Monday, November 30, 2009

Damn Pod. (Chainer Inspired Fiction Contest #1)

  • Artist: David Bowie
  • Song: Space Oddity

Damn Pod.

These things get pretty gross when you are floating for days at a time, despite the best nano-bot grooming scripts. I could blame the wormhole. I could blame the deadly Loki-Proteus combination. I could blame my chicken shit corp-mate for doing the sensible thing and getting out of dodge when the Proteus opened fire with some hardcore blasters while we were scouting new anomalies. Being caught in a daydream before the warning klaxons signaled the rapid demise of my shields certainly didn't help.

Most of all, I blame the implants. They are the harbingers of my mediocrity, the sirens of my insufficient self worth. I may not have been graced with amazing smarts or reaction times, but technology now offers a seductive chance at augmentation. A push towards self-realization. One may now rise above the mean and attain great advantages that can give a useful edge in this immortal life.

Of course, the edge does not come without a price. Getting ahead on a personal level requires parting with some serious cold, hard ISK. Finding the goods without paying Jita sucker prices is also an adventure. Dealing with the Serpentis is always potentially unpleasant as they are nothing if not opportunistic thieves. The booster trade likely helps lead to such a grim perspective. My Syndicate agent was able to negotiate a marginally decent price when I decided to go down the cybernetic road of Snake augmentation to complement my already maximally boosted brain.

That ISK and trouble has led me to be stranded in this forsaken wormhole for two mind-numbing weeks. Once the Loki gave up trying to scan down my pod pinging back and forth between safes, I have been alone in this dark place. With thoughts and pod goo as my only companions. Yes, I could self destruct and get back to Empire in a fresh clone. Sadly, due to some recent smuggling mishaps I cannot afford to replace my implants at this juncture. I am stuck.

I formulate a plan. I will bribe the next wormhole visitor I can find on my directional for a link out of this nasty Sleeper infested space. I will not mention the great value of hardware in my body. I will act stupid. "Gosh, I just got podded by a Sleeper drone earlier today! Can you help me out of here. I have some ISK saved up. I'll pay you 20 million now and 20 in K-space. Wow, those Sleepers are mean!" Hopefully my sanity will remain intact long enough to retain some of the intuition and guile that have served me well all these years of piloting to find a suitable mark and weasel my way out of here in one piece.


I just know someone will come through soon. Just one more day. Surely I can last one more day.

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