The Mug

2010-07-26T13:10:00.000-07:00

This is my entry to the Inspired By Images Of Eve Competition 2. More details and links to all entrants can be found at StarrFleetComms.com

Even tucked safely in his pod, Vrae could feel the vibrations of his blasters as they hurled their small antimatter projectiles towards the Gurista pirates. He loved this sensory perception. The nerve endings tingling at the pulse…bum bum bum…small waves cascading across his skin, muted by the amniotic fluid which enveloped him. He felt them none the less.
A small flash of light and the last of the pirates were finished. His sensors reporting the Gurista pod warping away. He ordered his weapons to reload, and his repair systems to begin their electronic surgery repairing the damage to his armor. In this sector of space, not too much to worry about from the pirates, they were mostly harassment. They wouldn’t be back. Another command sent his ship in motion, as he ordered the computers to lock the wreck and the salvager turned on.
Vrae remembered a time when ships were piloted with dexterity and know how. The feeling of yoke in your hands, the pull when maneuvering, pressing of buttons-warm from the light illuminating them- to activate your controls and weapons. Giving chase, running away, they weren’t thoughts, they were actions. It was often a lonely time, but peaceful. Maneuvering through asteroid belts, salvaging what you can, releasing some ore from the asteroids.
He remembered the coffee ring on the only available spot on the console to place your mug. The mug….. Over the years that mug had always been Vrae’s companion. It must have flown with him countless light years of travel. Now it sits in his station hostel, not seeing use in years. With the neural interfaces to the ship, all that was a thing of the past. The entire world was now digitally mapped to your brain. Neural interfaces feeding it digital signals to interpret, waiting to receive signals back to the ships computer for it to become alive. There was no place for a coffee mug, locked away in the amniotic sac. Vrae longed for that feeling to really be in control of his craft, to feel the rubbery handles of the yoke, flipping a switch, or pushing a button. To be able to stretch his legs.
A light dimmed as his salvager shut off, its job complete. But Vrae knew, it wasn’t a real light, it was just how the ship wanted his mind to perceive it. Lower right hand corner of the imaginary panel in front of him. Another light, signaling his cargo was almost full; a quick systems check showed all fine. Vrae commanded the ship to turn towards the station, the engines growling with life, he could feel them. When the computer reported alignment was complete, Vrae engaged the warp drive. As his Taranis roared away from the sun towards the station, an image his eyes would not witness on their own, Vrae wondered.

“What if the neural interfaces lied ? What if the sights here were dismal, or brilliant beyond what the computer could interpret?”

At that moment he wished he could be looking out a ships window.

Once in the docking bay the Taranis released him from the interface and the pod began to drain. He always hated this part, the coughing to release the fluid from your lungs. It always made him feel so violated, as if the ship were inside him, controlling him, not the other way around. A couple of corridors down he entered his home, he needed a shower. A few turns of the handles and the showerhead sprang to life. The chlorine smell of the station water was almost overwhelming and often gave him a headache. But it was warm and he had some 'old world' soap Goyda had gotten from one of her ill-gotten adventures. He missed her too, the thought made him smirk.
Coming out of the shower, Vrae grabbed his mug off of the table, the only available spot on his table, and leaving a small brown ring. He walked around his room, barely 20’x20’. The clutter in his small ‘house’ (as many referred to them) was evident of years living here. Relics from battles long past, small symbols of a hard led life. There was barely enough room to move around, especially for someone of his stature.
How long had it been since he set foot on a planet. Seen wide open spaces, ran, felt the Sun warming his face as he looked up at it with his eyes closed ? The light, the warmth, the breeze, smelling flowers in the spring. These thoughts raced through his head. His thoughts turned to when he left for school, he had seen the ad only weeks before.

‘Feeling locked down and confined sitting on a planet ? Join the Gallente Navy, experience freedom, and make a change!’

At least that’s what the flyer had said.

Freedom.

And it was freeing-for a while, vastness before you, hand on the controls, feeling the ship, looking out the cockpits windows and seeing the expanse, the beauty, the options. That was until about 5 years ago, maybe longer-he didn’t care to figure it out at the moment. A new class of ships was introduced, better mechanics, new neural interfaces virtually eliminating pilot error, able to put pilots in them in half the time. Neural interfaces and containment pods. It stole a sense of being in touch with the ship, feeling part of it. Very digital very 2 dimensional. Sitting down Vrae put the mug to his lips and took a large swig of coffee. The piping hot liquid stung as it rolled across his tongue. He didn’t care. He felt it. Throwing his feet up Vrae leaned back, stretching his legs out knocking some books off of his bed, shut his eyes, resting the warm mug on his chest, both hands wrapped around it. He pictured his Taranis flying through space, the sun shining brightly as if it were chasing him. He pictured that brown ring on his ships console. He pictured....

Freedom.

Sleep descended upon Vrae rapidly, his body tired without recognition, he succumbed to its calling. The warm cup still firmly in his grasp.

Shots were ringing as they ricocheted off the metal walls of the station. Normally guards didn’t use lethal ammo in its metal corridors. Bystanders could easily be struck and richochets as too common. With rapid, determined steps the figure they were following darted around a corner just ahead of them. The sound of general alarm echoed, resonating off the bulkheads and girders, making it almost impossible to hear the foot falls as they ran down the winding corridors. This was a tight section of the station, many short hallways that turn quickly and are shrouded with piping and electrical conduits that distributed power among other things throughout the station. It was easy to see why the fugitive ran through these hallways. Hard to get a clean shot, or hold a steady aim, they would have to out maneuver the fleeing assailant.
The main research warehouse had been robbed, a couple hundred datacores, worth millions on the market in Jita, and two guards assigned to protect them, were down.

It was but by chance the roaming patrol discovered the crime. That is when the alarm was sounded. And when the frenetic pursuit began. The dark figure moved nimbly through these corridors, as if they were very familiar with them. Sweat poured off the soldiers as they followed, their equipment heavy about them, barely fitting through the narrow doorways. During brief sightings shots rang out, narrowly missing at the last moment. They could feel the pace slowing, perhaps the thief was running out of steam they had been running for nearly 5 minutes almost sprinting. The guards were trained Gallente soldiers, to them this was a normal day. But to a thief, most likely some Caldari pirate scum, they would not last.

When the figure rounded a corner they abruptly slammed head on into a lone figure moving the opposite direction. The impact drove them both to the ground. Quickly scrambling back up, the thief climbed over the prostrate soldier continuing their escape. Coming to his senses slightly Chief Grayson saw only a boot as the mysterious fugitive scrambled over him. Reaching up he grabbed the fugitive’s ankle, his grip was weakened from the impact and the assailant’s ankle was smaller than he had suspected causing him to lose his grip and for his efforts he received a boot to the head. Darkness fell over his eyes.
Scrambling up, with precious moments wasted from the unexpected collision, the thief darted around the next corner, the footsteps behind resounding closer. This was the last mad dash then safety. Down the longer corridor and up over the railing to the service hangar deck.

Rounding the last corner, just 20 paces behind now, one of the guards leveled his service pistol. His aim was dead on even though he was still moving, this was the shot he needed! As he squeezed the trigger his vest grabbed onto a valve positioned close to the railing at the corner. The momentum from his pursuit combined with the sudden hanging of his vest threw him off balance, causing him to fire wide. The report of the pistol so close caused the thief to jump towards the railing now desperate for escape. a split second later, a ringing of a richochet sounded followed by a sharp blow to the side fugitive's face. A guttural sound was made as the fugitive spun and slammed into the ground.....

A bright white flash erupted in her eyes and a loud banging noise echoed in her head as Goyda’s face struck the metal floor of her room. Turning over quickly scrambling backwards in a panic she wedged her back against her bed and clothes storage locker. The scene of her chase still playing out in her recent memory from the dream. Goyda looked around through bleary eyes as her room came into focus, she pressed herself back hard against the locker and bed frame. Her shoulder length blonde hair clung to her face wet with sweat, breathing rapidly, muscles tense, her heart racing - still being pursued. As she looked around she realized it had all been a dream. Reliving that moment and she so often does.

“FUCK!”

She shouted kicking over the table by her bed, sending it across the small room crashing into the bathroom door. She put her head in her hands to regain her composure from an event that plays out so often in her dreams. Opening her hands she pushed the hair back from her face. Placing her hand on her right cheek, the side that had struck the floor, She felt the warm metal plate. A gift from the Gallente prison doctors, a procedure often given to the poor or more commonly, prisoners. Not the glorious nano skin and bone grafts that would have returned her cheek to the smooth soft skin like her left cheek. This was a staunch metal plate. A reminder of that fateful shot. A lucky ricochet, that while nearly ending her life, also prevented her escape.

The ricochet had torn away part of her cheekbone and a large portion of skin. In order to save her life in an effort to get her to talk later, the doctors had reconstructed her cheek. But for some reason, the skin never re-grew over the foreign object, leaving it exposed. A glaring reminder of another time.

Breathing out Goyda pushed herself up off the floor. She stood taller than most Caldari women at 5’7” tall. Weighing in at a taught 120lbs, there was no denying she was female, she could disguise it for the most part, but not completely. She looked at the time, she still had several hours. Maneuvering through the small space she retreived a cup of water and headed towards her small bathroom. As she approached the bathroom, kicking the table out of her way, She pulled her shirt over her head in a clean motion. This revealed a musculature defined by an active hard life. Scars from her time in the lockdown in Rens, the brand just below her left shoulder in between the shoulder blade and spine marked her for life as an enemy of the Gallente Empire. Which she wore with pride.

Stepping out of her shorts, she turned the shower on, steaming hot. She needed to wash away the memories for now. Stepping in the small space she quickly turned her left side towards the falling water, she needed the metal plate in the other side of her face to warm slowly to the water temperature, otherwise it hurt like a bad toothache for nearly an hour. A short time later she leaned back into the water she and let it cascade down her, her wet hair clinging closely to her head and face. The piping hot water streaming down her skin. For many moments she stood there the stinging water cascading down her ample figure, her skin turning a brighter pink from the heat. She reached to a small slot in the wall and retreived a cake of soap, the light fragrance heightend by the hot water. As she washed, the smell of llanth flowers grew over her. She normally didn't use this soap, but she needed another memory right now and this one always brought back the same one. A pleasent one from another time.

As the bad memory faded, she rinsed herself off the bubbly perfumed suds washing down the drain, she needed to think about he plan. She was running low on ISK, and needed to make some money. Her last haul had lasted a while and even netted her some nice items like the soap. Couldn't sell those items, they were often too unique in this part of the constellation, attention would quickly be drawn to you. So you simply keep these sundries for yourself. A perk so to speak.

Perhaps, she thought, run the trade routes between in Lonetrek, always goods to be had running through Nalvula on their way to 0.0, always profitable. And often brought in bigger ships to defend the haulers. That meant a good fight!

She was a pirate, in every sense of the word. She has spent about 1 month several years ago running deepspace missions for the local profiteers everyone called ‘agents’. Agents, another word for someone who profits from your risk. It was during one of these ‘missions’ that she was jumped by pirates. Three cruisers descended upon her frigate. She was completely surprised by the sudden appearance of the cruisers on her overview. Her first encounter, she was not sure what to do being a young pilot. It wasn’t until the first missles rocked her ship, that she decided to fire back.
Her frigate was no match for the three cruisers. She was so scared- those feelings of fear, uncertainty. It was a rush. It swept over her in waves, like some narcotic, she needed to feel that again. Shooting the guristas just wasn’t the same, these were criminals, not fighting for a cause other than their own profiting. She knew that is what she wanted to be.

adventurers in space

The Mug

This is my entry to the Inspired By Images Of Eve Competition 2. More details and links to all entrants can be found at StarrFleetComms.com