Cyno - A busy capsuleer guides herself back home. content: soft, plural/multiple systems, cloning and subsequent soul-searching ---- Deep beneath the gleaming shell of an Ark-class jump freighter, still creaking with the strain of an interstellar jump, at the core of the massive ship's deepest systems, Qymm metaphorically steeped a warm cup of tea. That is, part of her mind was avidly watching the jump drive of her ship spin down through numerous diagnostic readouts - some red, some blue - not that she had more than a rough understanding of the drive's inner workings. Through the protective shell of her capsuleer pod, via the hardwirings connected directly to her cortex, she felt the ship vent the remains of the helium isotopes shunted into reactor chambers and chewed up by the drive during the jump. Another part of her mind was simultaneously conducting the routine docking request handshake with the station dock authority, securing docking access for the shimmering freighter at their current midpoint: the Senate Bureau at Old Man Star VIII - Moon 2. But in her pod, Qymm focused on the act of preparing a cup of green tea, but only in her mind. Her body remained motionless, neutrally suspended in amniotic fluid, expression neutral, but she summoned the fragrance, imagined the weight of a teapot full of steaming water, and tracked the color of the tea as it steeped -- a warm color somehow equal parts green, yellow, and brown, smelling of... [ 123.04.17 06:17:31 ] (STATION) > Request to dock param.: [MISSING: Callsign, Craft Designation] As if to flick a fly off of a screen, she rapidly fired back to the station -- [ 123.04.17 06:17:33 ] Wavedash > "Wavedash," of Never Bend The Deadline [KNEES]. Ark-class jump freighter, designation: "The Year 20XX." -- and closed the comm channel. ... roasted rice. A nutty, full flavor, not floral; extremely comforting. Familiar. Perhaps a pinch of matcha. What would that do to the color, she wondered? She finished her ritual by imagining the taste of the first sip, then a second cup as the tea in the pot has had time to steep, then a third -- the teapot was as representative of time passing for her as the blue circle summarizing her own strain under jump fatigue. With each jump, the freighter's drive would create a bubble of depleted vacuum to envelop the ship, lock onto a gravity signal in a distant star system, and accelerate that bubble at faster-than-light speeds through the vastness between stars until arriving at their destination. But even while regarding the jump freighter for its remarkably optimized jump drive and relative small size as a jump capable craft, the toll on the body and mind was real, and only inexorable time spent allowing the rest of the universe to catch up to her would help. Even as her ship thrummed wordlessly, shaking off its last cooldown procedures, jump drive blinking at her nominally, she waited and resolved to pace herself until she was not so overtaxed. [ 123.04.17 06:26:05 ] White Pearl Cabochon > <3 This comm channel Qymm did not rapidly dismiss. That's right, her cynosural field must be down by now, she thought. [ 123.04.17 06:26:10 ] Wavedash > Hey <3. Thanks for the cyno. [ 123.04.17 06:26:23 ] White Pearl Cabochon > I haven't seen you in a minute. How are you holding up? How's Qymm? She paused, then smirked and wrote back. [ 123.04.17 06:27:52 ] Wavedash > Qymm's good. She's actually probably shuttling back towards Syndicate right now. I saw her a couple cycles ago. I'm doing ok too. I'm running courier contracts now, actually. [KNEES], a jump freighter service for the corporation. I thought it was about time to get back into the swing of things. The poor ship was just collecting dust. [ 123.04.17 06:28:02 ] White Pearl Cabochon > You aren't working yourself too hard this time, are you? You used to be so tired... [ 123.04.17 06:28:40 ] Wavedash > No, it's not like that... well, except this haul. We're coming back from Aridia with personal assets this time, so it's a little further than usual. [ 123.04.17 06:28:57 ] White Pearl Cabochon > Really? Hophib stations, right? We haven't been down there since... y'know. [ 123.04.17 06:29:15 ] Wavedash > Yeah, exactly. We're just finally taking stock. We really left a mess down there when we left, so maybe we can put together a little bit more ISK to live off of. I'm carrying most of our mineral stockpile back out towards empire space right now. [ 123.04.17 06:29:55 ] White Pearl Cabochon > Well... at least I get to see you. I've missed you. [ 123.04.17 06:30:18 ] Wavedash > :) I've missed you too. We were quite the team back then. Those Goons in Jita were never a match for us. :D She paused and sighed, and the hull seemed to creak in response. Through the camera drones idly orbiting the ship's structure, she spotted a Venture-class frigate, awkwardly fitted with cargohold rigging, slowly pushing itself on dusty engines back into dock. Next to the Venture's docking sat a Malediction-class interceptor, sleek in black nanocoating, and to Qymm's eye easily recognizable as belonging to callsign "White Pearl." She sent mental commands outward to the cargo hangars assigned to her dock, and dock worker drones set to motion refilling the Venture with containers of liquid ozone from her own ship. [ 123.04.17 06:31:49 ] White Pearl Cabochon > Thanks <3. We were good at it, too, huh? That big brick of gold sure hauled ass if four of my stasis webs were on it. [ 123.04.17 06:32:22 ] Wavedash > We're still good at it. There's nothing about leaving that makes us less than capable. If anything, we should be proud of making the right decision for ourselves. [ 123.04.17 06:32:27 ] White Pearl Cabochon > That sounds like Qymm talking. [ 123.04.17 06:32:31 ] Wavedash > Well, it is, isn't it? [ 123.04.17 06:32:38 ] White Pearl Cabochon > You know what I mean :P ... And I'm fine. Really. It feels good to undock and see the nebulas again. [ 123.04.17 06:32:42 ] Wavedash > I'm glad. :) A soft chime sounded from her biomonitoring readout -- her jump fatigue had dipped below detectable levels. The Ark's engines awoke with a crack, dully roaring as they pushed the freighter towards the station's egress. [ 123.04.17 06:32:52 ] Wavedash > Hey, I'm off. It's really good to see you again. Watch the FTL comms, ok? I'll signal the next time I'm heading back out to empire. [ 123.04.17 06:32:55 ] White Pearl Cabochon > Yes ma'am. <3 I'm off too. As the golden dome of the Ark cleared the station's ring-like docking bay, the jet black interceptor sped by Qymm's port side, aligned with a quickness she recognized as the telltale sign of inertial stabilizers, and shot off in the direction of the Villore stargate. Qymm simultaneously sent two messages, one towards the shrinking signature of the interceptor, and a wordless ping over FTL into the dense starcloud of Sinq Laison, 6.368 lightyears away. [ 123.04.17 06:33:30 ] Wavedash > Hey, I love you. [ 123.04.17 06:33:32 ] White Pearl Cabochon > love you too <3 [ 123.04.17 06:33:33 ] (notify) White Pearl Cabochon has left channel [ 123.04.17 06:33:30 ] Wavedash > rdy [ 123.04.17 06:33:32 ] Widget Blueprint > ccc Qymm all but literally took a deep breath, checking her ship's fuel bays, glancing at the jump drive's readiness, securing the cargo bay, and wrapping up undocking procedure all at once. Then, she reached out with her drive's gravity capacitor to find herself in a sea of shining cynosures, and -- the sound of ripping and crackling thunder shook the halls of her ship as it shot into the stars, wrapped in blinding light. I'll be home soon, she thought. --- [ 120.11.19 21:32:02 ] "So... it's... 'Wavedash,' is it?" "Yessir, just Wavedash." The administrator sitting across from her unamusedly flicked at the screen sitting angled in front of him. He smoothed down the few, slicked back hairs on his head and briefly rubbed his temples. "Ms. Wavedash, then... what makes you inclined to transfer to this posting? The Institute has active capsuleers in our ranks, yes, but... a transfer from... uh... 'Pandemic Horde Inc.' is highly unusual. We're an academic institution, not a charity house, and certainly not a mercenary posting." "Of course, sir. Circumstances being what they are, I found the private corporation structure was not my cup of tea. I'm seeking reenlistment in the Empire. I think you'll find more educational access and service to the Empire will better suit me." She stood at something just short of attention. She could not risk betraying any military training, or she could compromise the objective. The admin reclined slightly in his chair. He regarded the photo attached to her transfer application for a moment longer, comparing it to her face. She smiled slightly - what she hoped was an accurate recreation. He gave her a humorless smirk in return, then turned to look out of the narrow window of his office, at an approaching sunset over the sole, gray, pockmarked moon of Emrayur III. "The Royal Amarr Institute dates back to a time before the capsuleer. When Amarr was not yet Empire. When we were but surface-faring children, vying for conquest over each other, instead of conquest of the stars." Or other peoples... she thought, but did not say. "Our storied institution holds the legacy of bringing space travel to our races, nay, bringing the stars to mankind. As such, we hold all of those in our service, capsuleer or no, to a standard unparalleled in other..." --- [ 120.11.10 08:21:30 ] "Ok, dear. Run the plan by me one more time." She looked up at the mirror from her stool. Her face felt... unfamiliar, and she had trouble looking at it. Not due to discomfort, they had designed it to specification after all, and it was a pleasant enough visage, but her eyes kept instinctively trying to focus on the face looking over her shoulder. "I'm going back to Empire space." "Yes, though really, you've never been." Qymm leaned over her and gave her a squeeze. "You're going to have to work on compartmentalization. A bit more than the others, I'm afraid. Continue." "I have documents proving my status as a certified capsuleer in null sec. I am submitting an application to the Royal Amarr Institute after resigning from the corporation. I am a production and logistics contractor, and I will be taking on contracts here and there in order to fund my education." "Yes, good. And your affiliation with..." "While I have lingering connections to Horde, they are strictly transactional. I have distribution contracts that I will assist with, from time to time, but that is all." "That's sufficient." She turned around to face Qymm, the original, sat on the coffee table across from her, brow furrowed and fingers tapping away at an extensive spreadsheet on her datapad. However, when she met her eye, her face cracked into a warm smile, and she leaned forward. "You're ok. I mean... are you ok?" She looked down at her hands and allowed herself a moment of candor. "I feel... not empty, but... perhaps hollow. Feels like... being hollowed out." Qymm scrunched up her brow again, but reached out to hold her hand. "Tell me more." "I'm not you. I know I'm not supposed to be. I'm supposed to be someone different. But I still feel like... and I'm supposed to forget. I'm just supposed to change?" "I would say that you are absolutely supposed to be me, in the ways that count." A thoughtful, familiar pause. "I just--" "When y--" They laughed. Conversational collisions were a common enough occurrence in these cases. "You first." "Right..." Qymm sighed and adjusted her glasses. She stood upright and walked to the other side of her quarters, idly picking up and folding articles of clothing. "We both know why we do this. If I wanted help, I'd just hire help, but I wanted you. Always remember that. "And yet... I think something always changes in the mind once we realize that we aren't the original. It's made me almost reconsider the whole operation to begin with, how this process feels for you. But... the others have all found their way. They all felt like you do right now, at one point." "Not... quite like this. It's different, I don't have the words to describe it. I think it's because I'm going away." "Well... each one of us is meant to be unique. You are off to do something the others haven't, as each of them did when it was their turn. What matters is that we're a team, and you're our newest member. What matters is... I believe in you." She crossed her legs onto her stool. "It doesn't feel anything like I thought it would." "Each time we exploit the clone reactivation sequence in this way, we're flipping a coin, so to speak. You're the version of us that has experienced every one of these conversations from my perspective, until now. And I keep learning more, but I don't think I'll really appreciate the raw perspective of it until it's finally my turn. Obviously with Pho-Tai, she... we weren't prepared. But now, you're..." Qymm's eyes flicked around as she counted back. "Sixth. I'm the sixth of us." "Yeah, but I wasn't counting--" "I know. I meant--" "Ah, yep. No, you're right. Six." Qymm paused a moment, then said, "I think I've just concluded that it's not something we can ever be fully prepared for." The newer of the two stood up to stare idly at the projected virtual window in her old quarters: a view of several industrial Upwell structures anchored around a central stargate, lit by the bright orange-yellow star of R10-GN. "... I think I'd prefer family." "What?" "I mean... I'd like if we were a family, not a team. But I think it might just be me feeling like I'm going to be away a lot. I just think I would like a family to come home to." Qymm blinked. "... Oh, I see. Yes." "Yes?" "I mean that... I agree. And starting now, we are." "What, just like that?" "Do you really foresee the others objecting? No, of course not." She didn't feel exceptionally different. "... Maybe the word isn't what's important." "That's the second part of all of this. Time for us to find out what it means for us and our sisters." "Yeah. ... Sisters." Her thoughts trailed off. She settled that only time would find her the words she lacked in that moment. The two of them had wandered to a corner of the bed, and sat in thought for some time. "You'll have to lay low for a while. Give it a week before you even make contact," Qymm started. "I agree." "I need to wipe you from the corporation logs, which given my access level will be fairly simple. But that means you'll lose hangar access -- or rather, you never had it to begin with. I can source you a shuttle, your skillbooks, and some personal effects." "... I agree. That'll be fine." "Solock's contract came through, so... she's parked in Jita for whenever you're ready." "It is a great looking ship... I really need to send him a thank you for swinging that for us." "And... you'll need a new callsign." She snorted coldly. "Yeah... I think I already have one in mind." "Great." Qymm leaned over and fully embraced her newest counterpart. A long, tight embrace, as if she had just exploited all of the legality, ethics, and failsafes associated with transneural burn scanning in order to give herself a hug. "Now show me that smile again." --- "... and it looks like your application has cleared. If that will be all, welcome to the Institute, Ms. Wavedash." She reached over to shake the administrator's hand, and gave a polite smile. "Thank you very much, sir." --- [uuu] --- A battered industrial hauler, Badger-class, undocked from a remote Serpentis chemical refinery in HLW-HP and lit its cynosural field. The orange glow of the field against the Badger revealed the hauler's abrasions and damaged plating as it lazily listed from the beacon's gravity anchoring it in space. The brilliant beacon shone silently in the vacuum of space for no audience. A pregnant pause, and then the familiar shape of the Ark burst from the tear it had torn in conventional space. The festive holobanners on its hull flickered as the ship creaked from the stress of the jump, venting clouds of exhaust within the docking ring of the station. Qymm set the Ark on its usual winding path through the narrow docking bay. Today, she was recovering the contents of an old corporate hangar that had somehow fallen into their possession. She hardly remembered whether it was her or one of the others who had set up this cache originally, but whether the alliance had ordered these ships, if she had purchased them to put up on contract for pilots to requisition, or if they had been sent to her via clerical error, it did not matter. She was here to clean up, all the same. She set her cargo bay drones to task: disassembling old cruisers, sorting equipment into administrative piles, and accepting additional contracts sent to her by her sisters. Right, she remembered now. This station was a staging point for a small strike force of foreign legion pilots she was supplying. Eventually, a shipping route was established, and so plenty of logistics supplies still littered their hangars. One or two of herselves had definitely flown on several of those strikes as well. This time, after she had arranged for her ship's proper mooring, she took a deep breath and started the ejection procedure for her capsule. Immediately, a new cocktail of chemicals -- some that numbed, some that stimulated -- flooded her circulatory system, and she felt her heart rate leap. The body that was her ship dropped away from her consciousness suddenly, as a metallic shaking resonated through the pod, and a current formed in the fluorocarbon fluid around her as it started draining. She drew upon training and focused inward, trying to block out her suddenly perceptible surroundings, lest they bring the feelings of movement, wetness, temperature; nausea tended to follow. Her actual body returned to her all too quickly. As the last of the fluid drained from the pod, her feet clumsily found purchase on the cool metal below them. She discovered that she was off-balance, and bodily instincts returned to her in time to catch herself from hitting the walls of the pod. The incredibly unpleasant sensation of umbilicals spinning themselves loose of her body's plugs made her suck in her first gasp of air, which promptly displaced a lungful of suspension fluid, leaving her hacking on the floor for the rest of the ejection cycle. When the last of the cables retracted, they left Qymm alone in an increasingly claustrophobic pod, and only then did she elect to open her disused eyes and search for the release hatch. She rinsed off in the adjoining room next to her capsule's housing assembly, deep in the core of the jump freighter. The shower water, scalding hot as she preferred, reacclimated her to the oft unused nerve receptors in her skin. Stepping out of the water and making the trek across the bay to grab a set of her prefabricated clothes recalibrated her in different ways; the coldness of space, for one, but also the slow creep of time spent in a single body, putting one foot in front of the only other, to do the most basic of tasks. It forced her to slow her thoughts, but only to the speed of an equally tasked, but unassisted human mind. Qymm left the capsule and its gleaming titanium alloy shell in its assembly and began a brisk walk towards the portside of the freighter. The Year 20XX, as she had dubbed her favored ship, was kept in remarkable condition for how far it had travelled, inside and out. As she was a more persnickety clone of an already particular and self-reliant person, most of her crew were task drones that pushed and pulled, lifted and carried, printed and polished around her at her behest. What sparse sentient crew she had often kept out of sight, and this day was no exception. She bristled against the cold atmosphere of the freighter today, not out of discomfort but unfamiliarity. A wordless flick of her hand extended a catwalk across a gap in the ship's structure, signifying that she'd reached the bulkheads. A quick walk up a small flight of stairs brought her up from the lower decks to a much busier main deck, where several hundred thousands of m3 were being loaded via several gangways onto the ship. She recognized at a glance several dozen cargo containers of materiel, chemical manufacturing reactants and supplies, and the telltale blocky volumes of packaged ships, most being of Caldari and Minmatar corporate make. Qymm took a moment to appreciate the undertaking at hand and catch her breath as her crew worked in concert to execute orders that she had issued with a thought less than an hour prior. She tried to mentally place herself in one of her crew's shoes, though she admittedly mostly failed to do so, and she put the effort out of her mind as she quietly slipped past freight operation off of the ship, into the refinery's loading dock. Qymm had just reached the edge of the adjacent, much smaller bay as the Badger rounded a corner and began its own docking procedure. The battered ship creaked into its mooring and vented steam and the smell of ozone from its subwarp drives as they let off impulse, an anachronistic quirk of Caldari haulers. As Qymm approached, she sent a wordless ping to the hauler, it responded by extending a gangplank towards her, proffering entrance with little fanfare, and she walked across. If the Ark was cold, the hauler felt like someone had deemed life support optional. The bulkheads of the ship were lined thick with shield power relays and passive amplifiers, and though this outer layer of the hull could get quite hot under load, it was currently frigid, freezing... if there were any humidity in the air at all. As she walked towards the core of the ship, it became evident to her that between the lack of crew stations, the intentional rigging of passive equipment, and the cold, the ship was only fit for a skeleton crew, if any. She steeled herself against it, in a way characteristic of someone regularly disconnected from their body, and pressed on. As she reached the capsule assembly, she took a deep shuddering breath, stepped inside, and beheld a pod much like her own, firmly affixed inside it. In here, it was actually freezing, and the humidity had formed a thin layer of ice over all surfaces, making the deck slightly treacherous to walk across. Only the capsule was without rime, held externally and internally at precise temperatures. She stepped forward gingerly, careful not to slip. "Hey. It's me." "... Dash?" A synthesized voice crackled over the room's intercom. The crude approximation of a voice so familiar to her almost struck her as alien. "Yeah, it's Dash," she started. "I just wanted to come see you, like last time. Check in, y'know? ... How are you?" She had hoped she'd had more words to offer by the end of that sentence. "... why?" "Why what?" The capsule stood unmoving, but she felt it pause in thought. "Don't. Don't... Why... Why here?" The voice spoke haltingly, in an unpracticed cadence. "Well, the old supplies from Bean Foreign Legion were still kicking around, I thought it'd be a nice and profitable cleanup run to try and--" "NO! Why HERE?! WHY SEE." The voice became shrill, and the intercom squealed. Qymm jumped slightly and nearly lost her footing as she stepped back. She could have sworn she felt the room's temperature instantly rise several degrees. "Because! Because I... I wanted to see you -- I wanted to check in, see how you were holding up, show you that I care, you know?" She winced, sounding like a broken record of promises. "NO. NO. I stay. I burn. I stay. I light. I stay. And nothing. STAY AND NOTHING!" "Qymmi, please! I know it must be hard out here, but you're one of us. You were created to--" "NO." "But you are, I promise. Could you just--" "NO!" The faceless voice bordered on hysterical. "I'M NOT US. BROKEN. WRONG." "We're family, Qymmi. I'm your sister. Just let me help, let me..." Qymm trailed off, wiping away tears that had instantly gone cold on her cheek. "WRONG. DASH GO AWAY. BROKEN. WRONG. DASH GO AWAY. BROKEN. WRONG--" The synthetic voice screamed, somehow sounding hoarse, becoming deafening as the intercom peaked. "... be your sister." Qymm whispered to herself, choking on her breath. She padded slowly over to the capsule, placing one hand on its titanium shell. The capsule stayed firmly clamped shut. Qymm stood and listened to the capsule scream as she had countless times before, and after an eternity, stepped over to the hardwired capsule diagnostic interface and started the lengthy authentication process. "Here to clean up..."