One of the upsides of losing your salvaging ship is that you have a legitimate excuse when it comes time to decide who’s going to be responsible for melting down the wrecks you and your crew have left floating in your wake and doing all the math to split up the profits.
“Sorry guys, my ship is space dust,” is damned hard to argue with. I should have thought of it sooner.
Luckily, there’s a job for everyone when it’s Sleeper shooting time, and after a few days of quiet I, Em, CB, Gor, and Ichi spend a good evening of Sleeper explodifying for 126 million isk. It feels good to pocket some profit, and after a break, I log back in and look for something else to shoot. The other American pilots are offline, but Cabbage is on and more than willing to clear out our local infestation (like cockroaches, these things), and (this time) both the shooting and salvage go smoothly.
It’s a fine send-off, as I need to pack up and head for holiday fun time with family and friends in the lands where the men are men and the internet is sketchy-at-best.
I queue up a couple skills that will take a nice long time to train, make sure the tower fuel is topped off, and tell everyone not to get their ships blown up in particularly funny ways until I get back, then it’s off to the airport.
When I land, there’s an email from Em.
“We’ve been wardecced again.”