STARFLEET HEADQUARTERS, PLANET MALTA, OMICRON ALPHA SYSTEM
Don Harabero gazed listlessly through a window onto the orange plain beneath. He had taken a break from the usual drudgery of organizational duties. Wine glass in hand, merely content to enjoy the slowly setting sun as he slowly sipped from exchanged - or stolen, he was never quite sure - Gallic wine. Things had calmed down recently, and it would be a slow ride to rebuild the Cardamine trade and capitalize on their recent successful campaigns. Now it would be a suitable time to slow down, sit back, and ponder.
At least, that was the plan. Until he received a call. Unenthusiastically, the Don slowly reached for the communicator and turned it on, allowing the contents of the audio to fill the room.
Relaxation turned to urgency. Frantically, Alejandro began releasing alerts and coordinating rapid response teams. This was a situation which must take highest priority. Malta was in danger. Nomads had been spotted entering the Omicron Alpha system.
While it was not unheard of, it was certainly uncommon, an imaginary border often respected by each party. Retaliation had been dealt to Nomad warforms which had attempted to invade the homeland in the past, yet it always set the Don on edge. Starcraft beamed through the atmosphere, ready to defend against the threat.
- APPROXIMATELY 24 HOURS LATER -
Now, the impromptu engagement had led to a political predicament. Don Harabero was not at all pleased to receive reports of attempts to confuse and sabotage the efforts of the defense of Malta. Any actions - for any reason - that might threaten to compromise the security of their one bastion of life is tantamount to treason, in the mind of the Don. It had been noted previously of the deep veneration held by Chenzo of the Spirits, yet Harabero did not believe that he would think of placing them, as he figured, over the progress and defense of Malta.
A hard conversation and a deep implication was to be set, equivalently practical to either side: Just how far is too far?