The Plot is Exposed

Posted on Wed May 25th, 2022 @ 9:56pm by Thane & Bomoor Thort

1,631 words; about a 8 minute read

Chapter: Chapter VI: The Last Bastion
Location: Council Chambers, Fel Citadel, Bastion
Timeline: Late Evening (Day Three, Week Four)

"Superintendent Mosquith," Moff Edwoff Anthark looked over to the newly-arrived figure stepping over the threshold on the far side of the circular chamber, his crisp, slick voice echoing about the curved walls.

The moff put on one of his showman's smiles for the garishly-adorned cyborg being, for whatever good it may do, and gestured to one of the nearby seats. It, like all of the rest, was currently unoccupied. Anthark had held a discreet meeting with the Council Committee on Un-Imperial Activities just minutes before, being a working group of Bastion moffs and their chosen underlings that were dedicated to the careful cultural development and review of their insular nation's behaviours and population.

In reality, it was a cluster of like-minded politicians that had either aligned themselves to, or been blackmailed to support, Moff Anthark's position against Grand Moff Tarses, but as they were permitted use of the Council of Moff's own meeting chamber, there was little risk of intrusion or surveillance. The timely arrival of the superintendent was almost symbolic, and Anthark was not foolish enough to not recognise that. He and the GalactaWerks Executive Morthart were the only two non-Imperials to have ever entered the room, although the Zygerrian rarely presented herself physically, preferring to use Mosquith to run her errands.

"Can I get you a drink?" He asked of the superintendent, already knowing the answer, as he tightened his grip on the chair he had positioned himself behind. Quite intentionally, the moff had hosted his meeting whilst standing beside and occasionally touching the so-called Empty Throne - the sign of the Bastion Moff Empire's enduring and self-imposed interregnum. "I tend to find wine the perfect accompaniment to good news."

“I find having a clear mind a greater accompaniment to any business matters, may they be good or bad,” the cybernetic human responded in his usual dry tone, “In any case, you might agree that the news I have is not best suited for toasting.”

Mosquith paced forwards and placed a cybernetic arm to balance himself against another chair close to the great throne. He seemed to either not realise the significance of the chamber he stood in or, more likely, did not care for the ancient imperial symbolism.

Continuing, he stated, “The information you provided to us was correct: the transport we shot down did indeed hold several of Tarses’ new conspirators from the ship recovered by the Indictor: The Ithorian and Nautolan Force users as well as the Jawa. We dispatched a ground team to the crash site to identify bodies and terminate any survivors.”

Anthark's eyes had flitted to the superintendent's heavy arm resting on the nearby chair just briefly, and the charm and joy that so regularly filled them were waning with each of Mosquith's comments. He now brought himself more heavily onto the Empty Throne, leaning forward with curious concern.

"And, being the ardent and well-trained professionals, at the height of technological prowess, you have successfully terminated this threat to our alliance and my regime?" He challenged, gaze narrowing.

Releasing his grip on the smaller chair and instead crossing his arms at the challenge, the cybernetic Human answered, “As of this moment, we have regrettably lost contact with the dispatched unit. It now seems likely that at least some of the targets will have survived. An uncharacteristic lapse in my judgement regarding the resilience of my opponent.”

He then added in a softer but more frustrated tone, “And the ineptitude of my own.”

There was a flash of anger in Anthark's eyes at the admission, although he did not hear the second comment. Although the moff appeared ready to rage at the superintendent, he kept his thin temper tightly controlled, loosed a long exhalation through his nose, eyes briefly clenched, and looked at Mosquith with a renewed smile.

"Unfortunate," he said, mouth set tightly, but his tone remained punctuated with a snide enthusiasm he seemed to inject into so many of his dealings with the corporation's representatives. "The information that Miss Wutali provided about those foreigners was quite alarming, and Valavai, in his desperation, has taken leave of his senses to give them a high degree of access within our country. Too much time in his cups, talking with that decrepit freak child of his, no doubt." The moff shook his head with frustration and a hint of genuine sadness, as he spoke of Grand Moff Tarses. "When did such great and proud men turn from reason to folly and visions?"

His eyes, which had briefly listed away from Mosquith, suddenly snapped back to him. "That was rhetorical, of course. I know you have no literary flair, Superintendent." Anthark exhaled slowly again, and he pushed himself away from the throne. "This is not beyond saving," he said, reaching the nearby platter of wine and unblemished flutes, which he began handling to pour himself a drink. "Valavai's support is crippled and his desperation in turning to these cultists and criminals is of no true importance - a mere hindrance. He may suspect our movements but he has nothing for certain, and nothing that he can act on that will turn the Council to his side."

The Human took a sip of the deep-claret wine, only taking a brief moment to savour it as it passed his lips. "I believe it might have to accelerate our strategem, however. From what I understand, Jedi are quite tricky business. Well, clearly, given this failure. We do need want their kind interfering further, when we make our move."

Mosquith’s eyes looked across the table’s dark polished surface, transected by a bright white line from the reflected light strip above. He followed the line back to where Edwoff was poised, balancing the wine flute between his fingers.

“Jedi are tricky business,” he echoed the moff’s words, “But it is still just business. It is not the first time I have dealt with their kind, and I can tell you they stay as dead as the rest of us.”

Through his expressionless mask it was hard to tell but his words had a hint of satisfaction.

In turn, Anthark smiled behind his glass at the comment.

Mosquith continued, “In the wake of our strike on his allies, it is likely that Tarses will soon accelerate his own plans so you would do well to ensure all your players are ready. Morthart has two of our own Star Destroyers prepared to enter Bastion space on your command, each carrying enough droid units to take and hold the capital. In the meantime, I will personally see to removing the Human Jedi from the equation.”

Anthark nodded, somewhat satisfied at the proposals and plans. "Good. We have all laboured far too long, and risked too much, for this to be derailed by meddlesome priests and their pet aliens," he said, now swirling the liquid in his glass. "However, I shall give the order to my own captains to ready my task force for mobilisation. He may be a fool, but Valavai still has friends in the navy, and his word will carry wei-"

The moff was interrupted by a bleeping sound emanating from the central console, a small blue light now flickering in front of the chair Anthark had occupied just minutes before. Whilst communication was unexpected, it was not extraordinary. Even when one was planning a coup and a brave new future for their country, matters of day-to-day politics did not disappear.

"Excuse me, Superintendent," he apologised to the cyborg, but saw no purpose in asking him to leave as he activated the communications device embedded in the table. There was no verbal direction from the message, but its contents caused Anthark to grip his flute more tightly, the sound of the glass straining under the force just about audible.

"Grand Moff Tarses has summoned all moffs to an extraordinary meeting of the Council," he said, eyes not deviating from the table, as his mind raced. "Does this man's buffoonery know no limits?" He then cursed and threw his glass to the floor. The final remnants of his wine splattered as the glass smashed. It was only mere seconds before a mouse droid zipped out from a small gap in the wall to clean the mess, oblivious to the circumstances behind it. "He must be desperate," the moff then muttered, loud enough to ensure Mosquith could hear him, "to bring us all together in the face of the mutiny - or sure of his new allies and their interfering."

He raised his head finally and looked to the gaps where Mosquith's eyes should be (and presumably were). "We must not allow him any advantage at this late hour, when the game is nearly ours."

“Then, this may be your final time to assert your strength in front of the old man,” Mosquith spoke sternly, “Do not allow his words to tempt support away from your cause at this critical juncture.”

The suited cyborg then straightened up and stretched the fingers on his augmented hands, “In the meantime, this meeting should finally peel the Jedi away from Tarses’ side. I will make my preparations to see him removed from our business.”

The distraction in Anthark's expression and manner was impossible to conceal or deny, yet he made a point to glance back up to the imposing machine-man and offer him a curt nod of agreement and approval. "Indeed," he managed, although his tone did not carry the level of confidence he had hoped to inject. Locking his eyes upon his peculiar ally, he managed the faintest of smiles, knowing they were now entering an endgame of sorts, albeit no longer one quite of his own making. "Good hunting to you, Superintendent."

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