OOC: This is a group effort to detail the ground battles of the new Blue Lotus Syndicate goal, namely, to own the entirety of the Cardamine trade. If you'd like to contribute, send me a PM and we'll consider you. Enjoy!
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Malta, the orange planet, viewed from orbit it’s a marvelous sight, pick the right point on the planet below and all you can see in any direction are fields of the orange plant, Cardamine. It’s from Malta that the seeds of Outcast dominion are sown, from here that the insatiable desire spreads. From low-down street hobo to high up government official, there is no echelon of society that does not feel the touch of the orange dream. Even Malta is not immune from the spread of Cardamine, it’s in the air, the water, it seeps into everything and nothing remains untouched by its influence. There are politics to this as there are with any endeavor, currently the production of Cardamine is given to numerous independent cartels, some consisting of only a single plantation, others, like the mighty Blue Lotus Syndicate, consisting of hundreds of them. The Blue Lotus Syndicate sits at the heart of Cardamine production on Malta, they are the single largest grower and distributor of this highly addictive substance. But that is not enough for them, they seek to control it all, they seek to be the only supplier of the drug and they will stop at nothing to ensure this is the case.
It’s difficult though, Outcasts do not kill Outcasts, the birth rate is so low that if violence where to break out amongst them it could seriously hamper the overall goal. This leaves two angles of attack, the workforce, consisting primarily of slaves considered less than life, or pressure to join an existing cartel through attacks on shipping lines and political pressure brought through the Council of Dons. It is the Council of Dons who set the agenda for the Outcasts, they who decide when to wage war and when to rest, they who decide whether their allies may access technologies. To go against the Council is to go against the whole Outcast nation. Still some try and fail, their memories testament to the viciousness of Outcast justice and retribution.
The sun rises over the vast orange fields, its light causing the plants to glow. It’s a marvelous sight but one that most Outcasts are jaded to now, none more so than Don Arturo Marcellus. Rumored to be over 100 years old Don Marcellus is a titan of a man, barrel-chested and well built, he is the perfect head for the Marcellus Familia, a small syndicate consisting of just 5 Plantations. Still he is considered one of the more influential independents, his Familia have held this land for nearly 600 years, and he has no intention of relinquishing his iron grip.
Zacarias sat at a well-crafted small table, made to hold only a chess board, and whatever captured pieces that needed a home. His chin was on his fist, and he was considering his next move. The board was evenly spread out, neither side having much of an advantage. He was white. The room was of the gaudy affair that most mansions would have, with displays of wealth and power assaulting the eye at every turn. Even the chess board was the finest marble, the pieces much the same, all elegant curves.
Pacing the largish room was Alekzander, his eyes squinting as if trying to view a problem from another angle. The floor was covered by expensive carpets; this one a maze, that one all swirls. Nothing simple or even closely related to a bucolic way of life. Across from Zacarias was a chair much as his own, except it had a small booster seat and the cylinder that he had made for Carina. In it was the misty form that Carina always took. Alekzander turned quickly to Zacarias he couldnt contain his thoughts any longer.
Sir, the battle, if you can call it that, on the ground is mostly just politics. Why dont we actually carry through on threats, instead of just sit around in orbit and pick them off the slow way. Its like killing someone by starving them to death, instead of slitting their throat.
Zacarias looked up, exasperated. He had heard this before. Alekzander, rule number one on Malta: no Outcasts die. Our numbers are too little as it is. If violence starts, it could move us to extinction. No, he moved a piece on the board, Im afraid were going to have to be patient. Maybe knees can be broken, maybe plantation machinery can be broken, or non-Outcast slaves can be killed, but for Gods sake, no Outcasts die.
The finality of that final statement ended the discussion. Alekzander went back to brooding, and Zacarias returned his attention to the board.
As the vehicle carrying Don Marcellus consigliere approached, the Don could not help wondering about the future of his familias territory, would they survive the impending war, and if they did would they still be allowed to roam independently of the Blue Lotus Syndicate or would the fields become just another plantation of these jumped up smugglers. The Don hated not being in control of his own destiny, it rankled him that he would have to rely on other people if the independent owners were to remain independent.
Arturo headed out of the large house which served as the Marcellus headquarters; he stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the front door, waiting for his consigliere to exit the vehicle. As the consigliere walked up to him, it was clear to Arturo that all was not well.
What ails you, mi figlio?
Grave news, Capo, the Blue Lotus Syndicate have secured another plantation, the treacherous rat, Don Vitelli has sold out. He fears the wrath of the BLS. The consigliore shook with rage, it was clear he disapproved of the other Dons actions.
We had best go inside and talk about this, maybe its not too late to change Vittellis mind, eh? Arturo put his hand on the consiglieres shoulder. Come Ferdinando, we have much to discuss.
Saint Del is considered a holy healer of diseases of children, but also as a protector of cattle.
In the same room mentioned previously, Zacarias was still playing chess with Carina, though the setup of the pieces revealed it was a new game. Alekzander had gone off on some random piece of business a while ago. Soon, he returned with a piece of paper in his hand.
Sir, the latest reports on the effort. First, some good news is that Don Vitelli has come around to our side of the manner. We have sent men to secure the plantation, as well as to make sure it stays ours. Alekzander sounded proud even small victories were important.
Excellent. Zacarias began to move a piece, but then withdrew his hand and went back to quiet contemplation. Is that all? he asked without looking up.
Alekzander hesitated. No, sir Don Marcellus continues to be adamant. Intelligence shows he may be attempting to create a coalition against us.
Zacarias nodded to himself. The old fool. He may not own much, but he is well respected. If he were to fall, it would be much like a line of dominoes.
Daddy is worried.
He bought men, more men, to build walls. Fun walls, not fences.
Big walls, you could walk across with your feet up above grown-ups heads, or even ride a hoversloop on, they were so wide. Shame you couldn't race them, there were towers in the walls.
He doesn't play with me the way he used to, anymore, just stays in his study...studying.
Hmph.
I'll have my own fun, shoot needlers at the Lotus slaves on the other side of the wall. Thats what the wall is for, anyway...Things are perfectly safe, Arturo tells me. Doesn't track against real people...also said it isn't broken. Its supposed to be that way. I say its broken.
Arturo is new too. With the wall and the needlers. He doesn't know how things work around here. When I told him I was in charge, he told me that I didn't know how things worked. Per--prepos...uh...anyway, thats just wrong.
Don Vitellus hadn't caved, he saw his new alliance with the Blue Lotus Syndicate as an opportunity. Arturo knew this was wrong. The Syndicate wanted to squeeze every credit they could from the independents regardless of how it was squeezed. They had no respect for the centuries of tradition and respect that some of the familias had earned.
Vitellus was the key though if they could sway him round they could bring confidence back to the familias show this Syndicate they would not be pushed around.
Arturo stood up from his desk, the local don had offered this study to use whilst he was here, overseeing the new defenses. It was a qiuet room. Decorated in an old fashioned, but certainly not outdated, way.
"Lorenzo! Get your ass in here!" He yelled at one of the local toughs.
Lorenzo entered the lavish suite. He was a large man, he was used mainly for guarding and hitting things. These were his talents and it was a shame to waste them. He could also be relied upon to fetch.
"I wish to see the don, your don. Could you tell him I await him at his convenience." Arturo smiled. The smile was less about politeness and more a smug satisfaction that Lorenzo's brain would be churning trying to think what 'convenience' meant. Even cardamine couldn't do much to a man whose intellect was so staggeringly low at birth.
Saint Del is considered a holy healer of diseases of children, but also as a protector of cattle.
Zacarias Poncho stood on the catwalk that ran across the spine, or top-most beam, of every shipyard facility of Corsica, looking down. A majestic ship, the Outcast Destroyer was. Long and thin, twelve guns, the pinnacle of Outcast technology. It was a testament to their might and the long-reach of their arm that even in New York and New London they operated. Zacarias was looking at the Onassis. He knew one thing for certain: times were changing. Opposition to the Syndicate's policy was higher than ever. An entire new faction, the Shadow Outcast Brigade, had popped up, all but declaring their primary goal as that of toppling his organization.
He could not stand for this. It was time to bring his heel down, and hard. The grizzled head-mechanic walked up, handing him a pad.
"It's all yours," he said in a rough voice, before walking away. Zacarias smiled and sent a transmission to the crew he had hand-picked.
You're clear to board, set a course for Malta as soon as I'm on board.
We'll see how much opposition we have now, was all he thought.
It was horrible. Our fields burnt, and our harvest was ruined. It was horrid. Absolutely. Our slaves just died, stumbled and died, the fires to hot. We hid in the basement when the destroyers passed overhead, dropping explosives and raining lasers. Today, I'm stepping into a fighter. Today, I'm changing my name. Today, I stop being an Outcast, and begin bringing revenge. Today, I spent the last of what little cash I had left from selling the plantation to the monopoly. Today, I, Bai Xue, step into a Manta.
Zacarias died. Carina vanished. The BLS slowly slipped from preeminence without the strong hand of a capable leader. A succession of Dons who disappeared or died in mysterious fashions led the Syndicate to obscurity. Their transports were a rare sight. The Shadow Outcast Brigade came to some form of power, lauding itself as an institution of the people.
The Blue Lotus may have withered, but people did not forget. They could not forget what a power the Cardamine held on them, and how someone could manipulate that to control all of Malta. Any further attempts to regain what the BLS had lost was stifled by all the smaller plantations banding together for mutual defense.
No, they did not forget the power the Syndicate had wielded, and how dangerous it could be.
The BHG never trust me. They look askance at my breather, and I took it off.
I pulled it down, and the tubes pulled...the tubes, which had stretched up my nose, down my throat, all my life. The simple scent, the cardamine laden air...and it pulled. I gagged on it, pulling it down. They came out slimy, covered in snot and blood. I gasped, buckled over. Station air is so cold, so hard. Sharp, against my nostrils, the cuts and abrasions left by the tube.
My nose bled for weeks, and my breath came in short gasping draws. I couldn't breath, not one bit. For weeks. The pain came, too. Bent me over, gasping, pleading. I struggled, at first. Fought.
Then I gave in. Two hours, and I brought a knife down on the tubes, cutting them off at the base. I stuck it to my mouth, and sucked. Every hour, now, I suck. For minutes, sometimes.
I so miss the scent of Cardamine. I miss it soo.
![[Image: u8rHEaq.png]](http://i.imgur.com/u8rHEaq.png)
![[Image: Del1.png]](http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a344/Spiderjerusalem1979/Del1.png)
