The Impossible Project

I was standing in front of yet another scratchy and badly lit Minmatar mirror in yet another station somewhere in Molden Heath. I was getting ready to jump to another clone in another region where I had a stack of Rifters. This station is also close to where the Black Guards of Mr. Nash Kadavr are running their operations. Now, this is a bunch of pilots to be respected, but after the wrong pronunciation of R1FTA’s full name in an audio broadcast to the community of capsuleers, my fellow R1FTA director, Kaeda Maxwell, had decided it was necessary to punish them. So we were at war at the time. And I figured I ought to make an effort in this war. Hence the forthcoming clone jump. But I hesitated.

I hate clone jumping. It’s messy and you get kind of confused and unconsentrated. And I am already that by default.

My mind was wandering. I looked around. Damn, I wish those Gallente architects and interior designers would get some better quarters ready soon, I’m getting sick of the pointy scrap metal all over the place. When spending a lot of time inside overheated Rifters, entering a Minmatar quarter isn’t exactly what you would call a good and healthy change of scenery. It doesn’t exactly sooth your mind. I need some fresh, posh and good looking Gallente quarters soon. To cool down my head.

I need that. When am I gonna manage to keep my head cool? Project Love Boat isn’t exactly going as panned. I have been pushing my love boats into impossible situations whenever I’ve had the chance. I thought the special and sometimes expensive fittings would put me off risking too much. But no. I am still throwing my ships up against the unknown. And even the known. Engaging Alex ‘Jaguar God’ Medvedov’s Jaguar – with my Federation Navy Comet (Cassiel)... was, well, not so wise. Too long since I’ve been managing drones, so that small flight of ECM-drones didn’t help me escape either.

So. Project Love Boat is not going too well. I have updated the statistics for it. It is grim reading. My fellow rebel Tomba’s words of wisdom are still ringing in my ears: “This project is against your nature, Saftsuze. It’s as if you were going to live in a monastery as monk.”

He is right. I am not the cool and clean killer I’d like to be. I am an adrenaline junkie that hungers for destruction. That’s why I fly. That’s why I only dock when I need to repair my ship, my moustache - or get a new one. A ship, that is, not a new moustache! But, I want to become better. I want to loose less ships, and I want the others to loose more.

But I need that rush. I need fresh bodies in my cargohold. I need stolen modules in my hanger. I need screaming ships on fire and sweat dripping from my moustache.

Better get that clone jump done with. I feel a strong urge to undock. Careful Consideration, level 5, has been pushed further back in the queue.

Daredevil Deathmatch & Hulk Happiness

I was visiting old hunting grounds. Once again back in a disposable Rifter. My Love Boats have been receiving, well, not too much love. So, Useless Shitcan was definately going to burn tonight.

While I was checking in on some recent developments in internal corporation affairs, a small piece of information from the directional scanner caught my interest. I had already noticed the two very young pilots I was sharing the system with, so when the ship type Daredevil was reported by my scanner, I immediately left corp business and started working.

Oh, sweet Amarrian Gods, whatever their names are, there is a Daredevil ratting in a belt! Guaranteed to be piloted by a very young pilot! I’m already in warp and i prime my scram and afterburner preparing to catch him. 45 seconds later I am making all kinds of strange noises and movements inside my pod for my great victory! A Daredevil killed by a Rifter! FANTASTIC!

Then I notice I am in my pod. Sigh. He must have had 3 percent left of structure. I dock and grab my own Daredevil that happens to be the only nearby ship and go looking for him, and I almost manage to catch him, but alas.

Well, since it is my only ship around, I take my Daredevil to the next door system and find that an old “friend” of mine is in there. He is a miner and has earlier given a few Covetors and Iterons to my hungry Rifters. So where is he? Nowhere, according to the scanner. But lets check one thing before we leave, might he have left a full jet can or five to go pick up with a hauler? Bingo! Jet can found and bookmarked. And out of system we go.

5 minutes later: I’m jumping in, warping straight to the can. The Hulk that was there was saved for a ransom of 90 million ISK.

Incapable of Love

This useless old fucker with his twinkling cunt
Doesn't care if he gets hurt

Green eyes, green eyes
Green eyes, green eyes

Nick Cave: "Green Eyes" from The Boatman’s Call, 1997 AD (Ancient Time System), Old World, Earth

I'm in my pod. Again. Plenty of time for reflection. What did I just do? Well, I lost the first ship of Project Love Boat. Green Eyes is no more. Taken down by the web and drones of an Ishkur that also managed to snag a few hits with his blasters, if I remember correctly. I am always a bit dizzy after such fights. It was a good fight, I didn't go down fast. But I did go down. And it was my own fault. I was barging in as if I were in a Rifter. I didn't show Green Eyes the love and respect she deserved. Lesson learned.

I'm in my pod. Again. What is it with me? Can't I take it easy, just once? Was it wise to engage Loretta (Lottie) in a fight with a Sabre? All alone? The very same Sabre I used a Dramiel to kill once before, but with a gang? Lesson clearly not learned, man! Where is the love and care you promised to show your ships? This is getting embarrassing. And it is going nowhere! Two Republic Fleet Firetails down, and what did they kill? ONE SINGLE RIFTER AND IT'S POD.

Project Love Boat

So keep your candle burning

And make her journey bright and pure

That she will keep returning

Always and evermore

Nick Cave: "Into My Arms" from The Boatman’s Call, 1997 AD (Ancient Time System), Old World, Earth

Green Eyes – one of the four Republic Fleet Firetails
that is part of the Project Love Boat

As I headed out for low security space in my very first fit-for-fight-Incursus, a mantra was going through my head: Your ship will explode, do not get attached to it, there is another one waiting in the hanger.

This is what you learn from the experienced when you first head out to shoot other capsuleers beyond the reach of CONCORD's cold hands. Do not get attached to your ship. Have no love for your ship. It is not an individual. And soon you get into the habit of buying ships in stacks, and maybe you even get a shopping assistant to handle it for you, and you make spreadsheets to accurately summarize exactly how many modules and crates of ammo you need for your next 50 frigates. And then you go and make your ships explode whenever you have the chance to throw it against something big and shiny. And soon you have to get another stack.

Congratulations! You have learned not to get attached to your ship. This is good.

But it is also bad. Yes, you will get some great kills this way, because you are taking chances and expanding the pool of possible targets. But, you will also die in a lot of stupid and easily avoidable engagements. I can testify to that. The lack of love for my ships has made me more reckless and less concentrated while hunting. When there are 50 more frigates ready to be fit exactly as the one you are flying, then you tend to not care much. I want to change that.

I have decided to fit up twenty ships, each one with a unique fitting. Some expensive and some cheap, but they will all receive love and special attention and I will keep a tight record on their performance. I will spend almost all my ISK on this project, but that is also an intended premise: I am gonna fly stuff I can't afford to replace. That will make me care and make better decisions. I hope. So, say hello to Project Love Boat: I am captain Stubing, and this is my crew: 1 Dramiel, 3 Rifters, 1 Daredevil, 4 Firetails, 1 Incursus, 2 Ishkurs, 2 Vengeances, 3 Jaguars, 2 Taranis, 1 Loki.

May they keep returning to my hangar and die only from age and exhaustion.

We can kill Santha!

You better watch out
You better not cry
Better not pout
I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town
– Haven Gillespie, Santa Claus is Coming to Town, late 1920s, Old World, Earth

There I was. Alone in my Rifter once again. In a low populated low security pocket. My customized Gallente Parlais Detection Amplifier II made some strange noises and a local pilot opened up a private conversation:

santha hunter > where are you!
santha hunter > what are you doing!
Saftsuze > looking for trouble as always
santha hunter > we can kill santha!
santha hunter > do you want!
Saftsuze > can we?
santha hunter > yes or!?
santha hunter > you dont want!?
santha hunter > what is your kind of ship!?
Saftsuze > rifter is my kind of ship
Saftsuze > where is santha?
santha hunter > :) on the asteroyd!
santha hunter > on all!
Saftsuze > on all?! wow, we should get there, then - what is your kind of ship?
Saftsuze > yeah, i wanna kill santha!
Saftsuze > where do we meet?
santha hunter > on the station 3-m7
santha hunter > dont kill me1 ok1 and I dont kill you1
Saftsuze > i am in the belt III-1
Saftsuze > santha is here!
santha hunter > ok!
santha hunter > I fly to you!!!!

He's making a list
And checking it twice;
Gonna find out Who's naughty and nice

Santa Claus is coming to town 

I gave him 2 million ISK for the entertainment provided. Well, he actually asked for it as a loan, but I wanna get on Santa's nice list as well.



Endnote: Chat log slightly edited for your reading pleasure.

Can I see the menu, please?

Be my guest:

The Menu of 

The Criminal Countdown Lounge

Aperitif

Testimonials
A fine selection of Opinions, Judgements and Greetings
from other capsuleers sprinkled with a touch of pride.

Main Course
The Log

Hearty Fights and tender Chat Logs from Flying in Space
served with Moustache Mojo Sauce.

Cheese Plate
The Library

Heavy tools, light and smooth tips and tricks
followed by strong guides.

Dessert
ISK Transfer Service

Sweet numbers of ISK collected by violent persuasion. Melting fast.

Steamy Rifter Windows

Me and Lady Shaniqua in local. Alone. I did not manage to come up with something smart to say, and she left. Of course. I am a nobody compared to her. Did she at least notice my moustache?

Thankfully she appeared again a few systems further down my route. In that same system was also my corp mate Lhorenzo with his wonderfully wierd trippel propped Dramiel. But he was not there for long and Lady Shaniqua judged his fit in typical fashion: “Two afterburners? That is DUBBALY KRIMINAL!”

Could I avenge my poor corp mate, who also has a crush on the lady? After a long and hard think, I proposed a Rifter duel. The Lady did not let me down and told me to meet her in Ardar, where she had a Rifter “of some sort”. On my way there I had to consider what kind of Rifter to bring as I had a stack of them nearby. It was clear to me that my only chance was to avoid a close up fight. It was time to fly the 280mm Howitzer Fit, stolen and refined from my corp mate Tomba, who again stole it from the late Sobczynski. I named it Moustache Man and warped to the Ardar gate.

Lady Shaniqua instantly invited me to a Bunker in system and I warped to 100 km off the warp-in point, but via a safe spot in system in case she had outsmarted me and was waiting 100 km off the bunker aligned to the gate I was coming from. It worked. She was 47 km away. Perfect. Last time I fought with this arty fit I got too close and an overheated web killed me. I was not going to make that mistake again. I aimed for a slightly wider orbit than last time. Every module was overheated. My heart was overheated. My fingers were overheated. The pod goo surrounding me was boiling.

Lady Shaniqua > I knew you would bring one of those annoying arty Rifters. 

And I knew I had to bring one to have a tiny little chance to VIOLENCE HER BOAT.

End note: With everything on fire - my hands, my ship, my modules and my mind - I ended a great night out with the signature action of an overheated hothead: Making a stupid mistake. Moustache Man was supposed to ornate my hanger, heavily damaged with only approximately 15 % hull left, as a reminder for me to always keep trying the impossible. It ended like every other Rifter I’ve owned: As a wreck in space. I had warped to a gate and only then noticed I had a Global Criminal Countdown going on. And so ended a night of great achievements for a humble Rifter pilot.