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the 25ers were a political activist organization that fought for repealing starship licensing fees, laying the foundations for the independent capsuleer community.

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 11 
 on: 15 Aug 2017, 14:58  
Started by Ioannis_Sepphiros - Last post by Lunarisse Aspenstar
Only a handful of people seem use the evegate comment/broadcast function (Che Biko and Mitara Newelle are really the only two i can think of off hand ). I sort of wish it was used more but it doesn't seem to be well known or easily checked.

Twitter? Honestly? for me - it's yet another platform to keep track of so I rarely check it and luna's twitter account is decidely NOT IC.

 12 
 on: 15 Aug 2017, 11:57  
Started by Ioannis_Sepphiros - Last post by Ioannis_Sepphiros
Hey guys.

I saw some players have their characters have an IC twitter account. I found this interesting and I wanted to ask what are the community's reception to this. There is also the evegate but judging how low usage that one has, I would imagine the same for this?

Anyway, I just ask so I can establish if I should look into that or not. Personally, being a twitter fan, I am interested already but Getting the general feel for these sort of stuff is important.

 13 
 on: 14 Aug 2017, 09:36  
Started by Makkal - Last post by Ché Biko
Marilyn Mason - The Nobodies

 14 
 on: 13 Aug 2017, 17:17  
Started by Forrae - Last post by Stutzer
...the ARC one (forgot the name)...

IIRC, the one I've seen advertised in C-suite bios is 'Arataka Communications Router'.

 15 
 on: 13 Aug 2017, 04:15  
Started by Elmund Egivand - Last post by Elmund Egivand
Chapter 7: Fallout

Shaky-cam on the dusty OLED screen. Grey right arm and red chest on the mannequin at the bottom left of the neon-blue HUD. Black boots hit glistening carbonide wall. Cam rose over the ledge. Below, gunmen and drones traded tracer rounds. Concentrated fire shredded and sheared black carapace off a police drone. It yawed, smoked and crashed. The gunmen ducked as retaliatory tracer streams impacted their carbonide and steel covers.

Rifle barrel rose into view, reflex sight dead centre. Tint. Muzzle-flashes. Chat-stream exploded.

My nails gouged fillings out of the faux-leather armrest. Richter had drawn fire out of my neck. "You are tensing up too much," he rasped. "Ease up!" I clenched my teeth and, with a trembling hand, raised the can up to my lips.

Two windows at the bottom corners of the screen, hovering over the scrolling ticker. Bottom left, a virtual newscaster in Quafe-blue dress & Quafe-blue beehive hairdo smiled plastic-like. On the bottom-right, a steel-haired pretty boy with badges, smiling a million-sov smile.

LPD Foiritan District Precinct’s media darling: Captain Gerald Bradley.

Fake girl said something. Pretty captain said something. Probably announcing the end of the ‘terrorist threat’. I gulped down my beer.

Light taste. Not malty enough. I turned the can around. ‘Quafe Beer’ logo emblazoned diagonally on its Quafe-blue surface. Malt-flavoured still. Fake beer.

Richter depressed the trigger. Hair-like nanofilaments fell into and coiled up in the water-filled aluminium basin. I took another sip.

Black, white-striped dropship moored against the ledge. Side-hatch opened. Cam rose over chest-high wall and hopped right in. Pretty captain tapped on the side of his desk, bringing up the map of Tier 1, Foiritan Tower onto the main screen. Five uneven pentagons converging on a red rectangle. Guessed the 'terrorist threat’ isn't over yet.

I choked on my beer. Richter had jammed his prong into the back of my neck and pulled the trigger. Jolts running up and down my spine. Tingle in my skin, fiery prickle of stiffening rods in my flesh. No hair left to stand. I coughed, clenched my teeth, lifted up my can and gulped down another large mouthful of fake beer.

Door ‘shunk’ed open. Krueger, in a padded digi-camo hooded jacket, sleeves slit up till elbow, entered the operating theatre. White patches and stripes on the side of his head and knuckles, where the mediderms used to be. "Hey," I wheezed. He looked me in the eye with steely gaze and said nothing. With the pinky of my can-clutching hand, I pointed at his rucksack. He put it down, unzipped it and pulled out and laid down easy-tear clothes-paks. One after another, total up to four. I peered over my shoulder at Richter and croaked, "Really?”

The cybersurgeon shrugged, "Compensation. For yesterday's debacle." He gripped my skull and twisted it forward. I sipped on my beer and croaked, "How long?”

"One week," Richter answered as he jammed his prong into my neck and pulled the trigger. I tensed. Tingle. Fire in my flesh.

"Should blow over by then," he continued.

Krueger pulled an SMG out of the rucksack. Same model as what Mouckley and the unknowns had used, but modded with sliding stock, foldable sight and extended mags.

"What's that for?” I asked, pointing with my pinky. "It's for your own self-defense,” Krueger grunted as he pulled out two more magazines.

I winced. Fire drawn out of my neck.



The gate opened briskly as soon as I recited the passphrase. Krueger drew his bolt pistol from his sleeve and pointed it at the Cartel guard as soon as he glimpsed the drawn SMG in the guard’s hand. “Hey, hey, hey, wait!” I cried urgently, my arms raised, elbows bent 90 degrees, palms out. I looked at Krueger, then at the guard. They glanced at me, then back at each other, guns still drawn. “What is this about?” I demanded. The Cartel guard looked at me again. His goggled faceplate was unreadable. 

“Boss wants to see you,” he replied.

The guard had his SMG aimed at my back the entire time he marched us up the three flights of bare titanium stairs. Krueger, though his face was blank, was twitchy the entire time. His finger never left the trigger of his bolt pistol. I could hear his oculars whining, whirring throughout our climb up towards the Boss’ office. Probably watching the guards on the parapets below, their guns following our ascent.

Cold, freshened processed air blew in my face when the door slid open with a loud clang. Inside, behind an ornately-carved blackwood table and beside a swamp-green leather armchair, a 9-foot tall Brutor stood with his stout back facing towards us, his fingers pinching a depleting smoking cig. He was looking down onto the entirety of Asclepius District. Krueger’s oculars whined, probably sneaking glances at the antique weapons cabinet lining both sides of the fernite carbide walls. There was faint flute-wheeze playing in the background.

Boss turned around, revealing savage war-scar-like tattoos etched all over into his tanned face. His crimson oculars locked onto us. There was a slight twitch at the edge of his thick lips. He pointed his cig at Krueger. “Holster that gun, Krueger,” he boomed, his voice overpowering the background flutes.

Krueger glanced at the domes and raised plates on the fernite carbide ceiling before lowering his weapon. He snapped his pistol to a hidden latch which sucked it up into his sleeve. Boss snapped his fingers and the view behind him winked off. Dim ceiling lights further dimmed into toe-snubbing darkness. Boss tapped on his table and brought up a red-orange squat cylinder. He flicked at the cylinder, and it floated to the middle of the room. He then flicked his thumb and index finger simultaneously. The cylinder expanded, filling the room with its maroon glow. Panoramic surveillance holovid. I recognised the shuttered gate and the wall beside it. ‘2305’ blinked on the top edge of the holovid.

Boss flicked his finger three times then tapped once, then flicked out his thumb and his index finger simultaneously, zooming in and focusing on a specific section of the vid. On it, two beige-coated men were tucked into a shadowed corner, facing the shuttered gate, frozen on the spot. Boss tapped on his table and the strangers rocked and sway in response. Smoking, drinking but never speaking to each other. Their eyes were transfixed onto the shuttered gate.

The digits on the top edge counted to ‘0010’ and two​ ​Pharma​ ​guards,​ ​clad​ ​in​ ​jade-green​, ​turned​ ​up​ with gauss rifles in hand. They spoke​ to the strangers and the strangers replied. ​Conversed, nodded their heads, then one of the strangers stood forward, puffed out his chest, pulled a drag and belch smoke at frontmost guard’s faceplate. Said guard then shoved him in the chest. The stranger tucked his hand into his coat. The guard levelled his rifle at him. Stranger’s friend grabbed him by the shoulder and shook his head. The stranger looked at him, then back at the guard, then pulled his hand away from his coat. He took another drag, expelled smoke and walked away with his friend.

The vid reset. Boss pointed his cig at the strangers, “Know these men?” His voice was low, bassy.

I looked at him and noticed three holo-windows hovering where the District view was. One of them alternated between neon blue and rapid flashes. The other two were graphs with similar lines.

He knew.

“They were the same guys shooting out Tier 1, Foiritan Tower. They were hunting me.”

Boss took a long drag, then snubbed the cig into his ashtray. “Why?”

“I was looking for their employer. A job. He, or she, has ties to a clonejack with Duster implants.”

Boss produced a cig-box and slid out another stick. He tucked it between his lips, lit it up, then took another long drag. He removed his cig, exhaled smoke and declared, “You will have your network back once I am satisfied that your mainframe is thoroughly scrubbed.”

I stared long at him. “You have dumped residents’ computers into the Septic Pit for lesser offences.”

“You are a ghost-hunter. They are not. ” Boss took another drag. He exhaled, “You will find this ‘employer’ for your Brunner, and for us.”

Another drag, more smoke exhaled. Oculars glowed a menacing red.

“You have two weeks.”



Krueger ducked as soon as he opened the door labelled ‘7’, and the chrome-chassis deck that was hurled at him nearly grazed my shoulder. A shrill squawk that was a mix of terror and outrage emitted from within the gallery of refurbished tech, "Oh, shit, Krueger! Damn, man! Sorry about…”

As soon as he saw me, Bjorn forgot his apology and lunged at me. Flash of light. Blurred vision. Pain erupted on my nose. Cold metal plates on my back. I thought I saw Krueger shrugging his shoulders.

“What did you do, Francent? They cut off our net!” Bjorn yelled, shaking his swelling fist.

My head spun. Couldn't feel my nose. I tried to inhale and ended up gagging. I sat up, snorted out blood onto my thighs, gripped the bridge of my nose and shook my head. “I messed up bad,” I said apologetically. “Caused a security risk.”

“Well, fix it! Fix it right immediately!” Bjorn shouted. Had expected him to stamp his feet. “Your ‘security risk’ is about to screw me out of a hundred thousand sovs deal! The deadline’s arriving in half an hour!”

I staggered up and answered half-breathlessly, “I don’t know if I can scrub my mainframe within that time frame…”

“Get to it already, you daufr argr!” Bjorn shoved me towards the stairs. “Get me my network back in half an hour or your processor’s going into the Pit!” he punctuated with a boot to my bum.



“Security key not found,” said the Excena-voice. “Please state the security key number.”

I looked at Krueger and nudged my head towards the stairs. He nodded in affirmation and went upstairs. As soon as his shadow left the fernite carbide wall, I stated the 20-digits-and-characters long password. “Security key verified,” acknowledged the Excena-voice. Rest of the authentication process went smoothly. “Welcome home, Francent Delacroix,” greeted the Excena-voice. The OLED and holo blinked on. I noted the crossed-out network icon on the bottom right of the main screen.

I hung up my sling bag, unzipped it, retrieved Mouckley’s datadrive and cash envelope, then went and laid them down on my workstation. I then picked up my custom holodeck and walked towards my mainframe computer blocks. Plugged it in, ran the scrubber, then went to the mini-fridge, picked up a can of real malt beer and sank into my recliner. I froze, suddenly aware of the unfamiliar weight pressing against my abdomen. Recalling that I was armed, I put down my beer on my workstation, unzipped my padded jacket, removed the loaded SMG and the two extended mags and laid them down on the desk. I studied the unfamiliar object's fernite carbide shell for half a minute before retrieving my beer, pulled the tab and drained out half the can in a single gulp.

I burped aloud and swivelled towards the drawers to my right. I opened the top-most drawer and retrieved my old Impetus Five-Six holocom. I placed it onto the charging pad on the right side of my main workstation. The holo lit up. It was greyed out. Fifteen minutes to full charge.

I emptied my can and picked up another.

Twenty minutes later. My head’s abuzz. Twenty cans of beer haphazardly stacked all over my workstation and floor. Beep behind me. I returned to the computer blocks. Holodeck projection declared that the bug was caught and excised. I unplugged my holodeck, brought it to my workstation, connected it to Mouckley’s drive and ran the scrubber again. I peered up the stairs and hollered aloud, “Security risk’s gone!”

“Then tell Boss! Hurry!” Bjorn shouted back. “You do it!” I answered aloud. “Boss set me up on some impossible task! Two weeks to catch the perp responsible for this mess! I need to start work now!”

“Spirits above, Francent! Fine!”

“I need that drone’s processor, by the way! Right now! I will put the cash on your workstation!”

The door slammed open and the hollow ringing frantic footsteps trailed away before I could start my sentence. “Your neighbour’s already gone,” Krueger said aloud. “I’ve noticed, Krueger,” I deadpanned.

I returned to the holodeck and saw that the scrubber found zero malicious programs in Mouckley’s datadrive. I streamed my holodeck’s projection onto my main screen. The datadrive contained two doc files, one of which was 200mb, a note file titled ‘Read Me First’ and a folder.

The first sentence of the note file read ‘Warn me before you begin cracking the LPD network. Below it, username and password. The folder contained .dll’s and .dat’s. Source codes.

The door slammed with a hollow ring. The number of active slaved computers displayed on the top left panel jumped from ‘0’ to ‘231’. “Your neighbour has returned,” Krueger said aloud. “I know!” I shouted my reply. I turned on my holocom and Hwan’s icon blinked on immediately.

“You were offgrid for almost twelve hours. What happened?”

“You’d watch the news?”

“The terrorist attack?”

“Yeah. I was caught up in it.”

Silence. “You okay?” she asked, slowly. There was a crack in her usually cool voice.

I rubbed the back of my neck. Cool sensation. Palm rubbing nanite-impregnated fabric mesh. “A little scuffed up,” I said as reassuringly as I could, “But I’m fine.”

“Sounds like you got more than a little ‘scuffed up’. What happened?”

“Pissed into some egger’s cereal, I guess.”

“Think you will get out of this alive?”

“Probably,” I replied. Licked my lips and then continued, “Some powerful friends butted into this business. Want this sorted as bad as I do. I will be fine.”

“If you say so.” Coolness cracking, revealing uncertainty. “I’m sending to you my interview with the detective. Is there anything else, another favour you want to ask for?”

I rubbed the mediderm on the back of my neck again. “Yeah. My friend and I lost our Egones. I also need some paper cash. Ten thousand sovs.”

“I will get them to you by ten pm.”

“Thanks, Hwan, but we can’t be seen together, for your own safety.”

“So, drop-off point. Like two years ago.”

I smiled ruefully. “Like two years ago. I will transfer the money and transmit the coordinate.”

Hwan’s icon blinked off. I opened my bank app for a different bank, and transferred the amount for the Egones and to cover the cash withdrawal. I got off my recliner, picked up my cash envelope and went upstairs.

Krueger was leaning against the elbow of the railing, tapping on the steel-grey projection of his holocom, when I laid my foot on the topmost step. He peered at me, then back at his holocom and said nothing.

Bjorn was at his workbench, fiddling about with a palm-sized gadget with an old-timey digital display and a set of dials and switches. He nodded, tapped his feet, nodded again, shook his head again. Egone on his neck. Engaged in a mental conversation with his client. He turned around and his big smile dropped immediately into a rebuking frown.

Eyes peered on the gadget in his hand. A slight smile, one last nod, then looked at me, his frown returned.

“Closed the deal then,” I remarked.

He nodded his head, and then put the gizmo down. “Drone processing unit, yes?”

I nodded in affirmation. He put out his hand and I gave him the envelope. He opened its flap, took out the bundle of paper notes, gave it a quick count, regarded me again and nodded once more. “I am tempted to mark up the price another twenty percent, you know, for that stunt you pulled.”

“I didn’t do it,” I replied dryly.

Bjorn grunted, then went and retrieved a black-shelled drive from one of his shelves. He shoved it into my chest. “Take it and go!” he growled. “I don’t want to see your face for another two hours.”

I nodded glumly and returned downstairs to my room and back to my workstation.

I copied the contents of Mouckley’s drive into my holodeck and then set the drone processor unit up for scrubbing. Tabbed out of the stream window, ran PostHound and then browsed my mails. Hwan had sent her voice transcript.

Holodeck reported that the processor was clean. I retrieved another can of beer, opened its tab, played the transcript and got to work.

 16 
 on: 13 Aug 2017, 03:45  
Started by Forrae - Last post by Lasairiona
I run a neutral venue (L'Amore in Ballo) as well :-)

 17 
 on: 12 Aug 2017, 22:16  
Started by Forrae - Last post by Forrae
I've heard of the Arek'Jaalan one, though I for a while thought it was just a mailing list.
When I'm on next, I'll take a look at all of those, maybe lurk a bit and get a feel for things. Thanks for the suggestions.

 18 
 on: 12 Aug 2017, 15:48  
Started by Silas Vitalia - Last post by Silas Vitalia
Twin Silas Spawn in EVE? The horror...

Congrats!

Lol :

Unrelated to EVE though, or perhaps due to it, I have thought of so many wonderful schemes/scams that a pair of trained identical twins can pull off. Mwahahaha

 19 
 on: 12 Aug 2017, 09:46  
Started by Silas Vitalia - Last post by Ché Biko
Twin Silas Spawn in EVE? The horror...

Congrats!

 20 
 on: 12 Aug 2017, 09:26  
Started by Forrae - Last post by Ché Biko
I think you may be interested in channels like Arek'Jaalan, the ARC one (forgot the name), my corp's Human+. I think there could be a few more I can't think of right now.

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