A Duty to Honor


For months it raged, the war between the hulking giant and ferocious underdog. For months they bartered with fire and death, one gaining hold over the other at the cost of thousands. Entire systems lit up by carnage and littered with blasted space hulks. Ruthlessly efficient mercenaries soon join the fray, adding to the count of corpses.

Two war hosts meet in a desolate corner of space, seeking each other out. One, a golden dreadnought and its battlegroup of armoured brass knights. The other a scorched cruiser, its hull pock-marked with the wounds of war and frigates to port and starboard. But something is different this time - shield boosters do not flare, weapons do not throw death at the hated enemy. Today, the war comes to an end.

The Caldari RSF Atlantian is completely dwarfed by the Golgotha, a behemoth Armageddon battleship and gleaming crown of the TAOSP fleet. It approaches from below, a gesture of naval deference. Soon a shuttle detaches from the war-weary cruiser's hull and makes for the Golgotha's berths.

The Raid delegation is resplendent in their decorated dress uniforms, though some appear tired and ashen-faced. They walk, slowly and purposefully, through the Golgotha's vaulted corridors. The door to the conference chamber opens, and for the first time the fighters come face to face.

The ceremony is short and solemn - no-one dares utter a word. Jonathan Pride steps forward, an object held in his hands. The ancient sword has moved through his family tree for generations, a symbol of martial power. Now it will serve as a symbol of peace.

The sword is handed to the TAOSP fleet captain, and accepted with an understanding nod. The Raid delegates, heads bowing gently in one last gesture of respect, leave the conference chamber. Many of them return to the Atlantian, but two remain aboard the Golgotha - they have one more duty to perform, one last call to honor.

They walk with pride through the darkened corridor, their heads held high. They fought to the best of their ability and they know it. Jonathan and Charles Pride, his trusted second in command exchange impassioned salutes, the leader's eyes filled with a grave resolve and the second's with barely stifled sadness. Jonathan Pride steps into the guest suite, saying nothing more as the door slides shut behind him, Charles assuming guard outside, alone in the dark corridor.

Reflections of days past fly through the mind of the Raid commander-in-chief. Memories of comrades fallen in recent times, and of the glory days before them. His sidearm unholstered, he relaxes and lets all worldly concerns go. He thumbs the hammer, reciting a century-old war poem learned by every Caldari naval cadet.

Charles Pride flinches at the gunshot behind the door. Moments later the sound of a body crumbling limply to the metal deck-plating, and it is done. To the very end, his leader stuck to protocol. With his sacrifice, the honor of the corporation is preserved. He too, begins to reminisce… but is interrupted by a sound coming closer in the corridor.

With audible footfalls and the soft jangling of a metal chain to guide him, Charles Pride strains his eyes against the dimly lit corridor. There a well-dressed man approaches - one hand in a pocket, the other holding his Slaver's leash. They cross paths, Charles starting back to the docking berth. As they pass, a slight smile is all he glimpses of the man's shadow-veiled face.

The well-dressed man whistled a quiet melody as he disappeared down the hallway…

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