“Frigates, get those drones !”
Adreena is six years old and she runs toward her father. He’s been away for three months : Egill works on an industrial fishing boat, the biggest thing in Adreena’s world, a 100 meters-long and as many years old ship. If there was a scale on which one could measure ugliness, a neutral observer would probably give Old Snorri quite a good score too. But for the inhabitants of this colony Snorri is a wise, smart and grumpy old man, the kind that straightened up when beaten down. They know they are lucky to be under his protection : thanks to Old Snorri they have shelter, income, food on their plates and clothes to put on.
The sky is perfectly blue, the air is freezing cold, Adreena is 6 years old and she runs towards her father.
“Come on guys, get those drones !”
It is a common joke here that half the people reads the stories the other half writes. And there’s no doubt in Adreena’s mind that when it comes to stories, her mother is the best. Hallbera’s voluval pattern is very close to her father and forefather’s one, and they were considered great storytellers -deep voices carrying old tales of cunning and dangerous women and men. Hallbera’s tales usually speak of today and tomorrow, but tonight the story she chose is an ancient one. Adreena is sitting on the ground, her chin resting on her knees, her younger brother Njall is already sleeping on Egill’s lap. She is eight years-old, delighted and terrified : a ghost is sitting on the roof of his murderer’s house, a storm is raging above him and the dead man’s laugh is so loud it covers the thunder.
There may be a few hundred billions of galaxies wandering aimlessly in the universe. Yet, if a godly being took into fancy to zoom in a random part of said universe, zoom all the way in, there would probably be nothing to see. Oh, well, subatomic particles popping in and out of existence and from time to time a lone hydrogen atom wondering where did all his buddies go -they where so close, tight-knit really, just a few billion years ago, how come they grew apart so fast ?
Adreena grows and learns what’s important : how to repair the handful of cars and trucks her colony relies on. That laws and customs bind people together. She learns many ways to accommodate fish, and stories and tales of her folk. She learns that during the centuries of slavery her ancestors always remembered the old ways, the old tongue. She knows that however poor one is, he should always keep a place in his stable for his Horse of Pride. No one is quite sure what precisely a “Horse” is, or how to fit one in a stable, and it leads now and then to some fiery debates -but it seems a good advice anyway.
It would require a tremendous amount of luck to spot this tiny place, in a random solar system, in a small cluster called New Eden, in an average galaxy -the precise place where this fight occurs. A skirmish, really, a handful of ships firing at each other ; one skirmish among who knows how many duels, battles, assaults, sieges in that cluster -it’s the cultural exception of this neighborhood, in a way.
She is sixteen and this is her coming-of-age, the sacred day where she will receive her voluval. And she’s terrified, though she’ll never admit it. She’s all the more scared since everyone tells her there is nothing to be afraid about. And of course, she hates herself for being so stupid, so weak, so scared. No one here really cares about what the shape of the voluval means, as long as you’re hardworking. If she could just have tattoos like her mother’s, she’ll be satisfied... and yet she can’t help it, she not-so-secretly wishes for one of those rare and terrible voluvals that condemn you to a life of greatness or proscription, or both.
Adreena is perfectly still, eyes closed. Behind her lids you can spot the rapid movements of her eyes. She’s more than her body, she is her frigate, sensors, shields armor and hull, guns and sundry.
The whole community is singing while the voluval takes color and shape on the faces and bodies of the young. Adreena keeps telling to herself that it’s just mildly painful, easily bearable. Just have to shrug it off -but please, please, please make it stop. She tries to breathe regularly, calmly, as she has been told, and it hits her. She’s alone. Those women and men singing around her -strangers. This is the very moment she should feel embraced by her community, yet she has never felt so lost.
A Minmatar capsuleer is rarely alone. Small frigate, small crew : three men following the orders of their captain.
The ceremony is almost over ; the shaman helps the new members of the clan straightened up, with a few words for each. When he reaches Adreena, he whispers :“This is not an uncommon mark, child. You’ll be fine.”
Adreena’s synthesized voice resonates inside the cockpit. “You heard him. Let’s go to work.”
She is twenty years-old and has spent the last two years on Bourynes VII, studying humanities at the University of Caille -a scholarship she was eligible for. She was reluctant to leave the colony, considering the obvious Gallente’s propaganda it was, reluctant to leave her family and friends for what smelled like “a gift to those poor illiterate Minmatar children”. But her mother managed to convinced her. Said that it was a way to help and enrich the community : going away, learning new things, coming back.
She is one student among half a million. Back home, a ten-minutes walk could bring her to the seashore ; here she wonders how many hours such a stroll would take. Is there even an horizon here ? Or just buildings after buildings ?
Back home she knew she was Sebestior. Here everything makes her feel she is. Her voluval, her piercings are “Wow, awesome, did it hurt ?”. At first, when people asked her where she comes from, she answered “A small settlement called Svarfadardalr” and when they didn’t laugh openly, they made weird faces. Now, she shrugs and tells she’s from Rustzaksthan -makes things easier for everyone.
She’s been handling the drums in a small, short-lived, obscure band called Leather Inside. It was loud, just another excuse for everyone to drink themselves silly and, well, “kinda fun”. Then they changed the name for Who Ordered That Shit ?, and then it was Dignified Nuclear Waste and somehow all this wasn’t that fun anymore.
One salve is enough to annihilate the frigate’s shields and a good chunk of the armor. “Get out ! Out out out !”
What she knew about capsuleers was simple : they were freaks. Obscenely rich, powerful and deranged freaks, women and men who cut themselves away from mankind. But here, she discovers that some of her students comrades nearly worship them. Capsuleers have fan clubs ; their rants and views are debated. And there she is, undertaking the various tests that determine if one has a chance to survive the process to join their ranks. But of course this has nothing to do with obscene amounts of money. This is just a bet she was stupid enough to accept, see ?
The next salve obliterates what’s left of the armor, annihilates the hull.
She’s twenty-four and back home since two years. Back to repairing cars and trucks, back to the various ways to accommodate fish. She’s happy, of course : she missed her friends and family during those four gallentean years. She has, hidden somewhere, a certificate that states she is capsuleer material. She hasn’t tell anyone about it, and why would she ? There’s no way she would undertake such an inhuman training. She’s perfectly happy here. And who needs obscene amounts of money anyway ?
… And “Blap”, said the capsule in a sad tone.
She’s twenty-seven now, and a capsuleer for less than a week. She’s toying with a small metallic token. On one of its side is engraved a spell, a powerful one according to some very old tales : it is said to render a simple wool tunic impervious to swords and axes blows. Probably not that useful when it comes to shields and antimatter, but you never know, right ?
A capsuleer for less than a week and by their standards, dire strait. And yet in a single run, five minutes of her time, she makes more money than her whole settlement can gather in a year.
So far she couldn’t help but imagine the death-and-rebirth of a capsuleer as an amazing experience : your consciousness traveling the void faster than the light, toward her new body. Of course, the actual process is far less glamorous : it’s just an image of her neural mapping, she’s not part of the journey. One moment there was a breach in her capsule’s hull, and then she opened her eyes in her new body, feeling slightly nauseous.
She’s speaking to her brother Njall over the neocom. Her Mother and Father are less than happy with her choice. Vuld Haupt can wave his arms, make all the wind he wants, and churn out rituals with each morning daylight : it is well known here that capsuleers have forsaken their spiritual part. Njall doesn’t approve either, but Adreena is still part of the family and clan. Someone has to talk with her when she calls and Njall his nothing if not dutiful. He explains that nobody here wants her money : it’s either helpful to the community but such an infinitesimal part of her wealth it’s an insult, or a catastrophe for everyone’s way of life if it’s a sizable one. He’s calm, even when she raises her voice.
By the way, did she receive the talismans Amma made for her ? As usual, the mention of their grandmother calms her down.
Of course he’ll pass on her thanks to the old woman.
Can she promise to always have one in her capsule when she flies ?
Fine, fine.
Goodbye, sister.
“Adreena, I’m sorry you got podded. Are you all right ?”
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry. The clone was clean and cheap, and the ship -a stupid loss that could and should have been avoided.”
“Do you want to regroup ?”
A few minutes later, a frigate undock and start making her way. It’s a small thing, really, barely above 100 meters in her long axis.
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Topic: Dignified nuclear waste (Read 1291 times)