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Originally posted January 29th, 2006
"And Fate slaps me again" (Story #29)
Last night, the spike recovery operation led by SKV and ITAN forces was a declared sucess. The Spike was destroyed and... better yet, let me parse my comm logs for you so you can see for yourself:
[Sat Jan 28 20:33:05 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Broma-Ba Slick> My God. It looks like Mogul just killed his brother.
[Sat Jan 28 20:33:37 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> Itani are such a loving bunch
[Sat Jan 28 20:33:49 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Mogul Velaio> Didn;'t he have an escape pod?!?!
[Sat Jan 28 20:33:53 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Shadow Man> Lesgul Velaio, though you were subverted, we salute you as a hero of the Itani, as you pass into the void.
[Sat Jan 28 20:34:06 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Broma-Ba Slick> I can't find a pod on my scanner.
[Sat Jan 28 20:34:17 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Broma-Ba Slick> I think he's dead.
[Sat Jan 28 20:34:19 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> Any one know where I can file a complant for distruction of property
[Sat Jan 28 20:34:45 2006] 00ff00<Shadow Man> BORB SARKEN, this is your doing! prepare to die!
[Sat Jan 28 20:35:08 2006] 00ff00Borb Sarken starts singing where is the love
[Sat Jan 28 20:37:09 2006] 00ff00<Broma-Ba Slick> Mogul, what happened?
[Sat Jan 28 20:37:24 2006] 00ff00<Mogul Velaio> Lesgul was killed in a ship without escape pod.
[Sat Jan 28 20:37:28 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> That's why I never could find them
[Sat Jan 28 20:37:30 2006] 00ff00<Broma-Ba Slick> shit.
[Sat Jan 28 20:37:36 2006] 00ff00<Mogul Velaio> Seems he had been used on the Spike.
[Sat Jan 28 20:37:47 2006] 00ff00<Broma-Ba Slick> my condolences.
[Sat Jan 28 20:39:09 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> Mogul I hope your happy with your self, you've ended alot of reserch, and now sadly we will never be able to work out the forgeting the e-pod bug with the
[Sat Jan 28 20:39:12 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> clients
[Sat Jan 28 20:39:30 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> I told them to make a copy
[Sat Jan 28 20:39:34 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> Arogant fools
[Sat Jan 28 20:39:52 2006] 28b4f0[100]<_Ghost_> the spike was never meant for us
[Sat Jan 28 20:39:56 2006] 28b4f0[100]<_Ghost_> serco nor itani
[Sat Jan 28 20:39:56 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Broma-Ba Slick> Was the spike destoyed?
[Sat Jan 28 20:40:15 2006] 28b4f0[100]Borb Sarken sags in his seat as he thinks about the fall out this will incoure with high command
[Sat Jan 28 20:40:16 2006] 28b4f0[100]<_Ghost_> the Spike has been destroyed, as is best
[Sat Jan 28 20:40:37 2006] 28b4f0[100]<_Ghost_> in addition, a certain SCAR pilot has been captured by SKV
[Sat Jan 28 20:40:55 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> So that's how you knew
[Sat Jan 28 20:41:03 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Broma-Ba Slick> What is hte prisoner's identity?
[Sat Jan 28 20:41:10 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> That was another thing I told them no to do
[Sat Jan 28 20:41:13 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Mogul Velaio> ANN: Today, a sad point in itani history closes. The Neural Spike device has been destroyed.
[Sat Jan 28 20:41:21 2006] 28b4f0[100]<_Ghost_> Dr. Lecter is now being held by SKV
[Sat Jan 28 20:41:25 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> Entrust such things to some one like him
[Sat Jan 28 20:42:00 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Mogul Velaio> ANN: And while a prisonner of great value was taken, it came at a cost. Lesgul Velaio, dear brother, you will be remembered.
[Sat Jan 28 20:42:48 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Mogul Velaio> Now I depart. I'll return with an official announcement.
[Sat Jan 28 20:43:19 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> The Itani nation will never stand as long as it suports pirates and surpresses any and all types of freedom they do not aprove of
But... I have received some info. If it is speculation or not, I don't know. My mind was in shock from the Spike's destrcuction. I was just beginning to enjoy it too when I was told that it's still out there, possibly in SKV control. I just don't know anymore. I want to believe it is gone so badly... I really really wish it was gone...
And I hope it is. Despite efforts from my friends and wife to get my head out of it, I'm obsessed. the Spike is nothing but a tool for mental destruction. And, what's more, it can hurt people very close to me. So, let this be a warning. If I find out that someone still has the Spike, or more importantly, has it and sold it away instead of locking it up for good, I will hunt you to your grave.
"And Fate slaps me again" (Story #29)
Last night, the spike recovery operation led by SKV and ITAN forces was a declared sucess. The Spike was destroyed and... better yet, let me parse my comm logs for you so you can see for yourself:
[Sat Jan 28 20:33:05 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Broma-Ba Slick> My God. It looks like Mogul just killed his brother.
[Sat Jan 28 20:33:37 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> Itani are such a loving bunch
[Sat Jan 28 20:33:49 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Mogul Velaio> Didn;'t he have an escape pod?!?!
[Sat Jan 28 20:33:53 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Shadow Man> Lesgul Velaio, though you were subverted, we salute you as a hero of the Itani, as you pass into the void.
[Sat Jan 28 20:34:06 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Broma-Ba Slick> I can't find a pod on my scanner.
[Sat Jan 28 20:34:17 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Broma-Ba Slick> I think he's dead.
[Sat Jan 28 20:34:19 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> Any one know where I can file a complant for distruction of property
[Sat Jan 28 20:34:45 2006] 00ff00<Shadow Man> BORB SARKEN, this is your doing! prepare to die!
[Sat Jan 28 20:35:08 2006] 00ff00Borb Sarken starts singing where is the love
[Sat Jan 28 20:37:09 2006] 00ff00<Broma-Ba Slick> Mogul, what happened?
[Sat Jan 28 20:37:24 2006] 00ff00<Mogul Velaio> Lesgul was killed in a ship without escape pod.
[Sat Jan 28 20:37:28 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> That's why I never could find them
[Sat Jan 28 20:37:30 2006] 00ff00<Broma-Ba Slick> shit.
[Sat Jan 28 20:37:36 2006] 00ff00<Mogul Velaio> Seems he had been used on the Spike.
[Sat Jan 28 20:37:47 2006] 00ff00<Broma-Ba Slick> my condolences.
[Sat Jan 28 20:39:09 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> Mogul I hope your happy with your self, you've ended alot of reserch, and now sadly we will never be able to work out the forgeting the e-pod bug with the
[Sat Jan 28 20:39:12 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> clients
[Sat Jan 28 20:39:30 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> I told them to make a copy
[Sat Jan 28 20:39:34 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> Arogant fools
[Sat Jan 28 20:39:52 2006] 28b4f0[100]<_Ghost_> the spike was never meant for us
[Sat Jan 28 20:39:56 2006] 28b4f0[100]<_Ghost_> serco nor itani
[Sat Jan 28 20:39:56 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Broma-Ba Slick> Was the spike destoyed?
[Sat Jan 28 20:40:15 2006] 28b4f0[100]Borb Sarken sags in his seat as he thinks about the fall out this will incoure with high command
[Sat Jan 28 20:40:16 2006] 28b4f0[100]<_Ghost_> the Spike has been destroyed, as is best
[Sat Jan 28 20:40:37 2006] 28b4f0[100]<_Ghost_> in addition, a certain SCAR pilot has been captured by SKV
[Sat Jan 28 20:40:55 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> So that's how you knew
[Sat Jan 28 20:41:03 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Broma-Ba Slick> What is hte prisoner's identity?
[Sat Jan 28 20:41:10 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> That was another thing I told them no to do
[Sat Jan 28 20:41:13 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Mogul Velaio> ANN: Today, a sad point in itani history closes. The Neural Spike device has been destroyed.
[Sat Jan 28 20:41:21 2006] 28b4f0[100]<_Ghost_> Dr. Lecter is now being held by SKV
[Sat Jan 28 20:41:25 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> Entrust such things to some one like him
[Sat Jan 28 20:42:00 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Mogul Velaio> ANN: And while a prisonner of great value was taken, it came at a cost. Lesgul Velaio, dear brother, you will be remembered.
[Sat Jan 28 20:42:48 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Mogul Velaio> Now I depart. I'll return with an official announcement.
[Sat Jan 28 20:43:19 2006] 28b4f0[100]<Borb Sarken> The Itani nation will never stand as long as it suports pirates and surpresses any and all types of freedom they do not aprove of
But... I have received some info. If it is speculation or not, I don't know. My mind was in shock from the Spike's destrcuction. I was just beginning to enjoy it too when I was told that it's still out there, possibly in SKV control. I just don't know anymore. I want to believe it is gone so badly... I really really wish it was gone...
And I hope it is. Despite efforts from my friends and wife to get my head out of it, I'm obsessed. the Spike is nothing but a tool for mental destruction. And, what's more, it can hurt people very close to me. So, let this be a warning. If I find out that someone still has the Spike, or more importantly, has it and sold it away instead of locking it up for good, I will hunt you to your grave.
Originally posted February 13th, 2006
"Well, I said it would be dust..." (Story #30)
This is a week after the fact, but that's pretty much how long it took to sink in. Yes, the Spike is really gone. Like it said in the newspost, we acquired it from an SKV operative (name witheld) for the price of one hundred million credits. I had to trade my eyeballs out (again....), along with Miharu and Joyce. But get the money we did, a day ahead of schedule too. So, while everyone was away watching the GravBall Championship, the exchange was made.
The next day, we traveled to Helios and launched it into the star. As I has thought, the Void was just lying low until something like this happened. I got her out of there and back home. She made it through and is okay. Suffice to say, the Void is still out there, but won't be attacking anyone anytime soon. Well...
That brings me to another matter. On the night the Spike was supposedly destroyed by the Itani blockade of Latos, I was celebrating at the bar, happy that the damn thing was finally gone. Well, this was spoiled by LordofBlades. He said he had some info for me, so I headed out to meet him. I almost stopped dead in my tracks and fled when he told me the Akanese were after him. O.o; Well, he shook them off and came to an empty sector in Pelatus. There, he proceeded to tell me a tale....
After he was done, I felt, as was aptly put by Joyce, like I am "in one of those holovids filled with action and conspiracy". -.-; It had it all: a superweapon being constructed under everyone's noses, revealing the Akanese's true plot and some info on the Spikes (yes, plural). Thanks to him, I found out that the Spike wasn't destroyed that night. I also found out that the Spike on him was nowhere near as powerful, affecting a person in the same sector at most. Which brings me full circle to my comment on the Void....
Anyway, I drank myself piss drunk that night. What had been a great day quickly turned sour. At least Joyce and Miharu got a kick out of the IRCbot holovid records. And now, I have no choice but to help LordofBlades, though I still have my reservations about his "tales". If I help him, I might be able to get that damn thing out of his head and crush it too. I have to... for her. *sigh*
http://makchuga.tejat.net/uploads/NSIinfo.png
"Well, I said it would be dust..." (Story #30)
This is a week after the fact, but that's pretty much how long it took to sink in. Yes, the Spike is really gone. Like it said in the newspost, we acquired it from an SKV operative (name witheld) for the price of one hundred million credits. I had to trade my eyeballs out (again....), along with Miharu and Joyce. But get the money we did, a day ahead of schedule too. So, while everyone was away watching the GravBall Championship, the exchange was made.
The next day, we traveled to Helios and launched it into the star. As I has thought, the Void was just lying low until something like this happened. I got her out of there and back home. She made it through and is okay. Suffice to say, the Void is still out there, but won't be attacking anyone anytime soon. Well...
That brings me to another matter. On the night the Spike was supposedly destroyed by the Itani blockade of Latos, I was celebrating at the bar, happy that the damn thing was finally gone. Well, this was spoiled by LordofBlades. He said he had some info for me, so I headed out to meet him. I almost stopped dead in my tracks and fled when he told me the Akanese were after him. O.o; Well, he shook them off and came to an empty sector in Pelatus. There, he proceeded to tell me a tale....
After he was done, I felt, as was aptly put by Joyce, like I am "in one of those holovids filled with action and conspiracy". -.-; It had it all: a superweapon being constructed under everyone's noses, revealing the Akanese's true plot and some info on the Spikes (yes, plural). Thanks to him, I found out that the Spike wasn't destroyed that night. I also found out that the Spike on him was nowhere near as powerful, affecting a person in the same sector at most. Which brings me full circle to my comment on the Void....
Anyway, I drank myself piss drunk that night. What had been a great day quickly turned sour. At least Joyce and Miharu got a kick out of the IRCbot holovid records. And now, I have no choice but to help LordofBlades, though I still have my reservations about his "tales". If I help him, I might be able to get that damn thing out of his head and crush it too. I have to... for her. *sigh*
http://makchuga.tejat.net/uploads/NSIinfo.png
Originally posted February 14th, 2006
"Oh, how I hate Kanniks..." (Story #31)
So I headed out from the Pyronis Command station, orbiing high above the desert world of Copacati. I just wanted to do a little flying (certain activities seem to give me more energy, like Free-For-Alls in B-8, but that's not the point...) So, I was headed to the wormhole and what did I see but a Serco Convoy kannik collector bot. It was going AWAY from Pyronis. Finding this odd (though I should've known better. It's a Kannik for Akan's sake), I followed it. It was going the same way as me anyway.
So, there we were in Initros. It was going in lazy turns off in random directions. Then it started to hover around me, but didn't shoot. Now, I'm usually flying uner my Itani licensed callsign, Blue Streak (formerly MonkofAkan). The name is a whole other story, but suffice to say, it wasn't safe for me to fly around as Monk anymore. Okay, so when I usually see a Serco bot, it's coming at me with gun blazing. Granted, the accuracy and strength of the gun depended on the bot... So as it hovered in front of my cockpit, still doing lazy circles, I fought off the urge to shoot it on the spot. Instead, I came up with the plan to power down and sit there, hoping it'd go away.
Now, if I weren't so obsessed with the damn thing by now, I'd have just flown away and done some fighting in Sedina before coming back to Pyronis and my wife. But, of course I didn't...
The collector had passed outside of my view a few minutes before, so I thought it'd be safe to turn my systems back on. Lo and behold, the damn thing was still there, my radar indicated as soon as it came on. It was now just doing some lazy manuveurs behind me...
"THAT TEARS IT!"
Before I could come to my senses, I powered up my weapons and thrusters, flipping over and backing up as I ripped into the puny bot. It was destroyed... as was my Serco standing. They'd been watching me the whole time. I went from +256 to -1000. I was now Kill On Sight. Greeeeeeeat...
So, two days later (and over 550 bots later), I had finally killed enough of the Hive so that the Serco wouldn't send their seeker rones and Strike Force Vultures after me. Now, they just sneer at me. That's fine. I only wanted the damn standing for someone else anyway. Were it just for me, I would've smiled and mooned the Serco on my way out of Initros.
Lessons of the story: Make sure you know which sectors are guarded, Kanniks "are the devil" and big brudda is always watching.
"Oh, how I hate Kanniks..." (Story #31)
So I headed out from the Pyronis Command station, orbiing high above the desert world of Copacati. I just wanted to do a little flying (certain activities seem to give me more energy, like Free-For-Alls in B-8, but that's not the point...) So, I was headed to the wormhole and what did I see but a Serco Convoy kannik collector bot. It was going AWAY from Pyronis. Finding this odd (though I should've known better. It's a Kannik for Akan's sake), I followed it. It was going the same way as me anyway.
So, there we were in Initros. It was going in lazy turns off in random directions. Then it started to hover around me, but didn't shoot. Now, I'm usually flying uner my Itani licensed callsign, Blue Streak (formerly MonkofAkan). The name is a whole other story, but suffice to say, it wasn't safe for me to fly around as Monk anymore. Okay, so when I usually see a Serco bot, it's coming at me with gun blazing. Granted, the accuracy and strength of the gun depended on the bot... So as it hovered in front of my cockpit, still doing lazy circles, I fought off the urge to shoot it on the spot. Instead, I came up with the plan to power down and sit there, hoping it'd go away.
Now, if I weren't so obsessed with the damn thing by now, I'd have just flown away and done some fighting in Sedina before coming back to Pyronis and my wife. But, of course I didn't...
The collector had passed outside of my view a few minutes before, so I thought it'd be safe to turn my systems back on. Lo and behold, the damn thing was still there, my radar indicated as soon as it came on. It was now just doing some lazy manuveurs behind me...
"THAT TEARS IT!"
Before I could come to my senses, I powered up my weapons and thrusters, flipping over and backing up as I ripped into the puny bot. It was destroyed... as was my Serco standing. They'd been watching me the whole time. I went from +256 to -1000. I was now Kill On Sight. Greeeeeeeat...
So, two days later (and over 550 bots later), I had finally killed enough of the Hive so that the Serco wouldn't send their seeker rones and Strike Force Vultures after me. Now, they just sneer at me. That's fine. I only wanted the damn standing for someone else anyway. Were it just for me, I would've smiled and mooned the Serco on my way out of Initros.
Lessons of the story: Make sure you know which sectors are guarded, Kanniks "are the devil" and big brudda is always watching.
Originally posted February 21st, 2006
"A List of Things I've Blown Up and How" (Story #33)
Well, after chatting a bit on the general comm channel a few nights ago, I got to thinking about my past and, more specifically, what I had blown up in my past. >.> If I hadn't made it clear before, I was instructed by the order of Akan since youth to be a demolitions expert. That is the main reason why I am so much better with rockets and missiles than with energy weapons and the like. And while I was being taught how to blow things up properly, I also blew things up improperly... or more often, blew the wrong things up. So, without further adieu, here's a list of some times I remember playing with explosives...
1) This was technically not my fault. Some idiot had kicked over a tank of something or other on the testing grounds. So I placed the charges on a makeshift EC-88, ran back a good few hundred feet and detonated the explosives. Normal explosion, nothing major. Then the ground starting sinking in.... and kept sinking in....
2) Some idiot in the munitions department didn't label the explosives with different color codes like they were supposed to. So I had thirty seconds to grab the right explosive and take it to my teacher or face the equivalent of detention. So I closed my eyes and grabbed one randomly. So I came back to the classroom, handed him the material and sat down in my chair, luckily near the back (the professors always loved puting me in the back for some odd reason). A spark and the teacher flew over my head towards the back of the room, along with the front row of students. >.<
3) I was learning how to load my own munitions (that particular professor believed that if you couldn't do everything yourself, you didn't desserve to fly). So I was tightening, loading etc, when one sunflare fell out (I swear, I don't know how it happened...). It shot off towards the student ship lnading zone... Quite a few damaged Vultures and Centurions there.
4) I had a choice, learn even more physics in relation to explosives and explosions, or learn the ancient art of free fall bombing. So I was flying around in the institute's Centaur, learning how to drop free fall demolition charges on targets. Well, the wind suddenly shifted real bad... a trio of demo charges flew right into the bay and blew up, sending a seven foot high wave into the docks and beaches...
There's probably more, but I'd rather not think about it too much. >.>;
"A List of Things I've Blown Up and How" (Story #33)
Well, after chatting a bit on the general comm channel a few nights ago, I got to thinking about my past and, more specifically, what I had blown up in my past. >.> If I hadn't made it clear before, I was instructed by the order of Akan since youth to be a demolitions expert. That is the main reason why I am so much better with rockets and missiles than with energy weapons and the like. And while I was being taught how to blow things up properly, I also blew things up improperly... or more often, blew the wrong things up. So, without further adieu, here's a list of some times I remember playing with explosives...
1) This was technically not my fault. Some idiot had kicked over a tank of something or other on the testing grounds. So I placed the charges on a makeshift EC-88, ran back a good few hundred feet and detonated the explosives. Normal explosion, nothing major. Then the ground starting sinking in.... and kept sinking in....
2) Some idiot in the munitions department didn't label the explosives with different color codes like they were supposed to. So I had thirty seconds to grab the right explosive and take it to my teacher or face the equivalent of detention. So I closed my eyes and grabbed one randomly. So I came back to the classroom, handed him the material and sat down in my chair, luckily near the back (the professors always loved puting me in the back for some odd reason). A spark and the teacher flew over my head towards the back of the room, along with the front row of students. >.<
3) I was learning how to load my own munitions (that particular professor believed that if you couldn't do everything yourself, you didn't desserve to fly). So I was tightening, loading etc, when one sunflare fell out (I swear, I don't know how it happened...). It shot off towards the student ship lnading zone... Quite a few damaged Vultures and Centurions there.
4) I had a choice, learn even more physics in relation to explosives and explosions, or learn the ancient art of free fall bombing. So I was flying around in the institute's Centaur, learning how to drop free fall demolition charges on targets. Well, the wind suddenly shifted real bad... a trio of demo charges flew right into the bay and blew up, sending a seven foot high wave into the docks and beaches...
There's probably more, but I'd rather not think about it too much. >.>;
Originally posted March 13th, 2006
"Bolts for Brains" (Story #34)
Ah, yes. Back to writing logs and summat. Not much happened in the past two-ish weeks. Well, not much that isn't personal and I won't discuss on an open forum. February 28th was my birthday, for those who didn't know. Blah blah blah, no one cares about that anyway, unless they're after me for birthday punches. >_>;
Getting semi-"back on track", something did happen yesterday which prompted me to write these logs. I was watching the bar over through the IRCbot, since I don't want to rush down to the bar unless someone's actually there to serve. Pus, since Miharu figured out how to make the holograms semi-solid, I can telecommute, lazy bastard that I am. Well, I had just flipped on my acess to the bot and started to talk to Miharu when a robot of some sort appeared on the holocam.
Well, Miharu was in her apartment near the bar at the time so she rushed in while the thing was scanning the bar, and the IRCbot in particular. having a bad feeling about this, I hopped into my Valkyrie Vengeance and took off from my home in Latos. The IRCbot had been uplinked to the Valk, so I could still see what was going on inside the bar. It had gotten worse. The bot, which we came to know was called Rogue Unit 0, had her at gunpoint. Not a very good place to be...
I would've stopped at Daltas Hold to purchase an EMP gun, but, luckily, a serco friend told me not to waste my time. Seems EMP stopped working effectively on Serco electronics centuries ago.
So I bolted for the Mak, keeping an eye on the situation as i came in to dock. Rushing out to the bar and through the door, I was greeted by two things: a robot pointing a gun at me and Miharu screaming at me to leave. Well, I wasn't exactly about to leave her alone with a hostile, plus before I could say anything, the robot commanded me to stay. So I did.
What ensued was a tense hour of the robot scanning the bar as we enquired to his purpose. FreedomBird (said serco friend from before), stumbled in twice. The first time I had managed to literally kick him out of the door an out of sight, whispering for him to get out. Second time, he wasn;t so lucky and barged in, also now held at gunpoint. Here's the summary of what the "Unit" spoke about: He's an alien construct (though Joyce assures me that Valent could make similar tech). He is in search for "one who knows not that he is a native", a native being the original species to roam this galaxy. He's also looking for the factory in which he was constructed. Well, this bot must have some kind of emotion chip because it got pretty irritated when we couldn't help it, starting to rant about the uselessness of "meatbags" and how we're "expendable".
At this point, he made a little challenge, pulling an unusual bomb out a compartment in his torso. He had set it on the floor and activated it. "Five minutes until meatbags go boom". two thoughts ran through my mind at this point: 1. I'm glad i came here. Now we have a chance of defusing the damn thing with my knowledge in pyrotechnics & 2. Oh crap. Oh crap. oh crap. We're all gonna die, we're all gonna DIEEEE!!!!! Thankfully, I've learned to shove thought #2 in the back of my mind until problems go away. "A panicky pyrotech is a dead pyrotech", an old teacher used to say to us when i was a youth.
Asking for one of them to grab some knives and utensils (Gotta make due with what you have at hand), I crouched by the bomb, careful not to shake or lift it. I looked for a groove, niche, anything that I could scrabble at to get access to it's inner-workings. The bot enjoyed announced that we'd "wasted" four of our five minutes, I quickly popped the panel off and took in the entire view. It looked nothing like I'd ever seen before. Well, not ENTIRELY true, but the connection was vague.
One of my courses as an Akanese youngun was in Experimental Bomb Tech. Basically, all you knew about known explosives and triggers and applying that knowledge to unknown explosives and triggers. It worked. the setup I saw before me was very very vaguely similar to a J-6 construct (highly advanced, no single person nor Corp was pinned with ever having created it). I took the bundle of neatly wrapped cables in my hand, trying to trace where each one led in the scant seconds we had left. I picked a likely target, prayed to Akan several times (I revert to praying to Akan under stress, so sue me). "Slow meatbags go boom". But we didn't. otherwise I wouldn't be writing this.
Slightly impressed and still agitated, the bot walked out of the bar and flew away. There was still the matter of disposing of the explosive, which is long and boring unless you have the explosive right by your head, so I won't bother talking about it. A barebones Warthog mark two carried me and the bomb to the gravity well between Odia I and the star, ejecting and warping out. As I was picked up by Corvus Hold's station guards, i saw the tiny pinprick of light by the planet and shivered. Well, the search for the "Genocide Project" alleged to be done by TPG had been halted, citing lack of clues to lead us to it's position. And now, we get thrown into another mess. "I assure you, meatbags, i will return", were the last words from the bot. -.-;
"Bolts for Brains" (Story #34)
Ah, yes. Back to writing logs and summat. Not much happened in the past two-ish weeks. Well, not much that isn't personal and I won't discuss on an open forum. February 28th was my birthday, for those who didn't know. Blah blah blah, no one cares about that anyway, unless they're after me for birthday punches. >_>;
Getting semi-"back on track", something did happen yesterday which prompted me to write these logs. I was watching the bar over through the IRCbot, since I don't want to rush down to the bar unless someone's actually there to serve. Pus, since Miharu figured out how to make the holograms semi-solid, I can telecommute, lazy bastard that I am. Well, I had just flipped on my acess to the bot and started to talk to Miharu when a robot of some sort appeared on the holocam.
Well, Miharu was in her apartment near the bar at the time so she rushed in while the thing was scanning the bar, and the IRCbot in particular. having a bad feeling about this, I hopped into my Valkyrie Vengeance and took off from my home in Latos. The IRCbot had been uplinked to the Valk, so I could still see what was going on inside the bar. It had gotten worse. The bot, which we came to know was called Rogue Unit 0, had her at gunpoint. Not a very good place to be...
I would've stopped at Daltas Hold to purchase an EMP gun, but, luckily, a serco friend told me not to waste my time. Seems EMP stopped working effectively on Serco electronics centuries ago.
So I bolted for the Mak, keeping an eye on the situation as i came in to dock. Rushing out to the bar and through the door, I was greeted by two things: a robot pointing a gun at me and Miharu screaming at me to leave. Well, I wasn't exactly about to leave her alone with a hostile, plus before I could say anything, the robot commanded me to stay. So I did.
What ensued was a tense hour of the robot scanning the bar as we enquired to his purpose. FreedomBird (said serco friend from before), stumbled in twice. The first time I had managed to literally kick him out of the door an out of sight, whispering for him to get out. Second time, he wasn;t so lucky and barged in, also now held at gunpoint. Here's the summary of what the "Unit" spoke about: He's an alien construct (though Joyce assures me that Valent could make similar tech). He is in search for "one who knows not that he is a native", a native being the original species to roam this galaxy. He's also looking for the factory in which he was constructed. Well, this bot must have some kind of emotion chip because it got pretty irritated when we couldn't help it, starting to rant about the uselessness of "meatbags" and how we're "expendable".
At this point, he made a little challenge, pulling an unusual bomb out a compartment in his torso. He had set it on the floor and activated it. "Five minutes until meatbags go boom". two thoughts ran through my mind at this point: 1. I'm glad i came here. Now we have a chance of defusing the damn thing with my knowledge in pyrotechnics & 2. Oh crap. Oh crap. oh crap. We're all gonna die, we're all gonna DIEEEE!!!!! Thankfully, I've learned to shove thought #2 in the back of my mind until problems go away. "A panicky pyrotech is a dead pyrotech", an old teacher used to say to us when i was a youth.
Asking for one of them to grab some knives and utensils (Gotta make due with what you have at hand), I crouched by the bomb, careful not to shake or lift it. I looked for a groove, niche, anything that I could scrabble at to get access to it's inner-workings. The bot enjoyed announced that we'd "wasted" four of our five minutes, I quickly popped the panel off and took in the entire view. It looked nothing like I'd ever seen before. Well, not ENTIRELY true, but the connection was vague.
One of my courses as an Akanese youngun was in Experimental Bomb Tech. Basically, all you knew about known explosives and triggers and applying that knowledge to unknown explosives and triggers. It worked. the setup I saw before me was very very vaguely similar to a J-6 construct (highly advanced, no single person nor Corp was pinned with ever having created it). I took the bundle of neatly wrapped cables in my hand, trying to trace where each one led in the scant seconds we had left. I picked a likely target, prayed to Akan several times (I revert to praying to Akan under stress, so sue me). "Slow meatbags go boom". But we didn't. otherwise I wouldn't be writing this.
Slightly impressed and still agitated, the bot walked out of the bar and flew away. There was still the matter of disposing of the explosive, which is long and boring unless you have the explosive right by your head, so I won't bother talking about it. A barebones Warthog mark two carried me and the bomb to the gravity well between Odia I and the star, ejecting and warping out. As I was picked up by Corvus Hold's station guards, i saw the tiny pinprick of light by the planet and shivered. Well, the search for the "Genocide Project" alleged to be done by TPG had been halted, citing lack of clues to lead us to it's position. And now, we get thrown into another mess. "I assure you, meatbags, i will return", were the last words from the bot. -.-;
Originally posted March 28th, 2006
Information on the Pseudo-religion within the Order of Akan
This is a comprehensive study on the veneration of Akan and the Order's ideals as a whole throughout the Order of Akan. The major difference between the Akanese Order's ideology and that of the other three major Orders (Eo, Itan and Divinia) in the fact that it borderlines that of a religion, rather than a life philosophy. It's members are driven to a fanatical craze, posessed with the sole desire to see that their Order's will be done. And this will is that the Dominion (and it's sympathizers) be crushed before them.
This is instilled in the Akanese from their youth, as has been studied in other similar works to this one. Their primary education is taken care of by the state, as well as a good portion of their secondary education. "Normal" education, such as arithematic, language, science, etc., was laced with references to Akan and his great deeds and philosophies. So, in essence, it was not something one could ignore. It isn't seperate from what you know, it IS what you know. It becomes as much a part of an Akanese as the knowledge he has gained.
As such, it is not an organized religion. While there are no official gatherings or scriptures to study from, there are things of this sort. The Order organizes solidarity rallies in the major cities on Cerberus, Akan's memoir and notes are revered as almost sacred, words from "the wisest man ever to grace this life". There are statues, idols, huge tapestries of words, all related to Akan in one way or another. The reverence is almost that of worshipping an immortal, a demi-god.
And, thus, to break the will of the Order is to break the will of a demi-god. And no Akanese would want to break the word of the immortal. Despite many thousands of years contemplating the issue, no human knows what awaits after death. And the thought that there may be an afterlife, directly ruled by the immortal spirit (and in the Order's view, ruled by Akan) discourages almsot every single Akanese mind from even considering dissention. Only if one breaks away from the mentality can one break away from the Order. A wedge, either a supernatural experience that contradicts the "traditional" view of the Order or realizing that the teachings of Akan are flawed, have been recorded as reasons for the defection of a Monk or Officer of Akan.
The pseudo-theology is so ingrained in the minds of the Akanese that very few have broken off. To date, only approximately one ninety-two Monks and seventy-three Officers have defected from the Order. And the Akanese have gained many times that number from the outside as followers of the Word of Akan. nd so, the hateful religion bent on the destruction of another race, grows more in it's following then less, gaining more influence with every passing year.
Information on the Pseudo-religion within the Order of Akan
This is a comprehensive study on the veneration of Akan and the Order's ideals as a whole throughout the Order of Akan. The major difference between the Akanese Order's ideology and that of the other three major Orders (Eo, Itan and Divinia) in the fact that it borderlines that of a religion, rather than a life philosophy. It's members are driven to a fanatical craze, posessed with the sole desire to see that their Order's will be done. And this will is that the Dominion (and it's sympathizers) be crushed before them.
This is instilled in the Akanese from their youth, as has been studied in other similar works to this one. Their primary education is taken care of by the state, as well as a good portion of their secondary education. "Normal" education, such as arithematic, language, science, etc., was laced with references to Akan and his great deeds and philosophies. So, in essence, it was not something one could ignore. It isn't seperate from what you know, it IS what you know. It becomes as much a part of an Akanese as the knowledge he has gained.
As such, it is not an organized religion. While there are no official gatherings or scriptures to study from, there are things of this sort. The Order organizes solidarity rallies in the major cities on Cerberus, Akan's memoir and notes are revered as almost sacred, words from "the wisest man ever to grace this life". There are statues, idols, huge tapestries of words, all related to Akan in one way or another. The reverence is almost that of worshipping an immortal, a demi-god.
And, thus, to break the will of the Order is to break the will of a demi-god. And no Akanese would want to break the word of the immortal. Despite many thousands of years contemplating the issue, no human knows what awaits after death. And the thought that there may be an afterlife, directly ruled by the immortal spirit (and in the Order's view, ruled by Akan) discourages almsot every single Akanese mind from even considering dissention. Only if one breaks away from the mentality can one break away from the Order. A wedge, either a supernatural experience that contradicts the "traditional" view of the Order or realizing that the teachings of Akan are flawed, have been recorded as reasons for the defection of a Monk or Officer of Akan.
The pseudo-theology is so ingrained in the minds of the Akanese that very few have broken off. To date, only approximately one ninety-two Monks and seventy-three Officers have defected from the Order. And the Akanese have gained many times that number from the outside as followers of the Word of Akan. nd so, the hateful religion bent on the destruction of another race, grows more in it's following then less, gaining more influence with every passing year.
Originally posted May 5th, 2006
"Sitting in the Waiting Room" (Story #35)
Plopping down in the hard plasteel seat, I laid my head back against the walls. My eyes were blurry and blank, staring at the sterile and dull surroundings. Men and women in white coats hustled about, datapads in hand. Others in blue wheeled around patients and materials. Everyone was moving about, busy at work, helping those under their care. The last two weeks had taken their toll. I had done all I could to bring them to this point, but now it was all in the hands of strangers. Staring at one of the ceiling lights, fatigue finally caught up to me and pulled me under...
Zzzzzz...
*...That place again, the blinding light. Back behind the controls of a Hornet. But I haven't flown this ship for ages...
I knew I was dreaming, but that didn't stop the fear I felt when I saw it. It was there, as before, floating in the distance, the sole dark spot in the brilliance of the red giant. But its presence was as palpable as if it made up the air around me. It weighed on me, making my movements tougher with each passing second, only increasing more as I struggled against it. My eyes strained, staring at the dark spot, watching it slowly approach.
And then, I heard whispers. Garbled babble, really. They were speaking again. Whether it was my close proximity to it or my connection to her, I didn't know. But speaking to me, it was. It was all so vivid, so real... could it be more than a dream?
And panic took over with that realization. But it couldn't be... Was I dreaming now or was before the dream? Was I delusional?! They both seemed so real... My mind was obviously overtaxed. My skin started to tingle from static, my limbs beginning to feel like lead again, my eyes were straining to keep open...
But I saw the ship, and it was heading straight for the speck. Crying out, I fought the increasing presence and took control of my ship, charging in behind her. Begging, screaming, pleading... I've always been able to get through to her before...
The Warthog was slowing, at a snail's pace, almost as if the brakes were fighting the turbo locked engine. I was closing, and soon, I'd be right next to her. Keeping contact, continuing to talk, the ship was still slowing down. I thumbed off the safeties, my fingers on the triggers...
it was just like before well a different ship to chase and a different pilot but it was essentially the same and it has happened before a few times it will happen again what should i do what can i do itll all happen again but it cant happen again we cant go on like this its tearing them up inside...
"NO! It ends NOW!"
The presence seemed shocked and receded. I quickly let instinct take over and overrided the ship's computer, redlining the reactor. Charging forward, I passed her. I kept the commline open, talking to her, but I only met silence. My ship was still heading to the cloud.
"You know she will die" The voice was hers but not at the same time. It was speaking through her. Checking behind me, I could see her ship was at full speed again. The Warthog reactor is poorly designed, it wouldn't be able to catch up to myHornet... before it detonated...
"You have no chance. Why not end her suffering, if you truly love her? There is nothing but peace with Us"
"You're right, I don't want her to suffer"
I tightened my strap and gritted my teeth as I disengaged the turbodrive and slammed on the emergency brakes. Ten Gs slammed me forward into my straps, causing me to blackout for a second. I set the engine on overdrive again and chased after the Warthog, now only three hundred meters ahead of me. I jacked my datapad directly into the ship and tapped into the comm system, broadcasting a virus (courtesy of the Order). I had modified it after that first time in the Helios star. Smiling, I unloaded all four Sunflare tubes in quick succession.
Soaring through the debris, I picked up the escape pod and pulled it into my bay. The virus had worked, or it had no need to. Either way, she was safe. The presence seemed unsure, almost confused. I laughed maniacally, finally snapping from the months of tension released.
"You're right, I don't want her to suffer. That doesn't mean you win..."
My ship bore fullspeed into the cloud, my pure determination and zeal acting were my sword, my mania... my shield. The cloud dissipated into the swirling hydrogen. It was gone....
"Sir... sir...." *
"Hmm? Huh?", I mumbled as I woke up. The nurse was standing over me, datapad hanging from her side.
"It's gone well. Everything will be back to normal in a few hours, but she needs her rest now"
"Oh, thank you. Could you... tell me when she wakes up, please?"
She smiled, "Sure thing". I drifted back to sleep, smiling. We had finally won.. together...
Zzzzzzz...
"Sitting in the Waiting Room" (Story #35)
Plopping down in the hard plasteel seat, I laid my head back against the walls. My eyes were blurry and blank, staring at the sterile and dull surroundings. Men and women in white coats hustled about, datapads in hand. Others in blue wheeled around patients and materials. Everyone was moving about, busy at work, helping those under their care. The last two weeks had taken their toll. I had done all I could to bring them to this point, but now it was all in the hands of strangers. Staring at one of the ceiling lights, fatigue finally caught up to me and pulled me under...
Zzzzzz...
*...That place again, the blinding light. Back behind the controls of a Hornet. But I haven't flown this ship for ages...
I knew I was dreaming, but that didn't stop the fear I felt when I saw it. It was there, as before, floating in the distance, the sole dark spot in the brilliance of the red giant. But its presence was as palpable as if it made up the air around me. It weighed on me, making my movements tougher with each passing second, only increasing more as I struggled against it. My eyes strained, staring at the dark spot, watching it slowly approach.
And then, I heard whispers. Garbled babble, really. They were speaking again. Whether it was my close proximity to it or my connection to her, I didn't know. But speaking to me, it was. It was all so vivid, so real... could it be more than a dream?
And panic took over with that realization. But it couldn't be... Was I dreaming now or was before the dream? Was I delusional?! They both seemed so real... My mind was obviously overtaxed. My skin started to tingle from static, my limbs beginning to feel like lead again, my eyes were straining to keep open...
But I saw the ship, and it was heading straight for the speck. Crying out, I fought the increasing presence and took control of my ship, charging in behind her. Begging, screaming, pleading... I've always been able to get through to her before...
The Warthog was slowing, at a snail's pace, almost as if the brakes were fighting the turbo locked engine. I was closing, and soon, I'd be right next to her. Keeping contact, continuing to talk, the ship was still slowing down. I thumbed off the safeties, my fingers on the triggers...
it was just like before well a different ship to chase and a different pilot but it was essentially the same and it has happened before a few times it will happen again what should i do what can i do itll all happen again but it cant happen again we cant go on like this its tearing them up inside...
"NO! It ends NOW!"
The presence seemed shocked and receded. I quickly let instinct take over and overrided the ship's computer, redlining the reactor. Charging forward, I passed her. I kept the commline open, talking to her, but I only met silence. My ship was still heading to the cloud.
"You know she will die" The voice was hers but not at the same time. It was speaking through her. Checking behind me, I could see her ship was at full speed again. The Warthog reactor is poorly designed, it wouldn't be able to catch up to myHornet... before it detonated...
"You have no chance. Why not end her suffering, if you truly love her? There is nothing but peace with Us"
"You're right, I don't want her to suffer"
I tightened my strap and gritted my teeth as I disengaged the turbodrive and slammed on the emergency brakes. Ten Gs slammed me forward into my straps, causing me to blackout for a second. I set the engine on overdrive again and chased after the Warthog, now only three hundred meters ahead of me. I jacked my datapad directly into the ship and tapped into the comm system, broadcasting a virus (courtesy of the Order). I had modified it after that first time in the Helios star. Smiling, I unloaded all four Sunflare tubes in quick succession.
Soaring through the debris, I picked up the escape pod and pulled it into my bay. The virus had worked, or it had no need to. Either way, she was safe. The presence seemed unsure, almost confused. I laughed maniacally, finally snapping from the months of tension released.
"You're right, I don't want her to suffer. That doesn't mean you win..."
My ship bore fullspeed into the cloud, my pure determination and zeal acting were my sword, my mania... my shield. The cloud dissipated into the swirling hydrogen. It was gone....
"Sir... sir...." *
"Hmm? Huh?", I mumbled as I woke up. The nurse was standing over me, datapad hanging from her side.
"It's gone well. Everything will be back to normal in a few hours, but she needs her rest now"
"Oh, thank you. Could you... tell me when she wakes up, please?"
She smiled, "Sure thing". I drifted back to sleep, smiling. We had finally won.. together...
Zzzzzzz...
Originally posted May 16th, 2006
To:
Xang Xi Automated Systems, Department of the Quartermaster, Epsilon Hold
TPG Corporation, Human Resources Division, TPG Headquarters
Ineubis Defense Research, Office of Resources and Supplies, Bractus Watch
Orion Heavy Manufacturing, Department of Human Resources, Fenhall Mining
From:
Erik Christianson, callsign "Blue Streak", Councilor of Sigma Shipping
Subject: A Proposal for an Advanced Flight School
Body:
Before I begin, leet me thank you for taking the time to read and consider this proposal. I understand that you are all busy people, working in a very busy Corp, and am happy that you could set aside some time for this letter.
In the recent months, Hive activty has risen, pirate activty has skyrocketed (particularly in "Corvus space") and pilot error has resulted in an uncountable loss of ships and supplies. Supply runs have been interrupted for extended periods of time and the demand for necessities andammenities of life on a station. All in all, a general loss of revenue and employee safety has occurred.
This can be attributed to the quality of the pilots in the convoys. While competent flyers, they are not soldiers. While trained in the use of certain universal weaponry and basic group combat, they're efficiency isn't what it could be. They have not been taught to fight well, though they are capable of it.
That is why I propose starting this flight school: To teach those certainly capable of being better how to be better. This would not replace any existing courses or supercede any institutions. This school would be analogous to a graduate school. The school I have in mind would expand on the technique and abilities of the career escorts pilots under our instruction. It would also expand on the basic knowledge of dodging and evading trouble for the career traders. In this day and age, even traders need to be more active in their own escape, and sometimes may even need to fight back.
Grey space is a dangerous place and demands more of a pilot. That is wju, if this proposal is approved by your respective Corp, I would like to start the the school in grey space. Latois specifically, or Pelatus for Ineubis Defense Research Corp. Operating from this region would not only give the school unprecedented access to the "wild" Hive, it is also just a system over from "Corvus space". It also does not fall under the perview of Union Flight Command, resulting in less paperwork for the school and the Corp for every flight lesson.
There are a few things I would like and need for the school. It would need an area to teach in, only a few connected rooms without going through the main hallways. The school would also need approximately one hundred thousand credits to start off, to acquire necessary equipment and ships. This, of course, would be unecessary if said necessities could be provided by the Corp. Finally, a monthly budget would be required to pay for salaries and upkeep. This is all negotiable and will be discussed if (and when) your Corp accepts this porposal.
I have attached my resume listing my qualifications as a combat teacher, as well as attached a general vision I have in my head for more of the details of the school. I thank you again for your time.
Erik Christianson
------------------------------------------------------
Attachment 1: Qualifications
"Famous" Pilot Kill Count: 1189 (1331 under both citizenships)
Total Kill Count: 5656 (9970 under both citizenships)
Combat Piloting License Acquired: 12
Light Weaponry Competence License Acquired: 12
Heavy Weaponry Competence License Acquired: 12
Deneb Run successful placement percentage: 78.26%
Successful Convoy Protection Rate: ~68%
Note: The Deneb Run statistic refers to one's ability to outrun and outdodge what has become a dangerous race, with pirates waitin at many wormholes. Doing this on a fixed route is much like evading pirates on a trade run, except with a faster ship.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Attachment 2: The general vision of the Advanced Flight School
I envision a small school, perhaps ninety students at a time maximum. A low teacher to student ratio is necessary for proper flight instruction in a field where continues practice ( as well as one on one evaluation and instruction) are needed. The ratio can not exceed 1:10, though a 1:6 ratio is optimal. There must be at least the following ships available ONLY for school use at all times, whether purchased or given to us:
10 Behemoths (6 ragular models, 4 Heavy models)
10 Centaurs (6 regular models, 4 Mark Two models)
6 Atlases (6 Mark Two models)
4 Wratihs (4 Mark Three models)
10 Vultures (10 Mark Three models)
8 Centurions (8 Mark Two models)
8 Warthogs (8 Mark Two models)
A Trident and a Teradon would be greatly appreciated as well, on loan and only at certain times, of course. The closer the school can get the enviorment the students train in to actual situations, the better prepared they will be.
Month One - Trade Training, Escort Training
Month Two - Trader Training, Escort Training
Month Three - Advanced Escort Training
Month Four - Vacation and Final Evaluations
The school I envision runs on a four month rotation. This means that it can produce three groups of pilots a year, who are highly trained and ready for the new challenges space flight brings. This is approximately two hundred and seventy students a year. As popularity and funds increase, and as results are shown, this will most likely increase. Minimal time in the classroom and maximal time in the field is the teching method I believe in.
To:
Xang Xi Automated Systems, Department of the Quartermaster, Epsilon Hold
TPG Corporation, Human Resources Division, TPG Headquarters
Ineubis Defense Research, Office of Resources and Supplies, Bractus Watch
Orion Heavy Manufacturing, Department of Human Resources, Fenhall Mining
From:
Erik Christianson, callsign "Blue Streak", Councilor of Sigma Shipping
Subject: A Proposal for an Advanced Flight School
Body:
Before I begin, leet me thank you for taking the time to read and consider this proposal. I understand that you are all busy people, working in a very busy Corp, and am happy that you could set aside some time for this letter.
In the recent months, Hive activty has risen, pirate activty has skyrocketed (particularly in "Corvus space") and pilot error has resulted in an uncountable loss of ships and supplies. Supply runs have been interrupted for extended periods of time and the demand for necessities andammenities of life on a station. All in all, a general loss of revenue and employee safety has occurred.
This can be attributed to the quality of the pilots in the convoys. While competent flyers, they are not soldiers. While trained in the use of certain universal weaponry and basic group combat, they're efficiency isn't what it could be. They have not been taught to fight well, though they are capable of it.
That is why I propose starting this flight school: To teach those certainly capable of being better how to be better. This would not replace any existing courses or supercede any institutions. This school would be analogous to a graduate school. The school I have in mind would expand on the technique and abilities of the career escorts pilots under our instruction. It would also expand on the basic knowledge of dodging and evading trouble for the career traders. In this day and age, even traders need to be more active in their own escape, and sometimes may even need to fight back.
Grey space is a dangerous place and demands more of a pilot. That is wju, if this proposal is approved by your respective Corp, I would like to start the the school in grey space. Latois specifically, or Pelatus for Ineubis Defense Research Corp. Operating from this region would not only give the school unprecedented access to the "wild" Hive, it is also just a system over from "Corvus space". It also does not fall under the perview of Union Flight Command, resulting in less paperwork for the school and the Corp for every flight lesson.
There are a few things I would like and need for the school. It would need an area to teach in, only a few connected rooms without going through the main hallways. The school would also need approximately one hundred thousand credits to start off, to acquire necessary equipment and ships. This, of course, would be unecessary if said necessities could be provided by the Corp. Finally, a monthly budget would be required to pay for salaries and upkeep. This is all negotiable and will be discussed if (and when) your Corp accepts this porposal.
I have attached my resume listing my qualifications as a combat teacher, as well as attached a general vision I have in my head for more of the details of the school. I thank you again for your time.
Erik Christianson
------------------------------------------------------
Attachment 1: Qualifications
"Famous" Pilot Kill Count: 1189 (1331 under both citizenships)
Total Kill Count: 5656 (9970 under both citizenships)
Combat Piloting License Acquired: 12
Light Weaponry Competence License Acquired: 12
Heavy Weaponry Competence License Acquired: 12
Deneb Run successful placement percentage: 78.26%
Successful Convoy Protection Rate: ~68%
Note: The Deneb Run statistic refers to one's ability to outrun and outdodge what has become a dangerous race, with pirates waitin at many wormholes. Doing this on a fixed route is much like evading pirates on a trade run, except with a faster ship.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Attachment 2: The general vision of the Advanced Flight School
I envision a small school, perhaps ninety students at a time maximum. A low teacher to student ratio is necessary for proper flight instruction in a field where continues practice ( as well as one on one evaluation and instruction) are needed. The ratio can not exceed 1:10, though a 1:6 ratio is optimal. There must be at least the following ships available ONLY for school use at all times, whether purchased or given to us:
10 Behemoths (6 ragular models, 4 Heavy models)
10 Centaurs (6 regular models, 4 Mark Two models)
6 Atlases (6 Mark Two models)
4 Wratihs (4 Mark Three models)
10 Vultures (10 Mark Three models)
8 Centurions (8 Mark Two models)
8 Warthogs (8 Mark Two models)
A Trident and a Teradon would be greatly appreciated as well, on loan and only at certain times, of course. The closer the school can get the enviorment the students train in to actual situations, the better prepared they will be.
Month One - Trade Training, Escort Training
Month Two - Trader Training, Escort Training
Month Three - Advanced Escort Training
Month Four - Vacation and Final Evaluations
The school I envision runs on a four month rotation. This means that it can produce three groups of pilots a year, who are highly trained and ready for the new challenges space flight brings. This is approximately two hundred and seventy students a year. As popularity and funds increase, and as results are shown, this will most likely increase. Minimal time in the classroom and maximal time in the field is the teching method I believe in.
Originally posted May 23rd, 2006
To: Erik Christianson, callsign "Blue Streak", Councilor of Sigma Shipping
From: Marcus On'tessi, Xang Xi Automated Systems, Department of the Quartermaster
Subject: Re: A proposal for an Advanced Flight school
Your proposal has been found valid and agreeable. This has been discussed among the management of the Department, and, with the consent of a Residing boardmember of the Octagon, has been approved. It will be implemented pending further talks and agreement on both sides to the terms laid thereafter.
A middle manager will be assigned this task of negotiating. He, or she, will have full authority and leeway in these talks. Thus, whatever deal is struck upon between both parties will be automatically approved by Xang Xi Corp. Please contact the Corp Office to schedule a meeting as soon as possible.
----------------------------------------------------------------
To: Erik Christianson, callsign "Blue Streak", Councilor of Sigma Shipping
From: Passa Jann, TPG Corporation, Human Resources Division
Subject: Re: A proposal for an Advanced Flight School
TPG Corp is well prepared in this field. Our convoys are exceptionally protected and have the highest safety rate of any Corp. In addition, our flight schools are top notch and plentiful, as are our Advanced Course schools. Our pilots are second to none and do not need the services of another school.
That being said, your qualifications are exceptional. We may recommend you to one of our existing schools, if you so desire.
----------------------------------------------------------------
To: Erik Christianson, callsign "Blue Streak", Councilor of Sigma Shipping
From: Samantha Ramos, Ineubis Defense Research, Office of Resources and Supplies
Subject: Re: A proposal for an Advanced Flight School
While Ineubis Defense Militia currently performs the duties you have described, this would be a beneficial arrangement for us. Freeing up personnel that would normally be assigned for instruction puts more able pilots behind the controls. As well, Pelatus Bunker does have space that has been unused for quite some time.
Ineubis is prepared to give all the support we can spare. A meeting can be arranged to iron out the details, as well as meet some of your old friends. They have provided excellent references to your work with ineubis in the past.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
To: Erik Christianson, callsign "Blue Streak", Councilor of Sigma Shipping
From: Eston Retala, Orion Heavy Manufacturing, Department of Human Resources
Subject: Re: A proposal for an Advanced Flight School
Our convoys remain mostly in Latos and in Union space. Therefore, they fall under the perview of Union protection and that of the Vipers. Your services are not necessary.
To: Erik Christianson, callsign "Blue Streak", Councilor of Sigma Shipping
From: Marcus On'tessi, Xang Xi Automated Systems, Department of the Quartermaster
Subject: Re: A proposal for an Advanced Flight school
Your proposal has been found valid and agreeable. This has been discussed among the management of the Department, and, with the consent of a Residing boardmember of the Octagon, has been approved. It will be implemented pending further talks and agreement on both sides to the terms laid thereafter.
A middle manager will be assigned this task of negotiating. He, or she, will have full authority and leeway in these talks. Thus, whatever deal is struck upon between both parties will be automatically approved by Xang Xi Corp. Please contact the Corp Office to schedule a meeting as soon as possible.
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To: Erik Christianson, callsign "Blue Streak", Councilor of Sigma Shipping
From: Passa Jann, TPG Corporation, Human Resources Division
Subject: Re: A proposal for an Advanced Flight School
TPG Corp is well prepared in this field. Our convoys are exceptionally protected and have the highest safety rate of any Corp. In addition, our flight schools are top notch and plentiful, as are our Advanced Course schools. Our pilots are second to none and do not need the services of another school.
That being said, your qualifications are exceptional. We may recommend you to one of our existing schools, if you so desire.
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To: Erik Christianson, callsign "Blue Streak", Councilor of Sigma Shipping
From: Samantha Ramos, Ineubis Defense Research, Office of Resources and Supplies
Subject: Re: A proposal for an Advanced Flight School
While Ineubis Defense Militia currently performs the duties you have described, this would be a beneficial arrangement for us. Freeing up personnel that would normally be assigned for instruction puts more able pilots behind the controls. As well, Pelatus Bunker does have space that has been unused for quite some time.
Ineubis is prepared to give all the support we can spare. A meeting can be arranged to iron out the details, as well as meet some of your old friends. They have provided excellent references to your work with ineubis in the past.
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To: Erik Christianson, callsign "Blue Streak", Councilor of Sigma Shipping
From: Eston Retala, Orion Heavy Manufacturing, Department of Human Resources
Subject: Re: A proposal for an Advanced Flight School
Our convoys remain mostly in Latos and in Union space. Therefore, they fall under the perview of Union protection and that of the Vipers. Your services are not necessary.
Originally posted June 1st, 2006
"Career Change" (Story #36)
Men and women were bustling everywhere. Coveralls splattered with oil and hyrdaulics, dirt caked skin and singed hair. As I walked through the complex like a child in a candy store, my eyes were brimming with admiration for the work of the techs and mechs. Each one moved with a purpose, as if their work alone could make or break the entire operation. In some, this could be attributed to arrogance, but the vast majority cared for their work and were passionate about it. These were people who could create and fix rather than destroy and damage; People like my wife. I stand in awe and respect for every one of these workers, the ones who fix and mend things throughout Known Space. They have my undying respect.
Shaking my head, I snapped out of my reverie and headed towards the main corridor. Passing by workers wearing the Corp color of cyan under their coveralls, and stepping over strewn equipment and materials, I picked up little details. Almost all wore the number two-nineteen on their right sleeve, presumably the crew number. Steel plates were missing from the floor, waiting for something to be installed in it's place. Wires hung from the ceiling and sparks flew from samo-tipped power saws. Much work was yet to be done, contruction for the workers, bureaucracy and paperwork for me. =_=
But soon, my dream would come true. I can have a career which I love and can be safe with (well, safer...). I would allow me to give back and teach skills within my limited (but specialized) training. Teaching is also something I love to do, it's just in my nature. It would take me away from my family for most of the week, but that was something we talked about. In the end, we agreed that it was better than going insane by trade or the possibility of perishing in constant combat. I was always pushing the envelope, never content with what I had done and never being content with status quo. This would give me a purpose outside of my family, something I haven't had in a very long time.
Taking one last look around, I left them to their work and trusted their skill. Going down the hall, my feet carried me to the one room which was entirely finished at the moment: my office. And on the other side of the door waited the representative from Xang Xi. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself for diplomacy and opened the door. There were many details yet to be ironed out...
"Career Change" (Story #36)
Men and women were bustling everywhere. Coveralls splattered with oil and hyrdaulics, dirt caked skin and singed hair. As I walked through the complex like a child in a candy store, my eyes were brimming with admiration for the work of the techs and mechs. Each one moved with a purpose, as if their work alone could make or break the entire operation. In some, this could be attributed to arrogance, but the vast majority cared for their work and were passionate about it. These were people who could create and fix rather than destroy and damage; People like my wife. I stand in awe and respect for every one of these workers, the ones who fix and mend things throughout Known Space. They have my undying respect.
Shaking my head, I snapped out of my reverie and headed towards the main corridor. Passing by workers wearing the Corp color of cyan under their coveralls, and stepping over strewn equipment and materials, I picked up little details. Almost all wore the number two-nineteen on their right sleeve, presumably the crew number. Steel plates were missing from the floor, waiting for something to be installed in it's place. Wires hung from the ceiling and sparks flew from samo-tipped power saws. Much work was yet to be done, contruction for the workers, bureaucracy and paperwork for me. =_=
But soon, my dream would come true. I can have a career which I love and can be safe with (well, safer...). I would allow me to give back and teach skills within my limited (but specialized) training. Teaching is also something I love to do, it's just in my nature. It would take me away from my family for most of the week, but that was something we talked about. In the end, we agreed that it was better than going insane by trade or the possibility of perishing in constant combat. I was always pushing the envelope, never content with what I had done and never being content with status quo. This would give me a purpose outside of my family, something I haven't had in a very long time.
Taking one last look around, I left them to their work and trusted their skill. Going down the hall, my feet carried me to the one room which was entirely finished at the moment: my office. And on the other side of the door waited the representative from Xang Xi. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself for diplomacy and opened the door. There were many details yet to be ironed out...
Originally posted June 6th, 2006
"Revenge (A Captain Allende Story)" Story #37
She was behind a desk again. Her eyes were bleary and puffed red. Her hands shuffled datapad with a nervous shake that wasn't present this time last year. Her mouth twitched and scowled constantly, and her gaze had hardened. She had been shattered, her career in tatters and her ego bruised deeply by her failure. But this only made her more determined, more aggressive.
And the reason for this change was freely living in Latos, happy with his new life. Order Command had accepted her first failure to kill him, for they had been fooled too and did not want it pointed out. But when the rogue monk, formerly known as "moldyman", had deceived them again, they needed someone to blame. And who better than Captain Allende, his former commanding officer and the leader of the failed attempt at his life, one that had gotten three men under her command killed.
But she was the leader of the illustrious Ebony Wing. She was far too skilled and renowned to be dismissed in shame or to be executed. And so, she was sent back to courier duty, filing paperwork and becoming a REMF oncce again. Nothing irked her more than her new inability to help forward her Order's dream in a more active way. And she had Erik to thank...
"Um... ma'am..", a voice cautiously inquired.
She snapped her head to the man, growling with anger when she recognized the face. The monk gulped hard and left the datapad at the workstation, her gaze frightening him so much that he did not hesitate to flee once his delivery was done. The man was Eo-Tol, the one who had lied and deframed Erik, and also the one who provided intel on him after he defected, all in the hopes of getting the Captain in bed. It had worked; she was so impressed and grateful for his skill and loyalty that they soon became lovers. But it had all come crashing down when the information was found out to not only be inaccurate, but that the shoddy intel had been a main cause for the Captain's failure.
She had flown into a rage. Three female officers had to restrain her from the bloody and broken form of Eo-Tol, who would not raise a hand in defiance of her. Ever since, she was pushed to her current position while the Major of the Wing took over battlefield leadership.
"I'll get you Erik... I can promise that. I will make your life as horrible as you've made mine...", she muttered to herself. She picked up a datapad and worked carefully on it, her attention solely on the screen. She had mingled misinformation with the truth to spread on the traitor. His reputation would be damaged horribly, even if it were proved false.
"Erik Christianson stood guard over the raping of a Serco female while on a sabotage mission"
"The pilot known as Blue Streak has hired pirates for hits in the Deneb Run to eliminate competition"
"Blue Streak has violated the AMW Ban treaty (Anti-Matter Weapons), signed by all the Corps and agreed to by the Nations. Furthermore, he has deployed this weaponry in Grey space"
She smirked, sending off the rumors through the annexed Itani commdrone in Jallilk. For the first time since she was sent to this desk, she smiled a true smile, one full of malice and revenge.
------------------------------------------------------------
My eyes bulged. My throat suddenly started to close up. I was floating near the ceiling of our apartment, thanks to the gravplate. I tossed the datapad down to the bed and curled up into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably.
"It's not all true.... it's not all true..."
"Revenge (A Captain Allende Story)" Story #37
She was behind a desk again. Her eyes were bleary and puffed red. Her hands shuffled datapad with a nervous shake that wasn't present this time last year. Her mouth twitched and scowled constantly, and her gaze had hardened. She had been shattered, her career in tatters and her ego bruised deeply by her failure. But this only made her more determined, more aggressive.
And the reason for this change was freely living in Latos, happy with his new life. Order Command had accepted her first failure to kill him, for they had been fooled too and did not want it pointed out. But when the rogue monk, formerly known as "moldyman", had deceived them again, they needed someone to blame. And who better than Captain Allende, his former commanding officer and the leader of the failed attempt at his life, one that had gotten three men under her command killed.
But she was the leader of the illustrious Ebony Wing. She was far too skilled and renowned to be dismissed in shame or to be executed. And so, she was sent back to courier duty, filing paperwork and becoming a REMF oncce again. Nothing irked her more than her new inability to help forward her Order's dream in a more active way. And she had Erik to thank...
"Um... ma'am..", a voice cautiously inquired.
She snapped her head to the man, growling with anger when she recognized the face. The monk gulped hard and left the datapad at the workstation, her gaze frightening him so much that he did not hesitate to flee once his delivery was done. The man was Eo-Tol, the one who had lied and deframed Erik, and also the one who provided intel on him after he defected, all in the hopes of getting the Captain in bed. It had worked; she was so impressed and grateful for his skill and loyalty that they soon became lovers. But it had all come crashing down when the information was found out to not only be inaccurate, but that the shoddy intel had been a main cause for the Captain's failure.
She had flown into a rage. Three female officers had to restrain her from the bloody and broken form of Eo-Tol, who would not raise a hand in defiance of her. Ever since, she was pushed to her current position while the Major of the Wing took over battlefield leadership.
"I'll get you Erik... I can promise that. I will make your life as horrible as you've made mine...", she muttered to herself. She picked up a datapad and worked carefully on it, her attention solely on the screen. She had mingled misinformation with the truth to spread on the traitor. His reputation would be damaged horribly, even if it were proved false.
"Erik Christianson stood guard over the raping of a Serco female while on a sabotage mission"
"The pilot known as Blue Streak has hired pirates for hits in the Deneb Run to eliminate competition"
"Blue Streak has violated the AMW Ban treaty (Anti-Matter Weapons), signed by all the Corps and agreed to by the Nations. Furthermore, he has deployed this weaponry in Grey space"
She smirked, sending off the rumors through the annexed Itani commdrone in Jallilk. For the first time since she was sent to this desk, she smiled a true smile, one full of malice and revenge.
------------------------------------------------------------
My eyes bulged. My throat suddenly started to close up. I was floating near the ceiling of our apartment, thanks to the gravplate. I tossed the datapad down to the bed and curled up into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably.
"It's not all true.... it's not all true..."
Originally posted June 25th, 2006
"Bah... (A Captain Allende Story)" Story #38
She threw the PDS against a wall and screamed in rage. Someone with high contacts had not only stopped her leakage of rumors, but had also managed to get their contacts to reverse plot the communications, tracing it to the decommisioned yet still very operational Itani CommDrone. She had been shut down, and quickly too. As the Captain fumed, pacing the room as she had done for the past week or so, her very badly damaged PDS beeped yellow. A message had come to her from the Department of Intelligence...
----------------------------------------------------------------
"What do you mean, my docking rights have been revoked!?", I yelled at the BioCom representative.
"Look, pilot, we have heard the rumors like every other Corp has. While the rumors have on the whole proved baseless, the fact remains that you were... *akanese*. This Corp will not jeopardize it's good relations with the Serco Dominion, as well as several exclusive contracts, just so the likes of scum can dock. Now leave before I send the Strike Forces after you the second you undock." The man scowled and closed the interface on the wall. So the good Captain had screwed him over, albeit in a minor way. Docking rights revoked as well as ban from BioCom territory under his Itani registered callsign. Luckily, his Union citizenship prevented such unwarranted actions, though weakly, so he was allowed to dock then.
I grumbled and walked out, unaware that less than twenty four hours later I would return to Enistan for even more unhappy reasons. After a rescue operation of a friend, Joyce had passed out at her controls just outside of Enistan. Hurrying back, Miharu had gotten there half a minute before him and had gotten her ship ready to take Joyce, like I had asked. Gritting my teeth and hoping my stomach wouldn't stage a revolt, I pulled the emergency canopy eject lever. After some EVA that took about five minutes, her canopy had been popped off and I had managed to grab her and carefully hop from ship to ship until I tossed her to Miharu's arms.
On the long run to her, I had contacted a medteam at TPG Headquarters. Everything turned out fine, thankfully, but I need to have a talk with her about crazy heroics...
"Bah... (A Captain Allende Story)" Story #38
She threw the PDS against a wall and screamed in rage. Someone with high contacts had not only stopped her leakage of rumors, but had also managed to get their contacts to reverse plot the communications, tracing it to the decommisioned yet still very operational Itani CommDrone. She had been shut down, and quickly too. As the Captain fumed, pacing the room as she had done for the past week or so, her very badly damaged PDS beeped yellow. A message had come to her from the Department of Intelligence...
----------------------------------------------------------------
"What do you mean, my docking rights have been revoked!?", I yelled at the BioCom representative.
"Look, pilot, we have heard the rumors like every other Corp has. While the rumors have on the whole proved baseless, the fact remains that you were... *akanese*. This Corp will not jeopardize it's good relations with the Serco Dominion, as well as several exclusive contracts, just so the likes of scum can dock. Now leave before I send the Strike Forces after you the second you undock." The man scowled and closed the interface on the wall. So the good Captain had screwed him over, albeit in a minor way. Docking rights revoked as well as ban from BioCom territory under his Itani registered callsign. Luckily, his Union citizenship prevented such unwarranted actions, though weakly, so he was allowed to dock then.
I grumbled and walked out, unaware that less than twenty four hours later I would return to Enistan for even more unhappy reasons. After a rescue operation of a friend, Joyce had passed out at her controls just outside of Enistan. Hurrying back, Miharu had gotten there half a minute before him and had gotten her ship ready to take Joyce, like I had asked. Gritting my teeth and hoping my stomach wouldn't stage a revolt, I pulled the emergency canopy eject lever. After some EVA that took about five minutes, her canopy had been popped off and I had managed to grab her and carefully hop from ship to ship until I tossed her to Miharu's arms.
On the long run to her, I had contacted a medteam at TPG Headquarters. Everything turned out fine, thankfully, but I need to have a talk with her about crazy heroics...
Originally posted July 17th, 2006
"Maybe... maybe... (A Captain Allende Story)" Story #39
"Well, Captain, I think our session is done. You may return in ten minutes for my conclusions."
"Yes, ma'am" She stood up and saluted before walking out of the plush office. Sitting down on a bench outside, she pulled out her PDS and pondered over the message still there, unopened. It was from the Cannibal (Lovely names, aren't they?). She had avoided the issue all morning. The session she had just come out of was one with an Order psychiatrist, one which sould've gone much worse if she had read the reponse first and had flashbacks of anger. SIghing, she opened it up and read the contents. Well, saw the contents. All it was was the smiling visage of the Doctor.
"So the deal is done..."
An aide poked her head out of the door, "You may come in".
Going inside, she stood face to face with the shrink, at attention. Rank bites when the doctor can one up you, she mused silently.
"Well, Captain Allende, I'll give you a choice. Would you just like your new orders or the explanation why behind them? I assure you my decision is final."
"I'd like to know why, ma'am"
"Very well, then. You show a high level of stress, partly in due to your feelings of confinement. You also resent the Order's decisions to keep you behind the front lines due to your actions. You want to do more but cannot. The Order made this decision because of your fanatical zeal in hunting down this one rogue monk, even when the Order ceased actions on that front." She paused for effect and then continued, "I am basically granting you your wish. As of tomorrow at 0600 hours, you are back on solo missions under your old callsign of True Shot. You will follow the orders of the high three and none else. And you will have no pressure of command nor responsibility since I am officially removing you from the Ebony Wing roster"
Ouch. She had been handed a golden nugget as well as stabbed in the heart. She now had a chance again, to continue on her crusade with the Order's help, but she was removed from the group she loved and cared for...
"Youy are dismissed. See the Master of Arms for your equipment. A retrofitted Wraith will be waiting for you in the docking bay"
The shrink swiveled in her chair and faced away from Allende, looking outside the glass onto the verdent world of Cerberus. A harsh climate with it's rough beauties, just like the people that have come to call it home. Allende saluted and walked out, already mulling over plans to catch that bastard who had ruined her life...
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Meanwhile, on Dominus...
I was snoozing in bed, having made the conscious decision in the morning to call in sick and sleep through work today. I hadn't gotten much sleep recently and needed to catch up. And while I slept, I dreamt of a certain weekend that had to do with a BioCom station...
"hrmafama.... nooo... wait... we're almost there... zzzzzz...."
"Maybe... maybe... (A Captain Allende Story)" Story #39
"Well, Captain, I think our session is done. You may return in ten minutes for my conclusions."
"Yes, ma'am" She stood up and saluted before walking out of the plush office. Sitting down on a bench outside, she pulled out her PDS and pondered over the message still there, unopened. It was from the Cannibal (Lovely names, aren't they?). She had avoided the issue all morning. The session she had just come out of was one with an Order psychiatrist, one which sould've gone much worse if she had read the reponse first and had flashbacks of anger. SIghing, she opened it up and read the contents. Well, saw the contents. All it was was the smiling visage of the Doctor.
"So the deal is done..."
An aide poked her head out of the door, "You may come in".
Going inside, she stood face to face with the shrink, at attention. Rank bites when the doctor can one up you, she mused silently.
"Well, Captain Allende, I'll give you a choice. Would you just like your new orders or the explanation why behind them? I assure you my decision is final."
"I'd like to know why, ma'am"
"Very well, then. You show a high level of stress, partly in due to your feelings of confinement. You also resent the Order's decisions to keep you behind the front lines due to your actions. You want to do more but cannot. The Order made this decision because of your fanatical zeal in hunting down this one rogue monk, even when the Order ceased actions on that front." She paused for effect and then continued, "I am basically granting you your wish. As of tomorrow at 0600 hours, you are back on solo missions under your old callsign of True Shot. You will follow the orders of the high three and none else. And you will have no pressure of command nor responsibility since I am officially removing you from the Ebony Wing roster"
Ouch. She had been handed a golden nugget as well as stabbed in the heart. She now had a chance again, to continue on her crusade with the Order's help, but she was removed from the group she loved and cared for...
"Youy are dismissed. See the Master of Arms for your equipment. A retrofitted Wraith will be waiting for you in the docking bay"
The shrink swiveled in her chair and faced away from Allende, looking outside the glass onto the verdent world of Cerberus. A harsh climate with it's rough beauties, just like the people that have come to call it home. Allende saluted and walked out, already mulling over plans to catch that bastard who had ruined her life...
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, on Dominus...
I was snoozing in bed, having made the conscious decision in the morning to call in sick and sleep through work today. I hadn't gotten much sleep recently and needed to catch up. And while I slept, I dreamt of a certain weekend that had to do with a BioCom station...
"hrmafama.... nooo... wait... we're almost there... zzzzzz...."
Originally posted July 21st, 2006
"Flying down an uneven path" (Story #40)
The sky is pitch black, not a nebula nor nearby cluster to illuminate the black tapestry, to add color to the colorless. The stars shine but not too bright. None stands out more than any other to the naked eye, no mark nor blemish in the heavens to orient oneself. The vacuum is free from the microdebris that has come to pollute the areas where man inhabits. But man does not inhabit here. Only a child, a single child does. A child piloting a ship inside a tube, a race tube in the middle of nowhere in this patch of vacuum. The tube is a circle, it begins and ends at the same point, with no entrance nor exit. It has no beginning, it has no end. And it is not a true circle either. It meanders and dances, lopping upon itself, intersecting at many points, but never going to a dead end. There was always a route, if small and hard and difficult to find. The tube itself varies. It is clear in some areas, it is covered in others. The glass can be pure clear or tinted blue or any other color. The covered areas are dark but lit, if dimly. Some areas there are no lights, other there are sparks that cast suspicious shadows. Certain parts as easy and clear to maneuver as day and thers as difficult and impossible as the pitch blackness of a closed vault. The circle is a maze, a structure of such vast proportions that it takes weeks, months, even years to traverse it a single time. And in that time, the child could not notice any changes to the maze he travels through. Nor could he recognize most of the structure he's spent his whole life in. It was both his home and an alien place at once. The child looked small. A caucasian boy with a ruffle of brown hair and blue eyes which always focused on the path ahead. He was always observant and curious, taking in every detail that he could as he flew by. Try as he might, he would slip up ocassionally. Sometimes he'd only nick the sides, others he'd make a deep furrow and gouge the walls. Once in a blue moon, he'd slip up in a major way and slam right into the wall, making a huge gash and damaging his ship. Every time this happened, without realizing it, he came back to the point he had began traveling through these tunnels. After this, the first checkpoint would seem... fantastic, amazing, a sign that he was still alive and that there was hope. His life had always been like this. One hope would be alive, he'd believe in it with all his might. And then he'd come crashing down, only to grab onto a new hope some short distance later. And so this went... for how long he not knows...
After a particularly hard crash, the child cried and thought and cried more, despairing. All this time, there had been a motive behind, an unconscious push from his people which gave him some semblance of purpose. Now, he had abandoned it. And with the motive gone and yet another hope into thin air, he despaired. Surely, there was a way to be delivered from this maze. Rescue did not come immediately, nor a week later nor a month later. He flew, for the simple fact that he has always flew and knew nothing else. Along the way, he had noticed cracks, ones that definitely had not been there before. Through them he peered briefly at a source of light. Sometimes his attention to the light caused him to veer, he hit the wall once or twice because of it, but he continued, curious about this light. The more he saw the light, the more he came to realize it's beauty, it's radiance, and how bright it must be to reach him inside the dark tunnels. The cracks became bigger and more frequent. He ambled upon a very long gash. It was barely a meter wide but it's length went on for a week... his attention was riveted to the light. He awoke to it's brilliance with a smile and slept, knowing tomorrow would be another day with it. Before the week was done, something happened to the light. It flickered, almost seeming in distress. Panicing, the child looked around crazily before looking straight up. Leaning over him was the smiling figure of himself, only at his true age. The older self bent over and took control of the Vulture, strafing hard to the right, razoring through the meter wide gash. They had lost much of their wings and fins but the light would provide...
Being the light is a burden as well as a blessing. To be needed so much but to also have the weight of someone else on you, a weight you do not want to stumble with. While the light and the child seem so perfect, almost too good, do not forget that these are just aspects of two people, their personalities shining through. The light, the woman, is a gentle, kind spirit that guides those who seek her help. The child, the man, is a curious, quiet soul, always attentative and listening, his whole attention attuned to one, and only one, at a time. Too much of a good thing can be bad, and sometimes is. Do not forget this one line, though: Love conquers all.
"Flying down an uneven path" (Story #40)
The sky is pitch black, not a nebula nor nearby cluster to illuminate the black tapestry, to add color to the colorless. The stars shine but not too bright. None stands out more than any other to the naked eye, no mark nor blemish in the heavens to orient oneself. The vacuum is free from the microdebris that has come to pollute the areas where man inhabits. But man does not inhabit here. Only a child, a single child does. A child piloting a ship inside a tube, a race tube in the middle of nowhere in this patch of vacuum. The tube is a circle, it begins and ends at the same point, with no entrance nor exit. It has no beginning, it has no end. And it is not a true circle either. It meanders and dances, lopping upon itself, intersecting at many points, but never going to a dead end. There was always a route, if small and hard and difficult to find. The tube itself varies. It is clear in some areas, it is covered in others. The glass can be pure clear or tinted blue or any other color. The covered areas are dark but lit, if dimly. Some areas there are no lights, other there are sparks that cast suspicious shadows. Certain parts as easy and clear to maneuver as day and thers as difficult and impossible as the pitch blackness of a closed vault. The circle is a maze, a structure of such vast proportions that it takes weeks, months, even years to traverse it a single time. And in that time, the child could not notice any changes to the maze he travels through. Nor could he recognize most of the structure he's spent his whole life in. It was both his home and an alien place at once. The child looked small. A caucasian boy with a ruffle of brown hair and blue eyes which always focused on the path ahead. He was always observant and curious, taking in every detail that he could as he flew by. Try as he might, he would slip up ocassionally. Sometimes he'd only nick the sides, others he'd make a deep furrow and gouge the walls. Once in a blue moon, he'd slip up in a major way and slam right into the wall, making a huge gash and damaging his ship. Every time this happened, without realizing it, he came back to the point he had began traveling through these tunnels. After this, the first checkpoint would seem... fantastic, amazing, a sign that he was still alive and that there was hope. His life had always been like this. One hope would be alive, he'd believe in it with all his might. And then he'd come crashing down, only to grab onto a new hope some short distance later. And so this went... for how long he not knows...
After a particularly hard crash, the child cried and thought and cried more, despairing. All this time, there had been a motive behind, an unconscious push from his people which gave him some semblance of purpose. Now, he had abandoned it. And with the motive gone and yet another hope into thin air, he despaired. Surely, there was a way to be delivered from this maze. Rescue did not come immediately, nor a week later nor a month later. He flew, for the simple fact that he has always flew and knew nothing else. Along the way, he had noticed cracks, ones that definitely had not been there before. Through them he peered briefly at a source of light. Sometimes his attention to the light caused him to veer, he hit the wall once or twice because of it, but he continued, curious about this light. The more he saw the light, the more he came to realize it's beauty, it's radiance, and how bright it must be to reach him inside the dark tunnels. The cracks became bigger and more frequent. He ambled upon a very long gash. It was barely a meter wide but it's length went on for a week... his attention was riveted to the light. He awoke to it's brilliance with a smile and slept, knowing tomorrow would be another day with it. Before the week was done, something happened to the light. It flickered, almost seeming in distress. Panicing, the child looked around crazily before looking straight up. Leaning over him was the smiling figure of himself, only at his true age. The older self bent over and took control of the Vulture, strafing hard to the right, razoring through the meter wide gash. They had lost much of their wings and fins but the light would provide...
Being the light is a burden as well as a blessing. To be needed so much but to also have the weight of someone else on you, a weight you do not want to stumble with. While the light and the child seem so perfect, almost too good, do not forget that these are just aspects of two people, their personalities shining through. The light, the woman, is a gentle, kind spirit that guides those who seek her help. The child, the man, is a curious, quiet soul, always attentative and listening, his whole attention attuned to one, and only one, at a time. Too much of a good thing can be bad, and sometimes is. Do not forget this one line, though: Love conquers all.
"Squabbles (A Captain Allende Story)" (Story #41)
It had been over two months since her orders had changed and she had been given a "Second chance" by the Order. Set free to operate alone yet confined to do the order's bidding with little leeway. She had ben reprimanded several times for minor adaptations to her objectives, brought before the shrink once to see if she was fit to fight. But all appeared to be fine, so she was sent off to hunt anew.
It all appeared to be fine. She gave the appearance of obedience and being content with her life. But inside, she had changed.
Dissent began to fester. At first, it began with her outright hatred at the Order for removing her from her beloved squadron. But it began to expand. As the Order tried to clamp down more and more on her, she fought back in her mind harder and harder. She found flaws in arguments used to opress her, little ways to set herself free on her missions. It expanded even more into her personal life from her work. With this rebellion of sorts came a new freedom, which alloed her to break down walls, which gave her more freedom in a self perpetuating cycle.
What had started as a frustration over being taken away from her home and goals became a frustration with the Order. She began to remember vaguely of a time before Ebony Wing and her part in it, before she become one of the eilte. A time when there wasn't as much leeway, where creativity was squashed. A time very much like now.
But all she did for the moment was bide her time. An oppurtunity would arise, she was sure of it.
It had been over two months since her orders had changed and she had been given a "Second chance" by the Order. Set free to operate alone yet confined to do the order's bidding with little leeway. She had ben reprimanded several times for minor adaptations to her objectives, brought before the shrink once to see if she was fit to fight. But all appeared to be fine, so she was sent off to hunt anew.
It all appeared to be fine. She gave the appearance of obedience and being content with her life. But inside, she had changed.
Dissent began to fester. At first, it began with her outright hatred at the Order for removing her from her beloved squadron. But it began to expand. As the Order tried to clamp down more and more on her, she fought back in her mind harder and harder. She found flaws in arguments used to opress her, little ways to set herself free on her missions. It expanded even more into her personal life from her work. With this rebellion of sorts came a new freedom, which alloed her to break down walls, which gave her more freedom in a self perpetuating cycle.
What had started as a frustration over being taken away from her home and goals became a frustration with the Order. She began to remember vaguely of a time before Ebony Wing and her part in it, before she become one of the eilte. A time when there wasn't as much leeway, where creativity was squashed. A time very much like now.
But all she did for the moment was bide her time. An oppurtunity would arise, she was sure of it.
"A New Dawn, a New Begininng: Part One (A Captain Allende Story)" (Story #42)
"It is with great honor and prestige that I present this, your new comission, to you Captain. Welcome back to Ebony Wing" Allende beamed, her smile the type one couldn't wipe off even if one tried their hardest. She was the perfect form of professionalism, despite her wide smile and tears rolling down her cheeks. Standing at ease with her hands clasped behind her back, she stood, allowing her new comrades... her old friends, to replace the epilets on her uniform with the simple black ones from Ebony Wing. Simple, dark, mysterious... the ways of Ebony Wing. She was among them once again, reinstated to the status of Executive Officer in it's ranks.
As she took her place besides her CO, she felt the familiar pangs of command. The fears of failure and the joys of leadership. It felt no different then the first time she had been promoted within the Wing. She stodd before the squadron, many of them new faces. How many had been lost since she had last commanded them...? Three on the hunt for that rogue monk, Eo Tol who had resigned the position... Half the squadron had been replaced. And for what? For revenge, for hatred, for an idiot who would choose a false peace offered by that Union greedmonger than the true peace that can only come from victory, from vanquishing the Serco once and for all. No matter. He was not of her concern anymore. She had come to realize what the order had many months ago: The Akanese are a people, even the disgruntled would not betray their homeland. And thus, with little threat offered by him, she reconciled the fact that he had escaped. It had been a choice between him and her career. And she had chosen wisely, as any Order officer should. "Vengeance for the many above vengeance of the few", the Order's motto. One she reminds herself now that she will try to follow. For her people. For her squadron. For herself.
"Dismissed, pilots"
"It is with great honor and prestige that I present this, your new comission, to you Captain. Welcome back to Ebony Wing" Allende beamed, her smile the type one couldn't wipe off even if one tried their hardest. She was the perfect form of professionalism, despite her wide smile and tears rolling down her cheeks. Standing at ease with her hands clasped behind her back, she stood, allowing her new comrades... her old friends, to replace the epilets on her uniform with the simple black ones from Ebony Wing. Simple, dark, mysterious... the ways of Ebony Wing. She was among them once again, reinstated to the status of Executive Officer in it's ranks.
As she took her place besides her CO, she felt the familiar pangs of command. The fears of failure and the joys of leadership. It felt no different then the first time she had been promoted within the Wing. She stodd before the squadron, many of them new faces. How many had been lost since she had last commanded them...? Three on the hunt for that rogue monk, Eo Tol who had resigned the position... Half the squadron had been replaced. And for what? For revenge, for hatred, for an idiot who would choose a false peace offered by that Union greedmonger than the true peace that can only come from victory, from vanquishing the Serco once and for all. No matter. He was not of her concern anymore. She had come to realize what the order had many months ago: The Akanese are a people, even the disgruntled would not betray their homeland. And thus, with little threat offered by him, she reconciled the fact that he had escaped. It had been a choice between him and her career. And she had chosen wisely, as any Order officer should. "Vengeance for the many above vengeance of the few", the Order's motto. One she reminds herself now that she will try to follow. For her people. For her squadron. For herself.
"Dismissed, pilots"
Hey, I have a quick question about the Akanese, I won't be able to get ingame until Monday-ish, so don't try to catch me before then...