Far from home, a lone capsuleer traverses the inky black sea of nothingness. His Punisher-class star-ship gleams as it reflects the iridescent light of the sun, its thick golden plating a testament to the glory of the Amarrian Navy. But he does not fly for them: he does not fly for the Empress nor for the oppressive regime she perpetuates, an expendable foot-soldier in the eyes of some unfathomable deity. He flies under a different flag: that elusive ideal of freedom: freedom to do whatever he damn well pleases. He is an outlaw; a vagabond; a Guristas pirate destined to live out his existence in the vast swathes of low-security space. But yet, he is free: free from the laws that constrict humanity; free from the faceless corporations that control the population. There are not many that can say such a thing in New Eden; but then, there are not many who choose to live here, in this purgatory between CONCORD and the ruthless empire-builders of nullsec.
And so it came to pass that this outlaw found himself in Old Man Star in the Essence sector, over 13 jump-gates away from the pirate haven of Ishomilken and deep into Federation space. Targets had become scarce lately and Guristas were forced to venture out further and further each year. The Caldari Navy was fighting a losing battle to the pirates in The Citadel; as public fear grew so potential marks diminished. This harsh reality meant that only the patient and strong-willed were able to make a living out here. The Punisher’s engines flared up, the intense heat of its twin afterburners leaving a blue trail in its wake.
“Warp Drive active” the detached voice of the onboard computer chimed.
The capsuleer set a course for Planet V, an uninhabitable gas giant somewhere near the centre of the system. At the same time, he brought up all data records on other capsuleers currently within the same area. He did this all without moving a muscle, suspended in the ectoplasmic goo of his pod, because he could. His consciousness was unbound by the usual constraints of the human psyche: it reached out across the entire ship, in turn connecting to networks that reached out across the entire galaxy. He did not just pilot the ship. He was the ship. He emerged from the dimensional rift of the warp tunnel unscathed by the fabric of space-time and initiated a low-orbit of Planet V. He had just completed in a few seconds a journey that would have taken his ancestors a lifetime. With a single thought the pilot brought up the directional scanner, a device that picks up the faint electronic signals emitted by ships in the nearby vicinity. A radar-like interface embedded itself on his subconscious.
"Commencing 360 degree scan…"
Three hits: a Dominix-class battleship and two frigates: the Caldari gunship, the Merlin and its missile-launcher equivalent, the Condor. He would be no match for the Dominix. Even if the speed afforded to him by the small class of his vessel allowed him to escape the electron guns of the battleship, its swarm of unmanned drones would tear through his frigate-sized hull in a matter of seconds. He would avoid this behemoth at all costs. He strategically assessed the threat of the other two ships. The Merlin, if it had a half-decent pilot would be packing high-damage, close-range blasters. This would be the perfect match for his trio of auto-cannons. The EMP ammunition he had “liberated” from a Republic Fleet cache a while back would be more than enough to rip through the Merlin’s shields. The Condor, on the other hand would packing long-range light missiles. If its pilot kept enough distance between himself and the Punisher, it could eventually wear the Punisher’s thick armour down while taking no damage from its auto-cannons. The capsuleer decided to hunt down the Merlin instead. He slowly narrowed the search co-ordinates down in order to pinpoint the mark’s exact location.
"Commencing 180 degree scan…"
Still there.
"Commencing 90 degree scan…"
Damn. Lost him.
The capsuleer carefully readjusted the scanner’s radius and picks the Merlin up around a cluster of celestial objects somewhere around Planet VIII. If he wasn’t somewhere off the grid in a “scanning safe-spot”, the ship was bound to be around one of these objects.
"Commencing 30 degree scan…"
Planet VIII – Belt 5. Gotcha.
Once again, the hum of the Punisher’s engines could be heard as it aligned itself in preparation for warp. He would not warp directly to the asteroid belt, but 100km off of it. Years of piracy had taught this capsuleer one thing: you can never be too careful. It was imperative that he gathered as much intelligence about a target as possible before going in for the kill; records, security status, the pilot’s corporation, his alliance. One never knew if he had friends nearby, ready to pounce on a trigger-happy pirate.
“Warp drive active.”
A few seconds later he emerged out of the warp rift; gargantuan, mineral-rich asteroids filling up his overview. These magnificent pieces of debris, static remnants of some cosmic explosion millennia ago, made the ideal hiding places for pirates of the Serpentis corporation, a sister outfit of the Guristas. Patrols roamed the belt, weaving in and out of the giant space rocks. The Merlin appeared on the capsuleer’s overview and within seconds he pulls up data from every corner of COSMOS. The pilot was young. Very young. He’d been conscripted by some mercenary corporation that contracts out to Federation forces: a Gallente soldier in the front lines in their war against the Caldari. In other words: Fresh meat.
The capsuleer quickly pulled up information on all the other pilots in the vicinity. Two others worked for the same corporation. No one is ever alone. The capsuleer assessed the situation once more. He was going to need some backup. With a thought, he connected to COSMOS, pulling up data on all his contacts. He knew just the man for the job. Simultaneously checking and rechecking pilot records, he initiated a sub-conscious secure-line with a pilot he knew back from the days of the Academy. Communication was kept short and succinct. No time for chit-chat.
Hello Ticks.
Hello.
Multiple targets in Old Man Star. One confirmed as flying a Merlin. Gang of three. All younglings.
Straight to business eh? No time for coffee?
Are you in or not?
On my way.
What are you bringing?
A Curse.
A Curse? I see you still enjoy your fair fights. Sylar out.
“Emergency. Emergency. Hostile detected. Range: 20 clicks and closing. Emergency. Emergency…”
There it was: a plain white square on the overview that may as well have been flashing red for the all the capsuleer cared. It was the Condor. It was obvious he was working with the Merlin to triangulate the capsuleer’s position. Ticks was still many systems away. It was time to get out. Now. Sending a thought screaming into his X-class FTL drive, the capsuleer initiated warp back to Planet V. He sensed the Condor locking his position.
Fifteen clicks and closing…
If he didn’t get out of here soon, the Condor would have his warp drive scrambled and he would be a sitting duck getting pecked at by light missiles until its two other fleetmates arrived to annihilate him. Ten clicks was all the Condor needed to immobilise him.
“Fourteen clicks and closing. Hostile has acquired vessel as target. Emergency. Emergency.”
Thirteen clicks and closing…
Come on…
Twelve…
Eleven…
Ten…
All of a sudden the spatial disruption of the warp tunnel encapsulated the Punisher, the rips in the space time fabric a welcome sight. He arrived back at Planet V, quickly aligning to a nearby orbital station and warping and then aligning to Planet IV and warping. The Merlin and Condor were pursuing him relentlessly, arriving at each celestial object just as he warped away. He continued this “dance”: constantly changing his position, confusing and evading the enemy; Piracy 101. He could not keep this up for long however: sooner or later this fleet would catch him. He decided to hold on Planet VI for a moment to establish a secure-line with Ticks once more.
How far out are you?
Three jumps.
Hurry.
“Emergency. Emergency. Hostile vessel five clicks and holding. Warp Drive disabled. Emergency. Emergency.”
The Condor…He’s found me.
Any second and his buddies will be here, guns blazing.
He couldn’t hold a fleet of three off long enough; all Ticks would find would be his frozen corpse, atrophied by solar winds and the cold, dark vacuum of space. But he had no choice. If he was going down, he would make them pay dearly.
Bam!
The first missile hit the underside of the Punisher’s hull in a dazzling display of pure kinetic damage. Hastily, the Condor pilot demanded a ransom after just one shot.
So is this is the scum that CONCORD so righteously defends?
You’ll never take me alive, son.
He began to lock the Condor.
“Four…three…two…one…target acquired.”
“Auto-cannons one through three activated on target.”
The stuttering machine-gun fire of the auto-cannons began pelting the Condor’s shields. They were dissolving quickly. The Condor reacted by activating its afterburner, pulling away into a more optimal range, away from the auto-cannons but still close enough to send his missiles hurtling in. If it lost its shield, it would only be a matter of seconds until auto-cannons ripped through its hull, igniting the hydro-carbon gas in its fuel tank and blowing it to Hades.
“Emergency. Emergency. Multiple hostiles detected. Emergency. Emergency.”
The Merlin emerged from warp ten clicks out, while a third ship flashing into view: a Thrasher-class destroyer. The Thrasher was an anti-frigate platform: a melter of frigate hulls. This was bad news indeed. By now, the Condor’s shields were at half-capacity; the EMP ammo was doing its job, and well. The capsuleer quickly checked the status of his defences.
Shields down. Ninety-five percent armour.
Luckily, unlike its Caldari counterparts, the Punisher relied on its armour to tank damage. Amazing as this tank was, it would take some kind of miracle to sustain damage from the Merlin and especially the Thrasher who were now closing in quickly. They would soon be within gun range: close enough to unleash hell. If he could just destroy the Condor quickly enough and remove the warp disruption on his drive, he would be able to escape the impending massacre. It needed to die. Now. The twin blue flames of the Punisher’s engines flared once more as it approached the Condor. It seemed an impossible chase: the Caldari frigate had gained considerable speed and had initiated hard-burn in the opposite direction.
Seven clicks and counting…
And then, all of a sudden, a spatial disruption bubble enveloped the Condor; its engines slowing to a halt as the capsuleer activated his stasis webifier on the vessel.
You’re not going anywhere.
“Emergency. Emergency. Lock initiated on your vessel. Warp Drive disabled.”
“Seventy percent armour”
The other vessels had arrived and initiated their warp scramblers on the Punisher’s engines. There was no escape now. It was a fight to the death.
A few more rounds of auto-cannon goodness on the Condor ignited its fuel tanks, sending fragments of prime Caldari engineering in a thousand different directions.
One down. Two to go.
One by one, the Merlin’s guns began sending flashing energy beams directly into the Punisher’s armour. It needed repairs. And soon. The capsuleer activated the Punisher’s small armour repairer unit, draining its capacitor but mitigating the incoming damage. Slowly but surely, the Punisher’s armour began to repair itself. But it needed more capacitor if it was to sustain this. The capsuleer activated the small nosferatu energy vampire on the Merlin, draining its capacitor while adding to the Punisher’s. It worked. The Punisher was able to tank the Merlin’s electron blaster damage while inflicting massive amounts of damage on its shield. By the time the Thrasher’s 150mm auto-cannons were in range of the Punisher, the Merlin had taken significant damage. A few moments later, it too erupted in a flash of turquoise.
Armour: thirty percent. Taking heavy damage.
The Thrasher’s guns were identical to the Punisher’s. The difference? It had twice as many of them. They were tearing into the frigate’s hull, hitting the target consistently thanks to the superior tracking systems aboard the destroyer-class vessel. The armour repairer was insufficient to maintain the Punisher’s tank. It would only be a matter of seconds before the capsuleer joined the others in their orbital graves.
Twenty percent armour.
Ten percent.
Five.
Armour depleted.
The Punisher was into its hull now, on its last legs. The capsuleer became desperate. There was not much more he could do. It had been a good fight, a fitting way to end this lifetime.
No. I will not give up. Not now. Not ever. I will take this bastard down with me. Whatever it takes.
At the risk of causing a meltdown on the lower deck, he put the small armour repairer and auto-cannons one through three into overdrive. By this time a trail of smoke and flame followed the Punisher, numerous subsystems had now gone off line. But not the guns. The auto-cannons began firing rapidly, the fact that they were missing often at this range made irrelevant by their sheer rate of fire and the armour repairer began to repair more quickly. It wasn’t going to be enough to save him.
“Warning. Multiple subsystems offline, hull damage critical. Warning. Warning…”
So this was it; the end of a life time...
The capsuleer closed his eyes in morbid anticipation. He awaited that final moment when this body would be engulfed in blue hydro-carbon flames; when his consciousness would be wrenched through space and on to the next life. But it never came.
Instead, an Arbitrator-class Curse flashed on to his overview. It was Ticks. That old bastard. The doors of the Combat Recon-class vessel’s drone bay opened into the cold recesses of space, unleashing a swarm Tech 2 Hammerhead-type drones onto the unsuspecting Thrasher. And there was a third explosion, but not a fourth.
A few seconds more and I would have needed a coffin and not a battleship, Ticks.
Just be grateful you have friends in big ships, Sylar.
He thanked his old comrade and they parted ways. Perhaps someday they would meet for that coffee, and perhaps not. But for now, the capsuleer was just grateful to be alive. The ceramic shell of his pod opened, exposing an amnion of gelatine and latex. The fluid drained out, revealing a naked man covered in ectoplasm. As the man stumbled towards the command deck, he had difficulty breathing.
It’s been a while…
His hands resting on chipboards interlaced with tangles of wires and confusing arrays of avionics, he gazed out through plexi-glass screen into the emptiness of space; at the wreckage that lay before him; at the spoils of war. He had survived another day in New Eden; and that made him mighty.
