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This is What Happens When I Try to Mine

“Knob.” I heard as soon as the comm-link opened.
“heh. Yeah, sorry to be trouble. I'll leave the system and let you have your ore back for 10,000 ISK.”
GTO Baily, my victim, only laughed, whether it was because of the outrageously low ransom or that he thought I was telling an obvious lie I don’t know.
At this point it was already over, so I abandoned tact. “I think you're funny too! Lets be friends!”
“Go away griefer. Let me get on with it.”
“It’s only 10,000 ISK... that’s like, nothing.”
“Why should I pay for my own ore?”
“Because it’s the only way to get it back unless you want to fight me.”
He laughs again. “Maybe I don’t want it back.”
I sighed as the debris of my jet-can scattered, small particles of ore and alloy rebounding from our shields.
“Well fly safe.”
“Bye trouble.”
“Poorsport…”

Cleared for publication by: Ander
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Watching a Misadventure Unfold

Even as I gave a confirming nod to the operator I doubted the wisdom of the decision. I had business to see to here, and displacing my consciousness halfway across the galaxy just to risk my most valuable asset to a night of gallivanting through enemy territory hardly seemed a worthy alternative. My thoughts of protest were cut off abruptly by the now familiar nothingness of death.

Consciousness was returned to me in the transparent embryonic fluid of a clone preservation vat. This vat, unlike the one I’d just died in, was sheltered in a station of merciless outlaw space. No going back now…

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