The Rookie Chronicles

My perspective of a new Sebiestor entering the world of the Capsuleer.

  1. The Heart of a Ship

Oona turned the wrench one last time, closing up the panel on the actuator control of the Venture’s mining laser turret mount. She pushed the wrench through a loop in her belt and stood up.

“There.” She said quietly, standing on the front sponson as the ship floated in its dock. “That should take care of that.”

She smiled once, and made her way to the topside maintenance hatch and back into the ship. The interior was tight and spartan, as all ships fitted for pods were, but she made her way down an access hall toward the small lounge. A comfortable settee, with table that dropped to make a small bed, small galley, a head, and a personal addition, a fancy coffee maker.

As she walked, her hands drifted to her sides, her fingertips grazing the pipes, conduits, junction boxes, bulkheads and supports. The tactile feel of a ship gave Oona a sense understanding. Pods were magnificent technology, and they let you feel and control a ship with unprecedented accuracy…but in the end, can a pod really tell you about her soul?

You see, every ship had one. A soul that is. They each have their own personality. Even two of the same ship were different. Two Rifters….each made in different stations…by different hands…they were not the same. The only way to know her…to REALLY know her, was to get your hands dirty with her. Dig into her and see what makes her tick. Feel the vibrations in her hull when she shoots. How does she respond to having her thrusters kicked on full burn in a hard turn to starboard?

You just have to close you eyes, put your hands on her skin, and listen. Let her tell you…show her love, and shell love you right back.

That last revelation was made all the more evident. The Venture’s turret actuator was binding, causing an awful grinding noise during ops. Now, thanks to Oona, taking her own time to show her some love, the actuator was moving like butter.

Oona fixed a strong coffee, puled the double braids from her hair, allowing a waterfall of bluish black to cascade down her back almost to her waist. She sat on the padded couch, lit a spiced cigarillo and leaned against the bulkhead…which brought an immediate smile to her face. On the other side of that bulkhead was a primary heat exchanger. That bulkhead typically run warm, almost hot to the touch.

As Oona leaned against it, was cool and dry. She leaned her head against it, and the cool seeped into her weary forehead. It was relaxing, and there was no viable explanation for it.
None…save one. That bulkhead was cool, because the Venture WANTED it to be cool. Oona had showed her some love, and had skinned knuckles as proof, and the Venture, was loving her back.

It appreciated its pilot, and was saying thank you.

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Sits down to her console, with a thoughtful look

“Well….the first thing Ive learned, is that life in mid to low security space, and in a corporation can be very busy.”

She sat still and looked down at the glass on her pad a moment as she thought, until she saw a drop splatter on the screen. It took a moment to register that it was her own tear. Her hand moved to her face where they discovered more of the same, and her face dropped into her palms and she began to weep.

Being a Capsuleer was supposed to be her ticket out of dull drudgery and poverty. It was supposed to mean freedom to sail the stars on solar winds of adventure, and if she was lucky, fortune. Danger was present, but the clone process….as much as the process of transferring her conscious terrified her, was supposed to protect that danger.

Since taking to the wing in the void though, there has been much confusion. What she knew of the Amarr was only through stories told as a child….all of them horrid. She lived as a slave as a very young girl, but was stolen away to freedom after the family and kin around her suffered terribly. Her grandmother would not see her suffer the abuses her mother did, or die as had her father protecting them.

The Amarr were supposed to be monsters. They were supposed to be evil, uncaring zealots not worthy of the respect or even acknowledgement of proud tribal people.
Then…after seeing one call her “subhuman”…she met one named Arsia. Nobility, warrior, Capsuleer. She defended her. An Amarr…defended a Minmatar to one of her own. He was an ass, but regardless. Oona wanted to hate them all. Including Arisa Elkin, but she could not find it in herself. She found herself drawn to her friendship, her willingness to offer advice to an enemy, but most of all her wisdom.

NONE of this was supposed to be….yet it was. Shed befriended someone she was supposed to hate and it conflicted inside of her. It didn’t help that her CEO simply HATED their friendship as well.

Then……there was Naupilis. An Amarr that was truly the monster like the stories say. An evil, religious Zealot that erected towers in space devoted to wholesale slaughter of slaves bought at market. Towers of murder and blood. Arsia had told her about these, and her thoughts drifted from her newfound friend…to visions of her kinfolk being tortured to death for nothing more than a single man’s personal enjoyment. The very thought of what goes on in there turned her stomach and she nearly vomited.

Instead……through the open hatch on her Venture which she had stripped down and converted from mining frigate to a well-appointed home…the dock workers heard a long, saddened wail. Several of them stopped to look, curious at what would make a woman cry such as that before continuing on their duty.

Inside, she slung her pad across the room, no motivation to finish her journal entry. She simply buried her face, and made a promise. She would learn…she would get better…overcome her fears….as like the wolf that was her clan symbol….she would hunt him…

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