Into the Wild, Back to the Civilization

I recently moved up to Egbinger, signed a standard chain-gang contract with CONCORD and got assigned to the Great Wildlands with a licence to kill anything affiliated to The Angel Cartel. For this I will again be eligible for the New Eden Citizen Of The Year Award.

Valganzo Geittikulf, my local CONCORD-contact, let it slip through to me that there were no monitoring of my actions – apart from the automated recording of security status inflicting kills – I was free to only engage the most juicy targets in each system and not bother with pesky frigates and cruisers. He obviously knew I was no reformed criminal set for a career in law enforcement. He knew I was just after a clean sheet and access to high security space. Ah, CONCORD. Have there ever been a greater hypocrite than CONCORD? Isn’t this the truest and greatest institution created in man's image ever? CONCORD – corruption is thy real name. And I love you.

My security status might have changed, but New Eden scientists have yet to discover a way to inject morals into our brains like any other skillbook. High security citizens – I’m back!

New Eden Citizen Of The Year

Faction Fireworks

You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you
Girl, we couldn't get much higher

I had been messing with my clone-capsule interface again, just to get an excuse to unplug from the life of a capsuleer and kick back and watch the reality holoreel I am such a fan of: Real Life - the story of a working father and husband. It’s not a thriller of a show - sometimes it is outright boring, but it certainly has a lot of excitement with it’s ups and downs. And capsuleer life had become a bit stale lately. 

But, watching reality-holoreels for weeks in a row isn’t much better, so I decided to get into a Rifter and go old skool solo roaming. It felt good. I felt a spark. 

Come on baby, light my fire

Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire

Being back in the purest and truest tech I frigate you can find, felt like coming home. And what a homecoming it turned out to be.

“Guys. A Typhoon Fleet Issue just ran from me. And I’m in a Rifter! I’m picking up his drones.”

The R1DER communication channel was as usual in a very relaxed mode. I warped off from the anomaly and continued scanning. I noticed the Typhoon had not left scanning range. And on the next scan cycle new drones had been deployed. No way...

The time to hesitate is through

No time to wallow in the mire
Try now we can only lose
And our love become a funeral pyre

“Guys, I have the Typhoon scrambled! But I’m in a Rifter, so I guess it makes sense calling for backup...”

I probably wasn’t the only one calling for backup. I was constantly watching the local communications channel and my directional scanner. There were three other capsuleers registered in system, but nothing on scan so far. I was very slowly making progress through the mighty ships shields, but I was worried about what might turn up on the next scan cycle.

R1DERS reporting ten and six jumps away. A few more capsuleers enters system. One of them has the same last name as the pilot of the Typhoon. Thrasher on scan! Now. Keep it cool. Breathe. Think. Weapons deactivated. Reloading all weapon systems. Thrasher lands on grid. Target thrasher. Keep tight orbit on Typhoon. Fire at Thrasher! Keep point on Typhoon. Remember scanning. FUCK! Hurricane on scan! Keep guns on thrasher. Steady. Hurricane lands on grid. Calm, now, keep it calm. Target hurricane. Thrasher going down! FUCK YEAH! Hurricane is... What? Warping off? Warping off!

His backup has left! My backup is about to arrive. Weapons back on Typhoon.

Come on baby, light my fire

Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire, yeah

Epilogue:

Shortly after this incident I found myself with a bounty of 100 million ISK attached to my head. I hate the feeling of waking up in a fresh clone, but for 100 million ISK I could manage a bit of headache and a moustache full of that sticky clone vat goo. And, as you might have picked up from different news sources, the bureaucrats in CONCORD are making a whole lot of new laws across New Eden and the bounty system is about to change. Finally it will be worthwhile hunting other capsuleers for theit bounty – not just letting your own associates collecting your frozen corpse and the ISK attached to it. So, I am now deployed in 0.0 space hunting the Angel Cartel on behalf of CONCORD, making some small amounts of ISK, but more importantly: Slowly getting into CONCORD’s good books – one kill at a time. High security space, be prepared for the return of the most sexy moustache in New Eden!

Only missing a moustache. Jim Morrison, famous ancient terran singer. Never seen in a spaceship, but was supposedly observed "very high".

Lyrics from "Light my Fire" by the ancient terran rock band called The Doors. This was supposedly their first big hit from the debut album named “The Doors”.

By the way, you might have heard the The New Eden cover band, “The Stargates”, playing their tunes, but they really don’t represent The Doors’ music with the respect they deserve – you need that ancient terran organic instruments to get the real sound. So, find some run down terran artifact shop in your local star system and dig up some old time recordings played on real instruments, kid.

The Voyeur

Five registered capsuleers in the local communications channel. Not including myself. Only three ships found by a directional scan around the main clusters of celestials. No stations. Two Drake-class battlecruisers hunting the local belt pirates on CONCORD salary. One Jaguar-class assault ship somewhere unknown. And me. In an Enyo. With active tanking, an energy vampire installed and a cargo hold full of the Federation’s finest antimatter charges. It is time to save the local belt inhabitants from the CONCORD-sponsored Drakes. My Enyo – will it handle two Drakes? And is that Jaguar a mate of them? And finally: That last pilot that has not been accounted for. 

I'm gonna poke you in the eye with this, OK?

The known unknown.

As I land among the asteroids, the two Drakes align out, but only one is allowed to turn his warp drive, the other one is swiftly scrambled. My neutron blasters start the elaborate task of overcoming the battlecruisers shields.

Will the other Drake return?

I am settling for a tight orbit and send a warm “thank you” to the Drake pilot for either forgetting the drones in his hanger or just forgetting to launch them.

“Planet X, Asteroid Belt 1. I could need a hand!”

The other Drake pilot leaves system. So they were not buddies then. Or at least not anymore, I guess. Friendship – such a fragile concept among capsuleers. But when will the Jaguar poke it’s nose into this belt? Will someone come to his aid?

The Drake’s shields are struggling under my relentless neutron blasters. We are getting closer to the point of no recharge. Time to fire up some heat. The shields crumbles. It will soon be over.

Smelling a dying ship, the Jaguar finally makes an appearance. Crouching at 50 kilometers off, he is ready to attack. The Drake is in deep structure as the big cat leaps towards my Enyo. It all happens very fast now, and yet it seems like slow motion. I finish off the Drake and make a hard left at maximum overheated afterburner speed straight towards the newly arrived predator. Targeting systems going wild. Warning sounds ringing in my ears, the scrambler has been enabled, the turrets turn and fire, webifier applied, vampire sucking from his capacitor, repair systems ready and preheated. The battle is violent. Big chunks of twisted metal litters the field.

Rapier uncloaks. The known unknown is now very much known.

I overheat my brain and hurl my Enyo into alignment towards the first celestial object I can get a navigational lock on. My guns are still working on the Jaguar that is going down fast. No targeting from the Rapier still. Jaguar explode. And I am screaming “WARP!” even though no-one can hear me through the pod fluids.

The warp tunnel has never been so beautiful. So quiet. So perfect.

Then silence was broken by a message coming through the system wide communications channel. The pilot of the wreck formerly known as a Jaguar address me:

“Kill the rapier and i will be impressed”
I grin and reply:
“I ran”

Then a sparkling sound and the Rapier-pilot joins the conversation.

“I was just there to help incase he wouldn’t get his one versus one fight. I was already watching the fight. I could have ruined the party”

I guess some like to watch.

Epilogue: The official kill report from the incident shows that the Rapier actually helped me with the Jaguar that arrived. I also got the loot later on as the Rapier pilot left the wrecks untouched.

(This log entry has previously been published at The Fighter at the Gates of Hell.)

Bad Facial Hair Day

"Hell, yeah! That Dramiel douche bag is going down! Sweet sexy super-slicer, I love you!"

Yeah. I was excited. I had managed to catch a Dramiel inside a deadspace complex fighting the Amarr militia. Or most likely, just running from them in a wide orbit. That seems to be the winning strategy among the different militias.

But now, this Dramiel was going down fast.

The micro-warp drive made a terrifying sound. I had not been following it's indicators for a while as I was too busy managing the intricate navigation needed to keep my target within optimal range of my lasers. Now there was no more indicators. A sure sign that the micro-warp drive had burnt out. I sighed as I watched the Dramiel slip out of disruption range and then warp away to safety with shields and armor totally stripped off.

The super-sexy slicer really isn't much worth when it can't get the speed up. I aligned towards the nearest station with repairshop services and initiated warp.

The loss of a Dramiel-kill had clouded my mind.

"Mr. Saftsuze, due to your recent acts of aggression towards a certain pilot of a Dramiel-class frigate, we can not allow you to dock in our station. You know the rules."

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

I knew the rules. I knew the rules very well. And I closed my eyes, sent a heartfelt "sorry" to my newly fitted Imperial Navy Slicer, and accepted the next incoming message. I just hoped the security officer on watch was of the dry and bureaucratic kind. I was not in the mood for Mr. Fun Facts.

"And as you also probably know, Mr. Saftsuze, since your security status reading shows a history of a rather excessive use of force against neutral targets, you have also been tagged with a "shoot on sight" order for the next 15 minutes. Or was this news to you? Please ready your capsule for space travel, we have now ordered our sentry guns to relieve you of that ship you have wrapped around you."

He didn’t cut off the sound at once. He probably wanted me to hear the laughter from his entire staff melt in with the sound of my exploding Slicer.

But worst of all, the Dramiel pilot got credit for his meager effort in the official report of the incident.

Yeah. It was one of those days. An Amarr station shot me down for shooting at one of their enemies.

The Three Little Piggies

I studied my face in the mirror. I still had some pod goo in my moustache. I rubbed it in and smiled. What a beautiful feeling this was: Getting out from the pod instead of that terrible clone vat. But the sweetest feeling: Thinking about the three confused capsuleers now waking up in their new clones wondering what the fuck just happened.

It had been a merciless slaughter. An act of pure evil. The three fresh capsuleers, not even graduated from their training institutions, had been peacefully mining in two frigates and a destroyer. Then suddenly their overview had showed a pilot, yours truly, painted blood red by their default HUD settings, landing right next to them.

“Hello, hello, little piggies, will you let me join the party?”

Their horror. I could still remember it from my first visits to the lawless belts of low security space. He has opened fire! What kind of ship is he in? A Firetail-something? Who is this? Why is he all red? Fuck! We are taking heavy damage! All to the battle stations! Fire at will!

“Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your spaceships up!”

The confusion was total. The inexperienced capsuleers must have been struggling with making the correct neural connections with their ships. None of them managed to do anything right. The tranquility of the isolated asteroid belt was now being ripped apart by burning projectiles and a screaming afterburner. Who is this capsuleer? Why does he do this to us?

I opened my eyes. Happy with what I saw in the mirror. A cold blooded merciless coward. Preying on the weak. The stupid. And the poor. Not the honourable pirate looking for fair fights and duels. I fled those stronger than me. I ran when the odds looked bad. I was a scavenger looking for easy prey and leftover targets.

What just happened? We are in our capsules! What the hell! He is still shooting at us!

I was their baptizer. Their saviour. Their revelation of immortality. I was death. I delivered this mind blowing experience to them all: The ice cold insta-freeze when the body meets empty space. The silence. The confusion. The blackness. And the existential fear. The horror of living through your own death. Waking up with the memories of a frozen corpse.

You may build your spaceships of rolled tungsten bricks. Then I will not come for you. Because I am not the big bad wolf. I am the lonely hyena.

I licked the last drop of pod goo from my moustache and opened up The Devil's Tattoo communications channel from my Neocom.

I'm the hyena with good looks and bad company.

That fresh out-of-the-pod feeling.

This log entry has earlier been published at the collaborative space log known as The Fighter at the Gates of Hell.

Sheep Farmer In Battle Potato Chased By Comet

The Federadion Navy Comet screamed as it entered warp. My associate had just located a Dominix class battleship engaging local Serpentis ships at a celestial in Hulmate. I’m certainly not an ally of the Serpentis, but I do like to help them every now and then, even though they seldom appreciate my efforts. I often find myself under fire while I’m grabbing the loot after an engagement where the Serpentis have been involved. Oh, I digress.

Well, I was in warp, towards this Dominix. Fellow Rebels and R1DERS had been informed as I was worried about my chances of breaking his tank all by myself.

I could have saved me the worries.

Gustav GrayMan > STOP!!!
Gustav GrayMan > let talk about price!!!
Saftsuze > how much did this ship cost you?
Gustav GrayMan > how mach you want!!!!
Saftsuze > 150 mill

When I really want a kill, I say 150 millions and hope for a no.

Gustav GrayMan > dont remember 0__o i have 25 milion
Gustav GrayMan > thats all may money
Saftsuze > why are you flying a ship that costs 150 milions to fit, then?
Gustav GrayMan > may fren give my money/ and say taht good sheep to farm

Now, wait a minute! A sheep farmer? Not in my back yard!

Gustav GrayMan > stop attaking my!!!/ im give you 20
Saftsuze > too little
Saftsuze > you will die
Gustav GrayMan > bastard! faking bastar!
Saftsuze > that is my profession, yes

1001: A Space Odyssey

Today the largest public tracking of spaceship kills in New Eden, The BattleClinic Killboard, ranked yours truly as #1001.

Breaking the top 1000 has been a long term goal of mine for a while now and I am chasing it like a madman these days.

I’ll be back for further log entries soon, but I have work to do!

Saftsuze And His League of Extraordinary Scumbags

So. There is not much to report from my space travels. The past month has been a rather expensive one in terms of losses and it is mostly due to stupidity, complacency and a bit of burn out. On the good side: I have done some excellent office work this month showing me record high profits on my market activities! As much as I like to make wrecks in space, I too have to make this lifestyle possible by keeping a constant flow of ISK into my coffers, so I thought I would share some of my strategies for managing my wallet.

I make my ISK in different ways. Here they are, in the order of how fun I think it is:

1. Loot from other players. Obviously, this is the best way to make ISK as someone's ship has to explode.
2. Ransoms. This is the next best, as I feel so sexy when others hand me their ISK at gunpoint.
3. Trading. This is OK, since it is actually a bit challenging, and not so time consuming, and also it is other people’s ISK that end up in my wallet. As you probably understand now: I like other people’s ISK.
4. Planetary production. I always forget to follow up my facilities planet side. But sometimes I remember and I make a few millions of it here and there.
5. Stealing. I stole around two billions from a corp in my early days as I was fascinated by this possible avenue of profit. I am trying again, but it is so boring to spend time in an anti-pirate industrial corporation gaining trust, so I am not sure I see this one through. But I do like other people’s ISK...
6. Mission running and mining. This is something I do in the corp I am trying to steal from. Yes, I sometimes even enjoy it if I am particularly bored and tired.

For all these activities I have three active training licences for capsuleers and have hired several associates under these licenses. Here are my gang of scumbags:

Mr. Trader. My fence and main trader. Has a lot of the trading skills maxed out and flies transport ships. I contract all my scattered loot to him and he now and then makes a huge pick up round, then sort out the useful modules and contract them to Mr. Shopper. The rest he sells on the market. He is also a legit trader and my main source of income.

Mr. Shopper. Flies an Orca and transport ships. Runs some planetary facilities, but apart from that his main purpose is to spend ISK on ships and modules I want, and then deliver them to me. By keeping my trading activities and shopping needs split between these two associates I have a very good idea of my profit margin on my trader, and how much ISK I have for splurging.

Mr. Mission Runner & Miner. He is the one who did the big heist that kept me floating in my early days. A bad man. But I am considering relieving him of his dark and deceitful orders as it is very time consuming. Well, nothing much more to say about him. He flies everything from industrials, exhumers and combat ships.

Mr. Junior Trader. He is a completely untrained capsuleer, but he has the ability to use five market orders. So he can effectively station trade without any training. Has made me maybe 200 millions in a few months with very little effort.

So there you have it. I have a few other capsuleers contracted under my current licences, but they are not involved in wallet management, so they have not been mentioned here. It has taken some time, but finally I feel I have some control on my ISK situation and the infrastructure in place for a rather nomadic scumbag life.

Now. Let’s buckle up for some more exploding spaceships this month. Preferably not mine.

Anno Dominix

A while back, I received a message from my associate that I had sent on a scouting mission to a low populated low sec pocket.

“Dominix piloted by a fresh student registered at the EVE University. He seems to be running a mission against the local Serpentis population. Permission to launch probes?"

"Of course you launch probes! I didn't tell you to spend all that time on those astrometric skills for probing down grav sites!"

My associate now had a lot better skills for probing than me. And also better equipment. The Dominix was pinpointed in deep space within two scan cycles - approximately 15 seconds. There was a very good chance this inexperienced battleship pilot had not noticed the probes. I was two jumps out in a Firetail. I would probably need backup. I should be able to keep my ship alive, but breaking his tank might be a challenge.

My cloaked associate sent me into warp from the stargate. I preheated my scrambler and afterburner and readied my overview for fighting drones. I landed 90 km off my target and started burning. 70 km. 50 km. 30. 20. 17 km. Activate targeting system. 14. Target locked and scrammed. I turn down the heat, settle for a tight orbit, activate tracking disruption and start working on the drones with my webifier and guns.

"Dominix tackled. I need help with the tank." The drones didn't hurt me, but tank was not breaking under my meager damage output.

However, there was no response in our corporate communication channels. Everybody was probably busy rebelling against something.

"Anyone?"

My fellow Hothead and later R1FTA-pilot, Tomba, had just plugged in his clone to the channel. "What? Where?"

A few minutes later he was warping in on us in a Thrasher-class destroyer. I was already negotiating terms for a possible ransom, but the battleship pilot was stalling and asking for more time to get the requested 150 million ISK transferred from his brother. Standard procedure would be to kill him as fast as possible because he could be stalling for the sole reason to get his backup rallied. But I accepted the delay for two reasons: First, if he came up with 150 millions in ransom, that would be a new record for me. Second, a newly recruited rebel was also on his way in an Incursus-class frigate, and if my customer failed to show me the money, what better way to welcome a new member than giving his blasters some action?

Sadly for the university student, he could not show me the ISK in time when I offered him the final deadline of 30 seconds. But while we waited, our fresh recruit had arrived the scene and he had brought camera drones with a recording script loaded in his control unit! You can watch the pretty explosion here [Disclaimer: Music might be considered offensive and NSFW].

The fresh rebel prospect sure didn’t apply a lot of damage, but it is the first time I have had such a catch recorded. And the fittings show that my 150 million demand was a quite reasonable one.

All Your Battlecruisers Are Belong To Us

One of my favourite targets when flying frigates, is the battlecruiser class hulls. There are all kinds of tactical challenges to consider when engaging such a beast. And the piloting requires the utmost attention as you will often find yourself attacked by energy neutralizers, hordes of drones or the consistent damage from an extremely well tanked missile boat.

Here are five logged encounters with different battlecruisers:

Hurry up, Hurricane
On a rather boring routine patrol to a dead end system I came across something unusual for this particular system: A Hurricane class vessel was clearing the belts of their local residents. My Firetail managed to eradicate his drones after some very good drone management by the battlecruiser. But when turning my turrets against the hull itself, I met a repair system capable keeping up with my autocannons. So it was a stalemate. Thankfully I had fellow rebels nearby to help finish the job. But what happens? When my helping hands arrive, the battlecruiser’s commanding capsuleer ejects and abandons his crew! After some minor autocannon negotiations with the local belt inhabitants, I park my Firetail in space and eject my own capsule. The crew of the battlecruiser was very happy to pledge allegiance to yours truly, as they had totally lost faith in their former command. Understandable. The Hurricane is now reconfigured for more dirty work and it will be flown as a stolen ship. I guess the crew one day will realize their bad luck, because this hull is destined for death and destruction.

Even You, Brutix?
It seems that capsuleers in dead end systems like to cruise around in battlecruisers looking for battle with local belt inhabitants. This was another case of such behavior. This one, however, thought he was safe as he had chosen an anomaly rather than a belt. The capsuleer quickly contacted me through the local communications channel when I landed my scrambler on his big spaceship: “How did you find me so qickly?!” I explained that this is usual procedures in my line of work while I worked my way through his armor. He also made me an offer I definitely could refuse, before he proceeded to eject from his ship to save his capsule. So far, my quite good battlecruiser skills have been used mostly to board and dock battlecruisers that have been left for me in space.

A Sugar Cane
Oh, this was a sweet one. The pilot looked decent enough, but I was feeling sexy and wanted to test my firetail under medium neutralizers. I sure did get one hell of a test. The complexities of managing capacitor, scrambler, webifier, repair system and and killing drones that get launched and withdrawn all the time - well, that is a very intense experience! But once the drones were gone, the tracking disruptor did an excellent job of keeping my Firetail safe from the medium sized guns. However, it was a decent chance that it would get away if my capacitor was bleeding too much under his neutralizers. It was a game of capacitor management. My nosferatu and I, we won it. Then a few minutes later I tried again on another Hurricane-pilot and lost.

Hurricane Downgraded to Light Breeze
There is something about battlecruisers. They seem to be the most tempting ship for freshly graduated capsuleers. Battle. Cruisers. They sure sound scary. But, when flying a big ship, you need certain skills to do so effectively. And that is an important factor to evaluate when choosing battlecruisers for targets. This pilot stood out as an obvious target – and sure enough, it hardly fought back. Oh, it tried, but couldn’t land a solid hit. So I took it down with ease. In my Rifter. That is a lesson I have given many green pilots. An expensive lesson, but it should be good value for their ISK lost.

To Drake Even
The Drake. It is a beast for a single frigate. You seldom find your capacitor neutralized, but there are two major problems: It will do damage to you. And it has a tank that needs some serious damage – and time – to break. So there is no doubt you’re gonna need an active tank to hold out for a while and decent damage dealing capabilities. The tracking disruptor installed on Firetail-class frigate did not become very useful in this fight (allthough engineers and scientists are apparently working on making it useful against missiles as well). The nosferatu and the armour repairer, however, did their job: Buy time. And after the drones was taken care of, the Drakes shields very slowly withered away. My pulsed repairer managed to keep up with the damage from the heavy missiles. And the nosferatu kept feeding my capacitor with just enough energy for my scrambler the pulsed repair system. Once the Drake’s structure began to crumble, the commanding capsuleer agreed on paying me 66 millions in ISK to avoid a rather embarresing loss. I decided that was a good enough offer and let the burning beast warp away.

Two kills. Two free ships. One ransom. This is why I love battlecruisers.

Zen And The Art Of Spaceship Maintenance

This log entry should in no way be associated with that great body of factual information relating to orthodox Zen Buddhist practice. It's not very factual on spaceships, either. 1)

How do you define quality? Is it merely the temperature of the fluids that surrounds your clone? The level of comfort of your captain’s quarter’s sofa? Or is it your extensive knowledge of the inner workings of your spaceships, turrets and launchers? Might it be the taste of tears from those you aim those very weapons against? Or is it the tranquility of space as you float cloaked through the scenic solar systems in your expensive strategic cruiser?

I have struggled with this. I have always wanted to be good at what I do. But what is good when it comes to shooting other spaceships? Some strive towards ISK efficiency. Others are obsessed about their kill/loss ratio. Some pilots strive for profit in their adventures - and actually manage to pull it off. Certain capsuleers even spend time making graphs on different ammunition's damage output in regards to range and tracking and all that technical stuff. Somehow they even manage to translate that into actual piloting! Others don't like to actually fly their spaceships, but enjoy parking them at a gate, all geared up with sensor boosters, friendly backup and a network of scouts giving early warnings on anything scary.

Myself, I am trying to find a balance. A balance between the technical side of piloting and fitting your ship and the non-technical awareness of threats and opportunities and knowing your spaceship’s capabilities based on experience and feeling. A balance between worrying about statistics and ISK-loss and flying reckless for the greatest adrenaline kick and most spectacular explosions. A balance between good fights, adventure, easy kills and loot.

I am not the greatest when it comes to kill/death ratio or ISK efficiancy or pure number of kills. I don't make the most spectacular kills, and I am not always looking for the honourable good fight. Give me a mining Navitas and I will happily engage! But when I manage to find my balance between all those things, then I am the best pilot in all New Eden. When my hull is burning from a very close encounter, my death to kill ratio is on the positive side, I’ve ransomed a miner and I’ve given a hard lesson to a fresh pilot, then I am the most sexy moustached space bandit that ever terrorized New Eden.

Because it is the balance, my friend, that defines quality.

Have you found your intergalactic moment of Zen?

Intergalactic moment of Zen.

1) Blatant theft from the intro of the ancient terran classic novel “Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance” by Robert M. Pirsig. Oh, did I mention that the title of this log entry also... Oh, you got that? OK. Here is a terran short abstract of the novel. It is a good read, and should be read by many.

Lost In Translation

I am working on some new log entries, but today I just wanted to share this little conversation that took place in my ransom channel after I caught Mr. Arthie sleeping in a Velator in orbit around a planet. I stripped him off his Velator and asked kindly for a donation to keep his pod alive and healthy.

Saftsuze > Hello, Mr. Arthie
Saftsuze > Would you like to pay for keeping your pod alive?
slava Arthie > я не понимаю
Saftsuze > You want to be podded, you say?
slava Arthie > чево хочеш
Saftsuze > Ahh, "shoot me in the face"
Saftsuze > OK, will do.
slava Arthie > придурок
Saftsuze > Never mind, it's my job. But thanks!
slava Arthie > пошол ты нахрен
Saftsuze > Well, that is not standard procedure, but I am sure it could be arranged,
slava Arthie > иди нахуй
Saftsuze > Oh, you naughty boy!
slava Arthie > вали уже отсюда нахер достал

Recommended Scripts for Ancient Terran NeoCom Pocket Device

I have for a long time been using an excellent script called EVE Universe for my treasured Terran Apple iPhone Mark IV. This script is just getting better and better. The fitting tool makes long shuttle trips exciting and I get reports on wallet transactions and skill training and anything else I need to know from my associates. I can check my inbox and I can make basic skill plans. And a lot more.

If you have stumbled upon one of those Terran Apple Devices on your space travels, I highly recommend this script. And should you happen to install it, you should pay some Terran Currency to the maker for an ad free experience and then donate some more. Because he is doing an excellent job on constantly updating the script as New Eden scientists develop new modules, redesign ship blueprints and change fitting requirements.

The script called EVE Universe that I have installed on my Terran Apple iPhone Mark IV. 

Another script I have found myself using more and more, is the EVE Trader. Use this script for associates that are trading and you will not have to do any accounting to track your profitability as it gives you detailed reports. However, if you are using your trader as a shopping assistant for your personal hanger, then the reports will get messed up by items being contracted to yourself, as they will stay logged in the reports as bought, but never sold. So this script works best for your dedicated trading associates that transfers profit to you or a shopping assistant every now and then.

I recently got very inspired by Kirith Darkblades non-trained station trader and recruited one for my third licence in my main Capsuleers Agreement. I gave him 30 million ISK, but no time allocated for training, and after a busy week he was worth more than 60 millions. Having only 5 market orders in total makes it a more interesting and a much more mangable challenge. I like it!

Who you gonna call? THE TUSKERS!

“Apocalypse Navy Issue tackled in Jovainnon Solar System.”

The message to The Tuskers is brief and to the point. Not mentioning my current state of bliss and uncontrollable endorphins. I try my best to act like a cool, cold-blooded killer. Not just some overheated hothead riding rusty Rifters.

Let’s backtrack a little. Two minutes earlier I arrived Jovainnon in my - big surprise - Rifter. It was one of those strange moments when nothing seems to make sense. I had an Apocalypse Navy Issue on my directional scanner. And only two pilots in the local communications channel - except yours truly.

An Apocalypse Navy Issue. In Jovainnon. The single system between Aeschee, home of big scary ships, and Hevrice, home of the notorious and always actively hunting Tuskers. This is not a system you want to bring your most expensive ships without any support. So, I figure, this must be some kind of intricate trap beyond my comprehension. And, usually when I find a single battleship in a low security system, it is on a mission from some dodgy agent. And then I will need to get probes. But, I do what I always do when I find something: I pinpoint it's location with the directional scanner.

It is in a belt. A solo Navy Issue battleship floating all alone in an asteroid belt!

This is where my brain kicks in and starts working. Against me. A Navy Issue Battleship working for CONCORD’s meagre bounties for the local Serpentis? This can’t be true. I smell a rat. I stall. I don’t warp in. Then slowly, my brain starts to work with me. I am next to The Tuskers home. A group of pirates I have locked horns with on many occasions, but also have called in for backup whenever a target of opportunity has appeared. They are bad news, but they can be trusted. I make my communication channel with The Tuskers ready for input, and hurl my Rifter towards the belt. Apocalypse! Now!

There it is. This giant construction, most certainly made by Matari slaves, stationed between the rocks doing CONCORD’s dirty work. I overheat my afterburner and warp scrambler and the blood-rush is like nothing else I’ve felt for a long time.

This is when The Tuskers are informed about the trapped battleship. They respond at once. Within a few seconds, and after a few downed Hobgoblins, I receive an official invite to a Tuskers fleet. I accept and the fleet jumps into system and it all happens so fast that for a moment, that I panic and think I’m in a pod. The damage on my shields has suddenly disappeared from my HUD! And that, for me, usually means my ship has been stripped off my capsule. Well. Not this time. This time, it was actually my first experience of being remotely repaired by a logistics ship. You see... I fly solo.

Then the Tuskers scary looking front-man and public “face”, Suleiman Shouaa, asks me if I want to ransom or kill. They sure live up to their reputation as pirates of honor: They have all the power to do whatever they want with me and the Battleship-pilot, but still they want me to make the decision. I go for the kill. The pod, however, decides to turn down the offered ransom, and in retrospect the demand was a bit too high. But, hey, this guy looked like he had lots of kredits to burn since he was cleaning low sec belts in a Navy Issue. So, the offered ransom was not out of the blue.

The Tuskers public face. Suleiman Shouaa.

Then, a very polite Suleiman Shouaa hauls the loot to the nearest station and contracts me all of it. What a bunch of clean and polite pirates!

So, there you have it. If you ever happen to stumble upon The Tuskers: Treat them with the respect they deserve and you shall be rewarded. This applies whether you are one of their unlucky customers, a fellow pirate of honor or a roaming scumbag scavenger like myself.

I wish the fleet good luck and warp to a safe to cool down and analyze my current situation. This month is turning out to be one of my most ISK efficient months ever. It started with a very big explosion when some fellow pirates of the Molden Heath loop had caught a Thanatos and invited everyone to participate in killing it. I was next door in a bomber and  managed to jump in and get a few volleys of torpedos into its burning hull. Then Alex “Jaguar God” Medvedov caught a Sleipnir but needed more damage to break its tank. I suicided a Rupture against it’s shields and armour and that made the difference and the loot value replaced my ship. And then I found the already mentioned Apocalypse Navy Issue. Add a few assault frigates and a battleship or two to the kill list, and you will understand I am having good times!

My associates are doing a good job with all kinds of endeavours, and even though I am loosing too many ships at the moment, the ISK situation is better than it has ever been before. So maybe it is time to order a stack of Jaguars?

Propaganda

Alekseyev wears the same jacket as me. He got my vote - despite that clean shaven upper lip.

A short log entry. I do not write about politics on this log. But today I docked in a station somewhere in Molden Heath and did what every capsuleer concerned with shooting down other capsuleers should do: I voted for Alekseyev Karrde for CSM7.

Go vote. Then undock.

Culinary Corner: Rectal Skunk Lunch

As a fine dining enthusiast, I must say that gourmet discussions in the local communication channel are always appreciated:

Ravior Letam > eeey... saftsuze... whats up, stupid bitch?
Saftsuze > Just eating my lunch and enjoying the scenery :)
Ravior Letam > Ah really? whats it today? roadkilled skunk up the ass like always?
Saftsuze > Yeah, skunk is a favourite. And of course I eat with my ass. Saves time for digestion.

A few days earlier I disrupted his corporation’s massive mining op in a low sec system. I was in a tiny Firetail, but even their Loki warped to safety behind a force field as I entered system. I blew up 7-8 cans filled with ore before they warped in a Harbinger to the asteroid belt. I figured I had done what could be done, and moved on for some action in another system that had been reported by my fellow Rebels. A bit later I returned to the mining op in a stealth bomber, hoping to snag a Covetor or something similar. But, again, as I entered system, they all gathered behind a force field and then swiftly abandoned system.

That was a short little log entry. Now I'm gonna go and grab some lunch.

Overheat Scram, Receive Bacon

The Rifter makes a hard break at the safe spot. The directional scanner have just given an intriguing analysis of the central cluster of belts. A Retriever class mining barge! Outside the range of CONCORDS cold hands. I have a hunch this one is not carelessly parked within a force field either, since the vessel is named after a rather recently graduated capsuleer - easily identified in the local communications channel. I do what i do and narrow him down to a single belt. In warp my brain starts wandering and I think of all the events since I returned from unconsciousness.

It started off with an episode quite like the one I was in right now. A Hulk made its appearance on my directional scanner and my greedy pirate soul started counting ISK. Sadly, the Rifter I was in was was fit for surprise and lacked the lethal damage output. Not the best thing to tackle a rather well tanked industrial with drone support. But I smelled a possible ransom and warped in on him. That netted me 70 000 000 ISK. Not as much I’d liked, but it was Christmas time and time to show Santasuze I can be nice too! And I did have some trouble breaking his tank, actually, so 70 000 000 ISK and no kill was a lot better than just no kill.

I’m still in warp. Should I ransom the Retriever? No. But lets ransom his pod!

Speaking of pods. I have cursed myself for not remembering to ransom scrammed capsules. There are a lot more expensive implants flying around than I thought. But, ransoming a pod isn’t always easy. A few days ago I had this “conversation” with a gentleman:

Saftsuze > How much would you offer for keeping your pod?
Ithan Evingod > Your rifter and any other ship I ever see you in again.
Saftsuze > I am not sure I understand, Mr. Evindog?
Saftsuze > You don't want to pay me some ISK for staying alive?
Saftsuze > Will I have to collect your frozen corpse instead?
Saftsuze > Conversation takes place when both parties actually says something....
Saftsuze > I guess your cold shoulder hints that you want to offer your frozen corpse for my collection.
Saftsuze > I thank you for your donation to the freezer, Mr. Evindog.

I’m landing in the belt. Retriever is happily mining. I am charging.

Even this easy target gets my blood pumping and gives me a slight taste of that delicious adrenaline rushing through my clone. But not as much as when you are fighting several enemies. A while back, on my way towards Eifer and the hunting grounds of Executive Pirate Extraordinaire, Mr. Kane Rizzell, I found three little Rifters playing outside a station. I figured that this could be a fun little tease. To my surprise they where all just 150 km or so away from the station, probably making insta-undock-bookmarks or something like that. That meant i could easily drag them out from the sentry guns protective area. And so I did, and they all lined up like lambs to the slaughter. Of course I did one of my usual stupid mistakes and podded one of them just inside of the station guns range. Just when I was looking this sexy I go ahead and explode myself. Silly me. But I shrugged it off, picked up another Rifter and went on and shot down the aforementioned Mr. Kane Rizzel. Feeling sexy again! He was kind enough to mention this very close Rifter fight in his excellent log of pirating. I could have sworn I was warping out my pod, instead it turned out to be my Rifter - or more correct: 10 percent of my Rifter.

Speaking of feeling sexy. I've had a very exciting mail arrive in my inbox! I am getting used to the compliments on my very handsome moustache - I mean, that is to be expected - but they are mostly from men. Funny, that in such a homophobic universe, where “gay” and “faggot” seems to be the most prominent term of abuse, I do get a lot of compliments from other men on my looks. But, I digress: A few weeks back I got an eve-mail sent to me and my CEO, Mr. Bull, that took me by surprise: It was fan mail! From girls in bikinis! Well, it might very well be male capsuleers dressed in bikinis, considering the observation above. But, I don’t really care for sexual orientation or cross dressing preferances: As long as I have actually inspired someone out there to live the only true life of freedom, then I am one happy outlaw solo pilot. So, please go visit those bikini girls and encourage their lifestyle - regardless of your prejudice about cross dressing - hey, they might even be real girls! I have recently been notified about the existence of TWO female Rebels that is not to be considered cross dressing male capsuleers. TWO real girl rebels!

Now, focus! I'm shooting down a mining barge! I guess I got a bit distracted by all this retrospective analysis, because the pod gets away! Damn, I was gonna ransom that pod! While picking up the loot I notice a jettisoned cargo container. A quick peek reveals ore for about 4 million ISK on the current regional market. This guy will come back. He does. Sadly, not in a hauler, but I got the pod and it was released for a very reasonable ransom.

I haul my loot to my safe spot and kick back to wait out the criminal countdown. I'm checking the Rebels communications channel for news, when I hear a strange noise. I think the directional scanner actually made a gasping sound as it revealed the latest result of a 360 degree full range scan: A battlecruiser of the Hurricane class, named after the pilot I had just released from my warp scrambler! A miner hellbent on revenge! My Rifter is already in warp and I preheat my scram, I want to make sure I catch this ‘cane. And so I do. But there is one thing I don’t do: Turn off the overheating of my scrambler. Doing lots of stupid stuff myself, I can easily confirm that the following strategy works: Always bet on stupid! So I play it cool with the no longer scrambled Hurricane:

MetallStill Beddelver > I want to save my hurricane.
Saftsuze > That is gonna be slightly more expensive.
Saftsuze > How much do you have to offer?
MetallStill Beddelver > 11 kk?
Saftsuze > 11 mill?
MetallStill Beddelver > Yes.
Saftsuze > OK, same procedure as last time.

If you don’t have a scram, just remember you can always scam!