She shuddered and died in his arms, her last breath splashing warmly against his cheek. His howl of anguish and despair drowned out the alarm now warbling on the life support machine in the hospital room. He wasn’t even aware of the medical staff trying desperately to separate him from his wife’s body; perhaps if he held her tightly enough she’d come back. He didn’t feel the sting of the hypo in his arm, but welcomed the blackness as it came, hoping it was death claiming him too.
Fota Gambis opened his eyes with a sigh, and the memory vanished- for now. Two months hadn’t done much to extinguish his pain, his loss. The small apartment they had been so happy in was just an apartment now, no longer a happy home. It was covered in wreathes still, some fresh, but mostly dead and dying. He didn’t care. He had no interest in anything other than getting that bastard who had killed his wife, his beautiful Kara.
CONCORD had assigned a liaison officer to him while Kara was struggling for her life in hospital- a fastidious man called Lt. Sambert. No first names here. Sambert had explained to him what had happened. An Amarrian capsuleer by the name of Chottar Renbak had, without warning or apparent motive, walked into the offices of Brutor Tribe on deck 172 and calmly shot everyone he came across. Station security were ill equipped to deal with such an event, and they too were cut down.
Security camera footage showed Renbak was sporting a state-of-the-art assault rifle and body armour that was impervious to most energy and ballistic munitions. He never said a word, just turned, gazed at one of the security cameras and walked out when his grisly work was complete.
He’d managed to get off the station somehow. Probably bribery, Sambert sighed, a million ISK was nothing to a capsuleer, but a lifetime’s salary for most. A locator agent had put him in Low Security space, out of reach of CONCORD’s grasp.
Kara was one of the fourteen unfortunates to be cut down by this murderous filth. She’d caught a bullet in the stomach and two in her chest, stitching a bloody pattern into her blouse.
After investigations, platitudes and empty words, Renbak wasn’t brought to justice. It seemed like life returned to normal, the incident forgotten about… to everyone but Fota. He didn’t have the skills, the money or the reach to take on Renbak directly, but he would get him. Capsuleers were like god incarnate, but they were just human and immortal- unless you planned it right.
Sambert had warned him about retribution, but while making the right noises in response, Fota’s mind was racing as to how he could do just that.
Fota had to return to work to implement his plan, and he knew he’d be watched for a while. So, against his impulse for revenge, he did his work diligently, a glassy smile and nod for the muttered words of sympathy from his colleagues. He was a lead Researcher in Poteque Pharmaceutical, who amongst other things, were the leading holder of clone technology patents. They produced clones as well as clone vats and associated components.
Fota had already checked Poteque’s clone database covertly, and sure enough, Renbak had a clone registered with Poteque. In fact, he had a jump clone and a medical clone to be precise. The jump clone was in Mista, and his medical clone was in neighbouring Kheram- a system in a pocket of Domain lowsec with easy access to Tash Murkon.
When he felt that he was no longer being watched or felt sorry for, he implemented his plan. He knew there’d be no going back- he wasn’t a systems tech and wouldn’t be able to erase the logs. It didn’t matter, he was finished one way or another.
All the Poteque clone bays could be remotely administered providing you had a high enough level of access. Fota did, his grade and post gave him almost carte-blanche freedom. It was enough to do what he needed to. Quickly interfacing with the Mista clone bay, he called up the catalogue of clones, found Renbak’s and ordered it terminated with immediate effect. The clone bay would drain the fluid within, then the bottom would open and the clone be sucked into a tube which led to a biomass chamber. It would then be recycled and parts used for creating new clones.
He had to be quick, if Renbak died before he was finished, the plan would be spoilt. Disconnecting from Mista, he connected to Kheram and repeated the termination. However, in Kheram he replaced the now removed medical clone with another clone which would be deposited into the newly vacated vat and prepped. This part required extra security access and confirmation which he authorised.
Fota made a call on his NeoCom to a number that he had paid a lot of money to get hold of.
“Is the delivery ready?” the male voice said. There was no video to go with this call, audio only.
“Everything is in place,” Fota replied. “As soon as he dies in his pod, he’s all yours.”
“Good. This is very unorthodox, but ….” The man’s voice tailed off. Fota could imagine him shrugging.
“Never mind, I have my reasons. I don’t want payment for the delivery so you get your product for free. That is all you should care about” Fota said quietly
“By all means, it will be done. Goodbye.” the connection clicked off.
Fota left work early, citing feeling ill as his excuse, and returned home. He went into the bedroom, changed into a bed-robe, and lay down on the bed. Clutching a framed picture of him and Kara to his chest, he reached over and picked up the laser pistol laying on a drawer by the side of the bed. Without hesitation, he put the pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Jakar looked at the work order with a puzzled expression on his face. The order had requested a rejected clone to be removed from the biomass queue and placed in the tube bound for the clone vats upstairs. The order was legitimate, and he wasn’t about to question legitimate orders, however odd they are. He was at liberty to chose one of the rejected clones that were due to be destroyed, apart from one attribute that was specified, so picked one at random within that selection. This clone was sick with an illness that sometimes affected clones- there was no cure, although it wasn’t terminal. It just rendered the person to be unable to remember anything for very long- this also meant any learned skills, so it was useless for capsuleers. He queued it up and watched as the grabbers placed it in the tube and then withdrew. The clone wooshed away.
Renbak was locked in combat, but it wasn’t going well. He’d been caught in a well executed trap, and was outnumbered. His Zealot HAC was outnumbered and outgunned- a Rapier had webbed and scrambled him, while a Taranis and Hurricane were laying down a lot of pain. As his HAC’s armour bled away, he realised he wasn’t going to win this. He started looking for a way out as his structure collapsed and the ship exploded, spitting his pod into space. His pod must’ve got damaged as it didn’t respond to his warp commands. He was being locked. He snarled in anger as his pod was destroyed…
…and woke up confused. Rough hands around his neck pulled him up, and he sat in the clone bay spluttering and coughing. God his head hurt. He opened his eyes to see two Amarrians looking at him with annoyance.
“Hello brothers.” he said, “Help me out o….”
As he spoke one of the Amarrians stepped forward and punched him.
“Don’t talk to me until you’re spoken to, you Brutor dog!” the Amarrian shouted.
“Brutor?” Renbak held up his hands. They were dark, like a Brutor’s. What was going on? This was a bad dream. It had to be. He felt so weak, so tired.
A clone-bay technician, also Amarrian, was studiously ignoring what was going on, tapping away on his Neo-Com as is everything was in order.
The Amarrians stepped forward, dragged him out of the clone bay, and put a robe around him. They frog-marched him out of the clone bay, and to the turbo lift.
“You say a word, your time will be much much worse.” One of them threatened. He didn’t know which, he could barely keep his eyes open, and walking was taking all of his energy. How had he got here? His memory was hazy. He remembered fighting in a spaceship, but he wasn’t sure. He WAS a capsuleer, right? Not sure… of anything. He didn’t feel Matari… he felt Amarrian. What had happened?
It wasn’t long until they entered a hangar, where an old Augoror was waiting. They embarked and threw him in a cage along with eight others- all Matari. One of the Amarrians bolted the door, then looked at them all.
“Right, he was the last. You’re all going to the salt mines on Zanka VII where you will work for the Emperor. Behave, and your flight will be bearable. Misbehave and your flight will be long and very very painful”. He glared at them, then headed for the bridge.
One of the other Mataris looked at Renbak. “What’s your name, brother?”
‘Renbak’ looked at him for a while, searching his thoughts…. and burst into tears.
The Little People
She shuddered and died in his arms, her last breath splashing warmly against his cheek. His howl of anguish and despair drowned out the alarm now warbling on the life support machine in the hospital room. He wasn’t even aware of the medical staff trying desperately to separate him from his wife’s body; perhaps if he held her tightly enough she’d come back. He didn’t feel the sting of the hypo in his arm, but welcomed the blackness as it came, hoping it was death claiming him too.
Fota Gambis opened his eyes with a sigh, and the memory vanished- for now. Two months hadn’t done much to extinguish his pain, his loss. The small apartment they had been so happy in was just an apartment now, no longer a happy home. It was covered in wreathes still, some fresh, but mostly dead and dying. He didn’t care. He had no interest in anything other than getting that bastard who had killed his wife, his beautiful Kara.
CONCORD had assigned a liaison officer to him while Kara was struggling for her life in hospital- a fastidious man called Lt. Sambert. No first names here. Sambert had explained to him what had happened. An Amarrian capsuleer by the name of Chottar Renbak had, without warning or apparent motive, walked into the offices of Brutor Tribe on deck 172 and calmly shot everyone he came across. Station security were ill equipped to deal with such an event, and they too were cut down.
Security camera footage showed Renbak was sporting a state-of-the-art assault rifle and body armour that was impervious to most energy and ballistic munitions. He never said a word, just turned, gazed at one of the security cameras and walked out when his grisly work was complete.
He’d managed to get off the station somehow. Probably bribery, Sambert sighed, a million ISK was nothing to a capsuleer, but a lifetime’s salary for most. A locator agent had put him in Low Security space, out of reach of CONCORD’s grasp.
Kara was one of the fourteen unfortunates to be cut down by this murderous filth. She’d caught a bullet in the stomach and two in her chest, stitching a bloody pattern into her blouse.
After investigations, platitudes and empty words, Renbak wasn’t brought to justice. It seemed like life returned to normal, the incident forgotten about… to everyone but Fota. He didn’t have the skills, the money or the reach to take on Renbak directly, but he would get him. Capsuleers were like god incarnate, but they were just human and immortal- unless you planned it right.
Sambert had warned him about retribution, but while making the right noises in response, Fota’s mind was racing as to how he could do just that.
Fota had to return to work to implement his plan, and he knew he’d be watched for a while. So, against his impulse for revenge, he did his work diligently, a glassy smile and nod for the muttered words of sympathy from his colleagues. He was a lead Researcher in Poteque Pharaceutical, who amongst other things, were the leading holder of clone technology patents. They produced clones as well as clone vats and associated components.
Fota had already checked Poteque’s clone database covertly, and sure enough, Renbak had a clone registered with Poteque. In fact, he had a jump clone and a medical clone to be precise. The jump clone was in Mista, and his medical clone was in neighbouring Kheram- a system in a pocket of Domain lowsec with easy access to Tash Murkon.
When he felt that he was no longer being watched or felt sorry for, he implemented his plan. He knew there’d be no going back- he wasn’t a systems tech and wouldn’t be able to erase the logs. It didn’t matter, he was finished one way or another.
All the Poteque clone bays could be remotely administered providing you had a high enough level of access. Fota did, his grade and post gave him almost carte-blanche freedom. It was enough to do what he needed to. Quickly interfacing with the Mista clone bay, he called up the catalogue of clones, found Renbak’s and ordered it terminated with immediate effect. The clone bay would drain the fluid within, then the bottom would open and the clone be sucked into a tube which led to a biomass chamber. It would then be recycled and parts used for creating new clones.
He had to be quick, if Renbak died before he was finished, the plan would be spoilt. Disconnecting from Mista, he connected to Kheram and repeated the termination. However, in Kheram he replaced the now removed medical clone with another clone which would be deposited into the newly vacated vat and prepped. This part required extra security access and confirmation which he authorised.
Fota made a call on his NeoCom to a number that he had paid a lot of money to get hold of.
“Is the delivery ready?” the male voice said. There was no video to go with this call, audio only.
“Everything is in place,” Fota replied. “As soon as he dies in his pod, he’s all yours.”
“Good. This is very unorthodox, but ….” The man’s voice tailed off. Fota could imagine him shrugging.
“Never mind, I have my reasons. I don’t want payment for the delivery so you get your product for free. That is all you should care about” Fota said quietly
“By all means, it will be done. Goodbye.” the connection clicked off.
Fota left work early, citing feeling ill as his excuse, and returned home. He went into the bedroom, changed into a bed-robe, and lay down on the bed. Clutching a framed picture of him and Kara to his chest, he reached over and picked up the laser pistol laying on a drawer by the side of the bed. Without hesitation, he put the pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Jakar looked at the work order with a puzzled expression on his face. The order had requested a rejected clone to be removed from the biomass queue and placed in the tube bound for the clone vats upstairs. The order was legitimate, and he wasn’t about to question legitimate orders, however odd they are. He was at liberty to chose one of the rejected clones that were due to be destroyed, apart from one attribute that was specified, so picked one at random within that selection. This clone was sick with an illness that sometimes affected clones- there was no cure, although it wasn’t terminal. It just rendered the person to be unable to remember anything for very long- this also meant any learned skills, so it was useless for capsuleers. He queued it up and watched as the grabbers placed it in the tube and then withdrew. The clone wooshed away.
Renbak was locked in combat, but it wasn’t going well. He’d been caught in a well executed trap, and was outnumbered. His Zealot HAC was outnumbered and outgunned- a Rapier had webbed and scrambled him, while a Taranis and Hurricane were laying down a lot of pain. As his HAC’s armour bled away, he realised he wasn’t going to win this. He started looking for a way out as his structure collapsed and the ship exploded, spitting his pod into space. His pod must’ve got damaged as it didn’t respond to his warp commands. He was being locked. He snarled in anger as his pod was destroyed…
…and woke up confused. Rough hands around his neck pulled him up, and he sat in the clone bay spluttering and coughing. God his head hurt. He opened his eyes to see two Amarrians looking at him with annoyance.
“Hello brothers.” he said, “Help me out o….”
As he spoke one of the Amarrians stepped forward and punched him.
“Don’t talk to me until you’re spoken to, you Brutor dog!” the Amarrian shouted.
“Brutor?” Renbak held up his hands. They were dark, like a Brutor’s. What was going on? This was a bad dream. It had to be. He felt so weak, so tired.
A clone-bay technician, also Amarrian, was studiously ignoring what was going on, tapping away on his Neo-Com as is everything was in order.
The Amarrians stepped forward, dragged him out of the clone bay, and put a robe around him. They frog-marched him out of the clone bay, and to the turbo lift.
“You say a word, your time will be much much worse.” One of them threatened. He didn’t know which, he could barely keep his eyes open, and walking was taking all of his energy. How had he got here? His memory was hazy. He remembered fighting in a spaceship, but he wasn’t sure. He WAS a capsuleer, right? Not sure… of anything. He didn’t feel Matari… he felt Amarrian. What had happened?
It wasn’t long until they entered a hangar, where an old Augoror was waiting. They embarked and threw him in a cage along with eight others- all Matari. One of the Amarrians bolted the door, then looked at them all.
“Right, he was the last. You’re all going to the salt mines on Zanka VII where you will work for the Emperor. Behave, and your flight will be bearable. Misbehave and your flight will be long and very very painful”. He glared at them, then headed for the bridge.





