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[Havohej]

I keep an on-again, off-again blog where I tend to post a mixture of OOC and IC entries.  When I returned to EVE in March, I started thinking about just what I was going to do with EVE roleplay.  The result was a 3-part series titled "The Return."  Since then, three followups have been posted as well as one OOC post with background info on a little RP project we're working on.

As I continue to add entries, I'll update this post with links.

The Return (1 of 3): Pilgrimage

The Return (2 of 3): Out of Place

The Return (3 of 3): Crisis of Self

Whispers

Sacrifice

Emancipation

[OOC] One Thousand to One: A Closer Look - If you had any interest in our TRADE - One Thousand to One IGS thread, you may find this interesting as well; they're related!

[Havohej]

I managed to dig hard enough to find a few of the gems originally posted on my old Defias Blog, lost years ago.

I will repost them here starting with Sacrifice, originally posted May 20, 2009.

Sacrifice

The young man glanced furtively over his shoulder before ducking around the corner into the alleyway. It was dark here, and damp, but he knew he was long past any concerns of physical comfort. The sound of his footfalls was largely masked by the constant, overbearing thrum of heavy machinery from the Camal IX Water Treatment facility nearby. He had a very important job to do in service to a cause greater than himself; he wondered if his name would ever be remembered, but even if it wasn’t he knew his sacrifice would be remembered as the act of a hero — a true Minmatar.

He dropped to one knee and slung the heavy satchel off his back. It was an old bag and he had to fumble with the zipper a little to get it open. No use bothering to replace it now, anyway. He removed his grey WT cap from the bag and put it on, but for now he just slung the grey uniform shirt over his shoulder. He had been told that the small but weighty blocks were molded from the most potent non-nuclear explosive known throughout the cluster. They’d said that his own death would be swift and painless and that the sheer force of the shock wave would most likely see to it that the deaths of his co-workers was equally humane. The object here wasn’t to inflict direct human suffering, after all. The target was the water treatment facility itself.

The man who had spoken to him said that the only way to fully liberate those still trapped in the Mandate was to force the Amarr to abandon the Mandate; the way to do this was to make the Mandate more trouble than it was worth. The way to do that, they said, was to give the people sufficient cause for uprising and revolt. And nothing pisses people off more than a lack of clean, running water…

“Early this morning, an explosion rocked the water treatment facility on the Ammatar Fleet Testing Facilities outpost at Camal IX in Derelik. Authorities are still investigating, but preliminary reports indicate the presence of high explosive residue which suggests that the explosion was no mere accident. Authorities have not released casualty numbers at this time. However, the water treatment facility’s duty roster lists eighteen employees scheduled for work during the shift in which the incident took place.

Representatives for Nurtura, the corporation which operated the facility, estimate nearly 13 billion ISK worth of damages and just under a month’s worth of clean-up and construction. Due to the location within the plant that the explosion originated from, not a single system at the facility was left unaffected. Nurtura Distribution Manager Thisb Intahra promises that shipments of fresh water are already underway, but says that it’s unlikely running water services will be restored to the outpost before the end of the month.”

–Ladri Reliari, Amarr Certified News Correspondent

When Havohej turned from the wall monitor in his office, his face was clouded over with a troubled expression. He knew that most of the people remaining in the Mandate were loyalists who had chosen not to make use of the opportunity afforded them by the Elders’ surprise attack months before. But he also knew that there were others, like the young man who had sacrificed himself to destroy the water treatment facility, who were less fortunate than that. Eighteen people, minus his operative, left seventeen; of those seventeen people, he wondered, how many might have been innocent? Still, he thought, better seventeen innocent men die for their people than seventeen million Minmatar be abandoned to slavery-by-proxy under some half-assed vassal of the Empire.

He had found several believers in the Mandate, and they would find him several more until he had the makings of a revolt. He had to let them do their job and concentrate on his own, which was to challenge and harass the capsuleers of the Ammatar Mandate and Amarr Empire and hopefully find others like himself — capsuleers who could see the Mandate for what it still was and who were willing to do whatever it took to cause trouble for them, their Amarr masters and anyone else who would support them. But Havohej knew that he would need support.

Over the last two weeks, the CEO of Du’uma Fiisi Integrated Astrometrics had made contact with the diplomats of several well-known, powerful capsuleer corporations and alliances, and he still had several more on his list. He had made no mention of his specific intentions, or the methods that he intended to employ in reaching his goals. Only that his primary objective was the betterment of the Minmatar people, wherever they may be. From one such discussion it became clear that, in order to garner the support of the more mainstream organizations he would need for DF1AS to establish a record of activity as well as proficiency. If people were to look the other way regarding his organization’s less socially acceptable methods, they would need sufficient reason. There was only one way to do that…

Havohej walked back to his desk and sat down. He reached for the intercom on his desk and instructed his secretary to put him in contact with his friend in the Republic Fleet Surveillance Division, Lt. Jaerl Orn. Less than five minutes later, Orn’s troubled face stared out at him from the wall monitor across the room.

“Havohej,” the officer said, “I hope you’re not going to tell me you had anything to do with Camal.”

“Why would I do that?” the capsuleer replied coolly. “I called to ask you about the TLF.” Lt. Orn was visibly surprised by this.

“The Tribal Liberation Force? I thought you said you weren’t interested in joining the militia.”

“Yes, I did say that,” the capsuleer acknowledged. “However, things have changed. I want to enlist Du’uma Fiisi immediately.” His hard eyes shifted toward the office’s huge window, his glare set upon all those Caldari and Ammarians coming and going as they pleased, making their fortunes off of the Minmatar People right here in Molden Heath. “For the time being, I am a servant of the Republic.”

[Havohej]

Originally posted April 29, 2009

Whispers

“Du’uma Fiisi Integrated Astrometrics seems a straightforward enough corporation. With the discovery of the first wormholes, they look to be just another start-up vying for a small piece of the multi-trillion ISK in potential profits to be gained from exploration of this new, unknown frontier. Spending much of their time in covert ops frigates or recon cruisers, their capsuleers seem well-equipped to face the dangers of w-space while taking as few risks as possible — just like everyone else seeking to make their fortune on the unknown. There are whispers, however, that DF1AS’ goals may not be as clear as they’d have us believe.

Their CEO, a Sebiestor known as Havohej (birth name unknown at the time of this report), is known to have pirated for some time in Derelik, Domain, The Citadel, The Forge and several other regions in the cluster. After being labeled as an outlaw and rated -10.0 by CONCORD’s DED, he fled empire for the lawless reaches of nullsec space; Havohej spent time in Omist, Curse, Outer Ring and Deklein before vanishing without a trace. Having not been seen for months, it was presumed that he’d met his final death on some obscure pirate outpost somewhere far, far from the safety of empire space. Then, just recently, he was spotted by one of our agents on the Thukker outpost in M-MD3B, apparently travelling in secrecy. What he was doing there is not known at the time of this report.

A few weeks after his visit to Great Wildlands, Havohej emerged once again in Molden Heath, this time as the founder and CEO of Du’uma Fiisi Integrated Astrometrics. DF1AS has not made any official announcement of intent, but rumors among the hangar crews in Gulfonodi where Havohej seems to have made his base of operations suggest that they’ve been stockpiling equipment and ammunition in preparation for some sort of offensive. While it’s certainly possible that this equipment is meant for use in w-space, the CEO’s history makes this improbable. However, given the very small size of the DF1AS corporation, it is unlikely that Havohej and his followers will be able to execute anything larger than a very minor pirate operation and as such, it is our assessment that the threat posed by this particular start-up is minor at worst.”

– Kaalakiota Corporation Senior Security Consultant

Havohej set the datapad down and turned his eyes toward the large picture window. There was much activity here at the Republic Fleet’s Gulfonodi X – 13 station; lots of movement for him and his operatives to blend in with. Unfortunately in New Eden there were always plenty of other people blending in as well and there was always the risk of being discovered whether you wanted to be or not. He turned his tired, yellow eyes back to his visitor.

“You’ve done very well to bring me this,” the capsuleer said. “Knowing that my movements are still being monitored will effect the way I do business. Has there been any mention of me in the Amarr Empire?”

“Not that I’ve heard of, friend.” The visitor, Jaerl Orn, was wearing a Republic Fleet uniform; his rank insignia identified him as a lieutenant. His security clearance was slightly higher than most lieutenants, though, as he was attached to the Surveillance division. Havohej had done a lot of work for this man in the past, not all of it official, and the two had developed a close working relationship over the years.

“Good. Hopefully I can keep it that way for a little while longer…” The capsuleer looked out again at Gulfonodi… at Molden Heath… at his peoples’ home. In dozens of systems, there were planets, moons and colonies full of people who wanted nothing more than to be free. Free of pain, free of fear, free from the uncertainty brought on by the continued hostilities between the Empires. But the fighting brought billions upon billions of ISK in profit to so many corporations across New Eden that it looked impossible that there would ever be a real end to the war. And to make matters worse, the conflict distracted his people from what Havohej felt was a more important goal: bringing the seven tribes together again.

Millions of Nefantar and Starkmanir refugees huddled in the Wildlands, waiting for the Republic to open its doors. Sanmatar Shakor was doing everything in his power, even going so far as to conduct meetings in secret with Thukker leaders, but every public effort seemed to be met with subtle opposition. Of course, none of the politicians would come right out and say they didn’t want anything to do with the Thukkers or the refugees, but when every last cent of ISK that could be directed toward relief efforts and finding a place for the displaced Minmatar to call their own was pushed back into the war effort it was hard to believe that everyone involved has their people’s best interests at heart.

“No…,” Havohej mused, “they certainly don’t.”

“I’m sorry?” Lieutenant Orn said, not knowing what to make of the capsuleer’s mumbling. Havo blinked once and then visibly returned to the here-and-now.

“Nothing,” he said with a little shake of his head, as if to impart that it really was just a trifle. “Thank you for showing this to me, Jaerl. I can’t share my plans with you for fear of putting our friendship at risk by jeopardizing your career, but know that I am going to need friends like you more than ever in the coming months.”

The surveillance officer nodded and they both stood up. The capsuleer shook hands with the man and accompanied him to the office door. As soon as the door slid shut behind the departing visitor, Havohej returned to his seat. After a few moments’ thought, he reached for the intercom button on his desk. “Get me Wisler.” Jama’al Wisler was a Thukker he’d met on a pilgrimage to the Great Wildlands a few months before. The man had put him in contact with an old man who was instrumental in helping the pod pilot find his way. In return for this, Havohej had promised to get Wisler a posting somewhere in the Republic Fleet, which Lieutenant Orn had been happy to do for him. Now Wisler was assigned to a small patrol of frigates monitoring the border between the Republic and the Caldari State in Metropolis. Apparently they weren’t very busy, as it didn’t take long before Wisler’s likeness was projected above his desk.

“Havo! You never call me anymore; I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“Of course not. How goes it on border patrol?”

“Quiet,” the frigate captain replied. Behind him, Havohej could make out two other men on the Slasher’s bridge. “I’d rather have been stationed on the Bleak Lands or Devoid border.”

“I’m sure you would, Wisler,” the capsuleer sympathised. “But maybe you can still do some good along the less-violent Caldari border…”

“Whatcha got in mind, podder?” Jama’al sat up a little straighter in his captain’s chair, keen on the prospect of participating in a little bit of capsuleer intrigue to break up the monotony of his Republic Fleet assignment.

“How often do you see Kaalakiota industrial convoys crossing the border in either direction?” Havo asked.

“Daily… why?”

“Kaalakiota’s intelligence division is very good at what they do. Perhaps if you could talk your squad commander into giving their tree a little shake once in a while, something interesting might fall out. Interesting enough for you to get a promotion and more exciting assignment; not to mention a gift of gratitude if it’s something that I find interesting as well.”

“Say no more,” Wisler said, nodding appreciatively. “I’ll see what I can do. Wisler out.”

Havohej stood and walked to the window. Every Amarrian and Caldari hull he saw entering and exiting the station angered him. Across the cluster, there were people — his people — suffering. Some of them still enslaved, some of them homeless, some of them not even knowing that there could be anything better for them in the world. And all the while, these enemies of his people could come and go as they pleased, right in the heart of his ancestral space. The time was quickly approaching when he would do something about it. He couldn’t make his government do the right thing, and he couldn’t wage a full-scale war against the entire Amarr Empire by himself, but he could spark a tiny light through the fog of war. Maybe if he sparked enough tiny lights, the way forward would be clear to more of his people and they would join him. Maybe… maybe not. But one thing was certain, Havohej knew.

He would kill millions of Amarrians and their collaborators along the way.

Havohej couldn’t force events to unfold any faster, and there were things he needed to have in place before he could begin his campaign in earnest. So to pass the time and ease his mind, he decided he would have to get out of the station for a while; he needed to log some pod time. He had spent much of the last week patrolling low-security Caldari, Amarr and Ammatar space in his Rapier-class force recon cruiser Zulfagar and his efforts had seen the destruction of a Cerberus-class heavy assault cruiser, but tonight he wanted to try something different. He’d come into possession of several ships of Amarrian design and rather than strip them down for scrap, he thought he might be able to put them to good use. After all, deception is another form of stealth and with what he had in mind, stealth would be of the utmost importance to success.

He had devised a number of unconventional outfittings for his new ships and was eager to test them in practical application. Unfamiliar with the feel of their interfaces, though, Havohej decided to start small; first would be Bad Juju, his Punisher-class frigate. A quick patrol of Molden Heath revealed no suspicious Amarrian or Caldari activity (thought there was a shady-looking Gallente poking about), so he set course for Derelik. The Ammatar Mandate in Havohej’s eyes was perhaps even worse than the Amarr Empire itself. The descendants of Minmatar who collaborated with the Amarrians and benefited from the suffering of their own tribesmen, today’s Ammatar may not be directly responsible for what had happened centuries before but the sins of one’s fathers leave a weighty burden not easily forgotten. In fact, some would say that their failure to rebel against their Amarrian masters after the Elder War constitutes a brand new batch of sins against their blood by the current generation of Ammatars.

In Ubtes, a quiet beep from his frigate’s long range sensors interrupted Havohej’s thoughts. There was a Hurricane-class battlecruiser somewhere nearby and it didn’t take long to narrow it down. The pilot’s record was brief, and Havohej thought it unlikely that a true Minmatar would wander so far from home on his own. Despite the Republic Military School ticker being broadcast by the Hurricane’s IFF transponder, he was suspicious. Quickly entering tight orbit around the battlecruiser, Havo activated his Bad Juju’s warp scrambler and hailed the suspicious vessel.

“Renounce all ties to the Ammatar Mandate and return to Minmatar space,” he demanded. “Now.” The Hurricane’s pilot did not respond. Giving the young capsuleer the benefit of the doubt, Havohej reiterated, “You have thirty seconds to renounce all ties to the Mandate and return to the safety of your own space, otherwise your vessel will be destroyed.” In reply, the Ammatar Hurricane pilot closed the channel and opened fire.

Staying alert for drones that were never deployed, Havohej systematically dismantled the larger vessel, worth over 100 times his own frigate. His Tech 2 autocannons quickly battered down the battlecruiser’s electromagnetic shielding with Republic Fleet EMP ammo, and after a few seconds he was pounding at the ship’s armor with advanced Barrage rounds. The battlecruiser’s 425mm autocannons weren’t able to track his frigate’s movement and the advanced Amarrian armor techonology served well to protect Bad Juju’s critical systems from the rockets and light missiles sent his way. The Punisher’s offensive systems aren’t designed to work with projectile weapons, so it took a little longer than Havohej would have liked but the end result was the removal of one Tier 2 battlecruiser from the Ammatar Mandate.

A small beginning… but a beginning nonetheless.

[Havohej]

Originally posted July 31, 2009

Emancipation

Halmah IV was a planet in crisis. Located in the Bleak Lands, it was a backwater planet in a backwater region all but forgotten by its government. The soil wasn’t hearty enough to produce the prized Amarrian wheat and there were no indigenous species of livestock worth going to the trouble of shipping to other parts of the Empire. No valuable minerals to speak of…

No, the only reason the Amarr Empire held onto the Bleaks at all, let alone Halmah, was that the region served as a buffer between the Minmatar Republic in Heimatar and the Amarrian Throne Worlds. Sure, the Republic could launch an attack without conquering the Bleaks - that much was shown by the Elder fleet’s attack on the day everything changed - but without holding the Bleak Lands, their forward elements would be cut off from resupply and easily defeated after the initial shock had worn off. It was for this reason that the Bleak Lands had become a prime target the moment the war began and the capsuleer militias were sanctioned.

The Amarrians had gained footholds in Heimatar and Metropolis, and every tactical advantage they gained was hotly contested by the Minmatar Militia, but for a long time it seemed to all observers that the Minmatar were content to wash their hands in the blood of Amarr and Caldari militiamen; it seemed they lacked the will to occupy Amarr territory. The Amarrian citizens who had set up their operations here on Halmah to produce common wheat for export to the Ammatar Mandate where it was processed to make food for slaves and livestock alike had been cautious when the fighting started. Some had even shut down their plantations for a time. However, once it became clear that the Minmatar would not be occupying Halmah or any other Amarrian systems in the foreseeable future, it was business as usual. And now, their little cattle feed empire was in a shambles.

When word of the Minmatar Militia’s occupancy reached their respective governments, liasons were made between the Republic and the Empire and humanitarian agreements were made to the effect that the Amarrian citizens would be permitted to liquidate and evacuate their assets - including slaves - in peace. The Empire would be permitted to send escorts to protect these civilians and their vessels from the local Blood Raider patrols and the Republic and its militia would not fire on them. The Republic’s marines would not hinder or harm these civilians. Everything was to be conducted as cleanly and peacefully as possible; the planet was just an asset changing hands (hopefully temporarily), no need for things to be ugly. No need for there to be any atrocities or near-atrocities for The Scope and other GalNet news outlets to sensationalize.

No need for the Minmatar people to seek satisfaction for injuries millenia old.

Lasis Aronn was the head of a noble House that few people outside of the Empire would ever hear of. For that matter, few within the Empire would, either. House Aronn was more than 50 steps removed from the Throne and only held on to its noble status because its men had been sensible enough to mind their place and never offend anyone who mattered lest they lose all of their meager holdings. Of these holdings, the most valuable was an immense spread of farmland on Halmah IV where over two thousand slaves toiled in fields 16 hours a day producing wheat. The Aronn spread was responsible for all of no less than 20% of the food consumed by slaves and Amarrian livestock throughout Derelik. While this didn’t make House Aronn incredibly wealthy, it did make them fairly influential in the goings on of the Mandate.

So when a wealthy Ammatar businessman called Ianrair Tosrh who had heard of the impending fall of Halmah had contacted him about his live holdings, he was not surprised. After several hours of negotiation Lord Aronn had brokered a deal with this Ammatar in which the Aronn slave stock on Halmah IV, numbering nearly 2,500 head, as well as the season’s recently harvested wheat crop would be transferred to the businessman’s possession right here on Halmah IV for the tidy sum of 300 million ISK, to be paid in the form of alloyed tritanium bars whose value was respected throughout the cluster. 200 thousand of that represented the slaves, at 80 ISK per head. Normally, House Aronn would not part with so much wheat so cheaply, but these were extreme circumstances and the Ammatar was taking the risk of transport on himself. “Besides,” Lord Aronn mused as he watched the businessman’s Amarr shuttle land in the courtyard in front of his estate, “perhaps the Ammatar would remember his magnanimity in the future if Aronn sought to re-purchase a part of that experienced wheat farming slave stock.”

The shuttle’s hatch lowered and a figure strode purposefully down the ramp in the same style of traditional hooded robe the Amarrian himself was wearing. The visitor’s robe was a dark brown, near black, and his deep hood was raised casting the man’s face in shadow. Even from a distance, Aronn could see that the cut and fabric were quite expensive, worthy of Empress Sarum’s own court. The Vherokior female attending him was dressed in a style befitting a trustee-slave, but similarly expensive. The Holder wondered for a moment how he could’ve done business with the Mandate for so long, yet never have heard of such a serious player; the man hadn’t hesitated for a moment at the price of 300 million ISK.

Lord Aronn walked out to meet the businessman and his assistant as they disembarked from the shuttle, two of his trustee-slaves in tow. “A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Mister Tosrh.” A Minmatar Republic Personnel Carrier screamed by overhead on its way toward the planet’s primary spaceport, bringing a scowl to the low-level Holder’s face. “Normally I would endeavor to entertain my guest to the fullest, but I’m sure you’ll understand if circumstances don’t permit much in the way of merrymaking.”

“Yes,” the businessman replied simply, his voice quiet and cool. Pale hands rose to lower his hood and marked the man for Sebiestor ancestry. Looking into the Ammatar’s pale yellow eyes, he mused that he’d never understand how the savages could see through eyes so light in color without going blind. “I would like to inspect my purchase,” the businessman said.

“Of course. Right this way.”

Lord Aronn led the Ammatar and his assistant briskly down a long cobblestone walk and into a large private amphitheater. This time last year, the amphitheater was probably teeming with well-to-do Amarrians enjoying entertainment provided by any number of enslaved athletes, actors and troubadours. Today, though, the amphitheater floor was to serve as a parade ground for the inspection of 2,340 chained Minmatar and slaves with a few Gallente mixed among them.

“I am sure you will find that my stock is all healthy and in proper shape for the field,” the Amarrian said as he stepped aside to let the businessman carry out his inspection. His tone was that of a man short on time and annoyed with formalities. The businessman wanted to take his time, just to make the man uncomfortable… but the fact of the matter was, he was also short on time. He looked into the slaves’ eyes as he moved past them. Many of them were broken men and women, but a few of the Minmatar among them, particularly the Brutor, met his stare with fiery eyes. The hatred that burned in these men’s souls was tangible, as though if only they weren’t chained they could wield that very hatred like a weapon and strike him down where he stood. He walked briskly along only the first two ranks before returning to the Holder.

“I’m satisfied. I will send transport for them and my wheat and make payment within the hour. Have them assembled in the field and unfettered; we will use our own restraints during transport.”

Lord Aronn bowed slightly to the wealthy Ammatar. “As you will, Mister Tosrh. I look forward to seeing the transaction completed so I can be away from this pitiful rock at last.”
As soon as the shuttle’s hatch was closed, the Vherokior woman helped the capsuleer out of the heavy robes. “Do you think the ruse was successful?” she asked. Havohej chuckled.

“That son of a bitch was so happy somebody was willing to pay him full price for his wheat in hard currency he probably didn’t even check the alias.” Not that such a check would’ve helped; Havohej had several aliases active in New Eden, all of which were active traders in one market or another and building carefully cultivated reputations for acute business savvy and incredible discretion - all thanks to the diligent efforts of assistants like ‘Taskmaster,’ the Vherokior assistant who had built the Ianrair Tosrh identity for him over the last two years.

Taskmaster helped Havohej into his customary uniform, but looked puzzled when he removed the rank insignia that marked him as a Blade Commander in the Minmatar Militia. Seeing her confusion, he explained, “The Militia is forbidden to hinder or harm the civilians on this planet during the evacuation and occupation. What we do here today is not done in the name of the Republic… what we do here today is in the name of the Minmatar people.”
It had taken 20 minutes for Lord Aronn and his employees to oversee the slaves’ movement of several hundred tons of vacuum-sealed crates of wheat out onto the field and then to assemble those slaves in an orderly fashion - no simple task, given that the Ammatar had demanded the slaves be unfettered! Still, so accustomed to obedience were they, though, that even the few among them who still had resistance in their hearts were hesitant to try and start anything. No matter that they outnumbered the Holder and his men 200:1, they couldn’t hope to stand up to what remained of the planet’s security garrison. The best they could do was hope that the Ammatar might renege on his end of the deal and their owner would be forced to leave them all here for the Republic to deal with, effectively freeing them. But even that hope was snuffed out when they saw one of Aronn’s men point skyward; following the man’s gesture, they could all see the two hulking cargo vessels breaking through into Halmah IV’s atmosphere and growing quickly larger as they approached the landing area just a few yards away.

At nearly the same instant, the side cargo bay doors opened and a half-dozen uniformed men emerged from their cavernous innards. First they delivered a large crate of alloyed tritanium bars as agreed upon by Lord Aronn and Mister Tosrh, then they coordinated and oversaw the slaves moving the wheat into the lead cargo vessel. Finally, after the wheat was safely away, they set about securing the slaves with electronic wrist shackles and moving them into the dark hold of the second Hoarder. Once the bulkhead doors were firmly shut the lights snapped on, momentarily blinding the assembled slaves. On a dais at the front of the main hold stood the Ammatar businessman, staring down on them with those cold, pale yellow eyes. When the slaves saw his attire, hushed and confused whispers rolled through their ranks. When the man spoke, his deep voice boomed throughout the cargo hold.

“What is freedom worth to you?” Those hard eyes scanned the multitude of haggard faces. “What would you give to breathe the air that free men breathe?

“One hundred thirty-one years ago, our people rose up in rebellion against their masters. After more than eight hundred years of slavery and atrocities committed against our people, But back then, we didn’t have the power or the technology to finish them. We pushed them out of our space and contented ourselves with that. We formed a Republic and set about securing our borders. And then, we grew complacent.

“For over a century, our people have remained in bondage to the Amarr Empire and our Republic has been powerless to stop it. For over a century, we have had to endure the pain of an amputee who can still feel the limb he’s lost, but cannot touch it. But sometimes, we can touch it. Sometimes we can reclaim a lost brother or sister.

“Sometimes,” the speaker paused, his lips curling into a very slight smile. “Sometimes, we can reclaim thousands!” The hull of the Hoarder-class industrial shook with the might of two thousand Minmatar voices crying out at once. Lord Aronn and his people were so busy finalizing their escape plans that they weren’t paying any attention to the industrial ship that still hadn’t taken off from their field. Their liberator raised his hands, calling for quiet.

“My name is Havohej,” he said when the clamor had died down. “I represent a corporation dedicated to pursuing the betterment of the Minmatar people. It isn’t often that I get a chance to do so in such a direct way, so I am very happy to be able to see today take place.” He turned to Taskmaster and nodded, then turned back to the crowd. As he continued speaking, the Vherokior signaled for the auxiliary cargo holds to be opened. Then she pressed a button on her portable NeoCom and the electronic wrist shackles all released themselves fell clanging to the floor.

“I have never been a slave,” Havohej said. “I am a capsuleer. Ever since I graduated from the Republic Military School in Pator and received my pilot’s license, I have enjoyed a life of freedom the likes of which you couldn’t even dream about. As such, I won’t patronize you about how I know what you’ve gone through and how horrible it must’ve been. I wouldn’t insult you that way.

“I will, however, say that I know you’ve gone through hell, many of you for your entire lives. I will say that I know you are owed. And today, it’s time you receive your pound of flesh.” He gestured toward the rear of the compartment to where his men were setting up several large crates. “inside those containers are small arms and ammunition. Their design is simple and intuitive; you point the end toward someone you wish harm upon, and you squeeze the trigger. When we open the bulkhead doors, you will pay for your freedom in blood. When we took Halmah, a deal was struck between the Empire and the Republic that Minmatar forces would not hinder the Amarrian civilians’ evacuation. As an officer in the Militia, I cannot do anything to harm the ones responsible for your suffering.

“So, in exchange for buying your freedom, you are going to do what I cannot.”

“But what about the security forces?” one voice shouted from the throng.

“The security forces have been disarmed by the Tribal Liberation Force’s occupying personnel and are remaining largely to facilitate the flow of traffic on- and off-world during the week’s evacuations. As for the TLF’s forces, there isn’t a Minmatar among them who would fire on an angry slave. Expect token resistance from them, but if you fire a few warning shots into the air, I’m sure you’ll have your way.

“When it’s all over, you will return here and we will carry you to Rens. There we will put you in touch with people who can help reunite you with the families you were separated from, however many generations ago.”
Six hours later, as night fell on this side of Halmah IV. Havohej and the Taskmaster sat drinking Quafe Ultra atop the hull of the Hoarder-class cargo ship, Havohej’s 300 million ISK worth of alloyed tritanium stowed safely back inside. A hundred yards away, the Aronn Estate was a smoldering ruin. On the horizon, the sky was aflame as Halmah IV burned. Not a single slave had returned to them yet. Judging by the faint sound of new explosions carrying across the miles on the warm night air, Havohej didn’t expect to see them any time soon.

[Korsavius]

Haven't read The Return series yet but I read the other three. Interesting stuff. Havo seems to fall into the evil villain trope of initially starting out with the good intentions at heart, but their actions do not necessarily reflect what is typically seen as moral and decent. One of my favorite types, actually, because it is so plausible and relatable to the real world. I think many of us, including myself at times, take actions that may not have been the best to take, but we truly did have good intentions at heart. Good stuff. And here I was thinking he was just a batshit insane die-hard Minmatar freedom fighter. Well, maybe he is insane...I dunno :p

I like how he stages the uprising in Emancipation. It could easily be portrayed to the media as the slaves overpowering the ship's crew and taking their weapons before going on a rampage. Thus allowing his alias to get away from the whole thing with a relatively unscathed reputation.

[Havohej]

Sadly, only part 3 of The Return was salvagable from web.archive.org, which is why I have been debating re-posting it.  I don't know that it stands well enough on its own.  I think it touches a bit better on Havo's initial intentions, though, so I'll go ahead and post it now:

Originally posted April 20, 2009

The Return (3 of 3): Crisis of Self

Without further adieu, the conclusion of “The Return”. (+5 Internets if you recognize the cinematic reference herein).

“I wish to visit the Oasis,” Havohej said. His voice was firm, as if a challenge to any who would deny his right to visit the very heart of the Thukker Tribe.

“Why?” Surprisingly, there was no antagonism in Harun’s tone. It came forth as an honest question.

“I wish to visit my grandfather,” Havo answered.

“No, pilot,” the elderly man replied, “I mean why now? What makes you want to touch base with your Thukker roots after so many years away?”

The capsuleer’s eyes narrowed somewhat as he regarded the wealthy Thukker. He glanced over at the Brutor who had brought him to see this man, not sure if he trusted either of them enough to speak openly about his intentions. Picking up on the pod pilot’s hesitation, Harun gestured for Jama’al to wait outside in the hall. When the door clicked shut again, Harun said, “You can speak freely with me, capsuleer. There isn’t much about you that I don’t already know - it’s not often the Thukker Tribe has an offspring grow up to be a pod pilot and we tend to follow the careers of those who do with keen interest.”

The old man’s words seemed reasonable enough. Havohej decided that since this man appeared to be the conduit through which he must pass if he wanted to reach the Thukker Oasis, he was better off being honest. “I’ve lost my way,” he said. “I’ve had a taste of conquest, and it wasn’t what I desired. And now that I’ve been to the top of the mountain I sought so long to climb, and now that I’ve found that there’s really nothing up there, I don’t know what to go. For all of my money, all of my power, I feel… impotent.” As he confessed his crisis to the old man, anger slowly welled up through the words as if from a dark chasm in the capsuleer’s heart until the last word was spat more than spoken.

“I see,” Harun said thoughtfully. “And what do you think your grandfather can do to help you?”

“I don’t know,” Havo said honestly. “I haven’t anywhere else to turn. I’ve been from Omist to Deklein looking for my answers, and I’ve come up empty. The only place I haven’t looked is home, and he’s the only family I’ve got left.” Havohej’s father had been a midlevel officer in the Republic Fleet and his mother had been a half-Thukker, half-Sebiestor. His father was killed in action while he was still too young to remember the man. Shortly after Havohej graduated at the top of his Republic Military School class and just before he entered into the Republic’s Capsuleer Training Program, his mother had been on a transport ship carrying passengers from a Thukker Mix outpost in Heimatar into the Great Wildlands when it was discovered by a roaming pirate gang and destroyed. Rather than break his will, the anger and grief propelled him to excellence in the CT Program and he went on to kill more than enough Angel Cartel pirates to satisfy his lust for revenge.

His grandfather had come to his mother’s funeral service in Muttokon. He told Havohej that he was proud of him for not letting tragedy stop him from pursuing his destiny and that should Havo ever need, all he need do is seek out his family. His grandfather had then given him a Compass and explained its use. The Compass is a hard-coded, heavily encrypted chip containing the navigational data needed to locate the Oasis that activates when slotted into the vessel’s navigation systems and can only be used once. Once it gets back to the Oasis, it self-destructs and the Caravan must be issued a new one. Unfortunately, Havohej’s Compass had been destroyed when a jump through a stargate landed his cruiser in the middle of a Tech 2 Large Mobile Warp Disruptor’s field of influence. At the time, though, he thought nothing of it — he had no intention of ever taking his grandfather up on the offer anyway… until now.

“Hmm,” Harun nodded his understanding of the pod pilot’s predicament. “We Thukker are a nomadic tribe, as you know,” he said. “Many of us spend our entire lives searching for something that we never find; I understand searching.” He sat up and drew his legs in beneath himself as he considered the man standing before him. “What would you do, Havohej, if you found your grandfather but he didn’t have the answer for you either?”

“I don’t know,” Havo said. After a moment’s thought, he added, “I’d probably return to piracy.”

“Because it’s what you do, yes?” the old man prodded. “It’s what you’re good at?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“Or is it because you enjoy it?”

Havohej didn’t want to say yes. He felt he shouldn’t. On some level, there was a part of him that wasn’t so completely poisoned by the millions of deaths he had caused and that part of him understood that a person wasn’t supposed to enjoy killing. That part of him understood that if a person was to kill someone, let alone hundreds of someones aboard a starship, that there should be a valid reason. For example, defense of one’s home, furtherance of one’s nation’s goals, or championship of some grand and noble cause. It shouldn’t be just for the sake of a few million ISK. It shouldn’t be just to alleviate boredom even when you knew there was nothing to gain from it. But Havohej had resolved at the beginning of this conversation that he was going to be honest.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I enjoy it.”

“Then it sounds like you won’t find what you’re looking for at the Oasis, either,” Harun said gently. It was obvious from the capsuleer’s face that he was struggling with something, something that he’d avoided confronting for a long time. “You need the hunt; the kill. You need the thrill of it, the satisfaction of it. You see a man like you, Havohej, has got a great big hole right in the middle of him. And you can never kill enough, or steal enough, or inflict enough pain to ever fill it. And the more you kill, the more grief you mete out, the bigger and deeper that hole gets until suddenly it’s in danger of swallowing you whole.” Harun’s dark eyes seemed to take the measure of the pilot’s very soul. “That’s where you are now,” he guessed.

Havohej turned away from the merchant. He walked over to one of the numerous small bureaus around the edges of the room to take a closer look at a fine ivory statuette. It was of a pair of Achuran White Song Birds. Once symbolic of the Achuran Empire, these rare and beautiful creatures were often given as diplomatic gifts between powers seeking to cement alliances and so had come to be regarded as a symbol of peace. He could afford to buy hundreds of the rare birds, but if what the old man said was true — and he could find no words to argue against it — they’d be as close as he would ever come to peace.

“If what you say is true, then what am I supposed to do about it?” Havo demanded of the merchant-turned-wiseman. “How do I avoid falling in? How do I avoid insanity?”

“You must find a reason to kill,” Harun replied. “You must find a purpose with which to support your destructive acts. You need a cause. Something more than yourself.”

Havohej’s laughter was bitter, nearly venomous. “Like what? The Republic? Republic never gave me anything I didn’t have to kill for, and usually by the thousands! I don’t care any more about the Republic than they care about me or any of the thousands of other capsuleers who handle their dirty work.”

“Then don’t do it for the Republic. Do it for your people,” Harun offered. “There are Minmatar suffering throughout New Eden, Havohej. You saw some of them for yourself right here on the colony. There are hundreds of millions more still trapped within the Empire. You don’t have to tie yourself to an artificial authority to make your actions count for something! Whether you like the Republic or not, whether you agree with Sanmatar Shakor’s actions or not, promoting greater unity between the seven tribes enriches us all.” Harun stood up and moved a little closer to the capsuleer. “And, just maybe, if you can find a way to fit a little bit of good into the destruction you might not feel so trapped by it all.”
As Havohej walked along the observation deck overlooking the cavernous hangar, proximity sensors activated the huge lighting arrays on the walls and ceiling one by one. He looked down at the ships assembled there. A Wolf-class assault frigate, a Hurricane-class battlecruiser, a Hound-class stealth bomber, a Cheetah-class covert operations frigate and his most recent acquisition, a Rapier-class force recon cruiser. Everything was just as he’d left it; nobody had set foot in this hangar for months. It was time to breathe life back into these dormant hulls. He never did make it to the Oasis, but now he thought it was probably for the best. His talk with the Thukker merchant Harun had helped him to understand himself a little better. He was a scoundrel, a thief and a murderer. He didn’t want to rule the cluster like he once thought, he merely wanted to destroy things. Well, now that destruction would have a focus, however loose.

He would go on doing what he’d been doing, only now he would be more selective of his targets. He didn’t kid himself, though; he knew he wasn’t going to dive headlong into the factional conflict raging between the four empires. He was never going to be a hero about whom tales were spun and songs were sung in the streets. But he would find his targets of opportunity here and there and he would make a serious effort not to hinder any progress the Thukkers made toward bringing the seven tribes of Matar closer together; maybe if a real trust could be reached between the tribes, the Republic could become something different… something better. Perhaps while he pursued his own interests he could even find ways to be a thorn in the side of those who opposed the Thukkers’ goals. After all, a Thukker had given him more than the Republic (or anyone else) ever had: a sense of purpose.

Havohej’s crisis of self was over.