The Waste

I'm sitting at the bar in Hurtoken station idly watching a dust storm on part of the planet below, it doesn't look very large but it would still be uncomfortable for anybody down on the surface.  The dust tendrils seem to reach out from the source of the storm, trying to grasp something downwind, without success as the storm is forcast to fade in a day or so.

I try not to think of the waste, of the death that surrounds me, however those thoughts seem to find me when I'm at the bar, after a few drinks.

When I lose a ship in combat, which does not happen often, I'm usually able to warp away in my pod, only poorer for the ISK and face I've lost in the fight.  What I leave behind are the bodies of the crew, floating in space, already dead or flailing around and rapidly approaching a death from asphyxiation or the cold.  Depending on the ship I was flying those numbers may vary from tens to hundreds, if not thousands.  I've never met any of them, the pod pilot area of most space stations is quite removed from the normal areas, it is supposed to be easier that way.  From time to time I dream of them, faceless masses I've surrendered to the void in our empire games.

The waste.