Update, 8.11.2024: We've shared the winning story and snippets of the others in a piece of curated content: EVE Online fan fiction
No remorse! Having run one for each of the other major empires, now it's time to tackle the patriotic, capitalist, authoritarian, and militaristic state - the Caldari. You can choose to set your story deep in Caldari space or base it on existing legends. However, if you'd prefer, you can also link your tale more loosely to the Caldari, such as the tale of a young pilot dealing with the pressures of their duty.
Please use no more than 1,200 words in your submission. If they're much longer than that, they may be disqualified regardless of quality. Feel free to include images. You're also more than welcome to enter this bounty with a video story. If you do, aim for at least three minutes of video.
As always, the winning stories will be judged on community reactions and our own judgement of quality and creativity.
Flash-fiction writing advice: Often, aspiring authors of flash fiction fall down by trying to write an entire story, complete with beginning, middle, and end. Flash fiction doesn't need to do that, and is usually better when it doesn't. Flash fiction can leave readers wanting more. It can leave questions unanswered and mysteries unsolved. Sometimes, it can be a single scene. To maximise your chances of winning a prize, we advise you keep that advice in mind.
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Disclaimer: This fan-fiction story continues from “Depths of Alsavoinon: A High-Risk Rescue.” While it can be read on its own, I highly recommend reading the first part for a broader perspective. All names, locations, ships, and modules are inspired by real gameplay events from Eve Online, providing a creative reimagining within its universe.
Depths of Alsavoinon: A Sudden Turn (Serial Excerpt)
Chapter 1: A Legacy Fading
The engine’s rhythmic beat was calming, a familiar echo from days long gone. Back then, my family was a powerful corporation Isuuaya Tactical, a gem in Caldari’s Crown. For 500 years, we were the Navy’s primary supplier of mines — who could’ve imagined that we’d become obsolete? Now, all that’s left of our former glory is this Phoenix-class Dreadnought, which I use like a mercenary, just to make a living.
The Admiral had given me vague orders: “Take a few ships from the militia and head to Alsavoinon. Check what’s happening there.” At least they provided a few Covert scouts and a full bay of fuel. I even managed to stow away some haulers filled with ammunition and supplies in the Dreadnought’s hangar. This “check” could mean anything, so I ordered to fit Rapid Torpedo Launchers.
For three days, I’d kept my ship in warp, hidden on the nearby system’s outskirts, away from any scanners. The intel from my Buzzard pilot — what was her name again? Tomoko Aruki? — was promising. A talented navigator; I’ll keep an eye on her. She found a small Gallente gang, a couple of battleships with support ships, and the usual border guards at the gates. Nothing unbearable.
It seemed my Dreadnought was the biggest fish in this pond. But there were also a few Drifters. We still didn’t know their intentions, but scans showed at least one Drifter battleship among them. Deadly, thanks to their Doomsday weapon. How they managed to squeeze it onto a ship that small and power it — we needed that tech!
Chapter 2: The Ambush
A short buzz signaled that the time had come. My officers on the command deck were ready. I called to my communication officer to confirm the operation status and connect me to our scout.
“Scout Aruki, status report.”
“Sir, they’ve arrived at Alsavoinon III as expected. Like the last three times, they’re cruising around for about 60 minutes before moving on. No indicators suggesting they’ll change the pattern.”
“Thank you, Miss Tomoko.” I softened my tone since we weren’t yet in combat. “Stay cloaked and keep an eye on them.”
“Affirmative!”
We’d been watching this patrol for days. They were too lazy to alter their route — amateurs! A Falcon-class Force Recon ship was hidden nearby to avoid needing to warp. The success of the whole operation depended on perfect synchronization between the tackle wing and us. I called to my navigation commander:
“Mr. Alfred, are we ready?”
Alfred was the most meticulous person I’d ever met — the crew joked he even counted the strokes of his toothbrush. But I appreciated his precision; it made him ideal for navigation.
“Yes, sir. H-hour in three minutes, forty-five seconds. I’ll light the countdown on the main screen, if you wish.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
The plan was simple: the tackle wing, made up of eight Raptors, would warp in sync with a Cynosural beacon. Once the Raptors scrambled their targets, my Dreadnought would jump in to finish the job. I was only worried about the Falcon; we couldn’t afford to lose it. But I hoped our surprise attack would keep the enemy occupied long enough for the Falcon to escape.
Despite the militia status of my fleet, I trusted these pilots. They were exceptionally disciplined, and thanks to Miss Tomoko’s intel, each interceptor already knew their target’s name. It was just a matter of seconds to seize the entire Gallente patrol.
Combat would focus first on smaller ships — the frigates and destroyers, then the cruisers. There were two battleships: a Megathron and a Hyperion, with the latter likely carrying their commander. I planned to grapple and scramble it. Neither posed a real threat to my Dreadnought, but the smaller ships could counter-attack our Raptors, so eliminating them first was critical to reduce casualties.
Alfred’s polite “H-hour in 10 seconds, sir” brought me back from my combat visualisation. I thought about giving an inspirational speech, but nothing came to mind other than a vague “Let’s do this, people,” so I remained silent.
As the timer hit zero, I gave the single command: “Jump!” The universe around us folded, then unfolded moments later as my Dreadnought covered the distance of 1.2ly and appeared in Alsavoinon star system, near planet III.
As we materialized, there was a brief moment of serene silence before the sensors picked up incoming data, rendering it to my overview and scanners. Miss Tomoko had done an excellent job, marking enemy ships and preparing broadcast orders — all I had to do was confirm them.
Everyone was waiting for me to say the next powerful word, one that often meant life or death. With all the confidence I could muster, I said, “Siege.”
A light shudder signalled the ship’s transition to its tactical configuration — stationary but vastly more powerful. The gunnery crews were now drawing on all internal resources, maximizing the potential of their torpedoes. The damage control teams were boosting shield generators, drastically improving our resilience. For the next 600 seconds, we’d be sitting ducks, I reminded myself.
The battlefield looked promising. Our Falcon had escaped, and after re-warping to a safe distance, began jamming enemy sensors with its powerful ECM, protecting our Raptor pilots from Gallente blasters and railguns.
One Incursus frigate managed to slip away — it would likely call for reinforcements from the gates, but it wouldn’t matter. By the time they arrived, we’d have wrapped this up.
On my overview, we had both battleships tackled, along with three cruisers and two destroyers. They were the biggest threat to my interceptors. I gave my first attack command: “Primary Algos, secondary Catalyst, and we need Target Painter assistance to increase their signature.” And I added, “Leave the escape pods alive. We’re not pirates here to slaughter capsuleers.”
As I expected, thanks to target painters and the Stasis Webifier module, we nearly volleyed those destroyers and cruisers.
But that FRS Oneiros wouldn’t leave my mind. Why had it escaped so quickly? Something was definitely off! Then, alarms blared, marking a change in the directional scanner readings.
“Sensor Officer, report!”
“Drifter ship signatures detected, sir. Location: near the sun, approximately 13 AU away, and they are moving.” After another agonizing second of updated data, he continued, “Sir, they are moving towards us and are about to exit warp in 52 seconds.”
“Mr. Alfred, how quickly can we pull out of here?”
“Captain, our engines are not currently scrambled, and tactical overview indicates no remaining ships capable of scrambling us. However, the Siege module cycle has two minutes and three seconds left, plus another 32.09 seconds to align and warp.”
“Command to all ships, hold your fire and disengage. I repeat, hold your fire and disengage.” It was a tough decision, but I was running out of options. “Comms, patch me through to that Gallente Hyperion.”
This serial excerpt has been adapted as a standalone piece to fit the 1200-word limit. However, I decided to keep the story rolling and added three more chapters. You can read the full story here Depths of Alsavoinon: A Sudden Turn
Alex Sinclair The average sci-fi book is around 80,000 to 120,000 words. I'm currently at 12k, so about 10%. Keep those bounties coming, and I might just finish the book in time for the Eve Vanguard release! =)
They are selfless. Courageous. Dedicated. And they live at the edge of danger 24/7. But to most of the denizens of New Eden they do not even exist. They are unknown. They are a mystery. And that is just the way they want it.
But look closely at almost any public kill-mail, and you will see them. They are relentlessly perfect at combat. They are the elite squadron of Faction Police that guard the Militia Structures throughout lawless space, dolling out tiny bits of damage to offenders and ruining the otherwise spotless solo attacks of pirate gangs.
Little is known about them, where they come from, what kind of training they get, and how they manage to maintain such a spotless record. So, in pure VICE style, we sent our own EVEOGANDA Reporter Andrea Cooper to New Caldari to find out more.
New Caldari: Secret Location
Thanks Rixx. As you can see the morning mist covers most of this mountain installation, which is appropriate considering the amount of secrecy involved with filming here. For the past six weeks I've been negotiating and bargaining my way thru layers of Caldari bureaucracy, institutional roadblocks, and secrecy in order to to get someone to even admit that this place exists. This is the super-secret, and never filmed before, training facilities for the elite Caldari State Troopers.
Now that the mist is rising, you can clearly see the Merlin Simulators rising in the distance. It is an awe-inspiring sight, but sadly filming and photography have been banned as part of our negotiations. Our Warden, and constant companion, is Senior Trooper Binks Hardaz. In an interesting side-note, our readers may remember the Hardaz family, as they are quite the prominent and influential Caldari family. Binks is not a Capsuleer in the traditional sense, but his immortality is just as assured. The remaining details regarding his transformation are strictly off limits to questioning. And public record. But I did manage to get him to open up about other subjects.
"I can confirm the popular myth regarding our "red shirts", all Troopers of the State wear a scarlet shirt under our uniforms. This has been a Trooper tradition for as long as anyone can remember. Our Red Shirts symbolize the blood spilled in service to the State. And while the details regarding the origin of this tradition have been lost to time, it is believed that the first Commander, Kirk, may have started the tradition."
When pressed regarding the details of their service, the long hours of solitary vigilance within the wide-flung Faction Structures, the dangers of outlaw space, and the corps spotless military record, Binks became even more open.
"We serve the State."
Indeed, service to the State is mandatory, but even so one is left wondering how much of this strict military existence is left to choice.
"We don't spend a lot of time training on weaponry and offensive tactics." He admitted, "Most of our training revolves around defense, avoidance tactics and low-grade conflict resolutions."
This might start to explain the ability of the Troopers to avoid a single ship loss. But even so, a perfectly spotless record seems beyond imagination. It has long been speculated that all losses are swept under the rug and officially denied by the State. Further speculation revolves around several captured communications transcripts that report to show Troopers contacting known Pirate Corporations with Intel.
"I can't comment on speculation."
I can confirm that the largest building within the installation is dedicated to making and serving the best doughnuts that this reporter has ever tasted. There are several doughnut breaks throughout the day's training regime. And they are quite yummy.
I leave New Caldari a bit wiser than when I arrived, but the State Troopers remain an enigma to me. Those that I met seemed dedicated to the cause, but one wonders at the cost. Is it worth it?
We may never know the real answer. Back to you Rixx.
Thanks Andrea. In other news, the Gurista Trooper Association issued this statement, "Death to Caldari Scum!! We know where you live!!"
The boots were sturdy and heavy, reaching up to the shin. They walked with decisive steps. They walked on a metal floor, the kind that saw many steps and many cargo moving, the kind that gathered dirt in the corners.
Beside them, another pair of shoes appeared, different: refined, with heels, polished, stylish. The steps were those of one who knew they were on top, the one leading and commanding respect. The floor was different as well, perfectly shining, reflecting the lights from above.
Another set of boots appeared, utilitarian, not as heavy as the first kind but neither as stylish as the second. They walked with the quiet confidence of who knew how to do their work. The floor was cleaner and yet, utilitarian, just like the boots.
The shoes were different but so were the bottoms of each walker.
The first wore heavy duty cargo pants, lined with pockets, and with little space for anything but utility. They could work perfectly for a soldier as much as for a miner.
The second wore dark tights, fitting the refined legs up till they disappeared under a sharply cut black skirt. It was the fashion, sharp as a knife, closing around her knees.
The third once again tried to fit in between, not being as sharply cut as that skirt but without the heavy load of the first. They fit the figure, without excess, they had deep pockets but without the same array of the first.
The tops were also different.
The first wore a jacket, thick, lined with padding and protection layers. Below a thermo, neck high shirt. It was dark grey, with no frills. The kind of color that resisted dust and dirt as well as use.
The second wore a military styled blouse. Military only in style, but not in use. As black as the other garments, with breast pockets highlighted by a thin white line, shoulder pads and a high neck. A wide belt connected the skirt to the blue, as black as the other two, with a glossy finish.
The third wore another jacket, lighter, above a dark tank top. It was just as utilitarian as the rest, with pockets and a light protecting, but not heavy. It worked, without needing to resist the heavy duty of others.
The walkers were different.
The first had the build of the soldier, of the miner. Heavy, sturdy. Arms crossed across their chest. Their blonde hairs cut in a buzz, no space for fashion and style. Icy eyes set on a hardened jaw. They were the defenders of the State.
The second had a body built to look good, to look like perfection, with the right shapes in the right places. Sharp eyes with an undertone of steel. Her face was chiselled, perfectly cut just as her clothes were. They were the Corporations that kept the State up.
The third had the build of a woman running the world, where beauty was important but not so important as doing results. With long black hair pulled in a ponytail, her dark eyes were always evaluating. They were the merchants, the blood of the State.
A logo appeared superimposed: two concentric Cs, in the dark grey of hardened steel.
They were Caldari.
OOC Commentary
This piece came somewhat the same way as the We Are Gallente piece, as a kind of a video advertisement. I tried to touch different types of Caldari, the heavy duty worker and soldier, the corporate overseer and the trader.
The cold stars glittered across the void, distant and unmoved as always, as though they were judging the affairs of humankind with a silent disdain. In the cockpit of the Raven battleship Resolute Fang, Captain Talia Okita gazed out at the yawning expanse of space, her sharp eyes narrowed with focused determination. A cold haze of blue drifted across the nearby asteroid field as mining drones worked tirelessly, extracting precious minerals to feed the State’s ever-hungry industry.
A soft chime from her console pulled her out of her reverie. Talia tapped her comm unit, her gloved fingers brushing over the interface with military precision.
“Captain, the fleet is in position,” her XO, Lieutenant Renshu, reported. “On your command, we’ll initiate the first salvo against the Guristas.”
Talia’s gaze flicked over her bridge crew, each officer a cog in the Caldari war machine. They wore the navy’s gray uniforms with the same cold pride as she did, standing at attention, their faces unreadable, as they awaited her orders. This was a mission that mattered; the Guristas had harassed corporate transports for weeks, and today would mark the end of that.
“Fire the first salvo. I want them to see what they’ve earned,” Talia commanded, her voice as calm and steady as the cold expanse outside.
Renshu nodded, signaling the weapon systems. The Raven hummed as torpedoes launched in waves, streaking toward the Guristas’ hideout. Talia could feel the faint reverberations through the deck plates. As always, it stirred a strange satisfaction in her. This was where she was meant to be—on the front lines, preserving the honor and interests of the Caldari State.
Explosions lit up the asteroid field, rippling in soundless fury as the Guristas ships emerged from their hiding places. They scrambled to assemble, to retaliate, but Talia’s fleet was too disciplined, too well-prepared. The assault was relentless, a dance of missiles and lasers as Caldari ships struck with surgical precision.
And then, in a moment of calm between volleys, Talia received a personal comm. It was rare to be disturbed in battle, and rarer still for it to be a private message. She glanced at the signature—her father, High Director Katsuro Okita, a titan in the Kaalakiota Corporation.
“Captain, we’ll handle the Guristas here,” Renshu said, noting her hesitation. “Permission to proceed with the formation shift?”
Talia nodded, switching to her private comm with a deep breath. Her father’s face appeared on the screen, his expression as hard and steely as she remembered.
“Father,” she said, keeping her voice steady, though she felt the familiar weight of his expectations.
“You’re doing well, Talia. I’ve reviewed your progress reports. The Caldari State needs more captains like you, willing to make the difficult decisions. But we expect results.”
“Of course, Director Okita. I assure you, the Guristas are no match for our forces today.”
His expression softened, just barely. “The State comes first, Talia. Honor your commitments.”
The line cut, and his image faded from the screen. Talia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The State always came first. And that meant more than duty; it meant family, legacy, the price of loyalty and the silent promise of sacrifice.
“Captain, they’re retreating,” Renshu reported. “What are your orders?”
“Cut them down,” she replied, her voice a sharp edge in the silence. “No mercy.”
As the last of the Guristas ships exploded in brilliant flashes of light, Talia felt a chill settle in her chest. The stars were no closer, and the State no warmer, but in that cold expanse, she had done her duty. And that was enough.
At one of our numerous unknown explorations we found an abandoned ship. So old and forgotten, we were unable to see the fabulous skin on the hull. The History has written his signature move in dust and scrap. But the story I want to tell was found in the cargo.
An old dairy, which at the time already bit his teeth in it.
When power and wealth overcome you… it replaces parts of you masked as a friend. Slowly you will accept the Caldaria manipulation, aroused purely by ISK. It's a cold hard universe, something bad or good will find you, no matter how hard you hide.
Apparently to the Dairy a Caldari Capsuleer all happened with the loss of two specialized Minmatar Shuttles called Leopard in High-Security Space of Amarr and as well in close proximity of the Major Caldari Trade Hub Jita. The hasty and greasy note states that the price was around 300 million ISK to this time. From there it shows links to an not anymore existing wallet, with tons of buy orders for a certain ship. Unfortunately the data got lost in the rough space time.
I mean there are endless journals of buy orders and then for months nothing. My assumption is that the sale data is heavily corrupted and not available anymore. Trust me, I hacked it with a Deathless Relic Analyzer, and you know these aren't easy to get. Deep inside me I believe there is a treasure, beside the facts that it could be nothing at all. So I dug like a little brave caldari dwarf* into the diary. *Dwarf is a Fantasy created before we entered New Eden.
Further back my belief in the treasure got strengthened.
I buy treasure from others, which so time will come, I only possess. Once the existing is gone, the deep anger will be forgotten. And then I will be free, finally.
Imagine you use your wealth to boycott a ganking game style in an ego matter so only you can fly this Ship. This my friends is a deep rooted caldari heart with a very odd market hobby. Unfortunately there are no information who he was, where he is and no clue about where this damn Goblin* hid the loot.
*Goblin, same as the Dwarf, just green and less digging, more stabbing.
