Ground control to make major ch-ch-ch-changes (OOC)

1. Stop following this blog, go instead to Criminal Countdown Lounge (RSS)
2. Follow my pictures at Pics in Space!
3. Hang out with me on Twitter
4. Say o/ to me in-game. I am a friendly pirate. Very often AFK. Even at gates.

So. Yet another "back-in-game-after-long-break-post". This time I have been out of the game for about 5 months. Leaving just after having launched a bunch of community projects and stuff. Not a good thing for anyone, really. But this is how my relationship with Eve is now: I have played it so much that the moment I feel like not logging in, then I won't. And that moment comes whn you least of all expect it. And it might take a week before I am back. Or five months. So, that calls for some major changes.

1. No more community projects on me.
I am leaving the timeline project and handing it over to anyone who might want to take care of it. Get in touch if you want to be a caretaker. Preferably in our tweetfleet Slack channel: #eve-timeline. I am continuing Pics In Space! (this website will soon be gone) as my private solo project, but with no advertised activity or any sort of ambition, only to continue to take pictures wherever I fly. And should someone want me to do a photo mission, they may contact me in-game or through twitter. The #tweetfleet community of Twitter is by far the best place for me personally to stay in contact with the community. Good attitude, fun loving dudes and dudettes, low on drama, high on content. Love it.

Who is next to be biomassed?

2. Downsizing all accounts and characters.
I fly a lot of different characters. Some known to be my alts and others completely disconnected from Saftsuze's public world. I am biomassing a few of them as soon as I have extracted all possible skillpoints. Then consolidating six character into two accounts. Some toons will ramain obscure and disconnected from my public appearance, others continue on. Uncle Earl will continue his shop in some manner, I think, but with a deteriorating selection of refurbished stolen goods. The feminist-ecologist punk-rock activist Simone Kingston will probably not be able to continue her skill training. And reclaiming ore is nearly impossible these days. She has enjoyed a more violent and aggressive asteroid protection through war, but wardecs demands constant log-ins and some research. As for my other associates, they enjoy their anonymity and take care of my growing funds and assets.

3. Changed blogging.
I have never blogged a lot, but lately I have raised the bar for stories worth writing. Now I want to lower it again. And that is why I am also going to move from blogger to tumblr. It is just a way more practical platform for short updates in different formats. Expect more short stories and reports. And pictures as well, I really like that. Going to keep my photography tumblr separate for now, and have a slightly different approach to what pics goes where. Quick illustrative pics related to my pirate life for the Criminal Countdown Lounge, and longer series of pictures of general interest over at Pics in Space! In addition there will be quotes from interesting chats and longer transcripts from chats. However, if something amazing happens, it will probably become a longer story just as before. Oh, and I will try to stay semi-in-character all the time.

4. No commitment
So, yeah, there you have it. See you when I am playing, but don't expect me to be around all the time. But I will probably never cancel my account, because Eve Online is the best MMO ever created. Period.

When the stars align

In space nobody can hear you celebrate. But inside this white and shiny little frigate were two men—or more correctly, one demi-god and one mortal, one projected as a hologram and one physically present—dancing around in the tight space between the drone bay and the massive container that took up most of the space in the cargo hold.

“Here’s to our first T3-dessie solo kill, Sins! Take that, you fucking Amarrian bastards! Your silly Confessor shredded to scrap metal by the Sister’s little sissy Astero!”

I raised my imaginary glass. Man, I was looking forward to getting out of my pod and kick back in the lounge area.

“Hell yeah!”

Bleak Sins, my mechanic and partner in crime, had to shout through the loud terran rock music playing from entertainment system. One time I visited the Eve Gate I found a terran artifact floating in space containing a huge selection of music. I love that old-time stuff. We were shouting and screaming for a couple of minutes, then we docked up to refit a salvager.

“We have a signature ready for fishing in Isenan, boss, remember that!”

I was damned proud of my mechanic. His transformation from a timid mechanic into a mean bastard of a pirate was something to be proud of. It reminded me of my own journey towards the life of freedom.

“Yes, I just want to know it there are some shiny stuff that can be salvaged from this T3 wreck first.”

There was not a lot, to be honest, so off we went to Isenan. And there we found a freshly graduated capsuleer going about his data salvaging, in our very own pre-probed little fish pond. We mopped the dance floor with him and sent him back to his cloning station.

“You know, Sins, let us show him the way of true freedom. I am transferring him 10 million ISK to show him our way of life is good one, a life of choices—your own choices. I am free to take whatever I want. I am free to give back. Nobody tells me anything.”

“You’re a god.”

I didn’t catch the sarcasm.

“Yes!”

And then I got a message from one of my planetside enterprises that needed my immediate attention. I ordered my ship to cloak and transferred my consciousness to a planetside neural communication gateway, a so-called Automated Flexible Keyway, often referred to by capsuleers as “being AFK”.

I did not catch the error message my neural interface sent me:

W4RN1N6
U R UNCL04K3D
0 @ 64T3

I mentioned some time ago that I was looking forward to waking up in a new clone. That clean shaven chin (not the upper lip, of course!) and the feeling of youth. Beeing 27 again, even though I have aged quite a bit since I became a capsuleer. I hate the headache that follows, and the goo you wake up in is disgusting, but after a spa treatment and some fine dining, I always feel good in a new clone.

But this. This was brutal. This was pure evil. This was punishment for my hubris.

I was not cloaked. I was, according to my systems log, sitting at a gate. While AFK. My long lived and very expensive customized Astero was gone! And my clone with implants. And Sins! Bleak Sins! Where was he? Had he survived?

An Astero that is clearly not cloaked.

I quickly checked my official report from CONCORD’s Loss Matriculation And Investigation League (LOSSMAIL). And thank you holy mother of god or whatever fairy that choose what to survive when spaceships explode: He was alive! *

I opened up my Neocom and quickly sent a message to the capsuleer, Distai, reported to be the cause of my recent loss. Would he be so kind to release my mechanic back to my service?

“Oh sure thing. It's not my place to separate you two. I’ll charge you 10.000 ISK for the release, though.”

Bleak Sins had survived yet another explosion!  And  now he waited for me to be picked up at the Federal Navy Academy in Vitrauze.

I was still butt naked and covered in goo. And I needed a new ship. But, first things first: A shower.

But before the hot water got through the stations subpar plumbing system, I was greeted in the local communications channel by a Yukio Wantanabe. It was the newly graduated capsuleer that I had shot down earlier! He sent me a short message thanking me for my contribution to his career and wondered why all the pirates he meets are so nice? I smiled and thought to myself: It is because we are the truly free capsuleers. I will have to send him a message to tell him that.

The hot water arrived. The cold water knob, however, was tricky and it was a choice between scolding hot or ice cold. Damned Concord plumbing. The local communication channel made a noise again.

“Saftsuze! How are you doing?”

It was Doctor Genocide. Terrible name. Good man. A free man. We shared corp for a short stint in R1FTA, and we have been in multiple communication channels over many years. He continued:

“This is where my medical clone is based!”

“Wow, and you just woke up here as well?”

“Yeah! I was warping out of a fight to a station for repairs as I burnt out my guns, but bounced off some guy; cancelled warp then the call went out to get the fuck out and align to top station…”

I could obviously see where this was going as we were both wearing our new baby skinned clones.

“... and a Proteus point got me, no chance of burning from that one. So, do you have anything in station? ”

I was butt naked. And a quick glance over at the inventory told me I had one Velator.

“Nope. I need to go shopping.”

The station's personal trading interface gave a quick notification about an incoming offer.

“Which do you want?”

In front of me my neural HUD-interface displayed a wide selection of different shiny frigates. I tried to be modest, opting for the Firetail. But a wealthy capsuleer like the Doc won’t let you take the cheap stuff. I could hear the noise from the stations docking drones as my hangar overview presented me with a new ship: A shiny new Garmur was now parked outside my captain's quarters! I ran out on my balcony completely forgetting to even grab a towel. I just hope there were no camera drones around to record my ere… reaction from seeing that ship.

The Friend Ship

“Hey, Doc: I'll send you the report from the Loss Matriculation And Investigation League.”

He laughed. Not a laugh like what you might expect from a person named Doctor Genocide. More like the likeable chap at the pub.

“Cool! I hope you get some good kills in her before she meets her doom!”

And off I went to pick up Bleak Sins in Vitrauze.

Yeah, I never bothered to take that shower. I just jumped straight into the pod goo again.

* I have Bleak Sins registered as a janitor because of a lot less paperwork in regard to work permits and such when crossing the different empire's borders. You won't believe the shit you have to do to bring a licensed mechanic into Caldari space.

I love the smell of nanite paste in the morning

After an extended vacation on one of my amny planetary spa-installements, I have returned to my trusty Astero together with my mechanic, Bleak Sins. The drone bay is filled to the rim with Hobgoblins and Warriors and we have a route plotted for Thera.

My accountant and procurer of spaceships has been given a shopping list and we are setting up in a cheap hanger container in Thera. From there we will spread our love to the entire cluster with some oldskool fittings of some harmless-looking Rifters and Incursi. We are going back to the roots. Taking a break from the luxury of the Astero and it's wine cellar and jacuzzi and all that jazz.

It is time for grease and plasma and the smell of hot nanite paste on burning auto-cannons and neutron blasters. It is time for that great feeling of waking up in a new clone, all clean shaven and feeling young an fresh again!

In the meantime have a look at the scenery we are enjoying en-route to Thera.

Time and Space Organized

“Ready information evacuation!”

Angelita was shaking heavily.

“What the fuck?”

Sins was probably on his way to the escape pod. But I was worried about my recent work.

“Transmit all work to corp mainframe!”

“We have 10 percent armor left. Fuck the research work. Do it yourself. You’re a capsuleer. I am going to my escape pod. I want to live.”

Sigh. The timid and shaking mechanic I recruited several months ago was no longer a pushover. I liked that. But I was still the captain.

“No! You secure the research now, or I will get a contract out on your sorry ass. I will make sure you get to the pod. Do. It. Now!”

I overheated just about everything I had. I had been taking a bait and now I paid the price. I could have escaped earlier, but I was so close to getting the Ishkur. I had decided to get it and then escape. Bad choice.

“Information secured. I am leaving ship.”

A bright flash. Then everything was quiet. And I was in a warp tunnel.

“Sins? You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good to hear your voice, Sins. I’ll get a rescue team to pick you up. Catch an interbus shuttle and meet me back at HQ. And get a new Astero ready.”

I think I heard another of his rapidly increasing amount of sighs on the comms. But it might have been cosmic distortion on the channel.

“Yes, sir.”

2 weeks later. Upper Lip Finesse office somewhere in Placid:

“Your Astero is ready for shipping. And your finance guy tells me to let you know you are running out of ISK with your habit of exploding expensive Asteroes. At this rate you will be broke in a few months.”

Sins sat down in the sofa. The Scope was reporting some news about a Drifter autopsy report in Yulai.

“Bah! Tell him to mind his own busin… Hey, turn that up!”

The broadcast from Yulai was scrambled and the signal lost.

“Wow! Get me linked up to all alternative news channels and give me a report about the status in Yulai. Then fire up the login procedures for the Terran networks Slack and Twitter. I need to get my research published. We need a comprehensive timeline to grasp the magnitude of what is happening now. These Drifters... I wonder...”

Sins sighed and got up from the sofa. 

“I’ll get it for you. By the way, that container with tinfoil you ordered arrived today. It’s in the hangar. To the left. Behind the delivery of books from University of Caille.”

The Monolith in Dead End. I went there just to see it and did not get one single killmail from the trip. Something strange is happening to me.

The Old Man and the Universe

My blood was boiling. And my head spinning. And was not even in my pod. I was at my newly installed study, inside the Angelita - the very customized Astero that Sins had prepared while I was ... ehrm ... incapacitated for a few months by expensive bubbles from Luminaire VI. Or Gallentia as I’ve recently started calling it.

How could this be? How could being in my study be as exciting as a battle? Yes, I was as surprised as Sins. Well, he wasn’t surprised. He was shocked. Almost disappointed and angry, especially when I had asked him to remove one of the jacuzzies from the spa area and instead install an office with the latest technology for historical and scientific research. I could barely convince him by ordering a cryogenic wine cooler for the desk as well. I don't blame him. I was like that when I first discovered the freedom of a pirate's life. And Sins used to be a low rank crew member of an Astero dedicated to archaeology. I had freed him from that. And now he was worried I was giving up life as a pirate. Am I?

No. But I am getting older. Not in the mortal sense. My clone is the same sexy beast. But my mind, my mental state, my consciousness and awareness—my very soul—is getting older. And it has made wonder. Who am I? Why am I? What is the purpose? Until now, my life has been an effortless breeze of enjoyment with no time for questions only craving for more instant gratifications. Be it explosions in space or of the more intimate kind. 

But now I have time. And it is time. It is time to tell the story about me. And my place in this universe. And to do that, I need perspective.

“Sins!”

I could hear a yawn from the cargo hold. 

“Yes, boss?”

“Get me a copy of all the official historical records archived in the Imperial libraries, the libraries of The Society of Conscious Thought and try the Jovian Directorate as well.”

“How the fu…”

“Just get it done, will you?”

He grumbled. I think I heard him say something in the line of “You want me to fit that relic analyzer instead of the warp scrambler as well?”

But he was soon out of my mind. I was buried deep in an interesting story about how Quafe once negotiated between the Gallente Federation and the Ammar Empire. I almost wanted to taste that sugary crap. But thankfully I had the new cryogenic wine cooler from Gallentia.

I poured myself a glass of dry bubbles from the foot of the Kaalakiota Mountains and continued on my work.

Just Like Talking to an Angel

“Boss, you've gotta wake up!”

I was receiving strange signals from outer space. But all I could see was a beautiful nebulae. And from it emerged a thousand mining barges. And they were singing with deep voices. “Come with us! You can shoot us all day long! Ravage and pillage our fittings!”

“Boss! Wake up!”

Oh, that beautiful deep humming of mining lasers soon to be shut up and shot down by burning projectiles.

“Boss! Get up now!”

Some ugly bright star appeared from nothing. So bright! Like staring directly into a pair of dual focused lasers.

“Fuck! Get that light out of my eyes!”

“Here, boss, have some synthetic coffee.”

“Where is my bottle!”

I think I said that. That was the intended message. Although it didn't really sound like that.

“I poured it out in the pod goo drain.”

My head was making that structural integrity warning sound. It was ringing in my ears.

“Say what?”

I wanted to kill this person talking to me.

“That was some pristine bubbles from Luminaire, you fuckhead!”

I screamed out the words as I lashed out in the general direction of the light and the ugly voice. I think I lashed out. It sounded more like… No, I was not lashing out against anyone, I was throwing up in the direction of… Well, there are no directions in space. I was in space.

“No, boss, you emptied the last bottle of Luminaire bubbles two weeks ago. You have been drinking the samples of the new product line Saftsuze’s Aftershave with Pro-B Nanite Sexystubs Formula… whitch is basically fifty-fifty alcohol and rocket fuel…”

I got some ugly flashbacks of being utterly sick, undocking in my pod to self destruct just to get a new fresh clone to soak.

“Who are you?”

“It’s me, boss! Blique Cins! Your mechanic!”

I threw up on him.

“By the Amarrian gods, Sins—”

I burped.

“It’s good to see you. Or, at least hear you.”

I squinted. Something was on it’s way up again. I swallowed. And something dawned on me.

“But… didn’t we die?”

“Yes, sir, you did, but I was rearranging inside the container when ship exploded. I hid inside the packed hull repper and managed to slip out just before the guys who looted your ship sent it to the reprocessing plant. I almost ended up as some biological titanium alloy...”

He started laughing.

Fuck me. This guy was laughing. I remembered him puking all over my cargohold before our first expedition. This guy was quality.

“Well, the ship is ready, boss. You wanna undock and selfdestruct again to get you freshened up a bit?”

“What ship? You just told me we exploded!”

“Yes, we did, but I took the liberty to make your second Astero ready for some exploration. I believe she is called Angelita. Remember? You bought her along with Anastasia. I’ve made some custom modifications to her. I think you will like the spa area.”

I think I will.


TLDR OOC: I’ve been away for a while. I am back again.

Do you need my Counsel for Stellar Candidates?

There comes a time when even lurking pirates and lonely scumbags must engage in politics. And that is when the Council of Stellar Management is going to be elected. We need someone to fight for our freedom. To make our beloved low security space attractive to our prey. To lower the obstacles to obtain shakes of adrenaline. And to GET US MORE WHITE CLOTHING!

Anyway, I am going to keep my endorsements here on a separate page, so you can consider it for your own ballot. Please head over and have a look!

That’s all for now. Go shoot down some spaceships while I come up with the next few candidates for the list. Just remember to pick up the goddamn drones after your fight, alright?