DSA design held that the bridge should be nestled partially, in the middle of the last third of their standard blistered cigar shaped capital vessels. This was no different. Mid-way up the walls of the bridge the chamber stopped being nestled and its outer skin was actually in contact with the void. It allowed for some niceties in that room, such as a sky-dome of transparasteel which showed spectacularly the starry-night of the galactic panorama. It also necessitated a separate bridge-shield generator, just in case, which unfortunately meant that the air of the bridge was constantly ruined by a pulsing whine whenever that generator was active. It was a design flaw that had been notoriously difficult to design out.
It gave Myrto amusement to see the new crewmembers be driven slowly mad by the pulsing of the shield. He’d been known to have fun with it, turning it on unnecessarily just to watch the crew twitch. The older crewmembers weren’t as fun, they got used to it, or just really good at ignoring it.
Well-lit, with mostly silver and cream-colored paneling didn’t exactly scream sinister overlord, but Myrto mused that it was the deceptive sort of dominating visage which he could appreciate. If you always kill with a smile and they will fear you even more. That was his personal philosophy, and one that he believed had awarded him the high position he now held in the DSA.
“I’m sorry sir,” the crewman manning the sensor said aloud, “the planet’s radiation levels are obscuring their signature. I’ve lost them.”
Myrto rubbed his chin with his left hand. “That’s why I wanted you to catch them before they hit the planet’s atmosphere.” Myrto indicated to the helmsman.
“Sorry sir,” he responded, “but the enemy vessel had some sort of hyperthruster. Once that was active we didn’t have a chance.”
“All I’m hearing,” Myrto said threateningly, “is a bunch of 'sorrys' from a bunch of sorry crewmen. I want to be hearing about our success within the next twenty-four hours. Here’s what we’re going to do to accomplish that. I want a shuttle prepped and ready, loaded with probe droids and troops, and I want it within the hour.”
“Yes sir,” the crewman in charge of ordinance responded.
“Sir,” the weapons crewman asked, “why don’t we just send in our fighters and-“
“Stop right there,” Myrto responded. “I am not here to start an armed conflict with Lord Mindander, which is what your fool action would do. Remember, though we are in Hutt space, Hutt space is part of Lord Mindander’s territory, and we must respect that. I’m surprised you’d be so stupid as to ask something this inane. In fact, you’re docked one day’s pay for that stupid comment.”
The weapons crewman blanched and began to study his panel with faux intensity.
“Let’s get it together people,” Myrto spoke in a commanding voice. “We have a chance here to get rid of a dangerous subversive. Don’t screw this up.”
“Sir,” the communications officer said timidly. “We have a priority one transmission incoming from DSA Central.”
“I’ll take it in my ready room,” Myrto responded rising from his chair. As he stood the sensors in the seat detected it and automatically lowered the command chair to the deck-level.
Myrto stepped out of the command module and headed off to a door in the wall behind him. Upon arriving at the door a sensor scanned his body and then beeped once. The rectangular door rose up into the wall, and Myrto passed through the doorway into a darkened room beyond.
Within that room was a high-density plastic desk at the far wall. Beyond that was an octagonal window-façade which displayed the view which the ship’s sensors saw from the bow. Before the desk on the floor was a circular device, a holotransmitter/receiver, the rim of which illuminated and rose slightly out of the ground as Myrto approached.
The three-dimensional image of Chairman Dym Ledax appeared hovering above the circle. It flickered and wavered periodically, but the glowing blue visage was clear, and the sound perfect.
“Myrto,” Dym began, “report.”
“Just as we predicted,” Myrto responded, stopping his advance into the room a meter from the device. Behind him the door slid quietly shut. “The dissident Drex Odagon’s stolen Z-95 appeared in-system some short minutes ago. He is no longer alone, I might add, he seems to have hired some sort of junk-freighter captain. They escaped into the atmosphere of the planet.”
There was a five-minute delay while the ship accessed the Sith Holonet and gave it the proper codes to verify the hyperwave relay was legitimate. Myrto mocked those not capable of utilizing this form of transmission. A communication from nearly the other side of the galaxy such as this one would take hours as each participant would have to wait fifteen minutes for a reply. With the relays up, communication was nearly instantaneous. It was part of how the Sith Lords maintained control of the galaxy. They had the monopoly on swift communication.
“Escaped?” Dym’s eyes widened when the relay was established. “I can’t have them escaping Myrto. Should the dissident make it to a friendly ear on Nar Dundo-“ Dym paused for effect. “Need I refresh your memory of our conversation Myrto?”
“No sir,” Myrto responded, un-phased by his boss’s bravado. “I am already taking steps to secure the dissident without provoking the locals. You don’t have to tell me the consequences of involving Lord Mindander.”
“That’s good,” Dym said sarcastically, “good that I have such thoughtful minions. The next time we speak I want you to report that the dissident is your prisoner.”
“I understand sir,” Myrto responded, bowing slightly. “What of the one we captured?”
Dym’s pudgy face cracked into a cruel smile for the first time in this exchange. “He broke this morning. We now have names and places of resisters and their strongholds. Which reminds me, it would seem that they have a contact on Nar Dundo. The name is Kirdah Urka, a bottom dwelling Bothan information dealer. You can find her at a place down on the planet called the Unlucky Moon.”
“Ah,” Myrto nodded. ‘Just remembered’ did he? Myrto almost laughed at the fat Chagrian’s attempt to play with his head. Dym was like that, and Myrto knew that one day it would land the Chagrian out an airlock without a suit. He waited patiently for that day; he would get a good laugh out of it.
“Thank you for the information sir,” Myrto bowed. “If you will allow me, I will get back to hunting our prey.”
“Dedicated as always,” Dym chortled, “that’s why I keep you around. Go do me proud.”
Myrto deepened his bow as the holoprojector switched off and retracted. Straightening Myrto reached down to his belt and withdrew his comlink. He thumbed the two and a half-inch long cylinder and raised it to his mouth. The faint light of the stars reflected in his emerald eyes.
“Ordinance,” he said, “there’s been a change of plans.”