"We will emerge from the darkest corners of the world you know, severing that darkness with the light of our freedom. In that freedom, we wil bring peace beyond knowing. Now drop your cargo or get spaced." Ammi Pierce, Blue Lotus Syndicate, to unregistered Freelancer Smuggler in Omicron Alpha
***
--- Location: -230, +1450 - Stationary Orbit: Planet Malta, Omicron Alpha ---
...Record 0001...
For all of us, there is only this: That all men be allowed to view their world as it should be truly seen. Without limitation, lacking in nothing. It is for this reason we fight, for this reason alone why we live.
My grandmother spoke these words to me. It is by these words I live.
We of Malta, not all of us, but some, call this destiny the 'Orange Dream.' I do not believe this definition is completely accurate - for who can truly trust a dream? Yet it is as good a name as any, so I do not debate its use.
No, my reality is the controls of my ship; the roll of the cockpit as it makes its slow rotation between Malta and Mallorca. I sit in control of this whispering death, my black blade, knowing that my enemies wait in the dark beyond.
Flaring, startling hues shatter my vision as my ship turns and I come to view the many wonders of the grand universe - a universe that belongs to all Outcasts. Yet when the time finally comes, I know, we will no longer be called 'Outcasts'. Sometimes I fear, for I take great pride and heart in the name 'Outcast'. All Outcasts, save those thrust from us by their own foolish actions, are my family. When we lose that name, will I lose that family?
Sometimes I fear.
...End Record...
--- Location: Sigma 13: Grid D5... D5... /scanning/ D6... D6... - Enroute: Patrol ---
...Record 0002...
The Scimitar is the god of all Light Fighters. Amongst its kin, few can match it in either agility or firepower. Yet all the technological greatness in the universe means jack squat if the pilot can't keep up.
When I arrived in the Blue Lotus Syndicate, I knew that I had responsiblities, to my home, to my Outcast kin and to myself. Though I knew little of my actual duties, understanding only the barest gist of them, I still understood a single, defining basis for my existence in the BLS: When I am piloting my Scimitar, it and I become something new in the universe. Flesh and bone and metal and energy, acting behind a singular will, with no ties holding me back save the hands that direct me in the first place.
I came to see that I was clay to be molded in the finest traditions of the Syndicate itself, with my Scimitar as the shaping knife. I became a weapon.
I am not making myself out to be the machine, crafted only for the wills of Malta and her Syndicate. No. It is in our freedom where our many strengths lie, and in those things too I am an Outcast. My freedom is encompassed in my Scimitar. As I dart between flaming stars and beams of energy both, I am at my peak, my awareness heightened. As I grow in experience, I grow in strength. As that strength grows, my enemies begin to learn fear.
I am a blade, to be wielded. My enemies are the targets towards which I am thrown.
This blade whistles not through air, but through a song.
It sings of awe and death and burning victory.
...End Record...
--- Location: Bering: ... C6..../scanning/ C5....- Enroute: Hudson Jump Hole ---
...Record 0003...
I am not a merchant, to care about the wealth of men. Many here do, but I find that I am one of the rare few who does not focus on profit as their means to an end.
Yes, even the very act of having extensive credits at all seems to limit me, as the management of that which allows more than the basic, simplest requirements of myself and my Scimitar begins to overwhelm my mind, causing confusion and frustration - especially during acts of service and responsiblity towards the Syndicate. I have not the mind of the banker, nor even of the trader, to consider the heavy weight of my accounts or the accounts of others. I hesitate, often, to take upon myself even the most remote of large transactions.
Indeed, the amount of credits I was gifted upon my initiation into the Syndicate was staggering to me, yet seemed for others to be nothing more than a drop in the bucket. Recent experience has taught me that, to be given responsiblity over anything but the barest taxation of those unregistered with our cause tends to create in me a great distraction, inhibiting the strongest of all my abilities.
I am curious, then, and wondering. What are we, as Outcasts? The Syndicate itself is infamous for being the largest producer and distributor of Cardamine in Sirius. I take great pride in working under them as much for that fact as any other, but I feel my role is that of the efficient enforcer rather than the dilligent accountant. I leave that up to talented ones like Miranu, who is exceedingly more responsible in such areas than I. No, we Outcasts seem to be both businessman and solider, but I myself lean greatly towards the latter.
My expertise is in flame and bloodshed. If anyone requests permission to haul anything of ours, let them take that permission to me if I am the lone Lotus in-system, but only as a messenger. It is safer that way, and simpler, for all involved.
I carve my path through my enemies and their intentions, not through trade routes and service goods, no matter how lucrative. It is my intention that, through my actions, my superiors know just what they have acquired in me, as the last of the soldiers of Pierce.
I stand and serve gladly, in any requirement - but it is good for any person to know their greatest strengths.
...End Record...
--- Location: Beaumont Base, Texas System - :Docked for Restock/Rearm ---
...Record 0004...
I am at my best, afloat amidst a sea of stars. Yet even now they sing to me, of memories thought long fled.
My brother was a long-term guard for an Outcast smuggling train. Like most of my family, he was exemplary in his piloting and combat skill. We loved him, for he was as great in heart as he was in talent, and there are fewer and fewer like him each day.
Yet even the greatest of them can fall in the face of the overwhelming, and he was no different.
Ambushed by Bounty Hunters, my brother's ship was very nearly obliterated, their expensive cargo completely destroyed. There were no survivors. I will not detail what they needed to do to his ship, just to retrieve what remained of him. It is not out of pain, but out of disappointment for a talent squandered. I am angered more than saddened.
Most girls of twelve care little for the things of the world, yet I was never one of those girls. Long would I sit and wait for my brother's return, if just to be with him in the cockpit of his Sabre and 'talk shop'. Of thrusters and shield ratios, of the difference between Tachyon and Pulse would we speak, sometimes in hushed tones, sometimes with amused glances as we gauged what another pilot had equipped, laughing to ourselves at the lack of strength in his outfitting.
It was in this way that I remembered him, watching as they stripped down the shattered shell of his Sabre, to be recycled and returned, recreated into something new - perhaps existing as a part of my own Scimitar, now.
As I go out and challenge all comers, I remember those sights and sounds, those memories of mine that are sung to me by the echoing voice of stars.
I sit and remember, and hope that my spirit will burn brightly when I am gone, and the stars sing long of my deeds.
...End Record...
--- Location: -110, +2720 - Stationary Orbit: Planet Malta, Omicron Alpha ---
...Record 0005...
Death is a straight line.
Watching a pair of my bretheren spiral through the dark, their weapons flickering in the distance, sending darts and spears of destruction at one-another, I wonder.
Engaging the enemy results in a dance, one of death that is easilly differentiated from the common workings of the universe. You never see true combat occuring in a straight line, amongst most seasoned pilots. Those that are flying as such are usually retreating, or are already dead and they just don't know it yet.
It is a beautiful ballet, one incorporating dark shapes that blot out the starscape in dots and specks, lances of white, red, blue-hot energy transferred and swapped between eachother, followed by splashes of brighter colors, yellows, greens, and the strange shapes of shields deployed. The dense sound of bolts impacting against the metal of the hull, heating it to impossible temperatures - not all of our practice dances are safe.
Outside of my Scimitar, I cannot dance. Within my Scimitar, I am the best dancer I know. I cannot say that you'll never see me dance in a straight line, and if you do, it is only because I have become the head of a spear, and my path will send flame and metal through the black, eternal void.
I have become a straight line.
...End Record...
--- Location: New Tokyo: C5... - Enroute: Patrol ---
...Record 0006...
What is freedom?
Is it the ability to go wherever you wish and do in those places, anything you desire?
Is it merely the power to float in absent space, with nothing between you but lightyears and your own whims?
We, as Outcasts, necessitate the spread of freedom, by binding each and every individual into the will of the Orange Dream. It is for this reason why we fight, and also for this reason why our enemies are so intent on our destruction, and why some who are not seen as open enemies are still hostile to our cause and to our existence. I have been called many names because of my heritage and the name others see on their IFF, but that does not deter me from exhibiting my intent, abilities, and yes, freedom.
True freedom is the ability to choose. There will be those who do not wish to undergo the change that Cardamine allows. We cannot stop this, though our desires would be otherwise. The ultimate example of freedom is simply the action of the human in their truest state, choosing to live or to die. Those who do not wish to join the Orange Dream may choose to live, if they wish, but it will not be for long, sadly, for even the Blue Lotus has its enforcers, and though such enforcers are neither open nor obvious about being such, they do exist, and they are deadly.
I express my freedom through every drifting movement of my ship, through every deadly beam of light that emerges from its cells. I express it through every action I take on the part of the Syndicate, for I live and breathe their commands, and I serve without question. I have become many things during times of combat, yet ultimately I become that which I seek most. I become free.
My brethren and I fight for the freedom of all who live within the bounds of the Dog Star. What are we if we do not help those individuals to see that freedom? Who are we if we do not help them to understand it? What is holding us back?
We become outcast because we are not recognized by others as being 'human', and thusly to them, are no longer considered 'free.'
I disagree, and gladly.
...End Record...
--- Location: Omicron Beta: ...E2... - Enroute: Omicron Alpha Jump Hole ---
***ALERT: Maximum Allowable Thrust Vector Reached - Red Line Holding at 00000.0005% of Allowed Safe Core Pressure - Recommend Immediate Cruise Shut-Down/Coolant Transfer and Refuel****
***Time Remaining to Emergency Shutdown: 002:59... 58... 57...***
...Record 0007...
*static*
...End Record
--- Location: Ibiza Base, Omicron Alpha ---
...Record 0008...
The death of the Master has done much to shake me up to my reality as an Outcast.
I know I have done much for my bretheren, but I feel that I have not done enough. Perhaps a change of responsiblity is in order.
I requested that the Scim be put in drydock for an indefinite period, and this will be my last recording along those lines.
I hope to learn much from this new path I wish to walk.
Ammi, signing off.
....End Record...
--- Location: ...Unknown... ---
...Record 0009...
Is it time, that takes so much from us? Or is it simply our own mindset, that forces us to sacrifice things we hold dear?
Perhaps we simply blame time for our own lack of thought, our own dearth of appreciation for the life we've been granted.
Surrounded by our spiraling cosmos, the flares of our engines brightening the dark heavens, can we even afford to blame time for the sacrifices that are so obviously the results of our own choices?
It is not a question of survival. It is not a thing of blame that we can slap upon the passage of time.
Time and space, it is said, are intertwined.
How can we exist in one, fighting and dying, without feeling the effects of the passage of the other?
And what, if any, are the rewards we gain by our sacrifice of time?
The challenge is figuring that out, and applying the answer to this short existence we call life.
Seeking after the Orange Dream has taught me that much.
....End Record...