"Senor, you are both wise and have my respect, so please take what I say without offence.
It's because of the inability to communicate effectively that lives are lost every day. Not just within Maltese space, but across Sirius. Inflated ego's of ability, strength and people who act against others out of hate they can prove no reason for other than to satisfy the band wagon on which they have jumped."
Can you honestly see no reason for why the Nomads may wish to shoot the Hyperspace Starfleet and others like them, yet yield zero hostility toward myself and those whom hold tight to the old rules of our people?
Do you, yourself forget the times of the 101st??"
He lights a cigarette, looking distastefully at it as he lit it. He'd been meaning to quit this habit for a while now.
"Of course I mean no insult, far from it. But at some point after the 101st was over and people neglected to communicate or understand the reason behind certain laws we had in place.
Artifacts, the Corsair's trade since... forever. The thing which we all believe to have ignited the Nomads hostilities from the very beginning. The commodity your group has meddled with for a long time now. Xeno Relics. Something, if you remember I strongly advised that you put a stop to upon my return, senor.
Trading in them is essentially grave robbing, it's why a large percentage of Nomad attacks are on the Corsairs. There are, of course other reasons. This however, is a primary one. Mistakes can be made, respect can be lost faster than it's earned, senor. You might find it amusing that I'd bring this up, however, how would you feel if anyone were to disrupt the graves of your forefather's? A question we need not answer, senor."
He takes a sip from a strange vial from within his jacket, pauses then continues
"We made those laws of not messing about with Xeno Relics, artifacts of any kind, really. Targeting those who carry them as a double win given it lessens our enemy's resources whilst appeasing the most basic desire's of the Nomads. After all, credits is something we all have many. The Maltese people broke one of the simplest treaties of Maltese society without even knowing it, all down to a lack of communication and respect for their Maltese elders
You speak of them not sharing their power? Senor, they have weaponry they cannot hope to pass to us unless our ships themselves become alive with their technology, which of course isn't really an option. They literally are their weapons."
He stubs the cigarette out before looking Haraberro in the eye
"Senor, I'm an Outcast among Outcasts sometimes for holding on to the very fabric which made this nation. I would very, very much like to set up a meeting with yourself, them. I can promise you my own neck that as long as nobody attacks from our side, there shall be no hostility.
He drops his gaze part way though talking to prevent awkwardness
"I don't expect you'll take the offer, senor. but I can promise you that it would explain so many things and address any issues or concerns. Communicate, it would work things out even if the end result is you still wish to shoot them. Even bring that colleague of yours, the one who tried to get me killed. Even that insolent brat would be convinced as long as he doesn't deliberately spark a fight".
