"Site 3-7 has picked up again, Command wants you to go check it out."
Within ten seconds all six blips on the comm officer's screen elongated into trails, the viewscreen automatically zooming out to match the increased speed of the capsuleer vessels. In warp enroute to Site 3-7, the capsuleer vessels were hybrid technology. Built from many of the treasures extracted from the various ruins and complexes floating around, T3 ships were amongst the most advanced in New Eden.
The capsuleers rarely responded to the comm signals from Fleet Command. It was unnecessary, adding distraction to already confusing moments. The officer quietly monitored all the active channels and the broadcast screen from the fleet's vessels. It was rare anything malfunctioned.
"Command, check signal integrity. We have been experiencing some feedback across all bands."
The officer's eyes widened... quickly running through the various system status displays there was nothing out of ordinary. He keyed up the combat diagnostic routines, speedy tests designed to reboot comm systems in the middle of a firefight. Seconds later they came back negative; the officer felt a heavy pit form at the base of his stomach.
"Command this is Comms, we can't pinpoint any disturbances. We are expanding our diagnostics..."
His calm voice did not betray the frantic tapping his fingers were doing on the keys in front of him. The comm systems of the fleet were upgraded prior to their departure. Knowledge and experience from an early forward recon team who secured the wormhole was invaluable in tailoring the ships of the fleet to handle the challenges of the unknown solar system.
One such upgrade was to the communications system, enhanced with various new data buffers and protocols aimed at cracking or interacting with the Sleeper civilization. One such protocol was to be able to receive trinary-coded data. A Jovian protocol, this was a particular piece of technology we received from our partnership with Impro.
As the comms officer activated the trinary data processing software he was suddenly shocked to see a massive wall of undecipherable text and numbers scroll across his display. The power of the trinary signal was intensifying, and although there was no known way to interpret the data he received the officer instinctively knew that such a massive data transfer meant only one thing; activity.
"Command, I think the Sleepers are no longer sleeping.. we are being bombarded by a massive amount of trinary data from all sides, it seems to be originating from within the system but its so strong we can't pinpoint the original signal."
"Roger that Comms. Fleet, return to the anchorage. Recon, find out where these drone bastards are. Last time we got taken by surprise we lost three vessels, that won't happen again!"
Friday, December 9, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Chapter 1.5 - "Internal Workings"
"...supplies of Pure Drop have increased by 17%. That'll give us enough headroom to get some extra production time on X-Instinct to make up for that burst of sales."
The three other men and two women around the table all nodded their heads. Such mundane affairs were important but common place. The reactor team of the corporation was immensely knowledgeable and firmly in control of the production schedule. The managers had only to sign off on the process as usual.
"Dr. Juun'shisai, please inform Drs. Goyuam and Ristuk that we need to make some changes to the schedule. Our capsuleers are going off the grid for a time... and the boss has left us with some tasks in their absence."
"Uh, certainly. I will ensure the message is received."
"Good, good. Basically, Dr... we are going to begin real production. We've been whittled off our mountain, chipped away at by small time gangs and bored billionaires. It is time to reclaim our rightful place, to return to being the only drug game in town. The boss, and the founder, and the directors... they all want this done. You know what that means."
"Uhmm, yes sir, I do. But, we have been keeping the reactors above 90% efficiency. I assume there is a capital budget..?"
"Correct. Construction won't begin for some months... not until the capsuleers return from their mission. In the interim, we are going to stockpile raw materials. We aren't privy to their thoughts, but there is something big coming down the pipe. They are expecting to increase sales and market share by a considerable margin. We think it has something to do with some insider knowledge from CONCORD, but ultimately that line of inquiry is irrelevant. Suffice it to say, Dr., but the reactor team has its work cut out for it."
"Yes sir, I understand."
Dr. Juun'shisai jerked forward, almost as if snapping out of some unseen grasp. He walked toward the table where the five figures were seated and picked up the data key sitting on his side of it. He clutched it tightly and dropped it into a self-sealing pocket inside his coat.
"Dr., this directive is perhaps the most important thing to happen to Es and Whizz in years. We can't fail the capsuleers, you know what can happen should that occur."
The doctor nodded, swallowing visibly and slowly. He turned and walked out of the darkened room and into the dimly lit metal corridor. His steps echoed down the hallway before the sliding door silently cut them off.
The three other men and two women around the table all nodded their heads. Such mundane affairs were important but common place. The reactor team of the corporation was immensely knowledgeable and firmly in control of the production schedule. The managers had only to sign off on the process as usual.
"Dr. Juun'shisai, please inform Drs. Goyuam and Ristuk that we need to make some changes to the schedule. Our capsuleers are going off the grid for a time... and the boss has left us with some tasks in their absence."
"Uh, certainly. I will ensure the message is received."
"Good, good. Basically, Dr... we are going to begin real production. We've been whittled off our mountain, chipped away at by small time gangs and bored billionaires. It is time to reclaim our rightful place, to return to being the only drug game in town. The boss, and the founder, and the directors... they all want this done. You know what that means."
"Uhmm, yes sir, I do. But, we have been keeping the reactors above 90% efficiency. I assume there is a capital budget..?"
"Correct. Construction won't begin for some months... not until the capsuleers return from their mission. In the interim, we are going to stockpile raw materials. We aren't privy to their thoughts, but there is something big coming down the pipe. They are expecting to increase sales and market share by a considerable margin. We think it has something to do with some insider knowledge from CONCORD, but ultimately that line of inquiry is irrelevant. Suffice it to say, Dr., but the reactor team has its work cut out for it."
"Yes sir, I understand."
Dr. Juun'shisai jerked forward, almost as if snapping out of some unseen grasp. He walked toward the table where the five figures were seated and picked up the data key sitting on his side of it. He clutched it tightly and dropped it into a self-sealing pocket inside his coat.
"Dr., this directive is perhaps the most important thing to happen to Es and Whizz in years. We can't fail the capsuleers, you know what can happen should that occur."
The doctor nodded, swallowing visibly and slowly. He turned and walked out of the darkened room and into the dimly lit metal corridor. His steps echoed down the hallway before the sliding door silently cut them off.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Chapter 1.4 - "Pathfinder"
"Interflexure VII, sitrep."
"Cloak has been activated, we are enroute to the holding position. Awaiting new co-ordinates, at your leisure Pathfinder."
"Yah, I got 'em. Transmitting now, initiate warp and jump on contact. You know the drill."
"Thank the bloody stars this is the last jump... you podders might be fine, but my boys are hitting their limits. We are going to take it slow on the way home."
"Watch over the cargo transfer yourself. The docking manager is a nosy bastard. Someday I am gonna have to do something about him."
"Heh you are talking about Scotty aren't ya? Well I don't think anybody would miss him. I will take care of business boss, the shipment will go through fine."
"See that it does."
A minor mental nudge deactivated the comm system, bringing precious peace. The torrent of background chatter and open traffic a pilot could tap into provided some level of connectivity to the outside world. At the same time it was akin to having a thousand voices nattering in the back of your skull. Some are better than others at tuning it out, but all pod pilots need to unplug from their comm systems sooner or later.
The black depths stood guard beyond the myriad stars, the sole companions for the still moment. With the cloak active on the small frigate, it was essentially impossible to be discovered. If you loitered near populated areas you could foolishly be discovered by somebody physically disrupting the disguising energy field. In this case, I was floating in the depths of space at a mid-warp safe spot, hundreds of thousands of kilometres from the nearest celestial object.
Interflexure VII, a highly-modified Iteron-class cargo ship, was currently holding a fortune in specialized boosters. Total value for the shipment sat roughly around 3.5 billion Interstellar Kredits, which would easily purchase the equivalent of dozens of fully developed planetary colonies designed to produce cutting edge technology from raw material to finished product. Alternatively that many kredits could purchase a small battleship fleet.
Guaranteeing that shipments like these reach their target is my primary purpose during these smuggling missions. With my own finances invested in these deals, any loss is mine to bear. Of course, the profit is also mine to bear...
"Cloak has been activated, we are enroute to the holding position. Awaiting new co-ordinates, at your leisure Pathfinder."
"Yah, I got 'em. Transmitting now, initiate warp and jump on contact. You know the drill."
"Thank the bloody stars this is the last jump... you podders might be fine, but my boys are hitting their limits. We are going to take it slow on the way home."
"Watch over the cargo transfer yourself. The docking manager is a nosy bastard. Someday I am gonna have to do something about him."
"Heh you are talking about Scotty aren't ya? Well I don't think anybody would miss him. I will take care of business boss, the shipment will go through fine."
"See that it does."
A minor mental nudge deactivated the comm system, bringing precious peace. The torrent of background chatter and open traffic a pilot could tap into provided some level of connectivity to the outside world. At the same time it was akin to having a thousand voices nattering in the back of your skull. Some are better than others at tuning it out, but all pod pilots need to unplug from their comm systems sooner or later.
The black depths stood guard beyond the myriad stars, the sole companions for the still moment. With the cloak active on the small frigate, it was essentially impossible to be discovered. If you loitered near populated areas you could foolishly be discovered by somebody physically disrupting the disguising energy field. In this case, I was floating in the depths of space at a mid-warp safe spot, hundreds of thousands of kilometres from the nearest celestial object.
Interflexure VII, a highly-modified Iteron-class cargo ship, was currently holding a fortune in specialized boosters. Total value for the shipment sat roughly around 3.5 billion Interstellar Kredits, which would easily purchase the equivalent of dozens of fully developed planetary colonies designed to produce cutting edge technology from raw material to finished product. Alternatively that many kredits could purchase a small battleship fleet.
Guaranteeing that shipments like these reach their target is my primary purpose during these smuggling missions. With my own finances invested in these deals, any loss is mine to bear. Of course, the profit is also mine to bear...
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Chapter 1.3 - "Shipment"
Smuggling is an interesting business. It begins with people sitting in massive edifices at the heart of the various capitals who write proclamations and indoctrinate vast hordes of sycophants and minions with their particular vision of right and wrong. Down through the machinery of government and policy these ideas percolate, infecting the entire organization with twisted purpose. As smugglers we live where these rulings from above clash with the demands from below, in a treacherous ravine that straddles the lawless and lawful sides of society.
Much of our activity is entirely legal. Even some of our drug products are accepted by the empires, such as synthetic boosters, implants, and skill books. Where we ostensibly 'go wrong' is when we connect otherwise law-abiding citizens with products they want but cannot legally acquire. In some cases this can be morally questionable - like slaves. Speaking as any free-thinking man should, the idea of owning other sentience is somewhat abhorrent at best. (blame the Gallente in me)
Boosters, on the other hand, are a morally ambiguous substance. Continued use over years can have a deleterious effect;on the other hand the vast majority of our lifestyles as capsuleers ensure any one clone doesn't live overly long. With the recent advent of infomorph psychology and jump clones, we don't even have to die to get a new body. Booster usage among capsuleers is sensible and should be legalized. The empires in all their wisdom decided however to consider us no different than normal, basic humans. Their misfortune, and the subsequent moral judgements handed down by their kind, afford us a lucrative business supplying the elite with what they want and need.
The thought fluttered away as the final gravskid was being jockeyed into place. These were small compared to the mineral skids I was more familiar with. The old minskids were hefty, beat up pieces of station equipment that looked perfectly at home in Minmatar refinery outposts. The gravskids currently loading material into the hull of my ship were similarly perfectly suited for the environment they were in - a Jovian-owned Impro station. Gleaming metal polished to a bright sheen contrasted with dull graphite grey composite, designed to handle only the most delicate biological and medical materials.
Ideal for the the quality of product we are known for. Strong boosters are not inherently unstable, but considering their price tag - millions of ISK for each individual dose - we take only the most stringent precautions. Contamination could also easily destroy the withered immune system of a pod pilot. Stuck in protective fluids and rarely exposed to humanity, any number of chemicals or diseases could prove to be brutal for a clone.
Operating in this Jovian station is also a keen benefit for our organization. The Jovian representative stationed here spent a great deal of time arranging for our operation to go unnoticed, with the sole cost to us being, shall we say, minimal in scope. Increased automation and the intense secrecy of the Jove allow much of our product to move about the entire station without even being seen by human eyes once.
Which is precisely how we like to operate.
Much of our activity is entirely legal. Even some of our drug products are accepted by the empires, such as synthetic boosters, implants, and skill books. Where we ostensibly 'go wrong' is when we connect otherwise law-abiding citizens with products they want but cannot legally acquire. In some cases this can be morally questionable - like slaves. Speaking as any free-thinking man should, the idea of owning other sentience is somewhat abhorrent at best. (blame the Gallente in me)
Boosters, on the other hand, are a morally ambiguous substance. Continued use over years can have a deleterious effect;on the other hand the vast majority of our lifestyles as capsuleers ensure any one clone doesn't live overly long. With the recent advent of infomorph psychology and jump clones, we don't even have to die to get a new body. Booster usage among capsuleers is sensible and should be legalized. The empires in all their wisdom decided however to consider us no different than normal, basic humans. Their misfortune, and the subsequent moral judgements handed down by their kind, afford us a lucrative business supplying the elite with what they want and need.
The thought fluttered away as the final gravskid was being jockeyed into place. These were small compared to the mineral skids I was more familiar with. The old minskids were hefty, beat up pieces of station equipment that looked perfectly at home in Minmatar refinery outposts. The gravskids currently loading material into the hull of my ship were similarly perfectly suited for the environment they were in - a Jovian-owned Impro station. Gleaming metal polished to a bright sheen contrasted with dull graphite grey composite, designed to handle only the most delicate biological and medical materials.
Ideal for the the quality of product we are known for. Strong boosters are not inherently unstable, but considering their price tag - millions of ISK for each individual dose - we take only the most stringent precautions. Contamination could also easily destroy the withered immune system of a pod pilot. Stuck in protective fluids and rarely exposed to humanity, any number of chemicals or diseases could prove to be brutal for a clone.
Operating in this Jovian station is also a keen benefit for our organization. The Jovian representative stationed here spent a great deal of time arranging for our operation to go unnoticed, with the sole cost to us being, shall we say, minimal in scope. Increased automation and the intense secrecy of the Jove allow much of our product to move about the entire station without even being seen by human eyes once.
Which is precisely how we like to operate.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Chapter 1.2 - "First Contact"
I laughed. It was a good joke after all, even if it came from an ugly son of a bitch like him. The bartender in this seedy little watering hole looked like he took a plasma torch in the face, but for all that he was pretty charismatic. I reached into my pocket and dropped a handful of planetary currency on the counter, not bothering to count it but judging the weight to be more than sufficient.
This was not an establishment frequented by my kind. I wore a heavy jacket that covered up the implants and jacks in my neck. It was best to avoid anybody who might be interested in my presence. The bartender got more words out of me than anybody else: 'Thukker whiskey'. I looked around the bar again, wondering how in the nine hells of Rancer this place managed to stay open on the Inner Circle station.
While it was no secret that you could bribe your way into the good graces of CONCORD and their associated organizations, it was by no means a cheap feat. Clearly this little den of iniquity had some big backers or good cash flow on the side. The few scruffy workers and shady characters could hardly be drinking enough to pay for the lights let alone weaseling your way into the bank account of some bureaucrat.
As my eyes wandered over the various patrons, rough decor, and odd assortment of stains on the metal flooring, a nervous looking ship crewman walked in. He wore decent livery bereft of any official insignias, so clearly working for somebody with wealth yet not affiliated with one of the empires. Likely employed by another capsuleer...
And clearly not part of the agreement. To make matters worse, the fool had told him who to look for, since his eyes lit up with relief when he spotted me furtively glancing at him. I shook my head slowly and sighed, spinning my stool back to the bar. I reached into my pocket and tossed a small electronic chip onto the counter.
The bartender looked down at it, squinting his eyes. The numbers were small, they were jammed in... and suddenly he gasped, seeing ISK printed beside the rather large number. Swiping the token swiftly, the scarred and ugly fellow only had time to look up and drop the chit into his pocket when he heard a violent and unexpected bang.
Old slugthrowing weapons could be made out of crude and simple enough materials that they would not set off station defense sensors. They were generally inaccurate at range, and lacked any punch against armoured targets. Modern variants of projectile weapons still existed, but not like this old hunk of metal. I actually found it in Nefantar ruins in Metropolis, and with some minor tweaking it was an ideal weapon to use onboard a supposedly secure station.
The crewman lay splayed out on the floor, having toppled back when a heavy titanium slug entered his forehead. The instructions were clear and straight forward. It seems the client required a refresher on the issue. Nothing else would drive the point home like a shot to the head.
This was not an establishment frequented by my kind. I wore a heavy jacket that covered up the implants and jacks in my neck. It was best to avoid anybody who might be interested in my presence. The bartender got more words out of me than anybody else: 'Thukker whiskey'. I looked around the bar again, wondering how in the nine hells of Rancer this place managed to stay open on the Inner Circle station.
While it was no secret that you could bribe your way into the good graces of CONCORD and their associated organizations, it was by no means a cheap feat. Clearly this little den of iniquity had some big backers or good cash flow on the side. The few scruffy workers and shady characters could hardly be drinking enough to pay for the lights let alone weaseling your way into the bank account of some bureaucrat.
As my eyes wandered over the various patrons, rough decor, and odd assortment of stains on the metal flooring, a nervous looking ship crewman walked in. He wore decent livery bereft of any official insignias, so clearly working for somebody with wealth yet not affiliated with one of the empires. Likely employed by another capsuleer...
And clearly not part of the agreement. To make matters worse, the fool had told him who to look for, since his eyes lit up with relief when he spotted me furtively glancing at him. I shook my head slowly and sighed, spinning my stool back to the bar. I reached into my pocket and tossed a small electronic chip onto the counter.
The bartender looked down at it, squinting his eyes. The numbers were small, they were jammed in... and suddenly he gasped, seeing ISK printed beside the rather large number. Swiping the token swiftly, the scarred and ugly fellow only had time to look up and drop the chit into his pocket when he heard a violent and unexpected bang.
Old slugthrowing weapons could be made out of crude and simple enough materials that they would not set off station defense sensors. They were generally inaccurate at range, and lacked any punch against armoured targets. Modern variants of projectile weapons still existed, but not like this old hunk of metal. I actually found it in Nefantar ruins in Metropolis, and with some minor tweaking it was an ideal weapon to use onboard a supposedly secure station.
The crewman lay splayed out on the floor, having toppled back when a heavy titanium slug entered his forehead. The instructions were clear and straight forward. It seems the client required a refresher on the issue. Nothing else would drive the point home like a shot to the head.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Chapter 1.1 - "Pack Your Bags"
Yulai VIII - Inner Circle Tribunal
It takes a special human to say that to the kind of person I am; a capsuleer of many years experience. Summoning all the courage and conviction the mousy junior bureaucrat could muster, he told me in no uncertain terms to 'pack my bags'. It seems I was to be escorted off the station by him and two rather daft looking security guards. These were not your top grade meatheads, which led me to believe this was not a serious show of force. This was a power play.
Some CONCORD middle management buffoon thought he could impress his superiors by corralling a handful of underlings into removing a possible security threat. The file on me isn't really flattering, despite the fact that on the surface my credentials are spotless. They can't openly move against me since I haven't tripped up, but they are watching. This goon, whomever he is, just crossed the proverbial shit line.
I went along without much of a struggle. We operated in this station quite openly, and though we lacked any official sanction for our presence, the truth of the matter was quite different. It didn't take too long before the problem was solved. We had just exited a lift to the central station hub when they arrived.
Approaching from an entrance passage leading deeper into the central hub, three Inner Circle agents flanked a tall and imperious looking man. The sigil of the Inner Circle was stamped lightly on the breast of his jacket, but otherwise he wore no distinguishing uniform or badge. A more serious response than I anticipated. Clearly the power play was over, and the fool who ordered it was about to find out the kinds of people we had befriended.
I found out his name later that day; Jesmal Charret. Seems Mr. Charret lost his recent appointment to the internal security division. I am told he now manages the janitorial staff of the 47th level of the CONCORD Logistics station here in Yulai. Somebody must have taken pity on him, he got off light...
Some CONCORD middle management buffoon thought he could impress his superiors by corralling a handful of underlings into removing a possible security threat. The file on me isn't really flattering, despite the fact that on the surface my credentials are spotless. They can't openly move against me since I haven't tripped up, but they are watching. This goon, whomever he is, just crossed the proverbial shit line.
I went along without much of a struggle. We operated in this station quite openly, and though we lacked any official sanction for our presence, the truth of the matter was quite different. It didn't take too long before the problem was solved. We had just exited a lift to the central station hub when they arrived.
Approaching from an entrance passage leading deeper into the central hub, three Inner Circle agents flanked a tall and imperious looking man. The sigil of the Inner Circle was stamped lightly on the breast of his jacket, but otherwise he wore no distinguishing uniform or badge. A more serious response than I anticipated. Clearly the power play was over, and the fool who ordered it was about to find out the kinds of people we had befriended.
I found out his name later that day; Jesmal Charret. Seems Mr. Charret lost his recent appointment to the internal security division. I am told he now manages the janitorial staff of the 47th level of the CONCORD Logistics station here in Yulai. Somebody must have taken pity on him, he got off light...
Introduction - "The Business"
Though I have been wandering the space lanes for a while now, I am a recent addition to the roster of Es and Whizz. This name may be familiar to some of the older pilots out there. In the early days of boosters and drugs, we were the only show in town. We made headline news when we carved a swath of destruction through customs agents and pirates alike in order to deliver a massive freighter load of drugs to Jita, which to this day remains the single largest smuggling operation in New Eden history. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d9nrkQVOj60)
Though the intervening years have seen a marked quieting of our bombastic business model, Es and Whizz has been churning away. When the SCC allowed the open trade of boosters on the marketplace, we encountered competition from numerous little outfits scratching a living out of hobby-level production. Despite this, when it came down to serious business few could sit at our table.
Now my job is to continue that tradition of excellence and style. Not only that, but I intend to bring to bear my years of experience at the helm of industrial operations ranging from mining fleets in Laurvier to jump logistics in Branch. New Eden has been somewhat slow to fully take advantage of the power of boosters. They are a decisive edge when you plan their effects and abilities into the design of your ships.
I hope to do my part to change that ignorance. It is the business I am in now, pushing these drugs and their potent combat effects. It is my business. I am your local and friendly triptech, and I am here to make it happen.
Though the intervening years have seen a marked quieting of our bombastic business model, Es and Whizz has been churning away. When the SCC allowed the open trade of boosters on the marketplace, we encountered competition from numerous little outfits scratching a living out of hobby-level production. Despite this, when it came down to serious business few could sit at our table.
Now my job is to continue that tradition of excellence and style. Not only that, but I intend to bring to bear my years of experience at the helm of industrial operations ranging from mining fleets in Laurvier to jump logistics in Branch. New Eden has been somewhat slow to fully take advantage of the power of boosters. They are a decisive edge when you plan their effects and abilities into the design of your ships.
I hope to do my part to change that ignorance. It is the business I am in now, pushing these drugs and their potent combat effects. It is my business. I am your local and friendly triptech, and I am here to make it happen.
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