Calling me a loyal son of Matar would be a stretch. If I was, I’d probably be in the Military, exercising my talents there, and furthering the goals of the Tribes.

Instead, I broke off, shortly after graduating; going my own way, forming my own corporation, and setting up business in Gallente space. I mean, I employ a bunch of ethnic Matar, sourced from all over New Eden, from former slaves, to those like myself, raised on a Gallente world.

There’s some guilt from that. They put a lot of time and effort into training me, and how do I repay them? I run off to do my own thing. That’s not exactly showing gratitude. But I just couldn’t hack the military life, far too many rules and regulations, people telling me what to do, and what to think.

I was raised by a family, proud of our Matari heritage, even if we didn’t live in our own Republic. No Clan, as such, just a Circle. I’m not going to go into exactly what we did. Skirting on the edge of legality at times. But they were good people. I don’t stay in contact as much as I should, but I helped them with repatriation. They didn’t want to go back, to be a drain on the Republic. I helped them get set up when they returned, transporting them myself, and arranging purchases on planet. They also help out with some of the slaves I’ve emancipated, getting them back into decent society, helping them with the side effects of their treatment.

What I wasn’t a fan of, at the time, was the fact they made me go to school. I mean, I learnt everything I needed for the family business from them, but they wanted a well-rounded education, and not to have “the Authorities” looking too closely at the clan, as to why I didn’t go. It’s not a stretch to say I did well. Top of my class, for the majority of the time. But I’m a capsuleer. I’m exceptional for a baseliner, but middle of the road, with my current peers.

I had some corporations come sniffing round, some pre-testing done, and some offers for scholarships made. I turned them down. Prideful, I wanted to help my people, so I travelled to the Republic, and tested there. Again, the offers came in, and I took one. That was a hard time. I almost quit on several occasions. University took work. Capsuleer training took willpower. Watching people ring out, walking away from everything they’d worked towards. But I hit that wall, and fought through it. Shame I couldn’t do the same, when it came to following orders, especially from a baseliner.

Egotistical? Yeah, sure. It’s hard not to be, when you’re part of that elite group that got through. Less than one percent of those who try, make it through to the end. And you need that ego, that feeling of self-importance, to carry you through the final test. Th unshakable knowledge that you will survive, even if the body you were born in doesn’t. I try not to let it out too much, but it’s always there.

You may have noticed I don’t have any tattoos. I used to. I shed them when I cut my ties with the Republic. My parents still argue with me about that. When I see them. I’m not the person I used to be. Those Tattoos weren’t mine any more. And how can I wear them, when I’ve abandoned my people? It just didn’t seem right.

(It may not be good, but I don’t care. You don’t need to read it 😉 )

Self Image

I’ve been asked before, why capsuleers aren’t all perfect specimens. Why some of us are scarred. Why some bear the legacy of the human endurance program. Why, when we can shape ourselves in pretty much any way we please, most of us chose to stay close to how we were, when we were baseliners.

I can’t speak for the others. One thing I’m not is a mind reader. And I guess I’m more unusual than most. I mean, every time I die, I wake up in a body which has had an eye and its arms replaced. There’s discomfort. There’s some relearning of how everything fits together, that I never had with a more natural body. [A snort of laughter] If you can call anything about these so-called clones natural.

But I think it’s all down to seeing a familiar face in the mirror when we wake up. I mean, we spend hours, days, sometimes weeks without being able to see ourselves. Where our bodies are the ships we pilot. Where our eyes are the drones we can send to see anything which we wish to. It’s a heady sensation, which can leave you feeling very small when you unplug. Limited. Vulnerable.

So, for me, I want to see myself in the mirror. Something to anchor myself, when I come down. Scars give you something to focus on. Something to say, “Yes, this is me.” Something to fool the mind into forgetting that this isn’t the same body as you were born in. Or even the one you woke up in that day. That might be half way across the cluster. Little tricks to ground you. Stop you forgetting who you are.

It’s one of the reasons I unplug when I can. Sure, there are risks to it. This me may die, because I’m not in my capsule, ready to be whisked away at a moment’s notice. But you can’t let that rule you. Even if this me may die, another can go on, branching from when I last got backed up. That won’t be me, but it’s a legacy, of sorts.

So that’s why we’re not all perfect. Because no-one wants to see a stranger in the mirror.