The Treason of Lady MacDuff - The private diary of Nesrin Khan

[Enkidu]

Entry 3. 29th July, 823 AS.

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It’s been several days and I still haven’t had the time to mull over the Dawnbreaker schematics - well, no, not the time. The sleepy hours are boring me into an aneurism. It’s tough to mull over the blueprints when Raven is perpetually wondering into the supercity alone, God keep her - although I don’t see how God could keep her better without posting her in a cage.

In other news, everyone and their mother in the Commune is attempting to capture the illustrious Joshua Hunt, as per usual. The man's a veritable Houdini. Less predictable was the Liberty peace treaty getting tossed aside with the sewage despite Avery’s best intentions - which is a damn shame considering the entire Republic is on the brink of quartering itself.

We were never naive enough to believe that time was on our side, but damn it, if only there’d be more. Even the bleakest calculus couldn’t have predicted the fratricide crumbling the sanity of Sirius’s heartland. Liberty’s security agencies, caught in political gridlock, have chosen to cut their strings apart by the fangs.

I remember the last age the LSF was in a feud war with Navy particularists. I watched the Nomads sweep the core worlds before them like drowning sailors - watched the human stacks of the survivors clambering over each other in the disbelief of our failure. Prayed and slayed through the infinities of hell, through my brothers in gore, through the scarecrows that once were men, holding out for a child’s miracle that, when it came, nobody could brace themselves for. Some shot themselves, some shat themselves - most shot each other. Parent against child, Sister against brother, we killed our way through the shells of those we love, for the love of still knowing the pain of loss, and for those that we still loved who slaughtered their path to the sun with us.

Funny how crises brings us all together - several days ago, we were at each other’s throats - literally, Pike’s stealth suit wears my thumb marks like a factor mark - and now we’re all sitting together, quiet like, pretending the balcony is a war-room. Even Raven’s working with the pack tonight.

Before they rename Liberty, Anarchy, we’ve got a game plan. It’s half-baked, covered with failure points and might kill two of the finest officers I’ve ever served with, but what the hell. I don’t want to go into plot points under the extremely unlikely event that somebody other than me is reading this, but I’ve got a death to fake, two sides of a civil war to infiltrate, a battered old corvo to morph into an AWACs, and a hostile officer who just sent the us a declaration of war, who I may have damaged the career of, to win over to our cause. So no biggie. Conventional work week, then.

Just your everyday bout of Aux’ problems; saving the universe, and we don’t even get paid for it. Maybe they’ll give us all Lone Stars or something after we save the elected government - don’t have my hopes on it, though.

God protect the Republic and God protect us. In that order.

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THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's outlawed trade unions, determined to take the underworld for themselves.)

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