Boring boring boring boring.
The large remote hull repairers cycled, adding another sliver of structure to our WH POS, and the real-time link with Lance confirmed that no new signatures - wormholes or ships - had shown up. Not that this gave us perfect safety, as a good scout could enter the system and cloak up before we’d notice, but at least we’d be safe from wannabes. Plus, the active combat probe did deter random gawkers.
Of course, it would have been nicer if I had had support from the Alliance as planned, but with our latest war-dec the POS repair had dropped in priority. On a logical level I agreed with Alliance leadership, but that didn’t help making the hours repairing go any faster.
A small point of light started blinking in my simulated field of vision - somebody sent me a mail! Yay!! Eagerly I opened it.
I came across this new DED information service - thanks to Shalee Lianne (don’t ask) - and while it seems to be targeted at new capsuleers, I thought that maybe it could provide you with some amusement.
When will you be back?
I pushed that question firmly to the back of my mind, and opened a link to the DED information service. The connection was slow, but given my current location, any connection was a win.
Hmm... an aptitude test, presumably to help new pilots find their line of career. Let’s see...
‘What interests you most?’ The clash of arms and ideology, obviously - wealth and knowledge are just tools.
I grinned: Eta would vehemently disagree.
‘What is most important in battle?’ Pilot skill and initiative. No plan survives the contact with the enemy, so when (not if!) the chain of command gets taken out, the individual pilot’s skills will make or break the day.
‘What do you fight for?’ Wealth and power; if only for the lack for just cause.
‘Do you respect the laws of space?’ Heck, yeah! Where’d we be if pirates could go rampant?
The DED site churned a millisecond over my answers, and presented me with their suggestions.
Bounty Hunter. Alternatively, Pirate, or Freedom Fighter.
I looked at the POS floating in space ahead of me, its structure now hovering at 87%, and for the second time this year all I could think of was
“What The Frack?”