Log of the Cambric, continued

[avevale_intelligencer]

I'm writing this in the crypt of Flebgom Abbey, which is as near to being a heavily-defended bunker as the church can come up with. Above me, out in the street, about half a dozen large and vociferous groups of protesters are being kept apart by the planetary police. The entire planet is in turmoil, and it's only a matter of time before open fighting breaks out in two dozen cities.

Apparently I have endorsed a movement within the NCSoP which advocates a return to traditional Neo-Coprodist values. It seems that even those who can agree on whether or not this is a bad idea find themselves unable to reach a consensus on what traditional Neo-Coprodist values are. So we've got people saying we should drop the Neo and reunite with the pure Coprodist Panarchy, people saying we should declare a holy war on the pure Coprodist Panarchy, and every shade of homicidal mania in between, and I'm right in the middle being accused of sixteen kinds of heresy by everyone.

And guess whose fault it is.

I don't think he's a saboteur any more. No-one could deliberately cause this much trouble. And he's in it as deep as I am. Literally, in this case.

On the other hand, he couldn't have been more effective if he had been trying. There's no way I can run the coup from inside a siege. All I can do is wait this out, contact Plut and ask them to send a proper replacement Heresiarch, and slink back to the homeship with my tail between my legs. There's nothing to be gained from this unholy mess. Nothing at all. If I ever get inside a smallship again it'll be with a mop and bucket.

P is waving at me. I think he wants to say something. It had better be an apology.

Comments

[soren-nyrond.livejournal.com]

Hello -- can you hear me ?

Well, no -- of course not :: not with the megaphones and the like being widely used.

All right, then :: Can you *see* me ?

I'm the white-faced one in the third vault down.
Come on, oh Exalted One -- So things aren't going as well as we might have hoped. It's Not My Fault.

All right then :: Yes, it is, but I Never Meant for it to go This Far. Apparently somewhere down the turnpike someone inflated my "The Heresiarch might be interested :: what's it worth for me to mention it to him ??" into "The Exalted Heresiarch totally agrees with you but he daren't say it himself so will you do it for him ?"

I'm also hungry, because they didn't fit a food-dispenser into any of these burial vaults, and my face is currently just a little well-known to a particularly militant sect of individuals who plan on barbecuing me in public and in one piece before formally and sacramentally eating my medium-rare remains.

Look, just get the smallship, and let's get out of here. We can chalk this one up to experience, and work out a story while we're headfing back to the homeship. Something about Giant Space Hamsters eating the planet while we weren't looking.