splintered reality - part four

The ship looked fast, but that was only because it was fast…astoundingly fast, amazingly fast, stupendously fast…at least at sub-light speeds. At hyper light speeds? Well, that was another matter altogether. At hyper-light speeds it was like pushing an elephant across the rug on its nose. It was lucky if it could make a jump to the end of the docking bay let alone to the end of solar system. For all that, it was still impressive. True, next to the big Caladari military ships, such as the Scorpion class battleship in the bay just opposite, the ship could have been a gnat on same said elephant’s backside.

But it was all hers.

Every pirate that was “retired”, and due to the very nature of the business that was damn few, had a bit of something extra set aside. Usually most pirates found themselves forcibly retired, and quite often out an airlock.

The frigate had cost her most of what she had set aside. It had an overcharged hydrocarbon microwarpdrive and an overdrive injection system. However it also had a nanofiber hull and bulkheads. Very light, but very fragile. Basically a very fast egg that could make the jump to hyperspace. It was a modified Amarrii frigate, executioner class.

It floated in the docking bay like two gleaming golden fangs held together by a cramped passenger compartment. The ships principal, and at least for the time being, only occupant squeezed herself into the pilots acceleration couch. It was a tight fit for her six foot one frame at best. Normally frigates of this size were a bit more roomy. The modifications however, took up a great deal of the passenger quarters. The result was a ship that, rather than being something you got IN to was more properly viewed as something you put on, like a shoe – a very fast, very expensive shoe.

Gunny…no, she thought to herself, not Gunny. That part of her life was over (or so she thought at the time). New life, new name she thought. Back to being “Sam” like her mum used to call her.

“Dear old mum,” she said aloud to no one in particular as she looked around the interior of the frigate, “God bless her weasly, thieving, black heart.”

The passenger compartment was very Spartan, but then, so was her pilot. Two people could comfortably bunk inside. That is, if they were the sort of people to whom comfort meant sleeping on cold nonofiber and using the bulkhead for a pillow and having to open the engine compartment to have a place to stick your feet – which, Sam did have to do, being as tall as she was. Indeed, her mother had often told her that if she didn’t have so much body turned down for feet, she would have been another foot taller. It was, in fact, these same large feet that required specially made boots. The boots, like the ship were terribly expensive, and difficult to find. They were, she said to herself, the same boots that she would put up the back end of the person, whomever he or she was, that was currently pounding on the hull of her frigate.

Several agonizingly uncomfortable, body twisting moments, that would have made any contortionist proud, she managed to race to the hatchway. She peered out the portal to find out what in blue blazes was so urgent that whomever it was, needed to pound so hard that she thought they would pound their way through.

Unable to see who it was she popped open the hatch to find the source of the pounding, which stopped the moment the hatch opened.

The source of the pounding was Will Littlefoot, whom appeared “fit to be tied” as grandmother used to say; and the way Sam felt about Will at this point, she would be more than happy to oblige him. Before she could voice any objection, Will launched into a tirade over whatever it was he felt was worth having a tirade over.

“You said the ship was gone!” he screamed.

She was about to answer what turned out to be a rhetorical question, for it would soon become obvious that her former executive officer felt he had the answer to his own question. Like an ill wind that blew no good, she felt it was best just to wait out the storm – storm Littlefoot.

“You said the ship was gone! he screamed again needlessly.

It was needless for two reasons. Initially for the fact that Sam had heard him in the first place (as indeed had most of this end of the docking bay and, she thought idly, perhaps anyone who may be on the planets surface below them may have as well) The second reason was that she had expected this conversation, but just not so soon. She let “Hurricane Littlefoot” blow on.

“You said the ship was gone, but I just saw it in docking bay eleven. It isn’t gone, its just been moved. What are you trying to pull? What is going on?”

“I said…she said pausing before she continued, that the ship was gone and so it is. I didn’t say it actually went anywhere. It is “gone” in the sense that is no longer a mining ship, and no longer under the command of Brighde Blackfoot.”

“You aren’t going to get to be first officer that easy. Are you just trying to get rid of me?”, said Will.

“Yes. As a matter of fact I thought I had, came the reply. That is until you came pounding on my hull like some deranged maniac pounding on the gates of hell trying to get out. And if I had wanted to get rid of you to be first officer I would have killed you and put the dead body out an airlock and…”

Here Will tried to cut her off, but Sam would have none of it and raised her voice over his as she continued.

“…AND, she said,. I certainly would have tried to get Brighde to not sell the ship.”

Spintered Reality - part three

The doors of the commissary slide open and in steps William Littlefoot, formerly the executive officer of mining ship “Hornet”. At the moment blissfully unaware of his status as “former” executive officer, he rushes across the room like a man with a mission – which, also unknown to Will Littlefoot, he no longer has. The progress of the harried man is watched all the while by Samantha “Gunny” Mcpherson, also formerly of the mining ship Hornet. The difference between the two, at least for the immediate future, is that Gunny is well aware of her “former” status, and is allowing Will to rush around the commissary heedlessly.

That difference is about to change however. While Will is soon to know of his opportunity to explore new ways to fill his time, a new difference will arise. This being that Gunny is far less concerned with her future employment opportunities. As Will Littlefoot rushes headlong toward his objective – a fast meal on the run, before heading down toward what he believes is the still waiting Hornet – he is caught up short by the sight of Gunny Mcpherson, sitting nonchalantly at a table off to one side of the commissary.

“What are you doing here?” Will says, not hiding the note of irritation in his voice.

A slight smile crosses Gunny’s face. Without looking up from her plate she replies.

“Eating my breakfast, what does it look like I am doing?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. What are you STILL doing here?”

Now Gunny looks up at Will, the calm look on her face causing her former executive officer’s irritation to grow by the second. She pauses, to make sure he is good and irritated before she continues, in the same vein as before, pointedly ignoring the point he is obviously trying to make.

“Because it’s a nice place to eat breakfast. The prices are reasonable and the food is good.”

A silent pause passes between the two former shipmates. Though the silence takes only a moment it seems to fill all space itself. Will walks over to the table, trying to his best to look menacing. This is a feat, which, when directed toward a woman who was a formerly a pirate (and to the thinking of some people perhaps not so “formerly”) - who had on occasion threatened to reach down her executive officer’s throat, grab his ass and turn him inside out – is perhaps one of the most wasted attitudes that William Littlefoot could have affected at the moment.

“What…”, he said quietly, leaning over the edge of the table, close enough for Gunny to easily take note of the veins on his neck bulging to such an extent that they appear that they may even pop out of his neck altogether.

“….aren’t..”, Will continues, pausing after each word in his vain attempt at emphasis that will instill fear in Gunny McPherson.

“..you” He says, now edging even closer.

“…on….board?”

“Because,” replies Gunny, looking up at Will and smiling in as condescending a manner as possible, “the ship has already gone.”

Another moment passes, as the shock that Gunny had so carefully tried to instill in her former executive officer has the desired effect.

“What?” says Will eventually.

“I…” here she pauses, then continuing in a mocking tone.

“…said…,” she says pausing again.

“That the ship has already gone. Departed. Disembarked. Hit the starry highway for parts unknown.” Gunny said. Then she calmly goes back to her breakfast.

“She’s gone? The ship is gone? Where? How can she just take the ship and go? She can’t do that!”

“Sure she can. Maybe you can’t fly a ship single handedly but Brighde is a pod pilot and The Hornet was once a light cruiser in the Caladari Navy – a military ship. It was originally set up to be flown by one person.”

Another moment of silence pauses as the sudden and drastic change in William Littlefoot’s life sinks in. Unbidden, he sits at the table opposite Gunny. Gunny pushes her plate to one side. Smiles and takes an orange out of the bowl of fruit in the middle of the table. She begins pealing the orange, carefully working the peal away from the fruit so it stays in one piece. The job is soon finished and she drops the orange peal, still in one piece, on her plate. With this, she slides the bowl of fruit across the table toward her former exec.

“Apple.”

“No thanks,” Will replies, shaking his head, more to shake off his disbelief of the situation than to turn down Gunny’s offer of fruit, “Suddenly I am not hungry.”

“It wasn’t a question. It was a comment.” She says to Will with a slight sneer.

“What?” comes the reply, Will now looking at gunny with a puzzled expression on his face.

“It’s not an offer of breakfast, its an name, more of an adjective really.”

The puzzled look on Will Littlefoots face remained. It was a look that told Gunny instantly that he knew even less of his own tribal heritage than she thought he did. Gunny continued, Will rapt in attention more out of a desperate need for something, anything to hold on to now that his entire world had suddenly been whisked away from under him like some ephemeral rug.

“Back on ancient earth, Gunny said, we there was a name for people like you. In my tribe we still use if for people like you – apple.”

“I don’t….” began Will before he was promptly cut off by Gunny.

“…you don’t understand. Of course you don’t.”

Here Gunny picked up an apple. Took a large bite out of it and held it in Will’s face, the white center of the bite toward his face, in contrast to the rich red outside of the apple

“Look at it, she said, it’s red on the outside but white on the inside – just like you.”

Now Will was mad all over again. As he understood the comparison he became furious and started to rise from the table.

“Sit down.” Gunny said, her voice deadly serious.

Gunny had that way about her that, in moments like these, made it readily apparent to all around her that she had spent many years of her long life plying space as a pirate. The command that she gave her former executive officer made him certain that those days were, perhaps not as far behind her as he had supposed.

“You may have ignored Brighde, Gunny continued, but you re NOT going to ignore me. If you walk out on me before I am done, you will only be able to hobble out.”

Another pause. The entire works of William Shakespeare could have been written in what SEEMED to be the duration of this pause.

“Brighde gave you a chance to help our people. Not just her people, not just my people, not just your people. OUR people. All Minmatar. You never even heard her out.”

Now Gunny pointed to an Ammarrian merchant, on the other side of the commissary. He was dressed to impress all those around him with his obvious wealth.

“Do you see that man? His grandfathers OWNED our grandfathers. We were chattel. Property. Hell our grandfathers may as well have BEEN cattle. Some of our people are still slaves and not just to Ammarians. Now maybe you don’t give a damn about that but I do.”

Will opened his mouth to speak but changed his mind and let Gunny continue.

“…and when someone gives me a chance to end that slavery. When I am given a chance to help out people, and just MAYBE unite all of the tribes. Maybe kick out those who have kidnapped our people for centuries. Well I don’t really give a damn who is footing the bill. Even the First Holy Church of New Rome.”

Finally Will worked up the courage to reply. Having regained something of his composure he looked Gunny right in the eye.

“Maybe your people,” he said, “Maybe my people, but not HER people.”

Now it was Gunny’s turned to look shocked – as well as disgusted. She knew what he was getting at but wanted to hear the words come out of Will’s own mouth.

“Come on…” she started.

“No. I mean it. Will continued firmly. You know it as well as I do. Her father may have been Minmatar, but her mother was Gallente. She isn’t even full blooded Minmatar. She isn’t part of the tribe.”

Now Will was hot. He snatched the apple out of gunny’s hand.

“Apple is it, he said, now raising his voice at Gunny. Apple? Well at least I am all red, not just half of me.”

Gunny let Will rant on, not the least bit intimidated. Now the entire commissary stood still, as Will continued, now shouting.

“Hell she’s not even Brighde any more – just some DAMNED CLONE.”

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.

Splintered Reality - part one

Brighde sat across from her grandfather. A warm fire crackled in the background as a cool evening breeze blew across the barren, rubble strewn remnants of what had been one of the largest battlefields of the Caldari-Gellante War. On a distant rise, an aged Caldari shuttle was silhouetted against one of the twin moons of Caldari Prime.

A strand of Brighde’s strawberry blonde hair blew across her cheek, its color a strong contrast to her dark skin. The color of her hair was, in itself, telling of her French heritage on her mother’s side – going all the way back to the human settlement on Tau Ceti, before they became known as the Gallante. Her dark skin on the other hand, that told her of her fathers heritage every time she looked in the mirror. It was a heritage that traced itself across the centuries, long before the human ever came to the place they called “New
Eden” The name itself seemed ludicrous to her – New Eden. Some Eden, she thought to herself. After the collapse of the worm hole that brought them here centuries of war and blight flew across the galaxy; racing the progress of the remnants of humanity to what seemed would be their ultimate extinction.

Across from her the fire played a rhythm of light and shadow on her grandfathers wrinkled face. The crevices of his dark skin, reminded her the cracks in the dry plain on which they now sat. Her grandfather’s white hair told of an age that belied the sharpness of his mind. Her grandfather was the keeper of the oral traditions and the history of her father’s people. Her grandfather carried with him the history of thousands of years, stretching all the way back to the Oglala Sioux of the original Earth.

Grandfather and granddaughter stared into the fire for some time. The younger of the two broke the silence first…

“I miss coming to visit grandma”

Without lifting his eyes from the fire, her grandfather spoke to her in an even tone, as he concentrated on the fire.

“Your grandmother still mourns for the loss of her granddaughter. To her you are a stranger who has the memories of her granddaughter. In the time she will understand. You will always have a home here. With that her grandfather pointed to his own heart. Now, he said pausing, What troubles you young one?”

Her grandfather always knew. It was as if her could read her like a book. He always knew when she was agonizing over some fear. He could always tell what it was before she even spoke. It was a bit spooky, really, she thought.

“But granddad, Brighde continued, the angst now more apparent in her voice, I am right here. How can she mourn me if I am not dead?”

“She doesn’t see it that way daughter. To her, her granddaughter died that day her shuttle was blown up as it was preparing to make the warp jump to the Caldari Navel yards.”

Brighde fell into silence. Her grandfather allowed her, her thoughts, waiting for her to continue.

Brighde like it when granddad called her “daughter” . It reminded her of home – of being raised by two Lakota grandparents who still kept the old ways. At least it felt that way…

“Granddad,” Brighde said at last.

“Yes?”

“Who am I?”

This time her grandfather looked up from the fire, and stared directly into her eyes. He smiled. Then said quietly…

“You are yourself.”

Brighde smiled at her grandfather. “Trying to seem mysterious again are we? Or just tap dancing around the issue?”

Harold Blackwolf, her grandfather, her counsel and her consoler, just smiled back.

“You know what I mean granddad. Am I really Brighde or just…”

Here Brighde stopped herself, struggling with the word.

“…a clone, her grandfather finished for her. It is an evil word to apply to a human being.”

With one hand her grandfather picked up an antler from a deer. With it, he poked some of the rocks that glowed at the heart of the fire. “The rocks look as if they are ready now. Are you?”

“Yes.”

With that Harry Blackwolf lead Brighde to the edge of the circle of light cast by the fire. There at its edge, was what appeared at first to be a small mound of dirt. It was actually a mound form by branches and covered with old tarps. At the front was a small flap of canvas that formed a doorway.

Quietly, reverently, the elder Blackwolf turned to his granddaughter and spoke.

“This is what your people called an “innipi” – a sweatlodge.”

“My people,” Brighde said softly. Then she repeated herself …

“…MY people. What will I find inside?”

“Perhaps peace. Perhaps nothing. Maybe yourself.’

Brighde found she could only enter the lodge on hands and knees. With humility she crawled inside and felt as if she were entering the planet’s womb. She crawled in and took sat on the hard packed ground around the central pit, where the rocks would be placed.

The light entering from the door cast a smalls hard of light across the pit. The sweet smell of sweet grass lingered in the air inside the lodge. Her grandfather followed after her and handed a of the bucket of water and a dipper. She set those to one side as her grandfather crawled in after her.

Harry Blackwolf took a seat on the opposite side of the pit from his granddaughter, carrying with him two antlers. Reaching out of the tent flap with the antlers, he brought in one of the rocks he had brought from the fire. The rock glowed bright orange against the dull gray of the antler. He moved the rock with the deer antlers. As he did so, he greeted the rock and placed it gently into the central pit. This he repeated several times until the pit held a small pile of rocks. He closed entrance to the small enclosure The canvas doorway closed with a slap against the tarp and a dim red light from the rocks filled the small space inside the lodge. Brighde could barely make out her grandfather’s face on the other side of the circular lodge. Harry Blackwolf rubbed something across each rock which sparked when he did it. A strong sweet smell filled the air.

He asked his granddaughter to greet the Creator and the spirits, introducing herself. When he finished, he took a dipper of water and splashed it on the rocks. Each time he did this a sound like several snakes hissing and plumes of warm steam filled the air. Each time the temperature rose, but not to an uncomfortable level.
Harry began praying, and invited his granddaughter to pray with him. As he did this he splashed water against the rocks. The light grew dimmer and the temperature grew hotter.
“Speak what is in your heart,” her grandfather said to her.
Brighde felt like she was in an Amarr confessional. At first she hesitated. Then she spoke to the air. To no one. To the universe around her. She spoke was in her heart.
When she was done, her grandfather prayed in Caladari, but began singing in the ancient language of Lakota. To her surprise, Brighde understood some of the words. She did not know why. She let herself be carried away by the words of the song. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sounds…
…of the water hissing every time it hit the glowing rocks
…to her grandfathers soft singing in an ancient language she somehow understood.
…and her mind seemed to drift away, as a vision overcame her.
Brighde saw a woman sitting by a fire with a large tome in her hand. The glare of the evening sun peaked over what was once the forest of her home in the woods. She knew instinctively that the woman was Edelia Blackwolf – her mother. She watched as the sun cast long shadows over the living room floor. The woman dipped her pen an ink well next to her and began writing in the book.

Brighde watched as her mother rubbed her joints as if her reflexes were no longer as fast as they once were; the years having taken their toll. It was as if Brighde could feel what her mother felt.

Taming the far reaches of space, her mother began to realize, was now a game for someone much younger. Brighde felt her mother’s mind wander back to the day she first set foot on her new home world…a rag tag refugee with her child in tow.

There was a time when Edelia looked back on those years in the Caladari Navy, of the adventure, as the “good old days.” Her mind drifted back across the years. Edelia was distracted by a noise that sounded like it was made by the feet of a small heard of ravenous wolves. The noise grew louder behind her. Brighde saw her mother turn around. There was the same beaming face – a face that Brighde, who was seeing the vision – knew was her, only very young.

“Watcha doin’ mommy?”

“Well little one, Edilia answered, I am finishing up that book you asked me to write about my life, and the world your ancestors grew up in.”

“For me?!”

Brighde saw her mother close the cumbersome volume and handed it to her daughter – the young Brighde - with one hand. The book was even more of a burden for one so small, and the child took the book in both arms.

“Thank you sooo much mommy.”

The child set her precious treasure down on a nearby table…ever so gently…as if it would break if she dropped it too hard. No sooner had the book hit the surface of the table then she spun around, laughing gleefully, she ran to her mother and jumped into her arms…confident that she could trust mommy to keep catch her and keep her safe… ‘Just like always…’

The little girl plopped down in Edilia’s lap. She looked up and noticed one small tear slowly making it’s way down her mother’s left cheek.

“Why are you sad mommy?”

“I’m not sad at all little one.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because, little Brighde, these are tears of joy. I have fought many battles, long and hard, for treasure….for honor…and I suddenly realized…that YOU…little one…are the GREATEST treasure of all….my ‘pearl of great price.’ I would give up everything for you.”

“But you don’t have to give up anything for me, mommy,’ said little Brighde, “I’m right here”

“…THAT my little love, is why I am crying…THESE are my ‘good old days.’”

Brighde watched the vision. She watched as mother and child sat there enjoying each others presence, as the last rays of sunlight disappeared over the mountains.

------------------------------------


Before her eyes even opened Brighde lay there half asleep, awakening to feint the sounds of sub-light engines powering up. Part of her told herself she should wake up. The rest of her wanted nothing more than to lay there – where ever she was – and just sleep. Peaceful, carefree sleep. She hadn’t felt this good in – well – ever. The rest of her, the merchant marine part of her, told her she should instinctively want to know exactly why she had awaked to the sound of sub-light engines, when the last thing she remembered, albeit oh so vaguely, was dreaming in a sweat lodge with her grandfather. A dream? Or was it a vision.
It didn’t seem to matter right now. All she wanted to do was drift back into the most peaceful sleep she had ever felt in her life.
Her sense of duty, eventually overcame the overwhelming sense of peace. “Or is it MY sense of duty” she thought as she remembered back to the visions or dreams – what ever they where – of the evening before in the sweat lodge. Or are they the memories of someone else that died at a warpgate? Memories implanted in her head?
She opened her eyes…
…and stared at a cold gray ceiling a few feet in front of her face. There was just barely enough room to sit up. The sound of the sub-light engines faded into the distance, as she sat up and looked around the room. She instantly recognized the drab tan furnishing of the guest billets in a Caladari Naval Station. Outside the rooms only window was her ship – The Hornet.
The Hornet was a decommissioned light cruiser from the Caladari Navy of the Osprey class. Where there had once been 150mm rail guns, there were now mining lasers mounted in their place. The aging missile launcher still worked. At least she thought it did. She had never actually had to useit. In fact she was the only one on board who had ever had any experience using it. Everyone else she sailed with had only read the instruction manual – an instruction manual that, true to Caldari Naval form, was so enormous, that a Gallente grak beast would have had a hard time carrying it. To the casual eye, her ship resembled little more than a large metallic Kiwi bird of ancient earth, laying on its stomach with its large metallic butt sticking up in the air. In fact the people who sailed with her had dubbed it just that – “The Kiwi”. Even from here she could see the large red lettering, that had been hand painted on her hull, one night in dry dock, during a drunken “coming home” party after a particularly long mining run. She smiled as she looked at the letter. Whether they were her memories or someone else’s she couldn’t tell the difference. And somehow, after last night, it didn’t seem to matter so much. Friends are friends, and people that sailed with her, where her friends. They were also her family, and her home, as much as the Hornet was her home. She just stared out the window and smiled. Thinking back on the memories of the wild party that night – her memories.
Her reverie was broken by the sound of knocking on the metallic bulkhead that lead into the room.

The door to the room slid open with a sound of metal on metal, and the familiar scent of “Old Caldari Frigate” aftershave filled the room. Brighde was not sure why the scent was so familiar, but only knew to whom the scent belonged.


“Hello grandfather, your up early.” She said without turning.


“You aren’t,” came a chucked reply from behind her.


She turned to face her grandfather. As usual for those time periods when he was off duty, Harry Blackwolf was dressed all in black – lose fitting black pants, and a black shirt with a high collar in the old Minmatar fashion. Back on old earth they called it a ‘naru’ collar. His white hair which had flowed loosely about his shoulders during the sweat lodge ceremony was not pulled into a tight pony tail which hung down the middle of his back.


He smiled at his granddaughter and cross to the rooms only table, setting down the extraordinarily thing and gleaming stainless steel briefcase that was so popular on Amarri Prime these days.


Brighde pulled the tie of her silk robe tighter around her, which pulled the ancient Minmatar design on its back straight. She crossed over to the table and sat down across from where her grandfather stood.


“What do you mean?” she asked.


She glanced over her left shoulder at the illuminated numbers which appeared to be floating in the middle of the large glass picture window that looked out onto the Caldari Naval shipyards.


“It’s only o’six hundred just now?” she said.


Harry Blackwolf opened his briefcase and pulled out a this leather envelope. The envelope bore the seal of the Amarri priesthood – that of New Rome itself. He set the leather envelope in the middle of the table and sat down opposite his granddaughter.


“I mean,” he continued, you may be up early for Tuesday but your are not up early for Sunday.”


“Tuesday?” Brighde said in a surprised tone, “Its Tuesday? I have been asleep for three days?”


“You needed the sleep, he smiled, after all your only one week old – in a certain sense of the word. It may take you some time to adjust to your new life.”


“It still feels like I have someone else’s memory in my head, Brighde said with a yawn. Its very confusing. Are these my memories or those of some dead woman who was podded at the Altar star gate where she was waiting to jump into the Gelfiven system? Am I thirty standard terran years old or one week old?”


Harry Blackwolf reached across the table and put his large hand on Brighde’s shoulder in a very fatherly fashion.


“For now, He said, just be. In time the answers will find you.”


There was another knock on the door Brighde sat there watching the seal of New Rome staring up at her as her grandfather cross to answer the door. The door slid open once again and a very young Caldari Yeoman stood in the doorway holding a tray with a covered dish and a large carafe.


“Thank you,” Harry told the yeoman.


“You are welcome father” came the polite reply.
------------------------------------

Coffee..

Coffee was first discovered on old Earth. As time went on, and the history of old Earth faded into legend, so too did the use of the coffee bean. For it was there that some people first heralded its use as the cause of the greatest grievances of mankind. To many, its use became attributed to the decay of both moral fiber as well as that of body and spirit. And so its use faded into the past along with things like cigarettes, absinthe and cyclamate.

That is, until it was rediscovered one day by a dragnar herder on Tau Ceti, long before the worm hole that separated Earth and Eve closed forever.

Legend has it hat the dragnar herder saw his bucks particularly energetic after eating small brown berries off a bush. Keep in mind that the average dragnar spent the bulk of its life sunning itself in the warm Tau Ceti sunshine of its equatorial regions – the primary place it called home. In fact the average dragnar spent 80 percent of its life sleeping, another 10 percent eating and the remaining time getting fat from the previous two activities. After about several months of eating the beans, the herder noticed the average dragnar slept about 30 minutes a day, lost more than 50 percent of its body weight, and generally became an agonizing pain to take care of.

One morning, the herder complained of the affect on his heard to an Amarri monk of his acquaintance. This particular monk had a difficult time staying awake during the long hours spent in prayer by his order. It was this monk that spread its use throughout the Amarri priesthood. But it was, at first, a closely guarded secret.

It was an Minmatar infantryman who first let the proverbial cat out of the bag – or in this case, the bean out of the pot. The infantryman was in service of the same Amari priesthood that guarded the secret. When the day came that he left the service of the priesthood, a coffee plant left with him.

The use of coffee eventually became widespread among the Minmatar tribes, where its use took on special meaning. Ceremonies developed surrounding its use and became known to outsiders as the Minmatar coffee pouring ceremony. It is a special ceremony – a celebration of the individual. It is an acknowledgement that each time they met a person that the experience is unique in itself and will never come again.

A ceremony that Harry Blackwolf was about to perform for his granddaughter.

The door clanged shut behind Harry Blackwolf. As he crossed the room incense burning in a small bowl drifted behind him, its small clouds filling the room with the smell of sweetgrass.


Harry sat at the table opposite Brighde who watched in silence as her grandfather began. She smiled. No words were spoken. Behind her the sounds coming from the repair dock seemed to fade away as her mind focused on the ancient ceremony.


He took a ladle of the large tray and poured water over each of his hands, holding them over a bowl. When her grandfather was finished, Brighde repeated the same action, ritually cleansing her hands as well.


A feeling of warmth grew inside Brighde as she watched her grandfather remove the six bowls of food from the tray, setting them on the table in an order determined by age old tradition. To one side he set a bowl of kosuio, a simple clear broth to cleanse the pallet.


Harry paused, smiled at his grand daughter, the placed a large bowl in front of him, next to it he place a small whisk. Using a small white cloth, Harry ritually cleansed the bowl. Brighde watched her grandfather’s careful inspection of the bowl, and folding of the cloth, the look on his face telling of his state of concentration and meditation. Then her grandfather opened a stoneware jar, the smell of coffee filling the air as he scooped the fine powder into the bowl. Carefully, he poured water from the carafe, so hot it was boiling as it slowly filled the bowl. As her grandfather stirred the hot brown liquid, the earthy smell of coffee filled the room.


Brighde closed her eyes, the smell bringing her mind and her senses back to a place from her childhood. A place she knew she had never been to, yet was familiar to her all the same…
---------------------------

“…and so the frog says to the Jovian ambassador, ‘would you believe it started out as a wart on my ass?’” said Harry Blackwolf, as the laughter of his deep, soothing voice filled the room.

Brighde shook her head, trying to clear the thick ‘fog’ that had settled over her. It was as if she was waking from a long sleep. She looked at the table. The dishes from the coffee pouring ceremony had been cleared away. Her grandfather sat on the opposite side of the table, beaming back at his granddaughter.

“More coffee?” he asked cheerfully.

“…umm. Ya! Sure, granddad.”

Brighde looked around with what is known in military circles as ‘the thousand mile stare’. She watched as her grandfather poured her another cup of coffee from the gleaming white ceramic carafe that had been used in the ceremony. Steam rose off the deep rich brown liquid. That, was the last thing she remembered.

“What just happened here?” she asked her grandfather slowly.

“Well, at first I thought that look on your face was a reaction to my rather droll sense of humor. Lost a bit of time did you?”

“Yes, Brighde said as she blew across the top of the coffee that filled the stoneware mug. But not to much, I think, the coffee is still hot.”

“Well, time will tell dear. But I would venture a guess that it is more than just a momentary blackout. Sometimes sights, sounds and smells – especially old familiar ones – evoke memories. In your case it might be a memory, and it might be more. Time will tell.”

If the hot coffee that Brighde sipped didn’t bring her back to reality, the shrill sound of the claxon going off did. It’s sound filled the small room and echoed in the hallway. That familiar sound was something she reacted instantly to – it meant the station was under attack.

Instincts took over. Coffee sloshed over the top of the mug and spilled onto the table as she slammed down her mug. The chair toppled over backwards as she leapt to her feed and raced toward the closet, and her waiting flight suit. In her momentary lapse into habit she didn’t even notice that her grandfather didn’t seem the slightest bit unnerved by the alarm.

“Hang on there. Where do you think you are going?” came her grandfather’s calm voice behind her.

“But the station…” Brighde began.

Harry Blackwolf cut her off, “…can take care of itself. Where do you think you are going in a ship that is in pieces?”

Brighde followed her grandfathers look out the window at her mining ship. The light Caldari Cruiser was being refitted and was still in the middle of the refit.

Her grandfathers calm voice soothed her jangled nerves. “Put your clothes on daughter and join me on the observation deck. I will meet you there in a few moments.”

With that Harry simply smiled, scooped up the leather envelope from the table and strode out of the room. The claxon from the hallway blared louder as the door opened for her grandfather and then shut behind him.

It took her mere moments to through on her clothes and join her grandfather on the observation deck, which was one floor above. She rushed into the room to see her grandfather looking out the large picture window that filled the far wall of the room. This was meant as a lounge for visitors to the station. It was filled with overstuffed chairs and had a warm comfortable feeling to it. It was very un-military in feeling and obviously meant for civilian visitors to the station, such as herself. One of the central features to the room was the close circuit television screens that filled one end of the long rectangular room. The screens showed pictures from all over the station. Below it a speaker, normally meant to entertain visitors with the voice of the stations space traffic controllers, blared a warning.

“…unidentified craft. This is your last warning. You have committed a criminal act in controlled Caladari space. Stand down immediately or we will open fire.”

Outside two ships orbited each other, in a silent ballet in the airlessness of space. Streaks of light flashed from a mining cruiser, a modified osprey class ship much like her own. The streaks of light from what was no doubt the cruisers only weapon, streamed past a destroyer that orbited opposite her. The projectile from the ships hybrid turret falling wide and to the destroyers starboard side. The cormorant class destroyer returned fire with deadly accuracy. Three rocket volleys followed, one on top of another, and hit the osprey broadside. The shields of the large classed osprey held, and the oval light simply shimmered as the rockets impacted on the shields.

This last volley from the destroyer followed the final warning that blared over the observation decks speakers. In response Brighde and her grandfather heard a deep throated whoosh from somewhere below them in the lower part of the Caladari Naval Station. A moment later the citadel torpedoes impacted on the destroyer. Brighde and her grandfather each through a hand over their face and turned their heads to one side to protect their vision from the blinding flash of light. When the light subsided all that was left was floating debris where the destroyer had once been.

Harry Blackwolf now looked at his granddaughter. A very grim look crossed his normally jovial face as he addressed his granddaughter. Holding out the leather envelope he handed it to Brighde.

“It is time we discussed these,” he said.

----------------------------

“Letters of Marque!” screamed the executive officer, jumping to his feet. Then he repeated himself, unnecessarily, even louder this time, also unnecessarily.

“Letters of Marque?”

From behind him, a calmer voice broke in.

“Exec, letters of mark are an old earth tradition. They allow a civilian ship to…”

William “Will” Littlefoot, the executive officer cut off his chief mechanic, making no attempt whatsoever to hid the exasperation in his voice. In fact he seemed to be making a bit of an effort to add a bit more back in.

“For heavens sake Frank, I know what the hell letters of Marque are! That’s not the point. Now he turned on his captain. The point is we’re a mining ship. We mine asteroid fields, not lay mine fields!”

He glanced down at the thick leather envelope that lay in the middle of the table, and back to his captain, who had put the envelope there a moment before. The he continued.

“I’d ask who we’d be fighting for but I can see the seal of New Rome on the front of the of the letters. Are the Amarri trying to convert people to ‘the faith’ at the point of a gun again? We’re a Minmatar civilian vessel. Why are we even involved!”

A hushed silence came over the room. Captain and executive officer stared at each other. Still holding her executive officer’s eyes, Brighde Blackwolf addressed the chief mechanic.

“Frank”

“yes ma’am” he answered in a thick Caladari accent.

“Frank,” Brighde continued, “do you still have that TIG welder?”

“Yes’m” came the polite reply.

“Frank, I wonder if you could fix the hole in the ceiling above the exec’s head.

“Ma’am?” The chief mechanic asked dubiously.

For it was apparent to all in the room that there was no such hole in the old briefing room ceiling where they discussed ship’s business.

Now a wry smile crossed Brighde’s face.

“Well it seems, as usual, she said glancing over to her mechanic and then turning back to her executive officer, that they only exercise our executive officer is getting is from jumping to conclusions. He seems to do it so often there must be damage to the ceiling by now.

Laughter passed around the room on the faces of all the ships company present. It took a moment for the executive officer to catch the laughter; but after a moment he too caught the mood. He heaved himself back into his chair, laughing at his snap judgment along with everyone else.

Once the laughter died down, Brighde addressed all present; not as crew, but as friends.

“Look, she said, maybe we’re a mining ship, but its also a decommissioned light cruiser from the Caladari navy. An old war horse…”

“…More like an old war pony” Exec cut in.

Once more laughter rounded the table.

“Ok. War pony, Brighde continued with a chuckle. But it used to be a military ship. She has seen military service, just like all of you have seen military service as well.”

Brighde paused, looking around the table.

“Will,” she said looking at her executive officer, “you and I served on the same ship together.”

“We did,” came the curt reply.

“Frank, she continued, You’ve had more military experience than the rest of us put together. You’re retired Caladari navy. You were a chief petty officer. I don’t think there is anything that you couldn’t fix.”

“Aye, you’ve got the right of that,” Frank replied with a smile.

Brighde looked around the table at her crew.

“ There isn’t one of you here that hasn’t seen some military service.”

Suddenly a gruff female voice broke in from a woman standing at the back of the room, partially hidden in the shadows outside the Bright pool of light that illuminated most of the briefing room table.

“There is one person that hasn’t seen military service – me” said the voice.

The voice came from Samantha ‘Sam’ McPherson, otherwise known as ‘Gunny’. .

“We all know how you got your nickname Gunny,” Brighde said, smiling at the woman who was her oldest and dearest friend. (or was she the ‘other’ Brighde’s oldest and dearest friend she thought to herself?).

‘Gunny’ McPherson got her nickname from her reputation of being able to shoot the antennae off a frigate with nothing more than a home made slingshot. Most obviously quite impossible. But the skill she constantly demonstrated sometimes left her ship mates wondering. Gunny manned, or ‘womaned’ as she often put it, the ships sole means of defense from pirates as they mined the asteroid fields of Minmatar space – and aged 200mm autocannon. It was not the skill that the crew questioned but rather its dubious source that gave them pause.

Brighde gave a wink to her friend and made reference to the source of that skill as she went on…

“…yarr” Brighde said doing her best impression of a B holoshow pirate.

Most around the room laughed. A few of the laughs were a bit nervous. Gunny had never done anything to give her crewmates a bad impression. She was dependable. That above all was one of her best characteristics. If the ship was going down, she was one of the crew members that could be counted on to go down with it. Yet stereotypes have a habit of staying with someone, even when they are not deserved. The fact that she had once seen the seamier side of life, at times, made her crewmates worry. They wondered if she might one day one day join in the pirates that she spent her time protecting them from as they plied the byways of the asteroid fields.

The slight tension that filled the room was broken by the exec.

“No matter what the reason, we shouldn’t be fighting for the Amarri. They were the ones who once held our ancestors as slaves. With this he looked Brighde straight in the eyes. You’re ancestors and mine he said.”

The exec had a habit of restating himself and he did it again as he slammed his had down on the table, palm downward.

“They’re Amarri. We shouldn’t be fighting for them.”

With this he raised his voice a bit and continued, standing up.

“The REAL Brighde never would have…”

The second the words left the executive officers mouth he knew he never should have spoken them. Brighde was a clone. He knew it, the whole crew knew it. Yet among those people who held dangerous jobs it was commonplace to hire the medical laboratories around galaxy to produce one – medical facilities that had become commonplace for just this reason. They specialized in it. They were good at it. Each clone was a perfect duplicate of the original, right down to the memories. It was also an experience that those who were clones never spoke of. It was the something that was not spoken of. Not in polite society. Not in any sort of society. Not so much because the subject was taboo as much as those who had this experience would not speak of it.

People who weren’t clones couldn’t relate to being ‘born’ that way. Some understood. Some didn’t. But bigotry aimed at clones was something that ran through society like an undercurrent. It was obvious to someone who was a clone when someone else hated them for it. It was never that obvious – bigotry, after all, is usually unpopular. Few people thought of themselves as bigots. Even those who did, didn’t want others to think of them that way.

Brighde was just getting used to the way people who knew she was a clone treated her. To the average person who passed her on the street she was just another Minmatar. She rarely thought of herself as good looking even when others did. The reason was the negative reinforcement from those around her who did know she was a clone.

It showed in many ways. Like the people who refused to get on the station’s lift with her. It shown on the faces of people who would be walking along the corridors of the Caladari naval station, talking with one another and laughing – only for the laughter to die and the smile fall away from there faces as they looked at Brighde.

If the room was tense before, you could now hear a pin drop as silence fell over the room. The crew waited for their captain’s reply.

In the pause that ensued, the sounds of the ship’s refit could be heard through the hull.

Brighde said quietly, still looking at the exec, “I think we are done here.”

One by one, the crew filed out of the briefing room, leaving only one person, standing at the back of the room – Gunny.

Gunny walked over to the table and sat next to Brighde. Then she did something most of her crewmates would consider very uncharacteristic. She gave Brighde a big hug. She sat back and smiled at Brighde. Gunny also had another trait she was known for. She was a very, very good listener…