The spear-tipped gate rose with the grinding of hidden gears, and Goa sauntered under the menacing points with a cocksure gait. Dyyz and Greedo held back, waiting to see what happened to their friend. Goa turned and cackled. “What’s the matter, Dyyz? You afraid of ol’ Jabba? He’s the hunter’s friend! C’mon, Greedo, I’ll show you how to get rich!”
Suddenly four vicious-looking Nikto emerged from the shadows of the courtyard and leveled blaster-prods at Goa. “Nudd chaa! Kichawa joto!” one of them shouted.
“What do you know—we’re just in time! Jabba’s ready to see us!” Goa ignored the prods and strode fearlessly toward the glowing aperture of Jabba’s domicile. The Nikto lowered their weapons and snarled something unintelligible.
Dyyz and Greedo followed, cautiously.
The raucous babble of the galactic riffraff that crowded Jabba’s audience chamber was deafening. Alien and human, a hundred different species, faces contorted with greed and depravity, wearing a motley assortment of spacers’ costumes and military gear.
All eyes turned to the three newcomers. Greedo surveyed the grotesque gathering and wondered—it seemed as if he recognized only a few species from his years on Nar Shaddaa. “Are these all bounty hunters?” he shouted to Goa.
“Nah. Maybe about half of ’em. The rest are just the slimy bottom feeders that enjoy being around Jabba’s stench and corruption.”
Goa wasn’t just kidding. Greedo noticed a rancid odor permeated the room, and in a few seconds he guessed its source: the great worm himself, Jabba the Hutt, ensconced on a platform to his right, puffing on a convoluted water pipe.
Greedo had seen many Hutts in the streets of Nar Shaddaa. But he had never been in a closed space with one. His stomach churned and twisted at the sight and smell of the miasmic mass of the great gangster, fawned over by unctuous Twi’leks and Squidheads and … Rodians. Yes, the two Rodians they’d seen in the cantina were before the great Jabba, bowing slavishly, like supplicants in the palace of a Paladian Prince. A silver protocol droid was translating their groveling remarks for malodorous Jabba.
“Maybe they’re bending over to throw up,” said Dyyz, reading Greedo’s thoughts.
“How would a Rodian know the difference?” said Goa. “The green goons stink almost as bad as Jabba.”
Greedo gave Goa a startled look. Why did he say that? Am I just a “green goon” to him? He decided Goa was trying to make a crude joke.
As the two Rodians faded back into the crowd, majordomo Bib Fortuna cast a suspicious eye toward the new visitors. With an almost imperceptible nod, he signaled for Goa, Dyyz, and Greedo to step forward.
The rabble quieted as the three hunters moved to position in front of the great worm. Everyone wanted to see if a death sentence was about to be executed. When it became apparent that these were just another team of rapacious bounty hunters, the hubbub resumed.
“Vifaa karibu uta chuba Jabba!” began Goa, speaking perfect Huttese. He knew that Jabba himself spoke many languages fluently, and used his protocol droid for the several million other forms of communication. But he wished to honor the crimelord in every way possible.
“Moja jpo chakula cha asubuhi!” rumbled the Hutt, apparently pleased to be treated with respect by scum.
“What did he say?” said Dyyz. “What did you say?”
“I told ’im he’s the most disgustin’ pile o’ swamp sludge in the galaxy. He thanked me for groveling before his bloated slimy putrid body.”
“R-really,” whispered Greedo. “You said that?”
“Goa’s pullin’ yer snout, kid. We’d be rancor bait if he’d said any of that stuff.”
Goa turned his full attention to the Hutt, hoping Jabba hadn’t heard the whispered exchange.
If he had heard it, Jabba gave no sign. He proceeded to laugh quite jovially and popped a squirming sand maggot into his mouth. Greedo almost retched at the sight of the swollen tongue, dripping with slaver. At this distance, of not more than a meter and a half, the malignant smell of Jabba’s breath was overpowering. The Hurt’s lardaceous body seemed to periodically release a greasy discharge, sending fresh waves of rotten stench to Greedo’s sensitive nostrils.
“Ne subul Greedo, pombo gek fultrh badda wanga!” Goa put one hand on Greedo’s shoulder as he introduced his protégé to the illustrious gangster. Greedo bowed nervously, as the huge eyes turned on him and reduced him to space dust.
Jabba and Goa exchanged a few more phrases, and then Jabba proceeded to deliver a long soliloquy that ended with the words “… kwa bo noodta du dedbeeta Han Solo?”
Goa turned to Greedo and Dyyz. “The worm has seen fit to offer us the opportunity of hunting one of his most notorious debtors—that pirate Han Solo. Solo claims he lost a load of spice when he got boarded by Imps. But Jabba thinks Solo sold the spice and kept the money. This is a collection job—Jabba wants that money.”
“I ain’t messin’ with Solo,” said Dyyz. “He’s got too many ways of gettin’ revenge … even after he’s dead.”
“I can handle him,” said Greedo. “He’s just a smalltime Corellian spicerunner who thinks he’s big stuff. He stole a rancor-skin jacket off me. I’ll take Solo.”
Warhog Goa looked at Greedo for a moment and then slapped him on the back. “Okay, kid. That’s what I like to hear! This’ll be a good assignment to cut your baby teeth on, ’cause Solo’s on Tatooine! We saw him today in the cantina, remember? I’ll even be able to give ya some backup. If he’s got the money on him, you’ll get it easy.”
Dyyz snorted. “Great—you help the kid. I don’t want no thin’ to do with it … Now what about us? You gonna set up a couple of deals for us, or you gonna waste the whole trip on the kid?”
“Right. I got that covered.” Goa exchanged a few more words with Jabba, and then Fortuna handed the bounty hunters three scrolls, the official contracts assigning them exclusive “hunting rights” for the period of two Tatooine months. The Solo scroll was for a much shorter period, due to the fact that Jabba was anxious to clean up a debt that had remained uncollected far too long.
On a signal from Fortuna, the three bounty hunters bowed ceremoniously and moved back to make room for the next team of job applicants—an unsavory human named Dace Bonearm and his IG-model assassin droid.
Greedo found himself separated from Goa and Dyyz, as they were swallowed up in the crowded audience chamber. Greedo made his way to an open spot in a corner, next to the bar. Without being asked, the Aqualish bartender slid a brimming glass his way. Greedo felt proud of himself as he leaned back against the wall and sipped the syrupy Tatooine Sunburn.
Across the room he could see Dyyz, standing next to a hunter named Dengar that Greedo remembered from Nar Shaddaa. They were both examining their scrolls and comparing notes.
Warhog Goa was deep in conversation with one of the Rodians. Greedo felt a twinge of jealousy, seeing his mentor talking to another Rodian bounty hunter.
I’m a bounty hunter, he thought. I’m going to stalk my prey and I’m going to collect the reward and I’m going to start building a rep. I’m going to be the toughest Rodian bounty hunter that ever was.
I wonder what that Rodian and Goa are talking about? He saw Goa look toward him and then the Rodian’s eyes met his, and Greedo realized they were talking about him. At first he felt uneasy being noticed by the strange Rodian. Then Goa waved and the Rodian held up his hand, suckers out, in a gesture of brotherhood.
Greedo beamed with pride. Okay, they’re talkin’ about me—Greedo the Bounty Hunter.
10. Solo
“RRUUARRRNN!” The Wookiee slammed a shaggy fist down on the Millennium Falcon’s shield generator and pushed back his welding mask.
“Take it easy, Chewie. I wanna get off this dirtball as much as you do. But without deflectors we’re easy game for spicejackers and nosy Imps.”
“Hwuarrn? Nnrruahhnm?”
“Right. Jabba’s throwing the biggest bounty-hunting bash in the sector—and you just know our names a
re gettin’ bandied around over dessert. That’s another reason to blow this joint. But like I say, if the ship had been undercover during the sandstorm, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Han Solo finished vacuuming sand out of the alluvial dampers and wiped his brow on his sleeve. Why does a free and unfettered guy like me always end up on wasted planets like this, when he could be basking in the oceanside breezes of any gambling resort in the universe?
Because I’m not very good at sabacc, he thought. Lucky sometimes, yeah. But not that lucky. Unlike some people I know, I gotta work for a living.
Chewbacca made a soft warning growl and Solo raised his head and looked around. Two bulbous faceted eyes were staring at him out of spiny green balls of flesh. The leather-garbed humanoid body beneath the head held a blaster in multisuckered fingers.
“Han Solo?” The voice from the long green snout spoke through an electronic translator.
“Who wants to know?” Han knew who wanted to know. A Rodian with a blaster is always a bounty hunter … or a bill collector.
“Greedo. I work for Jabba the Hutt.”
“Greedo … oh yeah, I remember you—the kid who tried to steal my power couplings. Okay, good for you, so now you’re workin’ for Jabba. By the way, I understand Rodian, so you can turn off the squawk box.”
Han jumped down from the scaffolding as casually as he could and picked up a rag to wipe his hands. Hidden in the rag was a small Telltrig-7 blaster, carefully placed there for just this eventuality. Fortunately he didn’t have to use it—his mouth was his best weapon:
“Listen … tell Jabba the truth—I came to Tatooine for only one reason: to pay him.”
Greedo turned off the translator. Goa had suggested he use it to make sure the “client” fully understood the gravity of the situation. But if Solo really understands Rodian, I’ll be able to use untranslatable Rodian threats.
“Neshki J’ba klulta ntuz tch krast, Solo.” Jabba doesn’t believe dorsal-spine parasites tell the truth, Solo.
“Yeah, well, what does that overfed vermiform know? Do you really think I’d come anywhere near this place if I didn’t have the money?”
Greedo’s hand tightened on his gun. He wasn’t sure if insulting one’s employer required special action on the part of a bounty hunter. What Solo said about being on Tatooine was logical, though. If somebody was after your hide, would you fly into his back pocket? This is going to be easy.
“Skak, trn kras ka noota, Solo.” All right, then give me the money, Solo. “Vnu sna Greedo vorskl ta.” Then Greedo will be on his way.
“Yeah, tell ya what, Greedo … tell ya what. It’s not quite that simple. The loot is bolted into the frame of the Falcon here. Secret hiding place. Understand? Why don’t you come back tomorrow morning and I’ll hand it right over, easy as pie. How’s that sound?”
“Nvtuta bork te ptu motta. Tni snato.” No, get it right now. I’ll wait.
I’m not letting this gulley fish slip out of my grasp, Greedo thought … especially with Warhog watchin’ me from the shadows.
“I can’t get it right now. Listen, if you can wait till tomorrow, I’ll throw in a little bonus—a couple thousand credits just for you. How’s that sound?”
That sounded good.
“Prog mnete enyaz ftt sove shuss.” Make it four thousand credits.
“Four thousand? Are you crazy—? Oh, all right, ya got me over a barrel, pal. We’ll do it your way. Four thousand for you, first thing in the morning. It’s a deal.”
Without another word, Solo turned his back on the bounty hunter and began cleaning a spanner. He palmed the little blaster, just in case the green kid changed his mind. But a minute later Chewie gave his “all clear” grunt and Solo relaxed.
“Great, Chewie. Can you believe the nerve of that guy? Now we got to finish prepping the ship tonight. When that punk comes around tomorrow morning, all he’s going to find is a big grease spot on the hangar floor!”
Warhog Goa sipped a Starshine Surprise and glanced around the Mos Eisley Cantina. The bounty-hunter crowd was thinning out. A lot of hunters had gotten their contracts and jumped. Some of ’em were probably already stalking targets in the streets of cities a thousand parsecs away. “Solo doesn’t plan to pay you,” he said, looking at his protégé. “Don’t you get it? It’s a stall.”
Warhog noticed the two Rodians sitting in the booth near the entrance lobby. They nodded to him and he nodded back. “You ought to meet those two Rodies, Greedo. They’re good hunters. I’ll bet they can teach ya stuff even I don’t know. Want me to introduce you?”
Greedo looked down at his drink. Goa wouldn’t know about the dan wars. I never told him. He wouldn’t know about the time the ships came, hunting the Tetsus refugees. Tetsus just don’t talk to strange Rodians. He wouldn’t know that, because I never told him.
Yeah, but what’s the point? I’m a bounty hunter now, that’s the important thing. Bounty hunters hang together, drink together, trade war stories, help each other out of jams. So after I take my first bounty, after Solo pays me and I hand the money over to Jabba, after the word starts to get around … then I’ll make friends with those guys. They’ll respect me and we’ll have a drink together and they’ll tell me some great stories and I’ll tell them about how I saved Dyyz and Goa by blasting Gorm right through his electronic guts.
“… so, like I say, Greedo, there’s two sides to every deal with Jabba. That’s my lesson for today. If you collect the debt, you’ll be in Jabba’s good graces. But if you let Jabba down, you’re as good as dead.”
Greedo tried to sound scornful. “Don’t worry, Warhog. Solo will pay. First we find out for sure if he’s got the money with him. Then, if he doesn’t hand it over, I’ll kill him and take it.… You still going to work backup—in case the Wookiee tries anything?”
“Sure. That’s the plan, ain’t it?”
“Wknuto, Goa.” Thanks, Goa.
Han Solo’s ship, the Millennium Falcon, was still sitting in the docking hangar when Greedo walked in shortly after sunrise the next morning.
Han Solo was nowhere to be seen. Greedo tried to open the Falcon’s hatch, but it was code-locked.
Greedo and Goa finally found Solo and the Wookiee having breakfast at a little outdoor cafe behind the dewback stables.
Greedo kept his hand on his holstered gun, but didn’t bother to turn off the safety because Goa had a rifle trained on the quarry from the alley across the street.
“Rylun pa getpa gushu, Solo?” Enjoy your breakfast, Solo?
Greedo tried to sound tough and relaxed, but in fact he was wound up tight. If Solo stiffed him today, he wouldn’t know what to do. Jabba wouldn’t be happy if he killed Solo without collecting the debt. The contract was for the money, not a corpse.
“Greedo! I’ve been looking all over for you! Decide to sleep in today?” Han chortled to himself and took another bite of dewback steak. Chewbacca raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. He had his bowcaster leaning against his leg, loaded and ready.
“Fna ho koru gep, Solo. Kras ka noota.” Don’t be funny, Solo. Give me the money.
“Sure. The money. Happy to oblige. You want something to eat first? You look like you could use a good meal.”
Greedo realized Solo was putting him on, and sudden anger flared in his veins. Impulsively he reached down and grabbed Solo’s shirt. “Ka noota! Grot pleno ka Jabba spulta?” The money! Or would you like to explain to Jabba personally?
“NNRRARRG!” Instantly Chewie was on his feet, one huge shaggy arm around Greedo’s neck, the other gripping the bounty hunter’s blaster hand.
“Nfuto—!”
“Thanks, Chewie.” Han stood up and casually wiped his mouth with a napkin. He reached over and took Greedo’s weapon, snapped open the chamber, and removed the power cell. He handed the useless blaster back to Greedo.
“You know, kid, I was almost starting to like you. Now I’m not so sure. Let me give you some sage advice. Stay away from slugs like Jabba. F
ind an honest way to make a living … Let him go, Chewie.”
“Hnnruaahn!” Chewie released his grip, and Greedo tumbled forward. Han stepped out of the way and Greedo fell against a table, sending dishware crashing.
“Nice. Where does Jabba find these punks? What about the guy in the alley across the street, Chewie?”
“Hwarrun!”
“Disappeared, huh? Another half-baked bounty creep, probably. You’d think Jabba could buy the best to track a guy like me!”
“Hurrwan nwrunnh.”
“Yeah, I agree. We’re playin’ with fire hanging around here. The Falcon’s prepped—we could have jumped this morning if Taggart had kept his promise. If he doesn’t show by tomorrow with that load of glitterstim he wants transferred, we’re history, okay with you?”
“WNHUARRN!”
“I thought so.”
Jabba the Hutt was not amused.
“Kubwa funga na jibo! You said this inexperienced slime-wart could collect from Solo! I ought to toss you both into my private dungeon and let you rot!”
Or words to that effect. The great worm huffed and rumbled and oozed foulness. On either side of his throne platform, Weequays and Nikto brandished their weapons ominously. As usual, Jabba’s audience chamber was crowded with the dregs of a hundred galactic civilizations.
Warhog Goa was abject. He groveled shamelessly before the bloated drooling crimelord. As he did so, he regretted bringing Greedo back here without the prize. But he had to seek another audience, to persuade Jabba to let Greedo kill Solo without collecting the debt. That was the key. Now the words tumbled out in one breath—he had to say it all before Jabba pronounced their deaths!
“Oh, most incomparable Jabba, as you are well aware, Han Solo, that worthless piece of dianoga dung, is a very difficult customer. May I suggest that you allow my protégé to simply kill Solo, and take his ship as payment for the debt he owes you?”
Jabba grunted and puffed his water pipe thoughtfully. Then he seemed to brighten, if that were possible. “Ne voota kinja. Jabba likes your suggestion. He will spare the superfluous life of your protégé.”
Tales from Mos Eisley Cantina Page 6