To: Captain Ludwig Hoch. Subject: The Old War Grave.

[The Syndicate Leagues]

Incoming Transmission

To: Captain Ludwig Hoch.
From: Gunda Riehl.
Subject: The Old War Grave.

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It’s been nearly a year since we last worked together, cap’. I still remember when we extricated each other out of hell. Strange tides.

I’ll leave it brief for y’all. The Imperial fleet wants to take the Eugen out of hiding. Repressurize her, dust the corrosion off her. She’s still burning from the internal fires were we had to lock the pressure plates down. She still stinks of burnt-up plastic and the woes of those well-gone.

I know you’re still busy convalescing, Hoch, an’ the antics with the GMG are keeping all boots to the ground ‘lest we need you back in the chair as a tactical liaison. I don’t wanna push you’all back into the consistent grind after all the action hours you’ve put into us – the backs you’ve broken and the shoulders you’ve wasted. I won’t push you back into the chair.

But the fact remains – we’re rapidly runnin’ out of ships. To the point where your burnt-and-desperate hulk is startin’ to look like an appetizin’ naval auxiliary to plug the pressure holes we’ve got developin’ in the coffins of the few. Enough to take it out of its present roles as partial habitat. But then there’s the rub, isn’t there? Even the garden shed can be a bunker with sufficient ire and loss of dignity, funnily enough.

But it’s your ship, your honour. The ghost of your mistakes. I won’t sign the recommissioning paperwork till you’re ready for the tiger, captain.

Your old bones - your choicewhere the coffin crawls.

I don't envy you.

Gunda Riehl,
Oberstarbeiter, Freeport Providence, Bering System.

Transmission Ended

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"Though the past is scarred and the future untold"
" Be the boot heavy, the vacuum cold."
"I of the Liga,  do not fold"
"For suits or saints or beggar's gold.
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