Drift - Part I

Kihtaled 0.9 < Nohshayess < Khanid

Kihtaled VIII - Royal Khanid Navy Assembly Plant

YC 117.3.19

"Ever been off-station, kid?"

"Yes sir. When I was--" Ariun began, nervously.

"Did you warp?" The speaker said, his disdain evident despite the distorted link.

"Uh..."

"Have you been through a warp jump?"

"...No. Sir."

"Eh, you'll acclimate before you get to Kuomi.  Have you prepared a will?"

"Yes, sir."

"See you aboard the Kaiju, kid." The encrypted holofeed cut out before Ariun could reply, leaving his bare quarters darkened and silent but for the ever-present hum of the station. 

     He sat at his desk for a moment, quietly wrapping his mind around it, letting it really sink in.  Three days ago, he had graduated from the Royal Naval Academy's Cryptography & Electronic Warfare Program, and now he was the Comms officer onboard a capsuleer-piloted Strategic Cruiser.   He had already done some research before applying; Pyre Falcon Defense and Security had recently expanded its operations into the Bleak Lands in coordination with the Amarrian militias, having absorbed a portion of the abandoned Imperial Outlaws alliance, becoming one of the more ISK-efficient and notorious militias in the war.  There was little info available on the capsuleer, Akai Kvaesir, and what he could find was so heavily redacted he couldn't discern more than that the pilot was Khanid, and had about a dozen kills to his name.

     It didn't matter, this was his first posting, and would be his first real experience on a ship bigger than a shuttle.  So Ariun decided to do what every other newly commissioned officer did; he would get exceedingly drunk and have the time of his life.  Spooks like him didn't have friends as a professional requirement; he'd just spent the better part of a decade learning the finer points of crypto and hacking, which hadn't left much room for relationships in any case.  Opening up the desk's lone drawer, he pulled out a bottle of kvash an Uncle of his had given him years ago, popped off the waxed cork, and took a long draught as he hacked into the Academy's database.

    Pyre wasn't his first choice, but the private militia offered him twice the pay that the Navy had offered, plus hazard compensation; it was too much to turn down, even if it meant flying combat patrols against the immortal, sometimes immoral and usually psychopathic Empyreans in losec.  As the cost-benefit analysis Empyreans use to determine the outcomes of their battles never factors in the literally uncounted lives lost, casualty lists aren't even included in CONCORD's own kill-mails.  Really, the only way to tell a band of psychotic immortals apart from a disciplined and professional militia was to dig into those kill-mails, to watch grainy security feeds of capsuleers fighting as thousands died at their whim, or error.  In a way, it was comforting to see these gods among men err and falter, even if the fires of their failure claimed hundreds or thousands of lives; it was too easy to see Empyreans as infallible, to see them as true gods of war, and ignore the humanity they ascended from.  Ariun, however, still wasn't sure how he felt about capsuleers, yet here he was about to start a three year commission for one.  

     Before he knew it, the bottle was empty, his body felt warm, and he had enough energy to run a lap across the station.  Ariun sat there, torn between his drunken urge to socialize and his reclusive introverted nature.  His body decided for him, lunging itself up from his spartan bed and pointing itself towards the door, as the room spun about him.  Cold blue lights and gunmetal steel, all hard edges and sharp angles, awaited him outside in the wide, empty hallway.  This deep within the station, there was little traffic even when classes were in session; tonight, not a soul could be seen or heard.  He preferred it that way, and had always envied the silence of monasticism, but the stars called to him in a voice more poignant than God's own Word.  As he walked down the silent halls, Ariun tried to imagine his future amongst the cosmos; but try as he might, the pathways of his fate always seemed to lead down into darkness.  Voices drew him out of his grim ruminations and down toward the docks, voices and the hypnotic rhythms of a Khanid throatsong resonating across the barren passageway.  

***

     Hungover, Ariun slept terribly.  Waking up to his holochron blaring in his ears, he threw his arms out toward the roaring alarm, knocking most of his books from his desk and utterly missing the chron.

"Damn all clocks..." Ariun mumbled to himself, as he fell halfways out of bed. He could barely stand, it took too long for his eyes to focus, and he could barely remember anything after leaving his dorm room for the dockside bars, but it felt like a good choice.  That is, until he saw the red squiggles on the chron coalesce into something approximating numerals and his brain finally woke up enough to realize how late he had slept in. 

"Fuck me like a Matari! No no no no..." Ariun said.  The words rang back off of the cobalt steel, splitting his headache wide open and producing another string of curses as he stumbled about in a desperate attempt at getting dressed.  The recruiting officer didn't say anything about uniforms, but Ariun went ahead and got his dress-blacks on; they were mostly ceremonial now, but he had always loved the ebony silk, the high collars and epaulettes, all adorned inlaid silver edging.  His duffel was already packed, half full of uniforms and civvies, the other half stuffed with his "collection" of relatively heretical texts and metaphysical dissertations. 

     Ariun, like many among the Khanid, was a zealous believer in the Faith; however, unlike most Khanid, he belonged to a sect the Theology Council had long ago deemed heretical, the Kun'Shaikhan.  Translating roughly as "Path of the Sacred Warrior," the Kun'Shaikhan are an ancient Khanid militant religious order based on esoteric ritual and the attainment of knowledge at any cost.

    In practical terms, it meant hauling a small library around, in addition to the normal things like clothes an razors; the books he carried, however, would be enough to condemn his entire family to death, should the wrong priests catch a glimpse.  Ariun heaved his duffel over his shoulder, and barely gave his home of almost ten years a moment's reflection before jogging the few hundred meters to the dock lift, and that glittering path among the stars he dreamed of.

 

***

Kuomi 0.6 < Sasen < The Bleak Lands

Kuomi VIII - Moon 22 : Ishukone Corporation Factory

YC 117.3.21

     Drydock on a podjockey ship was a fate worse than death.  At least, it felt like one to Lt. Lionel Korusai; one made even more excruciating by having to wait on a new recruit.  As XO, a part of his job was to make sure the Commander had a crew capable of handling anything he threw them into, but unfortunately, that meant dealing with the staggering amounts of idiot farmboys and egotistical eggheads and finding those needles in a nebula.  Korusai hated to admit it, but the captain had been right about the threat the Sleepers posed, and so he ended up hiring some supposedly brilliant cyber-spook straight from the Khanid's own Royal Naval Academy at Imral.  Considering the grommet's miserly asking price and the 1.2 billion ISK war chest the Commander provided, Korusai could've afforded to cyno him from Khanid nullsec straight to Kuomi; but that money was better spent on actual food this tour, rather than the captain's previous cost-reduction scheme and having to eat tasteless MRE paste-tubes for every damn meal.  Korusai shuddered at the mere thought of the nutrient paste escapade, and he checked the Kaiju's NEOCOM again for the hundredth time hoping to see that grommet spook's shuttle having arrived.

"Damn it all to hell, Kat." He said, rocking back in his chair melodramatically.

"What now, Lio?" Katarina replied from below the command deck, hidden behind her opaque terminal.

"Nothing."

"So why are you yelling at me if nothing's wrong?" She said, her voice full of patient annoyance.

"Oh there's plenty wrong, darling.  Nothing's going on, and it's driving me crazy.  Has there been any contact with the Commander yet?" Korusai said as he stood up and began pacing the octagonal command deck.

"You--" she began.

"Wait, don't answer that," he said, interrupting her. "I asked you five minutes ago.  Sorry, Kat.  I guess I'm still hyped outta my mind from the warzone."

"No, Lio," she said, finally looking up at him from below.  "You just have problems."

"Problems that--" he began.

"--saved my ass. Yes, you mentioned that once or twice already.  Today." A smile crept on her glacially serene face as she spoke, breaking the sudden tension.

"Ha!  I knew you had a sense of humor under that frozen heart of yours, Kat. I guess even Heth couldn't beat that outta you."

"You're a bastard, XO."

"Thanks, means a lot coming from a bitch like you, Lieutenant."

"Any time, sir."

"But seriously Kat, where did the Commander disappear to?  It's not like him to just up and leave like that, in only his pod no less."

"If he was jacked into a ship, it would be easy to track him down.  But a pod?  Much harder without the proper bio-keys. Which we don't have."

"I was worried you would say that."

"On the bright side, our new hacker just jumped into the system, ETA ten minutes.  Maybe he can find the Commander for you."

"Is that jealousy I hear? I never thought I'd live to see someone from the Legion actually get jealous...don't worry Kat, you're not getting replaced.  We couldn't anyway."

"Nobody breaks a Legion contract."

"Didn't say we wanted to.  You're a brilliant cov-ops officer, Katarina, the past two years proved that.  I'd offer you a commission if I didn't know you'd turn it down."

"I could never leave the Legion, Lio.  I owe Mordu my life.  And then some."

"I know, Kat.  It won't keep me from keeping you onboard.  Tell Modru we'll extend the contract, at double the price."

"Uh.  Thanks?"

"Don't mention it.  Wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't try keeping you around." He said,stepping down from the command deck.  Korusai couldn't help from smiling to himself; he knew for a fact that the Dead Terrorists had just bid on Katarina's contract this morning for a thousand ISK lower than what he just offered.  It was one thing to keep Lt. Katarina Ilyana Nikoladze aboard, but professional pride demanded he lord it over them the next time the Commander stopped in Sisiede. 

     The Kaiju's CIC was unlike almost any other ship's, in that it wasn't buried deep inside the ship, but rather formed the dorsal superstructure atop the Strategic Cruiser; as such, it afforded Korusai an excellent view of the docking bay, through the internally shielded viewports that wrapped halfway around the octagonal chamber.  The command deck occupied the upper quadrant of the CIC, with the rest of it sectioned off by subsystem: Navigation, Engineering, Comms, Cov-Ops, E-War, and Ballistic Control.  With the ship in drydock for maintenance and repairs, most of the crew were on shore leave, and Kat was the only other officer aboard besides Capt. Safia; but she hadn't left her cabin for almost 24 hours, most likely catching up on lost sleep.  So it fell to Korusai to go play tour guide for the grommet, and if nothing else would it provide him with a few hours of less boring distraction.

     Despite being a Caldari ship, the Commander had spared no expense renovating the entire interior in the austere black and silver Khanid style, replacing the hard angles and crisp Caldari architecture with graceful curves and flowing lines.  Thus, in conjunction with cleverly designed air ducts, there was always a barely perceptible breeze that circulated the passageways and compartments.  To Korusai, it always felt like a thunderstorm had just passed through the ship; the same ionized air, the same clean smell, the same lingering traces of humidity, it all produced a calming effect on him and the other planet-born crew.  The born spacers were a different breed, most never knowing the pleasure of an open sky, and they didn't always acclimate well to the ship's unique environment.  He pitied them, to be honest.

    The passageways, broad and well lit as they were felt alien to him now, barren as they were of life and the everyday noises of the crew at work.  Two years on the line was a long deployment, long enough for him to forget what it was like before the war, when the Commander's ships were perpetually under-crewed and always under a pauper's budget.  Back then, there was a lot of empty, silent passageways; but the war had changed that, and had changed the Commander too.  Once he left the Inquisition and joined the Crusade, the Kaiju was awash in zealous crewmen and a steady flow of ISK.  In the old days when they first flew with the Outlaws, the Commander would often fraternize with the officers and visit the crew, always smiling his lopsided grin and quick with a laugh.  But ever since Kamela, the Commander had become a ghost; he flew, and with a terrible vengeance, yet he hadn't once spoken to or visited the crew since.  Something happened to him while he was in his private quarters that night in Kamela, something terrible that required immediate cybernetic surgery to rectify.  The next morning, the Commander returned to the ship with both arms replaced, his left eye replaced, and a strange new skull-plate that encompassed almost all of his head.  He said nothing, just stared at the crew with his one remaining eye, his face contorted in rage.  The war got harder on them all after that. 

    Lost in thought, Lt. Korusai almost missed the doorway to the captain's quarters.  The iris-door whispered open at his presence, and a smoke-filled darkness awaited him inside the threshold.  Incense burned in droves, and their feeble light scattered a shifting, fleeting illumination across the spacious cabin.  As he walked in, dozens of candles recessed in the golden walls lit themselves automatically, and a soft lilting prayersong crept out of thin air.  Billowing sheets of crimson silk hung from the vaulted ceiling, and gold shone like the sun from every surface.

"Your Excellency, this humble sinner comes begging your most holy indulgence--" Korusai said, appealing to the captain's immense Amarrian hubris.  It was always a gamble, waking up the captain.

"What in the fucking hell do you want, you goat-fucking son of a seventh generation whore? Did I fucking ask you to disturb me, you heretical fuck?"

"Uh, yeah captain, you did. You told me to wake you up when our new hacker arrived.  Remember?"

"Fuck.  No I don't fucking remember.  Well, what are you still standing there for, I'm awake, aren't I? Get me some caf brewing in the CIC before I get there too, or I'll toss you out the airlock and make Jhinnaya XO."

"Sir, yes sir!"

As soon as the iris clicked shut behind him, Korusai thumbed his comm to a private channel and rang Kat.

"What now, you bastard?"

"Urizen's up and on the warpath.  You better get a lot of caf brewing stat."

"You walked in on her sleeping again, didn't you you creep?"

"Fuck you, Kat."

"Never gonna happen XO."

"The caf?"

"I heard you the first time."

"Just get it ready, I'm heading to the airlock to welcome our new grommet now."

"Go easy on him, Lio.  We need him, now more than ever."

     The trip back from the captain's quarters to the airlock took him past more than a few empty compartments, like so many broken teeth of a prizefighter past his prime.  He wasn't sure if he still cared anymore.

***

   Kuomi was a backwater industrial system, located on the Amarrian frontier; bordering the warzone in the Bleak Lands on one side, and Imperial hisec on the other, Kuomi barely saw more than a handful of ships docking any given day, most just jumped on through.  As the chartered shuttle, and a Leopard-class shuttle at that, made the final warp jump to the Ishokune station orbiting Kuomi VIII, Ariun shuddered with anticipation and a malignant fear crept into the darkness lurking beneath his eyelids.  A momentary panic made eternal, spread across nanoseconds; it was the primal fear every born spacer knew, that ever present void forever seeking to destroy and implode every ship in the cosmos.  It was irrational, and Ariun knew with the certainty of a life lived in space, but it nevertheless haunted him all the same.  He breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the massive industrial station hove into view, glittering in the darkness.  Minutes later, he was finally free of the cramped confines of the shuttle, and found himself standing alone in a vast, almost empty, docking bay.  At the far end of the docking array lay what could only be the Kaiju, it's massive bulk rendered insignificant when compared to the cavernous hangar bay.

   It was majestic, even to his untrained eye; a sublime extension of the Hand of God, bristling with enough firepower to level entire cities, entire colonies, at the whim and will of it's pilot.  Being a Caldari-designed ship, it was a masterpiece of euclidean geometry applied to a Cartesian plane; being a Tengu-class Strategic Cruiser, it was a cornucopia of electronic warfare platforms.  To Ariun, it lived up to it's namesake as a hunter of monsters; lethal, fast, and above all, silent.

     As he approached, Ariun noticed a figure slouching against the outer bulkhead of the Kaiju's airlock, dressed in a quasi-military uniform of all black.  Light glinted from a dozen medals pinned haphazardly, and a cigar smoldered unheeded between his fingers.  Ariun suddenly wasn't so sure he wanted to serve on a capsuleer's ship.

"You must be our new hacker, eh?"

"Yeah.  I mean, yes sir."

"Keep up that 'sir' shit, kid.  The captain eats it up."

"Uh..."

"Right, probably should start from the beginning, eh?"

"Sure--"

"Stow it, grommet."

"Sir."

"Okay then kid, welcome to the Kaiju, owned and operated by Commander Akai Kvaesir; my name is Lieutenant Lionel Korusai, and as XO I'll be your primary contact during your initial trial period.  During this trial period, you may choose to leave at any time.  However, if your commission is accepted you may not disembark without prior approval; you may not contact or communicate with anyone off ship in any way, shape or form without prior approval, and you will be required to pass an exhaustive security clearance process.  This trial begins immediately, and will last no longer than fourteen days.  Do you consent to this agreement?"

"Uh, yes sir."

"Good, I don't have a script for those who refuse."

"Uh..."

"You don't say much, do you? Wait, don't answer that, grommet.  Just grab your duffel and follow me.  We'll stop by your quarters and then I'll take you up to the CIC, where you'll be spending most of your time."

"Uh, XO? Why is it so humid and breezy on board? Are you having trouble with--"

"No.  The Commander prefers it like this."

"My apologies, sir, but why would it even matter? Capsuleers never leave their pods, don't they?"

"It mattered to him."

"Ah, I see.  Will I be meeting him too, sir?"

"Not even a chance, kid."

"Oh."

They walked in silence after that, long bouts of tense silence punctuated by terse explanations from the XO about various parts of the ship.  Despite the strange environmental affectation, the Kaiju already felt more like home than any ship or station he'd been on.  The Khanid architecture, the soft rumbling throatsong of the drive core, the marriages of form and function that imbued the ship itself; all of it produced the most intense feeling of coming home, and Ariun felt peace for the first time in his life.

 ***

Irmalin 0.1 < Budar < Khanid

Royal Khanid Navy Testing Facilities

Irmalin VIII - Moon 13

    The first thing Akai felt was blinding pain, like liquid fire pouring through every vein and capillary, everywhere.  Slowly, his remaining organic eye began to process the image in front of him; blazing white lights, glinting silvery metal, shadowed figures leaning over him. 

More pain followed.

     Time ceased it exist in the faceless pain that coursed like nuclear radiation throughout his body, and with Time so went his sense of self.  Immolated with pain and imploding within himself, Akai buried his consciousness underneath the agony and gave in to the madness following in it's wake.

   After an eternity of endless pain, it all stopped, and Akai was left adrift in darkness.  A halo appeared, enflamed with a holy righteousness; suddenly he was drawn toward it, falling through the void into the ring of fire.  As it loomed before him, Akai felt the searing heat penetrating his soul, burning him to his core.  Flayed by the flames, he passed beyond the halo's threshold where Paradise awaited him.  His consciousness cried out in disbelief, still buried beneath his madness; caught in the grip of insanity, Akai heard only the trumpets of angels as his mind shrieked in fear. 

    A cool breeze stirred the long grass that covered rolling hills stretching out in every direction; at his feet, azure waves lapped with a warm languidity across the oasis he stood in.  Mythical horses ran free in the distance, chased by the whooping, joyful spirits of ancient warriors; nearby, a host of angels slept upon the grass, while others cavorted in the pure waters of the oasis.  Akai's soul leapt in ecstasy, and he rushed out towards the hills, delight guiding each graceful, bounding step.

     Before he had moved more than a few meters, the angels disappeared in a flash, and the wind turned cold as the sky darkened with storm clouds.  A lone figure sat astride a grey horse, the mythical beast stomping it's hooves in anticipation.  As quick as death, the rider appeared before Akai; the Reaper of Souls himself, come to call Akai to his accursed end.

"You will repent."

"I have only ever served God, what have I to repent for?"

"You will repent."

"You have no power over my soul, demon.  I cast thee out in the name of the Lord God!"

"Your God is dead, Akai.  I am your god now."

"Lies! O, son of lies, father of deceit, I deny thee, you shall not claim me as thine!"

"You will repent."

"I am an immortal, an Empyrean! My soul is eternal, and forever beyond your grasp, Shaitan."

"You think that Time is beyond me? I was at the Beginning and I am the End; what of your delusions of godhood? I AM THE DEATH OF GODS."

"I deny thee in the name of GOD!"

"YOU WILL REPENT.  YOUR KIND ALWAYS DOES."

                               ***

"Won't he be able to recognize me, doctor?"

"Probably not, but I cannot give you some kind of guarantee.  Memory is a fickle thing, Admiral.  But his mind is safely imprisoned, that you can be assured of."

"Safe from whom? Himself?

" No, no, no! Safe from neural transfer loss, should someone -ahem- how should I say..."

"Blow my son up?"

"Yes! Sorry, I mean; yes, we have prepared him for any foreseen complications.  His neural socket is our doorway into his mind, and the only gate to his prison.  The mind-cell will function much like a capsule, complete with clone-transfer, should anything happen."

"Good.  I shall not lose my son for a second time."