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)