29 March 2009

EVE Blog Banter #6: The Hand of Bob

This month's topic comes... from me! I suggested to "write a short fiction story about the dissolution of the BoB alliance. It could be from BoB's point of view, the Goons', by neutrals in 0.0, civilians in Empire, NPCs or even rats. Write about before, during or after the coup; give us stories of market, war, people or love. In-character or roleplay. We want to know what happened, from those fictional characters that, in your mind, were part of it."

Somewhere in Delve.

Sam leaned against the door and rested for a second.

So this is what a coup looks like.

She was hurt and was bleeding. She knew she would not go too far, not without her equipment... but she had gone far enough already. She knew she could not make it out alive.

But now, she could at least get out.


Nine hours earlier

Bob security was tight, as always. The Bob Security Force ran the station like their own personal fiefdom and pretty much ignoring the regulars living there. Each and every little one of those goose-stepping twerps apparently had a better right to anything than a civilian, capsuleer or not. A flash of ID and that was it. Cutting in line at the bakery. Getting shuttle tickets and bumping someone off; or maybe just bumping someone off just for fun. They were always right about traffic disputes, they had the right to stop you for a spot search, they had the right to be judge, jury and if you were unlucky or stupid, your executioner.

Only, they had no right. None, whatsoever.

The day had started uneventfully as usual. Max had gone a couple of hours earlier than usual to work, looking worried. They had still had breakfast together, he had brought in a nice selection of rolls and coffee, chatted about nothing. He had mentioned putting off vacation for later. Station bills. Mining upgrades. Moving the medclones.

Yes, some corp had made a mistake and the medclones ended up in Detorid. That would need to be fixed.

"Detorid," he had repeated, looking straight at her, "what a screw-up."

The kiss has been unusual, a good-bye kiss. Not a see-you-later peck.

Of course Samantha knew Max was GIA. A 'Goonpany Man'. They had met a long time ago and, well, you don't really choose who you fall for. They shared many things, including being both miners. Mining. The thing was so far away of spying, in most people's minds, that most spies tended to pose as miners.

She was not into his part of the plan, but from her own she knew what was about to happen. Now, for him to mention the clones, his part would have to be risky.


The noise had started a couple of hours before noon. Distant explosions and then the sound, how to describe it, the sound of something big. Industrial, yet more alive than robotic, of shouting orders, of stuff melting at random, of vehicles, and crashing and the odd... scream? Then the PA system started giving orders to everyone, stay inside and do not venture out into public places, but was quickly silenced.

Shortly after noon the PA came back.

It was Max's voice.

"This outpost and all inside are now under the protection of the Goonswarm. BoB forces must lay down their arms now, or face lethal force. All non-combatant civilians should get to a safe place as soon as possible and away from resisting forces."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. That was it, something had gone wrong and they would come for her now. She stopped what she was doing and ordered her people out, they had done their part already. Time to go.

It was the last time she heard Max's voice.


The in-station BSF corps was ruthless and efficient. They were far better trained and equipped than whoever was staging the revolt: heavy energy weapons, armoured cars, riot-control gear and, of course, no qualms.

They had lost comms, PA, and had seen sovereignty-control systems blown up by mining explosives; they retained control over environment and surveillance. They quickly overcame some of the harder pockets by venting into space or just incinerating everything in the troublesome sections.

After that they were still outnumbered but blasting away at some poorly-armed station peasants -shooting at "tee zeros"- was not nearly as challenging as the fight in space.

BoB would have this station back, whatever the cost.

And then, they would make an example of the leaders.


The BSF Lieutenant shouted orders to the fire team. They had tracked the woman from sovereignty all the way to the flight deck. A sniper had almost bagged her on the way -it would have been easier if the orders were to kill- but now he was confident.

She was surrounded.

All in-station exits were blocked, dock doors were closed, ships were still being offlined, starting with those she could fly, and nothing would be there by the time she arrived. The breach team was on its way. Somehow, the stupid little wench had thought she would be safe in a pod.


Sam felt the gantry stop as her pod was being moved. Not that it mattered. She had a way out... she wished she was dead.


"Sir! Gantry stopped, working on override to bring pod back in five minutes. All frequencies jammed except for emergency & CONCORD transmissions and alliance-approved..."

The Lieutenant cut him short "Jam everything you RETARD! This is damn Bobspace, not a CONCORD-owned sissy Empire vacation resort! WE RULE THIS PLACE. Now go and do you job, you moron, before I have your ass airlocked, understood?"

The Sergeant saluted and went back to his war station. Arrogance was par for the course; the hand of BoB was supposed to be harsh, but fair. On the outside, he was as diligent and professional as ever; on the inside he could not avoid flinching at the cursing. He hesitated for a few seconds.

He reported back "Initiated, full jam will be effective in..." and then he belched as the wind suddenly picked up.


As its self-destruct sequence completed, the pod exploded. As it happened, the gantry had stopped in the middle of two compartments; the explosion damaged the bulkhead in between and exposed both sections to space.

The lucky ones went quickly. The less fortunate would have to recover from a severe case of decompression bends.

Samantha was very, very lucky.


"Dude, that was awesome. Welcome to Detorid."

Sam opened her eyes and focused on the man debriefing her. It had been years since she had been to this part of the cluster. She was not used to this way of talking, nor the accent. Nor to the smells -every station, every world has its own distinct smells and air quality, reminiscing of... nothing she could remember in this case.

The man went on "I mean, Sovereignty four is off and you guys totally owned that outpost. Huh, huh, BOB is so lame that this is happening all over their space..." he went on rambling.

Sam tuned him out. She noticed a couple of others close by in the medclone facility, nodding and grunting approval. She wondered whether handing Bob over to these people had been a such good idea after all.

She looked around the facility and found Max's clone, unused.

Oh, sweetie, at least you will not have to worry about that, she thought, smiling sadly.


- Speed Fairy, The Hand of BoB
- CrazyKinux's Musing, No where to go...
- A Mule in EVE, Rolling to the Warzone
- The Ralpha Dogs, Two Tales of Glory and Honor
- One Man and his Spaceship, Times they are changing
- OZ's House of the Evil Dead, Every betrayal contains a perfect moment, a coin stamped heads or tails with salvation on the other side
- The Wandering Druid of Tranquility, Who the Hell are They?....
- I am Keith Nielson, He Gave Up the Stars

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