There is a beautiful sunset on Gallente Prime as a red sun dips beneath the golden horizon, but unfortunately the smog in the city blocks most of it from view. The light that makes it through the cloud of pollution is convoluted and ugly, casting twisted shadows everywhere.
Deep within the city, a group of friends drunkenly stumbles out of some cheap, dirty bar, drawing concerned looks from the other pedestrians as they yell obscenities at anyone who stares a moment too long.
“Fuckin' Caldari bastards,” one of them shouts, “Can't be placated for stuff most of 'em can't even remember! Hell, I don't remember persecuting 'em! Fuckers invading our space, blaming us, after we try to make 'em happy, after Crielere, after fuckin' Nouvelle Rouvenor, how is it still our fault?”
Another raises his half-empty bottle, mumbling, “How was it ever our fault?”
The only woman in the group raises her hands. “Look-look,” she slurs, “It's like this, right? We, Gallentians, as a race, right? We exploited, their, uh, wallets, back while we were still colonizing systems. We got the money, right? 'Course they're bitter! They got a long racial memory or something. And then, and then, bombing Caldari Prime was a little overboard, even after Nouvelle Rouvenor.”
The shouting one looks at her. “CONCORD was keeping the peace until those bastards decided to start shit! Man, you sound like a sympathizer to me!”
The only response he gets is a slap to the face.
-
As the group tours the city, the pack gets smaller and smaller as individuals break off for home. Finally, there are only two people left: the woman and the man she smacked, her roommate. As they move up towards the entryway to their apartment, he leans on her and chuckles. “Man, you hit hard, Steb! Go boxing or something!”
She giggles. “I do, you damned idiot.”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot. You're so small, how the hell do you box?”
She punches him squarely on the shoulder as he unlocks the door.
“Motherf—well, that's as good as any explanation.”
She giggles again.
As they stumble into the living room, he looks contemplative.
“No, seriously though, and don't slap me,” he says, grinning, “this Caldari shit is messed up. I got a plan to finish it. Just you wait. This is genius.”
-
The light of morning shining through the window wakes her.
Her head is throbbing. She groans as she rolls over, and makes herself stand. Stumbling to the bathroom door, she knocks and says, “anyone in there?”
“Yeah, just a second.”
The door opens and he steps out. She walks in, closes the door, and turns on the shower. After a few seconds, she looks back at the entryway.
“Hey,” she says, “you still there?”
“Yeah, I'm still here,” her roommate says through the door. “What's up?”
“Last night, you said something weird—something about a way to end the Caldari.”
There's a pause.
“Uh. I said that?” he says. He sounds nervous.
“Yeah.”
“Well, uh, yeah, I guess there's a plan.”
Another pause.
“So? Go on.”
“You're not gonna approve.”
“I don't approve of most of what you do anyway.”
“Uh, okay, well, I got myself a shuttle.”
“A shuttle? That's damned expensive, Stefan. Where'd you get a shuttle?”
“Capsuleer.”
She freezes. “A capsuleer. Okay. What's so great about this shuttle?”
“It's... rigged.”
“I work with capsuleer shit all the time, Stefan, and I know that shuttles don't have rig slots. What the fuck's so great about this shuttle?”
No response.
“Stefan, if you don't tell me right now, I swear to God I will shove a--”
“It's rigged with shitload of explosives.”
She starts coughing. “Oh—oh my God, Stefan, what the hell?”
“Enough to kill a Titan if it's detonated from within.”
She flings the door open. “What? Are you crazy?”
He looks defensive. “Look, there's a Leviathan hanging over the heads of every Federal citizen on Caldari Prime, and it's only right that--”
“That what? You propagate an international incident? That you risk the life of every living thing in the Luminaire system? Oh my God, Stefan, there are so many things wrong with that...”
“No—no, look, if this works, this will end the war. It will scare the Caldari! We'll win, we'll have fought back, we'll have--”
“No,” she grunts, “you'll have killed millions. Besides, since when can a shuttle pack enough explosive to kill a Titan?”
“He says they're a special type of explosive, some sort of prototype.”
“Oh, really? And assuming he wasn't talking out his ass, since when does a Titan let any old passerby dock up?”
“The capsuleer was in the Protectorate,” he says, thrusting out his chest. “He's got access codes, he knows how to dock there.”
She snorts. “The Protectorate. Oh, well, I guess that's all fine and dandy then, considering what an integral part of the Caldari Navy the Protectorate is! You really think that your capsuleer has 'access codes'? You think so?”
“Hey, why would he lie?” he protests. “He's got better things to do than get some civilian to kill himself.”
She laughs. “You think so? This is what they do for fun. This is what they do when they're bored.”
“But then why would he dump money into this? The shuttle? The explosives?”
She walks to him and grabs his shirt. He tries to shrug her off, but she shoves him into the wall, and says, “A shuttle costs, what? Twenty, thirty thousand ISK? To me and you, that's a few weeks worth of work to make the equivalent. To any capsuleer worth half his shit, a month is enough time to make tens, even hundreds of millions! Hell, a capsuleer who's just starting out can make twenty thousand within 20 minutes of entering his pod for the very first time! That shuttle means absolutely nothing to your capsuleer. I wouldn't be surprised if it had no explosives to speak of.”
He pushes her away. “You jealous bitch, you just wish he had come to you.”
She looks at him sadly. “You stupid bastard, I'm trying to save your life.”
She walks back into the bathroom and closes the door. “I'm taking a shower now.”
-
She's been scanning the obituaries for two weeks now, ever since he disappeared. She's starting to wonder if it's been covered up, but today, she sees it.
Stefan Richards
6 May, 87 – 3 November, 112
Died in a salvaging accident in orbit around Gallente Prime as his oxygen tank malfunctioned. He will be missed.
She chuckles quietly. Stefan had been an accountant.
