Little Fish in a Big School

Outside of the confines of her pod for a change, resting in Caeleste Ad Media Nox, their starbase within Our Slice of Heaven, Minuit glanced across the sturdy metal table at her business partner and lover, KattraStarr. "You would have appreciated the awe of it, Katt."

"Every time the order to align went out, I'd pulse the M.W.D. to break free of the pack, and when the system was clear, I'd set the camera drones to look back in my wake. Dozens of ships, from humble Rifters' struggling to keep up with the Kitty Kitty to lumbering Megathron, edging closer to their assigned group. And in the middle of that armada, a fleet unto itself of freighters. Charon, Obelisk, you name it. They crawled up to speed, the webbing fleet limiting their maximum velocity to help them align to the next gate while their engines ramped up to seventy five percent to generate enough energy to engage their warp-drives."

Minuit sat back, shaking her head and taking a swig of her beverage of choice, hot-chocolate, an expensive treat these days that was well worth every ISK in the billionaire's estimation. "It was long, and boring, no-one to cycle up the autocannon's on, but I think the freighter pilots probably prefer it that way." The capsuleer snickered.

"My first time in a big fleet wasn't exactly what I had imagined it would be. But I got a few kinks out of my overview along the way to reduce strain on the sensor systems for when it's important, and it sure was an impressive sight."

Flash Fiction: Sensor Boosters

Ecliptic Rift's Flash Fiction Friday 5

Grinding her teeth in irritation, Minuit manually reactivated the safety protocols that kept her 200mm autocannons, warp disruptor and web scrambler from melting themselves into so much slag as she watched the Crow's warp-drive kick in and propel the enemy pilot out of range. She apologized profusely to the friendly pilot who had received her incoming fire due to an overview malfunction.

"There's no other skill-book I can implant to speed up locking time, is there?" She asked over comms, to the snickering replies of her squad-mates.

"That's it, 'The Dirk' is getting a sensor booster."

IC: Pondering the Sleepers

Communication-Drone ID#0114-2

"Another probe loaded down with my not-so-deep thoughts. Hooray for you.

Sleepers. It's a pretty utilitarian term out here in Wormhole Space. My nav-com can't work out how many jumps away from the Empire we are, but wherever it is, there was obviously a sprawling civilization if their dregs are anything to go by.

The A.I. on the drones they leave behind is a lot better than the not-so-artificial 'intelligence' of a number of Amarrian slavers I've fought in the past, for one thing. For another, they seem to be as thick as flies.

We get a lot of reports, during our brief fuel-runs into K-Space, that others, like us, are discovering cells of these sleepers in broken down Talocan ruins and outposts. It seems to me like these Talocans had their own Empire, and maybe the Sleepers overran them. Can you imagine, being able to create an endless supply of drones, all capable of piloting themselves without relying upon a commanding ship or capsuleer? That's what these Sleepers are.

For now, they don't seem to be able to utilize the wormholes that have brought OUR Empire space to their doorstep. But they're obviously programmed to destroy anything they come in contact with. All it would take is one idiot warping out with a sleeper too close on his signature trail and...

Maybe the end of OUR Empire.

Heavy thought. All I know is that I don't leave any of them still functioning when I'm done.

You shouldn't either.

Fly straight, pilots, they'll never expect it."

End Transmission.

Static Crackling... [IC]

The popping and hissing noise from the open comms channel has been my constant companion for the last few months. Katt doesn't talk much, and Leilani even less, which makes our little slice of 'sky' a quiet place.

I've turned off the comms a few times, just to get rid of the noise, but, as you'd expect, that usually is followed by scrambling to run away from an unexpected visitor. No-one said living in a wormhole was going to be easy. 'No-one' was right to not say it.

Now I've taken to talking to myself, well, ostensibly to you, but likely there's no 'you' that's actually going to bother listening to my ramblings.

In case firing these canisters of recording out through our regular as clockwork exit (for a random anomaly, it's a bit worrisome that I set my neocom alarm to wake me in time to watch the old hole collapse and the new one appear on scanners... Don't you think?) actually inflicts my ramblings upon the general public, or even just one poor soul, I'll throw some background and introductions into this first recording.

I'm Minuit, Minuit Soleil. My folks told me, before I was 'reassigned' that it means Midnight Sun. Born during an eclipse in an Amarrian slave-camp back in the Domain region. They apparently thought it made sense.

My partners are Leilani Belle, a Gallente pilot, young, but handy to have around, and KattraStarr, another Minmatar lass, who I have a certain weakness for.

The three of us, and occasionally other corpies, occupy a little piece of space accessible to K-Space residents through various wormholes. 'Old Faithful', also known as the U210, runs us to Low-Sec on a daily basis, and is a steady source of amusement, consternation, combat and trade. Not necessarily in that order.

Inside our little slice of lawless space, we search out hidden sleeper outposts, recover lost technology, and harvest various K-Space necessities to turn a kredit. We also do our best to mark and defend our territory from the incursions of other pilots. Usually that's just isolated skirmishes, though we've had to defend our POS once, and in the process assault the POS of our attackers.

Well, the cargo-hold is full. Gas Harvesting is mind-numbing business, but amazingly, this helped. I suppose I'll drop this through the hole just as it's about to collapse. You can call it Paranoia, if you like. I call it survival.