Home

Blake sat on his couch lazily, almost sleeping. The strange brew beside his right elbow kept on sparkling with bubbles the size of a cherry. He rearly drank anything alcoholic. Mainly, because engineer work and booze doesn't mix well. But boredom gets into a man's nerves, and now, standards lowered, he just sat back on the apartment, counted his bills over and over, and sometimes burped.
   -Get all my ships in good shape, he said. I'll be back soon, he said. Hmph. Never trust someone who dies in goo and wakes up covered in goo the next second - the door almost sprung out from its frame. A slim figure materialized in the light, and yelled.
   -Get up you dirty pig! We've got work to do! - kem poked the tantalized engineer - You've been drinking again? Man, you smell.. How long is it since you've had a shower? Never mind, get moving, he's back. We're heading out!
   -We're what... Who's back?
   -The boss is back, you idiot! We're heading out to deep space.

He stood in front of the window, staring at the starfield in front of him. The thick composite glass reflected some of the pilot's features. He looked almost ten years older than when he last left this room. In the past six months, he's been wishing back to these parts many times. But there were things to be done. Things that must not be recorded by fluid routers. Things that matter more than a few months inside the capsule. A few things lay scattered over the table. He turned back, released a soft blow, and the dust ran up from the sudden movement of air. The uniform barely changed in color, but the insignias very much did. He took off the robes, the comfortable shirt, and put the uniform back on. Then he pulled out a small but heavy box from the shelf beyond the hanger inside the cabinet and put it on the table. He slowly took out the parts and assembled an old handgun, hiding it under the uniform. Stepping back in front of the window he released a heavy sigh. The Neocom booted up, and several messages started flashing on the mental projection.
- I'm home - he muttered, walking down the steps.

To boldly go where thousands have gone before...

Bold Pilot Log, Entry #30

Since the review for the Blog Banter 30 is out, I thought I owe an expansion to my banter post... Since, guess what, Bold Pilot Log entries are hitting 30 as well! So, Stan probably has got a take on the original concept, or if not he thought it was fitting into the profile of ORE and aptly named the mothership concept "Athena", which in his honor, I'll use as the name of the Gallente Mothership.

So, we have ourselves a ship that's capable of serving as a core for a deep space operation, such as Freebooting Freelancer Inc. Unauthorized Bounty and Resource Extraction, Manufacturing and Research Company. The idea here is to help small entities that probably wouldn't have the numbers to get a hold in wild space. They're only a few people a corp, with possibly less than ten active members, who usually are online for a limited time. They think the life in null or wormholes is really fun, but the POS is too permanent for their liking. Setting up a tower is too tedious if you have to be constantly on the move. Sou our wily space nomads get themselves a Mothership, the type of ship that'll serve them as their makeshift home, and will allow them quick movement if the ground gets too hot for their liking. All they have to do to move the whole base around is have it unanchor (come out of deployment mode), and jump the whole fleet at once (if they are on grid, and unless they are in combat) to a system far, far away...

Development of the Mothership concept

But guess what... It wasn't ORE's idea in the first place! In fact, the Minmatar people, especially the Thukkers always had a taste for a nomad lifeform... The problem was, they couldn't afford to run stations or towers in the far reaches of space, so what they did was is to re-purpose an existing capital ship design to suit their needs. Now they had everything they needed in the place they wanted in the time they wanted. The military implications of such a mobile outpost had not been considered at this time, and the concept was dismissed as a civilian effort. With the strengthening of the capsuleer militia however, the Republic started to look at ways to mix the effectiveness of the capsuleer vessels with the mobility of the Thukker Motherships. After a few months of engineering, this resulted in the Wolverine, the first capsule-fitted Mothership ever designed.

Meanwhile in the Empire... A few very bold Blood Raider attempts were led by ships with huge cargo and docking capacities, hauling hundreds of Raider dropships to the site of the Raid, similar to the first Incursion tactics. Soon, the military experts at the Empire realized what was happening - and that they can't fight off the Raiders without their own forces having a way to deploy full mobile operations. Searching for ways to achieve this goal, they put forth a commission for the most effective Mothership design. It was shortly decided that the Imperial Armaments' 'Reclaimer' will win.

The Caldari agents had ears and eyes everywhere again, and the Raata kind of liked the idea of having a ship serve as a mobile base for the quick response fleets. The race began as every major armaments provider started to test their own designs fr the task. In a somewhat heated discussion, the leaders of the State finally decided that the Kaalakiota Corporation's Albatross will be fitted for capsuleer usage.

The Gallente Federation's own engineers were still busy revising their Hybrid designs, when this new challenge was put forth. Luckily, ORE had been in the process of creating a ship design that would be more suitable for the hostile environment of capsuleer-inhabited outer space than the Rorqual. They sold the plans for an undisclosed (and probably incredibly high) sum of ISK to the Federation. A small group of talented scientists from all areas spent about a year, re-purposing the original blueprints to fit into the Federation's military profile.

Properties - what makes a MS a MS?

So, here we go. All the four factions have their own Mothership designs. There are things they share, in the form of base stats and bonuses, coming from their role. However, them being racial, this allows for a diversity of small boosts they can give to the fleet they are supporting. Let's go through the commonalities first:

• They have no drone bay or hardpoints. There should be a whole group of people that are (should be) able to defend them at all times.
• They have the ability to fit POS modules as if they were regular ones, and have the role bonuses to reduce the grid requirements to an acceptable level. The POS modules allow them to be used the corresponding station service. A list further down.
• They have the resources comparable to that of a Tier 3 Battleship. If they had more, they could fit capital modules in their spare slots, or they shouldn't have spare slots, both of which makes them too pewerful in combat or much less interesting to fly.
• They can support up to two gang links in their high slots.
• They can use their POS modules and gang links when in deployed mode, other modules can only be activated when they are mobile.
• Deployment itself does not consume fuels, but the usage of the station functions does.
• They cost about three carriers' worth of materials to build, and their hit points are tuned in a way that they have sufficient buffer to last through a low-number capital engagement with capital support. Dreadnoughts will be the bane of these ships.
• They have a cargo hold of 5000 or more. There are a lot fo things that you'd want to put in them even if you don't plan to participate in cargo heavy activities.

The POS modules would all fit to High Slots, allowing the following functions:

• Assembly Array: We want to be able to sustain ourselves in space, right? That means it has to be able to fit assembly arrays, fuel cost linked to manufacture job scale. It should also be able to construct ships, so allow the fitting of up to Large and Medium Advanced arrays.
• Ship Maintenance Array: Docking (as in a station) of up to a balanced number of people with subcapital ships only. Timed ship and module repair and capacitor recharge (which use fuel), fitting service (only when docked).
• Corporate Hangar Array: Storage of modules, commodities and ores within the hold of the ship. Essentially a corp hangar that's again only accessible if docked. Moving items, stacking, repackaging should cost fuel if there was at least one item to be executed on.
•  Mobile Laboratory & subtypes: Research slots. Each job consumes a certain amount of fuel depending on the scale it represents.
• Moon Harvesting Array: Yeah, you read it right. They can mine moons. Fuel is consumed for each cycle.
• Reactor Array: If they can mine moons, why not be able to react the materials? Well, they should be able to. Fuel, again is consumed per cycle. Silos are not wanted here, the materials could be placed in the cargo of the ship.
• Refining Array: The ability to reprocess minerals in deeps space is a really good thing. It should definitely not step on the toes of the Rorqual (compressing ore must remain a valid way of operation) and neither should it be more preferable than a station. Stuff can be refined from a corp hangar or the cargo and a balanced time will lapse before the end product appears in the location of origin.

Racial Bonuses

Now that we have looked at what the Mothership can do, let's stop for a moment. I did wish for factional ships rather than only one, but we can look at it from the other angle - why would I pick an Athena over a Reclaimer? Well, because they have different bonuses, meaning that the other might suit your play style! Remember, this has to keep small group in mind when in design. So, let's look at what kind of bonuses the ships would offer.

Wolverine:

• Bonus to traditional Minmatar Command links.
• Bonus to capacitor need of jumps.
• Bonus to Refining Array efficiency.

Reclaimer:

• Bonus to traditional Amarr Command Links
• Bonus to the maximum number of docked ships (when a ship maintenance array is fitted)
• Bonus to  Assembly Array slot number

Athena:

• Bonus to traditional Gallente Command links
• Bonus to jump range
• Bonus to Corporate Hangar capacity

Albatross:

• Bonus to traditional Caldari Command Links
• Bonus to jump fuel consumption.
• Bonus to Laboratory slot number

Closing Words

So, here we have them. The pride of any nomad group - their Mothership, their mobile home. No longer are they forced to carry around POS modules in clumsy ships, and no longer does it take hours to move from one system to another. Just unanchor the Mothership and go. Well, there obviously have to be some drawbacks, righ? Well, here is the list I can offer:

1. The whole stuff only works if the pilot is online. Account sharing is a bannable offense. I leave the conclusions to you.
2. It consumes fuel for every freaking operation (just as a POS would, maybe even more). You have to keep the checkbooks tight if want to rely on this thing.
3. The tank on this ship is really thin for its size. No capital modules means that the Motherships can barely be fitted to be saved by a good triage carrier when caught by a gang.
4. The only safety this ship has is that in can sit on a deep space bookmark and cloak up.

I'm pretty sure there are a lot of ways that you can exploit these things, and there may be big holes in the idea, but that's why I'm putting it out there - take a look and please comment if have any suggestion as to how it could be improved.

Sessym out.

Space Zombies

The capsuleer sat back in his couch. His eyes narrowed and his face tightened. His voice was quiet and dripping with anger.
-I don't care how you'll fix it, Kem. I didn't ask you to do this. You shouldn't have come here and I will not move a finger to save you. I'll take you with me if you're still alive, but don't expect me to save you.
The video transmission cut off. The capsuleer eyed his handgun. The trusty 'Regimen'  lay on the table, loaded, armed. All it would take him to save the girl was to take the gun into his pocket, walk down a few stairs, use an elevator, turn on a corridor, and fire two rounds. His reflexes were polished within the capsule, no ordinary man could possibly match them. But this has grown out of control. Even his mind, very much used to parallel operations, could not digest the complexity here.There were unclear intents, missing reasons, unforseeable consequences. Besides, the girl needs to learn her place.

Kem was shaking as she closed her PDA. The adrenaline in her veins was burning, and the roar of guns did little to calm her. She was hiding behind a crate, the people shooting at her were standing at the entrance of the hangar. If only she could turn the lights off. She fumbled with her pockets looking for the small hidden gun she was always carrying, to no avail. Beams of energy struck near her. They must have heatvision too. The coolant pipe did help to hide her signature, but the trails of residual heat were there. She couldn't just wait here. She could barely see from the blood that was seeping into her eyes from her wound. Suddenly a small door opened next to her. She couldn't hold it anymore, and fainted. Blake walked silently over her. The bulky engineer gently took the fragile seibestor woman over his shoulder, and disappeared into the station's twisting tunnels.

There was a knock on the door, then it opened wide. Blake had no weapon, so the only thing he could do is to try and cover Kem from view. The capsuleer stood in the doorway, hand clenched, eyes narowed.
-You've become jumpy in this place. Get your bearings, we'll leave in ten minutes.
They both knew it was no joke. He needed them both, and that also meant they would be using the ship that made Kem's skin crawl. From afar, the monstrous battleship looked intimidating, from the inside, it was the embodyment of the name the authorities gave to the class. Nightmare. The crew's quarters were comfortable, if a bit creepy. The maschinery in the fighting compartment however, Kem was no friend of those things. The huge stabilizer coils were snaking all over the place, and the web of arm-thick cables made it very similar to a spider's lair. In combat you'd hear the endless rattle of the turret mechanisms and the low growl of the coils as they infused the turrets with the huge energy without overheating them. Sometimes the cooling of the shield generators would scream up, as the Gist C-type shield booster did its work, sapping the capacitors almost as intensively as a full wolley of Tachyon beams. Kem's mind screamed at her not to board the ship, but fear overcame memory and soon she would be behind her console, monitoring the weapon systems, as they awakened by the attachment of the capsule. Blake came over to run some checks on the riggin he installed in the past few days. For her relief the shield booster of dubious origin was gone, a technology level two shield extender sitting in its place. Mounted, that thing was monstrous, and added even more complicated wiring to the already fuzzy matrix. However, this could only mean one thing. This time, it is not some petty conflict in a small system somewhere in empire. They will be going up against real tough stuff now.
-I need to check on the MWD. Home tech ain't trusty-rusty anymo'e - Blake hummed and stormed down the corridor alone. MWD? This is serious shit. For days now, Kem calmed down. This was the eerie calm she liked to work in. They will really be putting their hides on the line. She gave the green light for weapons systems and the ship undocked.

They went from warp to jump and warp for about an hour, then the movement stopped. The comms arrays lit up. They joined a fleet. The capsuleer maneuvered the camera drone around. Greenish light everywhere. Incursion. The Sansha is here. After a few ship-ahoys, the fleet commander came in clear and loud. This was it. The capsuleer opened a shipwide channel and spoke as the tachyon beams started to vaporize the shields of enemy ships:
-Here we go. Man all stations. This is not the joke of missions you people are used to. Time to roast some space zombies!

Wounded

He maneuvered the camera drone softly around. The look of the site was spectacular but he was much more concerned about the red crosses Aura marked his adversaries with. The Wolf class advanced frigate, now labeled 'Flameburst' was taking ages to reach the warehouse. Ages, as in ten or so seconds. The capsuleer quickly brought up the cargo trasfer interface, and the robotic arms pulled in the reason for him entering this deathtrap.
-Watch the heat sink! - yelled Kem, as the Wolf, propelled by the extreme power of the oversized afterburner drifted towards the warehouse, nearly scratching one of the weakest parts of the ship. Fortunately the kinetic barriers kicked in, and the frigate bumped off with almost equal velocity. The capsuleer turned the warp drive on, and within seconds the fickle Wolf was leaving the deadspace pocket, the angry Serpentis still trying to achieve a target lock until they realized no one's there anymore.

The station was one of the few permanent homes for the capsuleer. The dock coordinator smiled at the timely return, and then sent the little ship to the capsuleer's favorite hangar. The amarrian design provided a magnificient view of the station interior. The pilot did not leave the ship, but contacted the agent he was working for. High security space was always busy, and a lot of people meant a lot of criminals. There's always a new job for the venturing capsuleer, provided he or she climbs the ropes of official corporate trust. The capsuleer was well known in this station, at least in the official circles. Sometimes people would knock on his room right next to the dock. In the age of nanites and people not dying because of some gadgets and computers within their bodies, who in their sane mind would think to register a knock on a metal door in any system? Those people who did knock usually had something fishy in mind and wanted the capsuleer to take care of them. Kem marveled at the extent of some of these requests. Simple deliveries of small trinkets and leading large scale military operations alike. The capsuleer had well-tried crew for these runs, including the lead engineer, Blake, who was sometimes harsher than a brutor farmer boy, but Kem really didn't mind the attitude. The man always pulled his weight and beyond all the cursing and spitting, he had a heart, and women like Kem had a good eye for that. Her thoughts shifted back to the capsuleer as the elevator carried her down to his hangar.

The man talked not a word more than was necessary. He always seemed to be suspended deep in his thoughts. Kem did not question him about his past - the wrinkles around his eye and the pale reflections in his iris told all she needed to know. Some people become capsuleers to leave their proletarian roots behind. Many dream of profits and challenges unknown to planetside people. Some others try to break free of the traditions their nations are entrenched in. And some, probably the most, have something they'd rather leave behind. No matter the reasons they admit, each and every one of them is trying to escape something. This particular capsuleer seemingly had multiple things to escape from. Who she saw was a man without fears and regrets. He probably lost his family to something horrible, she mused, because he never talks about them, nor does he reveal his family name. The capsuleer always introduced himself by his callsign, and with subordinates preferred the address 'pilot', rather than any fancy ranks or titles. This appealed to the seibestor woman, though she noted that for an amarrian - and a khanid of all kinds - the capsuleer was awfully humble and very kind in his own way. Some of the crew were slaves before the 'mighty Empress' decided to release them to the four winds - without food and jobs. The capsuleer took these stragglers in, and gave them work and hope. He actively encouraged them to seek ties with their families. In case they died when he lost a ship, he sent the remainder of their belongings to their families, along with their remaining pay to help ease their grief. It wasn't much, but it was a nice gesture. The pilot actually took care of his people. The small battleship and cruiser fleet he maintained gave them homes and employment. In return, the rules were strict. He always undocked with a skeleton crew, no errors, no slackers permitted. Rather dead than useless is what he believed a crew member should be. As much as he approached the people casually, he demanded complete attention and precise work. This duality is a marker for a kind of people who Kem could refer to with only one word: wounded.

Random Brain Fart - EVE Races Warfare Philosophy

Bold Pilot Log, Entry #23

Amarr - Give up! My armor is strong as my faith in God, no weapon can harm me. His holy laser light will reach you no matter how you try to run!

Caldari - Can't dodge missiles, eh, punk? And yeah, I shield tank because I'm not gonna buy damn nanites.

Gallente - Just wait till I get in range, you're so fucked monsieur. By the way, armor tanks are manly, m'kay?!

Minmatar - RATATATATA! AAAAAAAAH! RATATATA!

Sessym out.

Titanium Sabot H

The mechanical trigger hit the cartridge, giving heat to the few metallic sparks that erupted inside. The propelling compund, a careful mix of explosive and oxigen  sprung to life. Small molecules burst from the heat of the sparks, rapidly devouring the air they were floating in. In a matter of nanoseconds, the whole charge was spent, and the giant surge of energy split the cartridge open. It didn't waste much energy, so the inflation of the flue continued to push the bullet forward, into the rotating spiral of the barrel. The outer sheath of the bullet slightly melted, and took the shape of the barrel, allowing it full control over the motion. A few more nanoseconds, and the explosion given away all it's pressure, directly into the bullet, which accelerated to five times the speed of the ripples it would make in the air. It left the barrel instantly, further propelled and shaped by it, launching into the open. Some of the flue had escaped with it, with no containers restricting its inflation, giving a last nudge to the small projectile. The bullet darted through the relatively thick recycled air of the station, connecting on the metallic surface it was aimed at.

The outermost sheath heated up further due to the friction from the air, and the pressure poised by the armoured cloth. The heat dissipated quickly as the molten matter flew off the bullet, weakening the molecular structure of the armor. The cords started to split as the blunt and soft outer shell gave way to the second, hardened and sharpened sheath. Soon this layer of the bullet took all the heat that the tremendous force it was fired with caused upon impact, and its hot, pointy front combined with the polished surfae pushed it through easily. The second layer of the armor was more problematic. The ceramic scales that overlap each other beneath the clothing stood ready to take the energy away from the shot. The third sheath however, an incredibly dense but flexible metal compund broke the second sheath into sparks and caused the bullet to pivot slightly and turn around the edges of the scales, bypassing the resilient ceramics and breaking through right into the skin. The sheath was spent in the process, and the bullet had lost four fifths of its energy, but the sheaths had done their job and penetrated the armor. Now it was the shell's turn - there were nanofiber reinforced bones it its way. The hot metal burned through the flesh, and the volatile matter slowly took the shape of a waterdrop, it's titanium core tearing into the flesh and bones, finally stopping in the left chamber of the heart, leaving it essentially disfunctional, though neither of the other wounds caused by the projectile were bleeding.

Just about when the bullet passed through the last layer of the victim's skin, the Imperial Armaments 'Regimen' PER-60 started its recoil cycle. The barrel retracted in the bullet's wake, and the second round was lifted into position within the gunlock. The trigger loosened back as the murderer's finger released the trigger and the spring pushed it back into its place. Most of the kinetic energy from the recol was spent by now, and as the first ripples of yound started to emanate from the shot, the handgun returned to its previous position, no longer forcing the hand upwards.

The murderer, a certain capsuleer from a certain corporation looked at the target. The tripple-sheathed, high velocity Titanium Sabot H round did it's job well. He was thinking about the globalization capsule technology brought to the unverse. He just left his Jovian-made hydrostatic capsule in a Gallente station in Amarr space, only to be assaulted by an assassin of Intaki origin, who was probably working for a Caldari corporation, judging by his equipment manufactured by the Kaalakiota Corporation. The sidearm he used to protect himself was designed by an Amarrian corporation to fire rounds favored by the Minmatar, no less.

Interesting weapon, the IA 'Regimen' series. These sidearms were designed to use conventional explosive-propelled projectiles of 6 mm caliber, which aligns well with the corporation's core philosophy. It was no coincidence that the 6 mm 'H' series of traditional minmatar design fit well into this handgun. The logic there ould go like this: if you are out in the open, where you are prone to assaults, it is best that you have a reliable gun at your side, one which can be fired immediately with good efficiency and cheap charges. The mechanical firing method also came as a side effect of this - you can't jam a weapon that doesn't have microchips in it. Alas, the PER-60 could fire a nail if it had the proper cartridge.

The assassin was well prepared. Killing a capsuleer in his quarters would not necessarily dispose of him, but, especially if they last died a long time ago, could wipe a lot of memories out of them. What, however, he failed to register is this particular capsuleer's bad habit to be always alert and don't trust anyone and anything. That's how life went in New Eden.

Business As Usual

It was freezing. The sudden decrease in pressure surely perforated some of the cruicial parts, but the temperature drop took over much faster, leaving it solid, pale. It was really unconcerned about the situation, though. In fact, nothing really could concern it, seeing that it was a frozen corpse now. The only thing that would be of interest about it could be if it rejoined to its old self in form of cheap biomass, but seeing that the unsignificant event that led to its current state happened far in deadspace, nobody is likely to pick it up.

A few region farther, three red warning lights lit up over a tank. The first signaled a new arrival, the second signaled that the reason for the arrival was death, and the third signaled that the new body is functional and no medical attention required. The fluid started to drain down the pipes and it was time for the awakening serum to be introduced to the patient. As the drug was injected, the tank opened and the man stepped out, seemingly staggered but with freakish calm on his face for someone who just died. He strained one of his eyebrows looking at the novice doctor assistant, like he was saying 'what the hell are you looking at?', but the capsuleer did not utter a word. The assistant woke from his stupor and handed him the towel he was holding. The capsuleer wrapped it around his pelvis casually, and walked towards the shower. He twitched his nose, the irritating smell of the statis fluid his clone was in took over his senses for a moment. He frowned, then entered the cabin and opened the tap. Hot water poured down the well-built body. Some twenty seconds later, he was walking towards his personal quarters. The aisle was surprisingly quiet this hour, leaving him to his thoughts. He entered the capitain's quarters throughout the Door. From here, he had an almost perfect view of the insides of the station, where like small dots and muscles the maintenance crew was moving al kinds of parts and ships around. It reminded him of the work colons do, taking in and ejecting their volatile food continuously.

He looked back at the Door. That thing meant a gateway between two worlds to him. One was the known, the thrilling and the profitable. The other? He had no real feelings about the other on top of indifference. For many years, he perceived people beyond that door as parts of the body that served his existence. They did not matter much to him - he wasn't interested in their ailments, problems, hunger and affairs. But sometimes he is just forced beyond that Door, to the world that he doesn't want to be a part of, or, more accurately - not this way. He shook off the thoughts of his head, and then walked up to the console, ordered a new capsule, requested his Hurricane to be prepared for boarding, and sit down on the sofa, waiting for the fleet and alliance comms to light up. Flying into dangerous space in a capsule-fitted ship and getting even his pod blown up was his way of business-as-usual afterall.

Almost. Dead. Again.

So, I decided to write some words for the  Starfleet Comms competiotion. I hope it is as entertaining as writing it was.

This is my entry to the Inspired By Images Of Eve Competition 3. More details and links to all entrants can be found at Starfleet Comms.

 
The air was heavy with the moisture of oils and the stinking rust that came off the old pipes. Blake was taking the classical approach for inspecting the leaks that set off the alarms on the bridge. It wasn't easy work, as free space is not something you can find in abundance of the service tunnels within a Rifter class frigate. He kept hammering away at the hydraulic pipes that connected to the mechanism handling the main thrusters. As always, time was of essence. The dirt on the floor, formed from lubricants and various nasty substances started to thicken, and then at one turn the tertiary depressurizer gave up, and hot liquid started to drip as the wrench connected with a deep clank.
-Gotcha, bitch! - Blake spat as he began to search for something in his toolbox to close the leak with.
-Damn man, what's taking you so long?! - whistled an anxious voice  from his comms. He dropped the wrench as an emphasis, and shouted back.
-Keep yer ass shut, ain't no fancy nanites here!
-Get that pipe patched up, we don't have all day!

Blake wouldn't admit but he really liked the owner of that voice. It's been two years since they worked together. The capsuleer was a 'chill dude'. He had a good sense of humor, insane ideas, and a deep wallet for all Blake cared. He particularly liked to join him on his shady deals, and he was pretty sure there were times when they wouldn't make it without the other. Blake kept telling him to stop, but he insisted that he didn't really care. All these risky endeavours were just for fun, he claimed. Well, certainly it was more fun than sitting around the station the whole day while the damn fool was sniffing around the market for his next lucrative deal, but Blake couldn't get over the fact that to the capsuleer, everything is replacable. It really didn't matter to him if the ship he was in blew up or he lost hundreds of his crew in the same explosion. He was even joking around with his life, saying to those threatening him to go on and gut him, telling his new clone needed a lot of biomass. Blake, on the other hand, as a regular and sometimes only crew member, liked his own hide where it was, covering his organs. He also liked his wallet flashing in green light on his PDA, so he did what the pilot asked and thought of the comments he was allowed to spout at him as a bonus.

The capsuleer stared at the directional scanner. The poor thing had been constantly running its calibration cycles. He had every reason to be anxious. The cargo was hot. He mused about his ship of choice. Perhaps it would have been better to choose a more powerful ship. He had access to the universe's sturdiest cruisers and fastest frigates. Yet he had to do it in a Rifter. The poor old fellow was collecting dust and adding new layers of rust in a dark corner of his hangar. He couldn't help but point at it - "I want you to get that ship ready". "You are an idiot. She's a glorified wreck with some thrusters and rotting guns attached." That was what Blake yelled when he noticed what he was pointing at. He had a big mouth, he always stank of oil and had no interest in the big goings-on of the world, but he was a damn good engineer and mechanic.

The nebulae did a good work of hiding the rusty frigate from the people sniffing around. 'Low Security Space' doesn't even start to describe the place they were forced to stop. A rival gang of capsuleers were waiting on the incoming gate, and the warp core wept as the enemy distruptor latched on it's signature. Luckily enough, the pilot was not really a sharp one and forgot that microwarpdrives don't require hudred percent stability to operate, so the combined effect of injected energy and mass field bloom was more than enough to toss the agile frigate out of range.

The ships capacitor of course fell short and the ship dropped out of warp way before the exiting gate. Luck seemed to be on its side when the sensors recalibrated and showed a small nebula with some rocks floating around. It could of course be one of the local scoundrels' outposts, but the buildings were apparently derelict, however still anchored to the plain asteroid. A quick sweep of the camera drone showed no apparent danger, and the dusty clouds all over the place could provide a good cover as they are heavily polluted with metals. It was a perfect place to hide for a few minutes, but only so long.

The markers still showed the 80 percent module damage on the MWD systems, as the directional scanner flashed and the signatures of the enemy ships became apparent in its display. Blake's rusty voice came like a heavenly blessing.
-Pfeh! Ya can fire up navigation again. If ya overheat the fucking MWD again, I'll put chilli in your pod fluid, ya asshole!
-'Bout time buddy, let's get the hell out of here.

As the rival fleet landed on sensor grid, the Rifter entered warp, structure creaking and crackling.
Blake cleared his throat and wiped off the sweat from his forehead.

Almost. Dead. Again.

Sessym out.