Perimeter
Kimotoro - The Forge
I'm on my feet before I even realize I'm not in my capsule. It's been weeks since I've slept in a bed, and the soft, seemingly unfamiliar pinging of the NEOCOM in my quarters had been only moments before the screaming siren of my hull caving in under the assault of some dreamspace pirate. There are certain aspects of being a capsuleer that you never really get used to, and the dreams are one. They seem to get more vivid whenever I'm in port; the longer I'm not out in open space, the louder it calls to me.
They say the neural implant we have to thank for our immortality takes a snapshot of your glial tissue a split second before you even realize you're about to die. From that point of view, I've never actually died. Not once. But even if I can't quite articulate a description of what vacuum tastes like, I know-- we all do. And though the brain I carry in this archaic simian skull of mine isn't the one I was born with, something deep within it remembers exactly what happened to its predecessors. The dreams tell me so.
I shook myself out of that now-familiar funk and set about finding the source of my rude awakening. Looking over my feeds, I took note of a few corporate mails needing my attention, but it would appear that my wallet was this morning's offender. A significant draft had triggered the alert, but luckily there was no cause for worry. A courier had just delivered a rather important package I'd been waiting a number of weeks for at this point; the collateral they'd paid to secure the contract had been returned to them and I had a very large shipping container that I'm sure the dockmasters would be happy for me to relieve them of. I was certainly pleased to see it made it here in one piece.
Delve is a long way from The Forge. It was there I had been deployed with my former corporation, and where I had been forced to leave assets behind upon my departure. I had carried what I could in my blockade runner, but such a ship wasn't meant to carry something as large as the Ivy Mike; a Stratios-class vessel I'd built for hunting enemy scouts. It had taken a good portion of the profit from my recent expedition to convince a courier to return it to me, and there was still a significant risk it could have been stolen or destroyed in transit. Needless to say, I was overjoyed to have been awakened so.
After the brief business of taking delivery, I moved it to my hangar to tend to the purpose for which I'd gone through such great expense: refitting as an exploration vessel, with minimal destructive capability. Never in my career as a pilot have I ever done such a thing with a ship of war, and I couldn't help but appreciate the novelty. I took one last look at her as she was.
Four-hundred-four exquisite meters of sleek white, with a bit of red in all the right places, bristling with lasers and a belly full of lethal drones. She'd served me well, and I'm sure she would continue to do so until the day she becomes another of my many dreams. There was a certain sadness in removing her teeth, though her hidden claws remain and of those there are many. Where there were once devices intended to trap and kill there was now an assortment of scientific instrumentation, and more than a few wild cards for anyone that may seek to cause me harm. I may have taken a creed of non-aggression, but I am far from naive-- there are too many dangers in the wilds to go about unprotected. Even demilitarized, the Ivy Mike was a thing a beauty.
There was one last thing to attend to before taking her out for the second first time, and that was the name. Ivy Mike was a name tied to ancient history, as significant as the discovery of fire. But like fire, the very mention brings to mind destruction-- not at all a fitting name for a ship with intentions such as mine. I seek discovery, adventure, and of course the wealth that comes with the procuring of rare things. A ship that searches for the mythical and mysterious needs a name that suits such a cause. And I think I have the perfect one in mind.
This is Gunner Stahl, captain of the exploration vessel El Dorado, signing off.
END TRANSMISSION
C-PEWN
Esoteria - O-PQU0
I'd spent the recent days in the far southern reaches of known space searching for relics in the wake of yet another parting of ways. There are no ill words to speak for my former corporation or colleagues, suffice to say that money and numbers would carry farther than mere hopes and dreams. Having said my goodbyes, I set off on an expedition not in search of profit, but clarity of mind.
My travels had taken me far and wide, and as chance would have it, a wormhole had delivered me to the doorstep of old enemies. This was Skeleton Crew space, and their leader was quite adept at hunting pilots that got too comfortable under their cloaks. My worries were few; changing allegiances had altered the terms of engagement at this point, and there was a begrudging respect where hatred and rage once lived. It didn't take very long for one of them to hail me on the local frequency. After all, we'd shared the blood of war and like all old warriors, we love to reminisce.
It seems the telling of tales with my former foes had been time well spent, as I felt a sense of peace I'd not known in many years. Bidding farewell to the crew of skeletons, I prepared for my journey home-- a hangar I keep in Perimeter where I can stretch my legs and plan my next move. Travelling to The Forge from Esoteria is no easy task, many dozens of systems have to be navigated through hostile regions before you reach even minimal CONCORD protection. Even at the helm of an SOE Astero, there is a significant likelihood that I'd fall prey to hunters before making safe space. Having a half-billion isk in assorted relics and salvage in my hold, I'd prefer taking as few risks as possible. I had a buyer lined up who'd offered to pay for my ship as a finder's fee in addition to the value of my haul, that kind of bonus only comes from those that can afford it, and people like that don't like to wait.
Fortunately for myself and many like me, recent events around New Eden had borne a solution to problems such as these: Thera. The vast system had been revealed in the catastrophe somehow involving the superluminal event known commonly as Caroline's Star, the disappearance of the Jove and most of their inter-regional gates as well as the astonishing number of newly-reported wormhole systems. All of these events occurred simultaneously, and that mystery has been a splinter in my mind since the day it happened. Thera would get me home, and allow me to do some research along the way.
I pulled up the current Thera wormhole connections via the EvE-Scout service, thoughtfully provided by the enterprising corporation of the same name. I had much to thank those pilots for lately, as I had used their service many times to turn a very long trip into a very short one, though the lawless nature of the mysterious system still provides enough danger to keep one wary. In a stroke of luck I've rarely experienced, there is an active connection a mere six systems away, I only need to get there and recon the area before making the jump.
As I was about to close the NEOCOM window, something in the corner caught my attention-- an advertisement for a startup corporation allied with EvE-Scout, the very same people I had to thank for my many successes of late. The Signal Cartel bills itself as a passive entity devoted to exploration, a sort of explorer's union. It occurs to me that this may be the kind of organization I would do well to be involved with, as my lust for knowledge and wealth rarely provides camaraderie and support when employed by conventional corporations. As I make my way to the Thera entrance, I think seriously on this potential career move. I tune into their recruitment channel, and discuss my future.
By the time I'm safely docked in Perimeter, I've accepted an offer of employment from Signal Cartel. I contact my buyer and conduct my first business as a cartel member, with a strange sense of pride in the having of an ethical organization at my back. Such a thing is not without its commitments, however. In joining their ranks I've set out to be the rarest kind of pilot-- one that seeks great danger and reward at the furthest reaches, but in so doing no harm.
This is Gunner Stahl, captain of the exploration vessel The Scavenger's Daughter, signing off.
END TRANSMISSION
