Splintered Reality Part Two
“The pod-pilots/ Capsuleers are the elite of Eve Society. The chosen few who decide their own fate and often that of others, with the buying power of small countries and the military might of nations…they are the rock-stars of the Eve universe. Normal people look upon them with awe, and those in power regard them with often envy, discontent and fear…” - Torfi Frans
As a pod pilot, Richard “Rick” Sirrelli was, in fact, none of these things.
He was not famous, though he desire to be. He was not a “rock star” – in fact he wasn’t even popular. Quite the opposite in fact. He was not looked on with awe, respect and certainly not fear. This last outlook most people shared of him, however, was due mostly to something Rick Sirrelli had in abundance – conniving. As a result, few people know the real side of Rick. If they did, they certainly would have feared him. For in addition to conniving, he was ruthless and mean as a snake.
As a pod pilot the one thing he wasn’t lacking was girth. He is the only known pod pilot to have necessitated a custom made pod to accommodate both his enormous girth and the additional synapses in his brain. This last quality was both the key to his reasonable degree of success in racing, and also indicative of what he had, more than anything else – connections.
He had connections in abundance, and not just the kind he had hard wired into his head However, the implants he begged, borrowed and stole – mostly stole – attributed more toward his success than he would even admit to himself. In fact where connections were concerned, it was well known in the Amarri underworld that if Rick Sirrelli couldn’t steal or smuggle it, it probably didn’t exist.
The single, solitary exception was also the key to his single greatest ambition, as well as being the source of his greatest aggravation. It kept him up nights. It was a part of a warp drive engine. Not just any part, no. It was a hyper spatial ion driven capacitor.
The crux of the matter of the matter was this – micro warp engines were what made space ships go fast. It made them go very, very fast. Incredibly, astoundingly fast. Micro-warp engines drained a capacitor, the source of their power, faster than a man dieing of thirst drains a glass of water. This last factor, was what limited the size with which anyone could practically use a micro warp engine in a space craft. It was why, for instance, you could not use a 100mn micro warp drive, normally made for use on a battleship, on a racing frigate. What limited the use of such an oversize engine on such a small craft is that the power drain on the frigate’s tiny capacitor would move the frigate about a foot and a half. True it would move it that foot and a half very, very fast. But a foot and a half was about all that it would move. But what if there was a capacitor that powered the craft took a long time to drain. What, in fact, if that capacitor were nearly bottomless?
An engine powered by such a capacitor could win races. It could also control the by-ways of space. It meant speed with very little bottom end.
And in all the universe, such an engine part existed on only one place – and the use to which it was now put galled him no end. It was used for mining. It was currently mounted on an aged light cruiser of the osprey class, captained by one Brighde Blackwolf. The hell of it is, he often told himself, is that she didn’t even know she possessed such an astounding bit of technology. Neither, it seemed, did that old fool of a chief mechanic of hers.
But he couldn’t exactly make what it was publicly known. The instant it was known exactly what it was, he would never be able to obtain it. The Caladari navy, which had created the part, had long since lost track of it. The engineer who had once fitted it on a light cruiser for testing, had met with a terrible culinary accident when the third course of his evening meal blew him to smithereens. Sadly, the only copy of his notes, which he was reading at the time, perished along with the man himself and his evening meal. The light cruiser had been sold off by the navy as military surplus.
Originally he had tried to purchase the craft, but the bitch who owned it wouldn’t sell. He tried to blow her up as well, but it didn’t do much good. Like a bad penny, she kept turning up. This last time was at a Caladari Naval yard where her ship was undergoing a refit. When he found her again, he hired someone to try to take the ship, and it’s precious part by force. As it turns out, not only did the fool he hired have the wrong ship, but he got himself blown in to such small parts they had to scrape him off the walls of the space station.
But this must have been his lucky lifetime for Rick Sirrelli had just found out that one other connection he had may be the key to getting his grubbly, meaty, sweaty hands on ever elusive capacitor. The connection was someone he knew. That someone was none other than Charlie Dau’fin, champion of the great racing circuit at New Rome.
As a pod pilot, Richard “Rick” Sirrelli was, in fact, none of these things.
He was not famous, though he desire to be. He was not a “rock star” – in fact he wasn’t even popular. Quite the opposite in fact. He was not looked on with awe, respect and certainly not fear. This last outlook most people shared of him, however, was due mostly to something Rick Sirrelli had in abundance – conniving. As a result, few people know the real side of Rick. If they did, they certainly would have feared him. For in addition to conniving, he was ruthless and mean as a snake.
As a pod pilot the one thing he wasn’t lacking was girth. He is the only known pod pilot to have necessitated a custom made pod to accommodate both his enormous girth and the additional synapses in his brain. This last quality was both the key to his reasonable degree of success in racing, and also indicative of what he had, more than anything else – connections.
He had connections in abundance, and not just the kind he had hard wired into his head However, the implants he begged, borrowed and stole – mostly stole – attributed more toward his success than he would even admit to himself. In fact where connections were concerned, it was well known in the Amarri underworld that if Rick Sirrelli couldn’t steal or smuggle it, it probably didn’t exist.
The single, solitary exception was also the key to his single greatest ambition, as well as being the source of his greatest aggravation. It kept him up nights. It was a part of a warp drive engine. Not just any part, no. It was a hyper spatial ion driven capacitor.
The crux of the matter of the matter was this – micro warp engines were what made space ships go fast. It made them go very, very fast. Incredibly, astoundingly fast. Micro-warp engines drained a capacitor, the source of their power, faster than a man dieing of thirst drains a glass of water. This last factor, was what limited the size with which anyone could practically use a micro warp engine in a space craft. It was why, for instance, you could not use a 100mn micro warp drive, normally made for use on a battleship, on a racing frigate. What limited the use of such an oversize engine on such a small craft is that the power drain on the frigate’s tiny capacitor would move the frigate about a foot and a half. True it would move it that foot and a half very, very fast. But a foot and a half was about all that it would move. But what if there was a capacitor that powered the craft took a long time to drain. What, in fact, if that capacitor were nearly bottomless?
An engine powered by such a capacitor could win races. It could also control the by-ways of space. It meant speed with very little bottom end.
And in all the universe, such an engine part existed on only one place – and the use to which it was now put galled him no end. It was used for mining. It was currently mounted on an aged light cruiser of the osprey class, captained by one Brighde Blackwolf. The hell of it is, he often told himself, is that she didn’t even know she possessed such an astounding bit of technology. Neither, it seemed, did that old fool of a chief mechanic of hers.
But he couldn’t exactly make what it was publicly known. The instant it was known exactly what it was, he would never be able to obtain it. The Caladari navy, which had created the part, had long since lost track of it. The engineer who had once fitted it on a light cruiser for testing, had met with a terrible culinary accident when the third course of his evening meal blew him to smithereens. Sadly, the only copy of his notes, which he was reading at the time, perished along with the man himself and his evening meal. The light cruiser had been sold off by the navy as military surplus.
Originally he had tried to purchase the craft, but the bitch who owned it wouldn’t sell. He tried to blow her up as well, but it didn’t do much good. Like a bad penny, she kept turning up. This last time was at a Caladari Naval yard where her ship was undergoing a refit. When he found her again, he hired someone to try to take the ship, and it’s precious part by force. As it turns out, not only did the fool he hired have the wrong ship, but he got himself blown in to such small parts they had to scrape him off the walls of the space station.
But this must have been his lucky lifetime for Rick Sirrelli had just found out that one other connection he had may be the key to getting his grubbly, meaty, sweaty hands on ever elusive capacitor. The connection was someone he knew. That someone was none other than Charlie Dau’fin, champion of the great racing circuit at New Rome.
posted by Sr.Julie at 9:41 AM
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