Hades

[Prisoner 4-2513193]

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Deep within the borders of Imperial space, Ryden Waite stood in the central operations room of the Hades. His hands were folded behind his back, resting lightly against the starched fabric of his uniform. His boots had been polished, the command disc on his belt-buckle shone in the low-lighting of the information centre and on his chest was displayed the red and blue plaque which identified him as an officer and captain of the Imperial Navy. It would have been easy, given his current assignment, to allow such manners of decorum to slip but his was a life of routine, habit and ritual, never-mind the fact that the Hades was expecting an important visitor.

Waite watched the ship's radar visualisation, the emptiness of space negated by only a single green dot moving towards the Hades. Ryden Waite had spent enough time in front of that screen to know that there was less than an hour before the green dot reached the central point on the radar, and the approaching shuttle docked with the Hades.

“Tertiary security clearance confirmed, Captain” a communications crewman said, drawing a nod from Waite. Guests aboard his ship were few and far between. Few people wanted to visit an Imperial prison barge, after all, and those who did rarely got to opportunity to leave, unless they were exiting by an airlock. The crew had been given an almost autonomous command over the vessel, as long they kept its passenger load of political dissidents and radicals under lock and key. A yearly inspection from command and the occasional, tolerable presence of an intelligence agent scraping the bottom of the proverbial barrel were the only anomalous occurrences Waite had to contend with.

Until now, at least.

“Docking codes confirmed, Captain. Shuttle Esk-16 should be aboard in five minutes.”

Waite drew in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling, then gave a final nod.

The necessary preparations and precautions had been made. It was time to welcome the Hades' guests' aboard.

[Miranda Tarkin]

Engines powered down as the shuttles hydraulics hissed and whined under the stress of space travel as the ramp lowered to allow its crew to disembark before the Hades honor guard. Red fabric billowed from the rush of displaced air, the only sign of movement seen thus far. Upon the resonating thud of durasteel against durasteel, motion came from above as heavy boots and the clanging of force pikes hit the ramp in sequential unison. Even the darkly grey garbed figure that walked behind them followed perfectly.

In back and in front, a pair of Crimson Guards vigilantly watched over their charge - the Empress Miranda Tarkin. Brown eyes scanned who were present and fear was the main emotion settling amongst the crew, however the excitement in the air made the stoic visage of Tarkin briefly flicker a small smirk. This ship held little to none of that over the years, with good reason. They were in charge of dangerous political dissidents and sworn to keep this place secure and secret. Miranda herself had heard the rumors of Hades but it wasn't until her coronation as Empress, was she privy to its true existence.

The fiasco on Coruscant was at least attributed to a real plan once the Inquisitors had allowed the Empress in on their plan. And here she was, waiting for Captain Waite to address her as her guards parted to allow him access before the military commander of all Imperial Armies and Fleets - and who commanded such presence in her tailored uniform that had become a staple of Tarkin when seen in matters of official capacity.

[Prisoner 4-2513193]

The captain came forward alone, a few of his carefully chosen subordinates standing at a suitable distance behind him. They clicked their boot heels together and gave a crisp salute in unison. It had been a keystone of all of their training that looking a superior in the eye was disrespectful though Waite could not stop his eyes from briefly locking with Miranda Tarkin's. He squared his shoulders, drawing in a breath that lifted his chest.

“Your Imperial Majesty. Welcome aboard the Hades. The ship and it's crew are at your disposal. How may we serve you?”

[Miranda Tarkin]

Appraising the men under Captain Waite's command, she had not missed the brief moment that connected her to the Captain. Was it curiosity that held their eyes together for that split second, some odd curiosity that was evoked? The connection disappeared and manners returned.

Snapping her fingers, one of the Guards presented the Captain with a datapad. "Contained within is what I'm looking for. A prisoner of great importance."

[Prisoner 4-2513193]

The captain accepted his orders with a nod. Hurriedly reading, it took a matter of moments to digest the information that had been presented to him. Deep down, Waite had suspected from the moment he'd learned of the Empress's impending arrival that she hadn't come to inspect the Hades or applaud the crew on its commendable service. Her manner was direct and to the point, her purpose clear: there was one very particular inmate that she intended to visit and question.

“Of course.” Waite's jaw tightened as he glanced sharply to his left, handing off the datacard to one of his officers.

“Prepare the prisoner for interrogation.”

[Miranda Tarkin]

She felt that fluttered of anticipation dissolve into disappointment. However Waite's desire to be acknowledged did not belabor his duties and outwardly.

"We will have a few minutes while the prisoner and the room are ready," Miranda said, already nudging the group along with a few short steps. It was a subtle indication that the Empress wanted things to progress immediately. "I have read your reports. Everything is running smoothly and I'm particularly pleased at the continuous drills ran, ensuring that if this vessel were compromised, there would be nothing to fear."

Miranda's brown eyes turned harsh as they focused upon the Captain, testing him. "Am I right, Captain?"

[Prisoner 4-2513193]

Captain Waite fell into step alongside the Empress, his hands crossed at the small of his back as he kept her brisk pace. “Certainly, your majesty. The Hades has maintained a flawless record throughout its twelve years of service. No one gets in or out on my watch without my say so.”

The Hades' reputation was not well known, precisely because anyone thrown into it's cells never got out to spread rumours about the place. Only the most senior Imperial officials had knowledge of its existence and its location, at any one time. Even the supply fleet which periodically restocked its fuel and supplies was not privy to the Hades' true purpose in the galaxy.

“This way,” Waite gestured ahead as the path split into multiple directions. “Cell-block four is this way. We should have your man out of carbon-stasis in a matter of minutes.”

[Miranda Tarkin]

She knew that some of the prisoners were put into carbon freeze. Difficult it was for one to escape when you were encapsulated and forced into a deep sleep. Such expensive precautions were reserved for the most valuable of political and extremist terrorists, and well worth the possibility that they might not survive the process.

Just as unpredictable was the condition in which the prisoner would be when they were awoken. It depended upon the time and physical quality of the specimen. Death was rare and if that occurred with this particular prisoner...

That was getting ahead of herself. First one had to see what lay before them before acting on mere possibilities. "Excellent. As long as he isn't confused from the hibernation sickness, I can begin immediately."

[Prisoner 4-2513193]

When they woke him, he was blind. There were sounds but they were distant, as if he were languishing at the bottom of a deep dark pool of water, only aware of his surroundings when a ripple of movement brushed against him. They had taken the precaution of securing him to a chair, his wrists and ankles shackled in place, the only things stopping his body from sinking to the ground, limp and numb. One of the prison guards came forward and jabbed him with a shockprod. The current threw his head backwards, his body spasmodic, nerves bulging thickly on his neck.

As the guard yanked the prod away, Dasquian's head lolled backwards, blood stained his lips and teeth.

[Miranda Tarkin]

Miranda sat across from the prisoner, out of arms and legs reach. Both members of the current conversation was flanked by armed guards - though the Empress was protected by the Crimson Guards. An odd aloof expression was displayed upon the Empress' face, who felt utterly relax and at home in the chair in which she sat.

"Not presentable at all," she said and nodded towards one of the guards behind the prisoner. He immediately rung out a cloth of cool water and began to wash his soiled face and lips gently.

[Prisoner 4-2513193]

There was something almost tender in the touch of the cloth that wiped the dark, dry blood from his lips; the prison officers aboard the Hades never could decide whether they'd get better results with an open palm or a closed fist.

At first, Dasquian did not move. His throat tightened as he swallowed. He flexed his fingers, the tips tingling as feeling spread back into them. Emerging from carbon-statis felt like waking up inside someone else's skin, limbs dull and heavy from lack of use. Gradually, he shifted in his chair until he was half-sitting half-slouching and could see the woman sitting opposite him.

“If I'd known you were coming,” he began, his voice cracking with every other word. “I would have.. washed my hair and.. had a shave.”

[Miranda Tarkin]

"It's so delightful to see that the carbonite sleep hasn't affected your charming wit, Mr. Belargic," droned out the Empress before a grin imprinted upon her face. "I trust you feel well rested? Well cared for considering a man of your prominence has become a guest of the Empire?"

Her grin widened. She loved a good verbal spar filled with feign pleasantries right before the hammer fell.

[Prisoner 4-2513193]

“This is the.. best.. all expenses paid spa vacation I've ever been on, although the.. masseuse has been a touch too rough.”

He tried to drawn himself further up in his chair and winced as his wrists and ankles chafed against his restraints. His head sagged forwards, though he tried to keep his vision focused on Miranda. Dasquian licked his lips. They tasted like iron.

“To what do I owe the.. dubious pleasure of your company today, your.. Highness?”

[Miranda Tarkin]

"What can I say?" She flashed an enchanting smile, "My guards know how to entertain our high priority guests."

Leaning forward, Miranda's grin disappeared but her face lost none of its charm. "Of course I'm inclined to improve our high quality standards if you're willing to work with me. If not well ..."

She shrugged nonchalantly, "I'm sure that you'll be begging for carbonite sleep before the night is over."

[Prisoner 4-2513193]

Dasquian shared a smile with the Empress.

It wasn't hard to be cavalier, given the circumstances. Men who had something to lose had to weigh up their bets carefully, choosing when to gamble and when to hold. When you had nothing to lose or gain from a situation however, aside from a few more bruises and broken bones, there was no harm in showing a little audacity.

“Do you interrogate all of the prisoners here.. or should I be flattered that you've come to.. wear me out yourself?”

[Miranda Tarkin]

"Mr. Belargic, let me make this perfectly clear. Either you learn to cooperate or fall back into a dreamless sleep without ever knowing if I allowed the Director of Rebellion Intelligence to live or die."

Miranda smiled a feigned smile of sympathy. "I'm sure you know of who I speak of."

[Prisoner 4-2513193]

“Ah, the infamous Imperial negotiation technique: give us what we want or we'll... fire your nearest and dearest out of an airlock.”

Belargic shook his head faintly. His shoulders fell as he exhaled.

“What do you expect me to tell you?”

[Miranda Tarkin]

"It's rather simple really. You tell me where the Wheel is, and I will not kill her or you."

Miranda was only looking for one Jedi in particular. Her sister, but Belargic didn't need to know that.

"Accommodations for you both will improve greatly and you can be reunited in not quite the typical happy ending. However, you will be alive."

[Prisoner 4-2513193]

“The Wheel?” Dasquian began to laugh but soon found himself choking back a spluttering cough. He hadn't spent long aboard the Hades before a member of staff let slip that the existence of the Wheel - which was still a topic of rumor and speculation within the Alliance - was an open secret throughout the Imperial military.

“How long have I been in here? Months, maybe a year, cut off from the Galaxy. How could I possibly have any idea where the Wheel is?”

[Miranda Tarkin]

"Doesn't matter. All I need is its last known location. I can take care of the rest."

He could speculate all he wanted, but Dasquian didn't have to realize that a full year had passed.

[Prisoner 4-2513193]

Dasquian locked eyes with the Empress. Now it was his turn to grin, although there was something of a grimace about the expression too.

“I can draw you a map, if you like. Just... loosen these cuffs a little.”

[Miranda Tarkin]

"Now you know I cannot do that," she said with a matching grin and snapped her fingers. The Crimson Guard behind her pulled out a portable spherical device and hit the button on top. A map of the galaxy appeared, turning slowly as planets and sectors appeared.

"But you can tell me where it is on this one."

[Prisoner 4-2513193]

For a short while, Dasquian simply stared at the holo-map. Instinct urged him to search the map for anything out of the ordinary, any signs of how the Galaxy had changed in his absence, but there were no clues to be found. Nothing that would give any hint to his current location or the Empire's own proximity to secret bases and outposts of the Rebellion that were scattered throughout the Outer Rim Territories.

After what felt like a suitably irritating amount of time had passed, Belargic nodded at no specific point within the map.

“Plot a course for the second star to the right, and go straight on till morning.”

[Miranda Tarkin]

Miranda shook her head, looking smitten with Belargic's charm and how it only became better with time. "Obviously I've not made myself clear."

Pulling out a thin cylindrical device from her pants pocket, she pointed it at the nearest viewscreen that Belargic's attention could be on fully. A similar interrogation room appeared, however, the participants in the discussion had changed - as well as the civility of the discussion. An Imperial Inquisitor was focusing upon his datapad as the woman across from him was using all of her willpower to not scream as the cybernetic device that was screwed onto her head stimulated neural impulses within the brain to cause excruciating pain.

Dasquain would recognized the woman immediately as Grace Van-Derveld.

"There are actually sixty settings that increase the intensity of the pain felt. So far she has managed to make it to ten. Most don't live past fifteen. Though I will give her credit, usually they are screaming by now ..."

[Prisoner 4-2513193]

The video feed became blurred for a moment as the holocam zoomed in and refocused on Grace's face. Her jaw was set rigid, her teeth just visible behind twitching lips. Though her eyes were screwed shut, tears streaked down her cheeks.

For Dasquian, the image felt like a punch to the gut. Time after time, the Empire's interrogator's had tried to use Grace against him but this was the first time that they'd proved, beyond doubt, that there threats were not empty – that it was within the Empire's power to make Grace Van-Derveld suffer.

In the many nights before he had been confined to carbon stasis, Dasquian had convinced himself that he wouldn't see Grace again. He had become resigned to a reality of simply existing, being pushed and pulled into and out of consciousness at the whims of his captors. They would never let him go and he would never give them the information they wanted. They couldn't kill him, of course. Sanya Tagge had been denied that pleasure because the Inquisitors believed that he could be broken, in time.

Looking into Grace's face, contorted with torturous agony, Dasquian wondered for a moment if the Inquisitors were right. On the holo-feed, the robed Inquisitor tapped at the controls in his hands and Grace's back arched forward as a new level of pain was thrust upon her.

“She won't scream,” he said, only turning away from the video stream to meet Miranda Tarkin's expression with a stare that barely hinted at the loathing he felt for her.

[Miranda Tarkin]

Extending her hands, Miranda shrugged, "This has nothing to do with making her scream and everything to do with ceasing her suffering."

Another adjustment and they were at the next setting. Grace's head immediately thrashed back and forth in silence, her face curled in horrendous pain. Hands smashed down against the arms of the chair - anything to release the pain that ignited every synapse throughout her body to explode in searing, hot pain.

"However," she folded her hands within her lap and looked to Dasquian, eyes imploring him to concede, "That choice remains with you and only you."

[Prisoner 4-2513193]

No longer able to watch and unwilling to look the Empress in the eye, Dasquian's gaze fell slowly to the ground, staring sightlessly at the stainless durasteel floor. There was no choice for him to make. He could not sacrifice the safety and security of the Alliance to save Grace, no matter how much he might want to.

“I'm getting tired, Miranda...”

[Miranda Tarkin]

"Hmm, so am I."

She motioned for the guards behind Belargic to stand him up. Grabbing him under the shoulder, they forced him to stand after unlocking his wrists, though his legs were still secured in place at the moment.

"Honestly, Belargic I knew this would be a waste of time, but I had to give it a try." The Empress stood and straightened her uniform jacket before punching the comm system.

"Kill her." They were two simple words that were spoken with such callousness.

On the monitor, it happened so fast that Belargic would have little time to process what had happened. Grace stiffened in the chair for a moment and glared up at the screen before attempting to yank free in her last futile attempt to escape.

The the monitor flashed red as the guard behind her had already taken out his blaster pistol and shot Grace in the back of the head. Her body convulsed once before her head rolled forever, and the rest of her fell limp.