The sentence had been mortality, not non-existence, but it was no secret that the Sarum family were displeased with the outcome. I was a military pilot, I followed orders, I had done nothing wrong. But that didn’t matter, not in politics. All that mattered is that I’d angered someone more powerful than myself, and that I didn’t have enough friends in high places.

I boarded my executioner, checked that the systems were running smoothly. Double checked. It had to be perfect. In the eyes of the empire the cancellation of my clone contracts, and execution of my clones had been enough, but I was well aware that there were enough pilots in the imperial navy loyal to Sarum, or to isk, that this flight may well be my last.

“Aura, chart me the fastest course out of empire space.”

They had drained my accounts, dissolved my corporation, but I had a reputation. I was banking on that. If I could make it to Caldari space I might be able to get a clone contract with the State navy. I had been on loan to them fresh out of the academy, and served them well in the past.

“Course planning complete Madame.” I undocked. Moments later my warp drive engaged. “Give me a scan of the approaching gate Aura,” one ship, an imperial maller. I was in the Capitol of the empire, you don’t get gates guarded by one ship.

My warp bubble collapsed and my neocom lit up with warnings. The Maller was targeting me. I mentally comanded my ship to speed to the gate, but it was too late. My propulsion systems were already jammed. I hung in space, creeping toward the gate with what speed I could muster out of my crippled engines.

“Hail commander, or shall I say ex-commander. You wouldn’t be transporting any illegal goods out of system would you.” The maller pilot’s voice was raspy over the neocom, his thick Khanid accent and interference from the nearby gate giving it a surreal quality, like talking underwater. This is the voice of the angel of death, I thought. I should have known he’d be Khanid. I waited, gave no response.

“Not very talkative are we,” came the response to my silence. “That’s fine by me. Here’s the deal, someone thinks it’s worth 10mil to crack your little egg. That’s a lot of money, but I’m a sporting man. For say, 20 I’ll switch off my scram and give you a fighting chance. For 30, I never even saw you. What do you say?”

30 million isk, I thought, this is the worth of my existence. 30 million. A week ago I could have paid ten times that, but not today. Today I had nothing, no accounts, no possessions save the executioner that now hung beneath the guns of the massive cruiser. Not that it would have made any difference. I was Amarr of pure blood, a noble, and a combat pilot. I do not grovel, and I certainly do not pay ransoms.

My lasers swiveled deftly into position and sent a pulse of energy through the void. A couple hundred years ago that would have been a kill shot, I thought to myself as the lasers repeatedly blasted the shield in front of the cruiser cockpit. I braced myself as I saw his heavy pulse lasers swivel into position.

The darkness was momentarily illuminated as his guns melted my ship. I ejected and immediately gave the order to warp back to the relative safety of the station. But it was too late, a white hot tendril leapt from the barrel of his gun and the walls of my pod splintered. The cold rushed in.