The comm chimed and Mike glanced at and sighed then shut it down completely. He then turned back to look out of the view-port at the traffic of ships coming and going.
“So where does this leave you?” Dee asked, worried that he had not said much in the past day, just watching the comm as a 24 hr cooling off period counted down.
He shrugged, not taking his eyes from a huge Occator lumbering out of the hanger.
She reached across and turned his comm back on. It chimed with the usual incoming message signal. This was almost a constant with Mike. He always had several conversations on the go and messages that he tried very hard not to let pile up. She skimmed the headers and then asked. “What is it with some pilots and their names? I mean, yours is normal enough but some of them . . . this guy here, Arightgit, what sort of name is that?”
“Old friend.” He answered as he reached across and touched the read and then a second single word messgae flashed out again. “He said I could spend some time in his corp while I got my feet back under me.”
“Explain it to me . . . what is going on?” She laid a hand on the back of his neck and looked out at the ships coming and going. Her automatic response sorted them and assigned them bays, guessed their flight plans . . . she shook her head. “this is tearing you up . . . talk to me.”
He turned in the chair and looked down at the floor. “For all the talk of adventure . . . exploration. It is always important to have a base. A home so you have somewhere to come back to. The big corporations are not a home, they become a way of life in and of themselves. IF you get lucky and IF the stars align just right you have a chance of joining a smaller corp that shares your goals or is willing to help you find goals to strive for.”
“Like the Smegs?”
“Dee, these people were like family to me. Oh we had our differences and I didn’t love each and every one of them but they were my centre, my base. We knew more than what each other flew, we knew the people inside the pods. But times change and we started to change as well. People came and left, the mood shifted. Kry had to work harder and harder to keep things going. I didn’t know what to do to help. and i felt so . . .damn helpless . . .” He took a shuddering breath. “I could have robbed them blind, you know.”
‘You know them, I assume they know you as well.”
“Yeah. I suppose they do. The corp isn’t shutting down but Kry stepping down to go onto her next project and have a little more time where she is not processing turn-ins and paying out to other folks. I bet she won’t know what to do with all her spare time.” He looked up at Dee. “I . . . I need to have a goal, I suppose.”
“What about the Gallente Hero project?”
“Oh, I am not dropping that but I purposely said I would not make it a corp or alliance thing. It is meant to be open to everybody and I don’t want there to be a hint of favoritism . . . that would happen if I made some people members and others were ‘just visiting’. I need a corp that would allow me to chase foolish projects like this, maybe even sponsor them now and again. One that would allow me to be the Cat, wandering in and out as the mood takes me.”
“So how are you going to look for this new corp?”
His anguished eyes raised to meet hers. “There. THAT is the problem. I don’t know. I found smegs in the recruitment channels but they are so full of repetitive ‘spam’ that it is amazing if you find a real person in there anymore. I looked to the posted sites but . . . nothing has really lit my fires yet.”
She ruffled his hair and smiled. “All this pathos and you have been clear of smegs for what, ten minutes? Give it time. Put out the word you are available. How would you describe yourself as a pilot?”
“The most unfocused 30 mill sp pilot . . . can fly assault light and heavy in every race except Amarr, command ships battleships, but no capitals. I’m a miner, mission runner, failed politician. I can scan, probe, cloak and run. I am a carebear of the first water and hate the Sansha and will fly across space for an hour to have a chance to get at one. I can talk, oh lord can I talk. I can train some folks in the basics and I listen to others when they are teaching. I build, I research, I have planetary operations on the go. I armor tank, shield tank, speed tank, and have been known to hull tank on occasion. I make bad jokes and even worse . . . puns. I am often broke and yet I give people gifts for no other reason than I can.” He took a breath. “I chase the next shiny thing, want to fly in the ship I am not ready for. I break all the rules of piloting and yet somehow I manage not to burn myself out. My lack of specialization makes me an average Joe in a dozen different circumstances but useless as a specialist in damn near anything.”
“And you think folks won’t want that?”
“We are living an the age of specialties. Corps want someone who is damn good at what he does . . . ”
“And you know this because you have had so many interviews already.”
“And the good corps are rightly afraid of spies . . . ”
“Are you a spy?”
“No, but a spy would say that as well. Fear is going to be the killer. I am afraid to get my hopes up and the good corps will be afraid I am setting up to betray them somehow.”
“Ten minutes. I think you should wait a bit longer before you wallow in self pity and loathing.”
Yes, I am looking for a new corp. I have no problem with you talking to my previous corp leaders to see if what I right her reflects what they have seen.
How DO the good corps find people? Everywhere I turn I read something about loss, betrayal. But I know better. I have seen donations and helping hands. People forming smaller communities and organizations to help train new players.;
It is not for nothing that Eve has won awards for the community that is the metagame. I play out my metagame right here . . . in this blog.