22 For the Glory

Our operations of mining Arkonor are going quite well. Non the less - with a bigger staff we could be much more effective and eat up those roids that easily give away 15000 and more units at once before the system connection breaks up and the scans for the next access has to start all over again. While burning the minerals out of the dark space I had some time to examine the small item Mister Skunk had given to me. Something he must have been protecting with his life all the time for the only purpose to hand it over to me. No matter if he would be able to tell me anything about it at all or not.

And as history has already recorded, we crossed circumstances that totally prevented him from doing so. Until yet the small black pencil shaped item wasn't willing to reveal its secret to me. It was no ordinary Holo-Mem-Stick nor anything else that might deliver data or information as all the other devices looking similar in New Eden would do. The only while almost imperceptible hint so far has been three engraved icons on its lower end. Symbolizing the Amarr, the Ni-Kunni and Khanid. Does it have a deeper meaning or is it pure coincidences that almost at the same time when I became the bearer of this little artefact King Khanid II gets re-embraced by the amarrian empress and granted a seat on the privy council?



All this does remind me a little bit of King Frederick Barbarossa of Swabia. The man who reforged the holy roman empire with wisdom, might and political deftness granting land-rights and status to even his direct enemies, luring them into fellowship. He succeeded and ruled as emperor more than 30 years which was quite long for those days back on earth. Maybe her highness somehow managed to convince the disunited heirs and King Khanid II to follow a common goal for a great cause none of us was yet able to imagine.

And as a personal matter of fact I much more want to know what my role in all this shall be. The agent that had contacted me, telling me about a chest I brought with me, the gallentean pilot who rescued my floating body and all this help and pushing forward coming from The General finally pointing me to Mister Skunk and the artefact I am holding in my hand. I actually tried to bite it open and kneeled before it praying my ass of as never before... nothing - no result.

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

21 Back to business

I saw many men die in battle, in bloody clan wars or just being killed for cheating at gambling. None of it made it easier or routine. And despite the fact that I had known Mister Skunk only very briefly his death weighted as heavy as a gone lifelong friend. Rest in peace general's jester.. rest in peace.

Two Interceptors were chasing me from the station. I had to cloak, jump, use wormholes and detours to get rid of them which lengthened my unpleasant journey. One hole spit me out deep in gallentean space, 28 jumps away from home. The worst part beside a dead friend the yet unsuccessful quest for the mysterious gallentean pilot and my lost chest was that I had promised 50 medium gamma frequency crystals to be delivered later that day to a customer and that we still lacked half of the megacyte when I left for the meeting. Khimeth was stilled locked down so she couldn't take over.



Not that we don't know where to get Arkonor for some Megacyte. If the damn wormholes do not collapse too early its no big operation for smaller deliveries. But for this order the countdown was already ticking. We yesterday had lost 13000 units when the wormhole collapsed before I could pick up the ore with our Bestower. So its back to business, no matter what had happened in the last hours. I couldn't contact the general by myself anyway - one way messages only - and I would chop my left foot of if he didn't know all details by now already.

Beside my own business getting MIIII up and running I was asked to write a script for another holoreal. The deal looks promising enough to check it out so I will have tons of work and it will create tons of unwanted delays to all the operations our little corporation was about to face. But whining doesnt help - thats a fact.

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

20 Slippery when wet V

By now I really started to hate these moments. Those first seconds when you open your eyes after a blackout and the painful lightnings - a mixture of the physical impact that knocked you out and the overload all your senses. One of the Minmatar-Bodyslam-XXXL cans had hit me right between the eyes. At least it was the last thing I remember being recognized by my visual organs. The big logo on the front side of the can growing bigger and bigger. The bruise between my eyebrows told the rest of the story.

I was barely on my feet starting to search for my contact when Mister Skunk showed up at my side, blood dripping from his left temple. He grabbed my arm with plain fear in his eyes and dragged me away from the counter and out of the room. With one last look I saw the man that had transported the oversized drink cans lying on the floor his head awkwardly twisted.

"I killed him. It was no accident. He did throw the cans on purpose to kill the both of us!".

My facial expression begged for an explanation.
Right now it was not the time for words as we hobbled down the corridor trying to reach our docked spaceships.

Only seconds later the first projectiles and laser-salvoes fired from handguns hit the wall corner where we just had turned to the right. Almost at the door to hangar 7b a grappling-gun snatched my partners legs. I tried to intercept his impact but instead of holding to my hands he squeezed a small item into them and gave me a push advancing me backwards through the door.

"Run Stevesan run. The galaxy needs you.. RUUUNN!".



I jumped up onto my feet but before I had even reached the door he closed it already. Still screaming that I have to run - that I have to succeed and therefore really have to back off from the door, NOW!
I staggered backwards - away from the door - away from a great guy that definitely could have brought me closer to my own destiny. Someone I had talked to just a bit more than an hour and still wished like nothing else in this moment could have become part of my destiny.

When I entered the cockpit of my ship - exhausted, irritated and really sad - the first explosion jolted the station. And with a burning tail and running afterburners I raced off from the debris that was flying away from the bursting smugglers den. The only thing left was the little item Miste Skunk had given me.

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

19 Slippery when wet IV

I quickly docked and left my Magnate with a bad feeling behind. First of all she was the only way home as not only being equipped with a cloaking device but as well with a probe launcher and eight probes. Enough equipment to scan my way back into the empire. But in contradiction to the gamblers paradise I had left just a few minutes ago, which looked quite inviting and more like a cease fire hideaway, this place made a much worse first impression. One of those places that instantly leaves a heavy hollow stench in your back forcing you to look around - to look back if they haven't already started ripping off the plating of your ship's hull.

But I couldn't help it. I had to look for the smelly guy as the tall one had told me in order by the fat man. I more felt like a blind mouse following the smell of the cheese or like a puppet remotely stirred into disaster than being my owns fate master.

Just one hour later all my fears had been wiped away. Not because of confidence that was given to me about my ship or a safe return. No - exclusively triggered by the consumption of my fifth minmatarian body slam and the tears in my eyes from constant laughing attacks caused by my partner in alcohol.

He was telling me one hilarious story after the other about my new fat friend, and his ugly deputy. A highly decorated General of our proud Amarr Navy he was. Feared by the enemy and loved by the people. Many hopeless encounters had been won by him using very creative tactics. One story mentioned a distraction where he lured the enemy into a trap giving the naked opera singer, with a wonderful bass baritone voice, the storyteller added admiringly. And when the three gallentean platoons only had eyes for him his own two squads started backstabbing them. Rumours claim that he alone ripped apart two dozen enemies bare handed and bare naked during the fight that followed.

I had a great time with my contact in this little trashed bar but non the less didn't forget the goal why I was doing all this. I was about to ask him about the gallentean pilot - the guy who had picked me up first when my appearance in New Eden took place - when I recognized from the corner of my eye a man, badly swinging from left to right . He fiercely tried to balance two cans of the same stuff we were drinking. Only he tried to keep the XXXL-Versions on his shoulders crossing the room while he looked like having consumed one can too much already. And before I was able to jump up he twisted, faltered one step back, turned again an winded up at another customer's bar stool leg with the disastrous result of firing both cans into mister Skunk's and my direction.

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

18 Slippery when wet III

My new friend, a real master of lulling politeness didn't waist much of my time. One of his close confidants was introduced to me. A tall guy in an unadorned blue pilot's jumpsuit sitting opposite to me all the time.

"My friend will bring you to the person you asked me to meet. I really hope you can find useful hints to get what you are looking for".

Mister Fatty, as I secretly had named him - he had never introduced himself - already knew most of my story. I wasn't informed how he had managed, why he was giving me a hand and what his profit of all this will be? All I was told was to either blindly trust him and just take it for granted or leave and stay out of his way.

As I had nothing to loose I gladly accepted his conditions and went back to the docking station with the tall guy who hasn't said a word yet.

"Mister Nogunata, if I was informed correctly your ship has limited cloaking capabilities. I therefore ask you to stay close to my tail, cloak while you align to our new jump coordinates and try to stay as unremarkable as possible".

Without any recognizable expression on his face he added that we don't wont to be the reason for any fleet battles because his boss would be very unhappy with that. And that indeed no one ever could possibly intend this.



I silently nodded while transmitting a new code to my personal AI triggering another two hour timeframe. What followed was a quick journey through two linked wormholes leading to something that looked like an illegal shipyard or smugglers den. My guide kept cloaked after we both had dropped out of warp. The comlinkscreen flashed showing his angular face telling me to dock at port 7b and to ask for The Skunk - with best regards from Mister NiceGuy. That was the last I saw of him and his Buzzard.

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

17 Slippery when wet II

When I regained consciousness I was almost unable to open my eyes but I felt that I was sitting in an comfortable armchair, had a bit of a headache and a strange smell of burned hair in my nose.

"Ah Mister Stevesan! You have finished your unwanted electrified dream".

With these words I got lifted up quite harsh and heartily embraced afterwards. The smell of spiced wine made its way into my nostrils. No cheap one for sure but still not my favourite after being knocked out. Accompanied it got by the scent of exquisite Dundeg-Silk.

One of the guys I had met during the extended examination by the amarrian administration did wear cloth made of it. A vibrating fur-like fabric, taken off the abdominal membrane of a special sort of squirrel-like creature - extremely reclusive. The problem is that those creatures instantly die if the fur is taken of their bellies. Some scientists claim to know that it is their main communication organ and without that those highly social and quite intelligent creatures refuse to breath one more minute.


Therefore my facial expression didn't seem to be the most entertained when I finally reconquered my ability for visual input. And as I already had feared, it was the fat guy in the expensive looking suit that really had a hang on me. Unexpected way he wasn't a smudgy mid class spacemafia gangster guy. Very tended he smiled with teeth as bright as the stars into my face and started talking.

"Mister Nogunata, I am very sorry for my bodyguard's overeagerness to protect me from unwanted visitors. I already got him executed for this mistake!", he shouted into my face with a snorting laughter.
"No, no, I did for sure NOT kill my beloved Jacob. That was just a joke. Non the less I am very sorry for the misunderstanding".

A seat was offered to me right next to his and some wine was served.

"Drink - it will kill the unpleasant smell of burned hair in your nose".

He was a smart guy reading my mind and instantly replying to my unspoken question that the drinks are not envenomed and that my communication frequencies are unblocked in case I want to do any calls.

His last note reminded me of the instruction I had given to my Ship-AI. I brought up the pupil projected information panel and concluded that the two hours had almost passed.

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

16 Slippery when wet I

What a meeting. I already was aware and warned by my middleman that the contact I was about to meet isn't one for the high society - so to say. Frederique Rostardes Allante. That name smears into your brain when giving that guy a handshake during the occasional introduction ceremony between half shaded people in half shaded rooms. A few floors down below the promenade deck inside a misused Moon-Mining-Station somewhere in the Haras-System. One of those illegal gambler paradises. Stuffed with a lot of strange looking machines I never had seen before. At least the face expressions of pure tautness - staring at the game in front of them in desperate hope of winning - at least that looked familiar to me.



The misshaped creature that was my host hustled thru the crowd hastily steering to the backdoors. I hate backdoors and I haven't had the best feeling especially about this one when I saw the guard in front of it. Not that he was bigger than me which is no real challenge. But the fact that he was as broad as he was long did leave an irritating impression behind. Mister Allante didn't seem to bother at all. And all to my curiosity the living box immediately opened the door on his approach, nodded hardly noticeable, pushed me inside and silently closed it one inch behind my back.

What I saw next looked really familiar to me. Groups of - lets say four up to ten people - sitting around greenish fitted tables, with big piles of chips in front of them, or small piles for the more unlucky ones and one person dressed in a black regular that was dealing cards.

"Welcome home baby!", I mumbled to myself. Quickly trying to catch up with the one being responsible for that slippery handshake earlier this evening. The last thing I saw was him approaching a small fat guy in an expensive looking suit. Both embracing each other exchanging hugs left and right. But even before I could get close enough to catch a single word of their welcoming scene my personal lights went out with an electrifying, zapping sound.

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

15 Money and Passion

A fleet of trained pilots can bring whole empires to doom. The right squad at the right place can turn the tides for corporations. Even a single, unskilled pilot can change the outcome of a battle. But without money you are not able to buy him a spaceship! And with the quest for this mysterious chest that I was told I should possess I once might need fleets of trained pilots to obtain it. Which depends on where to look for it and who might stand in my way. I already started contacting people to get into touch with the Gallente pilot that picked me up on my curious arrival. Maybe he can remember where it had happened, if he is willing to talk. Maybe that is already the point where the money spending starts. Not for ships but for bribing the right people.

Good news is, that the suspension of Khimeth's pilot license is undergoing a reconsideration. She is the only one I can trust from the bottom of my heart. I dunno why but something is dragging us together against all odds. I mean she is almost as tall as I am and can become a real fury if things are not going her way. I always was more into the little cute girls, but her sharp senses and phenomenal bond to columns of ones and zeros paired with a very strong will make her outstanding. And if she grants you a little peek behind her logical mask you can see her all-consuming passion burning...



No time for dreams yet. We have too much to do to think about cupid's arrows. Not that we won't need things to shoot with, but bigger laserturrets would do a better job right now than the arrow of love.

I already have begun to set up several logistical basics for our corporation. MIIII is listed for quite a few weeks now, several offices are established and internal structures continue to take shape. It will still take a few more days until we really can start recruiting employees and get things going a bit more rapidly. I hope we find a few pilots that are trustworthy and can take some heat without leaving the kitchen.

"Computer? Save this log. I will fly of to a meeting within the outer rim of the Bleak Lands. If I havn't sent any signal after two hours have passed call the backup. Authorization key: NTVS-BUO-J101".

"Yes, Master. Good luck Master".

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

14 The Chest of Devotion

The last days King and Empress constantly held meetings behind closed doors. Well hidden from the public even the oddest speculations turned up consternating into mind constructs imputing a love affair between the two opposing royals. And today - today suddenly all five heirs of the empire were called in for an emergency meeting. The official press states that this hasn't happened since the coronation of our beloved Empress Jamyl I. No matter what all of this will bring to life - it at least delivers enough momentum to question my own heritage.

The place I came from, at least the place my memories recall from the time before I woke up in the personal quarters of this gallentean covert ops ship, didn't know any races like Amarr or Gallente. We only had earth mostly ruled by the Asian Freedom Foundation and the closest inhabited Planet named Centaur, about 20 light years away from earth. First populated by the Western Coalition that had departed from earth ... not without pressure from the AFF. But later on they cried out for help even louder than crying for revenge while leaving, when the fourth Genma-Invasion took place. All those civilizations I knew - but not the Minmatar, Joveans - nor caldarian bigmouths.



The intense investigations, laboratory analysis and repeated spiritual infiltrations of my genetics made the Amarrians believe I am one of them. Given birth aeons prior to their own time line and still being one of their precious children. By pure amarrian blood - coating the investigating scientists faces into infidel devotion. They didn't answer a single question that I had asked. No explanation was provided for the meaning of all this great play. I was complimented out of the door with great respect and admiration. Still it was the boot up my ass to make me leave - unillumined and struggling for a new identity.

The only hint I got hold on dropped by months later when this royal agent consulted me. Asking even more obscure questions. About a map that I must have brought with me. A chest I should have possessed. And that I have to recover it no matter what it will cost. Even if that means to wage war all over New Eden rolling up every single human installation inside out. Well, with little bucks in my pocket I could only scream a few opposing people to death .. at least. But that wont be enough I fear.

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

13 Empress meets King - Poison meets Blood

"Computer? Systemcheck - report recent activities":

"Network-AI of N. Stevesan,
Amarrian Solar Cluster Quantum Core,
Crystal Series, Fourth Edition.
Reporting for duty.

All recent log entries recovered from backups.
100% of the visual materials got restored from external sources.
No further security breaches detected.
All systems are functional, Master".

Very good, that wannabe Amarr-AI is properly on-line and no real losses or breaches had occurred. Still I don't understand how that could have happened. How anybody was able to take down internal amarrian information services and destroy quite an amount of data. Further more the hacker had managed to leave his calling card for almost 36 hours in the system. I haven't found any record of foregoing hacking attempts on the internal systems in the recent centuries. If that isn't a bad omen. Like the recent meetings between Empress Jamyl and King Khanid. If there was no need for interaction between those two there wouldn't be any and if it were only to satisfy the pride of both.

But those disturbing intelligence reports Khimeth dug out of the security system while being tied to our home station, which report an attempted infiltration of an amarrian planet doesn't mean anything good either. Until yet their has been no certified confirmation on whose behalf this mercenary commando had landed on the planet. Having a close eye on the recent episodes on the political stage of New Eden it could be called obvious that it must have been a Minmatar related operation. Tensions are increasing and they are in great need of resources like never before.

Well, maybe we can turn that to our favours and make some profit from this mess. I hope Khimeth can dig out some more informations. Meanwhile I try and broaden our market activities to further increase the cashflow for MIIII.

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

12 Say yes and end the war

Just for the protocol - When the AoD-Mail arrived and had stated its question I started singing " Believe like Disturbed had performed during Ozzfest-Tour back on good old earth in the early 21st century. For sure those holos had no clue about those details - they hadn't been there. I guess their AI didn't even had access to any records that said something about earth. Otherwise they might have figured out what a nice song it is. Non the less the AI understood that in a sarcastic but simple way I answered its question and therefore the holograms disappeared before I could come to the end of the song.

Time to get back to work. The haunted yard I had scanned yesterday already got plundered so I have to start all over again. And as it looks like it will become a long session. So far I only scanned unstable wormholes. And that is no route you take alone I was told. I really have to get CONCORD convinced to give Khimeth her pilot license back. There are so many opportunities out there.

The funny news of yesterday was that CONCORD invalidated the war that DOOM BRINGERZ had declared a few weeks ago. The losses during that war, if I recall the incidents correctly: MiNDDiGGiNG iNDUSTRiES lost one Bestower worth 700.000 ISK before the war declaration. DOOM BRINGERZ payed several million ISK war fees during the war. Not that we can call that a heroic victory, but analysed on a mathematical level I would say that we won.

(Recovered blog-entrie from 2009)

11 Unpleasant Questions

It was not the first AoD-Mail I had received. The first one caught me almost one year back, when I just had arrived in the Essence-Region. They confronted me with the facts of my perforated citizen record and asked me about my point of origin and such things. Due to the fact that I hadn't lied to the Bureau of Internal Affairs when I first applied for my pilot license, I honestly repeated all I had told them about my arrival in New Eden. Which seemed to satisfy their desire for information cause the doors unlocked and the holos vanished immediately after I had finished.

This time it wasn't the Ministry of Internal Affairs. The holo of the CONCORD-Captain, being flanked by two amarrian special ops trooper holos, seemed to be more of a specialized sort, dealing with security and intelligence issues. He projected the interrogation transcript from my first encounter with the amarrian sovereignty:

Nogunata "The Voice" Stevesan was born several thousand years ago during the second Genma-War as the bastardly child of Oda Nobunaga and Jaques "Jean Reno" Blanc the Onlyone. Trained as a beauty queen he travelled as the lead singer of the famous gay band TheVaselines to military encampments of the Resistance during the third Genma-War. Finally to become a hysterical but feared and victorious general who won the mother of all interstellar wars against the clone of his own father, in the forth and last Genma-War. During the last encounters his ship exploded and due to liquid nitrogen in which he was accidentally encapsulated he survived. Wobbling through time and space unnoticed just to crash thousands of centuries later into a ship in the middle of Amarr space.

Now he is back, ready to either become the emperor of the known universe or again a lead singer without talent.... you never know...

"Is that what you stated when you had been asked for your origin, Mister Nogunata?".


I started singing. I feared that my meanwhile untrained and almost rusty voice wouldn't convince these holos that the story is all the truth I can offer. Non the less I tried my very best chanting Believe as it was performed by Disturbed...

Believe – Disturbed

MP3 search on MP3hunting

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

10 AoD-Mails

This morning I received one of those AoD-Mails. Those unwanted contacts from public administrations that not only arrive within the most stupid time frames. No, they immediately open themselves on arrival - unasked - a holographic projection unfolds, the doors of the room your are at right now instantly get locked and a strange drone appears out of nowhere, starting to emit a nasty cocktail of adrenaline raising and mind focusing microwaves that wake you up like a triple doses of a caldarian night shift drink. What comes next depends on the race and sovereignty you have to deal with. The most pleasant version is the Minmatar one. In that case its an alluringly beauty or pretty boy, depending on your personal favours. The funny thing is THEY know what you like, even if you haven't yet figured it out by yourself. It has a slight touch of a cheap red-light district encounter.



Which is much better than the other appearances. The Gallente holo mostly is a smart personal advisor guy. Someone that looks like he has to be your best friend. Sweet-talking you into confession of speeding in your Titan. The Caldari orchestrate a full-scale board of directors, instantly giving you the feeling that you have failed the association. That you have betrayed your comrades.

In my case it was a highly decorated CONCORD police captain guarded by two amarrian special ops troopers in full combat suit. Which looks a bit ridicules as they are just holograms and can't do shit. They just deliver a question which has to be answered. And if you refuse to, you simply sit there until the end of all days, either starving, laughing to death looking at the stupid specops holos or dying from pure boredom. I love Answer-or-Die-Mails.

"Master, sorry to interrupt you Master but you have this meeting you did not want to be late at, Master".

"Aye, good boy Mister Crystal Series... good boy. I am coming. Get one of my more fancy dresses ready. The brownish saturday nightfever style one, will ya?".

"Yes, ...Master".

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

09 Politics

While scanning our homesystem a bit with the recently acquired probes I was watching N.E.N.N. and the latest escapades of Souro Foiritan, the actual president of the Gallente Federation. Calling that guy extravagant is a known fact but shouldn't hide his cleverness. His latest move to keep control about colonization of unpopulated systems contrary to the senate's will reminds me of the approach of my father's own attempt in reuniting the empire. First he replaced an Ashikaga-Shōgun with a more attuned member of the high society. Then, dealing candy to the poor with luring promises he started burning down all resistance.

Historical documents claim that he was forced into Sepukku by his own vassal Akechi Mitsuhide. Only to be risen from death by the Genmar shortly after - even more powerful and eager to finish his work. The undead Reputation did lead the people to believe that the universe yet had a task for this man and that they were better advised pledging loyalty to avoid awaiting doom in their next life.

Who knows why Foiritan is taking such a risky route? Even a quite democratic ruled society like the Gallente Federation sometimes tend to use drastic sanctions to maintain course for the greater good of all of them. But what if that makes someone a deeply loved martyr? One that somehow returns to life reclaiming what once belonged to him?

Well, for now I have no dealings with all this as my own destiny hasn't yet fully unfolded. But one rule is always the same:

"Study what you want to embrace,
learn what it eats and read its face.
Do not be hasty do not be on edge,
get a solid base before pushing it of the ledge".

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

08 Intel is your friend

As if I will ever learn from my mistakes. Being Amarr it is not unusual to get sent versus gallentean troops. And as long as your are a starter with your fellow Amarr-Agents, its not a big deal to saw a Tristan or two into pieces with your lasers. But later on - later on that becomes different. A few weeks ago Khimeth and myself accepted a mission contract that led us through several segments of a gallentean defensegrid. Ok, that was before we had the possibility to spend several hands full of ISK into new shiny equipment, so we warped into the locations badly fitted.

The agent even warned us and advised to bring a few people. Well, to cut a long story short: After 9 hours trying to kill the last four battleships with a Prophecy and Kestrel we had to give up. Khimeth, already falling asleep, almost crashed into one of the myriads of cruiser- and battlecruiser-wrecks we had left behind. And I was running out of ideas on how to crack those bastards open. Backup was 26 jumps away. So we called it a day. At least we knew upfront that it might be a bit tough, as we had checked several intelligence reports that were accessible within the New Eden Network.




But today I simply ignored checking any intelligence report upfront. I looked at the reward, thought to myself that its not worth bringing a battlecruiser five jumps away and therefore started again with a poorly fitted Omen. What do you expect for 500.000 ISK from an agent only being permission level 3?

After facing several gallentean battlecruisers in the second pocket I really regretted being hasty. I gave it two tries with the Omen before I jumped back to our station. Truly enraged I changed into the HMS Royal Pecker and left the station with the afterburners already running. Good thing was that I prevented myself from switching on all six beamturrets - wildly shooting into the next vicinity. The rest of the job was a piece of cake besides being annoyed by myself all the time.

"Ok, once more for you Mister Nogunata: Intel is your friend! Intel is your friend! Intel is your friend!".

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

07 The Royal Amarr Holoreel Association

It's a disaster. A simple and very common one - but still a disaster. The fact that I just had spent almost 150 million on new equipment and today even have to sacrifice hours of my daily beauty sleep cycles to get the Royal Pecker out of the dock and into battle is a mere disaster. How am I supposed to build up an infrastructure that can bear the foundation for my mission?! I somehow have to get rid of this daily duty of being a holoreel cameraman within the Royal Amarr Holoreel Association. Its always the same plot they are using anyway.

Arrival at New Eden. The Wormhole implodes. The amarrian empire is forming, seeing the rest of the survivors struggling without success - dying. The grateful emperor spreads his arms in one generous attempt to embrace all of those that have been left. For a blink in time people stand together wiping up what's left. For a single century New Eden is clamped together by this bond. Then relentless greed for power and wealth rises and finds its peek in betrayal and bloodshed. End-scene shows a minmatarian boy, half dead on the burned surface of Matar being picked up by the emperor himself to take care of him. Once more spreading his protective hand over the Minmatar...

Not that I am complaining. The job is a favour I am doing for a friend of mine and it could be worse than this. Like becoming the lavatory-attendant in a space station of a pirate corporation like those Veto guys. Man that job really stinks I was told as they seem to have a real favour for ... I  really don't want to describe that...

Today I was able to at least test the new scout-ship that I had bought for probing. Unfortunately it was only a small Blood Hideout that appeared on the scanner within minutes. But it did prove the functionality of all new systems that had been attached to the HMS Royal Pecker. Not that the Blood-Resistance I blew up had been a meaningful test for the Prophecy, that is for sure. It tasted good non the less. Especially the relieve I felt when I finally had my million-dollar-baby back in the hangar without any scratches!

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

06 God praise the prophecy

Today is a good, a bad, and for my wallet an ugly day. The good thing is, that I was offered a mission early in the morning that gave me the chance to test the Prophecy's new fitting and its capabilities. And I must say that I am really impressed. The increased damage absorbing capabilities plus six focused  modulated medium energy beams really made my day. And this brand new medium electro capacitor booster.. no that wasn't the name.

"Computer? Display the fitting summery HMS Royal Pecker".
"Yes, Master".

Medium Electrochemical Capacitor Booster, that's how they call that thing. It is almost as good as its Tech II relative but consumes less of the ships power-grid. The ugly part was the money I had to give away for all that stuff. I am still not sure if I had found the utmost best price in the trading jungle of Jita. But after a few considerations I couldn't hold it any longer. I authorized the transaction of round about 145 million ISK and hauled the new bought equipment back home. The brand new hole in my pocket this money-sink just had burned is really scaring me but the satisfaction about the new equipment is great.

Now we only have to get Khimeth's pilot license back in shape which is the bad news. Today came the confirmation. She is accused for flying drunk! I would have understood and agreed with accusations if they had caught her for flying naked! But not drunk. Smells more like a frustrated CONCORD guy that burned his fingertips in a bar. Well, hope we get that sorted out soon. Till then I will go and figure out some exploration stuff. The new equipment that got in place lately looks promising. War will be coming - but wars without supply do not last long.

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

05 Jita, a battlecruiser and frozen nitrogen

Bad news for MIIII today. Both, my partner Khimeth a blast of a caldarian fighter pilot and the sexiest nerd in the entire galaxy and our production manager are having problems with their pilot licenses. I hope that gets sorted out ASAP so we can continue to keep our little start-up on the road. Its been just a few days when we had this extraordinarily unexpected meeting with an agent of the royal family that should reveal a bit of my path within the universe. That it was not just luck when my within an  frozen nitrogen-cloud icebound body got snatched away from CONCORD by a stubborn but helpful gallentean guy.

The police for sure found out that there was no record about me. That I was no regular listed Capsuleer. And I still have no clue what spies they paid or which connection those guys used. But they managed to find out my name and actual residence. How else did it happened that those guys suddenly showed up in the station asking unpleasant questions. But that is a different story.

Right now I am on my way to Jita. My beloved HMS Royal Pecker, an amarrian battlecruiser I use for different encounters that include taking heavy damage needs a refitting. And for the fact that my partner wont be around for a few days I thought that this might be a good chance to give that ship a little upgrade and fly up to Jita. Figuring out a suitable fitting isn't that easy. A lot of shuffling around with modules, turrets and other stuff till you are as close as you can get to the maximum capacity of power grid and cpu use.

I recently upgraded my unbelievable clever Amarr-Crystal-Edition-Superduper-Network-AI with the EFT to make the fitting process a bit less of an headache. And here we go - one jump away from Jita with quite a long shopping list.

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)  

04 Learn the protocols

No, this time I didn't forget anything at all. I have some products from our factories in the belly of this Bestower, my beloved HMS Donkey VII. Destination is Youl, so I have a bit of time while hopping through the gates. And since I found out that you can simply fit a cloaking device onto that Industrial Ship to make the transportation trips at least a bit more save I don't have to clench the controls all the way.

Ups, hang on ... again someone blinking red like mad. Space Cowboy or whatever local UberDuperPirate. Met that guy quite a few times. Good thing he is alone, so his scrambling attacks wont take hold on me. Bang - again this nasty railgun buzzing. Shields down to 75 percent - one more - shields down to 43 percent and out we warp. Good Donkey. If that guy would at least shot in a nice cadence I could hum to it a little!

Its forerunner wasn't that lucky, or why do you think this one is number VII already. As I mentioned in an earlier log, I was doing some test drilling in a lowsec roidbelt a few weeks ago. Luckily not with a slow and vulnerable Mining Barge but in an okay fitted Arbitrator. The good old HMS Tritanium that already made me quite an amount of money. And suddenly that thing warps directly onto my position. I didn't even take the time to call back the mining drones or pick up any of the already mined Jaspet. The only thought facing that blinking red ship icon was to get the hell out of there. I didn't even check the name in the local channel in first place and when I finally arrived in the nearest station I thought to myself: "Geee mate, you just warped out there like a frightened chicken facing the butcher!". That guy had not shot a single round. Not that he had approached to ask me for directions. But non the less I regretted my impoliteness a bit. Instantly leaving without even looking at his name was almost rude you could say.

The bad thing was that I just had moved stations up here and only had the non-combat-fitted cruiser and the Donkey with me. But I really wanted to find out what ship and what kind of pilot that just was. Human curiosity that can become so irresistible that it negates any logical thinking. My very non logic consideration was to quickly fly back the Industrial one system, pick up a ready for combat Frigate - haul it back and than use it for a little peek into the asteroid belt I just had left head over heels. To cut a long story short, the Donkey wasn't squeezed half out of the station when I saw a shadow over the cockpit, then the message that I just got scrambled and afterwards about five Fighterdrones attacking my ship. Bang, boom and of she goes. And here it comes. The security protocols! Still within the 30 second phase that prevents you from redocking all my desperate tries to crawl back into the station were negated without my recognition. I was in the opinion that forced into your Rescue-Pod a dockingmanouver shouldn't be a problem at all... but well that is just me.

Good thing was, I saved the trip back I was just trying to undertake as I woke up in a brand new clone one system down the road - and that trip just cost me a brand new Bestower, yeah baby. What do we learn from it? Aye, dont be an idiot!

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)  

03 Crystal Series

Guess what - I again forgot something in the station before leaving. No, not like last time. Those absolutely unbelievable important documents that needed to be delivered even more unbelievably urgent to Kamela. Nope, this time I was on my way to a little ambush. A few pirates recently stirred up some dust  - Gallente related scumbags the contractor said -  and therefore they will get their bottoms burned with my shiny little lasers. But that doesn't work if you leave the frequency crystals in the hangar because you recently misused your Battle Cruiser for some salvaging  and the fitting computer again messed up the refitting!

I  meanwhile don't even trust this Bridge-AI-Deck I am dictating that log into right now.

"Computer!?"
"Yes, Master?"

All right. At least the machine is listening. Still, sometimes I can't get rid of the impression that there is a Minmatar-AI hidden behind that shiny and well designed faceplate.

"I am an Amarrian Solar Cluster Quantum Core. Crystal Series. Fourth Edition, Master. You will not find any better Artificial Ship Intelligence on the market, Master".

Ha, funny machine - The Minmatar are still claiming their Tempest to be a real battleship. So much for marketing and reality. I hope Mister Crystal Series doesn't flush me out of the board toilet into the oblivion one day.

Comlink establishes

"HMS Royal Pecker - you are clear for docking. Welcome to the Ministry of Internal Order Mister Stevesan. We hope you enjoy your stay".

"Computer? - You hear that? Learn from the station's docking officer. A bit of devote politeness wont hurt at all!".

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)

02 Safety Protocols

I was just on my way to Kamela to pick up some 75er Cap Boosters. One of those market activities of mine with which I try to establish a monopoly within the Bleak Lands. Buy goods that are sold way below production price and resell them for a suitable price. But as so often, I forgot to pick up some documents an agent had handed over to me just before leaving the station. Funny guy he was. Very small and a bit absent minded. The typical archivist you could say. Blabbering something about important requests, declassification notes and wormholes. Did sound too weird to me to be really important and the payment wasn't one of those that let you dream of carriers anyway. But for the fact that I had to go to that station for my marketed goods I would have been stupid not to pay the contract insurance of a few several thousand ISKs and grab the papers.  And now - now I get this safety warning that prevents me from redocking!

"Jesus, if you cant handle a little traffic go route the dinner queue in an retirement home!"
Honestly reflecting I am cursing myself for again being such an forgetful idiot and not the station's docking officer for loosing precious time over and over again.

On the other hand, if its just loosing time instead of loosing ships out of pure idiocy my anger really shouldn't get me through the window of my cockpit. Like on my first attempt of some Jaspet testmining-operation. Not with one of the Barges we already had lost - no, that was before those incidents. For those more or less unattended mining actions or belt scouting operations I prefer to use an Cruiser of the Arbitrator-Class.

Fit two mining lasers, load it with tons of combat and mining drones, give it some extra cargo space and two warp core stabilizers. Depending on your training with Drones you can handle pretty much any typical pirate down to 0.4 sectors and drill a few holes into asteroids meanwhile with that fitting. Ok, I have to admit by now that this is hell of an equipment to really get a flow of Jaspet going. That stuff is way to hard for a tiny tier one setup. But still - good enough for some production testing that involves zydrine. And it is a cheap and easily replaceable setup to pay tribute to the wise saying: "Only fly what you can afford to loose!"

In New Eden Proverbs such as this one do not come from nowhere as another test-trip to the Uusanen area recently had thought me. I was sitting on the bridge really popping my eyes out on the radars, sensors and screens, with my fingers ready to push on the manoeuvring controls. And swoooshh - only half an hour after I had started mining something approached incredibly fast onto my ships location. And guess what? It was flashing as red as an caldarian New Eden's Eve tree! I almost broke my fingers when I tried to turn the cruiser around to approach the station. Yeah, I know. I had forgotten to align to it upfront to enable a single push on the warp button to do the job. But guess what? ...

Comlink is establishing

"HMS Tritanium, you are clear for docking. Please proceed immediately. Thank you for your cooperation".

Aye, that is my call. The end of this story has to wait for the next time, when I again forget half of my brain in a station and get unasked spare time for playing the annalist. "Computer? Save entry".

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009) 

01 Someone has to write about it...

Its an odd story in which I am involved - unasked, drifting into it almost unnoticed. But non the less. The impact it could have on this universe may be one day remembered as - well, let me encapsulate it into a careful term, space shaking. And if no one tries to establish a written chronicle about some of this, there may be nothing left one day. Nothing to lift the foggy curtain time throws over everything. And no one will be able to  understand how all this could have happened.

So where to begin...  my head is still buzzing form the hits of those railgun-impacts. And for the fact that these shoe boxes they call Retriever - a ship-hull that thin that you can almost see the dark space through it - didn't hold more than three salvoes of the attacker before it bursted into flames. From that specific perspective it wasn't a good day at all. The second time that my endeavours to get my little greedy hands on some Jaspet were interrupted. Even plugging in a warp core stabilizer to prevent the nasty scrambling didn't help as the attackers were two seasoned pilots, both a big red -10 security status, both in Battlecruisers and both equipped with warp scramblers. Well, end of story was that my Pod got scrambled and one of the pirates established a communication link to my capsule.

"Okidoki", lets hear what the boy has to say. Maybe he had a bad childhood and wants to talk about it. And who else would be the one giving a helping hand if it wasn't me, sitting in an Escape-Pod with a broken heating almost freezing to death with no chance to go anywhere if that spacedog wasn't willing to clear the passage.

"If u want to save your implants, transfer 20.000.000 ISK and we will let you go! You have 30 seconds".

Nothing new to mention that I tried to introduce him to the game you can play with your thumb and your backside. Not that this intimate gameplay-introduction would have made him feel good and let me go. At least it eased a bit the frustration of waiting for the final blow being busy presenting my idea of the game to him in well selected words. Predictably that didn't change the outcome of the adventure. And now I am back alive in a brand new clone - still with the buzzing and throbbing from the rails in my head and the hurting empty holes of the few cheap implants it contained. Maybe time to get some spiced wine and take a catnap in low G.

(Recovered blog-entry from 2009)