The Irony of Life

Recorder on. God must be testing me. There's no other explanation for the events happening lately. Either that, or Inara's constant threats of conspiracy against me are coming to fruition...

Twelve years ago, I was a professor of laser physics at the Imperial Academy, back before we had all of us capsuleers. I didn't teach there long, only for three years, but I was there long enough to have a prized pupil or two. My favorite student was a Ni-Kunni man by the name of Oran Limm. He was a gifted student, not quite as adroit at understanding the finesse and dual nature of lasers as I, but a genius in the making none the less. One day, when he was in my office discussing the Hallan effect in light speed communications, we began discussing faith and what we called at the time, 'the heretics of the Sani Sabik.' He was a zealot, much like the rest of us in those days, and was for a harsher stance on the Blood Raiders than even the Ministry of Internal Order. I remember clearly one quote: "The depredations of heretics cannot be tolerated, anything less than total annihilation of heretics, heretics' families, and any who have conversed with heretics, is an afront to God." At the time, in my naivete, I would agreed with him. He left shortly thereafter, praising the Emperor's name, and cursing Omir.

One year ago, I received a communication via GalNet from a capsuleer with the call sign of Blood Hunter something or another. I had just joined the united, and made public my affirmations of the Sani Sabik faith. Of course, it was Oran, and he was livid. He cursed my name, cursed my family, and cursed the day he met me. It was laced with profanity, definitely not befitting an Amarrian in good standing. We all know how new capsuleers react though, and he was not the man I knew in my academy days. He did, however, give me one bit of information I don't believe he intended to. He made mention that he worked for the Ministry of Internal Order, and had pushed for policies that he had advocated years ago. A few days ago, a notion crept into my mind.

I think one thing new capsuleers underestimate is the financial basis that many have after being plugged in for only a year or two. The few thousand ISK that my father made annually is nothing, I buy ships on whim that some continents could not afford in a few years. What they also underestimate is the network of connections that one has available, especially when you can grease those connections with lumps of ISK. I called a few people that would still speak with me in Carthum and the Navy, some with more...liberal views. As God would have it, Oran took it personally when I turned to the Sani Sabik. And he took his views out on my blood relatives. My previous log indicated an apathy towards the fate of my family. Oran attacked my blood. I take offense at the attack of my blood. It's a Sani Sabik thing.

Yesterday, while working in Curse for the Cartel, I stopped stationside and went about looking for some exotic foods. I also needed to visit one of the Serpentis agents and get some more Drop from him. One of the local vendors had a particular Amarrian delicacy, long-broiled loin, cooked so long the meat practically melts in your fingertips. While enjoying this particular repast, I stopped by a slave auction. Nothing like what we had in Amarr, but the Cartel traffics in, well, everything, and the Serpentis sometimes need people to test new drugs on...The auction was going along smoothly, almost finished, and I was heading for my next assignment with the Cartel, when I was stopped in my tracks. The auctioneer yelled, "Next is Ni-Kunni, male, 29 years old, Ministry of Internal Order, and captured capsuleer." How he was stupid enough to be caught outside his pod, I have no idea. I turned, and lo and behold, Oran Limm stood on the dais, hands and feet shackled, hair shaved, and his defiant eyes kept to the floor by the chain around his neck. None of the Serpentis apparently felt like bothering with a capsuleer, as my bid of 500 ISK was enough to purchase him. 500 ISK for the man who attacked my blood.

I gave the auctioneer my Empire based location, and told him to ship the slave to me there, as I would be returning via jump clone. The man agreed. It cost me more to ship him via the Cartel than it did to purchase him. Now, here I am, a bottle of my favorite Gallente red wine in one hand, a knife in the other, and a very frightened Ni-Kunni man who should have paid better attention in capsuleer training bound to my sacrifical stone. It is now his fate to be slain, his blood spilt as it was long ago, in the rituals that God intended, for my own 'heretical' sacrifices. Such is the irony of life.

The voice stops, but footsteps can be heard walking away, and a mild chanting beginning. Curses are weakly uttered, interrupted abruptly by screams of pain and denial. The screams momentarily subside, replaced by pitiful moans, and the cycle begins again. It continues for an hour, Vaden infrequently chuckling once at something Oran likely whispered. Finally, one hears the sound of death as the knife plunges into Oran's heart. Vaden, forgetting the recorder was on, leaves the room, the recorder with only one sound to pick up: the gentle, rhythmic drip of blood onto the floor.