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Seeds of Darkness

Once again I find myself waiting for the agent to acknowledge me as I wait in front of her desk. It seems as if I spend half my life standing in one office or another, listening to the hum of air purifiers and the tapping of fingers on a keyboard. Finally she looks up. “ Captain Torax, I am very disappointed in you” That’s it? My crew are dead, scattered though the void as my ship the Hurricane-class battle cruiser “Vengeance” was torn apart by unknown assailants while on a simple search and destroy mission. And all she can say is “Disappointed”?

Cleared for publication by: Freaky

I struggle against the impulse to reach across the desk and wipe the arrogant sneer from her face. What does she know of battle, sitting there safely balancing books and collating figures? What does she know of the terror of being trapped in a web as your hull peels open and brave men and women are exposed to the harsh vacuum of space, their last breath torn from their lungs in a final scream of agony?

While the memory of the battle plays through my mind I pocket the data slate containing the details of my next assignment and make my way to the local bar. After my fifth or sixth drink I recall something the pirate scum said to me as he gloated over the destruction of my ship. Whether he meant to or not he let slip something that seemed to indicate a network of communication, a pirate channel, an ongoing stream of information where the outcasts of society regale each other with tales of their deeds. A place where stories of murder and destruction are bandied about for the amusement of these depraved individuals, if such a channel existed and if it were possible to gain access the insight gained may aid me in my revenge!

Success! After an hour of searching the vast web of communications that span the galaxies I’ve found it. The pirates have not even tried to encrypt their channel, it seems they take pride in allowing others to share in their tales of madness. At first I am shocked by the wanton brutality and complete disregard for the lives of the pilots whom these space jackals hunt with impunity. However as I immerse myself deeper and deeper into this world of casual violence something happens to me.

Somewhere along the line these tales have insinuated themselves past the concepts of duty and honour stamped upon me during my training at the academy, past the veil of morality which was drawn across my eyes by those who would use me to their own ends. They have found that place deep inside where years of slavery have hardened into a profound hatred, where a boys last memory of his mother is her tears as she is dragged away to an auction block. They have planted a seed in the rich loam of bitterness after years of service to a succession of arrogant, supercilious agents who care little for those they command.

And yet even here there is honour to be found, a bloody, brutal honour yet all the more valuable based as it is on the hard won respect and mutual trust of true predators. I need time to think, time to make sense of the contradictions I have found. So many things have become unclear, what used to make sense to me; freedom, honour, duty, no longer seem as simple as I thought. Am I truly free? Have I not exchanged the iron shackles of the slave pens for the silken bonds of the corporate juggernaught? The insidious comfort of Vitrioc, for the transparent bribe that is the “loyalty reward”? Yes, I need to think.

Once more I am where I was born to be, wired in to the systems of a brand new Battle cruiser, my new crew preparing the main drive as the station fades away in the distance. On a screen before me I read the mission briefing once more…“ Some tourists require transport…..” Tourists! Is that what I have become? A glorified pleasure boat captain, hauling a bunch of carbon-copy corporate lackeys from one end of the system to the other so they can entertain other carbon-copy lackeys with stories of their time aboard a warship at some party?

I wipe the screen and bring up the view from the rear scanner. “Engage main drive!” As the reactor pitch rises and my Hurricane “Storm Rider” surges forward on a roiling plume of energy I smile a grim little smile as the pod containing the tourists flashes into vapour. “Disappointed?” you don’t know the half of it.

I am Captain Torax. Slave…Soldier…and at last, I am Free.

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Ra'ZaK on :

Chilling, engrossing and very well written, I can't wait for the next installment...

Elohir on :

I love the sotries here on Eve-pirate, even though usually it is just an account of what happened during a fight. This is a story in the more traditional way and am looking forward to the next post.
Very nice work.

Cpt. Torax on :

Thank you both for the compliments.:-) I’ll be writing more as and when I have the time.
Having been a carebear for almost a year I’ve only recently turned to the dark side (due almost entirely to the stories on eve-pirate), and I hope to use in-game antics as the inspiration for future instalments.

Disclaimer: Anything I post in “role-play” is a work of fiction, although I may draw on in-game events as inspiration, dramatic license can and will be applied. My stories should not be taken as an accurate reporting of said events.

P.S. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. :-)

5IL3NC3R on :

sorry bout the late post, only just got my nternet fixed, but all i can say is, wow, nice, very creative and suprisingly chilling, you should take great pride in this, and welcome to the darkside =)

Dmitri Valenov on :

Wow, very well written Torax. I am, at the moment of writing this, a carebear. I do make my home in low-sec space so I am no stranger to the dangers that lurk there. Your story is both chilling and inspiring. A new pirate may be born soon.

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