“Industrial ships?” Jacen said. “What kind of industries do they have on Ryloth—other than mining, I mean?”
“Actually, mining ryll spice is Ryloth’s major industry now.” Raynar seemed glad to show off his knowledge of interstellar commerce. “Ryll is a rare mineral with medicinal uses. It’s fairly valuable, and it was used during the Krytos plague when the Rebels took Coruscant. Of course, before Nolaa Tarkona took over the government, a good part of Ryloth’s income came from a huge black-market slave trade in dancing girls, administrators, accountants, and so on. The trade still exists, but now it’s more secret than ever. Twi’leks are famous for doing business behind the scenes. They usually slink and hide and work in shadows to pull their strings. Nolaa Tarkona, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to keep a very low profile.”
“Ah. Aha,” Tenel Ka said. “Ryll is now Ryloth’s major export, and Nolaa Tarkona siphons away profits to fund the Diversity Alliance.”
“Probably practices a bit of piracy to build up her resources,” Jaina added. “Gets the rest in donations from her converts.”
“Converts like Lowie,” Jacen said, and a feeling of gloom passed over the young Jedi Knights. “We’ve got to find him and rescue him.”
The companions waited for hours, using Jedi relaxation techniques with varying degrees of success. Their ship hung motionless in space, a bit of insignificant galactic flotsam, unimportant, unnoticed.
Finally, a sensor blip caught Jaina’s attention, and she leaned forward.
“Large craft coming into the system, approaching on our vector.” She backtracked its path. “Looks like an empty drone of some sort.”
“It appears to be on autopilot, Mistress Jaina,” Em Teedee confirmed.
Raynar leaned closer to peer at the sensors. “Good. It’s one of those automated ore haulers Lusa told us about. You know—the ones that come to Ryloth, pick up raw ryll material, then take it off-planet for processing.”
“Then this is the one we’ll use for camouflage,” Jaina said, biting her lower lip. “It’s big enough. Shouldn’t be hard to hide in its shadow.”
“This is a fact,” Tenel Ka agreed, “but the Diversity Alliance will be vigilant.”
“Sure. Lusa warned us about that,” Jacen said, scratching his tousled brown hair. “We’ll just have to be extra careful.”
“A commendable philosophy, Master Jacen,” Em Teedee agreed.
As the lumbering ore hauler continued toward the planet, its uneven shape filled much of the starfield in the viewports. Jaina skillfully maneuvered the Rock Dragon behind the giant robotic craft where its bulk would eclipse their own ship.
“Now we’ll just slip in and no one will notice,” she said with a bit more confidence than she actually felt.
Jacen’s brandybrown eyes squinted as he studied the pitted surface and blocky configuration of the ship that would serve as their shield. “Looks like it’s seen better days.”
The ore hauler was a giant rust bucket that looked as if it had served as a freighter since the Clone Wars. Its outer plating was scored from cosmic radiation, solar flares, and a few potshots taken by space pirates. The bulk of its body consisted of tetrahedral storage bins linked together in a hodgepodge cluster. Some of the storage bins had broken latches; others looked as if they had been welded shut.
Raynar leaned forward and whistled. “In my parents’ fleet, we overhaul all the hull plating long before it can pick up that much ionization damage.”
Propulsion systems lined the rear of the hauler, glowing white. A computer-guided bridge console lay buried deep within the ship’s core like the rudimentary brain of a prehistoric creature. Jaina noted no weapon emplacements—no defensive systems whatsoever, in fact.
She nudged the Rock Dragon’s repulsorjets, tweaking them closer and adjusting her speed to match the hauler’s exactly. “We’re just going to hitch a ride here,” Jaina said. “Hang on while I get closer.”
“Dear me, this may require some rather difficult flying, Mistress Jaina,” Em Teedee said. “Please allow me to assist you with the coordinates.”
She looked over at the empty seat where Lowie usually sat. “All right. I could use a little help from a qualified copilot at the moment.”
The little droid’s sensors dimmed as he frantically ran calculations on the navigational computer.
Biting her lower lip, Jaina dusted her fingers across the guidance controls and eased the Rock Dragon closer and closer to the corroded hull.
She adjusted their speed minutely, moving to place the Hapan passenger cruiser exactly on top of one of the tetrahedral cargo containers.
With a thunk, the ships joined, and Jaina engaged a magnetic locking device that would fix the Rock Dragon in place. She let out a sigh of relief and sat back, crossing her arms in satisfaction.
“There! That ought to do it. Now we can ride the ore hauler right on down. They’ll take us along as part of the package … and we’ll slip into Nolaa Tarkona’s tunnels without any trouble at all.”
Heavy blast doors groaned open on the mountainside, exposing the starship grotto in the caves of the Diversity Alliance. On schedule, the ancient ore hauler followed the automated beam to its cleared landing area. With a burst of repulsorlifts and a backwash of dust and exhaust fumes, the clumsy freighter settled to the rock floor as workers scrambled to receive it. They prepared for another important shipment off-planet.
Computer engineers logged the hauler’s arrival and more loads of ryll ore were sent up from the deep underground mines. A hodgepodge group of Diversity Alliance recruits and re-commissioned droids waited for the safety lights to wink off on the hauler’s guidance console.
Gamorrean guards watched the activity, marching back and forth to look busy. The business of the Diversity Alliance had to proceed without delay—and Adjutant Advisor Hovrak made sure there were no complications.
The proud wolfman stood clad in his clean uniform, proudly watching the activity around him. The spray of medals and ribbons on his chest gleamed.
“Prepare for work,” Hovrak said with a growl. “We have to fill this ore shipment and send the transport away. The processing facility is not yet operating to its full capacity, and the next vessel is already approaching orbit. Now, move!”
“Yes, sir,” a Gand said, his voice puffing beneath his respirator mask.
He moved slowly, punching a request into an electronic pad at his side.
From other catacombs came heavy, metal-sided carts filled with ryll-rich rubble that had been mined by the slaves down in the deep tunnels. The Gand directed a work crew to attend to the arriving carts.
Hovrak gazed at the automated freighter, which reminded him of a bantha sleeping in the desert sun. Its sides creaked as it adjusted to the extreme temperature variations, freezing in space and burning through a steep descent in the atmosphere.
Everything checked out.
This old robotic craft had been donated to the Diversity Alliance by a Hig trader. Occasionally, the alien captain flew a run or two herself, but most of the time she let automated pilots take care of the drudgery while she remained on a backwater world enjoying herself at a cantina.
As other recruits rushed about to take care of exporting the next shipment, Hovrak clasped his clawed hands behind his back. Full of his responsibilities for Nolaa Tarkona, he maintained a rigidly upright posture and marched on an inspection tour around the ore hauler.
He scrutinized the front cargo pods, the large metal-walled bays, the rear propulsion systems.
The battered ship was much the worse for wear, but the Diversity Alliance couldn’t be choosy … and this ore hauler had served Nolaa Tarkona well.