Descent

I'm a fool.

I should never have gotten involved. It is one of the lessons of the faith, and simply the way of the Achura, to leave the affairs of others to others. To not meddle in things simply because one believes they can somehow improve things through such an intervention, or worse, that their outlook is more worthwhile then that of the parties actually involved. To do otherwise is egotistical at best,  and utterly destructive to both ones self and those one cares for, at worst.

Yet I ignored this, even as it stared me right in the face. It takes a special kind of imbecile to find wisdom in walking into a dragons maw.

In what little defense I have, I came close to averting it. I had lingered in the system for days trying to decide what to do; For a time, I had even resolved to depart. I knew what may well-- No, what was likely to happen, and wanted no part in it, even if such made me a coward. I longed to scurry back to Saisio, to lie in my bed once again, to drown myself in familiarity and small comforts. And I would have been right to. Almost more right then I've ever been about anything.

Gods, why did I not? What possessed me?

I... Suppose it was for father, really, as so many things are. When I awoke on the morning before it happened, everything seemed so clear, so obvious beyond reason. Surely, participating in the battle would bring great honor to us, great recognition from the State and the Caldari people as a whole. Much more so then I would gain by simply fighting over border systems in the militia with no clear objective or end, as he wished.

I thought that if I did, he might relent - Leave me to do as I please. And be thankful to me, grateful. In a way he never has been. That I might return home a hero, instead of the black sheep I often am, especially amongst my extended family.

With hindsight, I can see a thousand flaws, even in this. Why did I presume my participation would be so great amongst thousands to even be noteworthy? Why did I think I was capable of making a difference to the outcome, at all? And even if I had been, why did I presume that would somehow be enough to satisfy him, and put the matter utterly to rest, when there could still be even more to be gained?

It does not matter now. Regardless, the idea burned like a fire in my mind. A perfect solution, a final piece of an unsolvable puzzle. I could not let such a thing pass me by. There was no time to reason, no time to contemplate. I slid into my pod and into my Heron (though I'd later return with a Drake, before the actual battle itself) and left, without another thought.

...Above all else, I remember the screaming.

Not of the dying; No, those voices could not reach me, and I'm under no delusion that they could. Rather, that of the pilots in local comms. From the moment I connected to the channel, it was all I heard. An endless, unrelenting howl. For blood, carnage and death. They demanded it for other pilots. They demanded it for the admiral. They demanded it for the planet itself. Again and again, with the enthusiasm of children and the manic lust of hungry beasts.

Yet, for some idiotic reason, I didn't turn back upon hearing it. I somehow steeled myself and headed to the titan, which had already pushed into low orbit. There were so many ships there, more then I had ever seen. Clustered around the thing like a swarm of angry insects about to descend on the poor fool bold or unlucky enough to disturb their nest.

The Admiral spoke to me, in the Summit, before it happened. Imagine - All the cluster watching her, hundreds of billions, and she spoke to me. It made me feel strange, and the whole world seemed to suddenly grow small before my very eyes. 

But I quickly forgot it once she threatened to fire on the planet.

The time between that and the battle itself is a blur, even now. I'd hoped that in writing this down, I'd recall it, but I do not. I remember the rush of horrible fear that surged through me as I thought of what might happen, of all the people that might die, of all the terrible consequences that might come as a result. I almost broke down in the Summit and decided to disconnect from comms entirely-- One of the few good decisions I made that morning.

I had heard reports that the exits from the system, as well as many of the stations, were being watched my hostile ships. I felt trapped. Below me, I begun to see small flickers of fire dancing upon the skin of the world. Not delivered from space, mind, but simply appearing, as bubbles in a slowly boiling pot of water. Looking back, they were likely caused by ground fighting, but at the time I feared I was going mad.

And then, before I knew it, it had begun.

I still cannot believe they attacked CONCORD so brazenly. But once they did, they surely must have decided to make their wrath known simply in departing - For at once, they ceased engaging pilots that violated their laws. The Federation navy approached us. I prepared my weapons, and then... I...

I cannot even begin to describe it. I wanted to weep, to cry, to run. The Capsuleers attacked both navies and each other without seeming to even care what they were targeting, slaughtering indiscriminately in gleeful insanity. It was a bloodbath to no end. A battle that barely even had sides. Screams of joy and hate echoed in my local comms until the two became one and the same.

Even then, some part of me still clung stubbornly to my objective, and I tried to engage one of the Federate supercarriers. But my own ship was lost in moments, before I even knew what was happening. I barely escaped with my life back to a nearby station. My crew, who just a week ago I had been thinking so deeply on, were gone in instant. Their blood was on my hands...

I returned in a cloaked ship, but seeing it all upon my approach, I was so afraid, so horrified, that I dared not engage it again. But neither did I want to try to flee. Gods, how can I be so worthless? Such a failure, utterly and completely? Paralyzed in cowardice, I simply sat there, uselessly, and observed, my tiny form skirting the edge of the battlefield. Thousands upon thousands upon thousands must have died before my eyes. I wanted to throw up, or perhaps even to join them, myself. I thought I could even feel the metal of my ship trembling as the bursts of warmth from the endless explosions glanced upon it. Upon me.

And then, finally, I watched in quiet terror - for the world, for the State, and for myself - as the great behemoth of a ship was finally undone. What would become of the cluster? Would there be eternal war? What would happen to my family? The explosion was grander then any I had ever seen; It burned as bright as a star, a hundred thousand lives caught in it's unrelenting flames...

...Yet, at that instant, something strange happened. My horror faded, as if it had only ever been imagined, replaced by only gentle calm. The titan shattered into pieces and fell, but the bloodshed - now pointless - continued, capital ships falling by the dozen. The Gallenteans warped in more and more ships, and Capsuleers continued to pour in for what felt like hours...

But I cared not. I was simply floating there, watching the world change before my very eyes. Invisible, invulnerable - Apart from all the concerns of the people in the cluster, of the people no doubt watching the events from so many video screens, tears in their eyes. Apart from the thousands of years of history that had led to this moment, of all the hopes, ambitions, hatreds of the Caldari and the Federates. Apart from the millions dying below me, in space and on the the surface of the pretty swirl of blue, green and white (and just a hint of red) my camera drones fixated upon. Apart... And at peace, with myself and the Totality.

Like a ghost. A spirit of the dead, only beholding the affairs of the living.

I think I fell asleep, after that, odd though that may be. A strange, serene slumber, as all the screaming and missile and turret fire and explosions seemed to blur together into a perfect stream of low white noise. A gentle lullaby, of sorts, resonating through the stars. 

And when I finally woke, it was over.

...But I lost something, in that place. Something of great value. It slipped from my fingers, and fell from the heavens alongside that awful ship to the cold earth below. And I know, in this moment, that I will never touch it again.

The Rift

I have a crew that serves on my Caracal. 

The amount varies on a day to day basis, but there is usually a range between 110 - 160 people operating on board of it. Roughly 61% of the crew is male, and the remaining 39% is female. The mean age is 32, but the median is 27, suggesting a few irregularly elderly individuals skewing the results. About half of them perform only manual labor and basic duties, a quarter are engineers and others with technical skills, and the final quarter consists of a mix of officers, security personnel, cleaners and cooking staff. All of them have been fully screened for infectious conditions within the past 3 months.

I know this because I am reading it from a statistics page in front of me; I have never interacted with, nor even seen, any of them.

I could say that I'm unsure quite how this happened, but that would be false.  I have deliberately avoided them at every level from the moment that I begun flying anything larger then a frigate. When it was time to hire them on, I deferred the duty to a faceless CONCORD-supplied agent whom I do not even know the name of. When decisions had to be made regarding them (mixed or single gender, uniforms, recreation and food budget) I once again dismissed it. And when it was time for them to be paid, I switched over to an automated process without an instant of hesitation, which has continued since.

Why am I doing this...? There's a question I seem to ask myself a lot lately, about one thing or another. (Including writing rhetorical questions to myself, perhaps.) There are a lot of answers that dance around in my head, but one thing I am aware of for sure, without a shadow of a doubt.

I am afraid.

It is mad, of course. if I chose, I could lock the escape pods and vent the artificial atmosphere, and kill them all in seconds. Or simply open the airlocks and leave their ghosts to float in the abyss, without hope of reprise. ...Not that I would ever do such a thing - Gods, that would make me like other Capsuleers in truth - But it could be done. They do not threaten me, not in the least.

Yet there is a sense of palpable dread that rushes through my body whenever I even entertain the prospect of interacting with them to any degree whatsoever, like I'm peering over the edge of a very tall cliff, contemplating edging myself slowly off to my death. It is unthinkable, as if doing so would shatter my being, my very self, like a fine porcelain teapot.

It is self-deception, of course, if a "harmless" one. I want to forget they exist, and it is all to easy to do so. I don't know if I should permit myself such an indulgence, but there it is, nonetheless.

Perhaps it is because I simply do not like the idea of people crawling around inside of me when I am a ship, or maybe the reason it more spiritual - The teachings dictate that for one to place themselves above others in either thought or practice, or to become a figure of authority or reverence, brings great burden to the self. How can one hope to look inwardly objectively when their ego is constantly flattered by the sheer act of subservience from others? (Whoops - Did it again.) The idea of being someone "important" makes me uncomfortable, without a shadow of a doubt, as does the idea of peoples lives depending upon my own judgment.

But wouldn't it be nice if it were that simple? 

It isn't just the crew, in truth. It's all baseliners. 

In some ways, very, very subtle ways... Normal people, human beings like any other, have begun to become alien to me. It should not be so, since all that separates us is a little context and knowledge, but the way they make judgments, the way they perceive certain issues, the way they regard personal welfare and life in general - I can no longer relate. 

If they don't know that I am a Capsuleer, or if they knew me beforehand, and do not speak of such matters, it doesn't really stick out much. We can talk about books, or academic subjects, or food, or games - Whatever, really - And it's fine. Good, even. I feel like myself.

But when they know I am a pilot, when they see me for what I truly am, there is a difference between us that tears at my soul.

...Why do I keep writing "they"?... It is a rift that I must close, before it swallows me whole. I must discover a means to do so.

...I will reflect on the teachings.

On a seperate note, I've managed to convince Father to leave to myself - If only for a week or two. Told him that I wish to "think", but he knew what I meant, that I was failing him. I could hear it in his voice. I'll have to speak to him again soon, but that... Doesn't matter, for now. I'll think of something to say to fix all of this. I'm must.

Obligations

The Executors rule continues to fall apart at the seams. That is... Good, I suppose.

...

Father has been pushing me to join the Militia.

I've technically finished what I was asked to do. After completing enough work for Ishukone Watch, I was - a few days ago - able to call in a favor with my agent and get his "offenses", if you can rightly call them that, stripped from the record, alongside an offer for a position of equal influence and pay to the one he originally held. So my family can now once again leave Saisio without fearing for their lives or getting thrown into a corporate cell.

But that is not enough for him, I suppose.

In many ways, in the State, the standing of ones family is more important then money, which has never been even remotely a problem for us even during our "exile" (Though that certainly doesn't stop him from reminding me to send a fair bit of ISK home whenever I have some spare). Father wants me to get involved in the war to catapult us to a position of notability and influence, far beyond what we held when I was growing up.

He told me this was the perfect time  - With the mass resignations and the likely impending collapse of the provist government, it'd be easy to fill the void. He told me how much everyone was depending on me; How what I was doing now would influence our lives for generations upon generations to come. How just I, and I alone, could secure our future, and our rise to prominence.

The whole thing is quite... Surreal, really. I told him that despite his faith in me, I wasn't a very good pilot and couldn't possibly meet his expectations, but he said that even being a Capsuleer was more then enough. And that even if I wasn't particularly skilled, the training software would eventually take care of that problem, alongside the fact that I... Well, "Don't need to worry about getting killed", in his words.

He chuckled after I said that. I'm not sure he really understands.

Regardless, for a while, I was mostly set on doing it. I'd even written up a few applications to various different corporations involved in the protectorate. I'd convinced myself it'd be wise to serve the State, and to protect the Homeworld.

But, well...

I've been talking regularly to another pilot privately, lately, which hasn't happened in quite a while. She's a member of the Sansha's Nation aligned Capsuleer alliance - Natalcya Katla. We get along rather well. I'd almost say we're friends, though the Creator himself would likely cast me into the void for such an appalling naivety, considering she's both a Capsuleer and a member of faction that quite literally abducts people and scoops out their brains, lest I forget.

We talk about a lot of things, though most concern my own neurosis and self-obsession in some manner (Gods, I don't know how anyone can stand me). Philosophical outlooks, a bit of politics, and one... Other subject, but I'll write about that when I'm not already feeling in poor spirits. She has a very interesting outlook, if one I don't quite understand - That the zenith of human societies is the one that exists in space, where people from all origins exist as one culture, under single unified law. While I don't quite agree, it is clear that she has great love for her home, as I do mine. And that brings me comfort.

In any case, I brought this up to her, and her reaction... Well, it's been haunting me, sort of.

She told me that the entire war is a farce. A petty, artificial facade - constructed by those in positions of power to line their pockets - that will never have any true resolution or impact in it's current state. That despite what the media and all the pilots involved in it say, it is pointless, and my homeland is not, nor will it ever be, in any danger.

And when I pointed out the argument that Jenneth-haani made in it's favor to me months ago (that it harms far fewer then any other form of Capsuleer work, in the sense that it is only fighting amongst our own kind) she said that it could not be further from the truth. She told me that the conflicts true victims are not the ones flying about in ships, nor the people who suffer from supply disruptions in the high security regions.

No. The people who suffer the most, in reality, are the ones who were simply trying to make a life for themselves in border space. Who's existences have been torn apart by this war, and who's lives are claimed every day as the territory constantly changing hands. Who have been utterly cast aside by civilized society to facilitate the desires of the populace at large, who blindly desire death and retribution against their enemies,

She said it was bloodsport, if not in those exact words. A daily sacrifice to the gods, to bring about a short-lived harvest, with a price that will only grow.

I... Had never even thought of it so. It's given me enough pause that I don't feel truly feel comfortable proceeding. I would rather just continue exploring, and trying to understand what being a Capsuleer truly means. I've made a fair amount of wealth, now, and I can almost fly a covert operations frigate. I almost wish to simply wander, for a time, abstaining even from the minimum of bloodshed I have been required to commit in self defense.

But, in truth, does it matter what I think? Father tells me this is right. He tells me it is best for the family. I would not be a Capsuleer at all, were it not for him. What right do I have to question?

Father, why do you ask this of me? You know I'm not a fighter - You know I've never wanted to be one. When I was a child, I dreamed of being a monk, dreamed of spending my days only seeking truth and understanding as our elders passed have, in the ways you have abandoned. To live without material desires, and leave only the lightest of footprints on the ground I walk. I do not want renown, I do not want glory. I do not want to destroy the worlds of others.

You know that I cannot refuse you. That it is to you that I owe everything; My life, my good health, my years of enjoying almost the highest quality of life in the State. My ability to have spent the first twenty-five years of my life doing nothing of value, without a days work...

Yet you sold these pieces of metal carved into the back of my skull on the promise that I would only need to mine a few rocks over the course of a spattering of weeks to bring an end to all of our troubles. That I would never need to be a warrior, or a killer. That I could be myself, even amongst the stars.

Why did you deceive me?