There comes a point in every man's life that he has to take a moment to step back, take a good look at his life, think about all the rights and wrongs he has done and how those deeds would save his soul after his body is nothing but dirt and dust. Every once in a while though, there comes a man who decides to give salvation the finger and actually enjoy life while it lasts, knowing he can worry about what comes next when it comes next. That's the kind of man who leaves his mark in history and doesn't die a nobody, but more often than not, that's not really why the man does what he does.
Every once in a while, the man who gives salvation the finger is the man who others envy for living a full life, but more often than not, the man who others envy for living a full life knows somewhere deep inside that he's not living that full of a life to begin with, and once the man admits he's not living that full of a life is when things go to hell and everything starts going wrong one after the other. This is the point where most men like that who did what they did just to leave their mark in history decide to quit and go back to living the life of a nobody and dying the death of a nobody, just with a load more shame and regret pushing down on their chest once they quietly lie in their deathbed. Those of them who did what they did for a reason better than fame and glory though, those are the ones who don't give up and keep doing what they do and getting what they wanted to get - The joy of living a life so good and selfish that would definitely grant eternal damnation.
Now if someone walks up to the man and ask him why he's doing what he's doing, hell if he'd know. The type of man who gives the finger to salvation just to live the one life he gets the way he wants it does what he does just because it feels good and right, and if you ask the man why he does what he does, he won't care enough to give a straight answer, cause after all... Who are you to judge? It's him living his life and feeling good about it, and if it means having to screw a few people over to get what he wants, so be it. In the end he'll feel good about it and isn't that what matters anyways?
Villa Senza Nome, a small mansion in a remote corner of Malta isolated from the Outcast population and away from any disturbance or nuisance in human form, was a name whispered at least once in each Outcast bar back when an odd Libertonian suddenly appeared in Outcast space, flying alongside the Ghosts of Razgriz in his dreaded Guardian, raising all sorts of questions and of course giving birth to all sorts of rumors the longer those questions went unanswered, which thanks to the influence of alcohol, were one less realistic and yet more amusing than the last. It's been long since then though, and the name along with the mansion itself had been long forgotten until delivery orders for essential goods started coming in week after week destined for that same long-forgotten corner of the planet.
In reality, however, and with pointless optimism aside, it's just a name that stuck - and not even a catchy one -. People come up with stupid names, and the less they care the stupider the name they come up with. They say the place was built specifically for the infamous Logan Willows under direct orders of administrator Jameson back in 819 or so, but since they were too busy with whatever they wanted done, they didn't take the time to give it a proper name and what it's referred to as stemmed from the same drunken whispers in the same bars that made the place sound like a location set of a low budget horror movie, and once a name sticks, there's no unsticking it cause people will just go on calling it what they're used to and there'd be no point in trying to convince them otherwise.
One would think the whole place coming back to life after years would've sparked some interest, but it really didn't. Outcasts, just recovering from the civil war and also feeling tension and pressure coming at them from every direction, couldn't really care any less about who the new owner was, what he was doing or how he managed to get his hands on that spot in the first place, and how could the new owner complain? A quiet private corner of the planet was what he wanted in the first place, and less prying eyes and snooping noses around, quieter and privater the corner.
Even though many would disagree or even state the exact opposite, Jameson was an astonishing and astounding persona. The two are synonyms and pretty much mean the same thing, but who cares long as the combo looks good and sounds all intellectual and crap. A lot of people would disagree with the good doctor being an astonishing and astounding persona, because he was one of a kind, and one of those people who left his mark on history doing what he did and then pulled a flawless, and unfortunately also audienceless, disappearing act at the end.
The good doctor was known for conducting unorthodox researches with unorthodox methods, often on unorthodox subjects. Speaking of unorthodox subjects, Logan Willows was one. Being a labrat for Jameson wasn't an easy task, but always as rewarding as possible. His research, experiments and attitude was intolerable at times, but the perks that came with it sure made it more than worth it... and to get those perks without having to go through the mess of Jameson's curiosity? An unfairly good deal. The house once belonged to Logan Willows, they say, and they also say it was built specifically for him. Jameson never talked much about his work, but from what comes out of putting all the bits and pieces he mentioned here and there over months, the spot was cautiously picked and was not just some random corner.
Logan Willows could've been the first human being to survive a direct dose of Liquid Cardamine, thanks to Jameson's experiments, so it's really a shame that no one knows whether he survived at all or not, or what happened to him or the good doctor at all. One thing is for certain though - The spot he was provided with on Malta is perfect. It's perfect not because of the aesthetically pleasing interior and exterior of the building itself, or the nice view of the Maltese wilderness, as that for sure was not what Jameson was looking for when trying to decide where to put his latest trophy from his last trip to Liberty. What made the place perfect was the unusually low density of Cardamine, which made the substance nearly nonexistence in the region and provided perfect environment to isolate the effects of Liquid Cardamine on physical, genetical and mental aspects of a human being. It also happens to raise one critical question - How did we get into this awfully boring subject anyways?
One of the many luxuries of living in the modern world is the ability to reduce human contact to its bare minimum. They say running a mansion in the old days would've required dozens of servants and maids, but who can be bothered with hiring, housing, feeding, paying, putting up with and pretty much living alongside a dozen people or more when buying and maintaining a dozen robots is faster, easier, cheaper, more efficient and more fun? Robots don't argue, disagree, whine, have expectations, or all of a sudden decide they need to take the day off, and even if they do, dealing with it would be as easy as plugging them in and adjusting a few settings, or if worse comes to worse, just using the guarantee to have them replaced.
Robots, despite all their glory and the ease they've brought to the life of modern age human, have one major flaw which stops them from becoming the perfect companion for man and completely eliminating one's need for any sort of human and social interaction. Robots can't be abused, taken advantage of, or screwed over just for fun, because well... they're machines, and that's what makes them so imperfect, and the only reason why a man would need to engage in actual social interactions every once in a while. So, when it comes to social interactions, it just comes down to taking advantage of others and screwing them over for nothing but personal gain, cause otherwise, there are robots to get the same job done cheaper, faster, and with less headache.
In such a society, the more civilized people or the alpha males so to say, develop a talent to spot the perfect targets when it comes to the one type of social interaction robots can't take an active part in on their own, and things only start to get more and more interesting when two such people collide and become a part of the same interaction. For Marco Santoro, engaging in such interactions with aerelm is nothing new, and after years of having at it on and off, it's turned into more of a wicked sport than an actual business deal. So, just like some people get together and play golf, some people get together and take advantage of others - or even each other, if the opportunity presents itself - just for the hell of it, and who are you to judge?
The Santoro family had never forgiven the conflict that stemmed from the differences between the Ghosts and the Lance and its impact in the delicate business of alien-amoeba fertilizer harvesting that took part in the nearby system of Omicron Beta. At first, several key customers withdrew their contracts due to the family's alignment with the Lance, while other customers had to be notified of the impossibility to supply their Cardamine fields due to a handful of ships and related assets having been either frozen or redirected for peacekeeping purposes.
It had been a hard time to make a clean restart of the family business, Marco was fully aware of that, and acknowledged that even the current 'statu quo' across the Maltese Nación was unstable enough to barely trust anybody anymore besides a few selected individuals. Most of them had proven to be neutral in their mindset from the beginning toward the ruling political forces in Malta. Others such as aerelm, if not the unique, had proven the point that a resourceful man was always 'condemned' to swing between both sides of the coin.
And as a man of resources, resting in a nameless villa maintained by silent and cubic-shaped servants in the most recondite place of planet Malta, aerelm had time to think of a juicy business proposal for Marco Santoro. "Robots? What kind of cattle is this for a 'ranch' in the middle of nowhere, amico?"
Said the robot standing in the doorway. It's been programmed never to actually enter the room and to only act as a courier and nothing more. Some men like their privacy that way.
"Can the fake accent, tin-can. You're made in Kusari."
The robot, of course, having been purchased on Malta had no other firmware installed, so it was admittedly an unreasonable request, and furthermore, one that the robot could not process. Swiping the open documents off the screen with a swift movement of his arm, aerelm tossed a glance at the robot still lingering by the door and added,
"...And escort mister Santoro to the terrace and get him a drink. Tell him I'll be joining him momentarily."
aerelm started in a casual tone as he joined Santoro on the terrace, completely ignoring the female companion of the hispanic gentleman. He continued as he sat down.
"Pardon the lack of hospitality, of course. Haven't properly settled in yet and these heaps of junk didn't come with a proper firmware so had to rewrite the whole thing myself, which means there are still a few rough edges here and there. But anyways... how's business?"
Santoro took aerelm's first question as a rhetorical one, as his glance kept focused across the vast landscape of Malta beneath and in front of him. A quiet sip followed, eventually handing the half empty glass to the companion lady, who gladly remained standing up sharing the view. Marco turned to the host and replied.
"Can't complain about anything, given the recent course of the events. The Cardamine trade flourished again now that there is nobody trying to impose this or that law, diplomacy or council. And that also means the income of both fertilizers from Beta and 'willing workfoce' across Sirius are back on peak levels. But you instead chose to surround yourself with tin cans in the most recondite spot of the whole planet. Why? What are you plotting this time?"
"That, my friend, is the very reason you're here."
aerelm started as he reclined on his seat and grabbed a glass of scotch from the tray a nearby robot was holding. After taking a couple of sips and then lighting a smoke, he continued, pointing at the scenery;
"The visuals - despite being far less dull than I had expected - aren't really the reason I picked the place, the privacy is. You of all people would know, of course, and that'd save me the waste of energy that is having to explain it all. So... Straight to business, as the usual pattern of our meetings goes. How well do you know the team that designed your new line of snubs, or rather, how well do they know you and your famiglia?"
"Recently I paid said team a visit in Valetta. I don't like flying the standard configuration that comes with the Rapiers built under their supervision, mostly tinkered by these Ghosts who believe they know it all about what's beyond the Maltese boundaries. So I gently asked them to fit several proposals into my personal ship and... it happened after a proper and delightful price was paid. You want me to be some kind of middleman between me and them?"
Santoro raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was right on his assumption yet at the same time feeling like if aerelm's plan was that simple, he would not have been summoned for that kind of meeting to begin with.