Arsenio Zavala stood in the window of his city apartment in the capital city on Malta. He wasn't a city man, his home was his estate in the southern hemisphere near the town of Corleone. The wealth and land Juan Zavala had inherited from his adopted father and subsequently passed on to Arsenio was a comforting thought.
Arsenio's father Juan had been a lucky man. Found floating unconcious in an escape pod in Omicron Eta near the eastern end of the minefield aged twelve by the man he would later call Padre Almoldo. Almoldo Zavala had been a don of some considerable influence, and this had been passed to Juan upon the man's demise. Rare for someone who's true ancestry was unknown.
Juan Zavala had lived the life of a Don of Malta, taking the Zavala seat in the Council as a Reaper representative and then passing it on to his true-born son Arsenio when Juan left with the Reapers to find their new home in the Omegas.
There was a knock on his door."Don Zavala?"
Arsenio laughed"Silvano, we've known each other long enough now, si? That title hardly matters any more anyway..."
"It's time. They're waiting."
Arsenio nodded, straightened the ceremonial Maltese naval service admiral's uniform he wore on such occasions and walked to the door.
"They're a tough crowd Arsenio... And a few might be angry about... Well. You know."
"Easier than the old council."
"Maybe..."
The two men stood in silence as the elevator took them to the ground floor. Arsenio paused before walking into the building's foyer. A hundred or more people were waiting there, a narrow path between them leading out of the main doors of the building to the raised platform outside. He glanced at Silvano and walked confidently towards his stage.
The crowd outside the building was large. Very large, but this was Arsenio's forte. He was a performer, both in battle and as an orator, his life was about theatricality. A fight won efficiently was inferiour to a fight won with style. If you conducted yourself with grace and style and still won, then you handed your enemy an insult. Or so Arsenio liked to believe.
He made a gesture and the crowd quietened, his image replicated on the large screens either side of the stage.
"Countrymen."He paused.
"Friends... I have resigned my commision as Admiral in the 101st Outcast Guard."
There was a stunned silence. Arsenio looked around. He knew this would happen.
"I don't leave with any bitterness or resentment. The Ghost of Rasgriz are honoured friends. Family, as is every Maltese man or woman. Ours is a nation of strength, dignity and honour."
He paused again and looked down to the left at Cianna, his wife-to-be. She smiled. Maltese society was divided into those decended from old-earth Italian blood and those of Spanish decent. The Zavala family was of the latter, whereas Cianna D'Elia was of the Italian speaking community. This match-up had ruffled a few feathers in the Council of Dons. Arsenio didn't much care.
The crowd relaxed slightly. Arsenio had gained a reputation as a formidable combat leader. Dennis Jameson, the administrator of the 101st had dubbed him 'The Executioner' upon his promotion to admiral and the name had stuck within certain circles of Maltese society.
He cast his eyes over the crowd and resumed his speach.
"My duty is to my nation, as is that of the Ghosts of Rasgriz. However my focus is a little different. My eyes have turned to the south. Our 'cousins' on Crete have become increasingly bold on our southern borders, breaching the great minefield in Omicron Eta with increasing regularity."
He paused for effect.
"In centuries past my ancestors of the Zavala line have fought for our nation on the front line with the Corsairs. I will be no exception to this."
He slammed his fist down on the lecturn infront of him and raised his voice.
"The Corsair incursions into our space will end. They renounced their claim to any brotherhood to us when they abandoned the Hispania, crippled beyond repair and made planetfall on their own rocky hell."
The crowd erupted. An angry cheer. He quietened them again with a gesture. He spoke more quietly now.
"Three centuries ago, the honoured Miguel Zavala formed the Knights of Santiago. A group of men and women dedicated to the reconquista of our lands, our space and territory, from the Corsairs. Named in homage to the brave Spaniards of old earth who fought to libertate their lands from the Moorish invasion of the Iberian peninsula. Our blood, our history, our ancient heritage reborn in the men of Malta."
He surveyed his audience and smiled.'Easier than the old council'he thought to himself.
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