Evangeline Anastasia McDowell

[Bazza]

Entry#: 135
Date: 07 - 02 - 819 AS @ 21:20 SUT
Title: Untitled.

What an utterly amazing week this has been. Here I am, watching over my creation taking shape, growing, becoming real. The force I have managed to assemble at my fingertips... is simply breathtaking. Sometimes in a quiet, personal moment... I find myself observing this feat from an outsiders' perspective and I cannot help but allow my favourite wicked, deviant smile to cross my face.

Simply taking in the sheer capacity of what I lord over is a difficult task at times. I could run off ships, people, contracts, assets and finances for days without running dry. Even thinking about it now.... my hands are shaking.

The installation itself... I watch over as if it were a sibling to Sanya. I guide those men and women working for me to construct something that they, and I, can be proud of whilst sitting atop a two-square-kilometre slab of concrete that now forms the landing pad, which was created in mere days of constant operation.

The base itself, besides having a foreboding blast door for an entrance, is currently little more than a hole in the side of a cliff. Tunnel borers work overtime to dig a shaft down under the surface, far enough away to render itself impervious to attack. Once that is completed, they will bore sideways, creating rooms.

A warehouse for supplies, barracks for crew and family members. Basic amenities and a light mechanical workshop are all in the pipeline.

The volume of materials already consumed by my endeavour pale in comparison to what must yet be spent. When I consider the cost... well.

I don't like thinking about that. What has made life easier in that regard, however, is the swathe of favours, gifts and offerings of aid and assistance that have poured in from all sides - even places I never knew existed.

Admiral Hale himself has passed on In Silico, something of great value to us. There are the existing members of the MCF who are now working hard to earn their pay for a change. Billy, Rachel, Kai, among several others. I have received communications from a great number of people who are against the Junker Congress organisation for one reason or another. Some of them, less subtle than others...

A man by the name of Roger Claymore, whom is apparently a well known thorn in the Congresses' side, delivered several shiploads of supplies via. proxy to the base as a showing of unity and support for my operation.

The commander of my new pet Spyglass, the Metropolis, that ever-so-sweet and utterly adorable gentleman going by the name of Xii has gone well out of his way to lend his assistance to my cause. The mere presence of this juggernaut in low orbit over the base not only serves as an intimidating sentry but also a not-at-all discreet showing of force and power.

One of the less boisterous suitors I've encountered is a man whose only known fact is his codename - "Mr. K". The voice in the transmissions he's sent is clearly faked, rendering it useless for identifying him. I don't know much, rather, anything about this person beyond the fact he is interested in bringing pain to the Congress as much as I am.

He believes that the ties I have to Liberty and the information I possess are of value to him. I've let him know that my sole interest at this stage is raw materials to expedite the construction of Alsatia.

That brings me on nicely to the name for the base - identical to the transport that brought us here. The meaning of the word is simply, undeniably, the most suitable for what I am creating.

"A place where law cannot reach".

Putting that aside, the creation of this sanctuary of mine has not been without its own hiccups. Although I am lucky in that I have not to date lost a life, I have been required to write off a number of machines and equipment to unavoidable mechanical stress fractures - or in some cases - stupidity of their operators.

A selection of such assets stricken from the records are a two-wheeled rover bike and an Eagle fighter craft, both of which were introduced to each other by their block-headed owners Billy and Rachel.

Rach, as sweet as she is... is not a good pilot. She ditched her ship into a sand dune only moments after taking off. She escaped unharmed, which while fortuitous did not change the fact the ship had taken a massive amount of micron-sized sand into every exterior mounting. The entire external weapons array and all of the ancillary devices are now inoperable.

Billy managed to implant his equipment into the sand in much the same fashion - falling out of the sky. I don't believe giving him that thing was a good idea, any more. He was well enough to argue with Rachel after stacking it, but it's still equally broken.

I am contemplating leaving the slag piles where they are, in order to give these two something to play in.

As much as I wish to continue running over this past week, Sanya is now demanding my attention and she is simply not something I can avoid. Although she is a beautiful girl whom I love dearly, when she starts crying the gates of hell itself open up to release their vile siren.

It's a good thing she is a very simple, easy to read existence. She's hungry. And she knows where to get fed, too. As often as I have tried, conducting business whilst breastfeeding a baby is simply not feasible. Thus I shall end here.

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