Open transmission to Corsairs | Priority: Two

[Skyelius]

|>Comm ID: Centurion Skyelius of The Brotherhood
|>To: All Corsairs
|>Subject: Redemption


Corsarios.. once the greatest pirate organization in Sirius. We started off as a group of survivors who, in contrast to our lost brothers, the Outcasts, set out to find the rest of our kind, believing we had been forever lost to them. At first, everything was rough, we landed on a desolate, barren world where organic resources were diminutive, and strove to survive with all the hardships we had to face, our dying children, the sacrifice of our older, weaker hermanos and so on..

We have come a long way, and now we have become a virus. I believe the Outcasts and the Corsairs have a chance to become one again. However unlikely that time is to come within my lifetime, I have decided to fight, to end the conflict as quickly as possible, knowing if I killed 500 Outcasts to end the war in a year, I'd be saving 50000 Hispanians from dying if the war lasts ten more. The wisest of us know that heroes exist on both sides, and that we cannot blame the other for our own problems. The Outcasts didn't ask for their home to be filled with that poison that has kept them grasped for so long, and doomed their children to a life of corruption and creating dependency in others, sharing their doom and surviving by all means. We Corsairs didn't either ask for Crete to be a nearly lifeless wasteland of rock and sand, forcing us to play dirty and each day robbing us of morality with every being not of our kind. Now, we stand here, filled with the blood of hundreds, thousands.

The reason for this transmission, though, focuses on a matter which has finally robbed me of my patience. I cannot stand watching how we dishonor ourselves, bringing giant colossus into battles rather than honor our enemies armed in horses, with their swords and spears ready. Yes, I'm talking about every day launching capital ships and rampaging around in a vessel so costly to maintain, knowing we can use those very same credits to find food for our own families, and all less fortunate families that share our home.

I have, since I can remember, raided trading ships, ransacked stations, looted the remains of a large train while its crew took off in their escape pods, holding their insurance in hand to continue doing what they do best. And I have done so believing I would someday become powerful enough to change the fate of Sirius, forever. Putting great effort into the construction of the Black Emerald, I'd hoped she would rarely be needed, defending our home against the most lethal of attacks was her purpose.

Unlike me, though, a lot of Corsairs have used power offensively, not having any honor in battle and pretending to be their world's last hope, while in fact being the bane of our race. This has to end, now.

Using the influence my position and well-earned respect has earned me, I have personally asked the Council of Elders for certain 'measures' that must be taken in order to preserve what The Brotherhood stands for. We are not the ones responsible for the atrocities commited in the name of Crete, but as our oath consists of protecting the best interest and the very core of life in Gamma with our lives, we must now assume that responsibility, and cleanse our land of what destroys its honor and reputation.

This does not mean that I will be hunting down and destroying every excess capital ship in Corsair territory, instead, I hereby present this pain in my heart, to everyone who calls his or herself a Corsair, and wish to improve our way of life and internal justice. It is obvious we lack food, so why must we sacrifice the well-fare of the inhabitants of Crete, for a bunch of ragged fools calling themselves Corsair Gunboat Captains, Cruiser Commanders and Fleet Admirals? This shouldn't be happening.

Today, I have pledged a vote of justice in our way of life, and urging us to reconsider what we are doing, and what seal are we marking our children with. Tomorrow, we might be standing on top of the corpses of every inhabitant of Sirius, alone in this part of space, unless we, unless I prevent it...somehow..

Martial law? Maybe. Dishonor, injustice and greed? Never again.

Truly yours,
Sky

|[color=#FFCC33]| : .Transmission Ends. : ||

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"It is a cold universe until you know God as your Father, and then it becomes a home. Even the next life simply becomes the Father's house, home."
—David Pawson