Pod and Planet Fiction Contest: 8k Suns: Promises

    I like fiction. A lot. So when I noticed one of Sugar Kyle's blog posts was an entry into an EVE fiction contest my interest was predictably piqued. I went to the main page for the site and saw the prizes, categories and entries and started getting excited. Then I saw the deadline. Today at noon, EVE-time. I quickly tried to figure out in my head what that would be (I've never been great with arithmetic or time-zones). HAHA, I thought, I have 8 hours. So I got to work. I hope it came out alright for being a kinda rushed piece. In any case I present to you:

Promises

36-17-9... no its -19-7, "FUCK!" Smash.  Paint chips explode from the rusty locker door under my fist.

    "Whoah there, what's got your panties all in a bunch?" Otikin Fai, my boss.  The guy is a friggin' sleaze bag.  Fired someone last week for not setting him up with his sister.  Not to mention that he brought that weird friend of his to the poker game last month, asshole.

    "That goddamn capsuleer just pissed me off.  I can't believe he came in for seventeen repair and unloads today. Sevenfuckingteen, I counted."

    "What'dya expect man, they don't give a shit about baseliners.  You saw the amount of loot and salvage he kept loading out.  Musta killed two hundred odd ships out there.  That's probably like... I dunno eight thousand people.  He don't care about four lousy dock workers either," Koshe Ara, a regular surgeon with a torch, not the best with a sentence though.

    "The nano-bots do most of the work on them capsuleer ships anyway, we just have to press the buttons.  I don't see why you let it bother you so much. Besides we have one of them in at least once a week. You should be used to it by now," Heeto Wro, technician.  I swear he can charm a tangle of wires better than any Ni-Kunni snake dancer can charm a cobra.

    "Yea maybe so, but what bothers me about them is that they expect us to get everything done in a matter of seconds, no matter what it is. It's absurd.  At least when we get the Guristas ships in for repair and unloads they let us take the time we need.  And don't get me started on that god-awful PA system he was using either."

    "Hah! All that yelling hurt your delicate sensibilities there Tai?"  God do I wanna smack that grin off Oti's face.

    I leave them to their laughter after I peel off my jumpsuit and head to the showers.  The grease and grim comes right off with the Caldari industrial soap they give us.  Kinda makes me wonder what's in it, but I'm sure I don't wanna know.

   The other three are getting in the showers as I leave. They're talking about going to the dive bar out in the red light district, 426th floor.  Man I could go for a drink too.  

Otikin is waiting by my locker.  He never showers here because he never works hard enough to have to.  To be honest none of us have ever seen him do much real work at all.  It's a running joke that he only got the job because he's Fatal's third cousin or some shit.

   "Hey wanna come over tonight and crack a brew, unwind a bit?" No Oti, that's the last thing I wanna do actually.

   "Sure man, sounds good. Lemme just call my wife after I get dressed,"

   "Yeah, yeah, of course.  I'ma go wait outside and make a few calls myself actually,"  

I hate going to his place.  He only buys cheap beer that no one likes and he knows it.  It keeps us from drinking all of it whenever he asks one of us over.  Which he does frequently of course, trying make friends and holding us hostage for a few hours with awkward small talk. Eventually we all just make up a lame excuse and get the hell outta there.  

The locker door is cold on my forehead as I lean against it.  He's gonna ask me about the money too.

   I walk outside and look around. It's like walking out of one building and right into another on a station like this. The streets all have ceilings since the station is just a huge stack of different levels in the people spaces. It has a weird effect on one's sense of direction. Oti is down the street talking to himself with his back to me, though I'm sure he's on a call. I pull out my own data pad and call my wife. 

"Hey honey, how's little man doing?"

   She looks stressed out, "Good, good.  He's uh, sleeping right now," She hesitates, "H-how was work today?"

   "Eh same shit I guess.  Are you alright you seem a little... frazzled."

   "Oh yeah I'm fine.  Just fine over here," She nods a bit as her sentence trails off.

   "Well alright, just making sure. By the way Oti wants me to go his place tonight so I'll be home late,"

   "Oh that's fine dear I'll just uh, make dinner when you get here,"  She looks down at her hands.

   "Wanna walk me over to Chau's bed so I can say goodnight?"

   Her eyes dart over to something above the screen while she replies, "Um, well he didn't have a nap today and was kinda cranky to be honest. I'd rather not go in there and risk waking him up."

   Oti waves me over, "Ugh, I gotta go anyway.  Well, go get some sleep or something you seem like you had about as rough a day as I did, love ya."

   "I love you too Tai, I-" She leans in, "I uh, just, I love you a lot."

***

  Oti's place was... weird.  It was obvious it cost more than the flat I was in but it still had a grungy feel to it.  It was like it knew it belonged to a guy like him and just didn't bother trying to look nice.

"Drinks are in the fridge." He tells me as we walk through the door. He heads up the stairs towards his room.

  Yep, nothing in here but canned horse piss.

  "So Tai, my buddy has been asking about that money," His voice drifts downstairs,  "A month is a long time to not pay up on a ten grand debt.  If this were a loan you'd owe him quite a bit in interest."

  "Fuck man its like I told him after the game, and like I've told you everyday since.  I'm just a dock worker. It's gonna be a while until I can get the money... I shoulda never made the bet in the first place,"  I finish, mostly to myself.

I haven't even gotten my head out of the fridge yet dammit and he's already brought it up.  I put the beer on the counter, pop it open and start to down it.  It doesn't matter that its tastes horrible, my day couldn't get much friggin' worse.  I hear him walk into the kitchen, up to me and to the fridge.

   Shlick.  Stars explode behind my eyes, and pain wracks the base of my skull.  My body from the shoulders down goes numb and I can feel cold metal under my chin and see the glint of steel beneath my nose.

   "You're right Tai, you shoulda never make a bet you can only afford dead,"

   I try to reply but I just gurgle.  The counter-top rises to meet my face and heat pours down my neck.  I feel the blade slide out of my spine and my mind races in its death throes.  How could he do this? Is this really how I go? Fuck I haven't seen my son all week! How can this happen to me? Wh....

***

  Otikin drops the knife in his sink and leaves the body to slink down to the floor.  He walks over to the data pad on his coffee table and redials the last call.  A boy's face fills the screen, gagged and with a knife to his throat.  Behind him is a man wearing sunglasses in the dim glow of the screen. And the sound of a woman sobbing fills the apartment.

  "He's dead," Her crying crescendos,  "The corporation will pay out the health insurance to Ms. Fukusin in a few weeks. After the missing persons investigation is closed."

  "Thank you Mister Fai.  Can you show us the body please?”

  Otikin hesitates, “Are you sure about that?”

  “Mister Fai I wouldn’t ask if I wasn't sure.  Show us.”

  He picks up the pad and walks over to the body, now laying in a pool of blood with eyes transfixed on nothing.  Muffled groans and screams from the boy overpower his mother's crying.

   “Now learn from your father boy, never make a promise you cannot keep.”

That Was Probably Worth More....

I couldn't believe it, I didn't even realize I was in my old home system of Ennur when I saw the unnamed Maelstrom on 360 scan.  I had just convinced myself that Molden Heath had become a ghost town in my TZ. It's probably at a POS or something, its just coincidence that the guys in local I thought, not wanting to get too excited.  I quickly narrowed down the search.  Shit, he's not on a planet.  Probably a safe then there's no way he's that dumb.  Always bet on stupid.  The little voice in the back of my head whispered as I stifled the thought.  Don't get your hopes up man.

A complex? A complex. HE'S AT A COMPLEX!  My mind exclaimed as I warped to zero.  He's gonna be 200km off Damay, you know this, chill out now.  I hold my breath.

Only 20km from the warp-in, YES!  A smile stretches from one ear to the other as I enter a tight orbit, grab point and wait.  No neut lands, I'm in the clear.  Warrior IIs are launched and popped just as quick, no match for my Atron of doom.  I invite him to the ransom channel and make my demands.  He pays.

I sit back in my chair and exhale.  250mil straight profit, I love this shit.  I'm surprised he took my first offer though, I don't think most Maels are worth that much... I wonder what he had on there... I need to get my alt in with a ship scanner next time.

Death's Dick

Not a bad comeback I suppose.  Damay thinks to himself, cruising around The Bleak Lands.   Not a whole lot of kills to be honest, but I'm still in the green at least.  The Rifter he'd been flying was an unfamiliar shield fit sporting rockets.  He had to use the new loadout since the Empire mandated changes to all racial frigates made his favorite armor and nos fit fall behind the pack.  But he would be damned if his glorious return would be had in anything other than his favorite hull.

Sir, Fed Navy Comet in that small complex.  His on-board AI stated.

"Thanks babe, but you know as well as I do that if he knows his ass from a blaster I'd be turned into pulp in that fight."  He laughed in return.  That hasn't stopped me from taking those odds before... Maybe all the frig changes have made it a winnable affair. 

"Well shit I could at least see what this beauty can do."  He said, nose diving the Rifter right into the plex.

The Comet sat perfectly at the edge of scram range inside the Amarr military installation, Well that's probably not good.  Locked, scrammed, shot.  Damay's shields dropped to 3/4 in two volleys and the Comet hadn't even hit armor yet.  Shit.  The fight was short and communication from the Comet pilot came in immediately.

"Damn man I respect the balls it takes to initiate that fight but why the hell suicide into a superior ship like that?"

Damay smiled in his pod and replied, "Because sometimes you just have to punch Death in the dick and dare him to do something about it."

To Short Lives

The place looked exactly like he left it, though a thin layer of dust covered everything in the cramped Captain's Quarters of Damay Aprionati.  He threw his palm device on the table on his way to the liquor cabinet.  On it was a message signed: "Resa Lesnon, I'll miss you."

He downed the first shot and poured another before walking over to the couch, plopping down and commanding the room's AI to display his combat report on the main holopanel.  "Five months huh? That's far too much tannin', boostin' and fuckin'."  He muttered to himself, and ordered up any and all new ship, alliance, corporation, region, and market information on surrounding panels.  "Shit I missed a lot,"  He said, settling in for a long night.

Hours of learning information in antiquated fashion, and a good handle of rum later Damay closed his eyes and sunk back into the couch.  His dreams were an amalgamation of cold rusted steel and warm soft flesh, deep purple eyes and bright red explosions with an overwhelming sense of power, satisfaction and lust.

When he woke he poured one more drink and removed his coat.  A tattoo adorned his chest now, a rat standing on its hind legs, soaked in blood from nose to haunch, and screaming in defiance of some unseen enemy.  "AI, prep me a rifter." He said, and raised a glass in mock toast.

"To short lives and long battles."

Piracy will NEVER die.

He could hardly see the other side of the VIP room for all the smoke.  Muffled bass from the pit outside rattled the bones and stirred the primal desires of all who could hear it.  It was a Raafa-Kon, a Minmatar club, and the music was composed for that very purpose.

Damay reached for the Blue Pill booster gun laying on the table his Gallentean entertainment was dancing on, rolled up his sleeve and jammed the needle of the delivery mechanism into the meat of his arm.  He could feel the euphoria rush through his veins, calm his nerves and lower his temper while he listened to the Faction War junkies tell him how great the militia was.

"I'm just sayin' if you flew under the Minmatar banner again you wouldn't need to ransom anything anymore."

"He's right man," A large Brutor said through the legs of his even larger Brutor dancer. "That Navy Caracal you ransomed for what 90mil? The militia woulda payed twice that in LP for the kill."

"Not to mention how much time you must waste looking for targets.  You could probably secure five or ten complexes in the time it takes you to find one fight." The first man, a weaselly looking Intaki added.

"It's not about the money assholes," Damay replied, leaning back and closing his eyes.  "It's about the freedom, not having a war to win or some dickwads political agenda to push."  He smiled wickedly.  "Its about killing whoever you want and taking whatever you can, whenever you can."

Damay looked up and caught the eye of his dancer.  A curious purple looked back at him and he nodded his head in the direction of the door.

"Whatever, you're still a dying breed."

The bliss of the drugs changed to hot rage in an instant.  The pistol appeared from nowhere and the shot hit right between the eyes.

"WHAT THE FUCK MAN!" The Brutor exclaimed. "He's a capsuleer, that did nothing but send him back to his clone bay!"

"I like him better there," The pistol disappeared again and Damay put his arm around the dancer, walking her towards one of the clubs many weightless recreation modules.

A What?

Sir, the onboard AI heralded in its odd semi-feminine voice D-scan is picking up a Procurer class mining vessel within 12AU of your current position.

"What the fuck?" Damay exclaimed bolting upright from his reclined position in the Rifter.  He had been burning towards nothing for the past 5 minutes waiting out GCC and enjoying the view of the Loes star system's Orange Radiant.  At the call of a possible miner in system he perked right up and prepped the ship.

He simultaneously set all of his tackle modules to overheat and frantically tried to narrow the D-scan down to a specific belt. "Please baby, please be that stupid,"

Target localized to Belt I-I, Sir.

He was in warp before she/it finished. "Sweetheart if he's in there and within scram range I'll kiss your motherboard,"

That won't be necessary, Sir

As he dropped out of warp there the mining vessel sat, right at zero on the warp-in just as Damay had hoped.  Point. In one volley the ship's shields disappeared, four more than the satisfying white flash of destruction filled Damay's visual scanners.  "Looks like I owe you a kiss babe," He mumbled at the lifeless AI that was his only companion for roams such as these while he opened comms with the previous Procurer Pilot to ransom the man's pod.

"How much is this pod worth to ya son?"
"I'm not sure I understand the question," Damay couldn't help but chuckle at that response, knowing full well now how this ransom would end.
"Alright let me be more clear, I'll take 20mil to let your pod go free.  You have ten seconds."
"Well that's easy enough, fire away,"

Sir, you don't really plan on kissing my motherboard do you? You understand the ramifications of such actions could result in personal injury to yourself and hardware damage to my circuitry and...

 The AI continued to list plenty of good reasons not to kiss energized gear as Damay walked over to the panel that hid all of her inner workings singing "Blah blah blah pucker up beautiful,"

http://r1fta.killmail.org/?a=kill_detail&kll_id=13852022