To: Unione Corse, Corsairs

[Enkidu]

Taurus Corsairs

Papa Guerrero, D.L.Cabrera. ☦

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Errant Ident: Pope-Errante Dessaglene Linhares Cabrera
Errant Outbound Node: Xenotreasure Galleon Medel y Celedon
Topical Proclamation: Plans for the future.

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Where the bull lows.

Knossian parafractal crystals

You honour us, pilots, for it well-fated that we treat outside of a cockpit, but your conduct inside the flight chair more than spoke for you. You join the valorous few who have quested with the Corsairs in the depths of Outcast space. As of now, you have our attention. Perhaps, soon, you may join the sacred circle of trust.

Business is a consecration - money, a sacrament. You don't need faith to know that.


We Tauri have our own trusteeship; the men of the Bull are - to take the matter by the horns - 'charged' with lifting the veil from these Relics. For what is a 'Relic', if not a fraction of a mystery? Sirius is thirsty for the unknown, as humanity ever was. Prosperity is the antecedent of knowledge - the more you know of a product, the better you can value the service.

To that end, we are at your disposal. For there can be no sacrament without service, Ascere.

We will dispatch a convoy of relics to Monte Carlo; I expect your fences can continue the journey from there. The route is treacherous and crosses stars close to the Maltese's own siren rock. Escorts, should you have them, would be put to use. There is no map more accurate than a native guide, ascere, I would not be a corsair if I deprived you an opportunity to show your bravery.


So, here's my proposition. We'll work together to send a massed shipment to the Monte Carlo distributors. In return, the Corse will share insights into Gallic asteroid base construction - you have centuries of history apart from us, and will likely come up with inventive solutions to the age-old dilemmas of outgassing, pressure-retention, and embrittlement. That data will, in turn, assist our own recovery efforts at Knossos. Any deeper study of the relics will require a resident listening post - to that end, your wisdom may inspire us.

I'll throw in a Sacamantecas, '81 - the molasses in that bottle have seen more stars than I have. That distillate was poured from the sacred glass, smelted from the bead-sands of planet Cork, blasted flat by our antimatter warheads. The Quitoan order believe that the spirit of man, monster, or even the spirits your pour into yourself, best find their origins in fire. You do not drink it as much as it drinks you.

Nos pillamos.