Evangeline Anastasia McDowell

[Bazza]

Entry#: 057
Date: 02 - 01 - 818 AS @ 18:37 SUT
Title: Ramblings of a jaded Bretonian lass trapped within Liberty's seedy underbelly.

Excuse the lame title.

So I'm writing from, believe it or not, the bar of Rochester. I quickly realised that my fuel supply was never going to get me to Colorado, never mind all the way to Ouray Base, leaving me with no choice but to return home and hope I didn't get shot at.

I managed to get permission to dock easy enough, most likely because my ship blends in with the rest of the regulars. The cross examinations started once I ran into Tony, the shipwright and dock manager. Bloody hell did I have some explaining to do. My mugshot has been all over the local bulletin boards for the last few weeks, firstly as a kill-on-sight bounty, then as a death notice, and then as a pardon.

So I did my best to explain what had happened to Tony and the audience of familiar faces that had accrued in the dock. I started from the very beginning, how I had been made a target by the Congress for liaising with Xenos, been shot down, presumed dead, rescued by a bunch of Xeno thugs, magically reappeared in one of their ships flying a Xeno flag, taken my rage out on some bastard who got in my way outside Rochester, made some notable progress in quelling the Junker - Xeno war and then rocked up out of the blue one day with a significantly larger crew.

I think the majority of the lads were just happy to see my pretty face again. No doubt a lot of them were pretty lonely without me giving them something to fantasise about every night. But I have been getting a few sideways looks from the odd bloke around the place; and they're all the same sort of person - the one I hate the most - the drugged-out whackos and/or inbred retards who'd sooner shoot at anything with a name starting with "Z" than talk to it.

I am now effectively a Junkess again. It feels good being able to return home, that's for sure.

It does bring about a conundrum though. The last few weeks have seen me actively protesting against the cardamine and slave trades - but if I'm going to live on as a Junker I'll have to start keeping my opinions to myself. Professional tolerance, I like to call it. I don't see anything, don't hear anything, don't know anything, don't do anything.

Another important issue is the number of people on board this ship. 2 children, 5 women and one man. Things are getting a bit stuffy in here. I'm taking Kendrick back to the Antaeus which is currently on "vacation" at the Pittsburgh Orbital Docking Ring.

I never realised just how much crap I've accumulated in here until now. I have a ROC Bomber, Marauder and a Saber all locked up in the corner, each taking up a nice chunk of the cargo bay, plus a lifetime supply of scrap metal in a variety of types and enough supplies to feed a small nation. Time for a stocktake and disposal I think.

One of the ships has to go. It's that simple. Each ship has its' uses and I really don't want to chuck one of them away, but at this rate I'm losing big bucks in lost cargo space and the extra baggage I have to lug around everywhere is eating up fuel something shocking.

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