“What do you mean, they escaped?” the man behind the desk gripped the desk to prevent himself from choking the messenger, his knuckles white from the effort. “I guess I should have expected this, with imbeciles guarding the store” he muttered half to himself.
From the other side of the room, a voice spoke from the shadows. “If you had only listened. I told you we wouldn’t be able to contain them indefinitely.”
“I thought that was your job, anyway? You hung out with these, what did you call them? Light Sabers? For years. Even generations if you’re to be believed.”
“Of course I’m to be believed.” Hightower’s voice held a dangerous edge. “I have been part of their Council for a long time, as were my father and grandfather before me. Whoever is behind this has to be working without the knowledge of the Council. Otherwise, I would have seen it coming and they would have ended up like that idiot, Adams when I blew up the mine.”
“So, what you’re saying is someone has gone rogue and you’ve no idea who it is or what they might do next.” It was not a question.
“That’s partially true.” Hightower admitted grudgingly. “I have to assume those I held captive are at least partially to blame.
“As such, you have no idea of their capabilities.” Again, it wasn’t a question.
“Not yet, but I plan to.” Hightower preferred making others look foolish.
“Do you think they’ve heard you sold them out, or at least, sold out their Council?” the man asked softly, the menace clear in his voice.
“Sold out is such a horrid phrase.” Hightower hedged.
“Just calling a spade a spade.”
“I trust you’ll remember who brought this proposition to you in the first place; whose family spent years setting things up to put you in the position of power you obviously enjoy.” Hightower once again took the offensive.
“I’m beginning to wonder if partnering with you was such a good idea, cousin or no.”
“You know it’s our destiny to hold power. Allowing the Transition to occur would mean power would belong to all, instead of the select few who deserve it and know what to do with it.” Warming to his favorite subject, Hightower seemed ready to launch into another of his grand speeches regarding his family’s entitlement to rule the pitiful masses.
Unwilling to waste time listening to something he’d heard dozens of times before, the man behind the desk held up his hand for silence.
“All I really care about at this particular moment is you do whatever is necessary to stop those people. We cannot afford any more mistakes.” Reversing his wheelchair, he rolled towards the doors which opened behind him. Turning when he reached them, he added almost as an afterthought, “And try to refrain from any more pyrotechnics, would you? You might as well put up a neon sign pointing to our offices.” Pushing the lever on his chair he rolled through the doors which slid closed behin...