Background
Caldari State, YC110–
School of Applied Knowledge
Director of Combat and PvP Operations
Registered YC125
Sisters Estée and Lana
Order of the Ivy League, YC126
TLF field citation, YC127
Alliance Tournament Feeders, YC128
I Another Flag
The family's founders had been MTAC crews on the polar ice, part of the first generation to take Hyasyoda's walking machines out into the cold. When the evacuation came they stayed with the machines, then with the land, and then, for the better part of two centuries, with the Federation: a Caldari minority in Caldari districts, living under a Gallente flag.
Two hundred years is long enough for a family to change shape. Somewhere along the way a Federation registrar, faced with an old Caldari name and a short deadline, wrote down Bravais, and the family kept it. They kept other things too: Deteis discipline, corporate punctuality, and a habit of settling arguments at the dinner table with proverbs. And they picked things up: Gallente neighbours, Gallente schooling, Gallente coffee.
Amfion was born into all of that in YC90, the eldest of three. By law he was a citizen of the Gallente Federation. By every measure his grandmother cared about, he was Caldari. He grew up speaking Caldari at home and Gallente at school, and learned early that the same sentence can mean two different things on either side of a district line, and that most fights start in the gap between them. He has spent most of his life since working in that gap.
His mother translated for the district registry. His father kept heavy machinery running for a Federation mining concern in the north. His sisters, Estée and Lana, came along a few years later, and remain the only two people in the cluster allowed to call him headstrong to his face.
II The Provist Years
Tibus Heth's invasion brought Caldari Prime back under the State, and with it every family that had stayed behind. For the stayers it was a homecoming, and it came with paperwork. Hyasyoda sent recruiters north for the families who had once crewed its machines, and the Bravais were given corporate citizenship, positions, and a seat at the far end of a very long table. Amfion, twenty years old and halfway through a Federation university course he would never finish, went to work in Hyasyoda's Foreign Partnerships office. A young Caldari who could talk to the Gallente without either side wincing was, for a short while, exactly what the corporation needed.
It did not stay that way for long. Under the Caldari Providence Directorate, the same Gallente surname and Gallente contacts that made the family useful also made it suspect. In YC112 the Directorate opened a loyalty review on his father, and his father went away.
Closed · YC115
For three years the family waited. His mother did what Caldari bureaucrats do when the system fails them: she filed. She filed appeals, petitions and requests for clarification until the Directorate ran short of forms to refuse them on. Amfion kept his job, because under the Provists one did not resign; one asked for more work. He learned that silence can keep people alive, and he promised himself he would never again be somewhere it was the only choice he had.
In YC115 the Federation's Operation Highlander brought the Shiigeru down across the face of Caldari Prime, Heth's government fell soon after, and his father came home quieter than he had left. The State had taken him for a name. The corporation had kept the paperwork tidy. Neither ever apologised. In the Caldari way, Amfion said nothing about it. In his own way, he never forgot.
III The Liaison
Hyasyoda is an old, conservative corporation. It sells most of what it makes inside the State and leans on foreign partners for the rest. Amfion became one of the people who made those partnerships work: Gallente distributors, Intaki traders, Minmatar shipping clans, and the occasional Caldari board that had never met a foreigner it trusted. He was good at it. He found that most walls between people are built out of paperwork and fear, and that both can be negotiated if someone is patient enough to stay at the table.
He also found the ceiling. Hyasyoda is still run by its founding family, and it does not much care for people who don't fit. A liaison with a Gallente surname and a father with a closed Directorate file did not fit. He was very good at his job, and the corporation was very polite about promoting other people.
So in YC117 he sat the State's capsuleer aptitude tests, the one door in the State that opens for test scores rather than surnames. He passed. Hyasyoda, to its credit, let him go without a fuss. To its discredit, it was visibly relieved.
IV The Capsule
The School of Applied Knowledge took a twenty-eight-year-old negotiator and spent the next eighteen months turning him into something else: implants, neural mapping, simulator hours, and finally the capsule itself. Like every capsuleer, he died for the first time in training. It happened in a training frigate, during an exercise he was winning, and he woke in a clone vat with strong opinions about it, which his instructors noted down as a good sign.
He graduated in YC119, cleared to fly anything that would have him. Where the State had once seen a surname, it now saw an asset. He noticed the difference. He has not forgotten the first one.
V The Long Way Round
In YC120 he joined Signal Cartel, the explorers of wormhole space who will not start a fight and who make a point of bringing stranded capsuleers home. He went for two reasons, and would admit to both. He wanted to learn how to find people who are lost, which comes naturally to someone whose family once spent three years waiting for one of its own. And he wanted to see the whole cluster before he decided which parts of it were worth fighting for.
He learned to scan, to wait, and to treat strangers in the dark with courtesy. He left before the year was out, with nothing but respect for the people he left behind. He had simply discovered that he wanted a side, and Signal Cartel, admirably, does not take one.
For the next few years he flew contract work across State space, some of it for Hyasyoda, which found it much easier to like him once he was no longer on its payroll.
VI Red Skies
When the Triglavian Collective came through in YC122, it did not raid and leave. It stayed. System by system, its flotillas tore into Amarr, Caldari and Minmatar space while EDENCOM tried to hold the gates. Amfion spent that year doing what he could, flying supplies in and people out, and watching suns he had grown used to turn the colour of a wound. When it was over, the Collective had carved Pochven out of three empires, and some of the Caldari systems he knew were gone from every map the State would print.
It was the first time he had watched a border move in real time. It would not be the last. It also left him with a fascination he has never quite shaken. In later years he went back, first as a traveller and then as a contender, flying the red systems with Kybernauts Clade and Rapid Unscheduled Disassembly and contesting them against rogue drones, Sleepers and Drifters. EDENCOM has since felt obliged to take a few shots at the Endar Spire. Her captain bears it no grudge.
VII The University
Why the University, after all those years? By YC125 he had spent the better part of six years flying alone or for hire: survey contracts, explorers' charts, supply runs into systems that were about to stop existing. He had learned to survive out there. What he had never learned was how to fight alongside other people, and the red years had shown him that the pilots who held a line were never the ones flying alone. The name that kept coming up in the trade lanes was the University, the corporation that would take anyone willing to learn and then, sooner or later, hand them a fleet. So he swallowed his pride, joined the oldest kind of new student, and started again from the bottom.
He did not stay a plain student for long. Within months Shaemus O'Conor, who ran the Communications Department, had made him his second in command. He taught classes too, enough of them that students started calling him “Professor”. The University loves a title, so it stuck.
For a season he also flew on the front lines against Sansha's Nation, in incursion fleets that went wherever the Nation did. He has seen what the Nation does to the people it takes, and he doesn't talk about it much. When the time came he handed that work on to steadier hands and moved on.
The last stand of Innuendo
Since YC114 the University's Wormhole Community had lived in Innuendo, a class 2 wormhole anchored by a Fortizar everyone simply called The Rock. Eleven years of students had learned J-space there. On YC125.12.14, a few minutes into a meeting of the University's community coordinators, the alarms went off.
The attackers were UDS, eviction specialists with a real reputation, and a handful of former Unistas rode with them, carrying old grudges and a detailed knowledge of the University's defences. Before the first night was out, Innuendo's home-defence fleet had vanished from its hangar, spirited away by a former officer through access nobody had thought to revoke. Hole control slammed shut behind them.
What followed was the University at its most stubborn. Pilots in the hole pooled every spaceworthy hull they owned into a kitchen-sink fleet. The quartermaster handed out haulers to carry out what could be saved, and the rest, more than three hundred billion ISK of it, was blown up on The Rock's tether so the evictors would never see it. Outside, travel fleets camped Thera for days, hunting for a way in, and the veterans used the dead hours to teach classes to whoever was waiting. Amfion was in those fleets: new to the University, and newer still to real fighting.
Two dozen Legions and an Orca flood Innuendo and anchor a staging citadel. Within the hour The Rock has lost its shields.
The Rock's armour falls. The hull timer is set for two days out, and the clock starts.
Travel fleets stage in Thera and sit, and sit, hunting for a hole the enemy has not locked. In the waiting, classes are taught.
After three days of airtight hole control, the evictors blink. A shuttle fleet slips through moments before the hole collapses behind it, putting two dozen more pilots into Innuendo just ahead of the final timer. Amfion is one of them. The shuttles warp to a station ringed by strategic cruisers and dreadnoughts, and are handed whatever ships are left.
“Once more into Innuendo, dear friends, once more.” Senior FC Archemide takes the patchwork fleet out, and for over an hour the University fights with whatever was left on the hangar floor. Then The Rock dies, and its loot spills across the hole among the wrecks.
Innuendo was lost. Amfion has never quite counted it as a defeat. For four days he had watched the whole University, from week-old students to decade-old alumni, throw itself at a locked door because friends were on the other side. He decided then that this was a place worth belonging to. The Wormhole Community promised it would be back, better and stronger. It kept that promise.
The Department of Propaganda
In YC126.02 Shaemus handed him the Communications Department outright, telling the rest of the University's management that Amfion “always remains polite and open-minded”, even when he disagreed. Colleagues took to calling it the Department of Propaganda. It was usually two or three people and a deadline.
The work never stopped. There was the University's twentieth anniversary that year, with prizes to chase down and a celebration to organise. There was the University's blog to bring back from the dead, a weekly tip for newer pilots, and the minutes of every management meeting, which he took so reliably that people stopped asking who would. He wrote the University's broadcast etiquette, setting out which messages deserve to wake up the whole corporation and which do not, and was gently reminded of it the first time he broke it. And when a crisis hit, as one did in PC9 that summer, he made sure the flood of announcements reached people as one clear message rather than twelve.
VIII The Long Summer
The friend was Francie, who had spent much of Amfion's first year at the University teaching him how to fight, and how to lose well. Francie brought him into Collusion., a wormhole outfit of University alumni, and Amfion went. It is where he met some of the people he still flies with most: Clarityz, Shukken Tekitsu, Zeeroak Ool, then Collusion's CEO, and others besides.
The University, for its part, did not quite let him go. Someone with his face and a Professor's title stayed on its books, kept teaching, and kept his paperwork in order. The two have never been seen in the same room.
PC9-AY
That same summer Cynosural Field Theory, the University's oldest and most persistent thorn, stepped up its campaign against the Nullsec Community's home in PC9-AY, deep in Syndicate. The method was simple and tiresome: reinforce University structures, then fail to turn up for the timers. Week after week the University formed up, waited, and went home without a fight, while CFT waited for its students to get bored.
Amfion left Collusion's wormhole and went back to PC9 to help, flying under Collusion's and the Trash Tier Tryhards' banner. For more than two months he made nearly every strategic operation the University fielded, sitting through timer after timer in fleets that mostly waited. Waiting together turns out to be a decent way to make friends. It is where he got to know Tomlin properly, who became one of his favourite fleet commanders to fly under.
He was rarely just a name in the fleet list. More often than not he sat in command comms, helping the FCs form their fleets and filling whatever special role was empty that night. He mapped Drifter wormholes so reinforcements could take a shortcut into Syndicate, and while fleets were forming he briefed newer Unistas on what was about to happen and what was expected of them. Old liaison habits die hard: if a fleet needed something sorted before undock, he was usually already sorting it.
In the end the University judged that PC9 was costing more than it was worth, and chose to blow up its last structures itself rather than leave them for CFT. It did not go quietly. The last night in PC9 turned into the brawl the whole summer had been missing (battle report).
He went back to Collusion's wormhole afterwards wearing the Order of the Ivy League, awarded for his part in the defence of the Nullsec Community and PC9.
IX The Directorate
He came back as Director of Communications and Outreach, responsible for how the University talks to itself and how it talks to everyone else. For a former Hyasyoda liaison it was familiar work, in much better company. In practice it was also everything nobody else had time for: chasing a thief out of the corporation's wallets, closing a loophole that let rogue corporations drag the University into wars through its own alliance, filling in for the teaching department when it was short of hands, and still keeping the minutes. One fellow director warned that he would crash and burn if they couldn't find him more help. He didn't, though it was closer than he would admit.
Alongside it, his own flying went looking for a different kind of war in sovereign nullsec. It was something he wanted to try, and he gave it until the end of spring YC127. It didn't work out, and he has not looked back since, except through the canopy of a roaming fleet passing through on its way to a fight.
He held the directorship until YC127.07, then stepped down and went back out into the cluster. He went to Pochven, where mercenary capsuleer outfits had taken to treating the red systems as private farmland, and spent his evenings making that less profitable for them. He flew with the open public fleets that roam low- and nullsec for any fight they can find, where strangers become wingmates by the second jump and everyone comes home a little sharper than they left. And he signed on with the New Eden Yacht Club, which is how he found himself in a war.
X The Siege of Eugidi
The revolving door
Eugidi sits on the Amarr–Minmatar front: eight systems, Floseswin, Uisper, Aset, Turnur, Eytjangard, Vimeini, Isbrabata and Avenod, wired so tightly together that whoever holds most of the constellation can hold all of it. House Sarum's 24th Imperial Crusade had dug in there for years, and Fortress Aset was its keep.
By YC127 the real occupiers were capsuleers. A ring of mercenary outfits had learned to farm the war itself. They would enlist with one militia and take the constellation, then switch sides and take it all back again, collecting the bounties both ways. Anyone who got in their way, including pilots on their own side, was shot. The Republic called it an outrage. The mercenaries called it a business model. For the people who lived in Eugidi, it was an occupation on a timer.
The Yacht Club
That autumn Amfion signed on with the New Eden Yacht Club, a corporation fresh out of wormhole space, and enlisted with the Tribal Liberation Force. During one of their flips the mercenaries grew careless and let Ardar, Avenod and Isbrabata tip back toward the Republic. The Yacht Club deployed to Ardar while the rest of the militia held the line at Amamake, and started to push.
He did whatever the Minmatar people needed of him. He called fleets, flew in the line, ran the kind of special operations that don't go into reports, and put Bravais Incorporated to work as his freight and support arm, keeping hulls, ammunition and fuel moving to the front. Over ten weeks the militia formed 273 fleets, nearly four a day, alongside the capsuleers of the Minmatar Fleet Alliance and with the Republic's backing, and pilots from more than 250 corporations ended up on the killmails.
The Yacht Club's first big fight in the constellation. The mercenaries, used to having the field to themselves, discovered that someone had come to take it from them, and went home to their stations to think about it.
Floseswin, where Republic Fleet units had broken a year-long Amarr siege three years earlier, came back without a fight worth the name. Eytjangard followed three days later.
The first real price, and the first sign that the occupiers had noticed what was happening.
Two systems in two days. After Uisper, nobody on the other side was calling it a nuisance any more.
Aset was the keep, and everybody knew it. The fight for it came in waves: destroyer gangs in the complexes, cruiser fleets on the gates, and battlefields that turned into slugging matches neither side could afford to lose. Amfion flew it in every role he had. He called fleets until his voice gave out, flew logistics when the fleet needed it, and spent the quiet hours running freight into the system so the next fleet had something to undock in.
By the time the constellation's strongest point turned, 801 ships had died over it. Fortress Aset had stood for years. It now flew Republic colours.
The mercenaries tried to buy time in Isbrabata, and lost that too.
The occupiers' last serious counterattack. Two hundred and twenty-four hulls went down before it was over, and Vimeini stayed with the Republic.
Kurniainen lies just beyond the constellation, and it was the mercenaries' last way back in. The battle on the seventeenth settled it. The system turned on the twenty-third, a week before the year did.
A Republic hard-ass
Dastar Bolmara is Bolmara clan to the bone, a veteran of the Republic's long war and a hard-ass of the old school. He did not trust Caldari, and saw no reason to start with one who had turned up in his war. He told Amfion so, at length, on open comms, in three languages, two of which Amfion understood. Amfion did not argue. He just kept turning up: in the line, in the complexes at strange hours, and in the freighter that arrived on time when nothing else did. Somewhere over Aset, on a grid that was coming apart, Amfion's logistics wing held on long enough for Dastar's squadron to get out.
Dastar never thanked him. What he said, gruffly and exactly once, was that Amfion flew like he had been born on Matar. People who know Dastar say that is the same thing, and possibly more. He later took a seat in Bravais Incorporated, which makes him the household's first Minmatar. He objects to every part of that description.
Tribal Liberation Force · Field citationAftermath
The mercenaries left. Most went to Evati, where, with nobody else left to betray, they reportedly started on each other. The forward bases they left behind in Aset, Isbrabata and Kurniainen have since been taken apart. For the first time in years, Eugidi was not for sale.
Amfion went to Eugidi believing in building bridges. He came back believing something harder: that some people have to be made free before a bridge to them means anything, and that what they do with that freedom is their choice, not their liberator's. He still calls it the best work he has ever done.
XI Homecoming
He took over from Tsuro Tsero as Director of Combat and PvP Operations, and set about putting fresh life into the University's fighting. His first move was to appoint two friends he trusts completely, Kotonoha Kanade and Liutasie Ellecon, as managers of the FC Development Group, with one job: turn more students into fleet commanders. His own list of priorities had one item at the top, underlined twice: take the mystery out of fleet command. It is big and it is complicated, but anyone can start, and too many students thought they needed a thousand hours before they were allowed to try. He rebuilt the ship replacement programme and the doctrines around that idea, brought in new cruiser doctrines, and by late spring fleets were going out every day. The University seems to consider all of this the natural next step for a man who had just spent a winter in somebody else's war.
His first summer back, he did what any Deteis would and ran an audit. Access lists, structure profiles, bookmark folders, holding corporations and hangars that had gone unchecked for years were checked, and anything that no longer served a purpose was thrown out. Somewhere a Caldari registrar would have wept with pride.
Summer camp
That same summer the University went camping in nullsec. A tournament pilot named Yrgrasil owned a lone Astrahus deep in Great Wildlands that had, against all odds, survived for months, and through Mark he offered it to the University as a summer base. Getting there was the hard part: a long jump-freighter route from Jita with the last leg ending in open space, no structure to land on. Once there, it was a playground: roams, small-gang fights, raids into the neighbours' territory and Black Ops fleets staged from the camp. Amfion handled much of the logistics and the ship replacement claims, and when the camp wound down in YC128.07, the FCs were sent out to spend the last of the stockpile in a final round of glorious, expensive fleets.
The Feeders
In YC128 the University entered the Alliance Tournament. Out of some four and a half thousand members, a small roster of pilots put their names down, under the captaincy of Yrgrasil and Fisty with Drebin in support, and Amfion was one of them. They scrimmed through the summer and found themselves in an odd spot: they could roll over the easier teams, but the stronger ones were reluctant to scrim them at all, assuming a team with the University's name on it would be an easy afternoon.
The Feeders proved them wrong. Amfion flew in six of the team's seven matches, in battlecruisers and cruisers, leaning on years of experience on every kind of battlefield. The team did not quite break into the main tournament, but it finished 26th of 58, in the top half of the Feeders and ahead of nullsec blocs, wormhole groups, militia outfits and seasoned tournament teams like D-sync, White Squall and Odin's Call. By the last weekend the University had become something of a crowd favourite.
Afterwards Amfion designed the team's commemorative medal himself, which led to a long and surprisingly heated debate among the Directorate about how to say “to control range is to control everything” in Latin.
Later that year he put together the University's first PvP bursaries: skill plans and handouts for scouts, interceptor pilots, Black Ops hunters and logistics pilots, so that students who commit to the long trains are rewarded for it. For the interceptor plan he went straight to Clarityz, Bazingamogus and Mark Medina Ambraelle, who he will tell anyone are the finest interceptor pilots in EVE. Mark, when he isn't getting covert extractions into hot water, has a particular habit of tackling Ishtars in a Malediction he named Caldari Shuttle. He always catches them napping.
XII The Household
Bravais Incorporated was registered in YC125, in Amfion's first months at the University. It was founded for the reasons most Caldari things are: duty, and paperwork. His father's career had ended in YC115. His sisters were reaching the age where corporate citizenship decides which doors open for you. A capsuleer of means was expected to give his family name a corporate shape, and his mother, who had once filed a government into submission, had the forms ready before he had finished agreeing.
It began as a dutiful thing: a registry entry, a crest, and a hangar with not much in it. Over time it became his umbrella, holding his interests, his assets and, above all, his people. These days the household keeps the markets moving, the hangars stocked and the freighters flying. Now and then it takes out the fancier toys and gets into trouble, and so far it has always got out again.
Taking the name
Most of the household are not blood family. The Bravais keep an old custom, half Caldari corporate oath and half Gallente adoption: anyone the household takes in may choose to carry its name. Nobody has to. A surprising number do.
When the State registry asked for a named compliance officer, the household entered Professor Amfion, the same Professor who has kept a seat warm at the University whenever its head is busy being elsewhere. The Professor handles the paperwork. The two have never been seen in the same station, and the household has stopped asking. John Planetary Industry is also on the books. Despite the name, he does not do planetary industry. Nobody is entirely sure what he does do, and he seems to prefer it that way.
The household's rougher outings tend to involve Mark Medina Ambraelle: a fellow director, a dear friend, and a reliable magnet for getting ships into temporary hot water on covert extractions and move ops. So far, everyone has always come home untackled.
XIII The Ones Who Answer
They are a small, tight-knit band of capsuleers who, with the modesty of people who are actually rather good, call themselves the Trash Tier Tryhards. Many of them still fly together. The rest are a message away, every day, on capsuleer channels that have outlived several corporations and at least one war. Whatever the registry says about where he flies, he always has a home with them.
Some of them he already knew from the University. Shaemus O'Conor handed him the Communications Department, and Tomlin had been calling his fleets long before the long summer in PC9. Most of the rest he met through Collusion., where Zeeroak Ool was CEO at the time and Francie had brought him in.
Directors come and go, and most colleagues are people you only ever talk to about rosters. These four are the exception. They started as colleagues and stayed as friends.
Beyond them, he counts himself in debt to a few communities that taught him more than they had to: the Bombers Bar community, who showed him that a cloaked ship is a promise of a very bad day for somebody else, and the fleets of FC Vex Drake and FC Keacte, along with the capsuleer communities that fly with them.
XIV The Man
Toward the State he is quietly disillusioned. He is loyal to Caldari people and Caldari ideals, and a great deal less loyal to the machinery that once took his father for a surname. He keeps good relations with every empire in the cluster, the Minmatar with a respect earned in Eugidi and the Gallente most warmly of all, though this year's election has tested that. The Amarr remain the exception. He has nothing against them that they couldn't fix by leaving other people alone.
What he believes, once you get past the jokes, is simple enough to fit on a registry form. People should get to choose. Most walls are made of paperwork and fear. And a structure only holds if every part of it carries some of the weight. For everything else there is the Endar Spire, named after a ship in an old holo-drama he insists everyone should watch at least once.
The Federation vote
YC128 put his soft spot for the Federation to the test. After years of delayed elections under President Aguard, three candidates ran for the presidency. Senator Lucas Tenzin, an independent and a veteran of the Federation Armed Forces, ran on a “humanity first” platform: keep the megacorporations on a leash and the Federation in one piece. Governor Alix Moreau of Bourynes, the Autonomists' candidate, promised to hand more power down to the member states and to push ahead with hybrid drones built on rogue drone technology. Soraya Roden, granddaughter of former President Jacus Roden, ran for the Progressives on strength, corporate freedom and hard talk about the Caldari.
Amfion would much rather have seen Tenzin win. A soldier who wanted the megacorporations held to account and the Federation held together sounded to him like the right person at the right time. Instead, on YC128.04.17, Moreau took the presidency by less than a percentage point, and Amfion has not made his peace with it. He grew up as a minority in someone else's district, and he does not believe that handing more power to local majorities ever ends well for the people who are outnumbered in them. And a President keen to put rogue drone technology into Federation hulls is a hard sell to a man who has spent years shooting rogue drones in Pochven.
Not that the runner-up would have been any better. Soraya Roden ran on her grandfather's name, corporate muscle and war talk aimed squarely at the State, which is no platform for a man who builds bridges between the two. It leaves him in an awkward spot, given his lifelong love of Roden Shipyards' work, the Megathron and the Kronos above all. He has settled it the only way he can: he admires the ships, and he would not have voted for the family.
On comms
On comms he tries to be the calmest voice in the channel. Panic spreads over comms, and so does calm, so when things go sideways he talks lower and slower, not louder. He would rather a fleet commander make a bad call than no call at all, and that is how he teaches it: know your doctrine, decide where you are going before you undock, hand out the special roles early, and broadcast before you speak. When he flies backseat for a new FC he stays quiet unless they are clearly floundering, and lets them make the mistakes that teach them something. Afterwards he asks how it felt before he says a word, then keeps it to one thing they did well, one thing to improve and one thing to try next time.
Overheard
The hangar
| Service record | |
|---|---|
| YC90 | Born in the northern districts of Caldari Prime, a citizen of the Gallente Federation |
| YC110 | Caldari Prime retaken by the State; the family receives corporate citizenship. Joins Hyasyoda Foreign Partnerships |
| YC112 | Father detained under a Providence Directorate loyalty review |
| YC115 | The Shiigeru falls over Caldari Prime. Father released without finding |
| YC117 | Passes capsuleer aptitude testing |
| YC118 | School of Applied Knowledge |
| YC119 | Capsuleer licence issued |
| YC120 | Signal Cartel |
| YC122 | Triglavian invasion. Supply and evacuation work in State space |
| YC125 | Enrols at EVE University (August); second in command of the Communications Department. Registers Bravais Incorporated. Flies the last stand of Innuendo (December) |
| YC126 | Communications Manager (February); the University's twentieth anniversary. Joins Collusion. Returns to defend PC9-AY with the Nullsec Community; Order of the Ivy League. Director of Communications and Outreach under CEO Laura Karpinski (November); a stint in sovereign nullsec begins |
| YC127 | Leaves sovereign nullsec (spring). Steps down as Director (July). Pochven, public roaming fleets, New Eden Yacht Club; the Tribal Liberation Force and the Siege of Eugidi |
| YC128 | Returns to EVE University after the Wormhole Community graduates; Director of Combat and PvP Operations (April). Appoints Kotonoha Kanade and Liutasie Ellecon to lead the FC Development Group. Summer camp in Great Wildlands. Flies six of seven matches in the Alliance Tournament Feeders; the University finishes 26th of 58. Launches the PvP bursaries |