The Goons uber-spymaster (former?) gives a talk about the espionage meta-game in EVE online. Thanks to @GreyOdin for the live tweeting.

Personally I love the EVE meta-game, and believe it to be one of EVE’s defining elements. You can’t grind for trust like you can for ISK. you have to work to earn it and if you plan to abuse it then you have to calculate whether the payoff at the end is worth the work you put into it.

When I heard the The Mittani was giving a talk about this aspect of EVE’s diverse gameplay I was gutted that I wouldn’t be able to attend. It would be like learning the laws of motion from Newton himself, or having relativity explained to you by Einstein. So here are the tweets that @greyOdin provided from the talk and my interpretations of them:

“Metagaming is fun, but it also means you have to be a bit of a dick”

Yes, up to a point. It really depends on what you mean by ‘being a dick’. if you mean generally being as asshole to everyone you encounter then you’re not going to get far. You have to be loyal to your own side and feign loyalty to your your target. Only reavealing your dickishness upon the completion of your mission (if ever). You basically have to be subtle about being a dick.

“Espionage games started with MMOs in MUDS, Ultima (looting) and early PvP MMOs”

Basically This kind of thing started with MUDs, text based Multi-User Dungeons, which had rules and mechanics which governed how you could behave in the world, but often also had OOC (out of context/character) channels where discussion of the rules and other things could take place without breaking the immersion of the game. Not having played these (I was only a nipper when they were about) I don’t have personal experience of them. but I can see where he’s coming from.

“Very different settings and mechanics for Esionage metagames (Eve, Darkfall and Global Agenda cited).”

I think what might be being got at here is that Devs have different policies on metagaming ans espionage, and different approaches to allowing them to have an effect on IC (in context) gameplay.

“The benefits of an espionage metagame are free media coverage (it’s usually epic) have to use real world cunning as an in game skill, it’s also the ultimate form of user generated content.”

The downfall of BoB, which The Mittani was instrumental in bringing about, was covered by alot of mainstream media outlets, most notable the New York Times. The infamous and legendary Guiding Hand Social Club corporate takedown also garnered alot of mainstream attention. So the developer of a game which allows deep and engaging metagaming gets some free publicity for their game (if their players are ingenious and underhanded enough to pull of some truly epic maneuvers).

Espionage metagaming is not dependent on game mechanics, at all. It does not rely on an in gam statistic to determine results. It is based purely on the cunning and guile of those taking part. This is as it should be. Trust, honour, loyalty; these are all things that are lessened by any attempt to turn them into a number. Someone will always find a way to game the system to their advantage. Leaving them as the amorphous and indefinite concepts that they truly are leads to a game having greater depth and complexity.

A game like EVE would be nothing without its players. New Eden is the living breathing world that it is purely based on the actions of those who play it. This kind of emergent content is something that not very many games have. This is not user generated content in the way that a hom0made map or model in another game is, this content is purely unplanned and emergent. Arising as it does from the actions and interactions of each individual involved without their knowledge.

“Pitfalls are it’s completely unpredictable, it offends a sense of fair play and customers dislike losing or being cheated [htfu!]“

This kind of emergent gameplay has its drawbacks, it is totally unpredictable (Sensetive Dependence on Initial Conditions anyone?), and yes getting your corp yanked out from under you can be seen as unfair by those who are the yankee’s. But this is where I take issue with the cry babies who call for there to be tighter controls on metagaming. This is EVE, trust is more valuable than ISK. Don’t give it away so easily.

“Key elements are: Player factions (not dev made), people grouping by purpose and choice, not by “Alliance vs. Horde” – more personal”

A common purpose, coming from within a group of players is a far stronger driving force than one which is imposed from outside. A goal which you decide for yourself is far more powerful than one which is given to you by others. You have something invested in your group, you are more loyal to it than you would be to an arbitrary ‘faction’ which is built in to the game. There are some exceptions to this in EVE, Ushra’khan and CVA being notable examples, but the players involved with them have chosen those ideal for themselves rather than had them imposed arbitrarily.

“Espionage metagame cannot exist where nothing is risked, convertible currency and RMT raises the stakes (loss of a Titan = $4000 down drain)”

I’m not sure the RMT or convertible currency directly applies to EVE. I would think that it is more a time based valuation. it takes a long time to build a Titan, more if you include all the time taken to gather th resources for its construction. The piint still stands though. If you have worked hard for a long time to achieve something then having that taken away from you will hurt, equally you are going to spend more resources and time to protect that asset.

“Devs need to have to “police” a system as metagames are fragile, but they also have to have a slightly dismissive attitude toward cry-babies”

A line needs to be drawn, in other words. A question I have often asked (and may ask again in future) is “How meta is too meta?” I think CCP have line in about the right place (infiltration of external forums/voice comms by legitimate means is OK, hacking is not.) And I think that as long as nothing illegal has been done they are well within their rights to dismiss the cry-babies.

“Elements of espionage gameplay #1 – Intelligence Gathering: Most happens outside the game, so it reduces game load and enhances involvement”

I would imagine that this would usually require the use of an alt with no connection to the protagonists gaining an enemy corp/alliance’s trust and getting onto their forums or voice comms. They could safely remain completely undetected (unless the target counter-intelligence is good) and could feasibly pass intel back to base indefinitely.

“#2 Sabotage – Theft, strategic sabotage (war changing direction), diplomatic sabotage (false claims, scams) – this exposes your agent.”

Theft is the most common form of sabotage in EVE, gaining the trust of a corporation and then stripping it clean is the occuption of a goodly number of EVE players. Strategic sabotage is a little trickier to define and is often dependent on the actual situation involved. It is also the most complex to co-ordinate and it requires your intelligence about the enemies strategy to be very good indeed. Diplomatic sabotage is basically a case of telling lies to sow dissent among the ranks of your enemies. “He said you said that..” kind of thing. I’m not sure how scamming would work in this element of organisational sabotage, but then I wasn’t at the talk and only have these tweets to go on.

These methods will invariably end up with the exposure of your agent. Any decent Corp has a finger on who is taking what out of the hangars/wallet, and knows exactly what was said and to whom (chatlogs ftw!)

“#3 – Counterintelligence – Spy vs. Spy – When at risk spies provoke witch-hunts. Most time intensive and is bleeding edge of the metagame”

The good old “He’s a spy!”, “No he is!” trick. creates an atmosphere of paranoia and mistrust within an organisation and if done well can tear it apart from the inside, leaving you to clean up afterwards. Not often used as a weapon in itself but when a spy risks being discovered.

“Counterintelligence includes timestamps, collecting IP addresses (to determine geolocation) and honeypots (breeding false / tempting info)”

Properly executed, counterintelligence operations will make use of out of game information to study patters of behaviour and spreading misinformation to find out where it goes.

“Last type of espionage is fraud / scams – item scams, recruitment scams etc.”

“Fraud in Eve closely mirrors techniques used in the real world – ponzi schemes, and “legit” banks gone bad.”

We’re all familiar with scams in EVE, from the very easily detected Jita spam scams to some of the more complex and convoluted schemes executed for massive rewards and involving multiple parties. Scamming is part of the fabric of EVE and the only advice I can offer is this: If it seems too good to be true, then it probably is.

So that was The Mittani’s GDC presentation (or the tweets I got of it from GreyOdin, well done mate). I’d like to have seen the whole thing. If anyone knows of a video or MP3 of it then let me know (as long as its free, it might end up on the GDC Vault but it looks as if you have to pay for that.)

A final parting question, and its one I asked earlier: How meta is too meta?

M out

Prologue – I – II – III – IV – V – VI – VII – VIII – IX – X – XI – XII – XIII – Epilogue

Note: This chapter of Platoon XIII contains language which some readers may find offensive. I would like to point out that the characters portrayed in this fiction are soldiers and their use of language will reflect their social situation. So any foul language that you come across, please do remember that it is used in context and appropriately. If this still bothers you, don’t read on. Thank you.

“You idiot child! Get it right or I’ll feed you to the hounds!” The voice rang with scorn and derision as the blows landed around his head and back. He scrabbled to pick up the broken glass which had apparently contained imperfect chilled Azor Tea. His ears rang as a rough Amarrian hand caught him on the side of his head.

“Get out of my sight, and send someone with sense next time.”

Gathering the tray of shards, the liquid seeping into cuts in his hands from the glass, he did as he was told. At ten years old he was still to young to be fully dosed with Vitoc and his rage and confusion simmered as he made his way back to the kitchens. He knew another beating was awaiting him on his arrival, the kitchen master would be angered at his failure to please his employer. He’d be lucky to escape another shift in the house waste processing unit tomorrow.

A sudden blaring startled him, causing him to drop the tray in fright. Sparkling shards and sickly sweet tea spilled to the floor as the house lights dimmed. A distant explosion rocked the building and dust sifted down from the ceiling high above. The Matari had come at last.

A shudder shook the walls. Paintings and ornaments fell, scattering pottery and broken wood across the floor of the hallway.

“Kill the slaves, then get to the shuttles, we’re leaving!” Came a shout from the direction he’d just left, barely audible over the alarm which whined and pulsed through his skull. He had to hide, or find a friendly Matari somehow. He didn’t want to die here.

-+-

“I don’t want to die here!”

The shout echoed round the installation as Flashbang’s eyes flicked open. The taste of iron in his mouth and the ringing in his ears told him that he’d caught a concussion blast. He smiled at the irony of the shout and climbed to his feet.

Bossman looked over from where she was crouched behind a broken steelcrete wall, taking cover from the fire pouring into the building.

“Nice nap Flash?” She asked, grinning wildly. “Pop some smoke, we’re leaving. I don’t want to die here, its quite a hike from the vats and I can’t be bothered with the walk.” Flashbang nodded and threw a smoke grenade out over her head.

“Bullseye, do you have eyes on the tangos?” Said the slight woman into her throat mic, listening to a reply she nodded. “Give them something other than us to worry about while we get out will you?”

A pop, followed by a hiss, and the space beyond the wall was filled with smoke.  Looking over at Bossman, Flashbang nodded and grabbed his launcher from where it lay on the ground and they made their way out into the smoke.

“We’ll have to double back and regroup with the others, this installation was a decoy.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Replied Flashbang, popping another smoker away from their direction of travel. Noticing that the earpieces of his comm set had been dislodged by the blast that knocked him out. As he slipped them back in he heard Bullseye bringing down his own special flavour of judgment on their attackers.

“Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.” A loud bang echoed off the buildings around them, and the amount of fire pouring into the smoke lessened as the opposition took cover from the invisible sniper. Flashbang had no idea whether that was a genuine quote from The Word or not, half the time he was sure Bullseye made them up.

As he and Bossman slid into a blast crater, taking what little cover it offered to plan their next move, he listened to his unlikely friend bringing fire down upon the enemy. A thunderous roar blasted over their heads and brought one side of the crater sliding down in a scattering of dirt and stones.

“There’s our air support,” said Bossman. “Time to go.”

-+-

It was time to go. The tray was dropped and forgotten as the Matari slave child picked his way among the debris littering the hallways. He had decided that he’d be best to head back to the kitchens to pick up a knife and maybe some food. He narrowly avoided a couple of groups of armed Amarrians making their way through the house and killing any Minmatar they came across. Thankfully they weren’t being quiet about it and he managed to hide before they saw him.

Reaching the kitchens he saw that death had already been here. The kitchen master lay over the big central table with a collection of various blades protruding from his chest, the bodies of the younger kitchen hands strewn about him like rag dolls, their lower doses of Vitoc having left them some vestige of free will and ultimately getting them killed by a death squad on their discovery.

Taking a knife from the body on the table and wiping it on a rag before sliding it into his belt, he quickly grabbed some food and looked for something to carry it in. A noise behind him made him start and he turned to see an Amarrian child standing in the doorway. The boy was younger than him and he seemed to remember seeing him around the house on the few occasions he’d been assigned to the nursery wing.

“Did you kill him?” asked the child calmly, his coolness sending a chill down the Matari boy’s spine.

He lowered his gaze out of habit and shook his head. “He was dead when I got here.” As he was speaking he slowly reached his hand towards the knife nestled in his belt at the small of his back. Just as his fingers touched the hilt the Amarrian boy spoke again.

“Don’t, I’m not going to get in your way. I want out of here just as much as you do.” Lifting the edge of his shirt he displayed a patchwork of bruises on his abdomen. Some the dull yellow of old wounds, some raw with the red and purple of fresh injuries. “These people are not my family, I want nothing more to do with them”

The vehemence in the Amarrian’s voice gave the Matari pause. He reached over and took another knife from the dead body on the table, wiped it, and held it handle first to the Amarrian. “You’ll need this then, we have to find somewhere to hide.”

-+-

“Bullseye, cavalry’s here, time to go.”

Two more shots rang out in quick succession, and the sound of gunfire from the other end of the rubble strewn artificial canyon abruptly stopped.

“I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith,” came the Amarrian’s reply.

“Looks like we’re clear Raptor. Head over to the others, see if they need a hand. Get Clutch to send a transport our way.” Ordered Bossman as Flashbang scanned the area where their enemy was taking cover with a set of ‘nocules. The bodies he could see were missing their heads, having been pierced by explosive rounds from Bulleye’s rifle.

The wind of Raptor’s departure cleared some of the smoke from the remains of the installation and Flashbang saw Bullseye rappelling down a wall from wherever he’d been holed up.

Bossman stood on the edge of the crater, her eyes flickering from left to right as she accessed bettlefield data through her neocom.  “Transport is en route. We’ve got tangoes approaching from the east but we should be long gone by the time they get here. Our work here is done, the others are setting up defensive positons around the target. We’re going to make our way over there and lend a hand.”

Bullseye unhooked himself from the rope and made his way over to them. “There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at rest.” Flashbang and Bossman looked at each other and shrugged. Bullseye took a cheroot from a battered packet  and lit it, smiling at his companions.

“Ah, I think I get that one: Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.” Said Flashbang, suppressing a grin.

-+-

The unlikely pair left the kitchen and made their careful way to the slave quarters and the waste processing unit beyond. They were hoping that the pens, as they were less than affectionately known in the household, would have been the first place the Amarrian death squads had begun their slaughter and would now be relatively free of obstructions.

The sounds of fighting, violence and small scale genocide were echoing down the ventilation shafts and the occasional explosion continued to knock dust and fragments of faded plaster from the walls and ceilings.

The Amarrian wrinkled his nose. “There is death ahead, and I can smell hound spoor.”

The Matari nodded and brought his kitchen knife from his belt. Hounds might be a problem, the big vicious beasts were fed on the flesh of dead slaves and kept hungry. He wasn’t looking forward to meeting one down here in the cramped and cluttered pens.

They rounded a bend in the corridor and saw the charnel house that the pens had become. Dead Matari lay about the place, some looked as if they had been half devoured whilst others sat almost serenely, as if sleeping. “They used gas.” The Matari said. “The air smells different.”

They looked about at the devastation and noticed that among the bodies of the slaves there were dead hounds dotted here and there. Their fur matted with their own vomit and faesces as their physiology had reacted violently to the poison gas which had left so many Matari dead looking untouched .

The Matari realised he’d been tensed and holding his breath, as if waiting for a slaver hound to come bounding from the shadows to rip out their throats. He relaxed slightly and tried to turn away from the gruesome sight before him.

A shot rang out behind them and chips of steelcrete and plaster filled the air around them. “Amarrian! Stop there!” They had ducked to the side of the doorway  and stood panting in fear and surprise. The floor beneath their feet was slick and sticky in the way that only blood can be.  Another shot pounded the doorframe and splinters of wood flew.

“Come out Amarrian, it’ll be easier on you that way!”

The two boys looked at each other, paralyzed by fear.

-+-

The transport bounced across the landscape, kicking up dust as it powered away from the installation. Bossman was driving and Bullseye had shotgun, which left Flashbang manning the rear gun. He watched the ruins lowering themselves over the horizon of this dusty and arid planet, his scarf over his mouth and a pair of tinted goggles keeping the worst of the grime out of his eyes.

He could just see, beyond the broken buildings, another column of dust  approaching from the east. The glint of a windscreen appeared at the closest edge of the installation and he smiled to himself as he depressed a switch on his belt. “Brace yourselves girls,” he said over the comm.

A fraction of a second later the horizon behind the transport exploded silently, light blanking out any detail until his goggles could compensate. It wasn’t a nuke, but it was close. The light faded and the wind from ahead of them seemed to pick up briefly before the air became eerily still. Sound that was almost solid blasted grit and dust from behind them and the all-terrain transport seemed to pick up some speed, even though Bossman was already at full throttle.

The sound went on a lot longer than seemed absolutely necessary and the wind died down again. “I think you may have overdone it Flash,” said Bossman, “but they’re certainly not going to be following us.”

“For thou art fearfully and wonderfully made.” Said Bullseye cryptically.

“Well, I do aim to please.” Flash looked up at the sky, the smile fading from his lips. “You may have been right Boss, INCOMING!”

A chunk of steelcrete the size of the transport crashed into the ground behind them into the ground behind them and the sky seemed to fill with rubble and bits of broken machinery.

“Shit, Flash. I didn’t just fight my way out of that hole to be killed by your fireworks!” shouted Bossman over the sound of the unusually heavy and deadly rain falling around them.  Flashbang held on for dear life as the transport bucked and jounced as Bossman wove a path through the largest pieces of debris.

“Stop! Stop now!” Yelled Flash staring agog as a whole generator housing that would have squashed them into fine paste came sailing toward them from the remains of the installation. The brakes slammed on jarring his head against the rollbar and knocking his helmet into the footwell. All three of the vehicles occupants stared as the huge piece of machinery sailed almost gracefully overhead, rotating as it passed.

The giant twisted metal object bounced to the ground mere feet from where they were and rolled for some distance ahead of them tearing up the ground and obliterating anything in its path.

“Fuck, that was close.” Said Bullseye. Bossman and Flash looked at him and burst out laughing.

Bossman restarted the engine and gunned it a couple of times. The rain of debris from Flash’s over exuberance with the demolition charges had eased off and the wind was picking at the clouds of dust left by the various impacts. “Lets go,” she said.

-+-

“Go,” said the Amarrian, “these are your people, you’ll be safe with them.” He nodded to the Matari and signalled him to go. The Matari shook his head.

“They’ll kill you. You stick with me and we both might get through this. Throw your knife out.” The Amarrian looked at the blade in his hand and threw it down the corridor they’d just come from.

“We’re both coming out, I am Matari, my friend is not, but he is under my protection and seeks the same refuge as me.” They both stepped from behind the wall into the doorway and looked at the puzzled frowns on the faces of the Brutor soldiers at the other end of the corridor.

“They’re just kids!” said one “I’d say the Matari hasn’t been fully dosed, too young.” he slid his pistol into its holster. “The Amarr? I don’t know, as far as I’ve heard no adult Amarrian remains alive here, so he’s more than likely orphaned. I say we take them both back to the shuttles and let the higher ups deal with it.”

The other Brutor grunted non-comittally and kept his pistol trained on the Amarrian boy. The Matari child glared at him and stepped into the line of fire, holding the kitchen knife poised to strike.

“Woah there, Sten.” The more talkative of the two said, laying a hand on his companion’s arm. “We came to liberate slaves, not murder children, especially not Matari children. Stand down, both of you. Thats an order.”

The stand-off held for a second more, a surreal tableaux of a child facing off against a giant. Then the pistol was holstered with a glare and the knife replaced in the boy’s belt.

“Sten, check down there, I’ll keep an eye on these two.” The gruff Brutor nodded and withdrew his pistol once more, turning to the door way the two boys had taken refuge in and stepping through.

“There is no point,” said the Amarrian boy, “they’re all dead, even the hounds. They were gassed.” The Matari boy looked up at his kinsman and nodded. “He’s right, they’re all dead. Its not pretty.”

They turned as the other Returned gagging and looking pale. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked up, shaking his head.

“Well we’d better get back to the shuttles, there’s nothing more we can do here and we’re on a tight schedule. There’ll be an imperial navy fleet on its way here now. Come on you pair lets go and find out what we’re to do with you. I’m Elekevu and that weak stomached brute over there is Hayawani. Your names?”

The Amarrian and Matari looked at each other, just realising that they didn’t know each other’s names. The Matari held his hand out, “Milo Angaa.”

“Jicho Fahali.” Replied the Amarrian, taking Milo’s hand.

-+-

This was a hard chapter to write, even though I already had an idea of who Flashbang was by the time I’d got to the end of last weeks chapter I didn’t really know where to start telling his story, so I decided to intertwine his tale with that of Bullseye’s.

I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I have a good feeling that I’m on a roll with this, my first real attempt at longer form fiction. Your feedback and criticism is incredibly valuable to me as I find my way through this so please do comment. Thanks again for reading.

M out.

Sebastian sat alone in the dropship, making his way to the giant ship that would be his home for the foreseeable future. He rubbed nervously at the interface sockets on his wrists and closed his eyes remembering the start of this journey, six months earlier.

-+-

The agent had cornered him at the arcade in the mall near his home. He’d obviously been watching Sebastian for some time as he moved from booth to booth besting the games one after the other.

“You’re pretty good at these kid. ” He’d said as he approached after Seb had beaten a hand to hand combat simulation into submission. “Want to try something a little more challenging?”

Seb was intrigued and asked for more information. The agent suggested they get a thermobev and have a chat.

“My agency are basically talent scouts,”  said the agent as they sat down with their drinks. “We keep our eyes peeled for promising prospects that our clients might be interested in signing up. The first stage is just what we’re doing now;  we keep our eyes peeled and have an informal chat with someone like yourself. What I’m offering is an assessment of your abilities, nothing more. There’s no obligation and it doesn’t cost you anything. If we can’t place you we’ll even give you the complete dataset that you can pass around to future employers.”

“What kind of assessment?” Asked Seb, suspicious of anything that sounded even slightly educational. His school, which was incredibly expensive and chosen by his parents, had not thought him capable of much and had passed him out the previous year with a barely adequate grade. Being part of a fairly intellectual set, his parents had been understandably dismayed, and his father had been talking about getting him a job on the janitorial staff at the gallery he ran. If this guy thought that Seb had potential it was maybe worth taking his test.

“We assess everything. Intellectual ability, mental flexibility, physical fitness, the lot. Our clients are a varied bunch who are looking for a whole variety of talented people. Some of their requirements can be quite esoteric. We’re not your average employment agency, if we can’t find a fit for you we won’t just shove you where you don’t belong. No janitors jobs from us.” The agent smiled slyly and Seb’s suspicions were aroused further.

“Did my dad put you up to this?” he asked, frowning. “If he did then I’m not interested, what I want and what my father wants are two different things. He’s spent my entire life trying to shape me into something I’m not and I’m sick of it.”

“Lets just say that you were brought to our attention by an interested party, their request that we assess you is as far as their influence goes. They will have no input into any placement we might make.”

“Can I think about this?” Seb wanted to grill his father about this strange encounter before he made a decision, he wasn’t going to get pressured into something that would make him conform to his father’s idea of who he should be.

“Sure, here’s my card. Give me a call or drop round the office if you have any more questions. I’ll get these.” As the agent stood, he waved his identichip at the terminal on the table, paying for the drinks. Seb raised his mug in thanks and settled down to have a think.

-+-

“You’ve been down at that damn arcade again haven’t you?” were the first words out of his fathers mouth when Seb got home.

“And? What’s it to you?” came the surly reply, more out of habit than any real antagonism. His father sighed.

“I’m not going to rise to that. If you want a fight you’ll have to look elsewhere, I’ve got work to do.”

“Yeah? Well you started it.” Seb retorted, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was still going over the strange encounter at the arcade in his mind, trying to figure out the guy’s angle and whether his father had a hand in it. Dragging the card out of his pocket he threw it onto the low table in front of his father. “You know anything about these guys?”

“What guys?” asked his father, not looking up from his datapad. Seb picked the card back up off the table and dropped it in his fathers eye line.

“That was fast, I wasn’t expecting them to be in touch for a while yet. They must have seen something in you boy.” He handed the card back to Seb. “I hope you don’t mind, I know that you feel you’ve been unfairly pressured by your mother and me to be something you’re not. I got a friend from the gallery to put me in touch with these guys, they’re very good at what they do and can match pretty much anyone with their dream job. Something that they will be good at and that they will enjoy. I know you don’t want to be a janitor, but you don’t really seem to know what you do want. Maybe this’ll help you figure that out.”

“And if its something you don’t agree with?” Seb left the question hanging, he honestly thought he’d have more of a struggle getting anything out of his dad if he’d been involved. This was almost too easy.

“As long as you’re happy and doing right by yourself, that’s fine by me. Your mother might take some talking to but I’ll bring her round.”

“Oh. Right, ok. I think..” Said Seb as he took back the card being held out to him by his father and went up to his room.

He called the agency the next day and made an appointment for later that week.

-+-

Seb sat in the lobby of the agency’s offices waiting for the results of his testing. It had been a hard two days and he was exhausted. He felt like every part of him had been poked and prodded. The tests had ranged from simple mental exercises to gruelling physical ordeals. He’d been scanned and probed, had various bodily fluids drained from him. Every aspect of his being had been subjected to examination, and if he was honest he wanted to hear what the results said.

The agent who had approached him at the arcade entered from the street, saw Seb and came over. “Hey there, decided to give us a shot eh?”

“Heh, yeah and your lot seem to have given me a few in return. I feel like a pincushion and I ache all over. That was some pretty intensive testing.”

“Just wait till you see the results, I’m pretty sure we’ll find something that fits you.”

Just then a technician in light green medical scrubs came in from the deeper recesses of the office. “Mr Duvall? Sebastian?”

Seb stood, wincing slightly and nodded. “Thats me.”

The agent gripped his shoulder. “Good luck kid, and remember if we find you something it will be the best fit for you and your employer, no-one else.”

Seb nodded again “Thanks.”

The technician motioned towards a set of doors on the other side of the room. “This way please Mr. Duvall.”

“Call me Seb, please. Mr Duvall is my father. “  Seb shook hands with the tech and follwed him into his future.

-+-

The next two weeks were a blur as Seb prepared to leave his home, and his planet, for the first time in his life. After the meeting with the technician to discuss his results he’d gone home in a daze. His ideal placement, he’d been told, with a 99.98 percent probability was as a dustbuster. A mercenary soldier who fought under contract to protect the planetary assets of various groups and individuals. Dustbusters were considered the elite of ground troops and as such got access to the best in equipment and technology. This technology extended to a form of cloning and personality transfer similar to that used by the godlike pod pilots. He would technically live forever.

His father had been surprised but supportive, his mother had bawled her eyes out and wondered why her son would want to go off and be a soldier. She calmed down when it was explained to her that her son would not die in the normal sense of the word but was still dismayed that he would, in her eyes, be pursuing a barbaric career.

He spent two weeks distributing his belongings amongst his friends, making his farewells and psyching himself up for a long trip into space. The majority of the next 5 months would be spent in space learning the things that couldn’t be taught planetside. He’d get his Duster’s implants fitted and learn how to jump between clones. He would have to learn not to fear death and was curious as to how they would be teaching that particular skill.

The day came for him to depart. He hugged his parents getting an uncharacteristic squeeze from his father, and a very predictable damp shoulder from his sobbing mother. Promising to write as often as he could he stepped onto the transport to the elevator which would take him to a waiting ship in the heavens above.

-+-

Boot camp was an education. Daily physical exertion and testing that started as soon as the scars from his implant surgery had healed. It was explained to him that they needed his body in the peak of physical fitness in order to get a primary template for his clones. Once he’d reached that peak, his body would basically be copied right down to a molecular level . This required intensive training and a very strict diet. He was reassured that once he was in a clone body he could basically do what he liked to it safe in the knowledge that he had a mint condition spare waiting for him.

During this physical exertion he was also learning a whole slew of knowledge passively via his implants.  He surprised himself when he was handed a rifle and was told to strip it, clean it and re-assemble it; and he did, in approximately 3 minutes. He’d never even held a gun before, but he knew almost instinctively what every piece did, where it went and how to repair it if it broke.

It seemed that a lot  of the time he was merely teaching his body things his mind already knew. Close combat techniques, infiltration methods, weapon use and maintenance, along with more esoteric and wide ranging subjects were being fed into his brain constantly. Every day it seemed he woke up with some new knowledge.

Three Months into his training, he got a bit of a shock. He’d just finished a taxing session with his close combat instructor, a svelte Intaki woman whose viciousness was hidden quite effectively behind a demure feminine appearance, when he heard the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked behind him. Twisting the towel in his hands into a short rope, he turned quickly, snapping the towel around his would-be assailant’s wrist and lifting the muzzle ceilingwards. His attacker, who he now saw was masked, brought another pistol around from behind their back. Put the muzzle against his temple and pulled the trigger.

-+-

It was dark. Darker than anything Seb had ever experienced before. He ran over his last memories and remembered being attacked in the locker room and the attacker who had a spare pistol, his last memory was of a deafening bang and the lights going out. There was no pain, which surprised him, but then he remembered that it was highly likely that he was dead even before the bullet pierced his skull. His temporal lobe liquidized by the compression wave.

The darkness was suddenly lit by a bright light, and Seb realised that he’d opened his eyes. He blinked a few time and glanced around. All he could see for the moment was the ceiling of the medical bay, a sight he knew well from his weekly checkups and physio sessions. He tried to get up, but was held in place on the gurney by padded straps.

“Steady there Rookie, let me check you over first. How you feeling?” Said a voice from just out of his view as hands began poking at various pressure points  and testing various reflexes.

“A little disoriented, but other than that feel fine. This is a clone isn’t it?”

The straps holding his legs and arms to the gurney were released and he sat up swinging his legs over the side of the trolley “That’s right. We’ve found that the best way to find out if a candidate can handle the transfer is just to do it, without any warning. You seem to have weathered it quite well, I’ve seen people break down as soon as the realise that their old body is dead.”

The medic handed Seb a sweet smelling drink and he downed it in one. “Wow, why am I so thirsty?”

“Well the body you’re in has never had a drink, has it?” Asked the medic, smiling. “Don’t worry about it too much, but don’t go nuts either. It wouldn’t do to overload. You’ll be feeling hungry too, head off to the mess once we’re done here, there’s a meal waiting for you.”

The next half an hour was spent testing various bodily functions, reactions and mental processes. When they were done Seb was starving and was grateful to get to the mess for a hot meal. Once he had sated his seemingly bottomless appetite he went back to his bunk and started on a letter home.

“Well, I died earlier on today. It wasn’t half as bad as I was expecting.” he began.

-+-

He was brought out of his reverie by a thud as the dropship docked with his new platoon’s orbital command vessel. He had 5 months of intensive training under his belt and 5 deaths, but this did nothing to relieve his nervousness as the rear door swung open.

Revealed beyond was  a large hangar space filled with the noise and bustle of a busy military installation. Troops jogged past and loading bots hefted supplies and ammunition into dropships. Looming over them all were a series of giant atmospheric command stations, huge airborne fortresses which acted as command stations and resupply co-ordinators during planetside operations.

Grabbing his gear from the empty row of seats across from him and running his hand through his clone length hair, he stepped down from the dropship and took a deep breath of recycled air laced with hints of oil and machinery.

“Rookie!” A voice boomed across the hangar “Front und center! Hup to eet!”

Seb jogged in the direction of the voice and snapped to attention in front of a haggard looking veteran in a grey vest and combat fatigues. “Seb Duvall, reporting for duty sir!” He shouted, snapping off a crisp salute.

The soldier looked him up and down “Gellente hey? Well , I never remember your name. I call you Rookie, yes? Stow stuff in locker, thet wey.” He pointed. “We ship out in 10, you get gear at dropship. End, you see this stripes?” He pointed at his bare arm “Well no you don’t, but will soon. I am sergeant, you not salute, yes?”

“Sarge! Yes.. I mean no! Sarge!” Seb stammered.

The sergeant smiled “Right. You green, but seem ok. I look out for you for now. Bay 13 in 10. Hup to eet!”

Seb ran over to the lockers indicated. Only one was free and had already been marked with the name “Rookie” and a single letter i. He stashed his gear and jacket and was grateful he hadn’t travelled in civvies. Grabbing a tech with a clipboard he asked directions to bay 13 and jogged off in that direction.

As he left the tech shouted after him “Unlucky for some, eh?” Seb gave it no thought as he headed for his first drop.

-+-

He found bay 13 and was greeted once more by the sergeant, this time displaying his stripes on a weathered combat jacket.

“Ah Rookie, there you are. What take you so long? We waiting on you, you hold everyone up.” The sergeant grinned at the rest of the platoon who were already seated in the back of the craft. “Take seat, gear underneath. Weapons in rack on wall. Don’t put helmet on yet, you’ll know when. Go.”

Seb made his way past the rest of the platoon, getting nods and smiles from many and only being tripped twice. “Hey, let up boys, not schoolyard, yes? You were all Rookie once.” Boomed the sergeant from the rear door.

As he sat in the seat furthest from the door, the soldier next to him looked up and offered his hand. “Flashbang, and the dour looking one over there is Bullseye.” Seb took the offered hand and smiled at them both, Bullseye glowered but nodded acknowledgement. “Seb… I mean Rookie. Does the sergeant give everyone their handle?”

“Yes he does.” said the decidedly unhappy looking Amarrian that was Bullseye “His memory for names is fried, took an EMP grenade in the implants.”

Flashbang was a stocky Minmatar whose face was covered in an intricate tribal tattoo and his combat webbing was hung with grenades. He was deftly servicing a heavy launcher on his knee as he chattered amiably to Seb. “Don’t mind Bullseye there, he might be a sour looking fellow but he has the soul of an artist, he does my tattoos you know. Not that they’re really tattoos, hardly worth getting them on these bodies, they generally don’t last. Know what I mean? Well he does them for me before each op, and they’re different every time. An artist I tell you.”

Bullseye rolled his eyes at Seb as the rear door swung closed and the dropship lifted with a jerk from the bay floor. The sergeant appeared at the door to the forward compartment a sheaf of datapads in his hand. Tapping Seb on the shoulder he indicated the gear under the seat. “Gear up Rookie, Don’t let thees blabbery mout deestrect you, yes?” Flashbang grinned, as the sergeant clipped him playfully round the ear.

Looking up at the rest of the platoon he raised his voice. “Right my leetle dustbunnies, this one straight out of tixtbook. We go in, we blow sheet up, we get out. Simples, no?”

-+-

It would seem that my muse is still with me after all. You can see that I plan for my dalliance with her to extend for the next 13 weeks or so. Will she stay till I get this finished? Or will she tire of me and seek a finer scribe to spend her efforts on? As they say on TV: Tune in next week, same bat time, same bat channel.

M out