Uncharted Territory

*video feed begins.
Image snaps into focus; Celia is sat at a desk strewn with empty brandy bottles, cigarette packets and used nerve-stick vials. A warm orange lamp casts a sepia glow around her, the rest of the room in darkness. Her arms are outstretched towards the camera drone as she adjusts its position to her eye-level. She then takes a lit cigarette from an ashtray, gazing into the lens silently, expresionless.

The light accentuates a more softer appearance of her; she wears no make-up and her hair is tied back behind her head, a few loose tresses rise and fall gently across her face as she exhales smoke. Eventually, she speaks to the camera...*

It would appear that I don't need probes or wormholes to find myself lost and stranded in uncharted territory. My head is at odds with my feelings... I've never been here before and I don't know my way... this wasn't supposed to happen.

*Celia's well-kept neutral composure crumbles, her vacant eyes begin to look fearful, panicked*

What started out as an experiment has become an outright obsession, an addiction... I can't control this anymore... When there's no emotion to stimulate me, I feel so empty, so hollow. Being emotionally numb is nothing new to me, but now I've tasted intoxication...

*gives an involuntary shudder, throwing her cigarette back into the ashtray*

I can't bear the thought of going back to feeling nothing.

*sighs deeply, looking away from the camera, chewing on her bottom lip with clear anxiety.*

I've been offered help. Vince wants to help me understand my emotions and use them as a strength. I'm dubious about it though... not that I don't trust him, in fact I do trust him, completely. Our very lives depend upon that when we fly together. What I'm more worried about is letting someone I...

*looks thoughtful, searching for a suitable word*

...care about come so close. The thought of him coming to any harm makes my stomach knot. People I get close to end up being harmed.

*absently twists the two rings on her left hand silently for a few moments before resuming*

I think I've done the most sensible thing, though. Rather than go through the indignity of sitting on a fucking shrink's couch, I gave Vincent my dictaphone. If he truely believes he can help, everything I've been feeling lately is on there. I hope he can make better sense of it than I can.

*Celia tilts her head over the back of her seat, running her fingers through her hair letting it loose. After a deep sigh she leans forward again, unbrushed hair falling around her resigned expression*

I feel so sick. I can't think. I can't motivate myself to go to the gym, talk to my engineers or anything else useful.

*Takes a near-empty bottle of brandy from her desk pours the remainder into a glass. She takes a nerve-stick vial, tips the contents into her drink and swirls the bulbous glass around, allowing the alcohol and sedative to mix. She downs it in one gulp, grimacing.*

Am I really worth helping? What's in it for him? I haven't stopped once to think about how anybody else feels, I've been so wrapped up in myself.

*her eyelids grow heavy as her shoulders slump. She begins to tilt forward, reaching out a hand to the camera drone*

Does he have... any idea... of... what he's... getting... into...?

*a brief spasm of pain crosses her face before her head comes to rest on the desk. Her outstretched arm flails at the camera but misses, laying inert amongst the clutter. The camera keeps recording the comatose woman for another hour before going into auto-standby.
Video feed ends.*

Minefields

*Audio feed begins.
Clack. Clack. Clack. Slow, measured steps of heavy boots can be heard pacing on a thick metal floor*

Sometimes I feel like I'm walking in a minefield.
All attention and focus is on exactly where I am, and I daren't move for fear of treading on something and blowing myself up.

*a lighter clicks several times in quick succession followed by a sharp inhale*

I've got to tread so carefully. This would be easy, I'm naturally paranoid, but it's more difficult when I actually find the danger so... exhilirating.

*stops pacing and pauses*

I'm beginning to discern the various feelings I have in certain situations. They're much different from the usual survival urges, they're stronger, more intense... sometimes I can't even think straight... I know that's not good, but it's like brandy or crash; heady and intoxicating.

*another quick inhale and the creak of a matress. Celia lowers her voice*

First example - Vincent. I see him briefly on comms the other night, looking rough. Very rough. And then suddenly my stomach goes cold, my pulse goes up and my mind starts racing - but I can't think because I'm so caught up in the feeling...

*takes another draw as she pauses*

And then the next night, I walk him back from the 'Hook to the medbay and see that he's going to be just fine and... this warm wave steals over me, my stomach unknots and I feel so, so relaxed. We spoke briefly of family, that issue that usually shuts me down cold, but he made it feel natural and comforting. I curled up in the chair, watching him sleep, grinning. My face still hurts from that.

*a faint sound of liquid being poured*

And yet, Kimochi makes me have different feelings altogether... and again, they feel wonderfully perculiar inside. Twice, at the party we attended at the new Three Sister's bar, she invoked this white-hot flash of... adrenylin, aggression... yet it was not entirely directed outwardly at her, it felt more... inside of me.
First time I felt it was when she gave Vince a deep kiss, a "prize" for our silly competition, which I must admit was very entertaining. Second time was when she left, seemingly not too bothered about his company. She keeps doing that. Savouring the kill, did she say to me once? I can't understand that line of thinking. You see what you want and you take it, what's the point in messing around?

*pauses to take a drink*

Third example - Milo. I admit, there's an obvious attraction to him, but not for the reasons I first thought. Sure, he's got cutting-edge accumen, Gallentean looks and as I found out, good physical form... I'd arranged a work-out session with him, so we had a spar before we left for the party. I enjoyed the excercise and the chance to get to know him better; I was surprised to learn that he too has things he would like to put behind him and had used a suppression implant. Ok, the thought of using one myself briefly crossed my mind... until he told me about the side effects.

*takes another drink and sighs*

But I got the most intense feelings when I saw how laid back he can be... he can be so serious sometimes, and yet at other times it seems like he hasn't a care in the world... It makes me feel lighter, worry melts away, smiling comes easily and naturally...

*leaves a lengthy pause, then the sound of pacing footsteps resumes*

How... what...

*gives a weary moan, with a hint of frustration*

How do I keep my focus when my insides are doing this to me? My head is screaming at me to stop, but...

*Celia drops her voice to a whisper, edged with conviction and a certain degree of passion*

I don't want to. It's better than ISK, or real Gallentean brandy, better than a night with a chamber-slave and falling asleep afterwards on a Sooth-Sayer...

I just want more...

*sighs heavily, leaving the dictaphone run without speaking for several minutes. A chronometer can be heard, soflty amidst the slience of the room... Tick. Tick. Tick.
Audio feed ends*

Delilah

*Audio feed begins*

How typical.
After finally finding myself a sense of peace and contentment, the universe decides to turn itself upside-down and inside-out.

Still, it would be foolish of me to see the Seyllin incident and the repercussions as a bad thing. A multitude of new possibilites, opportunites and horizons has opened and such events always bring out the best in people.

There was Serpentis, raising their PR by providing medical aid for the Seyllin evacuees. That'll open a few more lucrative contracts for them, I'll bet.

Then there's the shrewd marketeers, cashing in on sales of exploratory equipment. Milo has been looking very pleased with himself of late and I must admit I find myself pleased for him; within hours of the first anomalies being reported as consequence of the Seyllin event, he had devised a marketing strategy and set it into motion. That kind of quick, cool-heading thinking is admirable.

*sighs lightly*

As yet, I've heard no word from Dominations or the Directorate on how we should proceed in light of these incredible wormhole anomalies. I've only gathered scraps of information, rumours here, hushed whispers there. Some tell of extremely potent resources, others are becoming stranded, lost in uncharted systems, dooming themselves to the mercy of the self-destruct button.

Hah! Some are even talking of hostile beings...
Yeah, I've heard all that before - the tribal elders used to try to scare us as kids with their mystic bullshit to keep us from playing around the ganglands. Might've worked on some of those kids, but not me... Hah! Monsters indeed...

*allows herself a chuckle*

Still, I'm a smart girl with an eye for oportunity, so if Dominations or the Directorate order an expedition I'll certainly volunteer for escort duty.

Ah, that reminds me; my new cruiser is finished with its pre-flight checks and the crew roster completed. I was so glad Myhrial tipped me with some contacts for recruitment agencies - I was dreading having to interview the entire crew myself. I find capsuleers interesting company, but I really don't have the time or the patience to be talking to riff-raff. Once you've heard one, you've heard them all. Like those Gallentean adult holoreels, I guess - same dull plots, same dull motions, just different faces.

*a datapad chimes in the background*

Looking at the roster, I seem to have a mixed bag. Majority are Amarr; we're on an Imperial Crusade station after all. A few tribals, some Caldari freelancers, a dozen Gallente. Bah, why have the agency bothered with putting in their full names? Numbers will do.

*clatter of plastic on metal*

I suppose I'll give them a quick address before we leave dock later for the maiden flight.

I've named my new Rupture-class "Delilah", after a story I heard from the Scriptures. Not that I hold any faith in that work of fiction, but this one story struck a chord with me...

There was once a mighty paladin of Amarr, who won score after score of victories for the early Empire. The crusader, contrary to Amarr custom, had allowed his hair to grow long, claiming that he would only cut it when God had deemed his victories worthy and required him to fight no more. Delilah, a beautiful slave-girl in the pay of Amarr's enemies, used all her cunning and guile to seduce the noble warrior. As he lay sleeping in bed next to her, she took a blade and cut his hair. With his famous locks gone, the paladin had lost his own confidence and that of the Empire. Of course, the fool perished in the next battle he fought.

*laughs softly*

I hope my Delilah takes down her fair share of foolish warriors too!

*a creak of leather and the clicking of joints can be heard*

Physical training has been going very well. Beat my personal best running the station ring yesterday and knocked teeth out of a sparing partner on Monday. I'm going to need a new chamber-slave too, he's just not keeping up with me lately. My cough has cleared up and I haven't drank to excess or touched any drugs. This is good - when I want to focus, I know I can.

And focus I must; I have plenty to do and I've had quite enough prattling into the dictaphone for today.

*a click. Audio feed ends.*

Ascent

*audio feed opens. Celia speaks softly, somewhat croaky*

I've been acting like a fucking teenager!

*begins to laugh, but is caught short by a brief coughing fit*

I should be livid with myself, but I'm not. I've lived these past few days, taking it all in... people, places... I've let myself do what I've denied myself for years - the chance to actually live a little and feel it.

*gives a gentle cough. A faint clink of glass can be heard, followed by the pouring of liquid*

And my promotion has made it all the more sweeter.

*lets out a slow, easy sigh*

It's an opportunity and challenge I fully embrace. But as the Commander says, with it comes much responsibility and I don't feel particularly responsible right now... I'll deal with it in the morning, I just want these last few minutes feeling like this, before I pass out.

*pauses, then begins a low chuckle*

Oh my... Sunday morning, waking up next to Vincent Pryce. I must've just lay there for about fifteen minutes, mind racing over every detail I could remember about the previous night... nothing happened, I'm sure of it. Nothing we would both regret, anyway. In fact, the last thing I remember about that night was feeling so relaxed, so calm.. I really didn't have a care in the world. For all his reckless abandon, I feel safe around him...

*leaves a very long pause. Coughs a little before continuing*

I can no longer deny that I've changed. I've taught myself not to care, not even for my own thoughts and feelings... things are different now, the small handfull of pilots that make up our Family are just that... Family. Something I've never had.

*a creak of leather and the rustle of soft fabric*

This badge confirms my acceptance into that Family. Trusted. Honoured. And I've committed myself to them, of my own free will.

*Celia's voice lifts with certain strength as she states the last phrase. She pauses again and coughs once*

I don't usually hold any regard for symbolism, but I got my hair cut just before the Ceremony. Losing the weight of those heavy dreads feels fantastic... my head feels lighter, clearer...

*Celia's voice rises and lowers in volume, as if she is moving her head around whilst talking into the mic*

The new guy, Jude, said he liked it. He seems a fascinating individual. There's a definitive edge to him I can't quite place...

*click of a lighter, followed by a racking coughing fit*

Oh fuck that, I really need to lay off smoking, drink and drugs for a bit. I need to get back into the gym before I let myself slide. And what the hell was I doing with nerve sticks last night?! Woke up only two hours ago in the Skyhook; place was deserted but for the cleaners and myself, slumped in a chair with an empty glass and two empty stick-vials in my hand!

*sighs with a slight rattle in her chest*

Back to business, now. Keep focused. Sure, I can live a little, but I must remain a professional.

*A yawn, followed by two thuds, then the creak of matress springs. Celia sighs and speaks in a barely audiable whisper*

All my life, building walls to keep others out and me safe. Brick by brick, steadily upwards until I couldn't get out even if I wanted to. After years of trying to rid myself of those who wanted to control me, I end up imprisoning myself.

But no longer. Things have changed. The walls will stay; they have their uses, after all.

But now I have wings with which to ascend them.

*Celia sighs contently before the audio feed ends*

The Chapel

*audio feed begins. Faintly in the background, a choir can be heard*

They look so serene and joyful when they sing.
All that emotion, yet their intended audience will never applaud or thank them. So why do they do it? What's in it for them?
I wonder if it's the emotion itself that is the end goal. I've always thought feelings were a means to an end, tools to be used and manipulated, not the end in itself.

*A slow, echoed click-click of heeled boots on stone can be heard*

I've never been in an Amarrian Chapel before. The architecture is fascinating. I guess this must be one of the better ones, being an Imperial Crusade station. That pillar must be supporting a tremendous weight and those archways... how do they do not just cave in?

The architect must have been paid handsomely to put so much effort into this. Or did he do it out of faith, devotion... love?

*a long pause*

I wish I could understand what they're singing. How long has it been since I last sung myself? Last time was in that bar where I first met that bastard Claude. Started out filling in for the act who couldn't make their gig because their transport was caught up in a gate shoot-out. I didn't do too badly, I even got a regular slot on the graveyard shift. It was easy money on top of my regular bar wages, so I took it on. Hah! I still remember by best compliment from a sober punter, something like, "Yeah, you look smouldering, your voice is deep, smooth and pitch perfect... just there's no feeling, no soul in the words". Hmph.

*click of a lighter*

I enjoyed listening to Commander Yishal's playing the other night; I can't remember what those instruments are called now, dammit, it's a Khanid sort, with strings... I dunno. But it felt good to hear it, not to mention seeing my usually strict and coldly efficient commander relaxed like that. I felt that same mesmorising calm I felt when I watched Vince and Kimmi dancing that...

*Celia stops abruptly. A male voice can heard, close, but out of the dictaphone's range to pick up his words clearly*

If God doesn't want me to smoke in here, he can tell me himself.

*Celia's tone is even and ice-cold. The male voice replies, a little louder but still unclear.*

My Master?

*A cold, cackling laugh reverberates*

If you really want to speak to my authorities, Padre, you're going to have to travel to Curse and demand an audience with the Dominations.

*The man's voice raises in an angry tone. The feed is suddenly cut*

Rungs of the Ladder

*audio feed opens.*

Only managed a few hours of flight-time last week. Each sortee was profitable, so I am pleased with that. Still need more flight-time however, especially in combat situations. Still tending to succumb to confusion occasionally and send conflicting messages through the pod interface. Only experience is going to help me with this, so I need to keep seeking out opportunities.

Even more so, as I'm eager to prove myself to be elegible for promotion. I've familiarised myself with the basics of leadership, the books and materials kindly provided by Seppu. However, keeping a cool head isn't something you can hardcode into a skillbook and upload to your neural-net. I've really gotta work at this.

*pauses a moment*

Again, the prospect of promotion has evoked new thoughts and dare I say feelings that seem strange and alien to me. It's certainly vastly different to my last forray onto the promotional ladder, when Tomas gave me my first post at Claude's company. Promotion was more or less inevitable, I mean, I was the CEO's wife for a start! Still, I had to put in a few hours work here and there with various managers to advance, although most of that kind of work was spent on my back. And I'm sure Claude knew all about those incidents and was complicit with it all; his way of rewarding his lackeys, the bastard.
I sincerely hope it won't be neccessary in PRETA; I don't feel entirely comfortable doing that sort of thing anymore...

*clears her throat*

At the time, the strategy worked so I have no regrets. Within the space of a couple of years, I was a COO and a minor shareholder in the company. I think it was then I had my first pang of desire to become a capsuleer. There was no way the RMS were going to take me back in as a recruit, so the only other way to get in was through a hefty cash fee and a lot of bribery.

*laughs lightly*

Getting myself in the CEO's seat and making myself sole shareholder was probably the most challenging scheme I've ever undertaken. I couldn't have done it without Tomas's help.
As Claude's consigliere it was tricky trying to drive a wedge between them. But I found it eventually - the pair used to argue lots about whether to take the corp off-planet and into space - Claude hated the idea, Tomas thought it the way forward. I promised Tomas to deliver his wish if I were CEO and it wasn't long before Claude had his unfortunate shuttle accident. Tomas quickly bundled the paperwork through the courts and within a couple of weeks everything was in position...

So, there I was - CEO and sole shareholder of a sprawling planetside corp. One hundred and fifty thousand employees suddenly looking up to me, a girl born into poverty on Pator. Before I could become the latest "rags to riches" success story of the Federation, I had the business dissolved and left Tomas dead on my office floor.

*a lighter clicks*

I've never liked being responsible for anybody. I find it much easier to remove people completely than to have to be responsible for them. Yet promotion within PRETA will demand that I take up responsibility. When I think about my current colleagues it feels completely different to the apathy and disregard I had for those at DKAT - it's strange, I don't think of myself first - I end up doing crazy things like keeping twenty million ISK-worth of Assault Frigate in a fight even as parts of its structure go flying past the camera drone. Is this that "faith" that Commander Yishal and some of the more religious members believe in?

*a long exhale*

Once again, I ask myself more questions than I answer. Maybe I don't have the answers... maybe it's time to drop the guard a little and confide in someone I can trust...
Gah, maybe this, maybe that... I used to be so sure of myself!

*a loud clatter, as if the dictaphone has been thrown or dropped. The feed ends*