Pod and Planet fiction submission

Whinings of the Immortal
By: Manny Bothans

                Manny’s world went dark for a few terrifying moments. He always hated this part, disconnecting from his pod and leaving its gooey embrace. It always reminded him that while he was immortal, he was only that way in space. Anytime he wasn’t in his pod he always had the nagging thought that if he died on his feet like a man, he would indeed die and never return. As Manny absolutely hated being out of his pod, he almost never left. He did of course disembark in order to change out the embryonic pod fluid that sustained him in space. It would get exceedingly… stale. Especially after harrowing fleet engagements he had the good fortune to survive, which wasn’t often. On comms he would brag about dying gloriously in a fire, normally because that was his fate.
                Today however, he left his pod for a different reason. Today he was meeting with his cousin Ricardo, to celebrate his retirement as a contract mercenary. This absolutely MORTIFIED Manny, as his cousin did not have access to the capsuleer-only level of the station in orbit of the fourth moon of the fourth planet in the Jita solar system. Manny would have to leave the clean, somewhat spartanly furnished, captains quarters so graciously supplied by the Caldari and actually interact with the unwashed masses. For the sake of politeness, capsuleers like Manny referred to them as “baseliners” but most don’t refer to, or interact with, them at all. Manny flipped up the collar on his jacket, in a vain attempt to hide the neural jack located at the base of his skull, and walked briskly to the elevator shaft and descended into the chaos below.
                It has been quite some time since Manny had even seen a baseliner, much less several million of them. As the elevator descended down the transparent lift tube he could see the interior of the station laid out in front of him. He could clearly see the commercial zone, with its shops lined up in neat rows and restaurants featuring foods from all corners of the cluster sprinkled in here and there for good measure. Nothing makes you hungrier than spending your money after all. Near the edge of this zone was the entertainment district. While not nearly as organized as the commercial zone, the entertainment district is always buzzing with activity. This was his destination. In particular a little hole-in-the wall Minmatar pub called In Rust We Trust.
                Manny walked into the bar, the classic wooden double doors creaking as they swung open.  His cousin waved at him from a booth in the corner. The tables were empty. Manny had only agreed to meet with Ricardo if it was done in the middle of the day, when the bar was not as busy. The only other people inside were a rather stout bartender with a gleaming metal eye, and the half dozen or so Brutors sitting at the bar. A visibly pale Manny sat down across the booth from Ricardo, who was already enjoying his dark red beer, a house specialty called Rusty Rifter. Ricardo had pitcher and an extra glass at the table before Manny even arrived, and poured his cousin a drink in an attempt to calm his nerves.
                “I don’t know why we couldn’t just celebrate via comms” Manny grumbled as he accepted the glass from Ricardo.
                “It’s just not the same.” Ricardo replied. “Nothing beats a cool drink in a warm bar, but I guess that is lost on an egger like you.”
                “You know I hate that term, dust-bunny!” said Manny, mustering as much anger as his frightened, pale face could bring to bear. “Besides, I really don’t like everyone else knowing what I am” he added in a hoarse whisper.
                “Oh crap! I totally forgot that you’re a spineless wimp when you’re standing on your own two feet.” Ricardo remarked, wryly. He then shouted, “Hey gents! You guys mind doin’ me a solid and givin’ me and my cousin the bar?” as he walked toward the rather large Brutor men gathered at the bar.
                Nearly all of them smiled and nodded as they gathered their things and finished their drinks. All except one, he was staring directly at Ricardo Bothans while deliberately sipping on his beer as slowly as possible. Once he was done he asked “Why in the hell would I do tha-!” Well, he TRIED to ask anyways, but before the question left his mouth he was face first on the floor with Ricardo twisting the man’s arm behind his back.
                “You would be doin’ me a solid, especially after I helped the Republic Marines liberate your planet.” Ricardo said slowly, with all sense of levity and merrymaking absent in his icy tone.
                “You were one of those clone mercs?” the man on the floor choked out. He was shaking with the effort of trying to remain calm. He was failing, but one had to appreciate the effort it took not to wet himself.
                “I am STILL a clone merc. I just don’t have a contract at the moment. This just means I get to hang out with family, and do my best to keep from getting bored. You wouldn’t like me when I’m bored. To tell the truth, you ARE rather boring. Maybe I should spice up your life… or your death at least…”
                This was all the man needed to hear, as he scrambled away from Ricardo and ran as fast as his shaky legs could carry him. He was followed shortly by his friends, walking out and laughing at their compatriot’s visible terror.
                Now that it was just Manny, Ricardo, and the bartender, Manny seemed to be much more relaxed. He had let out a breath that he couldn’t remember holding, and some of the color returned to his cheeks. One could have blamed it on the beer, but Ricardo wasn’t splitting hairs on exactly how he got his cousin to “unclench” and the smile returned to the mercenary’s face.
                “So? How’s space treatin’ ya, Manny?”
                “Meh, its work at least. Been clearing up Sansha camps in the Catch region for a few weeks now. I’ve got to admit, while being a cloaking camper in enemy space was fun, I am glad they finally conceded to us and gave us the constellation we asked them for. On top of all that, I might actually be doing the job I was hired for pretty soon!” Manny practically shot the words from his mouth. He was glad to be able to talk about something he was good at for a change. “ORE is changing a lot about the mining foreman line of ships, and it actually means I get to be a mining foreman who brings in his own ore.”
                “I though you hated flying that Orca, Manny.” His cousin replied. Ricardo always thought his cousin flew around in space to blow things up and collect the corpses of other pod pilots.
                “Oh, I did! Just the thought of sitting in a forcefield bubble, turning on my boosters, and doing precisely nothing else puts me to sleep just thinking about it. However, all things change over time. The boosters for all types of boosts were re-worked. Now one has to be next to their fleetmates in order to give them boosts. Which means-“
                Ricardo cut him off, “Which means you actually have to be IN the belt you barges are mining in, and if you encounter trouble-“
                Manny cut HIM off, “I actually get to enjoy the fight, the explosions, and I just might get some Drifter food!”
                “Don’t tell me that’s why you collect corpses!” Ricardo said in disgust.
                “I see it as the ultimate insult.” Manny explained, “It’s no longer good enough for me and my friends to destroy your ship, blow up your pod, and kill you. I now collect the corpses and twice weekly fly out to the Jove observatory in my system. I then feed those corpses to the Drifters like ducks at the pond. Sometimes, especially when we are low on entosis links, one or two of my corpmates will accompany me to kill said Drifters for the elements needed for new links. I love it when that happens, that Drifter doomsday is AWESOME!! So, you said you would have some war stories for me when we met up. Come on, spill already!”
                Ricardo grinned from ear to ear. “Alright Manny, alright. Do you remember our time in Molden Heath?” Manny’s right eye twitched with annoyance at those memories, but nodded regardless. “Well on one of those missions you flew support for us on, I was trying out the commando dropsuits. They were new at the time, and I just HAD to play around with them. Seems to run in the family I guess.” Manny burst into laughter. “I had a setup I particularly enjoyed. I had run into some officer sniper rifles in an earlier mission. I had about 5 of them, so I decided to try one out. I had that, and a swarm launcher as well as a smattering of armor tanking and sensor mods. There isn’t much fitting room on a commando suit, it’s all about the guns on that one anyways. In any case, at the start of the battle I set myself up on top of a building overlooking the enemy camp. I see through my scope some random dude just standing there, an easy target. I pop him with the rifle and as he hit the ground his tank arrived. He revived and got into his tank, and starts driving right towards me. I switched to my swarm launcher and took him out in his tank. Reviving again at the camp he called another tank, and as he was waiting I switched to my rifle and got him again. I pretty much repeated this process the entire fight, until I was able to call on you for orbital support. I had directed your fire towards the enemy camp, and ho-lee-shit are your lasers FAR more powerful than the ones on our warbarges! It was like a disco dance floor of death, it was awesome!”
                Both men laughed at the story while Manny pulled up the kill reports on his mobile device. While the ISK total was negligible for a capsuleer, a ground merc’s mouth would go dry at the thought of losing so much money.
                After a few more stories, and pitchers, Manny barely got out the question “*HIC* Sho… Whuzzit like to be retired?”
                “Boring, truth be told. Since I no longer have my original body, it’s not like I can go back to my old life and being immortal does have its pitfalls. People seem to fear me more than capsuleers, at least in person anyways. I guess being able to die, come back, tap my killer on the back, and then deck him so hard his head comes off kinda puts people off. On the bright side, nobody with more than three brain cells messes with me anymore.”
                “Musht be nice.” Manny mumbled, clearly too drunk to continue.
                “Let’s get you back to your quarters, dude. You’re done.” Ricard said, grabbing Manny by the arm and lifting him from his seat. “Thanks for the drinks Bartlow!” he called to the bartender as the pair left.
                Ricardo and Manny stumbled their way through the entertainment district, passing the various gentlemen’s clubs and “massage parlors” on their way back to the main lift. About two blocks away from the commercial zone they were approached by three men, one of them being the man from the bar still nursing a sore shoulder and some bruised pride. The other two were Caldari, rather unclean and dangerous-looking. All three were brandishing knives, and the Brutor had his hand behind his back, possibly holding a weapon. At least, that was the situation as Ricardo saw it.
                Ricardo shoved his cousin into a nearby dumpster, much to Manny’s drunken protest, and readied himself as only a true mercenary could. His mind went blank, reflexes kicked in, and in an instant he was ready for combat of the highest caliber, not that he would need to be that ready. There is an old saying in the Bothans family, “There’s no kill like overkill” and Ricardo exemplified this to the nth degree. The two Caldari men rushed at him, knives at the ready. They were dealt with easily enough, he simply grabbed their knife hands and used each blade to stab the other. After making those two look like a red pretzel of death the Brutor leaped over them. He had a knife in one hand, and a Khu’mak in the other. Ricardo hadn’t expected the other weapon to be so “bashy and pointy” and the ancient weapon struck him full force in the forehead. Ricardo’s world went blank as he thought “Here we go again” and he dropped a small device as he hit the ground, dead.
                “Where’s the skinny one?” the Brutor grumbled as he kicked over Ricardo’s corpse, searching for Manny. Manny, who had been watching from inside the dumpster, was now more sober than an Amarrian cleric after seeing his cousin die. Holding his breath, he hoped that the large man would give up and just go away. Suddenly there was a rush of air, as though something that was not there before sudden WAS. It was then he saw the armored form of a mercenary decloak over the device that Ricardo dropped. The armored man tapped the Brutor on the back of his shoulder.
                “You REALLY shouldn’t have done that. I had enjoyed my buzz till you came along.” The voice inside of the armor was familiar, his mailed fist however was not, nor had Manny ever seen a punch of that force. The Brutor was hit full force in the face with a sickening crack. Blood sprayed from his neck as his head detached from his shoulders and went sailing into the side of the dumpster with a clang.
                Manny crawled out of his rather smelly shelter and asked, “Ricardo?”
                “Nope, it’s Santa Claus” quipped Ricardo from inside his helmet. “Let’s get you out of here.”
                It took all of 10 minutes to reach the lift, the crowds parting wide for foul-smelling pod pilot and the heavily armored mercenary. Security personnel were waiting at the elevator entrance. “I thought you mercs had disbanded” one of the guards said.
                “As an organization, we did” replied Ricardo, “This is a private security gig I took up with the capsuleer alliance Just Let It Happen. This is my client, Manny Bothans, one of their line pilots.” The guards were visibly shaken to be in the presence of not one, but two demigods.
                “P-Please proceed” stammered the questioning guard. The men walked into the lift, and ascended.