many realms of Eve.

The exit to the pod, which is safely installed within my Catalyst is fully automated and rapid in nature. The escape route is plotted and the navigation systems are fully online. I even have an auto undocking bookmark set, which allows my vessel to escape safely from the massive station that for a short period I called home.

The escape is simple and uneventful, except for the slight tell-tail markings on the local grid that for an instance reveal the Amarr covert operations vessel that seems to shadow my every move. Aligning rapidly to the route of gates that will hopefully lead me to safety my trusty Catalyst punches its way into warp.

A series of repetitive jumps later, each shadowed by the Amarr vessel which now seems to have abandoned all efforts to hide itself I have the Shedoo gate on the grid. It’s then that I see them. My first view was fleeting on a scanner aboard the ill-fated Fearless just prior to combat with the Drifters. There are three of them and the Drifter ships move, seemingly to block my way.

Flight – Part 3

My face-plate pulses hot as for a brief moment they try to directly interface. For a fleeting moment my mind prepares for the answer, their reason for being. Then a great pain as the covert operations vessel breaks cloak and quickly opens fire on my stationary vessel. My reflexes are quick, heightened by the recent intensive mental training. The agile ship lurches to one side as the lasers flash past the left flank of my Gallente war machine.

The Drifters respond, turning their weapons toward the Amarr aggressor. Quickly I align with the nearest station aiming to dock up and take my chances within the safety of the local trade hub. This manoeuvre only serves to bring the battle to the very gates of the station where I seek shelter.

Amarr and Concord forces scramble to meet the sudden and unexpected Drifter incursion. Random Empyrean pilots take evasive action as the Drifters open up on anything that moves. It’s chaos, utter chaos! Ships burning as poorly protected merchant vessels are blasted, their shields and armour unable to provide adequate protection against such indiscriminate firepower.

One of the Drifters is aflame, smouldering in space as capsuleers, now crewing their own warships add their weight to the firepower now arrayed against the mysterious battleships.

Through the chaos I see two Caldari heron scout ships quickly making their escape from the growing mayhem of battle. My ship is suddenly hit, not by the drifters but instead from the covert operations vessel that has dogged my every step. Even as a Drifter blasts it out of existence the Amarr warship fires one last volley in my direction, intent on my destruction even as the ship is vapourised. My shields are entirely gone, my armour buckled, but the stout little ship aligns and once more enters warp in pursuit of the two herons that are also intent on escape. The star gate is completely undefended, the position abandoned by the patrol ships that even now battle the Drifters at the heart of the system. Local communication chatter has gone crazy as other Empyreans enter the system, their aim to destroy this new menace.

Awaiting me, two heron scout ships. Their design in unusual, their H-shaped hull equipped with sensor equipment. Their non-aggressive posture spurs me to open ship to ship communications. They too are Empyrean pilots on a scouting mission in search of Ice belts. Both are Caldari and seem happy to escort me to Finanar and safety.

Flanked by two new Caldari friends our journey is uneventful, like an Amarr spice surrounded by Caldari iced waters.

Sweating I turn my attention to my attentive companions, noticing that their face-plates are reflecting even more light from the system sensors. It must be the automated ice compression system monitors coming online, generating radiant light on the sensor panels that circle the crew quarters, reflecting from the odd grey metal plating that forms our tattoos.

I could do with another Jovian Sunspot, but my glass is empty so I continue, my heart sinking as I recall the Death.

Death – Part 1

There’s nothing quite like Ice! It hovers in great chunks deep within space, beautifully reflecting the distant sunlight. Ice, one of the two critical components to the manufacture of fuel blocks which power the many space stations that dot the systems of Eve. Ice, the scene of countless battles as Empyrean Corporations battle relentlessly over this valuable resource.

It has a strange soothing effect as my shield tanked Procurer ship bores its way through the fragile surface of the Ice, seeking the valuable resources hidden within. It can be a slow process, a time to relax and survey the many news channels that monitor the ever changing political situation in Eve.

Eve 24, Scope and the Mittani to name but three. A valuable source of information, all fixated by the growing aggression of the Drifter menace and the war that even now erupts with the Amarr Empire. The Empress is often in the news, as she rallies her people against the growing threat. The other empires and Corporations stand idly by as the might of the Amish war machine is thrown against the most powerful of foes.

Loyal Empyrean forces rally to hold the thin golden line against the darkness that the Drifters seem to represent. My mind focuses on a recent newscast ‘Empress Jamyl to commission the new Imperial Navy Flagship Auctoritas in the Safizon system.’

There’s an old Terran proverb that goes something like ‘Loose lips, sink ships’. It’s odd that certain phrases should survive the collapse of the Eve gate and the long dark centuries that followed. I quickly focus on my grid scanner.

Danger lurks throughout Eve, one is never truly safe, except of course that we are Immortal. Some say that the Ice is cursed, that it draws away the mind of the immortal. Are you still immortal without a mind? There must be some truth in the story for even now I can feel my mind beginning to drift.

Some have a code of conduct, they are marauders, ever seeking out those whose minds have been totally lost to the Ice and its riches that surround them. They hunt in packs, ‘suicide ganking’ those who fail to follow their code of conduct.

To ‘suicide gank’ – a strategy where multiple attackers in cheap disposable vessels capable of inflicting high damage over a short period target a single victim. The aim to destroy the victim before Concord security forces destroy the aggressor vessels. Upon destruction of their ships the ‘gankers’ return to loot the area, including sometimes their own remains.

Again, my mind drifts as I take in the automated information provided by the Evelopedia function.

‘Evelopedia’ – a collection of all lore relating to operations and knowledge within the Eve…..

Annoyed, I mentally turn off the Evelopedia feature and again consider the Empress. The report names the location, time and even the name of the ship she will be flying during the commissioning of the Flagship Auctoritas! Loose lips sink ships, the Amarr security forces have surely never heard of such a phrase.

Then suddenly, three red signals enter the local grid. Three catalysts, these code followers intent on seeking out the weak! So much danger. My mind not totally lost to the ice I quickly set my emergency protocols in motion. I’m fortunate, I fly a heavily shielded Procurer miner, am aligned to the station and slowly drifting in that direction. This allows me to rapidly enter warp, but to my left a Covetor, a less well protected mining vessel succumbs to the rapid firing blasters of the attacking Catalysts.

As my ship leaves the carnage behind, the horrible truth dawns. The Empress, loose lips sink ships, the Other, the Drifters, the danger! I must warn her, but the Amarr have disavowed me, they will surely refuse any attempt at communication. There is only one course of action open, I must travel with all haste to the Safizon system.

It seemed hopeless. One capsuleer and his small ship trying to prevent a cataclysm. There is one faint chance. I look like a Jove, I can fly a Jove Battlecruiser called the Gnosis. It’s expensive, one of few reminders of the power of the Jove, but really a pale shadow of the glory and strength of the Jove Imperial Navy.

They may listen to a representative of a seemingly dead race. It is time to put my blue skinned, pale eyed, aged and balding features to good use! Backed up by a fully fitted Gnosis warship I may be able to convince Amarr security of the danger facing the Imperial visit. Funding such an extravagant purchase pushes my finances to the limit. There is little time to optimise the purchase of the essential equipment to allow it safe travel through the trade routes of Eve. It is not unknown for ‘Gankers’ to target such expensive vessels, but time is pressing, I must warn the Empress of the danger that awaits her.

Death – Part 2

The gates flash by as the sleek, frail, yet surprisingly strong Gnosis powers its way through the high sector systems. Why does the Safizon system seem so distant? Why does time seem to pass so quickly? The space lanes are oddly quiet of fellow Empyreans. Then finally my grand vessel makes its entrance into the Safizon system, its pale blue pilot intent on a gallant, if somewhat rash course of action. I’m truly amazed, I am far from alone. Hundreds upon hundreds of fellow Empyreans, Amarr loyalists one and all have made the same connection. They are gathered bravely around the hulk of the Auctoritas ready to throw themselves into the fray against whatever the Drifters throw at them. There are ships of all categories, many with remote repair systems ready to sacrifice their own ships energy to reinforce the shields of Empress Jamyls personal Avatar-class Titan TES Seraph.

All stand ready to pay the ultimate sacrifice in defense of an Empress none of them have ever met, yet whom all of them respect above all else.

The tension mounts, scout ships report all is quiet at the gates, no jump bridges have been detected. Local communications are oddly quiet, ominously so. Many Empyreans have no doubt formed mighty fleets and are thus able to communicate via secure channels, directing fleet members to designated defensive positions.

All eyes carefully watch the grid sensors, alert for cloaked vessels. The elite have gathered, intent upon the destruction of any Drifter that dares ‘drift’ its way into this system.

Suddenly jump points open, approximately 150km from the station and the waiting Flagship and welcoming fleet of Empyreans. Gun ports open, weapon systems and defensive systems go on line as the waiting rag tag, yet mighty fleet expects a full scale Drifter assault. Amazement follows as it dawns on those present that it is the Amarr fleet that has warped in, for some reason out of range of station security forces and the Empyreans reinforcements that so gallantly stand ready to do battle.

The TES Seraph stands out amongst its bodyguard of Amish war cruisers, which are dwarfed by its mighty hull. Why warp to that location, in a ship that clearly announces ‘shoot me, Empress inside?’

Even before the fleet of Drifters de-cloak Empyrean vessels surge forward, knowing full well the risk that the Empress has so willingly placed herself. Desperately fast cruisers with remote shield and armour repairs rush towards the stationary Empress intent on her salvation.

The end is stunningly quick. The concentrated fire power of 100 Drifters blast her Titan into oblivion. In a single combined volley they annihilate one of the mightiest ships to ever cruise the space-ways of Eve and with it the life of the much loved Empress.

Even with all hope gone desperate measures are taken to try and rescue her capsule and then when that detonates her lifeless corpse. All is for naught as the mysterious Drifters merely use tractor beams to ensnare her corpse before exiting before any effective defensive fire can be targeted.

There is stunned disbelief at the sudden and senseless death of an Empress. As the fleet breaks up and disperses I dejectedly retrace my route. My mind is tired, I despair, purpose seemingly stripped from my immortal life.

The Other, is he destroyed? Unlikely, possibly thrown back into the Construct from whence he originated. The Drifters still remain, why grab the lifeless bodies of their victims, why such open aggression?

Seekers

Where is my hair? I smile at this thought and then suddenly I remember Ascendant and her warning. It is seemingly easy now to access secure Amarr research files, maybe the almost complete shut-down of my cortex functions eases the interface process? My face plate glows and warms as my mind penetrates the many fire walls that bar my route.

Project Warlock – The attempt to merge Jove DNA with an Amarrian sole survivor of first contact with Drifter forces by the AWS Fearless. Subject Warlock aged prematurely, but gained apparent ability to interface directly with computer systems. Subject to be terminated due to gaining unrestricted access to ARV Significance mission logs. Project status inactive, subject disavowed after the Shedoo incident. Shedoo incident – Subject Warlock observed attempting to communicate with Drifter forces. Subject disavowed and all subsequent pursuit halted after numerous Amarrian Imperial Warships were lost in the resultant engagement with Drifter forces.

Project Ascendant – Second attempt to merge Jove DNA with subject Ascendant, former research scientist assigned to Tew III research facility. Subjects’ younger sister Centuria appears more susceptible to Jove grafting technology. Project status active, final results pending.

Just as quickly the interface is disrupted, I sense immediately that some third party has physically terminated the communication path to the research archives whose contents I have only briefly accessed.

It is all too brief, for there was no indication of the location of the Project Ascendant research facility. It is highly doubtful that they would continue operations at the original cloning facility, especially as they know of my mysterious ability to interface, at the most random of times, directly with mainframe hardware.

I recall the last desperate transmission from the brave Ascendant whose intervention no doubt saved my life. If only the communications had not been terminated so suddenly. It’s odd that the visual communication channel with Ascendant was able to remain open so long, when my advanced interface technique can be severed so quickly.

Quickly I play back the message from Ascendant and that must be her brave younger sister Centuria in the background? Then I notice something that completely escaped me at the time. It wasn’t interference from external agencies trying to sever our communications. It was Ascendant herself, reaching forward and manually turning the visual communications on and off!

Why? Then sudden dawning, a message, a code, maybe a warning? Desperately I focus my mind, face plates warming slightly, just enough to determine the meaning. Coordinates, coordinates of the other research institution.

I am alone now, but with a new purpose. I am a seeker. I failed the Empress, but Ascendant and Centuria shall not suffer a similar fate. The navigation computer updates with the new coordinates. The route is not easy, it takes me through low and even null sectors, dangerous systems where only the brave or stupid dare travel. Casually I wonder if maybe I am both.

As the Gnosis turns on its new heading warp engines activating, a reminder of the mighty Jove Empire that once amazed Eve with its technological power my attention shifts finally back to my current surroundings.

My companions seem transfixed and I notice suddenly that my face plate is cooling just as theirs are diming. Their eyes suddenly alive, excitedly focus suddenly realising that for the first time we have interfaced directly with each other. My story transferred not through speech, but via a direct neural interface.

I look at the control table before me, this entire story has taken but a mere 60 seconds to communicate.

Excitedly Ascendant leans forward saying ‘So, old man! Come on, tell us, how did you rescue us?’

Centuria folds her arms in front of her watching me cautiously.

I stand slowly, hands clasped firmly behind me as I walk stiffly to the window that overlooks the docking bay below. Several small transport vessels have just entered the bay, Sultanate and my Caldari friends delivering the next batch of ice to be compressed.

It is good to have such friends, especially friends willing to follow you into darkness, into fire and the dangers within. To the right of their loading bay, three large vessels rest at sleep, hidden by the shadow of the robotic loaders. Three Gnosis, elegant, sleek, expensive and rare. A reminder of a time when the Jove traded freely with the empires and Corporations of Eve. A time that one day may return, for there is still hope.

‘Please old man, do tell’ whispers Centuria.

I turn towards them smiling ‘That daughters is a tale for another day!’

‘We have work to do, friends to greet. They have come a long way and need our help.’

Then as I turn back to the window, watching as the automated compressors power up, I add ‘We are only three, but we are no longer alone.’