Unlike so many CEOs in Eve Online, our CEO is a man who leads from the front.
Whether it be keeping TS3 chat going at a raucous pace, throwing a plethora of ships at intruders until our wrecks are so thick around the star-gate that said intruders can’t jump out, or recruiting people that he sort of remembers meeting once online six years ago and immediately giving them director roles, the keys to the safe and an expensive bottle of scotch, Lumpy is a man of action.
He is such an active CEO that one can almost guarantee that, should anything unusual or dramatic eventuate around our humble little piece of space, he will be neck deep in the middle of it.
And so, on this fateful day, it did indeed prove to be.
On this day, one of our members found that a new wormhole had popped its little head up in one of our systems, and the decision was made to close it. This particular member has found some perverted entertainment from closing wormholes lately, though the attraction remains a mystery to me.
Nonetheless, he promptly grabbed the trusty Chimera, and off to the wormhole he did pop.
This is where our CEO got wind of the possibility of action, albeit slight, verily grabbing his trusty Falcon and off to the wormhole he did pop as well.
His hope was that the carrier might attract some attention from the rather unusual people who inhabit wormhole space and he might be able to jam them so the carrier could jump back; critting the wormhole and frustrating any would be pursuers.
Little did our intrepid duo know what danger was awaiting them on the other side.
It was at this point that our valiant CEO did sally forth, jumping into the whirling void to check out the other side.
After being asked by the carrier pilot how the wormhole looked, he replied that it looked fine.
Now, this is where the operation, in true 30Plus fashion, commenced to turn to custard.
You see, when the carrier pilot asked how the wormhole looked, he was hoping to perhaps evince some accurate information as to the wormholes condition; that is, was there enough transit mass left to ensure a safe carrier jump, both in and back out.
Our CEO, however, quite possibly thought the wormhole looked fine because:
a) there weren’t twenty million flashy ships on the other side,
b) it was pretty and swirly and hadn’t been defaced by graffiti yet, or
c) it was in fact still there.
Thence did our carrier pilot, also in true 30Plus fashion, decide stuff it and jumped the carrier through anyway.
At which point said wormhole did slam shut behind them faster than the backside of a banker who has been asked to make a small donation to charity.
Ah, oh dear.
All is not lost, however. They can just use the scan ship which every wormhole closing carrier pilot keeps in his ship maintenance bay, and Bob is your auntie’s uncle.
Unfortunately, neither Bob, his auntie, or indeed his uncle was the slightest bit interested in helping our intrepid duo; there was no such scan ship.
Ah! No problem, we’ll use the scanner on the Falcon! I mean, everyone knows you have a probe launcher fitted to your Recon ship when jumping into wormholes, right?
Again, unfortunately, Bob and his relatives were by this time busy enjoying a lovely cup of tea and toast, had lost all interest in our duo and no, the Falcon had no probe launcher.
Aha! This time I’ve got it! shouts Lumpy; We’ll ask the residents in local to help us out and offer to pay them 500 million ISK! After all, they must be hard up for ISK, living in the remote reaches of wormhole space!
By this time Bob had said goodbye to his uncle and auntie and was himself off to take the dog for a nice walk before dinner.
Fortunately for our dynamic duo, there was no reply to their pleas for help in local. I have a feeling any reply would have been made with Dictors and Dreadnoughts, had the locals been home.
Things were now looking grim.
But wait! What’s this on scan? Sleeper anomalies? they didn’t know much about these sleeper chaps but maybe they would help; let’s go ask them.
As Bob tucked himself in for the night, switching off his little bedside lamp and snuggling into his pillow, the carrier died a miserable death, with the only consolation being that Lumpy managed to jam the carrier before it succumbed, giving our woe-begotten kill-board a little boost.
Naturally the Falcon too was lost, leaving our dear brethren to pod themselves back home.
In true 30Plus fashion to the last, there was also a nice set of implants in our CEOs pod to round off the figures for the days adventures.
(Neither Bob, his auntie, or his uncle were harmed during the writing of this tale)
It’s all in the mind, you know.