Private Under/World | Invite

[Quinlan Reade]

"The plan Moff Westaway..." he returned to using her formal title. ".. is for you to take my plea back to your government. Help me restore the order of things here. Lives depend on it. Lives are being paid for it." his voice wavered and he took a moment to collect himself. They were getting close now, only a few more minutes before they'd arrive at the landing pad. If his gamble panned out it would be nearly deserted - all the Director's men diverted to Anberg. Anxiously he looked at his chrono. Any minute now the Director would find that Quinlan and his associates weren't coming. Quin knew the Director wasn't bluffing when he had threatened exectution, it had happened a hundred times before but none had felt as pivotal as this. None had felt as personal as this.

"Sacrifices must be made, some not of our own choosing but of circumstance. I hope this underscores just how critical our situation is." Quin managed to choke out. With a wide sweep the vehicle came to an abrupt halt. "We're here." Quin nodded, opening the hatch and stepping onto the abandoned landing pad - abandoned save for the Moff's ship. "I wouldn't linger - if the Director finds out you've got that data he won't let you leave, no doubt blaming your death on my cohorts and I." Quin bit the inside of his cheek. "I guess we're off to see if there isn't some way to save the hostages. I hope you make it back to your Order." he said, extending a hand. They weren't exactly friends, he had kidnapped the Moff but he hoped that at some level the Moff was able to see what was really happening here on Tholon.

Isobel Nakano | Renata Westaway | Ares Havelock​

 

[Renata Westaway]

Renata looked out the window and started as she saw her shuttle. The man was as good as his word after all. She smiled sadly, knowing that he was likely to suffer a great tragedy this day. That he was willing to let Renata go, giving up his one potential ace in the hole, spoke to his decency as a person. He must have realized the terrible price he would pay -- or perhaps he simply realized that with Renata in hand or without, the hostages were going to die anyway. Renata fumbled in her pockets and finally withdrew a business card. "My office frequency," she pointed at one number, then the next. "My personal frequency. Stay in touch, Mr. Reade. I'll do whatever I can to help you."

She took his hand and, for a moment, was on the verge of imploring him to come away with her, and tell his story for himself to the Moff Council, but she sensed that he needed to be here: to try and get his sister and those other poor people back from the Director. So instead, Renata pumped his hand a few times. "Please take care of yourself. And if push comes to shove, try not to shoot at my bodyguard. Unfortunately, we don't have time to wait for her. Good luck, Mr. Reade."

She disembarked the shuttle and helped Frieda off, rushing towards the shuttle, and at the last minute turned to give Reade's shuttle one last look. With a half-raised hand, she waved once more before hurrying up the boarding ramp. Moments later, the shuttle streaked out of the docking area, blasting past TWR patrols and streaking into hyperspace. Renata asked the pilot to stop in the nearest friendly system so she could get back in touch with the Director. She only hoped that it wouldn't be too late.

Quinlan Reade | Ares Havelock​

 

[Ares Havelock]

Ares stood in an ancient dirigible. It was an older model, showing the patches where it was repaired year over year, patches over patches. It creaked when you opened a door. Half the windows didn't open. A true safety inspection would have grounded the monstrosity. The Director didn't care. He stood at the rear of the cargo bay. The vehicle had been designed to float precious minerals from the mines to the processing centers and refineries closer to the surface, but since there were only seven people in a space designed for several tons of metal, it felt like a cave. The wind whistling through the open maw of the cargo loading ramp reinforced the feeling.

Thus, it was strange to look out of the mouth of this cave to see nothing but empty space for many dozens of meters below. Steam rose from the main furnace of the refinery directly below them. The Director glanced at his wristwatch, then turned back to the group. "Well -- " he began, but fell silent when his comlink chirped. "What?" he demanded sharply. The voice on the other end of the line told him about an incoming message. He grunted and agreed to the communication request. When the connection resolved, he could see the grim, drawn face of Renata Westaway on the screen. Her blonde head stayed resolutely still as she looked with her one good eye into the camera.

"Director, as you can see I am entirely unharmed. I have left the planet due to the dangerous situation there. I'm sorry that we were unable to meet. I implore you to call off your threat of execution for those people."

"And why," asked the Director, his dangerous quiet voice modulating through his mask, "would I do that? These people are guilty of counter-revolutionary activities, the punishment for which is death." He paused, noting the look of quiet desperation in the Moff's eye. His head cocked to one side almost imperceptibly. "Justice demands that they be treated the same way as anyone else in this situation. What makes them special?"

Renata's eyebrows furrowed. "Your sentencing was in relation to my abduction. I am safe. There is no need to threaten them."

"Criminals," the Director spat disdainfully. "They would have been sentenced, regardless. Perhaps to prison labor, but the result is the same. We will not tolerate counter-revolutionary activities on Tholon. I will not permit them — or anyone else — to exploit the workers of Tholon."

She looked unimpressed, in fact she looked even slightly exasperated. "I find it difficult to believe that you think these people are a national security risk. A man, an elderly woman, and a girl who looks barely old enough to have graduated school. Come now, Director. Let's stop this. Stop this, and we — the First Order and the Republic — may well be able to make a deal."

The Director snorted. "This is not your concern, Moff Westaway. The First Order has no jurisdiction here, and no power to enforce its whims." He looked into the camera through the darkened eyeholes in his mask "I know why you came here, Moff. It doesn't take a brain surgeon to know that you need Doonium and other metals we have here. We get holovision here, you know. We see the moves you're making. The imperialist war machine will need to bed fed. Who's going to give it to you? One of the other major powers, all of whom will look to smother you in your crib? This is always the way of those who seek to exploit the weak: eliminate any potential threat before it starts being a threat. Surely I need not tell you that." He paused. "How about this, Moff? You stay out of our affairs and I will consider supplying the First Order with the materials you need... for the right price."

"Director, you must not --"

Ares handed the device off to the Captain and unceremoniously hurled the old woman out of the cargo bay, Her terrified scream was audible even after she disappeared down the furnace vent, cutting out in a sickeningly absolute silence. "Tholon answers to Tholon, Moff Westaway. Not to you, and not to the First Order. I'll be in touch about that Doonium."

Quinlan Reade​