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Amarula
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Posted - 2004.10.18 23:51:00 -
[1]
Edited by: Amarula on 19/10/2004 00:04:51
A story of a member of the Marula tribe...
æThis is a war of unknown warriors; but let all strive without failing in faith or in duty...Æ
Transtellar Shipping Storage Station, above Orduin II-1
Amarula settled down into one of the chairs placed next to the barÆs only viewport, the tobacco-stick in her mouth slow burning. The planetÆs single moon was a silver-grey disk against the darkness of space, and beyond it was the muted orange of Orduin II itself, a sparsely populated barren world whoÆs only redeeming feature was a planetary mine where Minmatar workers, paid this time, would mine the iron ore that the planet was apparently rich with. Such work never interested her, mining wasnÆt exactly a thrilling business to be involved in, and like most of her tribe, she was a thrill-seeker.
The Marula tribe werenÆt exactly a well-known tribe. The tribe were mostly thrill-seekers, always looking for fun in many corners of the galaxy, whether they were involved combat, gambling, or indeed the more æeroticÆ elements of civilised society. Amarula herself had started her life as a dancer on Pator, perfecting the art of the famous æMarulan Table DanceÆ, so as to fund her courses in the military school at Ryddinjorn. Her father was a Sebiestor freighter pilot, and having flown with him on several freighter runs, she wanted to spread her wings as well, but in a more combative role, since now that pods were become a more natural method of ship-flight, and with the recent advancements in cloning, death was no longer something to be fearful about.
ThatÆs why the Eve-Radio Army suited her at first. There was something particularly exciting about being with a bunch of suicidal maniacs, most of them in basic frigates such as Velators and Reapers, as they all charged into 0.0 space in the vain hope of attacking cruisers and battleships with civilian weaponry, their only return being a cold awakening in the ectoplasm of the cloning vats. All too often though, none of them would ever succeed in damaging a battleship let alone destroying one, and despite the temporary comradeship that existed in battle, she would wake up naked as the day she was born, barely remembering what happened, saying nothing to anyone who happened to wake up alongside her. What went up, would inevitably come downàand downàand downàThe thrill was like a drug. The combat gave her a great high, but the after effects caused by the inevitable death destroyed what thrill she had gained. Was thrill seeking really so great as her tribe deemed it to be?
She had given up the ERA long ago. Combat missions were few, and her lack of skills (no skill-training allowed her to use basic cloning without any payment required every time she died) meant that she wasnÆt suited to combat just yet. She worked mainly as a hauler, earning enough to buy a Vigil frigate and a Hoarder industrial. But she wanted something more than just ships and cargo. The Marula blood in her wanted to stirà
Her thoughts were interrupted as a small flare brightened to her right.
An explosion?
She turned her head to the right. A duel was taking place. Her keen eyes allowed her to watch as the two combatants, both frigates, twisted and turned as they orbited each other like dragons, their contrails making circular, twisted patterns among the blackness of space. An Inquisitor, and a Rifter.
AmarulaÆs eyes narrowed as she saw something gleam on one of the RifterÆs æwingsÆ. A gold ring, with a red dot in the centre.
ThatÆs not navy...
By now, there were others who had dashed to the view port to watch the spectacle, mainly consisting of Minmatar and Gallente, whilst some Caldari started taking bets on the winner of the battle. The single Amarr in the bar sat seemingly uninterested as his young Minmatar companion, obviously a slave though she did her best to hide it, served his drink.
Amarula had noticed him earlier, an Amarr amongst many Minmatar and Gallente, oblivious to the stares of hatred and spite coming from the Matari crowd as he walked in with his slave. The rules on the Gallente were clear though, if anyone started any kind of violence, the barman would be on them with the barrel of the shot-blaster.
The girl was young, barely a teenager. What kind of service the girl gave her master, Amarula didnÆt even dare to think. Amarula wasnÆt exactly æpureÆ herself, but she would never stoop to the level of pleasuring an Amarrian. She bore no love for the once-masters of the Minmatar, but neither would she take arms against them either. Not at the moment anyway...
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Amarula
|
Posted - 2004.10.18 23:51:00 -
[2]
Edited by: Amarula on 19/10/2004 00:04:51
A story of a member of the Marula tribe...
æThis is a war of unknown warriors; but let all strive without failing in faith or in duty...Æ
Transtellar Shipping Storage Station, above Orduin II-1
Amarula settled down into one of the chairs placed next to the barÆs only viewport, the tobacco-stick in her mouth slow burning. The planetÆs single moon was a silver-grey disk against the darkness of space, and beyond it was the muted orange of Orduin II itself, a sparsely populated barren world whoÆs only redeeming feature was a planetary mine where Minmatar workers, paid this time, would mine the iron ore that the planet was apparently rich with. Such work never interested her, mining wasnÆt exactly a thrilling business to be involved in, and like most of her tribe, she was a thrill-seeker.
The Marula tribe werenÆt exactly a well-known tribe. The tribe were mostly thrill-seekers, always looking for fun in many corners of the galaxy, whether they were involved combat, gambling, or indeed the more æeroticÆ elements of civilised society. Amarula herself had started her life as a dancer on Pator, perfecting the art of the famous æMarulan Table DanceÆ, so as to fund her courses in the military school at Ryddinjorn. Her father was a Sebiestor freighter pilot, and having flown with him on several freighter runs, she wanted to spread her wings as well, but in a more combative role, since now that pods were become a more natural method of ship-flight, and with the recent advancements in cloning, death was no longer something to be fearful about.
ThatÆs why the Eve-Radio Army suited her at first. There was something particularly exciting about being with a bunch of suicidal maniacs, most of them in basic frigates such as Velators and Reapers, as they all charged into 0.0 space in the vain hope of attacking cruisers and battleships with civilian weaponry, their only return being a cold awakening in the ectoplasm of the cloning vats. All too often though, none of them would ever succeed in damaging a battleship let alone destroying one, and despite the temporary comradeship that existed in battle, she would wake up naked as the day she was born, barely remembering what happened, saying nothing to anyone who happened to wake up alongside her. What went up, would inevitably come downàand downàand downàThe thrill was like a drug. The combat gave her a great high, but the after effects caused by the inevitable death destroyed what thrill she had gained. Was thrill seeking really so great as her tribe deemed it to be?
She had given up the ERA long ago. Combat missions were few, and her lack of skills (no skill-training allowed her to use basic cloning without any payment required every time she died) meant that she wasnÆt suited to combat just yet. She worked mainly as a hauler, earning enough to buy a Vigil frigate and a Hoarder industrial. But she wanted something more than just ships and cargo. The Marula blood in her wanted to stirà
Her thoughts were interrupted as a small flare brightened to her right.
An explosion?
She turned her head to the right. A duel was taking place. Her keen eyes allowed her to watch as the two combatants, both frigates, twisted and turned as they orbited each other like dragons, their contrails making circular, twisted patterns among the blackness of space. An Inquisitor, and a Rifter.
AmarulaÆs eyes narrowed as she saw something gleam on one of the RifterÆs æwingsÆ. A gold ring, with a red dot in the centre.
ThatÆs not navy...
By now, there were others who had dashed to the view port to watch the spectacle, mainly consisting of Minmatar and Gallente, whilst some Caldari started taking bets on the winner of the battle. The single Amarr in the bar sat seemingly uninterested as his young Minmatar companion, obviously a slave though she did her best to hide it, served his drink.
Amarula had noticed him earlier, an Amarr amongst many Minmatar and Gallente, oblivious to the stares of hatred and spite coming from the Matari crowd as he walked in with his slave. The rules on the Gallente were clear though, if anyone started any kind of violence, the barman would be on them with the barrel of the shot-blaster.
The girl was young, barely a teenager. What kind of service the girl gave her master, Amarula didnÆt even dare to think. Amarula wasnÆt exactly æpureÆ herself, but she would never stoop to the level of pleasuring an Amarrian. She bore no love for the once-masters of the Minmatar, but neither would she take arms against them either. Not at the moment anyway...
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Amarula
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Posted - 2004.10.18 23:54:00 -
[3]
She turned to watch the battle intently. The MasuatÆaa pilot in the Rifter flew sharply over the slower Merlin as it aimed its howitzers to bear on the AmarrÆs armour, the shields having gone out from the flameburst missiles launched from its solitary missile launcher, as the Inquisitor tried to fire volley after volley of its own missiles whilst firing itÆs two solitary lasers against the Rifter. Each beam narrowly missed the Rifter as the turrets tried their best to aim against the Rifter, who sped away as if he was running from the ship, but soon turned to face the enemy. Finally, the Rifter fired all six howitzers and its missile launcher, the fusion rounds peeling off the Amarr shipÆs armour until the flameburst finally slammed into the hull, causing a chain reaction in the Amarr shipÆs Fusion thrusters as its anti-matter drive started to rupture. The ship finally exploded in a solitary flare, leaving only the little pod that warped out before the Minmatar ship could fire the killing blow..
The crowed on the station was a mixture of cheers from the Minmatar, applause from the Gallente, and a mixture of grunts of pleasure and disappointment from the Caldari as the ISK was transferred from one hand to another. The lone Amarr got up and walked away from the bar unnoticed by the rest of the patrons, the slave following him outside.
Amarula smiled as she saw the lone Rifter, performing a victory roll to the delight of the crowd. He had deserved the victory tonight. She veered away from the viewport and stood up to leave the party behindà
It was a freedom fighter, it had to beà
Amarula looked deep in thought as she walked down the station corridor towards her Hoarder. Most of the station residents were asleep in their homes, the only noise being the quiet chirps of the station adverts in the station-city below. Amarula liked Gallente stations, the Marula tribe were often joked to have the GallenteÆs spirit of fun within them (or in some peopleÆs minds, the Gallente decadence), and she felt that was true, in some fashion. The Gallente were free to enjoy life in however way they wanted, and to Amarula, that was something the citizens of the Minmatar Republic were fortunate to obtain, after several centuries of enslavement, it was nice for the Minmatar to obtain some semblance of becoming a free spirit again. But was she herself truly a free spirit?
She thought of the Minmatar slave girl, bound to the service of the Amarr. At least Amarula was more of a free spirit than her, the freedom to think and fend for yourself was beyond the reach of that girl. It was slaves like her that the freedom fighters were sworn to free from the clutches of Amarrian slavery. But Amarula did not belong to that life. The Marula tribe was large unnoticed by the Amarr, being as small and well hidden as it was, and wasnÆt particularly involved in Matari affairs. The Marulans were able to provide shelter for those fortunate enough to escape the slave-farms and the collectors of the Amarr, and that was enough praise for them. She wished she could help the poor girl run away, but there wasnÆt anything that could be done. Perhaps one day the girl would be freed, but for now, fate had chosen her pathà
She suddenly stopped thinking and looked at the area around her. She had taken a wrong path. Somewhere in her deep thought, she had taken a wrong turn and ended up in the middle of no-where, just a small residential district in the middle of the station.
She headed towards her ship, concentrating on making sure sheÆd get to the hangar before she could retain her train of thought. ThatÆs when time stopped.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the scream. It was an awful, shrill sound, like someone looking at Death himself before his pod *****ed. Her intelligent brain processed the information, and she suddenly found that her personal automatic pistol, which all pilots carried and like most Minmatar weaponry, was projectile-based, was in her hands, just in front of her sternum, pointed up into the sky, but in her hands even so, just like she was trained back at the Republic Military school.
The scream had originated from the house she was standing in front of. It was a basic residential bloc-house that people, mainly Amarr, sometimes rented when they visited the station on long-term trips. The front door was partly clear plexi-glass for the occupant to see outside, but also allowed the people outside to look in. Looking through the glass she could see what seemed to be a corridor, leading left to the kitchen and right to a bathroom. A gold plated toilet and a sink were all that was visible from this perspective.The door was slightly ajar, obviously the occupant hadnÆt bothered to close it behind him...
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Amarula
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Posted - 2004.10.18 23:54:00 -
[4]
Edited by: Amarula on 19/10/2004 00:01:49
She wondered if she should enter the house. Security might come along any minute, and would wonder why a Minmatar pilot would be here carrying a gun. But she decided that something had happened here, and she had to see what. She pushed the door open quietly and slipped in as stealthily as she could manage. A red carpet leading down the corridor. She headed that way, gun up, senses sandpapered to ultimate alertness. As she moved, the angles of vision changed. The kitchen became invisible, but she could see into the bathroom betterà
The Minmatar slave-girl was in the bathtub, naked, china blue eyes wide open, and her throat cut from ear to ear, with a whole bodyÆs supply of blood covering her almost flat chest and the sides of the tub. So violently had her neck been slashed that it lay open like a second mouth.
Strangely, Amarula didnÆt react physically. Her eyes recorded the image, and any thought of reaction was cleared from her mind, as all she could think about was the man, the Amarr, whoÆd done it was alive, and just a few feet away. She realised that there was noise coming from left and ahead. The living room. A holo-viewer. The Amarr would be in there. Might there be a second one? She didnÆt have time for that, nor did she particularly care at the moment.
Slowly, carefully, she edged forward and peeked round the corner. There he was, the bald-headed Amarr, watching the holo-viewer with mild attentionûit was a horror film, the scream probably came from thatûand sipping wine. His face was content and in no way aroused. HeÆd probably been through that, Amarula thought. And right in front of herûMartyrs of Matar!ûwas a ceremonial knife. A bloody one. On the coffee table.
YouÆre not going to live. Not after what youÆve done, slaver!
Slaver. That word was spoken by the freedom fighters. Why she spoke that word in her mind, she didnÆt know, and didnÆt particularly care. The thought entered AmarulaÆs mind seemingly of her own accord. Her right thumb pulled back the spurless hammer until it clicked into place, putting her side arm fully in bettery. Her hands, she noted briefly, felt like ice.
Just at the corner, where you turned left to enter the room, was a pillar, with a sky-blue vase on top, obviously for decoration. Slowly, carefully, Amarula raised her leg, then kicked the table over. The ceramic vase shattered loudly on the wooden floor. The Amarr started violently, and turned to see an unexpected visitor in his house. His defensive response was instinctive rather than reasonedûhe grabbed the knife on the table. Amarula didnÆt even smile, though she knew that the slaver had made the final mistake of his life. At the RMS, it is regarded as a gospel that anyone, especially an Amarr, that approaches a Minmatar within less than twenty-one feet with a weapon such as a dagger is an immediate and lethal threat. He even started to rise to his feet.
But he never made it.
AmarulaÆs finger depressed the trigger of her pistol, sending the first projectile straight through his heart. Two more followed in less than a second. His white robes blossoming red, he looked down at his chest, then up at Amarula, total surprise on his face, and then he sat back down, without speaking a word or crying out in pain.
Amarula lowered the gun in her hands, scarcely breathing, waiting for something to happen. After what felt like minutes, she sighed relief. If there was someone else in the house, he or she wouldÆve attacked her by now.
She took another look at the slaver. The eyes were still open. But Amarula had shot true.
She sat down on a nearby chair and dropped her gun, hands visibly shaking. Questions flurried through her mind. What the hell just happened? What, exactly, had she just done? Why did the Amarr just kill his slave just like that? Was it his way of revenge against the destruction of the Inquisitor in the battle just moments ago? Amarula probably wouldnÆt know, but the whispering part of her mind told her that she felt no regret at all. At least not for the Amarr. For the slave-girlûtoo damned late. An hour sooner? Maybe even a half hour? How would she have known what was happening? The slave girl was now free, but only in death. She would now never have a name, never be free to live her own life. And so Amarula, thrill-seeker of the Marula tribe felt no remorse at all. Just regret for being too slow.
æSecurity! Drop your weapons!Æ
AmarulaÆs eyes moved to the side. Security had come quicker than expected. The weapon discharge sensors would have detected the shots of her pistol.
æIÆm in here.Æ
---------------
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Amarula
|
Posted - 2004.10.18 23:54:00 -
[5]
Edited by: Amarula on 19/10/2004 00:01:49
She wondered if she should enter the house. Security might come along any minute, and would wonder why a Minmatar pilot would be here carrying a gun. But she decided that something had happened here, and she had to see what. She pushed the door open quietly and slipped in as stealthily as she could manage. A red carpet leading down the corridor. She headed that way, gun up, senses sandpapered to ultimate alertness. As she moved, the angles of vision changed. The kitchen became invisible, but she could see into the bathroom betterà
The Minmatar slave-girl was in the bathtub, naked, china blue eyes wide open, and her throat cut from ear to ear, with a whole bodyÆs supply of blood covering her almost flat chest and the sides of the tub. So violently had her neck been slashed that it lay open like a second mouth.
Strangely, Amarula didnÆt react physically. Her eyes recorded the image, and any thought of reaction was cleared from her mind, as all she could think about was the man, the Amarr, whoÆd done it was alive, and just a few feet away. She realised that there was noise coming from left and ahead. The living room. A holo-viewer. The Amarr would be in there. Might there be a second one? She didnÆt have time for that, nor did she particularly care at the moment.
Slowly, carefully, she edged forward and peeked round the corner. There he was, the bald-headed Amarr, watching the holo-viewer with mild attentionûit was a horror film, the scream probably came from thatûand sipping wine. His face was content and in no way aroused. HeÆd probably been through that, Amarula thought. And right in front of herûMartyrs of Matar!ûwas a ceremonial knife. A bloody one. On the coffee table.
YouÆre not going to live. Not after what youÆve done, slaver!
Slaver. That word was spoken by the freedom fighters. Why she spoke that word in her mind, she didnÆt know, and didnÆt particularly care. The thought entered AmarulaÆs mind seemingly of her own accord. Her right thumb pulled back the spurless hammer until it clicked into place, putting her side arm fully in bettery. Her hands, she noted briefly, felt like ice.
Just at the corner, where you turned left to enter the room, was a pillar, with a sky-blue vase on top, obviously for decoration. Slowly, carefully, Amarula raised her leg, then kicked the table over. The ceramic vase shattered loudly on the wooden floor. The Amarr started violently, and turned to see an unexpected visitor in his house. His defensive response was instinctive rather than reasonedûhe grabbed the knife on the table. Amarula didnÆt even smile, though she knew that the slaver had made the final mistake of his life. At the RMS, it is regarded as a gospel that anyone, especially an Amarr, that approaches a Minmatar within less than twenty-one feet with a weapon such as a dagger is an immediate and lethal threat. He even started to rise to his feet.
But he never made it.
AmarulaÆs finger depressed the trigger of her pistol, sending the first projectile straight through his heart. Two more followed in less than a second. His white robes blossoming red, he looked down at his chest, then up at Amarula, total surprise on his face, and then he sat back down, without speaking a word or crying out in pain.
Amarula lowered the gun in her hands, scarcely breathing, waiting for something to happen. After what felt like minutes, she sighed relief. If there was someone else in the house, he or she wouldÆve attacked her by now.
She took another look at the slaver. The eyes were still open. But Amarula had shot true.
She sat down on a nearby chair and dropped her gun, hands visibly shaking. Questions flurried through her mind. What the hell just happened? What, exactly, had she just done? Why did the Amarr just kill his slave just like that? Was it his way of revenge against the destruction of the Inquisitor in the battle just moments ago? Amarula probably wouldnÆt know, but the whispering part of her mind told her that she felt no regret at all. At least not for the Amarr. For the slave-girlûtoo damned late. An hour sooner? Maybe even a half hour? How would she have known what was happening? The slave girl was now free, but only in death. She would now never have a name, never be free to live her own life. And so Amarula, thrill-seeker of the Marula tribe felt no remorse at all. Just regret for being too slow.
æSecurity! Drop your weapons!Æ
AmarulaÆs eyes moved to the side. Security had come quicker than expected. The weapon discharge sensors would have detected the shots of her pistol.
æIÆm in here.Æ
---------------
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Amarula
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Posted - 2004.10.18 23:54:00 -
[6]
She turned to watch the battle intently. The MasuatÆaa pilot in the Rifter flew sharply over the slower Merlin as it aimed its howitzers to bear on the AmarrÆs armour, the shields having gone out from the flameburst missiles launched from its solitary missile launcher, as the Inquisitor tried to fire volley after volley of its own missiles whilst firing itÆs two solitary lasers against the Rifter. Each beam narrowly missed the Rifter as the turrets tried their best to aim against the Rifter, who sped away as if he was running from the ship, but soon turned to face the enemy. Finally, the Rifter fired all six howitzers and its missile launcher, the fusion rounds peeling off the Amarr shipÆs armour until the flameburst finally slammed into the hull, causing a chain reaction in the Amarr shipÆs Fusion thrusters as its anti-matter drive started to rupture. The ship finally exploded in a solitary flare, leaving only the little pod that warped out before the Minmatar ship could fire the killing blow..
The crowed on the station was a mixture of cheers from the Minmatar, applause from the Gallente, and a mixture of grunts of pleasure and disappointment from the Caldari as the ISK was transferred from one hand to another. The lone Amarr got up and walked away from the bar unnoticed by the rest of the patrons, the slave following him outside.
Amarula smiled as she saw the lone Rifter, performing a victory roll to the delight of the crowd. He had deserved the victory tonight. She veered away from the viewport and stood up to leave the party behindà
It was a freedom fighter, it had to beà
Amarula looked deep in thought as she walked down the station corridor towards her Hoarder. Most of the station residents were asleep in their homes, the only noise being the quiet chirps of the station adverts in the station-city below. Amarula liked Gallente stations, the Marula tribe were often joked to have the GallenteÆs spirit of fun within them (or in some peopleÆs minds, the Gallente decadence), and she felt that was true, in some fashion. The Gallente were free to enjoy life in however way they wanted, and to Amarula, that was something the citizens of the Minmatar Republic were fortunate to obtain, after several centuries of enslavement, it was nice for the Minmatar to obtain some semblance of becoming a free spirit again. But was she herself truly a free spirit?
She thought of the Minmatar slave girl, bound to the service of the Amarr. At least Amarula was more of a free spirit than her, the freedom to think and fend for yourself was beyond the reach of that girl. It was slaves like her that the freedom fighters were sworn to free from the clutches of Amarrian slavery. But Amarula did not belong to that life. The Marula tribe was large unnoticed by the Amarr, being as small and well hidden as it was, and wasnÆt particularly involved in Matari affairs. The Marulans were able to provide shelter for those fortunate enough to escape the slave-farms and the collectors of the Amarr, and that was enough praise for them. She wished she could help the poor girl run away, but there wasnÆt anything that could be done. Perhaps one day the girl would be freed, but for now, fate had chosen her pathà
She suddenly stopped thinking and looked at the area around her. She had taken a wrong path. Somewhere in her deep thought, she had taken a wrong turn and ended up in the middle of no-where, just a small residential district in the middle of the station.
She headed towards her ship, concentrating on making sure sheÆd get to the hangar before she could retain her train of thought. ThatÆs when time stopped.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the scream. It was an awful, shrill sound, like someone looking at Death himself before his pod *****ed. Her intelligent brain processed the information, and she suddenly found that her personal automatic pistol, which all pilots carried and like most Minmatar weaponry, was projectile-based, was in her hands, just in front of her sternum, pointed up into the sky, but in her hands even so, just like she was trained back at the Republic Military school.
The scream had originated from the house she was standing in front of. It was a basic residential bloc-house that people, mainly Amarr, sometimes rented when they visited the station on long-term trips. The front door was partly clear plexi-glass for the occupant to see outside, but also allowed the people outside to look in. Looking through the glass she could see what seemed to be a corridor, leading left to the kitchen and right to a bathroom. A gold plated toilet and a sink were all that was visible from this perspective.The door was slightly ajar, obviously the occupant hadnÆt bothered to close it behind him...
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Amarula
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Posted - 2004.10.18 23:57:00 -
[7]
Edited by: Amarula on 19/10/2004 07:23:02
The security personnel, a Gallente lieutenant, walked in, gun drawn, at first pointing towards Amarula, then raised upwards as he saw she posed no threat. He was followed soon after by a young sergeant. The lieutenant was the typical Impetus vision of a high-ranking security member, tall, heavyset, with beefy arms, and a gun belt that dug deeply into his waistline. Except he was Intaki. Wrong holofilm.
æIdentify yourself.Æ
Amarula spoke, her face still pointing downwards. æMy nameÆs Amarula, captain of the Vigil of Marula.Æ
Lieutenant Rieres checked his portable neo-com, inputting the details. AmarulaÆs name, face, personal information and ship details flared up on the screen. She was telling the truth.
He gestured the sergeant to search the house, and the sergeant turned, stopping as he entered the bathroom. He turned his head to the Lieutenant, and said nothing. The lieutenant walked to him and looked in. There was a pause for a moment as Rieres looked at the slave in the bathtub, and walked towards Amarula.
æWhat happened?Æ he asked.
æWant to give me a minute?Æ Amarula took a deep breath and thought for a moment how to tell the story. The security members understanding of it was important, because homicide was a local crime, and being a Gallente station, was under his juristiction.
æSure.Æ Rieres pulled out a pack of tobacco-sticks and offered one to Amarula, who took it gladly and lit it. The young pilot smoked slowly, the cigarette bobbing up and down as it shook in her hand, still shaking from what had happened. The shaking soon stopped as the nicotine calmed her down.
æCan you talk now?Æ
æI was walking towards my ship when I heard a scream come from this buildingàÆ Amarula began. Presently, she stood and led the lieutenant through the house to relate the other details.
æAnyway, I tripped over the pillar. He saw me, and went for his knife, turned toward meûand so, I drew my pistol and shot the bastard. Three rounds, I think.Æ
æUh-huh.Æ Rieres went over to the body. The Amarr hadnÆt bled much. All three rounds had gone straight through the heart, ending its ability to pump almost instantly.
Ivonalle Rieres was not nearly as dumb as he looked to a starship pilot. He looked at the body, and turned to look back at the doorway from which Amarula had taken her shots. His eyes measured distance and angle.
Under Minmatar law, which this station had to follow being in a Minmatar Republic territory, a Minmatar civilian was entitled to defend himself or herself if under threat from anyone, especially an Amarr slaver. But something about the three shots made him suspect something elseà
æSo,Æ the lieutenant said, æyou tripped on that pillar. The Amarr sees you, grabs his knife, and you, being in fear of your life, take out your civilian-issue pistol and take three quick shots, right?Æ
æThatÆs how it went down, yeah.Æ
æUh-huh.Æ
Lieutenant Rieres took out a small circular object, an antique medal that had been a gift from his father, about an inch and a half across. He held it over the AmarrÆs chest, and the diameter of the old medal completely covered all three of the entrance wounds. His eyes took a very sceptical look, but then they drifted over toward the bathroom, and his eyes softened before he spoke his verdict on the incident.
æThen thatÆs how weÆll write it up. Nice shooting, maÆam.Æ
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Amarula
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Posted - 2004.10.18 23:57:00 -
[8]
The Vigil of Marula, 3 hours later.
Amarula sat down in her room, slumping into her desk. After two hours of questioning, the Marulan was finally allowed to leave. The incident was classified as æself-defenceÆ, but the Gallente and the Minmatar would more likely deem it unofficially as a ærighteous act of retributionÆ. Of course, sheÆd be hated by the Amarr from now on, but she didnÆt care, and even so, the Amarr would have to face the official line that she acted merely in self-defence as a citizen of the Minmatar Republic.
She repeated the story of the incident she gave to Lieutenant Rieres in her mind again. It had almost acquired the firmness of truth in her mind now. She could probably have spoken the exact truth and not been hammered for it, Amarula knew, but why take the chance? It was, officially, a clean shoot, and that was enough, so far as her security file was concerned.
But she wasnÆt sure as whether she wanted it that way.
She had killed an Amarr face-to-face. And for what? The slave-girl was dead, killed before Amarula couldÆve saved her. At least she was able to receive a decent burial.
She couldnÆt hide the fact any more. She saw first hand how the Amarr treated her people now, and she could not hide that thought from her mind. The way she saw that girl, naked, blood soaked. She vowed that something like that would never happen again, if the situation ever arose again that she would have to kill an Amarr.
But there was something else. She felt no remorse for killing the Amarr. She felt something else. There was a thrill in firing those three shots into the slaverÆs heart, like she never felt before. She felt guilty that the Marulan blood in her would find the killing of people thrilling, but as long as they were Amarr slavers, Amarula felt there was no problem. Although she knew in her heart that not all of the Amarr people were murderous slaver, the Amarr who were deserved to die for their crimes against her race. But she couldnÆt do it alone.
There was no way she could stray from her chosen path anymore. She decided become part of the freedom fighters.
But which organisation?
She switched on the neo-com on her desk and typed on the holo-board. She looked up the logo she had seen on the Rifter in that battle outside the station.
The corp data came onto the screen. MasuatÆaa Matari.
This was it. The corp she could join. But what could she offer to them?
She would train hard as a combat warrior under their wing. Not only that, but her Marulan table dancing skills could come in useful to cheer them up whenever situations became bad for them, as well as providing entertainment to the slaves that they rescued and funding from any clubs she might join as a dancer for. She had something she could use, she knew sheÆd be an asset to them. She just hoped sheÆd be a helpful oneà
She looked up the Amarr database for wanted terrorists. Several faces came up. Amarula scanned them all, and found the one she wanted.
ôWANTED: Eddie Gordo, known gang leader of MasuatÆaa Matari. Wanted for raids in Amarr system stations, acts of terrorism, and disruption of Amarr slave convoys.ö
She punched up the inbox and selected the New mail button.
A blank entry window showed up on the holo-display.
This is it, she thought, time for my true destiny as a child of the Marula tribe to shine. ItÆs time to spread my wingsà
There was no turning back for her now.
æTo Eddie Gordo.Æ
She paused, thought about what to say, and continuedà
æMy name is Amarula, of the Marula tribe. I have a requestàÆ
[OOC: Well, there you have it, my first shot at story-telling. Whaddya think?]
---------------
|
Amarula
|
Posted - 2004.10.18 23:57:00 -
[9]
Edited by: Amarula on 19/10/2004 07:23:02
The security personnel, a Gallente lieutenant, walked in, gun drawn, at first pointing towards Amarula, then raised upwards as he saw she posed no threat. He was followed soon after by a young sergeant. The lieutenant was the typical Impetus vision of a high-ranking security member, tall, heavyset, with beefy arms, and a gun belt that dug deeply into his waistline. Except he was Intaki. Wrong holofilm.
æIdentify yourself.Æ
Amarula spoke, her face still pointing downwards. æMy nameÆs Amarula, captain of the Vigil of Marula.Æ
Lieutenant Rieres checked his portable neo-com, inputting the details. AmarulaÆs name, face, personal information and ship details flared up on the screen. She was telling the truth.
He gestured the sergeant to search the house, and the sergeant turned, stopping as he entered the bathroom. He turned his head to the Lieutenant, and said nothing. The lieutenant walked to him and looked in. There was a pause for a moment as Rieres looked at the slave in the bathtub, and walked towards Amarula.
æWhat happened?Æ he asked.
æWant to give me a minute?Æ Amarula took a deep breath and thought for a moment how to tell the story. The security members understanding of it was important, because homicide was a local crime, and being a Gallente station, was under his juristiction.
æSure.Æ Rieres pulled out a pack of tobacco-sticks and offered one to Amarula, who took it gladly and lit it. The young pilot smoked slowly, the cigarette bobbing up and down as it shook in her hand, still shaking from what had happened. The shaking soon stopped as the nicotine calmed her down.
æCan you talk now?Æ
æI was walking towards my ship when I heard a scream come from this buildingàÆ Amarula began. Presently, she stood and led the lieutenant through the house to relate the other details.
æAnyway, I tripped over the pillar. He saw me, and went for his knife, turned toward meûand so, I drew my pistol and shot the bastard. Three rounds, I think.Æ
æUh-huh.Æ Rieres went over to the body. The Amarr hadnÆt bled much. All three rounds had gone straight through the heart, ending its ability to pump almost instantly.
Ivonalle Rieres was not nearly as dumb as he looked to a starship pilot. He looked at the body, and turned to look back at the doorway from which Amarula had taken her shots. His eyes measured distance and angle.
Under Minmatar law, which this station had to follow being in a Minmatar Republic territory, a Minmatar civilian was entitled to defend himself or herself if under threat from anyone, especially an Amarr slaver. But something about the three shots made him suspect something elseà
æSo,Æ the lieutenant said, æyou tripped on that pillar. The Amarr sees you, grabs his knife, and you, being in fear of your life, take out your civilian-issue pistol and take three quick shots, right?Æ
æThatÆs how it went down, yeah.Æ
æUh-huh.Æ
Lieutenant Rieres took out a small circular object, an antique medal that had been a gift from his father, about an inch and a half across. He held it over the AmarrÆs chest, and the diameter of the old medal completely covered all three of the entrance wounds. His eyes took a very sceptical look, but then they drifted over toward the bathroom, and his eyes softened before he spoke his verdict on the incident.
æThen thatÆs how weÆll write it up. Nice shooting, maÆam.Æ
---------------
|
Amarula
|
Posted - 2004.10.18 23:57:00 -
[10]
The Vigil of Marula, 3 hours later.
Amarula sat down in her room, slumping into her desk. After two hours of questioning, the Marulan was finally allowed to leave. The incident was classified as æself-defenceÆ, but the Gallente and the Minmatar would more likely deem it unofficially as a ærighteous act of retributionÆ. Of course, sheÆd be hated by the Amarr from now on, but she didnÆt care, and even so, the Amarr would have to face the official line that she acted merely in self-defence as a citizen of the Minmatar Republic.
She repeated the story of the incident she gave to Lieutenant Rieres in her mind again. It had almost acquired the firmness of truth in her mind now. She could probably have spoken the exact truth and not been hammered for it, Amarula knew, but why take the chance? It was, officially, a clean shoot, and that was enough, so far as her security file was concerned.
But she wasnÆt sure as whether she wanted it that way.
She had killed an Amarr face-to-face. And for what? The slave-girl was dead, killed before Amarula couldÆve saved her. At least she was able to receive a decent burial.
She couldnÆt hide the fact any more. She saw first hand how the Amarr treated her people now, and she could not hide that thought from her mind. The way she saw that girl, naked, blood soaked. She vowed that something like that would never happen again, if the situation ever arose again that she would have to kill an Amarr.
But there was something else. She felt no remorse for killing the Amarr. She felt something else. There was a thrill in firing those three shots into the slaverÆs heart, like she never felt before. She felt guilty that the Marulan blood in her would find the killing of people thrilling, but as long as they were Amarr slavers, Amarula felt there was no problem. Although she knew in her heart that not all of the Amarr people were murderous slaver, the Amarr who were deserved to die for their crimes against her race. But she couldnÆt do it alone.
There was no way she could stray from her chosen path anymore. She decided become part of the freedom fighters.
But which organisation?
She switched on the neo-com on her desk and typed on the holo-board. She looked up the logo she had seen on the Rifter in that battle outside the station.
The corp data came onto the screen. MasuatÆaa Matari.
This was it. The corp she could join. But what could she offer to them?
She would train hard as a combat warrior under their wing. Not only that, but her Marulan table dancing skills could come in useful to cheer them up whenever situations became bad for them, as well as providing entertainment to the slaves that they rescued and funding from any clubs she might join as a dancer for. She had something she could use, she knew sheÆd be an asset to them. She just hoped sheÆd be a helpful oneà
She looked up the Amarr database for wanted terrorists. Several faces came up. Amarula scanned them all, and found the one she wanted.
ôWANTED: Eddie Gordo, known gang leader of MasuatÆaa Matari. Wanted for raids in Amarr system stations, acts of terrorism, and disruption of Amarr slave convoys.ö
She punched up the inbox and selected the New mail button.
A blank entry window showed up on the holo-display.
This is it, she thought, time for my true destiny as a child of the Marula tribe to shine. ItÆs time to spread my wingsà
There was no turning back for her now.
æTo Eddie Gordo.Æ
She paused, thought about what to say, and continuedà
æMy name is Amarula, of the Marula tribe. I have a requestàÆ
[OOC: Well, there you have it, my first shot at story-telling. Whaddya think?]
---------------
|
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Tairos Hakonnus
|
Posted - 2004.10.19 04:44:00 -
[11]
Good story! Look forward to reading your further work 
----------------------------
http://spla.sh/bp/bp_files/main.htm |
Tairos Hakonnus
|
Posted - 2004.10.19 04:44:00 -
[12]
Good story! Look forward to reading your further work
----------------------------
http://spla.sh/bp/bp_files/main.htm |
Epictetus
|
Posted - 2004.10.20 10:31:00 -
[13]
Indeed, well written and entertaining.
Nice to put that famous table dance of yours into context ;)
|
Epictetus
|
Posted - 2004.10.20 10:31:00 -
[14]
Indeed, well written and entertaining.
Nice to put that famous table dance of yours into context ;)
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