Lost Soul of a Caldari Spy
By DeathDealerZero
First place
A single light shines on the plain steel desk in front of the window. Documents are piled neatly on the right side of the desk, and the stationery is lined up on the left. All in order. There is a faint groan coming from the base of the chair, upon which, we see a slight, feminine shape. This is Illivia. Sergeant Major Illivia of the Gallente Federal Defence Union, if you please. She is leaning back, eyes closed, with her head resting uncomfortably on her right shoulder. Her slender hands are balled into anxious fists. The toes inside her shined black boots curl and straighten, curl and straighten, as if they are trying to climb out of the leather.
Father is standing at the window, looking out at the swirling nebulae and faint points of stars. Little Illivia sits swinging her feet off the edge of a bench to high for her to touch the steel decking. She is wondering how long the journey to Gallente Prime will take. “These transport ships are sooooo slow” she thinks, to a small tune she has been humming since they boarded. She opens her mouth to ask her father when they would arrive, when there is a huge rumble, distant but distinctive, from the other end of the ship. Her father wheels around, fixes her with a frightened stare, then shouts something. Our little Illivia tries to make out the sound of his voice, but a loud mechanical whirring has enveloped her ears. As the ship’s warp drive kicks in, the cabin gives a violent lurch. Another crash from the far side, a scream from the next room, children crying, and a man shouting. The door bursts open, and in step three figures, silhouetted by the corridor lights. A large bald man enters, and strikes her father to the floor. As he looks up in a stunned gaze, the bald man stamps on his head, which emits a very audible crack, even over the sound of the warp drive. Her mother bursts into the room, reaching for Illivia, but is intercepted by the second attacker. He throws her back into the corridor, where a beam of green light penetrates her body, just above the naval. The third man lowers his weapon. The woman, once strong, crumples to the floor in a lifeless heap. Then her mother’s assassin steps towards Illivia, reaches out a hand, and…
Her eyelids snap open, almost ripping themselves from her face. Her pupils focus, and her ears acknowledge the bright chirping of the incoming call on her video intercom. She swivels in her chair to face the window. The dark, boundless void of Eve is replaced by the weathered face of Wing Commander Yoshi Horitomi
“Did I wake you Sergeant Major?”
“Not at all. Why do you ask?”
“You have an imprint of your epaulette on your right cheek.” Illivia touches her face, feels the indentation in her skin, and thinks to herself “Mental note-Fire Wing Commander Horitomi.”
“What’s the nature of your call, Commander?” she asks, fighting to keep her face from blushing.
“We’ve just had presidential confirmation from the Federation. A fleet has been dispatched to Wiyrkomi Peace Corps, in Dantumi solar system, where Caldari are assembling a heavy attack fleet. Orders are to destroy the fleet and station.” Illivia’s stomach sinks, almost to her shoes. At least it might stop her toes from curling. Her mouth and throat go dry, as if she has just breathed a lung full of space dust, and all she can manage to say, almost whisper is, “That will be all, Commander.” The screen fades, and the panoramic vista of Eve returns, but now, the space is not empty. Roughly 200 ships are moving towards a jump gate in the far distance. As she watches with mounting terror, the foul smell of her mothers dying body fill her nostrils. A strong, sweet odour, like live stock through a burning process plant. “Why that smell, why now? Damn it mother, I have enough to think about!” Then she sees it-the light growing, a single flash, the ships gone. The fleet, her fleet, advancing toward Caldari space. The Wiyrkomi HQ, inside which, her Caldari family are sleeping sound. The family, formed after years of imprisonment at the hands of her enemy. The enemy who have raised her, nurtured her, made her their own…..and who have made her a spy in her own camp. Discovering the secrets of her real bloodline-Gallente.
Torn between ancestry and family, her hands leave their prints on the window. Then the prints fade, like any hope of peace.
