The view from one of these dark cells was nothing short of spectacular for those who could appreciate such. The gargantuan planet of Dentari IV hovered in the eternal night, drowning out all of the stars beyond with its reflected light just beyond the transparasteel window. One of its sixteen moons was just then setting past its curvaceous horizon, and the streak of its single ring overhead provided a kaleidoscopic light show anytime the station was on the gas giant’s day side.
The station was on the day side when Dym Ledax entered his office to find his chief of security already there and waiting for him beside his black, high-density plastic desk. The Chief was a human, unlike Dym himself, standing one and nine-tenths meters tall with a streamlined muscular build, which thoroughly filled his DSA uniform. Dark brown hair was close-cropped on his head, while piercing green eyes swept across the room and locked in on their owner’s employer. Those eyes went well with the DSA standard light-gray and sky-blue overalls, as though he had always been meant to wear the uniform.
For other humans Chief Myrto cut an intimidating visage. Dym couldn’t see why. The man lacked horns of any size, and his pale-pinkish skin was almost comical. But who was he to complain? Most of Dym’s staff were human, save himself, his daughter, and a few others. If Myrto’s presence was enough to keep them in line who cared?
Fear was a valuable control, Dym mused as he approached his desk. He had found that humans could be intimidated by his Chagrian body just as easily as by his chief’s hard looks. He was a full two meters tall, made so by the large curving horns on his head. His head-tails, also ending in horns (collectively called Lethorns), were thick and tough-looking. His dark blue eyes matched his skin. His great bulk, both muscle and a healthy layer of fat on top, made him seem almost bloated to a size few humans would want to try themselves against. His robes, black with the blue and gold trim of his House, were designed to emphasize this and make him seem all the more large and important.
Dym settled his bulk into the desk’s chair before saying, “Report,” in accented Basic.
Myrto inhaled slowly before beginning. “There was an incident last night on Austeron. The Wheyga Mining & Processing Corporation is apparently dead-set against our attempts to absorb them into the collective Dentari Shipwright Association. They would prefer to maintain their independence and continue to charge us exorbitant rates for their metals rather than reap the rewards of joining the largest shipwright in Ledax’s Dominion. It is quite foolish.” “Agreed Myrto,” Dym said pulling out a drawer filled with spiced and dried fish treats. He placed one in his mouth and chewed it well before swallowing. Not even the spices, which could have brought tears to a Wookiee’s eyes, could bring any taste to the food which Dym ingested; a little-known quality of his race. “But we already know this. What of last night?”
“Two of the WMPC resistance agents sited in the incident last year at the shipyards were nearly captured around midnight. We managed to capture one, but the other escaped into hyperspace aboard an old Z-95. We were able to track his exit-vector, though I doubt he knew where he was going. Odds are he didn’t have time to finish his calculations for hyperspace before he jumped to avoid our system patrol craft. The techies tell me that if he did in fact, miraculously survive a blind jump, that his vector would have taken him through Lord Halcyon and Lord Jinn’s territories toward Hutt Space.”
“Is there a possibility that he could have “happened” to set a course to a system in particular? Someplace perhaps that might enable him to somehow get some sort of aid?” The question concerned an unlikely possibility, but it was one that had unpleasantly crossed the middle-aged Chagrian’s mind.
“Who would help them? Who could? Another Sith Lord wouldn’t lift a-“ Myrto began. He was cut off by Dym’s raised, long-nailed hand.
“Careful Myrto,” Dym started, “the Sith plot against each other constantly. Though the Empress may maintain the peace for now, the Lords of the Darkside are constantly in a state of war with each other. Anything that could make my cousin look weak would bring the Nighthunters to his door.
“I want that man caught and eliminated as a threat. Is that understood Chief Myrto?”
“Perfectly,” Myrto bowed at the waist. “The techies did suppose he might have actually had the time to do a bare-bones calculation to a planet in Hutt Space known as Nar Dundo, but they doubt it. Considering that Nar Dundo is both in the quasi-independent Hutt Space region, and that Hutt Space is under the domination of Lord Mindander, I suppose there is a chance that he might at least find some allies in Mindander’s lot as you say. But Hutt Space is 96 hours away at the rate a Z-95 travels. Even if he did make it I’d hate to see what he looked like after 96 hours straight in a one-man cockpit.”
“Still,” Dym stroked his chin, secretly dreading his cousin hearing of this incident. “I want you to prevent that at all costs. Take the Eclipser and find out the fate of our wayward resistance fighter. If he lives, make an example of him, something we can show to the others to encourage their assimilation. And prevent his contact with Lord Mindander’s men at all costs.”
“Sir,” Myrto bowed again. “It shall be done.”
With that Myrto headed for the door. When it had slid silently shut behind him, Dym turned in his chair to face the planet beyond the window. Its orange glow made his eyes look purple as he gazed. He let out a long sigh. It should not have been this hard to absorb WMPC. DSA was a hundred times its size, and had the official patronage of Lord Ledax, Dym’s cousin. Yet the smaller company persisted in its resistance. Dym was learning the hard way how pesky employee-run companies like WMPC could be.
Things had started off well enough a year ago when DSA announced the takeover, but had quickly gone into the Maw when WMPC both announced its defiance, and produced a series of “public heroes” to counter DSA’s legal maneuvering. Last month, at wit’s end, Dym had covertly authorized the use of assassins to eliminate these “public heroes”. Unfortunately, he only wound up making the situation worse as WMPC both gained martyrs and newly galvanized heroes to take the place of the old. This escapee was one of the older heroes who was still around. This one had been present during that first act of total defiance at the shipyards last year, when the WMPC had blockaded the cargo vessels carrying the processed metals from Austeron up to the shipyards here at Dentari IV. Their small shuttle-craft had proven surprisingly effective at blocking the shipment by putting multiple small vessels into the flight-paths of the massive container ships. The pilots had been wisely unwilling to risk their cargo, and had acquiesced to the WMPC terrorist demands. Dym had those captains re-assigned to other DSA operations for their failure. If he had known what a pain the WMPC would become, he would have had the captains executed, and the WMPC personnel along with them.
Now, because of escalating acts of terrorism by WMPC, Dym’s head was on his cousin’s chopping block. Profits were down, and productivity along with it. This situation could not be kept secret for much longer, and when the rest of the galaxy found out about DSA’s troubles, it would make Lord Ledax look very bad. Dym had no illusions about what would happen if that occurred. It caused him to swallow hard, and thank the Darkside that WMPC was only present in this system so that the situation could be kept carefully clandestine.
Now, however, that son of a Nerf Human had escaped the system. Every passing hour, every hour that had passed, Dym could feel himself drawing closer to a long and painful death. At least it would be at the hands of a fellow Chagrian, he contemplated. Better that than at the hands of those filthy pink-skinned Humans. For now, however, there was nothing to do about it except pray for Myrto’s success, or the resister’s death.