Traitor

Am I turning my back on The United? Am I abadoning them because I don't care, or because they deserve it? They have done nothing untoward except be overly suspicious, is that really a crime when lives are involved? Is leaving really what is best for me, us? Who am I to have the right to make such decisions, decisions that affect so many lives. Not just my friends, and my crews, but their crews too, tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of lives. The United have done nothing wrong for me, if it wasn't for certain people I'd be perfectly happy there . . . but, as it stands . . .

Rath grimaced and turned away from the screen, the pulsing green glow underlighting her face giving her an eerie appearance. She sighed and pulled up the plans for the date Holliday had nicknamed E-Day, poring over it once again, looking for possible refinements she could make. Reading but not absorbing anything her mind wandered along well trodden paths.

The thing is, even if we somehow survive this intact, is it best to have associations with one of the major pirate factions in the galaxy. I've, we've always been independant of any factions, whether pirate or legitimate, will this help us or will it send us spiraling further down the chain of depravity 'til we are but little better than animals, running around the galaxy, looking for ISK for the next fix, the new hit. The tempations are there, and some of us are not as strong nor thoughtful as others. On the other hand, will it help us to attain new allies, become stronger than we have ever been possibly. I guess the only way to find out is to bite the bullet so to speak. The only problem I can see occurring is the emergance of new enemies, we have enough between us to deal with as it is. Then again, we have always prevailed thus far. We shall see. She sighed again and streched languidly.

"Been at this bloody desk too long" she muttered quietly.

Once again she brought up the E-Day plans and began re-reading them, hoping to evaluate any potential flaws she'd missed in the last 700 odd times she'd read it.

Totally absorbed by the logistics, she failed to notice the shadow fall across her desk. A curved knife slipped beneath her chin, feeling as if someone had carved a line of ice across her neck.

"You're dead" a voice whispered.