Originally posted May 20, 2009.
The young man glanced furtively over his shoulder before ducking around the corner into the alleyway. It was dark here, and damp, but he knew he was long past any concerns of physical comfort. The sound of his footfalls was largely masked by the constant, overbearing thrum of heavy machinery from the Camal IX Water Treatment facility nearby. He had a very important job to do in service to a cause greater than himself; he wondered if his name would ever be remembered, but even if it wasn’t he knew his sacrifice would be remembered as the act of a hero — a true Minmatar.
He dropped to one knee and slung the heavy satchel off his back. It was an old bag and he had to fumble with the zipper a little to get it open. No use bothering to replace it now, anyway. He removed his grey WT cap from the bag and put it on, but for now he just slung the grey uniform shirt over his shoulder. He had been told that the small but weighty blocks were molded from the most potent non-nuclear explosive known throughout the cluster. They’d said that his own death would be swift and painless and that the sheer force of the shock wave would most likely see to it that the deaths of his co-workers was equally humane. The object here wasn’t to inflict direct human suffering, after all. The target was the water treatment facility itself.
The man who had spoken to him said that the only way to fully liberate those still trapped in the Mandate was to force the Amarr to abandon the Mandate; the way to do this was to make the Mandate more trouble than it was worth. The way to do that, they said, was to give the people sufficient cause for uprising and revolt. And nothing pisses people off more than a lack of clean, running water…
When Havohej turned from the wall monitor in his office, his face was clouded over with a troubled expression. He knew that most of the people remaining in the Mandate were loyalists who had chosen not to make use of the opportunity afforded them by the Elders’ surprise attack months before. But he also knew that there were others, like the young man who had sacrificed himself to destroy the water treatment facility, who were less fortunate than that. Eighteen people, minus his operative, left seventeen; of those seventeen people, he wondered, how many might have been innocent? Still, he thought, better seventeen innocent men die for their people than seventeen million Minmatar be abandoned to slavery-by-proxy under some half-assed vassal of the Empire.
He had found several believers in the Mandate, and they would find him several more until he had the makings of a revolt. He had to let them do their job and concentrate on his own, which was to challenge and harass the capsuleers of the Ammatar Mandate and Amarr Empire and hopefully find others like himself — capsuleers who could see the Mandate for what it still was and who were willing to do whatever it took to cause trouble for them, their Amarr masters and anyone else who would support them. But Havohej knew that he would need support.
Over the last two weeks, the CEO of Du’uma Fiisi Integrated Astrometrics had made contact with the diplomats of several well-known, powerful capsuleer corporations and alliances, and he still had several more on his list. He had made no mention of his specific intentions, or the methods that he intended to employ in reaching his goals. Only that his primary objective was the betterment of the Minmatar people, wherever they may be. From one such discussion it became clear that, in order to garner the support of the more mainstream organizations he would need for DF1AS to establish a record of activity as well as proficiency. If people were to look the other way regarding his organization’s less socially acceptable methods, they would need sufficient reason. There was only one way to do that…
Havohej walked back to his desk and sat down. He reached for the intercom on his desk and instructed his secretary to put him in contact with his friend in the Republic Fleet Surveillance Division, Lt. Jaerl Orn. Less than five minutes later, Orn’s troubled face stared out at him from the wall monitor across the room.
“Havohej,” the officer said, “I hope you’re not going to tell me you had anything to do with Camal.”
“Why would I do that?” the capsuleer replied coolly. “I called to ask you about the TLF.” Lt. Orn was visibly surprised by this.
“The Tribal Liberation Force? I thought you said you weren’t interested in joining the militia.”
“Yes, I did say that,” the capsuleer acknowledged. “However, things have changed. I want to enlist Du’uma Fiisi immediately.” His hard eyes shifted toward the office’s huge window, his glare set upon all those Caldari and Ammarians coming and going as they pleased, making their fortunes off of the Minmatar People right here in Molden Heath. “For the time being, I am a servant of the Republic.”