“The Death of All” // A Profile of Service

It wasn’t until his second fleet action that Allen Grace Serros earned the moniker “Lamorte DeTout” from his crew aboard the GFS Ora Insaniam, the now famous and deceased Thanatos-class Gallente carrier.

Those under Captain Serros’ command initially thought his willingness to throw the ship and all those aboard in front of concentrated fire was due to his immortality.  By the crew’s vigorous assertions and public statements, the captain was always on deck and never in his pod.  Their fate would be shared, which was shocking to some of his precious metal peers.

An examination of “Lamorte Detout’s” career in the Federation Navy does not provide insight into the formation of his carrier-as-a-spearhead tactics that bucked all Naval doctrines and wisdom.  Its effective use against enemy battle groups surprised his superiors and justified his refusals to obey their direct orders.

But throughout his way up the Federation Navy promtion-maze, Serros was conscious of risk to a fault.  Most regarded him, in their evaluations, as a “great candidate for territorial defense” and “excelled at the use of land assets in concert with weapons in the sky,” according to performance reviews and attached anecdotal addendums.

In the end, it was Serros’ usage of the GFS Ora Insaniam as a shield for evacuating civilians from the Richardson’s Peace colony in Kubinen that led to the ship’s destruction, the deaths of thousands of crew members, and his subsequent dismissal from the Navy.

The Scope (TS): Let’s start right off with what everyone wants to know.  What happened at the Battle of “The Peace”?

// Serros did not begin speaking immediately.  I saw him looking at images in his mind with both eyes, even the milky orb, like he was looking closely at parts of panoramic stills.  He coughed before he spoke, like an instructor would to center attention.  //

LD:  The Amarrian and Caldari assault on a colony that housed several Gallentean refineries was indiscriminate in its calamitous effect on the planet and targeted civilians as much as it did the industrial facilities that supported our military.

The Caldari and their diplomats have stated that any people or facility that powers the engine of war is military in nature and not under the “Civilian Asset” Clause of the War Agreements, but I wholly disagree with that.  I believe people need to work, make money for their families, and find a purpose for existence.  They should never have experienced that level of offensive fury, behind 20-feet thick ferrocrete walls intended to shield them from attacks on planetary infrastructure.

As a result, I disregarded the rules of engagement without guilt and used my ship as a weapon, the way a sword would slice a piece of armor.  We split their fleet in half and destroyed more ships in 10 full minutes than I would have ever thought possible with that task force, even in simulations.   I scrambled every fighter in my hangar to prevent further catastrophic loss of life planetside, to great effect,  and —

TS: — sorry to interrupt you, Captain, but —

// I felt bad for interrupting him, but his passionate feelings on the matter had already been recorded. //

LD:  I no longer have a rank.  You don’t need to address me as such.

TS: —  … I’ve never heard anyone make that distinction.  Normally retired, discharged, or even service-members accused of treason are still addressed with their rank.

//  No reaction.  He remained completely still. //

But … very well, how were you to achieve military success with your tactics?

LD:  After the Caldari and their Amarrian allies made no effort to avoid civilian casualties and collateral damage, this ceased to be a military engagement.

I knew there were people on that planet that had no way out.  Amarrian bombardment likely wiped out 5 in 7 people by time we warped in.  Saving the people that survived superseded my Navy-given objectives.  I am a human being first.

TS: What were those “Navy-given” objectives?

LD:  Our original orders were to destroy Amarrian support elements while they were focused on the bombardment of Kubinnen III and to withdraw should any of our ships, support craft, or fighter complements sustain any serious damage or losses to their Caldari cover.

TS:  Thank you for being truthful.  I was told this was something we wouldn’t receive any candor on … but to follow up, you still achieved tremendous results in terms of losses inflicted.

LD: We destroyed a fleet.  We smashed it.  And as a result of losing half of ours after my decision, hard working people and their children were saved.  Their right to exist, and the inherited freedom that comes with drawing breathe, is not only acknowledged but defended by the Federation.   Their innate value is why we threw our ships in front of Amarrian battlecruisers and carriers.

TS: Family members of the fallen made their grievances known publicly and challenged your commitment to the safety of those in your command by asking why you retreated to your pod and escaped the death of your ship.  Their calls for your dismissal contributed to your discharge from the Navy.  Can you comment on any of that?  Why exactly did you go to your pod when you had spent your entire career on the bridge with all your active staff?

LD: When it became apparent the hull of the Ora Insanium was going to break, I followed Navy procedure.   Any capsuleer serving the Gallente Federation Navy as a captain has a duty to preserve their life so that experiences accrued can be evaluated and shared.

I don’t care about my life more than I did those that served under me, or that their broadcasted assertion had anything to do with my dismissal.  I was discharged for sacrificing the lives of people who signed up for this very thing.

Though the survivors of Richardson’s Peace may believe they owe their lives to the deceased men and women of the Ora Insanium, the Dionisi, the Frigid, and the rest of the Navy ships destroyed, it was our duty.

TS:  What was that conversation like with Navy admirals when your decisions were evaluated.  How did they arrive at the conclusion that you cannot and should no longer should serve in the Federation Navy?

LD: It was short.

// Serros maintained a calm, relaxed position on the couch while we maintained eye contact.  I waited for him to continue, but when it was clear he wouldn’t, I pressed. //

TS: No details?

LD: I respect the honesty of the men I serve.

TS: Why the shield of secrecy around this military procedure of a captain’s court martial? Why the lack of transparency?

LD: It’s been a tradition in all divisions of military service for our entire history and is believed to be a holdover from our ancestors.

TS: Some claim it to be an undemocratic obfuscation of a necessary accountability.

LD: My former superiors would be the ones to respond to that, not me. But it is an allegation made by anyone who favors disruption in the chain of command. There is wisdom in our adherence to it while defending the Gallente people.  Otherwise, the walls you believe protect you from the unforgiving environment outside would be subject to actionable review by any novice engineer.

Without the context developed in years of service in the Federation Navy, the efficient and just resolution of cases brought before the military tribunals would not be possible.

In matters of war, expedience and justice like this are rare.

TS: Despite the outcome, you still support a system that perpetuates the “fog of war”.

LD: A very good, albeit inapplicable, analogy.

// Captains in the Navy are sharp, but generally dry. “The Death of All” was as calmly arrogant as any of them but made  a genuine effort to hide it through wordy attempts at false humility.  //

TS: Many anti-war dissidents in the Gallente Federation have criticized this separation between civilian government and the military as evidence of the encroaching establishment and institutionalization of the “warrior caste,” something you lectured on during your tenure at the Federal Navy Academy at Courster before Tibus Heth’s ascent and the outbreak of the Empyrean War.

LD: You’re right. The formation of a “warrior caste,” when the sphere of a soldier’s life is effectively separated and entirely unrelatable to that of the civilian, creates division and resentment among those in service.

Though the command hierarchy derives power from the citizen’s approval and blessings, when power extends from the soldier and not the citizen, the expansion of that chain of command occurs.

We don’t allow this.  Civilian leaders dictate our strategy and dictate preemptive defensive actions. It was a fundamental differentiation between us and the Caldari when our civilizations first collided. And more recently now that Heth has his people worked up into a nationalistic, jingo-friendly State.

But Richardson’s Peace was an example of our military serving at the behest of the civilian government and protecting people when presented with the opportunity. We shouldn’t be confused with the Caldari State and your questions won’t bare anything intellectually nourishing if this is the basis for following criticisms.

// It felt like Serros delved into a lecture he had already given many times, and his eyes lost focus as though he were thinking of something else while describing this “warrior caste” and lecturing me about the difference between it and the Federal Navy.

I listened politely before moving on.  //

TS: How do you feel about the moniker “Lamorte Detout”?  Is it your identity now?

LD: I acquired it some time after Ror’s Landing and I heard it on comms when I listened in on situation reports in different parts of the ship. I know what it means. I know it was pejorative and then metastasized into a — caricature almost — of the way I lead.

But fleet commanders do not have the time to parse the meaning of a hyena’s laugh, to use an ancient anecdote. And I’ve never heard of an effective captain who was loved by his crew. In fact, many captains of a vessel believe there needs to be a healthy distance, both perceived and real, for the good of the ship and its objectives.

And if being seen as an IWNR [ editor’s note: Immortal With No Regard ] creates enough of a deterrent for an enemy to leave grid without challenging our objectives, then it only serves to inflate the income of someone who can capitalize on that image.

// His clever smile was flushed to embarassment when I presented evidence of a contract for his new line of work.  //

TS: Speaking of which, The Scope has acquired an internal document that discusses the compensation and conditions of an employment contract that you signed recently. That name is the only indication of your identity and your future plans.

// Before I could lead into my next question, Lamorte held up his hand and looked behind him to his handler, an upright shadow with long hair in the finest, vintage clothing I’d seen in my short 50 years of life. From the handler’s jacket pocket emerged a tightly folded collection of slickpaper that he handed to Captain Serros.

The captain eyed the plastic sheet and then handed it back gently. //

LD: Sorry, I wasn’t aware this was out. I’ll be forthcoming.

(=-R-=) Esther LeighI signed a pilot’s contract with Reeve Heavy Industries in Delve. I’m charged with destroying any Blood Raiders who assault commercial activities in our system or make any attempts to muck up our infrastructure in PDE. We will be doing this on behalf of Mindstar Technology, a corporation in alliance with the Goonswarm.

TS: Reeve Heavy Industries is headed by a Gallente fugitive and is designated a “Criminal Corporation” under the Federation Fair Practices and Industry Standards. Does this grey area of illicit employment, following the release of your body and skillset from Federation service, bother you at all?

LD: You don’t think I’ve earned my right to continue to possess what I have learned while in the Navy?

TS: As a Gallente citizen, my question would be ‘How will all those years and Kredits the Federation invested in you to captain our ships be repaid?’

LD: My answer would be the death and rescue of so many at “The Peace.”

//  It was like talking to a media-trained politician off the record, but one hardened by actual warfare and the experiences I would never know or see. Even the way Captain Serros rephrased my questions or skipped past my failed logic traps left me unprepared to salvage the query’s intent.  Lamorte’s reasoning and value system was admirable, but their execution may be to the detriment of so many.

// interview by Claurent Devouis

Conversations in Space – 1/9/2016

Eisen Wor’sha > Woohoo, as of today I am celebrating 3 years of EVE life. I want to thank my computer, my parents, my Internet provider Comcast, and the abundance of free time life has afforded me.
Rhytmn > Congratulations Eisen Wor’sha
Cheapshot Calamity > 3 years or 3 years logged in?
Eisen Wor’sha > I’m putting on my birthday suit for this fleet. WOOOOO!!!
HypnoTode > congratulations 🙂
Ravans > wearing a onesie
Ravans > :\
Cheapshot Calamity > hey my kid is wearing a onsie
Cheapshot Calamity > what a coinkydink
Ravans > dad stop joining my alliances

A Pickaxe and a Shovel – Gabby Reeve

Sinq Liason Region – Nexus Constellation
System Alillere

Gabrielle Reeve’s family had been mining Gallente space for several generations.  She was assigned the Alillere system by her father and CEO of Reeve Industries.  Her brother and sisters were healthy distances away from each other and identically equidistant from their parents’ hearts.

Gabby Reeve Capture 2But Gabby, of all the siblings, had been handed the prize assignment by virtue of being the eldest.   Alillere was a beautiful system with a diverse range of moons, an enthralling view of the Gallente nebula in the Verge constellation, and a sea of asteroid belts that furnished the incomes and profits of hundreds of mining corporations.

Allilere’s white sun, a 1.3 billion year-old F 0, blinded a few novice pilots stupid enough to stare, but didn’t aggressively reflect against the various ores found in the system.

Because Reeve Industries operated only in high security Gallente space, Gabby had the luxury of letting her attention lapse into more enjoyable routines.  As she accurately guided mining lasers mounted on her Retriever, a thin-skinned boat of a ship affectionately named “Big Mouth Bernadette,” Gabby sang to her drones and watched holoreels produced within the Federation.  When wine clouded her judgment, she placed substantial bets on gravball matches.

Verge Vendor Nebulae

Typical days were uneventful, filled with the sounds of lasers breaking up chunks of asteroids and the crash of ore against ship hulls.  Despite what they say, space is noisy.

Today, Gabby gently guided her ship between two massive plagioclase asteroids and noticed a couple of Serpentis scouts on the peripheral edge of the belt after a few cycles.  Her sensor automatons would have sent alerts to her implants and to the bioware on her wrists that make a slight mechanical tick.  But because Gabby habitually checked her directional scanner, she was spared nagging subsonic pulses and gentle thrums.

Reeve watched a Serpentis scout buzz her ship without firing and recalled her mining drones.  Her light combat drones, Hobgoblin I’s, were deployed the nanosecond the miners docked.  Gabby pulled her raven-black, long hair into a ponytail and pursed her lips in a creased frown.

Her comms lit up shortly after with, “We’re not wantin’ any troubs,” in a masked, digital voice.

“You’ll get it if you come that close to my ship again.”

“Tough talk, love.  But fer sure, jus’ keep your space.”  The Serpentis scout killed the comm link and sped away.

Gabby kept her eye on the scout and followed its trajectory to a Harvestor off in the distance, collecting small chunks of floating ore as quickly as possible.  She checked her scanner again and stared as she saw nothing to indicate the Serpentis harvester’s presence.

A little unnerved, Gabby sat looking at the obvious profile of a modified ORE (Outer Ring Excavation) ship, drumming her fingers on the scanner.  It was troubling for a few reasons because it meant either the Serpentis were able to beat the standard sensors she had installed on all her mining vessels or that the Harvestors weren’t really there.  And if either were true, why were they using this technology to pick out small bits of resources from a high security part of New Eden, or make it appear so?

Before Gabby could think too hard on it, her comms lit up again, but with the live image of her youngest sister, January.

A beautiful, small face with the most popular hairstyle in the Gallente Federation, and all of her mother’s features, filled the frame of Gabby’s dedicated comm screen.

January Reeve blinked intentionally a few times and tilted her head slightly to the right.

Before the awkward, silent exchange ran any longer, Gabby asked, “Yes?”

“Father wants you back in Dodixie.  He won’t say why,” was all January said in her quiet, even voice.  And the screen went dark.

Hard Count


“Hey there, sorry I burned the nose hairs off your sensors.”

Eisen Wor’sha never deviated from a script he perfected shortly after he flew his first cruiser.  He would always shortstream his semi-famous, smiling face into the Customs Office that ordered him to stop.  Usually that was enough to get him through whatever reservations the Federation’s outsourced help had in letting him through a lightly regulated part of Gallente space.

This crew, unfortunately, directed him to dock at a nearby station so his craft could be thoroughly searched.  Eisen’s rarely-creased face grew a few cracks around his mouth, his brow shortened a few inches, and his face molded into concern.

Like a rookie pilot, Eisen awkwardly docked his cruiser into an elegant and clean Gallente Federation Customs station.  He did a mental check of all the things he needed to hide and replayed how he would respond to any and all questions.

To mask his real cargo, Eisen smeared fedo blood all over the concealed compartment near his ship’s kitchen.  If asked about it, he went with the line, “I was dating a really bad cook.”

Fedo blood had this unique property in that it completely absorbed a lot of wave energy and thus fooled the cheap sensor technology the Federation used in low security space.

But up here in “high sec,” he was taking a chance.

“Whoa, I’m sorry – was I not in compliance?”  Eisen veered into his most domesticated voice and tone possible.

The Federation Customs officer, Micheal Dannet by his name-tag, gave Eisen a sidelong sneer as he passed through the kitchen area and took note of the blood.

After several long minutes of watching Dannet glance around with his handheld sniffer, Eisen couldn’t help himself and asked, “Do you even know what the fuck you’re looking for?”

The best part of the Customs Operational Branch, COB as they insisted on being called, was their complete lack of competence.  You could paste a brick of CRYTOline the front of your ship and the Federation would never be the wiser.

“You know you’re not supposed to do this sort of thing, right?” the low-ranking inspector asked.

“Why?  I sell the meat at various ports,” was his quick response.  This was not going according to script.

There was a long pause as Officer Dannet paced around looking at the blood and the area around it.  He checked his sniffer, pulled out a datapad, and started what looked to be the documentation process of a violation.

Eisen was getting nervous.

“What are you doing?  Look, I’ve got some spare Kreds I don’t need if you’ll just not cite me.  I hate dings on my manifests whenever I register transports.”

The Customs officer stopped punching keys with his thumbs and stared directly into the center of Eisen’s eyes.

“Oh, no.  This isn’t about money.  As soon as I heard you were coming through, I started imagining this situation and what I would do if you really came through my port,” said the officer, slowly putting his datapad away.

Now Eisen was getting really nervous.

Calmly, Officer Dannet said, “That hit you laid on LoCain was the most vicious hit I’ve ever seen.”

Immediately Eisen, the former replacement throwing-back for the Dodixie Blue Helms, relaxed.  So the duty-freak officer did recognize him and the equation changed.

Fame delivered Eisen from above-average scrutiny and trouble since he had played for one of the more hallowed franchises in the Gallente Federation.  And the hit this Customs Officer was referring to was on a defensive player who intercepted one of his two professional throws in his career.  He felt like he had just run into a warping freighter but it jarred the ball loose and another offensive player won the game, and a Championship, with the recovery.


It was one of the wildest finishes in the history of the sport and was worth more than the most precious of metals in New Eden.  It got Eisen into any club, restaurant, women’s vaginas, and always past security.

“Unfortunately for you, Wor’sha, LoCain was my favorite player.  You retired my favorite player.”

Oh shit.  This had never happened before.  LoCain had a following but he retired immediately after the game and killed himself five days later.

But this was a problem the paranoid side of Eisen always contemplated and yet managed to smother with probability and logic.  After all, LoCain hung himself and that story saw its last, sad page.

Federal Customs Officer Michael Dannet was that .005% chance that the former Cyberball-star dreaded.  The crazed fans that he had encountered in the past, all seventeen of them, had been held in check by whatever security presence the location provided.  Never had one of them been an agent of the Federation’s institutional corporations.

Dannet went for his sidearm, an exotic Caldari pistol designed to expand space in a target’s body so that the organs would go into immediate shock.  It was like blowing five inch bubbles into a human body at random points.

Eisen’s reactions were instinctual and aided by all the wetware and enhanced circuitry leftover from his playing days.

In under two seconds, the Customs Officer with a juvenile devotion to a suicidal failure of an athelete had his trachea crushed by a metallic forearm and most of his right side collapsed by a completely replaced cybernetic leg.  That dull, tarp-slap and sharp plastic-crack was something Eisen thought he was done hearing, but every year he got at least one more reminder.

With blood rushing from his mouth and a lot more hemorrhaging inside his body, the last words of Officer Dannet spoke were, “Fuck you, Wor’sha.”

That’s the moment Eisen’s life changed.  There was no way around murdering an officer, of any kind, of the Gallente Federation.  Self-defense would keep him from losing life and all of his property, but he would definitely see the rest of his good years in stasis or sharing quarters with another murderer.

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!” Eisen screamed as he collapsed to his knees in a heap, crying.  His life of comfort, the social circles he knew and thoroughly reveled in, were gone.

Eisen went through the cycle of grief a few times before he stood up and kicked the recognizability out of the Federal Customs Officer, making sure there were only a few unbroken bones in the uniformed husk that resembled a corpse.

Eisen Wor’sha called out to his ship’s onboard computer, “Candice.  Establish a connection with Gabrielle Reeve or her surrogate and put her on the front comm.”

— Clerk Kant, SoCo