firm, paying no heed to the Red Guard's resistance.
Kambrea, the Devaronian, leaned forward and cackled. "Yes, I remember
how powerful the Red Guards were. They used to bully us."
"Kill humans," Corrsk growled, as if the comment were somehow relevant.
Nolaa stood in front of the scarlet-robed man.
"This Red Guard continued to wear this uniform, this mask, to bank on
his intimate connections with the former Empire. He went to the fringes
of
the underworld, hoping to ingratiate himself with certain...
criminal elements." Her head-tail twitched. "For some reason he
apparently considered the Diversity Alliance a 'criminal element." He
didn't realize just how much hatred alien species still hold against the
Empire. And now the tables have turned on him."
Nolaa leaned closer to the guard, who stood rigidly at attention.
"We can still make use of his Imperial knowledge, however."
"But what about the plague?" the Quarren asked.
"When will we see the demonstration you promised?"
Nolaa wrinkled her brow. "Though the Emperor had no intention of ever
unleashing it, he could not bring himself to destroy such an efficient,
useful tool. So he ordered it stored in a hidden weapons depot on a
small asteroid station. Then he erased the depot's coordinates from
Imperial archives, so that no one knew where the stockpile of his
terrible virus lay hidden.
"Most of the surviving Imperials have been scattered by now, but this
one ranked high, close to Palpatine himself. I presume he knows the
location of the plague storehouse. I have asked him to direct me there
so that the Diversity Alliance may commandeer these valuable resources
.... "Nolaa ran her clawed hand along the polished plasteel of the Red
Guard's helmet. He flinched. "But he has
declined our offer." She flicked a glance back at the three spectators.
"So far."
She held up the tiny vial in front of the Red Guard's eye slit.
"Tell me where the rest is stored.
This is your final chance."
The Red Guard's helmet swung from side to side in mute defiance.
Nolaa heaved a sigh. "Very well, then, face the consequences."
She dropped the crystalline vial to the stone floor of the cave. With
barely disguised relish, Nolaa stamped down and crushed it with her
booted foot, exposing the viral solution to the open air.
The three spectators staggered backward. Gasping in horror, they
scrambled to cover their mouths and nostrils and
tried--unsuccessfully--not to breathe. Confused, the Gamorrean guards
blinked stupidly down at the broken vial, wondering if they should clean
it up.
Nolaa Tarkona merely watched.
The Red 'Guard lunged and writhed in a violent attempt to escape the
Gamorreans' grasp--but the seizure rapidly became something else
entirely. His body trembled. He bucked convulsively.
"You may release him," Nolaa said. "There's no longer any danger." The
piglike guards looked at each Other, shrugged, then stomped away.
The captive sank to his knees, shaking. His gloved hands pawed at his
chest, his stomach. The
three honored Diversity Alliance soldiers stood back against the wall of
the grotto, staring in fascinated horror.
The Imperial guard's chest heaved. Gurgling sounds came from beneath
the scarlet helmet, as if he were trying to suck in lungfuls of air but
only managed to inhale viscous saliva.
His gloved hands reached up to grasp his smooth helmet, fumbled with the
hidden catch. His arms shook and his feet tapped against the floor as
the plague flowed like molten lead through every nerve in his body.
Above the noise of his rasping and retching for breath, Nolaa could hear
the clasp of the helmet come loose. The Red Guard's hands clutched the
glossy plasteel and pulled. His body arched. The helmet lifted just a
little, not quite revealing the guard's face--then he sagged into a limp
pile of scarlet cloth.
"Impressive," Hovrak said with a growl, his long tongue licking the
points of his canine teeth.
"Even better than I had hoped." Nolaa turned to the three
still-frightened Diversity Alliance observers.
"You see, the plague was developed to be DNA-specific. It affects only
victims with a human genetic structure. Aliens are immune. All of us
here are breathing the same air, moving in the same room--yet the
disease struck down only this pitiful
Red Guard, while the rest of us went about our business unaffected."
"But," Kambrea said, gradually inching forward, "why would the Emperor
develop such a thing?
Human were his subjects."
"True," Nolaa answered, "but many were also Rebels. Palpatine intended
to unleash this plague to quash insurrections on colony worlds--until he
realized how easily it could spread. One carrier from world to world
might break a quarantine--and within weeks this disease could have made
his Empire a galaxy-wide charnel house."
At Nolaa's gesture of dismissal the Gamorreans came forward, grabbed the
Red Guard's body, and dragged him by his scarlet sleeves across the
stone floor. Once they turned down a side passage and out of sight,
Nolaa heard the Red Guard's helmet clatter to the flagstones.
The Gamorreans grumbled and snorted, blaming each other for the
accident, then one apparently snatched up the helmet again. They
continued dragging their victim away to where he could be disposed of.
"You mean to spread this plague?" Corrsk asked.
"Kill all the humans?"
Nolaa crossed her arms over her chest. "Wouldn't that be the proper
work of the Diversity Alliance?"
Rullak leaned forward, facial tentacles quivering.
"How did you obtain this sample, Esteemed Tarkona?
And where may we get more?"
She stepped up onto the dais, where she slumped back into her stone
chair. Hovrak stood quietly beside her, letting Nolaa do the talking.
"A scavenger named Fonterrat stumbled upon the secret depot where this
plague is stored. He stole two small samples, not entirely realizing
what he had found, and brought the vials to me, along with a description
of the facility. But Fonterrat was suspicious and greedy.
He cited an outrageous price. I quibbled with him.
"Because only Fonterrat knew the location of the depot, he was afraid I
might torture him for the information. Of course, the Diversity
Alliance would never harm a fellow alien." She smiled sweetly.
"Humans are our only targets.
"Fonterrat requested that I send an emissary to a neutral location.
There, my emissary would hand him a time-locked container holding his
enormous fee. He, in turn, would deliver his entire navicomputer
module, the only repository of the plague depot's coordinates."
She tapped her long fingernails on the arm of her chair. "It seemed a
safe enough arrangement for all concerned. It amused me to enlist a
human emissary to do my dirty work. Such delicious irony. I chose
Bornan Thul, an arrogant merchant, who seemed to think he owned the
galaxy.
"T. hul met with Fonterrat on the ancient world of Kuar. They
presumably made the exchange and
went their separate ways--but Bornan Thul never delivered the
navicomputer to me. He must have figured out what he had been given,
what the module contained, and so he chose to disappear.
Thul never arrived at the Shumavar trade conference where we were to
have consummated our deal."
Nolaa folded her hands together, wearing a perplexed expression.
"Oddly, he hasn't gone to the New Republic either. Perhaps he assumes
that the Diversity Alliance has infiltrated the government on Coruscant.
And of course we have."
She tapped her other fingers on the opposite arm of her chain
"Unfortunately, since Fonterrat didn't trust me enough to make the deal
directly, and since my human go-between betrayed me, I still haven't
retrieved the information I paid for. I had my joke on Fonterrat,
though. In the sealed locker containing his fee, I placed one of his
plague samples. As soon as he unsealed the time-locked box to study his
reward, a device secretly cracked open the vial.
Since Fonterrat was immune to the disease, he didn't even know that his
ship was full of the plague organism when he landed on the isolated
human colony of Gammalin."
Nolaa smiled, looking up at Hovrak with her rose-quartz eyes.
"Everyone on Gammalin is now dead. Unfortunately, no one managed to
leave the colony to spread the virus. The plague organism
doesn't survive long in open air without a host, and so Gammalin did not
prove to be a proper flash point for the plague. Regrettable .
. ."
The three spectators now came forward, eyes gleaming. The Trandoshan
scooped up a few broken shards from the plague vial. He brought them to
his blunt nose and sniffed with great interest.
"So how are we to obtain an adequate stockpile of this weapon to aid us
in our fight against oppression?" Kambrea asked, brushing a hand across
her smooth horns. "This was your last sample, and Bornan Thul has
disappeared with the knowledge of where the rest is stored."
"It is merely a setback," Nolaa said. "I have offered a large enough
reward that every bounty hunter in the galaxy is trying to bring Thul to
me.
He won't be able to move anywhere without someone capturing him."
She stroked her tattooed head-tail, feeling the tingle of response from
her sensitive nerve endings.
"It's only a matter of time."
IN FLIGHT, ZEKK spent days studying the Bounty Hunter's Creed,
memorizing its rules and practices as he wrestled with conflicting
thoughts. He had so many questions, and so much to learn.
It seemed impossible to reconcile the desire to capture Bornan Thul with
the fact that he had accepted an assignment from him, regardless of the
fact that Thul had been disguised at the time. Zekk also remembered
that in the rubble field of Alderaan he had promised to give Jaina any
news of the missing man who was Raynar's father....
Of all the hunters in the galaxy mDengar and Boba Fett and a thousand
others who were scouring the starlanes--he alone knew where Bornan Thul
could be found. He had a meeting scheduled with his mysterious employer
in less than a week, to tell him of his progress.
At that rendezvous, Zekk could easily set a trap, deliver Thul to Nolaa
Tarkona, and
reap the fame and extravagant reward. How could he pass up such an
opportunity?
But betraying his own employer would forever blacklist Zekk among bounty
hunters. No one would trust him for the rest of his life.
Jaina and Jacen would be angry with him, too. His situation seemed
untenable.
He pondered the question while mulling over where to begin searching for
Tyko Thul, the other half of the assignment he had accepted. Could he
somehow take both bounty hunting assignments--find and bring back both
brothers? Or would he have to make a choice? No matter how long he
drifted in the Lightning Rod, he wouldn't resolve his dilemma by
himself.
He remembered hearing that Boba Fett had recently turned up on Tatooine
in his own relentless search for Bornan Thul, and came to a decision.
Since he was in the same sector, Zekk would go to meet the fearsome
hunter who had proved an uneasy ally on the plague-ridden colony of
Gammalin ....
Fighting thermal updrafts, Zekk cruised under the harsh double suns down
to the broiling city of Mos Eisley, the hub of civilization (such as it
was) on this backwater world. Below him, the space-port's towers and
low adobe structures shimmered in the afternoon haze.
Zekk requested clearance and transferred credits for a temporary berth
in one of the low-rent docking stalls in the busy traders' district.
After he landed, he shut down his ship's systems and activated the
theft-prevention devices old Peckhum had installed . . .
though the best deterrent had always been the Lightning Rod's own
battered appearance, which did not speak well for the fortunes of its
owner.
Zekk stepped out of the dock only to slam into a wall of heat rising
from the dusty streets. He tied his dark hair back in a sweaty ponytail
and kept to the shadows of low buildings, seeking relief from the harsh
sunlight as he staggered along. He breathed through his sleeve to
filter out the worst dust as he looked for the infamous cantina.
The other creatures stirring in Mos Eisley's afternoon seemed either
stunned and lethargic or hurried and anxious to get into the shaded
coolness indoors. Zekk, his green eyes stinging, wanted to do the same.
After making his way down narrow back alleys, he entered the noise and
smells and blessed air-conditioning of the spaceport bar. The Mos
Eisley cantina had a long history and quite a reputation, but little
cleanliness or fresh air. In this dark and seedy bar, Luke Skywalker
and Obi-Wan Kenobi had first hired Han Solo and Chewbacca for their
legendary run to Alderaan.
Boba Fett himself had come here in search of clues to help him ferret
out Bornan Thul.
Behind the bar stood a grizzled old Wooldee named Chalmun, who owned the
cantina. Other bartenders often took care of the actual work so that
Chalmun would not have to mingle with his own disreputable clientele.
Zekk strode up to the bar, trying to look surly and tough, just like
everyone else in the place. The old Wooldee snorted, seeing right
through the young man's act, as if he had witnessed these shows of
bravado so many times that they no longer impressed him.
Zekk ordered a cold fizzy drink, then lowered his voice. "I'm looking
for Boba Fett."
The furry bartender chuffed with surly laughter.
Zekk didn't understand the Wooldee language very well, and Chalmun
gestured toward a small hairy creature propped up on one of the stools.
The creature blinked its huge black eyes and spoke in a squeaking voice.
"He laughs at your request," the creature said. "Boba Fett always looks
for other people. No one looks for him."
"He and I have met before. I need to s
peak with him, and in
return"--Zekk swallowed hard--"I can provide information that may assist
him in his current assignment."
"Boba Fett will be here," the furry creature said.
"Just drink and wait." The creature took a long snort
from a foaming green beaker, swallowed noisily, and said, :'But you'd
better keep drinking or Chalmun may throw you out into the streets. Hot
out there."
Eavesdropping, the Wooldee laughed and went off to serve other customers
....
Zekk waited. The hours passed at a crawl, and he drank as slowly as he
could get away with, ordering another beverage only when he saw the old
Wookiee scowling at him.
On the bandstand a group of soft-skinned amphibious musicians with
multicolored neck frills auditioned for a job. The song sounded like
echoing belches made into a sensitive microphone, while "musicians"
jangled high-pitched bells at random.
On the cramped and dirty dance floor, two aliens that looked like sea
urchins with far too many eyes rolled around locked in an
embrace--whether dancing or brawling, Zekk couldn't decide.
Delusions of Grandeur Page 7
