Private Under/World | Invite

[Renata Westaway]

As her shuttle swooped over the rocky service of Tholon, Renata stood in the cabin watching herself on the holo and smoking a cigarette. Her voice, tinny in comparison to the real thing, was saying: "The Doonium shortage is a concern, of course, but no: none of the First Order's current military projects are at risk due to the shortage. We are currently exploring expanding the scope of our supply chain while industries on worlds impacted by the Ssi-Ruuk Imperium's assault and occupation recover. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get to a meeting."

"It was well said," said Freda, sitting opposite her.

Renata stubbed out a cigarette in the ashtray next to her. "Too bad it wasn't true."

"There's that," said Freda.

"We need to do a better job of reaching out to former worlds. Just because we don't have political borders around them doesn't mean we should leave them flailing -- or let them leave us flailing," Renata said. She glanced up at the ceiling as the pilot chimed in to let them know they were approaching their destination. Renata sat and buckled herself in. "We need to reinvigorate these ties if we're going to bring them back into the fold smoothly when the time is right." She looked across at Freda. "All right, I'll shut up for now. But remind me to bring it up in cabinet."

"Duly noted, ma'am."

Twenty minutes, Renata and Freda were disembarking the shuttle. They had one escort, a member of the First Order Security Bureau acting as security, and were met by a guide from the Tholonian Workers' Republic. It was a moment before Renata realized that the platform was moving -- descending, to be more accurate. "Welcome to Deephaven," said the guide, a Duros woman of an age that Renata couldn't quite peg. "The surface of the planet is habitable, but only just. Most of the citizens of Tholon live and work underground." The platform was apparently some kind of revolving garage, for they left it after a short journey, taking a turbolift down so far and so fast that Renata's stomach almost turned.

"You're not claustrophobic, are you?" Freda asked softly.

The Duros pretended not to hear. "Being underground was a boon when the scales attacked. They eventually found their way in, but by that time we'd had a chance to fortify the mines. The workers formed resistance cells, and when we pushed the scales out, that infrastructure let us found the Republic." Renata glanced at her aide, letting a moment of skepticism pass between them. "The Director-General asked me to give you a tour of the city after your meeting if you're interested."

"I'd love it," Renata said truthfully. Her minder from the Bureau shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Freda looked at her datapad. "Thank you."

"Of course," said the Duros, all business. The turbolift doors rattled, then opened, dumping them out onto a busy concourse. "This way, please. Your meeting with the Director is at the Guild Hall." As if sensing the Moff's confusion, the Duros glanced over her shoulder. "This week's trials are taking place there, so the Director will be on hand."

"Trials?" Renata asked.

"The Republic is dealing with the collaborators and the exploiters."

"Of course," said Renata. A moment passed; by now they were leaving the spaceport and Renata was treated to a vista of an interesting city built into the massive cavern beneath the surface of Tholon. As they began the descent down the broad stone stairs towards street level, she turned her attention from the city vista to matters at hand. "What can you tell me about the Director?"

The Duros' feet faltered. She half-turned. "He's our leader," she said. "He united the resistance movements and led the fight to found the Republic."

"Does he have a name?" Renata asked.

"Of course. But we know him as The Director." They reached the sidewalk and Renata followed her along, wondering how long the walk was going to be to this Guild Hall. "I wouldn't ask if I were you." There was a pause, then the Duros chuckled. Renata joined, but the feeling of uneasiness growing as she realized the Duros was leading her down what appeared to be a deserted alley. Ahead of them, a van eased to a halt in the street where the alley let out.

Quinlan Reade​

 

[Quinlan Reade]

Dimly lit streets, narrow corridors, industrial noise from all over Deephaven. All contributing factors that led them to bide their time, wait in the shadows. There were several positions that had been mulled around, contemplated, even debated hotly at times but their end decision had led them here. Now. Not enough resources for a surface interruption. Too much risk installing a turbolift override, too many palms to grease. In the end there was only one real option left - it too had its own risks.

​

"We're coming up to the alley now." a hushed whisper filled the small cabin of the vehicle. "Get ready." Another voice echoed. In the shadows of the windowless maintenance truck, a gloved fist reached up and pulled down the facemask at the figure's brow. "Steady. Wait for the signal." An authoritative voice drowned out the hushed whispers and heavy breaths. A voice driven as if by something as dark and sinister as the shadows in which this masked cadre crept. The soft purr of the vehicle's engine slowed, the change in speed causing those inside to brush shoulders with one another. The vehicle came to a halt with a quiet shudder and then the trap was sprung.

-
​

Things happened in an instant, simultaneous threads all coming together to form a crescendo as the door to the vehicle slid wide open and the dark clad figures began to disembark. From the direction the small delegation had entered the alley a gentle rumble echoed against the narrow alley walls, two large dumpsters rolling into view blocking off any hope of retreat. The Duros guide who'd taken to leading the fated First Order Moff down the alley to begin with turned on her heel not two steps ahead of the trio, hand smoothly extracting a small blaster pistol from the hem of her coat. "Excuse me." The barrel of the blaster trained itself not on the Moff or her aide but at the other, the tip dipping down briefly as she motioned. "Weapons on the ground." Before the other woman could make a move the Duros woman added. "All of them. Now." Meanwhile, the cloaked cadre had descended upon the small group like a pack of Loth-wolves. Fanning out, one of them raised his own voice. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but you're coming with us." With no further explanation this man too produced a blaster pistol, this one leveled squarely at the Moff's chest.

From the direction of the rapidly positioned dumpsters, footsteps pattered against the ground. "This will go easier if you don't fight." the man added just as the footsteps arrived directly behind the Moff and her two companions. The sound of rustling fabric was all but drowned out by the ambient noise of Deephaven and in an instant, three black hoods had been whisked over the tops of the delegation's heads. Rough hands grasped the women's arms, a hard knee in the thigh pushing them forward towards the masked man and beyond, the vehicle the masked accosters had arrived in. "Watch your step." A quiet cacophony of footfalls surrounded the trio, bodies shifting as those masked unceremoniously shoved their newly acquired human capital into the van. "Decoys are in place." a voice could be heard. "Let's go - it won't be lo--" The second voice was interrupted by a high pitch wail that seemed to fill the entirety of the city. Echoes bouncing off the buildings and walls of the deep cavern. "Go go go." the man's voice hurriedly exclaimed, the door closing only after the vehicle had already lurched forward from its position on the street. Leaning first left, then right, then left again, the vehicle made several turns in short succession followed by small respites of what felt like straight travel. A well trained individual might have been able to keep track in their head but the rapid stops and change in elevation were likely enough to throw off the casual observer. "Quit squirming." a closed fist found itself thrust in towards one of the three's abdomen. "Hey, lay off." their supposed leader interjected, a hint of anger flaring in his voice. With any luck, they'd arrive at their destination soon - and then they could talk. Face to face.

-
​

In the alley, things had changed in a hurry. A dumpster had been overturned, refuse and waste strewn about the narrow corridor. The other had been wheeled back into an alcove. A disheveled man picked through the trash, the Duros woman had seemingly evaporated into thin air. If any of the Director's patrols showed up, there would be little to no evidence that the Moff's delegation had even passed that way - much less who had led them through the alley in the first place. Far above, where rest the shuttle carrying the delegation to Tholon, the Director's own welcoming party would find nothing but an empty First Order vessel. The timing had been tight, the window for success substantially narrow. For now, it seemed things were going according to plan.

 

[Isobel Nakano]

Isobel didn't like it. Not one bit. She scanned the rooflines as best she could in the narrow alleyway, but she found herself unable to get a sightline. It was claustrophobic, cloying.

In retrospect, the ambush was almost inevitable. She had two guns in hand by the time the Duros had fully turned, but there were more people coming out of the woodwork. The FOSB agent considered her options, glancing towards Moff Westaway for a brief moment. All her training told her she needed to get free and alert the authorities... so that's what she did. She moved to put the blasters on the ground, but at the last moment fired the weapon in her left hand -- not at an enemy, but at the fire escape of one of the buildings behind the Duros. And what fired was not a laser or a slug but a liquid wire headed by a dart that circled the railing. As soon as the wire found purchase, Isobel flicked the switch and seized the gun with both hands so that it carried her along as the wire retracted.

Blaster bolts followed her, impacted against the brick of the buildings and the metal of the fire escape. Isobel kept moving, trusting that Renata and Freda would know that her escape meant help was on the way. She hustled up the fire escape, ducking and dodging blasterfire as she scrambled up to the roof. On the ground, the ambushers had their hands too full with bundling Renata and Freda into the back of the waiting van to pursue her. Renata and Freda, being complete non-combatants, knew better than to put up much of a fight. Isobel stopped on the rooftop long enough to peer over to see if she could see a number plate, but it was all for naught. If there was a number blate, she couldn't make it out.

Isobel turned in the opposite direction, trying to recount her steps across the rooftops back towards the spaceport in the distance. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her.

Quinlan Reade | Renata Westaway | Ares Havelock​

 

[Ares Havelock]

Fifteen minutes had passed from the time Renata Westaway and her aide Freda St. George had been snatched from the alleyway.

Ten minutes had passed since a panting Isobel Nakano had intercepted the reception committee on the shuttle platform.

Ares Havelock -- The Director -- looked up from his datapad when the doors to the reception chamber in the Guild Hall opened. He was prepared to put on his smoothest, suavest greeting for the First Order Moff, but only his hand-picked reception team and a svelte brunette woman clambered in. "Director," said the chief of his team, Captain Farrant -- a female Duros -- as she approached. "Sir, there's been a problem. This is Nakano, Moff Westaway's security detail."

"Well?" asked Ares, his voice modulated by the mask he wore. "Where is the Moff?"

"She's been taken," said 'Nakano'. "We were greeted by what we thought was your team. The woman matched the description we were given for our contact." She glanced nervously towards the Duros woman. "An alley near the spaceport. They took her -- in a van. I didn't see a number plate."

Ares frowned beneath his mask and clasped his hands behind her back, pacing away from Nakano and Farrant. Not the most auspicious start of the visit that was meant to cement his legitimacy as the ruler of Tholon. But perhaps he could turn this to his advantage. There was only one possibility for the abduction; no one else would know or care that Westaway was there. The rebels. He turned back towards the group. "Captain Farrant, lock the city down. No one gets in or out. Pull the records from the spaceport to see if any ships have left since the Moff's shuttle arrived; if so, trace their flight patterns. Pull the CCHV for the intersections around where Nakano reported the abduction. Scramble security forces from standby to active."

Ares paused a moment, and when he spoke again Captain Farrant thought she heard a smile from beneath the mask. "Oh... and pull half a dozen of our high-visibility prisoners, and let the networks know I'll be making a broadcast in half an hour."

Quinlan Reade​

 

[Quinlan Reade]

A single wrinkle had begun to form in the otherwise pristine execution of their plan - they'd let one get away. The alarm had already been sounded, the addition of blaster fire only serving to increase the speed at which the so called authorities would respond. We don't have time to track her down. anguished the leader of the masked individuals, his terse expression obscured by the thin fabric of the mask. The vehicle had departed rapidly, careening from one causeway to the next before slowing as it reached the Industrial District. Of course, that was somewhat of a misnomer as nearly the entire city revolved around industry but due to the high concentration of refineries in this section of the city it had been so dubbed. It had been an ideal location for their foray into the city of Deephaven. Plenty of interference from the high tech refinery systems and molten minerals being processed in vats, troughs, and piping. There was danger of course, the Tholonian Worker's Republic despite its rough, top down, dictatorial methods had somehow managed to garner an overwhelming support among the blue collar workers. Empty promises. mused Quinlan. It hadn't been a rose garden before the occupation but it sure as hell wasn't now. There had been obvious flaws, obvious injustices, but this.. this.

The vehicle came to a halt beneath a giant array of piping. A network of tubes, channels, and rails meandered through this area - it was a perfect place to disappear. They had to move quickly. Drones and droids would already be in the air searching for the small band and while the local interference would deter them in the short term, they couldn't afford to dally. "Get out." he said brusquely, the barrel of the blaster pistol prodding the Moff between her shoulder blades. "Almost there now." he added. Ahead of them, other masked figures helped the captured pair out of the rear of the vehicle and towards a cluster of small buildings. Even if their captives could see where they were going through the blackened fabric - they'd soon be lost in the maze of pipes and machinery. Coming to a stop at a large manhole cover, a grating sound followed by the hiss of a flare being started filled their ears. A gentle splash below. They had arrived. "Don't do anything silly now. One rung at a time." Quin instructed as he guided their hands to the first rung. He cast a wary glance over his shoulder. No sign of pursuit yet. Good.

-
​

The scenery had changed but the sounds of industry had remained constant if not somewhat dulled, sounds of heavy machinery and the hum of regulator units echoing in the subterranean structure. The two captives had been separated, placed in separate rooms though Quinlan had insisted their hoods and restraints be removed. "They're not prisoners." he had said repeatedly to his other masked companions.

The rooms the two women would find themselves in were different from each other but they were more similar than not. Broken pipes jutted from the wall on one wall, a fresh spot of duracrete below as if some piece of machinery had been hastily removed. In the corner, a small but serviceable cot. No windows, however light managed to seep in around the corners of the door and a faded light panel dimly shining down from above. Whatever these rooms had been before they were clearly not designed as holding cells. The women had been led into their rooms, masked kidnappers still wearing their disguises as they unbound them and left. They had been left alone only a short time before a loud knock could be heard against the metal door leading to the Moff's makeshift cell. "Coming in. Please stand against the rear wall." A quiet grate of durasteel on rusted durasteel could be heard as a small cutout could be seen flicking open - through them peered a pair of hazel eyes. Sliding shut once more, the door creaked as a man stepped through. Worn utility trousers, thick brown boots, a long weathered coat. The man stood at about 6 foot 1, a week's worth of stubble adorning his weary features. "Moff Westaway." he forced a smile. "My name is Quinlan Reade, and I think we have a lot to discuss."

Renata Westaway | Isobel Nakano | Ares Havelock​

 

[Renata Westaway]

The training Renata received upon her elevation to Moff warned that she would be subject to the danger of assassination, blackmail, and kidnapping. The background check and extensive battery of personality tests sought to minimize the risk of blackmail, and security was on hand to mitigate the risk of assassination and kidnapping, but obviously there were limits to what security could accomplish.

Hence, Renata Westaway being trapped in a dingy little room God knew how far under the surface of Tholon. She didn't panic, not yet. Being trapped under Avalonia and hunted by murderous dinosaurs with exceptionally keen senses was scary. This? This was an inconvenience — until it wasn't.

Follow the instructions. Don't put yourself at risk.

Renata stepped away from the door, moving to stand against the opposite wall. She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her gaze, peering past the man who entered to get as much of a view of the outer area as possible before her gaze settled on the man. Renata didn't hear whether the lock engaged, but she was in no position to stage a jailbreak yet. She didn't know where they were keeping Freda, and without a functioning understanding of the place they were being kept.

Engage your captors. Keep them talking. Buy time for the rescue operation.

"Mr. Reade," Renata responded coolly, peering at the man from the other end of the room. "You have me at a disadvantage; do I know you?" The Moff frowned and leaned against the wall, crossing her ankles before her, using her heels to prop herself up against the wall. A kidnapper did not deserve the respect of a well-postured Moff. "Yes, I believe we have much to discuss. Where's my aide?"

Quinlan Reade​

 

[Quinlan Reade]

Confidence. Measured. A hint of casual disdain. He was walking a thin line, one made thinner by the day. The Moff's demeanor reminded him of that. "No, I don't expect you do. What I can say, is that you're going to want to know me." He stepped closer, pulling a chair from the edge of the room closer to the center. "Let me start by assuring you that your aide is safe and unharmed - in accommodations much like these." his eyes glanced around the room. "A little less than adequate I'm sure but we're not exactly in a position to..." he trailed off, realizing he'd begun down a tangent. The shadows under his eyes revealed a weakness that could be exploited later. "To get back on track." he mused. "In order to fully understand what we're trying to do here, to understand the purpose behind why I've brought you here, I need to know how much you know about the "Director".

Quinlan didn't profess to be some grand architect of strategy, in fact, the man struggled with self doubt often but he knew how valuable the Tholonian sector was - if she could be coaxed of her resources. "You see Ms. Westaway, our problem is two-fold. The man you know to be "The Director" is little more than a tin-pot dictator who among other things has taken over Tholon in the absence of a viable local government." He paused. It was hard to express the gravity of the situation especially to an outsider. How much information would he need to reveal about himself? It occurred to him that perhaps they should have intercepted the Moff after she'd seen the conditions on the street. No. Now wasn't the time for doubt. They'd 'done the dang thang' and it was time for the follow through. "He's dangerous. Unpredictable." Whether or not the Moff would believe that The Director was any less dangerous than himself right about now was unknown - he had to hope that she'd at least hear him out. If the conversation allowed, Quin reluctantly agreed with himself that his history may need to be used as a bargaining chip. It may not have looked like it at the moment but Quinlan Reade was of Tholonian nobility. At least, before the Ssi-Ruuvi occupation.

"You might find it more important, he'll never give you what you want." He waited to see if the Moff would interject. "I've seen the reports, in fact if I recall correctly it was you, yourself that denied a doonium shortage. For what it's worth, it was a convincing effort. The Director won't make it easy for you to acquire what you need." So far he'd gone without revealing the origins of his birth but he could feel that slipping away. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, it was his claim to nobility that might even be the hinging point of his entire effort. It didn't sit well with the Tholonian but at this point he might just have to rely on his noble birth if he wanted any kind of credibility. Kidnapping a Moff? In hindsight, probably not the best plan but what else was he supposed to do? Times had become desperate, especially with the rise of The Director.

Renata Westaway​

 

[Renata Westaway]

Renata pushed away from the wall and paced along the rear wall, heading towards the bed and then the opposite wall, being careful not to make any sudden movements towards Reade. The last thing she needed was to get shot for being seen as lunging at this man. She felt a little called out by Reade's commentary on her statement regarding the doonium shortage; but she hadn't lied, exactly. More like she had painted the situation in a more optimistic light than was strictly reasonable.

"I know next to nothing about the man," Renata said in response. "I came to Tholon to see if there was any hope of restarting the supply of doonium, and according to the First Order's sources, he's the one who controls the supply. And as far as being dangerous and unpredictable, between the two of you, The Director is the only one who hasn't kidnapped me and my aide at gunpoint and tried to shoot my security escort, so I have to say you're not coming from a position of strength here."

She continued to pace and jammed her hands into her pockets and was surprised to discover that they hadn't confiscated her cigarette case and lighter. "Do you mind if I smoke?" she asked as she withdrew them from her pockets. "What am I saying? I couldn't give a damn if you mind." She flipped the case open, popped a cigarette into her mouth and lit up. She took a long drag and exhaled into the space between herself and Reade. She waved a hand to clear the smoke and glared over at her captor and took another drag from her cigarette. "Why do you say he won't be able to help?" Renata asked. "Tholon has doonium, the First Order has credits, what's to stop us from making a deal? We had heard that there was some kind of labor disruption here, but that can't go on forever, surely."

She looked around and, finding nothing suitable as an ashtray, she tapped the end of the cigarette so that a centimeter of ash drifted to the ground. "And I suppose you're about to tell me just who can get the doonium shipments rolling again, hmm?" She tapped again and framed Reade with a look of thinly veiled contempt. "Go on, make your pitch. You have, quite literally, a captive audience."

Quinlan Reade​

 

[Quinlan Reade]

The woman's disdain was hardly veiled - in fact, Quinlan doubted it was veiled at all except for sarcastic value. It caused a twitch at the corner of his lips to develop into an amused smirk. A slow intake of breath helped give him a moment, eyes searching the Moff's as if for some scrap of information she had not revealed or perhaps to answer some question unvoiced. He was met with nothing but a cool stare from the woman. Not liable to back down. A gentle shake of his head indicated something she'd said wasn't quite correct. "Oh, you're free to go. Of course if I might suggest, the exit to the underground is that way." Quin pointed to the left outside the door and rose, sliding the chair to the side and gesturing the right of way. "Of course, I think you'll want to hear me out." The man cleared his throat. "It's not so much that he won't be able to help, more like he won't help." he corrected.

Spinning the chair around casually again the man took a backwards seat, casually splitting the back as he leaned forward and seemed to take a different approach. "There used to be a monarchy around here you know. Maybe I should have let you see the streets first. Now there's roaming bands of thugs, masquerading as a collective. A worker's union. Pah." An expression of agitation streaked across his features. "The Director won't part with Doonium for mere credits, what he's after is power. Nothing more than an opportunist intent on bending the mind of the Tholonians to his will. To do his bidding. He won't just hand you the Doonium. He'll fight you tooth and nail."

A sharp rap at the door interrupted Quinlan's dialogue, his attention jumping from the Moff to the slowly opening door. Beyond, a masked figure waved an oversized datapad. "Quin. You gotta see this. Now." The voice carried with it an urgency that seemed to unnerve the man. "What is it?" Instinctively his hand reached into the frock of his coat, suggesting a blaster hidden in an inner pocket. "I.. You're going to want to see it for yourself. It's the Director on the holo." the masked figure responded. "Alright." Quin said, forcibly rising from the seat in which he'd lounged. "Come along then." He motioned towards Ms. Westaway.

Renata Westaway​

 

[Ares Havelock]

Across the city — across the planet — the holovision broadcasts were interrupted by the blaring, triumphant tones of the Tholonian Workers' Republic's fanfare, partnered with its fist-grasping-a-pickaxe emblem rotating in mid-air on holoprojectors and on a black field on screens. After a few moments, the fanfare died away and an image of a familiar masked figure replaced the emblem. The close-up angle captured the man's masked head and shoulders, but attentive observers would notice a slow zooming out.

"Greetings, fellow citizens of our glorious Workers' Republic. This is a message from The Director," the voice began, heavily modulated by the mask that shrouded his features. The hood he wore came down over his forehead. "As many of you realize by now, a security incident has forced us to shut down transportation within and between cities. With your cooperation, I will lift this security alert in short order. I am asking all citizens to be on the lookout for this woman and this vehicle."

An official portrait of Renata Westaway replaced the Director on screens and holoprojectors, next to a grainy CC-TV screen grab of the van. The images remained in place for a few moments before The Director replaced them again.

"Moff Renata Westaway of the First Order came to Tholon to view the successes the Tholonian Workers' Republic has achieved in our brief history," the Director said. "She came to bear witness to the revolution and to take the lessons back to the First Order, so they can benefit from the knowledge of how a truly egalitarian society comes back from the brink of doom. But unfortunately... the vile resistance that has plagued our efforts has abducted the Moff and her staff. We expect them to execute her to ensure the First Order does not recognize the Republic we have built here. Citizens, I urge you, if you know anything about the abduction or the Moff's current whereabouts, report to your nearest Workers' Vanguard immediately."

The camera continued to zoom out, and The Director turned. The camera moved with him as he walked, the angle widening to reveal that he was in Revolutionary Court at the Guild Hall and that there were three figures kneeling on the ground. He approached the trio, continuing to speak to the camera. "I will not allow the actions of the resistance to interrupt and suppress the revolution. For too long, the wealthy, the nobility, the oligarchs have bled Tholon and its workers dry. I will not allow it to continue. I speak to the resistance now, and I hope you're listening." He turned again, looking into the camera through his mask. "I have three members of the old ruling classes here, each tried and convicted of counter-revolutionary activities. Their sentences were hard labor for a period of years, but as we suspect their involvement in the abduction, I have changed their sentence — as is my right as Director-General — to death. I will carry out these sentences one by one unless Moff Westaway returns unharmed."

The Director went to the first figure and pulled the canvas sack off the head, revealing the twenty-year-old son of one of the wealthiest mining magnates of Tholon's former ruling elites. The second canvas sack came away to reveal the wife of a former refinery owner; she made a pathetic squeal of terror when she was unmasked, wincing against the light.

The third was Valencia Reade.

"You have one hour," said The Director. "Long live the Revolution!"

The screen faded to black, the fanfare blasting one more time, and the emblem resumed revolving on all the holoprojectors and screens across Tholon.

Quinlan Reade | Renata Westaway​

 

[Quinlan Reade]

Quinlan and crew had walked a short distance down a duracrete corridor lined with power cables, pipes, and grime before arriving in a small open area. Hastily mounted screens adorned the walls, the broadcast in question being transmitted in real time. At first Quin was content to watch. No doubt another propaganda blast to the working masses. He could hardly keep his eyes from rolling out of his head and onto the floor. A nervous twitch stung against the base of his jaw as an image of the Moff beside him was displayed on the screen. "Lies." He mumbled, an expression of distaste and frustration spreading across his features.

As the theatrics continued Quin watched silently, his gaze searching the face of the first and then the second unmasked former ruling elites. Faces he knew but only in passing. The man on the screen behaved like a petulant child. "His right.. Pah." Quin spat on the ground. Eyes darting back to the screen as the third canvas hood was removed, Quinlan nearly doubled over in shock. That was a face he knew. It was the face of a woman he knew, a woman he loved. It was Valencia Reade - his sister. His eyes began to cloud over, a red hue encroaching from the edges of his vision. In a moment of anger, of vulnerability, Quin frantically searched his immediate vicinity, settling on a jagged piece of duracrete. A moment later, it found itself hurled towards the screen which burst into a shower of sparks and static. The garbled voice carried on, echoing as the display faded.

"You have one hour. Long live the Revolution!"
​

A fist slammed on a nearby cabinet broke the momentary silence, a dumbfounded look etched upon the so called insurgent's face. What now... surely we can't acquiesce. We have to stage a rescue. We have to save her... but how.. his thoughts raced as he tried to come up with some way out of the conundrum in which he found himself. An hour wasn't a long time in any sense of the word but to plan a rescue in an hour? It was all but impossible. Anguish gripped him and he fought the urge to vomit, bracing himself briefly against the same cabinet he'd hit in frustration a moment before. "Get Bigsy and Baude here now. I want this information confirmed. Go!" he urged. A scurry of feet and masked marauders departed leaving just Quinlan and the Moff alone. Quinlan let the silence hang for a minute before speaking up again. "Of course, we aren't going to execute you. Now we have a problem though." he trailed off, distracted.

Ares Havelock | Renata Westaway​

 

[Renata Westaway]

Renata followed Reade as he made his way to what could have been a leisure room or maybe a command center. Screens peppered the walls, clearly an aftermarket addition to the space, all showing the same message. The Moff frowned thoughtfully, folding one arm over her chest and resting her elbow in the crook of her wrist, stroking her chin thoughtfully as the show went on. After a moment, she took the cigarette from her mouth and blew out a plume of smoke, along with a noncommital but skeptical noise.

"What's the story with the mask?" she mused aloud, wondering if her kidnapper had any experience with the man personally. "Has anyone ever seen his face?"

As the message went on, Renata found herself amused, and then horrified, and then shocked when the screen she was watching with Reade went dark in a fit of sparks. She turned to Reade just as he turned to her and fell silent; the urgency of his actions and the apparent family relationship to one of the people about to be executed took precedence. She nodded along as he spoke to her, brushing her blonde hair over her shoulders to give her something to do with her hands. "I figured you wouldn't kill us," Renata said. "But before we get any further — that woman, any relation? And more importantly, is there any truth to what The Director said? Are these legitimate criminal convictions? What is counter-revolutionary activity, anyway?"

Quinlan Reade​

 

[Quinlan Reade]

"That last woman's name is Valencia. Reade. My sister." Quinlan revealed. A defeated sigh escaped his lips, eyes meeting the Moff's for a brief moment as he replied. "Truth? The Director?" Quin scoffed. "The only truth regarding those criminal convictions is that every one of those people belonged to what you'd call the upper class. The ruling families of the Tholonian Monarchy before all this.. before the Ssi-Ruuk." He spat the final word with contempt. It may have been the Ssi-Ruuvi who'd started the ball in motion but it had been this masked marauder The Director, who'd driven the dagger home in an attempt to gut the Monarchy and install himself as some sort of dictator. "As for the term counter-revolutionary, that is a lot more complex a question than we have time to delve into - however suffice it to say that they weren't willing to hand over their belongings in service to the glorious Tholonian Worker's Republic. The Director character seems to have a grudge." he mused. "Against nobility."

He let that hang in the air a moment, mind still racing as he tried to quickly formulate what his next move would be. A shuffle from the corridor drew his attention, an expression of recognition crossed his features before he addressed the newcomers. Entering the small space the two, presumably Bigsy and Baude, glanced at Renata first, then questioningly at Quin. "Go ahead." he said, bracing himself. "It's true. They have your sister - picked her up over a month ago at a protest at the capital. They've got her holed up at The Maw."

The Maw. It had been a high security prison before the occupation. It wasn't nearly as secure as it had been but it was still an insurmountable obstacle for the rag-tag band that Quinlan had managed to scrap together. "I'm sorry Reade, there's nothing we can do about that - but maybe we could perform a trade?" one of the men suggested. "He did say one hour." Quin mused. "Dismissed." he noted, nodding at the two. They nodded in kind before whisking away down a corridor - silence once again filling the room. Maybe if they released Renata to the man The Director would in turn release Valencia. It was a gamble though. Quin wasn't convinced it was likely but it was the only play, the only move. His voice acquired a hard edge as he spoke up again. "Let's go get your aide." He waited for Renata to step off before falling in behind her, directing themselves down the maze of corridors. "Here." They stopped before a door, a masked individual just outside. "We're moving again. Let's go." Quin's instructions issued, the man opened the door and brought out Renata's aide. "If you would." Quin produced two sack masks, offering them to the two women. "Can't have you reporting our position now can we?"

Renata Westaway​

 

[Renata Westaway]

Renata frowned gravely as she absorbed what Reade was telling her. Although what she saw horrified her, and she had a difficult time believing a frail old woman and a younger girl were guilty of crimes that warranted death, Renata knew she was coming into this from the outside, and she was the first to admit she was not in possession of all the facts. Was it possible that The Director was telling the truth, that the trio on their knees in that holo broadcast were indeed criminal counter-revolutionaries seeking to destroy Tholon's glorious new utopia? Of course it was possible. Anything was possible.

But there was a nagging doubt in the back of Renata's mind. Why does someone doing the right thing wear a mask and hide his identity? But then again, would those with pure intentions kidnap an official? Did desperation excuse it? Reade's aide interrupted her reverie by bustling in with confirmation that Valencia Reade was being held by The Director in a prison called The Maw. She watched Quinlan; the man was clearly in an understandable agony. Renata remained silent, feeling that her input would be, at this stage, counterproductive. She followed orders and, after putting her cigarette out and discarding the butt, followed Reade back through the warren of corridors.

When they brought Freda out, she wrapped her aide in a heartfelt embrace. Freda's eyes were puffy and red; she had clearly been crying. She was stiff with anxiety. "Don't worry," Renata whispered to Freda. "Don't worry. It's going to be all right."

Their reunion was short-lived, and Renata half-turned to see Quin approaching with the familiar sack masks. She drew herself up to her full height and stared at the man coolly. "Is that really necessary?" Every time she found herself just about to concede that Reade was a scared, hunted man trying to do the right thing, he managed to surprise her. "For God's sake," she grumbled and snatched one of the masks, pulling it over her head. "What are you planning here, Reade?" she asked, her voice comically muffled by the canvas sack hood. "Aren't you concerned that if you contact him to trade us for your people, they'll just kill you?"

Quinlan Reade​

 

[Quinlan Reade]

"I think you know the answer to that ." An expectant gaze fell upon the two women as they reluctantly donned their cranial knapsacks. "That's exactly what I expect - and while both you and I know that I'm not willing to kill the Moff of a nation such as the First Order, the Director doesn't." The loud sound of doors opening and closing filled the corridors as they half walked half stumbled up several flights of stairs and up a long ramp. If the Moff or her aide had been able to figure out the maze on the way in to the facility, they'd realize they were being taken out by a different path. Moments later the sound changed, the drum of industrial equipment fading and replaced by louder grinding and the solid thwack of metal on metal. Above ground now, the smells of oil, fuel, and hot steel seeped in through the hasty sack hoods. "Watch your step." Quin said, grasping the Moff's forearm carefully as they stepped up into the back of a van.

Though they couldn't see it - Quin pulled down the mask he wore atop his head, mumbling something quietly to the driver of the vehicle before it lurched forward and they were again on the move. Reade had shared none of his plans with the Moff or her Aide but he did have one. They were on a timeline now, each second passed was a second closer to the potential execution. The stakes had already been high but with the threat to his sister's life things had escalated to a nearly unfathomable level for the former Tholonian noble. If they agreed to meet the Director the one thing he could count on was it being a trap. There was no ambiguity about that, the only way they'd be able to accomplish what they wanted though was to spring it. Already Quin was in contact with others, the comm link in his hands chirping away.

A few minutes turned into several, turned into nearly half an hour. They were cutting things close. The van had continued driving about, constantly making turns first left, then right, sure to never develop a pattern of travel. Mr. Reade had been dreading the moment but he couldn't delay any further. He needed to reach out and make contact with the Director. It wasn't hard. Quin and his little resistance movement had been collecting data for months, it was an easy enough task to establish which route they'd need to engage to contact the Director. With a resigned sigh he punched in a few commands that would send his comm signal bouncing around hundreds of thousands of times before ending up pinging the Director's personal comm. In an even tone, Quin spoke.

"Director. I have what you want. Let those prisoners go and you can have the Moff."
​

It wasn't grandiose, it wasn't a monologue, but it would get the job done. Quin had no idea what or how the tradeoff would look like, or even what the Director would demand. It was a gamble but so was everything about living on Tholon these days, especially as former nobility.

Renata Westaway​

 

[Ares Havelock]

The gambit had worked.

"Trace the signal," the Director ordered to his staff before unmuting his comlink. "Your voice sounds so familiar," the Director said, his own voice digitally garbled by the modulator in his mask. "I could swear we've met before." The Director let it hang in the air for a moment. "I don't suppose you'd care to identify yourself. No, that would be too easy."

He looked over at his security chief, who shook her head. No luck on the trace — yet.

"I don't remember promising to release the prisoners if the Moff was returned," said the Director. "Just that I wouldn't carry out their death sentences. And as yet, I don't have Moff Westaway. In fact, I don't even know whether she is unharmed." He lifted his wrist and glanced at his watch. "Twenty minutes, my friend. Tick tick tick. But let us suppose you need a little more time. I'm willing to give you another twenty minutes if you identify yourself."

Another look at his security chief, who made a circular motion with her hands. Keep him talking.

"You surely know you won't survive long in this city after a stunt like this," said the Director conversationally. "So identify yourself and give me proof that Westaway is unharmed, and I'll offer a stay of execution a while longer." He paused a beat. "What do you say?"

Quinlan Reade​

 

[Quinlan Reade]

The Director's voice cut through the line, small bursts of static filling the blank spaces for a few moments before filtering back in. A chill shot down Quin's spine as the man's voice suggested an unknown link between the two. The would-be rebel sneered as the Director's dialogue continued. He waited to respond, letting the man's offer hang in the air before he began speaking again, this time suggesting that Quin wouldn't survive long in the city. Checking his own chrono he bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't have long if he wanted to avoid the tracing. Even with his signal bouncing between towers the Director had resources at his disposal that Quinlan couldn't even hope to replicate.

Thrusting the comm towards Renata he gently kicked her foot. "You heard him, say something." Giving her a moment to respond, he took the comm back. "Quid pro quo Director. You and I both know that if this Moff dies regardless of whose fault it is, the First Order will never sign a deal with you. They'll be out for blood and it's yours they'll be after. I'll tell you what - I'll trade you the Moff for the prisoners you have. Anberg Refinery, twenty minutes. Don't bring more than five." Abruptly Quin terminated the call, snapping the comm in two before tossing it out the window of the moving van. With a frustrated sigh Quin rubbed his temples through the face covering. Things were getting hairy.

"Give me your comm." he motioned to one of the others. Anxiously he held it between his fingers. He'd wait ten minutes and then attempt to make contact again.

Renata Westaway | Ares Havelock​

 

[Ares Havelock]

The Director leaned closer to his comlink, straining his hearing so he could hear the voice of Moff Renata Westaway when she murmured: "This is Moff Westaway. I'm unharmed. Please -- " then Reade's voice came back over the comlink. The Director inclined her head and listened to the man. He was ready to refuse; after all, it was he who set the terms, not this man. He was probably some toffee-nosed aristo upset that his silver spoons were being confiscated.

Prick.

But he was somewhat amused at the chutzpah of it all. He smirked. "Very well," he said. "Anberg Refinery. Twenty minutes. If this were a cheap holo I'd tell you to come alone, but since it's not I'll just say: don't bring anyone with you that you don't want dead." He was unsure of how much the other man had heard, but it didn't matter. He was signing his own death warrant by tangling with the Director and the TWR. "Any luck on the trace?"

"Not really," said the chief. "We think it may be from the western side of the city, but it could have been bounced off a relay there instead."

"Kriff," he murmured before he turned to face his chief. "Get a team. Five on the grounds of Anberg. Agent Nakano, since you're not one of ours, you'll add to our number. I assume you have a vested interest in keeping your countrymen alive, no?" Nakano looked grim, but nodded reluctantly. "Good then. Five of our best on the grounds of Anberg, Captain. And a hundred more covering every exit. They won't escape from us this time. And while we're out, get the intel people on this. Anyone we know that survived the occupation related to these three? Get me a list. I want to know who this one is."

"Let's go. Twenty minutes, people! Miss Nakano, with me." He pointed to two of his guards. "Take the prisoners to my barge."

Quinlan Reade​

 

[Quinlan Reade]

What to do. What to do. What to do. Doubt plagued Quin's mind as they traversed the complex network of streets, byways, and alleys they were using to get to their destination. Anberg. Why in the balance had he uttered that of all places. An abrupt change of direction sent his shoulder squarely into the door panel of the vehicle. Anberg Refinery was the best choice, it was the only choice. The multi-layered geometry, the narrow corridors, and its central location meant that there were more egress routes than you could shake a stick at. Something was still bothering him though, eating away at the back of his mind. There was no way the Director was actually going to release his prisoners was there?

A maelstrom of thoughts invaded the man's mind, each turn of the vehicle sending his train of thought careening down a different avenue. A frown developed beneath the man's mask. His jaw tensed as he bit the inside of his cheek, the pain bringing some clarity to the cacophony of the mind. The clarity however did little to quell the growing knot in his stomach. No. Forcefully Quin gripped at the reins. "Remove their hoods." his voice threatened to crack. "Ms. Westaway, I suggest you prepare yourself for departure." Reaching into his jacket he retrieved a small data chit. "Take this with you. You'll find proof of what I'm telling you - and everything we hope to achieve here. You've heard the spiel. This isn't a production, for a stage show. This isn't some grab for power. This is life, this is reality - and our reality is teetering on the brink of chaos at the hands of the magnanimous Director."

A bead of perspiration irritated Quin's eye, quickly wiped away with his sleeve. "Almost there, ETA two minutes." the driver spoke up. "Change of plans." Quinlan responded, a sigh of finality seeping out through the tones of his voice. "Get us to the good Moff's landing pad, left here." he directed. Soon enough the appointed time of their meeting would be upon them - absent Quinlan Reade. The Director would find nothing and no one at the drop point. The decision had been made. Sacrifices weren't foreign to the former Tholonian noble but the price of progress, the price of order, the price of duty was never advertised as insignificant - and it threatened to rend his soul.

Renata Westaway | Ares Havelock | Isobel Nakano​

 

[Renata Westaway]

Renata allowed herself to be jostled and handled and bundled around because she had no choice, but it was galling. Not that she was a Moff of the First Order or that she was a guest on this world, but that she was a grown person who should have her own agency made this all the more irritating. The Moff got the sense that her captor understood this and even regretted it. That gave her pause; it meant that he was more thoughtful than a random revolutionary or terrorist. He hadn't kidnapped her to try to gain leverage over the TWR, nor had he attempted to barter her to the First Order for support for his cause.

No. Quinlan Reade had taken her to educate her. He made this even more clear when his people unhooded her and he pressed a data chit into her palm. She listened, watching his face intently, and then tucked the chit into her cigarette case, the metallic walls of which would shield the chit from detection in the event of a scan. Her good eye looked between his good ones, and she made a snap decision based on her gut feeling. "I believe you," she said, her gravelly voice deep with gravitas. "And I want to help. What's the new plan?"

She glanced at Frieda, who was staring at her like she'd grown a second head. Renata could understand the woman's trepidation; Frieda hadn't seen what Renata had, hadn't learned what Renata now knew. She raised her eyebrows at the aide, a signal that Frieda should trust her, and looked back to Quinlan. "We're running out of time, Mr. Reade. How do we play this?"

Quinlan Reade​