STARFLEET EMBASSY, PLANET MALTA, OMICRON ALPHA SYSTEM
...
Fireworks released and sparkled in the sky. All of Malta was in celebration. The battlecruiser Augusta had returned home from her successful campaign in Omicron Theta and Sigma 17, and the weary Maltese pilots finally were back home. Atka, that hated installation responsible for producing stabaline, was finally destroyed. Their captains were (largely) safe home from the battlefronts, and most of all, Malta was safe. Everything was perfect.
Or so it would seem.
Don Alejandro Harabero of the Hyperspace Starfleet paced across the chiseled floor of the Starfleet meeting room, awaiting his allies. Through a window he saw ship engines flaring as they soared across high above the cities of Malta. Orange grass stretched out as far as the eye could see - plantations among them. Automation had begun to occur as well, and the Don was pleased to see the progress unfold as Starfleet plantations were becoming increasingly efficient, no longer reliant on slaves, but automation. The so called "Slave revolt" had been a massive boon, in the end, to Malta.
He was to be expecting some other Dons of Malta for some business. Harabero grimaced, gazing out the window, with a cup in his hand. No, not all was well in Malta, as much as it would seem. All the blessings they had gotten thus far urged them to action. As much as these were exemplary for all Outcasts, they had undertones of curses strung throughout, as well.
It had been a very, very long time since Chenzo had found himself approaching this area of Malta.
Gloomy hallways, a meeting room where dons of old massaged one another’s ego’s in dimly lit rooms. He hated it. Little action of any good came from this space.
On approach Chenzo found himself in what he thought to be entirely the wrong place. What was once an ill memory of nothing too aesthetically pleasing now stood a metropolis of industrial activity in what seemed perfect harmony with the land. The Hyperspace fleet had indeed changed a lot of things, this visual change was far from unwelcome.
Back within atmosphere and steadily cruising toward the headquarters, his alien engine whirring was the only thing which was out of place. Then again, meetings such of this magnitude can’t have been too much common place.
Thoughts of what Harabero had mentioned crossed his mind, what could possibly be wrong to make him voice such worries? Plantations were becoming more efficient than ever and security even tighter- The Don approached over the top of the industrial highway as if his sabre were a land vehicle, following the twists and turns, appreciating the architecture which opened up before him.
Looking for a place to set down, he parked at the rear of the main building. He knew no harm would come to him here, even if certain other Maltese representatives may not look upon him favourably.
Navigating his way through the building, it really was astonishing what a decade of interior design had done. How could his memory of such a place be so far from what it is now.
Entering the room with Harabero, he salutes gently and remarks
"Hola, senor. Astonishing what time has done to this place. How many are we expecting?"
Michael Mdina, the newly appointed Director of the Hyperspace Starfleet, found himself gazing over the elevator window to the ever-radiant orange plains of Malta, his stare as emotionless and cold as ever. A hastily summon by Don Alejandro Harabero was brought about, for what reason he knew not, nor did it matter, he was just intent on following his superior's orders.
*elevator stops, doors slowly open* . . .
Mdina exists calmly, his measured strides echoing through the chiseled floor of the hallway. As his steps drew nearer, he acknowledges the presence of the guards stationed there with a solemn hail, they were dressed all in standard obsidian black with weapons at the ready, their faces betrayed an uneasy sighting. Behind them, a massive wooden door of imposing presence, its sheer size hinting at the importance of the room beyond.
*echoing deep creak* . . .
The Director enters the large observatory chamber, doors shut behind him. His eyes immediately pierce across the room upon Don Harabero, who is standing still, back turned, observing the plains below.
He firmly hails his superior, a resonating voice coming under his lower face mask betrays a compromised respiratory function.
"Salve Comandante, I am here."
However, as Mdina's eyes adjust to the brighter interior of the room, he suddenly distinguishes the silhouette of someone else. He glances over this man who, at first sight, he never met before or at least not in person, while carrying on to take a seat at the large table.
Fiorella de Marco gracefully alighted from her luxurious all-terrain vehicle. She was attired in a black tailored pantsuit with golden accessories and jewelry, her raven-black hair, as usual, braided over her left shoulder.
With the rhythmic clicking of her heels, she proceeded toward the main entrance of the meeting venue, where she was guided by the attentive staff, ensuring services and security for the Hyperspace Fleet.
Before entering the conference hall, perhaps out of respect or good manners, she lifted her gold-toned sunglasses from her eyes to her hair and, after a light knock, introduced herself into the room.
"Buonasera - good evening, distinguished gentlemen and esteemed Don Harabero."
She spoke distinctly, carefully, and slowly, her voice tinged with the Southern Maltese accent characteristic of the Arca Valley area. Her steely blue gaze swept over the men present, and with a light, courteous smile, she offered her right hand for a societal kiss — a relic of high society etiquette - as she introduced herself to each guest.
"For those who have not yet had the pleasure, allow me to introduce myself — I am Fiorella Arianna de Marco, and I am delighted to meet you."
Her body language was fluid and relaxed, and it was more than clear that she was in her own element.
An unpleasant ringing could be heard in the luxurious shuttle that brought Alessio Bianchi and his personnel down to the Starfleet Headquarters, but as abruptly as it started, so abruptly did the sound stop, as he got in contact with one of his informants who was already in the facility, informing the Don of something unusual.
After the shuttle landed on the designated pad, Alessio made his way through one of the many halls of the compound with long strides, fixing his tie and white hair while in the elevator. In the final corridor to the meeting room he only acknowledged the guards and staff of the Starfleet with a rather cold nod.
With a loud noise the doors to the room opened swiftly to reveal the tall man.
"Saluti, I hope I did not make you wait for too long."
Alessio said while scanning the area with his ice-blue eyes.
"Ah, you must be Miss Fiorella De Marco, a pleasure to finally meet you in person. And you must be Chenzo; one of our engineers reported unusual sounds coming from your ship's systems. We would gladly fix the issue for you, naturally free of charge."
He adressed both guests while walking to his designated place close to the one of Harabero.
"But this can wait, we surely have more pressing matters to attend to."
Finally seated he folded his hands behind a small and unimpressive plaque on the table that displayed his name and title of "Conquistador Alfa".
Entering one by one, the participants each made their way to their respective seats in the room. Harabero turned to greet them when they entered. He acknowledged their gestures, and gave a short polite smile and nod to their salutes and welcomes.
I believe this to be everyone. The Legion was also given notice of the meeting, though with their usual troubles and small numbers it may be difficult for them to find time. We will see how it arrives.
The Don glanced around at each member of the board. He allowed a small smile once again.
But firstly of course, welcome everyone, to the Starfleet Embassy. I am glad you all could make it. I believe you all know each other well enough, and if not, well, then I am sure you will be well acquainted by the end of this.
For better or worse, he thought in his head.
Well, I believe we have some business to attend to. Senor Chenzo. Would you wish to speak your part firstly, or shall I begin?
The Don looked around the room. Much more pleasant than what he was used to.
Everyone in the room had entered with their respective pleasantries, all had been received, acknowledged and returned. There was but one remark made which he'd yet to address.
Chenzo: "Senor Alessio, you'll find my ship, all ships, stations, plantations and stockholdings under my command are in perfect working order, operating as they should. I'll insist nobody who isn't hired directly by myself to do so meddle with things associated with me. If you feel there is anything wrong then please take this up with your superior; Don Harabero after this meeting. There's a mutual trust which is a commodity all to rare these days. A trust which I'm sure over time we can also have."
He respectfully nods toward Alessio as he finishes speaking, pauses before gently looking at each member within the room
Chenzo: "I'd initially spoken to Harabero face to face for a good while within personal quarters in Club Abyss, Ibiza. I explained a few plans I had been working on and to further based on potential development is why I asked to call a meeting with everyone who may hold relevance within leading Maltese society."
He pauses, a look of sorrow falls over him
Chenzo: "I had just come back and was completely unaware the state of things on Malta, The slave rebellion having just been overcome. Had I been aware of this injustice and that Freeport Nine had been captured by the rats then I'd have not spoken of personal goals to Harabero. Instead, moved straight in organising and launching the assault which cost us few in comparison with the victory won, to which would simply not have been achievable without the efforts of those sat around this table, for which I thank you for doing so under such short notice."
He pulls a cigarette from his jacket, takes an appreciative toke before continuing
Chenzo: "After this victory, I went back to per sewing goals, however after speaking to Harabero once more, and I quote ".
(04-18-2024, 12:36 AM)BobMacaroni Wrote:
"I recognize that all is not well, in fact I was... preparing to host a meeting upon some rather unfortunate circumstances that have shown themselves"
Chenzo: "My personal goals can be voiced after, senor's and senorita- if they are indeed still relevant. Please share with us the unfortunate circumstances you speak of Harabero?"
He tosses the pack of ciggerett's into the middle of the table as if to offer anyone else a smoke
Now it seemed he had the attention of the room. Harabero's soft smile faded and a more grim look came over him. There were some unfortunate incident which had occurred within recent years. After all that had happened within Freeport Nine - as the major chain of events - but also everything it implied and furthermore, even what could be called disasters by more pessimistic analysts.
But he was not one of those.
After everything that has taken our attention away from the Cardamine trade, I came back to find the network in a dismal state. Disobedient intermediaries yes, but many of our past... "associates" have gone quiet, or unresponsive. Senor Mdina, you would personally know about this as well. Perhaps the risk has simply increased too high, or it is not worth much anymore?
This led me on to a further thought - with the Stabiline plant gone, it will increase demand, yes, but we need intermediaries to fill that demand as well. Production on Malta is no big issue - the planet is covered in Cardamine - however, transportation does not come by so easily. We will be finding ourselves more hard pressed to tackle the needs of our customers while also evading the blockades of the Navy.
Furthermore, other houses will be afflicted as well with this sudden loss. How may we expand to fit their needs as well? While we need not expand, we may also lose our chance to do so, in the largest opportunity given so far.
Overall, our current "allies" -
He coughs in a sign of disdain
"allies" do not pose sufficiently for our required duties. We must expand the market to other individuals as well, to ensure the flow of Cardamine. This... "Cardamine Question" is the first question of many I have to pose. How do you believe we may accomplish this?
The Don glances around the room at each member present.
Mdina could feel the weight of Harabero's "Cardamine question" bear down on his shoulders, after all it was the job of the Alpha Director to ensure a reliant flow of cardamine from Malta, being newly appointed was no excuse. He clasps his hands right underneath his mask and locks eyes with the Don, a deep resonating voice follows.
If I may signor ...
Harabero was right, the unpredictable chain of events over the last few years have taken a heavy toll on the distribution network, coupled with a surge in demand for precious metals and alien artefacts have shifted the away interest of many independent contractors.
The constant setbacks suffered along the orange road should be well known to everyone here, but I dare say this poor state of affairs will not last for long. Let me explain.
His eyes shift towards his fellow collegue, signore Bianchi.
We have to admit it, the current predicament of the network is mainly due to our negligence. In our arrogance we have relied too heavily on the "human" component of cardamine production and in turn have paid an unimaginable price. Forgive my words per favore.
The full scale recall of our assets back to Alpha and then to Theta have left the orange road's security in tatters, we cant expect our "allies" to haul such precious cargo through an undefended route where our sworn enemies prowl incessantly. So, my first proposal for a return to the network status quo is to redeploy assets along the hauling routes. To this end, the Starfleet has already begun running several armed convoys of our own to prove to our "associates" they have nothing to fear and should resume their line of work
Mdina shifts his attention towards Don Chenzo.
Next, my reports show that most of our independent contractors have shifted practices, security concerns aside, they have begun hauling more profitable commodities such as irridium, gold and even alien artifacts. This wouldn't concern our people too much unless those same individuals are shamelessly using their credentials to haul these materials through our very home-system.
The security mechanisms around Omicron Alpha need to be reinvigorated. To underline, just today my men have intercepted a lone corsair transport passing by Malta. This is outrageous, nobody should get this close to our home without thinking dearly about their very lives first. So, here is my second proposal: we shall reinstate fear into the hearts of trespassers through ruthless but fair judgement. Any and all non maltese ships are to be obliterated on sight if they do not pass security checks or haul undesirable cargo.
I believe this measure coupled with the inevitable surge in cardamine prices across the board as soon as cryer's poison stocks run dry will shift many contractors' attention back to the orange road paved with credits for them.
Lastly ...
Mdina slowly turns his head and nods at the lively woman in the room.
I believe there is great potential for the distribution network's expansion, but I trust signora DeMarco has already something in store for this meeting.
Fiorella de Marco barely noticed the cigarette pack tossed on the table; she was not a smoker. First, she listened intently to Chenzo, Alessio Bianchi, Don Harabero, and Michael Mdina. When the latter handed her the floor, she nodded and raised a finger.
"Currently, only one new path opens before us - the Gallic Brigands. I recently contacted one of their factions, La Légion de Minuit, and the negotiations are still ongoing. They are interested in our Product, yet the details of the potential distribution network, such as where our pilots will deliver our Product, remain to be fine-tuned."
She added two more fingers to the raised index on her right hand, then swiftly withdrew them.
"Two other paths, however, remain temporarily closed for our Product: the Mollys in Dublin and the Red Hessians in Rheinland. Both groups are too closely tied to our enemies, the Technocy and the Coalition, making it less than ideal for us to pursue closer relations beyond occasional trade. Neither group is in a desperate enough situation to consider distributing Cardamine to weaken their enemies and gain additional resources for their causes."
"If we had suitable volunteers, we could potentially expedite our plans with the Mollys. The Corsairs are active in Bretonia and directly compete with our interests there, and local authorities occasionally stay in our way, too. If these volunteers could coordinate their actions with the Mollys and prove their capabilities on the battlefield against both of these parties, it may be possible that the ice between us and Mollys could thaw a bit quicker. However, the Golden Cross Cartel, which I currently represent, does not yet have such resources. We have not yet formally separated from the Wenceslau Cartel, and thus our resources remain limited."
After her monologue, Fiorella remained silent, undoubtedly curious about what the other men had to add.
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