The taste of blood in his mouth shocks him back into consciousness. He sits up quickly but the metallic flavour combined with a pounding head makes him feel sick to his stomach. Trying to control the urge to vomit, he slowly rises to his knees in the cramped space of the escape pod, one shaking arm trying to steady his body. He looks around the space, desperately trying to remember how he came to be there. Where was there anyway? His thoughts are in a constant state of motion; images of people and places flicker into view then dissolve away...
A sundrenched courtyard. A woman; Liana. She is sad. A group of scared men running through halls of metal. His name; Simian. The face of an unknown man on the other side of a window, wide-eyed with terror. The same man contorting in agony as he is engulfed by green light...
The pain from a deep gash on his forehead wakes him from his trance. Wiping the blood from his eyes he slowly crawls toward a small porthole with a view into space. Grabbing the edge of his sleeve he rubs away settled smoke dust and then peers out. His eyes widen and mouth opens. A brutal realisation hits him as hard as any punch to the face could. Metal, twisted and deformed. Thousands upon thousands of cubic meters of it. He remembers. Dawn’s Solitude. It was the name of the Hyperion-class battleship that now lies in an unrecognisable wreck in the middle of a void of black. At the centre, a reactor flickers with bright blues and greens as the deep rents along the side of the core expose the unstable materials to the vacuum of space. Overcome with shock he doubles-over and empties his stomach of any contents that were present. He pulls out handkerchief and wipes his mouth. It’s just a plain white piece of cloth, except for a word one corner. A name - Liana. Liana he thinks. Why didn’t I listen to you?...
“You told me you wouldn’t volunteer again. You know how I feel about pod-pilot captains. They just don’t value life the way we do. I won’t let you do it!” Liana’s face showed open signs of anger. Her cheeks seemed bright red in contrast with her fair skin. “I know darling” Simian pleads, “but I just can’t pass up this opportunity. The corporation needs skilled workers on these ships. The task drones just don’t have the sensitivity needed when working with the sensors on these ships. Besides, I couldn’t think of sending my off knowing that their lives would be in the hands of some two-bit robot”.
He walks across the small courtyard to where she is sitting. The midday sun is high overhead, basking the area in golden light. He takes the chair opposite to hers and moves it around the small table, placing it beside her. He reaches over and gently picks up her hand. “Liana. If I accept this position then it almost certainly guarantee me a promotion on my return. Do you realise what that could mean for us? No more long-term expeditions. A posting in a nearby system. A considerable pay increase. We could start our lives together. I mean REALLY start our lives together.” Liana tries to hide a smile at the thought but fails. She knows that a promotion would allow them to settle down and have children. All the things she has wanted for many years, all with Simian. “I know” Liana says with an understanding tone. “It’s just that I have heard stories about those pod-pilot captains. They take risks that any normal human would not. They only care about themselves. The crew on these ships are expendable to them. And don’t get me started with the corporation. They think they are demi-Gods?! No God of mine would sacrifice a human life for profit”. She takes a slow breath in and out. Her posture slumps a little as she turns her head away from Simian, looking off into the distant, sprawling countryside.” I suppose I’m just afraid that, whoever your captain may be, they might not value your life as much as I do”. Her expression began to grow ever more distressed. Simian pulls her hand to his lips, trying to provide some form of silent reassurance through a kiss. The fact was she was right. For a pod-pilot, a clone contract can be a very dangerous thing. They come to the realisation that their existence is assured despite the outcome of any decision. Thus, they see opportunities where others would see a dead end. They see success when others see definite failure. As a result, their ship and crew pay for the pod-pilot captain’s decision; sometimes with their lives. He lets go of her hand and pulls her by the knees so she faces him. Gently, he takes her chin and moves her head around to face his. He looks deeply into her eyes, noticing that a glimmer betrays hidden tears. “Darling, I love you more than anything in existence. I can’t wait to begin a life with you. And just so you know that I’m serious about that, I have something for you.” Without breaking his gaze into her eyes, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small object wrapped in a white handkerchief. He unwraps the tiny bundle on his palm to reveal a ring. Though small, the ring still possesses very intricate craftsmanship. An interweaving strand of pure tritanium alloy creates the illusion of an endless loop, a single mercoxit shard lies at its centre. “How did you get that!?” Liana exclaimed, “It must have cost a fortune. You don’t have THAT much isk!” Simian smiles a devious smile and a short, low giggle sneaks out. “Don’t you worry about that my dear. I have my ways.” His smile broadens. “So, this is my promise to you. Once I return from this placement, my only priority in life is to make you happy. Sound fair?” The tears could no longer be held back. Clear droplets now streaming down her face though these were no tears of sadness. Squinting at him, she smiles. “SoundsThe sound of wreckage hitting the hull wakes him from his reverie. Stung by a sudden sense of loneliness he looks out of the porthole, trying to see if he can see any other surviving crewmembers. He tries to visually scan the wreck for the tell tale white pulse of light, indicating an active automatic distress beacon that could be attached to an atmospheric containment suit or escape pod. He begins to notice the lights amongst the wreck. Most are clearly discernable as human in form, arms and legs in frantic motion. Others however, are only discernable as human only in part. This is not the first time Simian has seen death like this and he knows what the future holds for those frantic men out there. He knows that those men out there that are moving do so not because they are trying to escape the cold grip of the darkness, but because of their dwindling oxygen supply. In a cruel way, their fear has sealed their doom. The containment suits are not designed for long-term survival. The standard oxygen supply is about an hour for someone who is calm. For those poor, terrified souls...they would be lucky to last 20mins. Moving away from the porthole he steadies himself as he lowers his weakened body down to the pods seat. Darkness takes his mind and he slumps into the chair....
“QUICKLY MEN! WE’RE INTO HULL! DROP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND GET TO A POD!” Simian knows that the smart ones are already on their way to the escape pods; the veteran crewmembers that have seen many battles and survived them all. As the saying goes... when the going gets tough, the tough are already in escape pods and on their ways to safety. The last of his team runs past. “This pod-pilot is suicidal! Can’t he see that were outnumbered!!” yells a wide-eyed, young crewman. “Who cares?! Just run you idiot!!” Simian shouts back into his face. The boy runs out the door of the operations room and bolts down the hallway. Simian makes one last quick check that none of his men are left and sprints off to join the others. He doesn’t think about any others but his team. He can’t think of any others. There are just too many. An explosion to his right catches him off guard, thrusting him into the bulkhead and onto the floor. He cringes in pain at the wound in his forehead but doesn’t waste a moment rushing to his feet and running off. Dizzy from the blow he struggles to get his bearings but he sees the men from his team running down the end of the hallway. Willing himself to get up he succeeds then shoots off to joins them, now forcing himself to concentrate on not tripping over.
The small group turn the corner and are confronted with the large, black and yellow sign EMERGENCY EVACUATION POINT 122AE. Simian reaches the door first and pulls down the large red lever that activates the area. The bulkhead door makes a clunk sound and flies open. “IN MEN! NO TIME TO LOSE!” They all burst into the room, each man running towards one of the small doors that opens into an escape pod. “HURRY MEN! GET INTO A POD AND GET OUT!” Simian makes sure all his team are accounted for. The last of them reaches a pod and practically dives in. The door closes behind him, followed by more mechanical clunking and then a short blast signalling that the pod had been launched. Simian runs towards the last remaining pod in the room. He quickly pulls another level to open the pod hatch and jumps in. A fiery explosion in the hallway blasts chucks of metal into the room, flying shrapnel barely missing him. Once in he slams the button to begin the sequence. Simian hears a scream. “Please, wait for me! Oh God, don’t....” The door shuts and the pressure locks engage with a wiz. Simian turns around to face the window back into the room and is shocked to see a face on the other side. The man, his eyes wide with fear, bangs his bloodied fists on the door pleading to be let in. Simian spins back around and hits the abort button but it is too late; the sequence has already begun. He turns back to the window and mouths “I’m Sorry”. The man, red tears pouring down his face, grabs a large piece of shrapnel at his feet and frantically tries to force open the door. Suddenly, the bright green energy of a beam laser pierces the top of the room and plunges down to the floor, passing straight through the outstretched arm of the man. In the few seconds before the room decompresses, Simian sees the look of complete disbelief on the man’s face as he stares at the charcoal stub of his arm. He raises his head and meets Simians eyes before the room explodes in a shower of flame and metal. The force of the explosion throws him violently backwards slamming in the control console head first, sparks and bits of hardware bursting out. This time he can’t fight it. As the darkness takes his mind he uses every ounce of strength to listen for the burst from the pod signalling its launch – it never comes......His eyes open and he sits up from his slumped position in the chair. The blood on his face has begun to crust up his eyes. Rubbing them gently he looks out the window for any sign of a rescue party, he wonders how long he has been out of it. The floating survivors that were once full of frantic movement are now motionless floating masses. He guesses that it has been about 15 minutes since he passed out. The salvage crew was running late. Corporation regulations stated that in the event of a ships destruction a rapid response unit would be deployed within 40 minutes to perform emergency salvage operations. This included securing any undamaged goods in the ship’s cargo, scanning and salvaging the wreck for any usable items and if there was space and time left, picking-up any surviving ship crew - in that order. Such are the priorities for many of the mega-corporations in the universe. As if on cue, the whole area is lit up in a bright blue haze with one long stream of light originating for an unknown source. It only takes a few seconds to realise that it’s the haze from a tractor beam. The source of the beam becomes bigger and bigger until it is plainly recognisable as an Iteron Mk. 5 class industrial. This brings a small smile to Simians face. The Mk 5 can hold a very large amount of cargo; most likely more than is present in the wreck of the battleship, which means his chances for survival have just gone up.
The ship begins the transfer of surviving cargo from the wreck, the tractor beam pulling large containers of goods towards the open cargo doors in its side. After what seemed to be the last of the cargo was pulled from the mangled wreck, the tractor beam flickered out. It is quickly followed by a series of red beams coming from the nose of the large industrial. The beams are an amazing sight of technical precision as they cross back and forth over the wreck. Not one piece of the wreck seemed untouched by the dark coloured light. The beams stop. Simian’s curiosity is apparent as he focuses intently on the industrial for any sign of activity. Nothing. He had seen the salvaging procedure performed before but it was never from the perspective of the wreck. He knew that the occurrence he had just witnessed was the standard scanning of a wreck for any salvageable material. Once the data was processed they would extract any components that they discovered; then hopefully any survivors. The nose of the ship lit up with the same dark red light. But this was different. There were no sweeping beams of light over the wreckage. A faint shaft of light shoots out from the ship tracing a perfectly straight line to end at a piece of wreckage. Another shaft, followed by another, then another, all coming to an end at a piece of rotating wreck. Target painters integrated into the salvaging systems. So that’s how they were so precise! Simian begins to count the amount of shafts under his breath, now very intrigued with this process despite his situation. “Eight...Nine...Ten... Elev......” he trails off. His face, now with mouth wide open, shows an open expression on disbelief. The eleventh beam burns a long red line all the way through the window of his pod, directly into his eyes. The salvage sensors must have picked up that there was a salvageable item in the pod. But he knew the sensor systems back to front. The scanner would have indicated that he was in there. The pod-pilot captain could not have missed him! Unless...the salvageable item was worth more than his life. But what could there possibly be in an escape pod that could be worth enough to end a human life? He knows that escape pods are one of the most basic vessels in existence. The most advanced piece of equipment it has is just the life suppo..... It hits him like a bolt. Disbelief turns into ugly realisation. He moves away from the window and sits back down on the pods seat. Turning his head slowly around to the rear of the capsule where a panel lies open, wires hanging loosely out. An escape pod is just a giant life support module. No navigational control, no sensor systems, not even a afterburner big enough to last longer than its emergency launch. Just a small locator beacon and the life support system. Simian reaches over to the console and pulls away the mess of wires so can see item for which his life has become expendable - a capacitor console. It was melted on one side but Simian knows that it is still worth millions of isk on the open market. He manages a small smile at the irony of his situation. The very thing that has kept him alive for this long is to be the key to his undoing. He prefers it this way. The thought of suffocating to death makes him shiver. Outside the pod, the shafts of light brighten to a blinding level then vanish in the order they appeared, ripping the selected salvage off any wreckage that it was attached to. Simian closes his eyes and takes one long and final breath in and out. My dear Liana he thinks. Looks like I won’t be able to keep my promise. My corporation’s priorities just outweighed my own...He feels nothing. Just the slight press of cold as the last of the shafts of light disappears and tears the pod into pieces. His frozen face looks like a block of obsidian ochre crafted by some Gallente master artisan. His hand clutches a white piece of cloth to his chest as his body floats away, towards a distant nothingness.