Leaving Home.

A short story set in the EVE Online Universe.
EVE Online is a product of the awesome folks at CCP games.

I screamed.

The tiny, dark space I was in was filling with fluid.

I knew the space was tiny as a large number of small lights did nothing more than define its claustrophobic boundaries, not enough to illuminate the space.

The fluid was rising.

I screamed again, and gagged as I reflexively inhaled after the fluid had filled the entire space...

I was drowning.

A flash of memory... what was that? looked like space, deep space...

Was it memory? Where am I? What happened?

Again, a flash of memory, longer now, easier to focus on. I was concentrating on holding my breath, so my thoughts focussed. I recall jumping into Pakkonen in my shuttle.

My shuttle? I fly spaceships? Who am I?

Im getting light headed, why arent my arms moving? Why cant I bash on the walls? Why can't I escape?

A flash, different, a giant spear, stabbing the night sky. What? It's familiar...

Why?

Again memories flood in. The little red telltale next to the security status, blinking red, ignored, on the edge of my field of view. Im so used to this trip that I forget Pakkonen is beyond the range of CONCORD's patrols.

Was I ambushed? killed? who are CONCORD?

No, thats not possible, somehow I know that. Why isn't it possible?

I can barely fight the urge to inhale. Going numb all over.

A flash of something... different... a giant ship floating in space, the spear in the background. Oddly familiar...

Why?

More memories flash past.
Im floating outside a Caldari station in my Falcon, that same giant ship appearing next to me. It's "CMDR Smurf", Shamus, my good friend and the ship is called a Rorqual.
The bright flash of light as my biometric data is scanned and transferred to the clone vat within the huge ship.
Then, in a blink, its gone.
When my cynosural field generators cycle down I dock again.

And clone jump.

I splutter a little as I inhale the fluid deeply into my lungs, rapidly recovering as the oxygenated fluid settles down my reflex to gasp. I'm neither drowning nor dead, I'm in Pure Blind, lawless space.

In my pod, the small capsule that allows my clone based immortaility and affords me the ability to control an entire starship with my mind alone. Im a pod pilot, Jack "riprjak" Scratchard; Industrialist, Researcher and fledgeling combat pilot.

I hate clone jumping, those brief moments of disorientation and the dislocated feeling. Still, that was my first jump to a ship and it is much worse. I hope it gets easier.

I relax and close my eyes; the neural projection of the POS tower, the "spear" from my visions, and the Rorqual snap into focus; I look at the elapsed time. Not even 30 seconds since I jumped.

Here I am, floating in our shipyard in pure blind, having left the safety of empire for the first time. I take in the vista of space, note the bright new star burning here as in my old home system, a comforting touch of familiarity in this new environment.

As my heart rate returns to normal, I turn my attention to the POS, accessing the ship hangar. I concentrate on my Drake, Dauntless, my thirty third ship carrying her name; even the secure space of empire isn't "safe".

As the automated systems eject her unceremoniously into space, the Rorqual flares and vanishes, jumping back home. I take a moment to admire the clean lines of the drake as she floats there in space and, with the excitement that accompanies new discoveries, concentrate on engaging the docking systems; my pod is drawn into her protective embrace.

Time to see what the unsecured expanses of our universe have to offer.

Once again, but for the first time in this body, I hear the calming voice of my computer...
"Warp Drive Active".

Last Sunset Over Mashtuur

It was sunset in Mashtuur City. The reds and purples of the setting sun were lighting-up the high clouds and the colours were reflecting off the marbled floor of the hotel lobby. The evening air was cooling rapidly and cars were going past in the streets outside. The Colonel and I were in our desert fatigues, but without our kevlar or our longarms; just our pistols.

We were having drinks in the lobby bar, we were there to meet two people. The two other lads in our squad were across the lobby, keeping their eyes peeled. I watched the activity in the street, this time tomorrow it'd all be gone. Cars. People. Gone. This could even be the last sunset I would ever see. I shifted on the barstool as someone walked too close to me. I turned to track him with my eyes and a beautiful arab woman walked into my view. She was wearing a black skirt and white shirt, black pantyhose with black high-heels, her long hair flowing over her shoulders.

I realised this was my contact and got up to greet her. We shook hands and exchanged names. I don't recall hers. The man that had come too close did a discreet lap of the lobby and returned. As squad leader it was my duty to organise things. The Colonel outranked me but had joined the squad late. She was our contact in the local community. The locals in this suburb would help us. We had come ahead to help them.

We were here to organise the resistance. In two hours the MEC forces would be here to take the city. In two hours the USMC would be here to do the same. The battle for the city wouldn't happen until first light tomorrow, but what was happening now was just as important. Mashtuur would be a pivotal centre for whichever side won it. Logistics. Stockpiling. Airmobility. Repair. Medical. Vital. We needed to secure places to rapid drop airmobile artillery and C&C assets.

The four of us strode into the street, followed by our two squadmates. The traffic was gone and only pedestrians were about. The sun was down, the violet glow off the clouds casting an eerie light. In the distance, at the other end of the road, we could see locals overturning cars and creating barracades. Our counterparts organising the locals friendly to the opposing side. The Colonel and I had eaten some of the same dirt when we came ashore at Oman a few weeks ago. We had come to know each other well and were used to working with each other.

Our eyes locked and then we started directing the assembling locals through our contacts. Forklifts here, concrete blocks there. LMGs here, here and there. At the other end of the road someone paused to watch as people at our end scurried around preparing defenses. Activity at their end became more frenetic. We directed blocking of alleys and roads with abandoned cars and empty drums, suggesting them be filled with concrete.

I looked at my watch, the only illumination the city lights. Twenty minutes. I called this out to the Colonel. He nodded. Electricity tonight, but probably not tomorrow. Not after the substation had been fought over. I could hear two hummers, throttles wide open, roaring down the road from the mountains. If things were going to plan there were two more hummers of troops at the gas station on the ridge. The hummers pulled-up in front of the hotel and the squaddies fanned out defensively around the engineers.

In the distance the sound of heavy lift choppers drifted through the night, their blades cutting the air into slices. Just like the sweep hand on my watch was cutting the time. Counting down to certain confrontation in the heart of the desert. The clouds had vanished into the cold night air. The stars were bright, brighter than I was used to. The choppers grew suddenly louder as they crested the ridge, their dark bulk blotting out the stars.