My shuttle, the 'Nice to meet you', shook as it powered into the short warp jump to the next gate, and the doppler-shift of the light impressed me once more. I have always found the subtle red- and blue-shifted light quite beautiful, and it seemed even more so out here on the edge of nulsec.
My journey so far had involved my much regrettable death at the hands of some unruly Ukrainian mobsters, members of Solar Fleet, and number 1 on my list of grudges. It was thanks to this encounter that I implemented my new ship-naming tradition: Every time my shuttle is destroyed, the name shall become less and less friendly... hence the 'Hi! Nice to meet you' becoming a bit less congenial. I eventually envision myself, fifty deaths down the line, with the delightfully named 'FUCK OFF AND DIE', but somehow I think this won't go down too well with the people I meet. But by then, I imagine my corpse will be in many a space-graveyard (more on that later...).
So now I was travelling to a new destination: GRNJ-3, in the Syndicate region. As ever, I set off completely bereft of knowledge of the region, but confident that I would be able to charm any locals out of shooting me the moment they saw me. Fortunately, I was occasionally right:
Pleasantly surprised that mere words might be a good defence after all, and considering a reference involving pens being mightier than swords (and possibly a nob gag in there for fun), I stopped my inexorable march onwards to chat a little longer. Sarkelias gave me an invaluable tip regarding the combat-worthiness of my shuttle, which I am sure will turn the tide of many a battle in my favour in the months to come:
He explained that neutrals use shuttles to nudge pilots as they are going to dock, keeping them out of a station long enough to destroy them. This seemed despicably underhand to me, but also probably would come in handy. At the very least, it would be a better excuse for bumping people that "Your ship is pretty and I wanted a closer look." That would make me sound insane.
My arsenal of dirty tricks thus reinforced, I departed, and made the last 10 jumps to my destination in relative safety. In one system a few jumps out, my pleasant greeting of "Greetings!" was met with an attractive Czech/Slovakian lady pirate trying to jump my bones. And by jump my bones I mean blow me up into small pieces. So I quickly did the brave, manly thing, and fled sharpish to the nearby gate. A quick inspection of her bio, and those of others in the area, revealed their Czechoslovakian origins, and it seemed there were a lot of them in these systems.
It seemed that my journey was now transforming into a tour of the former Soviet-bloc countries. And my grasp of the language around those parts makes the drunk people singing outside my window sound eloquent and refined. Undeterred, I jumped to warp and sped on, avoiding these suspect characters. I suspected that they were in league somehow with my foes in the Ukraine, but this theory was based on statistics that I made up, and was therefore dubious at best.
Finally, I was here! My second destination in my trip in as many days travel. I was quite pleased, and feeling already as if this trip might not be so bad after all. All I needed now was some friendly pilots to have a convivial chat with around the brilliant space-fire place that is the star of the GRNJ-3 system.
So, were there pilots to talk to? Why yes, at least twenty in that system, and quite a few in the systems surrounding it. Were they from a country that I speak the language of? Were they bollocks! They were all Italian. The Ukraine, to Italy, via Czechoslovakia. I was expecting to tour the universe, not the world. Nevertheless, I extended my greetings to the inhabitants of the area, and swiftly made friends with some English-speaking Avieres.
Guiliare and Cadrega of the Insurgent New Eden Tribe, a 100% Italian corporation, declared their personal intentions to not shoot me, despite their modus opperandi being 'Not Blue, Shoot It' (a policy that is apparently simultaneously controversial and wide-spread). Apparently my 'kindness' was my saving grace... They however warned me of their comrade, Jimbooh, an usavoury character if I ever met one:
Despite his positive security status, they assured me that he was 'shooting everything in space' and that if I hadn't upgraded my medical clone, I might want to sooner rather than later if I hoped to avoid another explosive and messy setback. I begrudgingly parted with the 5000-odd ISK to transfer my clone to the friendly staff in the system's medical bay. I didn't want to seem afraid of one psycho Italian, but I had come a long way since my last cloning...
Ever eager to learn about the situation out here, I asked Cadrega, who spoke English rather better than some pilots I've met, what was the happy-hap.
So not a very safe part of space for this budding Mafioso outfit to take root, but that was probably exactly what they were looking for, if Jimbooh was anything to go by. He hunted me as I crossed their space, targeting me and letting rip, nearly putting a dent in the fresh armour on my second shuttle. This was the last straw, and I resolved to move on, and set myself a third destination. I asked Cadrega where he would suggest I head next, and after discussing where the most action was taking place, Curse was decided upon. I felt that using the rumours of the galaxy might be a more interesting way of choosing where to go, as so far I had ended up in vaguely dangerous, but not downright exciting stretches of space. Hopefully this time, I could see a big fight for myself...
And so I bade farewell to the spaghetti-munching scooter-riding Italians, and fired up my warp engines once more. With Jimbooh, in tight pursuit, I departed.
Destination: Curse! (Only around 90 jumps...)
I like it, keep it coming.
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