“A nice ship to add to our collection,” Nolaa said. “Unfortunately, it won’t augment the military branch of our fleet.”
Hovrak rubbed his claws together. “But the Diversity Alliance cannot depend on military might alone, Esteemed Tarkona. Though we have the moral high road, we do not have the strength of numbers; it is possible we never will. We must win the battle through other means.”
“Our time is running out!” Nolaa snapped. She clenched her jagged teeth, which she had recently filed sharp again. “That is why we must obtain the plague! Where is Bornan Thul?”
She scowled, staring toward the heavy blast doors that sealed the opening to the smallcraft bay in the cliffside. “I am astonished at that human’s resourcefulness. He should have been captured and brought to me months ago.” Her hand squeezed into a fist so tight that her pointed claws drove into the skin of her palm, drawing dark blood.
“We’ve raised the bounty,” Hovrak said. “Soon Fonterrat’s navicomputer will be in our possession, and we can find the Emperor’s plague storehouse.”
Nolaa shook her head, her tattooed head-tail swaying from side to side.
“We’ve already offered enough credits to interest everyone with any talent. We need a lucky break. We need someone to come across the right clue.”
She focused her pale eyes on the Rock Dragon as the Sullustan pilot set the craft down and shut off the repulsorlifts. She scowled again and turned to Hovrak. “Run a full data check on this vessel. I want to know everything about it.” Her face held a troubled expression. “It probably has nothing to do with Bornan Thul, of course. The ship is of Hapan design, and the Hapans are not allied with the Bornaryn fleet—at least we don’t think so.”
The Sullustan pilot popped his head out of the Rock Dragon’s hatch and jabbered something about how well the passenger cruiser handled.
He bowed respectfully to Nolaa before Hovrak shooed him away.
The Trandoshan representative entered the landing bay, stamping his feet. Corrsk sniffed, scanned the area with his orange eyes, rippled the armored scales on his hide. His muscles bunched and he crushed his wide jaw together with displeasure, sampling the air. He eyed the Rock Dragon with instinctive loathing, then went directly to Nolaa Tarkona.
“You seem agitated, Corrsk,” she said. “What are your concerns?”
Corrsk inhaled deeply and. shook his massive head. “Smell Wookiee. Trandoshan hate Wookiee.”
He glared at the Rock Dragon. “Human ship. Should be no Wookiee there.”
Nolaa remembered that earlier in the day Raabakyysh, Lowbacca, and Sirrakuk had worked on ships in the smallcraft bay, tinkering with engine systems and sharing maintenance suggestions.
All of their jobs had been tracked by the headquarters’ exhaustive computerized record systems. The residual scent of Wookiee fur must still be hanging in the air, Nolaa thought, though she herself could not detect it.
“Make peace with your primal desires, Corrsk,” Nolaa said, her voice firm but understanding. “I know Wookiees are your natural enemies, but in the Diversity Alliance we rise above such things. We have one true enemy: the New Republic, the humans … those who would deny us our rights as sentient beings. Don’t waste your time on the wrong target.”
“Kill humans?” Corrsk said. “Haven’t killed any humans yet.” He drew in a snarling, hissing breath.
Nolaa nodded in commiseration. “I sympathize. I can’t wait until we are finally able to obliterate their despised race—but for that to happen, the Diversity Alliance must work together. If the Empire and the Rebels could call a temporary truce at Bakura, then we must show ourselves superior to them. We can have a lasting peace among alien species.”
The Trandoshan nodded, and his wide shoulders sagged with the difficulty of the task she had set for him.
“Your anger is a good thing, Corrsk—if you know how to use it properly.”
The Trandoshan drifted away, still uneasy. He remained suspicious, but Nolaa did not question him.
Perhaps the scaly predator would find some detail they needed to know. She decided it would be best to leave him alone.
Nolaa turned to Hovrak. “Get to work on identifying that ship and its history,” she said. “Keep me apprised of your progress.”
After Hovrak bowed low, clenching his clawed hands, he rushed off down a corridor to his work.
Several other tunnels and transport trains led to the deep excavation mines, ore shipment centers, and terminus rails. Nolaa glanced at each tunnel, studied the activity in the smallcraft bay for a moment, then headed back toward her own private chambers, where she could think, where she could feel safe.
Humans had committed so many crimes against alien species throughout history, she thought bitterly. Even though these tunnels were her place of power, Nolaa Tarkona did not feel absolutely protected anywhere. And the mystery of this unoccupied Hapan ship made her far more nervous than she could allow Hovrak or Corrsk to see.
When she returned to her throne room grotto, Nolaa intended to relax and let waves of contemplation sweep over her. She wanted to sit back under the brilliant scarlet banners of the Diversity Alliance and think of her overall plan, how her group could achieve its magnificent goals.
Her visions of the future inspired her.
But before she had relaxed for even two minutes, a Duros communications specialist swept into her room. The alien’s sunken, noseless face and blue skin, his squared-off head and wide, pupilless eyes, gave him the appearance of a mummy. He moved very quickly, as if agitated.
The Duros bowed perfunctorily and said in a watery voice, “Esteemed Tarkona, you have a message from the bounty hunter Boba Fett. He wishes to speak privately with you.”
Nolaa was startled. The masked bounty hunter would not call unless he had something important to tell her. She hoped the news was good, but she feared his message was something she would not want to hear.
Nolaa went into her isolated office, stood by the polished black table, and activated the inset holoscreen. Fett’s helmeted head appeared.
He nodded slightly as he spoke, but she could see no other indication that anything human or alive hid beneath the slitted Mandalorian visor.
“Nolaa Tarkona,” he said, “two of us found Bornan Thul.”
Her heart leaped, but Fett’s voice did not carry a gloating or triumphant tone. “He escaped us—but not without assistance, and only temporarily. I am confident I will bring him to you before long.”
“You communicate with me simply to report failure?” Nolaa demanded. “I’m beginning to believe, Boba Fett, that your reputation is undeserved.”
“It is deserved well enough,” Fett said. His voice remained neutral, as if he was incapable of taking offense. “Thul has proved to be considerably more skillful than I had anticipated—but I enjoy the challenge.”
“Why did you call, then?” Nolaa asked. “I am very busy.”
“To inform you of a new enemy, a bounty hunter who helped Thul escape. Either Dengar or I would have secured the item you seek, had it not been for this traitor’s meddling.”
“Who?” Nolaa demanded. “Who is this traitor?”
“His name is Zekk,” Fett said. “The young man seemed naive. He claimed to be in training as a bounty hunter. But he turned against us and Bornan Thul slipped away.”
Nolaa Tarkona seethed. Everything seemed to fall apart and become complicated, when it should have been so simple! Without even answering, she severed the transmission link. She clamped her mouth shut and allowed the anger to boil within her. New enemies cropped up everywhere, and the Diversity Alliance’s battle grew more and more difficult each day.
But this fury did not drain her; it tempered her, adding endurance. She had told Corrsk that his anger was a good thing if directed at the proper target—and Nolaa Tarkona had many targets indeed.