I stumbled upon this fiction contest a week ago where one is to write a short story which take place within the EVE universe. The rules was quite easy going and the only ones you really need to focus on is the fact that it must fit the universe, be no more then 3000 words and not to be centered around what is called a pod-pilot. So without further ado, I give you; The golden God.
THE GOLDEN GOD
by Martin Karlsson
More then a hundred years had passed.
Greymahne dropped his jacket which landed with a soft thud against the hard and cold iron floor. His entire body ached. Every muscle felt like it was on the verge of dying or just done so. Just as the entire body landed in the bed his hand reached for the face. A loud and deep sigh was released from the man. His hand felt a thin crest which felt a bit like mud, but as it mixed together with the sweat on his forehead he noticed that it turned dark red in his hands. This was not mud, it was blood. He did not remember if the blood was his own or belonged to someone else. It did not matter.
For many years he had been one just like millions of other slaves, working on a mining-barge, loading and unloading Veldspar mined just outside the Amarr homeworld. Born as a child of slaves into a life of slavery. Grown up in labor-camps and forced to worship the golden Gods – Amarrians. Exposed to the harsh reality with no bond to the warmth of his people and the tribes. When he reached seventeen years of age he had almost forgot all about it and accepted his standing in this world as a slave, but also now a proud miner. Just as most slaves he dreamed of wealth. Income which could buy him freedom. The world was a dark place and the only way a slave could ever become something else was by buying a life using hard cold ISK. All could be done and everyone could be taken care of as long as you had the correct amount in your wallet. It was the dream of the this that kept him going every day, every week and every month. Until the day when everything fell apart and his life once again was smashed into pieces. The slave liberation.
The order sounded so good. The order sounded so fair. The politicians who made it an reality received a great push forward, up the social ladder, and the rest of the universe hoisted them as diplomats of peace. Slaves were free and got the opportunity to return to their home-world and start a new life, no longer in shackles as slaves – instead as free men and women of EVE. As equals. It all sounded so right, so humane, so true. For all the ones who took the decision it did. And it was a wonderful day for all those who had a home to return too, for all the slaves who still had memories left of what they had been taken from. Greymahne however no longer remembered anything of his old life or who his own family were. Not even where his actual home was, never had he lingered in the same place for a time so long as to call the place a home. Suddenly, he had nothing and was nothing. Not even a slave.
The little structure his life once had in his life crashed to pieces. Long hard days of labor instead became long hard nights of drinking, paying for his poisoned lifestyle by doing the dirty work of scum. Slowly, his last reminiscent of humanity washed away. The deeds he fulfilled was extortion against drunks and outlawed fist-fights against other roughnecks. The only thing which stayed the same what ever he did was the fact that the ones who payed him for his deeds or placed bets of money at him during fights; was rich Amarrians in fine cloths. His life felt ever more rotten for each night that passed. He hated them all. Amarrians was all that surrounded him. Looking at him in despise.
-“Aren’t you ashamed, being a filthy smelling drunk?”, the woman sitting next to Greymahne asked. He had not even noticed her entering the bar, even less sitting down. She was looking all to common to be noticed.
-“Speak to me again and I’ll spit in your drink.”
-“I would like to give you an opportunity to make a change in this world. To revenge what was taken from you. To do what you want to do against those who have deserved it.” As she spoke Greymahne got the feeling that she knew more of him then he enjoyed. She had been watching him. He had seen her before. Many times. Not just that, as he gazed his eyes upon her he noticed that she wore the face of a Minmatar. She was of the same blood as him.
-“Who are you and why should I listen to you?”
-“I know who killed your brothers and sisters, your father and your mother. Who raped and pillaged your world and left you here to rot. I have sworn my own life to make them pay. And I want you by my side”
Greymahne felt that his concentration was lacking in quality at the moment. Drugs was rushing through his veins and he was not completely sure that this even was reality and not a dream.
This was the first contact of many. At first the assignments he did for the women was in the means of simple tasks. As time passed by the assignments he received become all more of a physical nature. Things that asked more of him then simply talk to people, delivering things-Greymahne went from being a no-good slave into being a full roughneck. Instead of taking orders he was now giving them. Instead of delivering information he was not receiving it. Not just that, he acted on the information, pushing out plans and orders which was sending pod pilots towards certain doom. He had never piloted a ship or even been into the cockpit of a ship, still he ordered operations performed by others from this cold and vast champer of steel and technology. All for a chance of inflicting a scar in the Amarr society. He was here to fulfill a destiny created by his forefathers. He became not only a soldier of the Minmatar, he became a commander. Placed deep behind enemy lines he had a chance to set in motion operations which had for a long time been unthinkable. His task was to wreck havoc, gather information and lay the foundation for a great battle to come. A battle which had been planned for years and years. Finally the time was closing in. His name would never be known, he knew this. No one would ever know that it was he who gave the plan momentum. His name would never be taught to children in schools or mentioned in the history-books. He was yet another sacrifice for the greater good to bring back the old ways. What had been taken from them so long time ago must return. Soldiers die as heroes on the battlefield, while commanders die in bunkers.
Retaliation, revenge, vengeance. They are all nothing but empty words in times like these. More then a hundred years have passed since the last rebellion, when the heroes of the past was forged out of blood and suffering. The new day of reckoning was closing in fast. The rise of the Minmatar and the fall of the Amarr.
Burn the golden God.