She could see that he bore a dispatch in his hairy paw.
With his other hand Hovrak brushed down the dark brown fur that bristled on his face. He bared his teeth in a gesture of respect and said, “Esteemed Tarkona, I have excellent news—dispatches from two more candidate worlds.”
“Good.” Nolaa bowed her head, twitching her one remaining head-tail in satisfaction.
The burned stump of the other jiggled in a reflex of long-remembered pain.
Hovrak kept a long and detailed list on an electronic datapad, recording all known nonhuman species. It was his intent, and hers—to recruit members from each one of those species for the Diversity Alliance.
“First off,” the wolfman said, speaking in a sharp voice, as if trying to bite off each word as it emerged from his mouth, “we have a pledge from a self-appointed United Council of Bith Musicians. They have sworn to play patriotic songs that espouse the goals of the Diversity Alliance while they tour the planets of the galaxy.”
“Songs?” Nolaa said, allowing a frown to crease her forehead. “We need soldiers and fighters willing to die for our cause—not minstrels.”
“If I might point out, Esteemed Tarkona, the potential payoffs of dispersing propaganda. One song to the right audience in the right cantina in the right town could result in riots…. even the overthrow of a long-established human government. At the very least, it will increase awareness of what the Diversity Alliance stands for.”
“Very well,” Nolaa said, “just so long as these musicians don’t demand excessive payment. What else?”
“We’ve received a messenger from a sub-hive of the Bartokk species. They are renowned killers, assassins who travel together sharing a single mind. This sub-hive has sworn allegiance to the Diversity Alliance—and as you know, when one of them agrees, they all agree.”
Nolaa Tarkona tapped her claws together.
“That’s much better news. So, does this mean the entire Bartokk homeworld is ours? Is this sub-hive the legitimate government there?”
“No, Esteemed Tarkona, but they will carry our message far and wide. In fact, as I understand their species, if this sub-hive assassinated key members in other sub-hives, they could absorb all those minds into an even larger swarm. Given a little time and a little ingenuity, our one sub-hive could subsume all other Bartokks and incorporate them into one giant fighting force that would be completely loyal to US.”
Now the Twi’lek woman smiled, showing her pointed teeth. “Very good, indeed. Governments operate by the will of the populace. We make our own legitimacy.”
“Yes,” Hovrak snarled, “legitimacy. Payback time. By rights the galaxy should be ours.”
“Now, don’t get greedy,” Nolaa said. “At least not so soon. A few sectors at a time should be enough … for the moment.”
She twitched her head-tail, feeling a tingle of sensation. “I just received word that a ship has docked at our underground facility. I believe it is Boba Fett, returned to us. Go and Bring him here. I wish to see what our bounty hunter has retrieved for me.”
Hovrak bared his teeth again, then spun about and padded out of the grotto.
Putting her nervous energy to use, Nolaa reached out and selected a sharp durasteel file from the small obsidian pedestal beside her.
She inserted the tool into her mouth and briskly filed her front teeth to maintain their pointed tips and razor-sharp edges. She received a delicious, forbidden thrill in doing so. Twi’lek female slaves traditionally had their teeth sanded flat to keep them from biting their masters. and only the vicious males had been allowed to flaunt their fangs.
Until now.
The degraded females found themselves powerless and sold into slavery, forced to serve or dance—mere objects to be beaten and sacrificed at the whim of their masters.
Nolaa knew this all too welclass="underline" her own half-sister had paid the ultimate price. But she had vowed to change all that. And, as she had proven many times before, Nolaa Tarkona was always true to her word….
When the helmeted Boba Fett marched alone into the grotto, Nolaa sat up with a stab of disappointment. Had he dared to come back to her empty-handed?
Beside the bounty hunter, claws extended, Hovrak walked like a security escort. But Boba Fett exuded such self-confidence, even through his Mandalorian armor, that any idea of his following anyone was ludicrous.
Nolaa admired him for that self-assurance and enigmatic charisma.
Fett, however, did not concern himself with power or politics.
Why he kept to himself—hiring out only as a bounty hunter, when he could have been a great leader—was a mystery to her. Ah, well, she thought, every creature has different goals.
“Where is Bornan Thul?” she demanded. “You contracted to bring him back to me, along with the navicomputer I paid for. Why have you returned here without your bounty? Surely you don’t intend to report failure?”
“A temporary setback,” Fett said, his voice carefully neutral. “I encountered the children of Han Solo; they were unable to provide the information I required. I have other leads.” He paused for a moment. “When hunting bounty, I can never be sure what I will find—it is not always what I set out to look for.”
More to the point, Nolaa’s spies had reported that Jacen and Jaina Solo and their friends had actually foiled Fett out in the Alderaan rubble field, and he had fled in defeat. But she did not mention this.
The bounty hunter knew he had failed thus far, and so did she. Nothing else mattered.
“Make no mistake, Boba Fett,” Nolaa said, “about the importance of this mission. I must have the cargo Bornan Thul stole. The future of the galaxy depends on it. Until today, I have let only a few other bounty hunters know of my interest—and I suspect some still intend to succeed where you failed. Now, however, you give me no choice but to announce this opportunity to bounty hunters far and wide.”
“Send out whomever you like, but I shall find Bornan Thul,” Fett said. His brusque tone was not threatening, but simply confident. “I am the best. I will succeed. The others will fail.”
“Then next time bring me the bounty—not words,” Nolaa said.
When Fett turned without bidding her farewell, she raised her clawed hand and called after him to stop. “I have a question—something that intrigues me. I’ve heard about how Princess Leia Organa once wore a helmet as a disguise, passing herself off as the bounty hunter Boushh to infiltrate Jabba’s palace. No one knew her identity until she was caught trying to free Han Solo. Tell me, Boba Fett: under that helmet, and behind your voice synthesizer, are you perhaps…. a female yourself?”
Fett stared at her through the narrow black slit in his helmet.
“I remove my helmet for no one,” he said.
But Nolaa would not be distracted. “For that matter,” she said, “are you even human? Could you perhaps be one of the downtrodden alien species in this galaxy passing yourself off as a human?”
“I remove my helmet for no one,” he repeated, still giving her no answer.
“A pity,” Nolaa said. “You may go.”
Boba Fett departed with brisk steps, as if incensed that she had given him leave to go when he would never have bothered to ask her permission.
Nolaa sat back in her stone chair, bathed in the bloody red lights It was long past her rest period, but she decided to linger a while yet…perhaps much longer. Possibilities for the future continued to develop in her mind.
3
Morning mist settled on the grass-stubble clearing in front of the rebuilt Great Temple. Droplets of falling moisture clung to Tenel Ka’s warrior braids and sparkled there like a fine spray of gems.