A Silent Ultimatum

The video feed displays the lounge area of Plumb’s quarters aboard the Silent Angel. Plumb himself is sat at his desk, bolt upright, his eyes locked forwards and betraying no emotion to anybody who may have been watching. He is throwing a leather ball roughly the size of an apple at the opposite bulkhead and then catching it again with almost uncanny precision. As the feed sharpens, what appears to be cable comes into view, plugged directly into Plumb’s pod socket interface. The cable is linked to the data interface in the wall behind Plumb’s desk, which is m=quietly ticking to itself as Plumb continues to throw the ball against the bulkhead. Plumb remains in this state for several minutes, throwing the ball, letting it rebound from the bulkhead, catching it without effort and then throwing it back again. Eventually he catches the ball and freezes, his body rigid. He remains perfectly still for a few seconds, then seems to snap into reality. He looks around briefly before removing the cable from his interface socket and standing up, ball still in hand.

‘Personal log... 25th September 111YC’ he says slowly, looking down at the leather ball and turning it between his hands.

‘I am actually quite surprised at how effective River’s meditation technique is’ he says matter-of-factly, continuing to study the ball, ‘One wouldn’t believe that throwing a ball at a wall could so effectively clear your mind’. He starts to pace slowly, continuing to study the ball. Reaching the far bulkhead, he stops before turning to face the camera and looking up.

‘It seems that the world is in shambles. A week or so ago, one of Ghost Festival’s pilots, Ms Amaterasu Mikoto, was kidnapped by forces unknown...’ He pauses to reconsider his words ‘Or rather, unknown to me. Several of the other pilots seem to have an idea of who the kidnapper is however’.

He starts to pace again, throwing the ball up in the air and catching it between his hands.

‘While the kidnapping itself is slightly disturbing and in my eyes an insult to the corporation, it is not the act itself that concerns me. What concerns me is how divided the corporation has become over how exactly they intend to retrieve her. A few days ago I attended a meeting chaired by Nephilim Arkenath herself with the subject of how we can go about retrieving Amaterasu from her kidnapper. As I have stated before, The Nephilim, Inara and Morwen among others know who the kidnapper is, and had concocted a plan to retrieve Amaterasu.... by means of a prisoner exchange’ He pauses, having reached the opposite wall. ‘Well, a prisoner exchange of sorts anyway. The idea was to trade Mr Reimei Kaminamina... Kaminaminada...’

Plumb stops talking for a second, holding his ball close to his face and pulling some fluff out of a seam before continuing,

‘Well, i’ll call him Reimei. The plan involved trading him for Amaterasu and then killing Reimei and activating a soft copy, or something to that effect. The process is not important, what’s important is how quickly the meeting... degraded.’ He seems to snarl the last word almost, his expression darkening.

‘The meeting ended up being a monumental clash of egos. Agendas, counter-agendas, unkind language, etcetera etcetera. Eventually Nephilim Arkenath walked out of the meeting, and I don’t blame her’. He sighs heavily, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds.

‘It is no secret that I don’t hold to this “We are a family happy snuggle snuggle” idea that Nephilim Arkenath holds so dear, but even i can see that the situation is reaching breaking point. Unless Ghost Festival bucks it’s ideas up and starts acting like a frakking team then Amaterasu will never be recovered. Not by us, anyway. Good old Ethan Verone from Veto has launched his own quest to find her, which im sorry to say will likely be more successful than any Ghost initiative at this point’.

He pauses again before moving over to his set of shelves and resting the ball upon the lowest shelf. He then proceeds to reach up to the highest shelf, removing a beautifully detailed model of a Chimera carrier from a wooden stand. The model is at least a metre long and is gorgeously hand painted in the colours of the Caldari fleet. Plumb looks at the model for a moment, before turning around and continuing to pace.

‘I wouldn’t call myself a part of Nephilim Arkenath’s big Family as all the other pilot’s do, but I can agree with her that unless we band together and put petty differences aside, we can wave goodbye to any chance of recovering miss Mikoto. I have offered my services to Nephilim Arkenath in helping her cause, but unless the corporation acts like the supposed family they say they are, I fear that that cause is lost’.

He looks down at the model starship in his hands, turning it over slowly and admiring the functional design.

‘Note to self: Remember Miss Arkenath has a new title. That woman has fury, and id rather not invoke it by using the wrong name. Recorder off’.

Incoming!

Plumb is sat in his quarters on the Silent Angel, a bottle of Amarrian Whiskey in hand. He is watching a video feed being projected onto the wall furthest from his desk. The feed is a gun camera, onscreen a Megathron battleship is being pounded by a combined Veto/Ghost Festival fleet. Multiple torpedoes appear from behind the gun camera’s perspective, arcing into the battleship and detonating vividly, concentric rings of kinetic energy blossoming out from their points of impact. As the Megathron finally succumbs to the firepower of it’s attackers, Plumb lets loose a sly smile.

‘Juggernaught Torpedoes. Yours truely, Captain Andrastus Plumb, Ghost Festival’

He is silent for a moment longer, taking a swig from his bottle of whiskey.

‘Frak, i miss battleship combat sometimes’.

The camera drone remains active for another half a minute as the gun camera replays.

‘Video off’.

A Ghost Festival

Fight or flight. One of the most basic human instincts, prevalent when a person is faced with a life endangering threat. For Captain Andrastus Plumb, fight or flight was something to be overcome. With a decade long military career behind him, months of training had all but removed this most basic impulse, and yet as he looked out into hangar I-45 of the Concord station he called home, he was gripped by an almost paranormal fear. His blood felt like ice in his veins, his breathing slow and shallow. Ghosts. Spectres. Nightmares. They had stalked him for 5 years, 5 years of sleepless nights, wracked by grief, sorrow and fear. At night he could still see them, still hear them, still feel them. The faces of his brothers and sisters, and the faces of the dreaded inhuman enemy. Ironic, he thought to himself, that he flew for a corporation called ‘Ghost Festival’, for it seemed that every night a mournful, horrifying festival occurred inside his mind. A Ghost Festival for the souls of those who died on that fateful day. A Ghost Festival for the dead of BK4.

As Andrastus felt the fear surge through his body, he closed his eyes, forcing images of that horrible event from his mind. Temporarily forcing his emotions into the recesses of his mind, he looked back out into the bay at the bloated, alien object within it. The Sansha Phantasm cruiser floated like a bad omen in the antigravity field of the docking bay, the harsh lighting glaring off reflective, curved hull panels. Sharp reflections bounced off the array of spikes arranged along the z-axis of the cruiser’s forward hull and highlighting the huge knife like blade on it’s prow.

‘Phantasm... an apt name’ Plumb said to himself under his breath, his eyes fixed upon the alien shape in the bay. He had flown a Phantasm more than once since becoming a capsuleer, an attempt to face his personal demons. The attempt served only to revitalise his nightmares, forcing him to become reclusive.

‘It didn’t help that mother had died two months before’ he thought, the memories of Malkalen still fresh in his mind. Again forcing his thoughts aside, he focused on the ship in the bay, marvelling at the twisted genius built into it’s every hull plate. When his associate had found the ship being auctioned in Jita, Plumb had used everything in his power to acquire the ship, ordering it flown out to Goinard without having the ship stripped of it’s fitted equipment. A door behind him opened, snapping Plumb from his thoughts. His associate, a young Khanid woman called River T’Urell, walked slowly and quietly into the room, her long brown hair flowing loosely over her shoulders.

Plumb nodded to her, ‘River. Thank you for helping me acquire this ship. It is of great importance to me’. The Khanid girl, a head shorter than he was, drifted over to him wordlessly, crossing her arms across her chest. They stood in silence for a few moments, both looking out at the Sansha Heavy Cruiser that commanded the bay. She finally spoke, a soft and caring voice that carried the warmth of a summer’s day.

‘Andrastus... Are you sure that doing this is the right thing?’ she asked as she looked up at him, a saddened expression on her face.

‘Yes, I need to do this. I must do this. I refuse to hide from myself anymore’ He replied, his voice carrying a faint tinge of sorrow. ‘This ship means a lot to me, more than anyone can imagine’ he finished, grinding his teeth in his mouth as he finished.

River continued to look up at him, her face still conveying the worry she felt slowly rising in her gut. ‘Why this one? Over all the others?’ she asked quickly, pausing briefly before continuing ‘Have you seen this one before?’. Her question received a small nod from Plumb, who continued to look out into the bay.

‘Yes’ he said, his voice steady, ‘This ship, designation YK-855 and I have met before. We met in battle, at BK4-YC’ he finished, pronouncing the system name with emphasis. He turned towards her, looking into her eyes as he continued ‘This ship is a link to that past, to the events of that day’ he said. His voice had started to shake, the saddness welling up within him. ‘I cannot allow this fear, sorrow and anger to dominate my life anymore’.

This latest revelation seemed to stun River, who looked up at him with a distinct look of shock. Her eyes flitted across his face, her gaze shifting between his eyes quickly. ‘Andrastus, get rid of that ship! Now! You cant have it here, gods dammit! Remember the last time you flew one?!’ Her voice had started to rise, sounding almost like she was begging. ‘You have spent the last two years trying to hide your suffering from me, but I know it is there. You go to bed for 16 hours and yet when you leave your quarters the next day you look worse than when you entered them the night before. Mortis has told me about the nightmares, Andrastus. Having that ship here wont solve anything!’ She placed both her hands on his chest, tears appearing in her eyes.

‘I... I can’t, I need to do this, not just for me, but for all the others, those who didn’t come home’ he said, looking back out at the ship.

‘You don’t serve them by mentally destroying yourself! Please, I beg of you, get rid of that ship!’ she paused for a second before saying ‘Look, Andrastus.... I know it is hard for you, I can only imagine what it must have been like, I wasn’t there afterall, but-‘ She was cut short. Plumb had whirled around to face her, moving up against her and staring down into her face.

‘EXACTLY!’ He shouted, rage arising from nowhere, consuming him, ‘You WERENT there! You have no idea what it was like! They killed my brothers, my sisters, people I had KNOWN and SERVED WITH for EIGHT YEARS! Ejected from airlocks, hacked into pieces, shot into mist or dragged away to be turned into more of those INFERNAL... THINGS!’ He shouted, his anger now fully controlling him. River started to back away, her eyes full of fear as she watched her closest friend tear himself apart. ‘I owe it to them, Miss T’Urell’, The use of her last name in such a formal tone hurting her more. He only addressed her like that when he was angry or upset with her. ‘I owe it to Pierre, vented into space when the Sansha drones overran the auxiliary damage control. I owe it to Marie, cut into pieces by a mob of mindless, evil killers! I owe it to Jaque, frak it I owe it to all them’. He managed to finally bring his anger under control, closing his eyes and taking long, deep breaths. He looked away from her, steadying himself against the reinforced glass of the viewing port as he calmed down.

‘Im sorry, I...’ he paused again, continuing to breathe heavily. ‘I can’t get rid of it, I need it. Study thine enemy. I cannot allow it to happen again, I wont allow it to happen again. We lost that battle because we failed to face facts, we failed to study the Sansha threat before blindly marching into their space’. He turned to face her, his eyes red and swollen from the emotion within him. ‘I need this ship so I can study them, know them. we made the mistake of not studying them 5 years ago. We made the mistake of underestimating a foe that has grown steadily stronger in our complacency. But it wont happen again, River, not on my watch. There will not be another BK4’.

Marshalling the Fleet

Plumb is stood on the upper docking gantry of his large private hangar, holding a datapad under one arm. Sprawled across the hangar are numerous starships of varying classes, all in varying states of readiness. Unassembled starship components are piled high aboard grav lifts floating in the zero gravity, while assembly drones can be seen moving weapons and modules from a hidden storage area to the various ships. His carrier, too large to be docked within the station, is moored to an external docking sleeve underneath the station and thus out of sight. The camera drone is positioned above the gantry, looking over his shoulder into the bay beyond.

‘Personal Log, 14th August 111 YC. River returned earlier this week with a veritable treasure trove of modules and material, stashed in Daras of all places. Among the more valuable items are a Rook class Combat Recon Ship, and a raven battleship, the same ship that i flew in the battle of 1IX against the Razor alliance and destroyed Shizah's Erebus class Titan in.’

He pauses, looking out again over his hangar. A maintenance drone flies low over the gantry with a mass of cabling and electro circuitry clutched in it’s holding claws. The drone arks away towards a ship of Caldari design in the forefront of the hangar, slowing as it approaches. Plumb looks down at the ship, smiling slightly.

‘I recently constructed a Tengu class Strategic Assault Cruiser, modified for covert operations. It is a brilliant piece of engineering, far superior to any battleship I have ever flown. I have yet to take her into combat properly, although that will soon change. I believe that-‘

He is interrupted by the sound of footsteps clanging heavily on the gantry somewhere off screen. He turns in the direction of the footsteps, an unusually warm smile spreading across his face. A young Khanid woman appears on screen dressed in loose fitting overalls. She wears her long brown hair loose, flowing over her shoulders and down the small of her back.

‘Ah, River. Thank you very much for making the journey to Daras. In all honesty id forgotten I had all that stuff lying around’ The woman smiles and walks over to the edge of the gantry, leaning forward against the safety rail and looking out across the hangar

‘Oh don’t thank me, it is my job after all!’
She smiles again, resting a hand on Plumb’s arm.

‘So, how many ships do you have here now?’
Plumb cocks his head to one side, laughing slightly as he does so.

‘Its certainly an impressive fleet, at last count worth approximately 3 billion isk'
A list of ships appear on the screen, with types varying from Frigate to his flagship, the Silent Angel.

Plumb takes one last look out across the bay before taking his hands off the rail and offering his arm to the woman.

‘Enough sightseeing for today. Shall we?’

She takes his arm and they walk off screen, the camera drone deactivating soon after.

Nightmares

‘All hands to battlestations, this is not a drill. Marine fireteams report immediately to Starboard landing bay sections K1 through K9’ Confusion. Fear. ‘Repeat, all hands man battlestations, Marine fireteams report immediately to starboard landing bay’.

The Nightmares were often nightly occurrences. They had been ever since that fateful day, and Andrastus knew that they would likely remain so long into the future. The dreams were so vivid, he felt that he was there again, back onboard the Wandering Saint when everything went to hell and his world ended.

‘All hands, this is Admiral Noir. We have been boarded by multiple hostiles, enemy numbers are being confirmed. All marine fireteams proceed immediately to the starboard hangar deck. Boarders are to be repelled at all costs.’

The same messages and images replayed themselves again and again, the fear as potent and tangible as it had been 5 years ago. He could see so clearly the faces of his fellow Firbolg pilots as they waited in the cramped squadron ready room, confused and uncertain. Crump. The lighting in the room flickers, the power supply disrupted by whatever punishment the ship was taking. How? Where the feth had they come from? His patrol had just returned, combat had been fierce but the enemy had been driven off.... or so it seemed. Andrastus felt his gut tighten into a knot as dread washed over him. The power fluctuated again, another Crump reverberating through the ship. The intercom sounded yet again, delivering a message that would haunt his every sleeping and waking moment for years to come.

‘This is the Admiral, Sansha True Slaves have taken control of the starboard landing bay. We can confirm at least a thousand hostiles are now onboard this ship. They must be stopped. All hands report to ship’s armouries and prepare to repel boarders’.

The New Beginning

Captain Andrastus Plumb smiled to himself as he took a sip from his glass of Amarrian Whiskey. Today had been a good day. Leaning forward slightly, he placed his glass back on his desk and picked up a datapad, reading the display carefully.

‘Recorder on’ He said in a monotone voice. Leaning back into his chair with the datapad in one hand, he began to speak.

‘Personal Log, 4^th July 111YC. I have to say i am enjoying the change of pace the Angel Cartel has offered to me over the past six days. Ghost Festival is, by and large, a well run corporation, the directorship are certainly more involved than that of my former employer, Beyond Divinity Inc’.

He looked down at the datapad again, scrolling down a list of recent engagements and battles fought by the Ghost Festival corporation.

‘It is good to be flying with the old Twisted pilots once again. While the BYDI lot were competent, there was no real feeling of camaraderie or friendship between myself and the other pilots. I suppose I never really tried to integrate myself into the corp properly, come to think of it. They were too..... rowdy for my tastes, especially after we returned from a successful operation. As for the other pilots of Ghost Festival i cant really say. I have spent some time in the corporation bar, but kept to myself. From the little information I managed to extract from Mortis before applying, there has been alot of drama in the corporation recently. I personally fail to understand how ones professionalism can drop quite so low, but i guess that out here your fellow pilots become your family.’

Andrastus stopped speaking for a moment, taking another sip of whiskey and reading his datapad.

‘We managed to score some decent kills today, namely a Maelstrom, a pair of Drakes and a Cyclone. Rathnon found them lurking inside a cosmic Anomaly in the Allipes system, and needless to say, demanded that we bring the rain. I took the Ethics Gradient into combat somewhat modded this time, loading up another Warp Disruption Field Generator. It should be so noted that doing this put considerable strain on the ship’s capacitor, and were it not for some timely remote assistance from our Guardian and Basilisk pilots one of the targets could have escaped. To their credit the enemy pilots were very brave. Of the 5 ships we jumped, 2 were tackled and three escaped. Two of them subsequently returned to the site of battle, a somewhat stupid, but gutsy decision.’

The Captain sat silently for a moment, seeming to brood over what he had just said.

‘Yes, a very gutsy decision. A decision I can respect.’

Gulping down the last of his whiskey, Plumb stood up and placed the glass back down on his desk, along with the datapad. Putting his chair back underneath the table, he proceeded to walk slowly across his quarters, finally stopping infront of a series of large, metal shelves. The shelves were laden with various objects, most of which held distinct significance to him. Reaching upwards, he gently removed a framed picture from the topmost shelf, holding it in his hands, a forlorn expression on his face. The picture was of what appeared to be the interior of a Gallentean starship’s main bridge. At the centre of the photograph were seven Gallentean Navy officers in neatly pressed uniforms facing the camera with neutral expressions. At the base of the picture, just above the wooden frame a caption was visible. 'Command Officers, FNS Wandering Saint, 108YC'. The centremost of the Gallentean officers was almost a head shorter than the two on either side of him, and yet exuded by far the most warmth. Admiral Alexander Noir.

Plumb’s eyes drifted across the photograph, focusing on each face in turn. A wave of sadness crept over him as he mentally recalled the name of each person in the picture, remembering how close they had all been. They had been a family, each one willing to die for the other. 'And die some of them did' he thought, another wave of emotion moving over him. Replacing the picture, he stood silent for a moment next to the shelf, seemingly lost in thought. Composing himself, he looked around his quarters briefly before moving back towards his desk.

‘Recorder off’