Greedo let Goa’s words roll around inside his head for a minute, and they connected with his deepest desires. He wanted that Corsair more than anything, but he felt a deeper need to hunt … a need to be like his father. And the trade of bounty-hunting was a way of making lots of money. A rich bounty hunter might own his own moon and lots of ships—sloops, cruisers, cutters … even warships.
“You’ll really teach me the secrets?” asked Greedo diffidently.
“Teach ya? I’ll shove the stinkin’ secrets down your stinkin’ throat! We got a deal, kid? Believe me, I wouldn’t do it for anybody. But you saved my life. You cut me and Dyyz in on your first capture … and by the Cron Drift, you’re a Rodian. I tell ya, Rodians are born bounty hunters.”
Greedo felt waves of pride sweep over him. Born bounty hunter. Rodians are born bounty hunters. Yes, I can feel it, I’ve always felt it. My father was a bounty hunter. I will be a bounty hunter. I am a bounty hunter.
“Deal, Warhog.” Greedo hooted and held out his hand.
Goa looked at the suckered fingers and a look of disgust crossed his face. Even the kid’s hand smells funny. He carefully touched Greedo’s hand with his own. “Deal, “he said. “C’mon, I’ll buy ya another Sunburn at the bar … introduce ya to some of the boys.”
Fool kid fell for it, thought Goa, as he pushed his way toward the bar. I get to keep his share, and all I got to do is tell him a few “secrets” and most likely hell get himself aced in a month or two … Anyway, who knows, maybe he will make a good bounty hunter … ’Tho I never saw a Rodian good for anythin’ except killin’ unarmed Ugnaughts!
7. Vader
Fifteen thousand kilometers out from the spaceport moon, in the shadow of the luminous Hutt planet, the starry void cracked open and a mighty triangular warship emerged from hyperspace. Star Destroyer.
As the massive vessel moved into stationary orbit over Nal Hutta, Imperial shocktroops answered the assembly klaxon, buckling on white body armor and pulling energized blaster rifles from charging sheaths.
The troopers’ boots resounded in the main launch bay as they ran to formation next to the two camouflaged Gamma Assault Shuttles that would carry them to the spaceport moon.
High above, on the quarterdeck of the Star Destroyer Vengeance, the Mission Commander received final instructions from an imposing figure entirely encased in black armor. The figure’s deep voice resonated through an electronic breath mask.
“I want prisoners, Captain. Dead Rebels won’t tell me where they’re shipping those weapons.” The menacing hiss of the grotesque breath mask underscored the threat implicit in the voice and the words.
“Yes, Lord Vader. It shall be as you request. The incident on Datar was unfortunate, sir. The Rebels fought us to the last man.”
“We had lost the element of surprise, Captain. Vice Admiral Slenn paid with his life for that mistake. This time there won’t be a mistake. This time the Rebels won’t know we’re coming. Are the assault shuttles ready?”
“Yes, Lord Vader. I’ve had them camouflaged as light freighters, sir. Our agents have obtained the necessary priority docking codes from Port Control. We’re free to enter the Corellian Sector of Nar Shaddaa at any hour of our choosing.”
“Good. Leave at once, find the enemy enclave, and capture as many Rebels as you can. I will follow the moment the situation is secure.”
“Very good, sir. The mission will launch immediately.”
When Rebel SpecForce sentinel Spane Covis saw the two weatherbeaten stock freighters drop past him down the flight shaft and enter Level 88, he didn’t think anything about it.
From his post in a rented viewroom in Port Tower One, Covis was supposed to alert his cadre commander if any unusual ship traffic entered the vicinity. It was a boring job. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Covis’s attention was operating at about thirty percent.
Then it hit him: The sheathing’s all wrong. The cargo doors are too small. The cooling towers are in the wrong place. I’ve never seen freighters configured like those.
Covis grabbed his comlink and yelled. “Stardog One, this is Dewback!”
“Go ahead, Dewback, what’s the problem?”
“Watch your tail, Stardog. Two rancors in the house!”
“Got it, Dewback.”
Twenty Rebel commandos had already taken up positions inside the warehouse, their surveillance sensors scanning the street, when the camouflaged Gammas rumbled into view.
In the rear of the cavernous building, other SpecForce infantry loaded the hold of a massive Z-10 transport, clearing the warehouse of as much ordnance as they could before the firefight began.
In the very center of the warehouse, behind a heavy blast shield, a C4-CZN ion field gun was rolled into position.
The element of surprise the Imperials hoped for was gone.
The firefight on Level 88 was very fierce and it happened very fast.
Greedo’s mother Neela heard a shuddering roar and ran to the window of the reconstructed ventilation flue where she and her sons lived, in the warren of structures crammed into one end of the warehouse district.
At that moment one of the Gamma Assault Shuttles transformed into flaming vapor, becoming a sphere of light and energy that expanded in a flash, igniting both sides of the street. The green fireball seared Neela’s large eyes, and she turned and bolted screaming into the back of the apartment.
The other Gamma unleashed twin turbos, and the front of the Rebel warehouse shattered and split. The shuttle crew ramps came down. Imperial shocktroops emerged blasting.
Another round from the C4 ion gun, and the second Gamma was history. A rain of blaster shots were exchanged, sixty shocktroops went down, and the fight was over. The rest surrendered.
Greedo was hanging around with Goa and Dyyz and a bunch of other bounty hunters on Level 92. The hunters had news that a wanted list had been released by a top Hutt ganglord. The Hutt was assigning collection jobs on a first-come basis, complete with signed contracts.
Suddenly emergency sirens began to blare and Greedo saw Corellian firefighting scows plunging down the flight shaft, red strobes flashing.
“Looks like the Imps got our message,” said Warhog, giving Greedo a knowing wink.
Greedo tried to sound nonchalant. “Yeah—maybe so. Could be just another fire started by the Gloom Dwellers.” Then smoke began to pour up the shaft and Greedo started to worry.
It hadn’t occurred to Greedo until after he’d told Goa and Dyyz about the Rebel gunrunners that there might be danger for his people. The Rodian refugees lived and worked on Level 88—they’d be in the path of any attack by Imperial stormtroopers.
“Uh … guess I’ll … uh, see ya later, Warhog. You too, Dyyz. Got some business to take care of.”
Goa raised an eyebrow. “Sure, kid. Me and Dyyz are most likely jumpin’ to Tatooine tonight—so if I don’t see ya, good luck!”
Tatooine! The Hutt contracts! Greedo walked away feeling angry and betrayed that Goa hadn’t invited him to go with them. So far Goa had given him very little training. And he took my share of the reward.
Greedo started to turn back, to beg Warhog and Dyyz to take him to Tatooine. Then his mother’s screaming face suddenly flooded his mind. Instead of turning back, Greedo began to run for the nearest repulsor lift.
Greedo stepped into the lift and hit the stud marked “88.” The lift dropped like a stone, stopping smoothly a few seconds later at Level 88. An alarm sounded and the lift door refused to open. Automatic sensors had locked out the lift at this level.
Looking through the transparent door, Greedo saw why—the street was a mass of smoke and flame. The Corellian firefighting scows were working the blaze with chemical sprays, and making rapid headway.
Greedo tried to peer through the smoke to see if his family’s dwelling complex was on fire. The Rodians lived back near the refuse core. Greedo couldn’t see that far, but he guessed everything was okay. Only the Rebel warehouse and the buildings across
the street were burning.
Greedo relaxed and began to enjoy the scene before him. He recognized Rebels helping the firefighters, and he began to wonder exactly what had happened here. The only stormtroopers visible were lying on their backs, helmets shattered.
Just then Greedo heard the sound of rending metal and he saw the firefighters all turn toward the flight shaft, which was out of his line of vision. The firefighters’ faces changed to fear, and a second later a massive black war machine hovered into view, spewing laser fire from ten different points on its convoluted surface.
The machine was a monstrous engine of death, shaped like a crab, with ripping claws left and right, a phalanx of blast weapons fore and aft, and a command cockpit secured behind heavy shielding in the center, about where a crab’s mouth would be. It floated on repulsor energy, it moved very swiftly, and it killed everything in its path.
Greedo pounded on the lift door. It still wouldn’t open. Part of him was glad it wouldn’t open. Part of him wanted to leave. That part of him punched the button for Level 92. My family will be okay. Only the Rebels are going to die.
As the lift rose away from the carnage, Greedo got a last glimpse of the Death Engine as it spewed a thick stream of white-hot energy into the Rebel warehouse. Then he was moving between levels and his vision was blocked.
A moment later the whole sector shook as if it had been hit by an asteroid.
Greedo stumbled out onto the Level 92 thoroughfare and promptly fell on his face. The street heaved and shook, and a terrifying rumble filled the air. People ran or grabbed onto vehicles as they careened past, heading for the flight shaft.
As he dragged himself to his feet, Greedo saw the bounty hunters moving together toward the reserved parking platform where they had all stashed their ships. He saw Dyyz Nataz, but he couldn’t make out Warhog Goa.
A gloved hand grabbed Greedo’s shoulder. He looked up into the broad-beaked face of his friend.
“If ya know what’s good for ya, kid, you’ll come with me and Dyyz. The Imps are in a bad mood about some-thin’. I think the Rebs gave ’em more of a fight than they expected.”
“My folks … I can’t leave my family … my people.”
“Don’t worry about the family, kid. If you’re goin’ to be a bounty hunter, you’re going to have to kiss off the family, sooner or later. Now’s as good a time as any … Besides, they’ll probably be okay.”
Warhog Goa gave Greedo a questioning look and then walked away, following Dyyz toward their ship.
Greedo stood and watched Warhog go, trying to make up his mind, trying to decide what he really wanted.
He wanted to be a bounty hunter.
The sleek cruiser Nova Viper lifted with the swarm of bounty-hunter craft that headed out of port, lining up for jump clearances.
No clearances came. Port Control was preoccupied.
So the ships jumped anyway.
The last thing Goa and Dyyz and Greedo saw was the collapse of an entire quarter of the Corellian Sector, floor upon floor, with a magnificent flash and rumble and roar.
“Wheez! Musta took out twenty levels!” shouted Dyyz. “A lot of good people just died, Goa.”
“And we’re alive … right, Greedo?”
Greedo didn’t answer. He just stared at the swelling conflagration, the succession of fireballs, the billowing black clouds.
The navicomp clicked in for Tatooine.
They jumped.
8. Mos Eisley
A massive armor-plated figure stood in the entrance of the dim and noisy cantina, surveying the motley crowd with glowing red electronic eyes.
“Hey—ain’t that Gorm the Dissolver? What’s he doin’ here? I thought we killed him!”
“Sure … my buddy Greedo decimated his motivator. But there’s biocomponents from six different aliens in Gorm. The only way to kill him is to vaporize the whole assembly.”
Dyyz Nataz groaned. “Why didn’t ya tell me that, Goa? I would have finished him. Now we got to worry about him hittin’ us for the credits we owe him!”
“Take it easy, Dyyz. Jodo Kast just told me Jabba gave Gorm the sweetest hit on the wanted list—fifty thousand credits to bring in Zardra.”
“You’re kiddin’. Zardra’s a bounty hunter. What’s Jabba got against her?”
The three were sitting in the smoky shadows of the Mos Eisley Cantina, sipping green Pica Thundercloud and watching the bounty hunters drift in from around the galaxy: Weequays, Aqualish, Arcona, Defels, Kauronians, Fneebs, Quill-heads, Bomodons, Alpheridians—and the inevitable Ganks. Greedo even saw a couple of Rodians. They nodded in his direction, but he didn’t return the greeting. He’d learned long ago that unknown Rodians could be dangerous.
A cocky Corellian and a big Wookiee entered and stood on the lobby steps for a minute, surveying the crowd. Greedo recognized the smugglers he’d come up against in Ninx’s repair barn on Nar Shaddaa. He felt hatred roil up inside him at the sight of the two.
Then the Corellian turned and left the cantina, and the Wookiee followed him. Dyyz Nataz snorted: “Right, Solo. You’re in the wrong place, buddy.”
“Han Solo? Is he here?” Warhog Goa swung around in his chair and looked around the room.
“Yeah. Solo and his Wookiee pal Chewbacca came in and looked around and left. Solo’s on Jabba’s list, ya know. If I was him, I’d make like a space frog and hop to some other galaxy!” Dyyz took a deep swallow of Thundercloud. “Now, what’s this about Zardra? What did she ever do to be worth fifty to ol’ Jabba?”
Goa turned back to his two companions and hoisted his glass. For a bone-dry planet, Tatooine sure brewed some of the best beverages in the galaxy—expensive, but very tasty. “Here’s to Zardra,” he said, and he drank, then wiped his mouth with his gloved hand.
“Zardra and Jodo Kast were on a hunt in the Stenness System, lookin’ for a pair o’ spicejackers named the Thig Brothers. The Thigs were armed to the gills with Imperial blasters they’d stole from a military supply depot. Jodo says to Zardra, ‘Why don’t we split up? I’ll put the word around the ports that I’m following the Thigs … and you stay out of sight. The Thigs will be itchin’ for a fight—I know those guys. They’ll come lookin’ for me, I’ll stage a little face-off, and you sting ’em from the shadows. Just stun ’em, you know. We’ll take ’em alive.’
“Jodo knew he could count on Zardra. She’s as fearless as they come—and a crack shot with a stun-laser.”
“Yeah. I’ve seen her in action. The best. So then what happened?”
All this time Greedo wasn’t saying anything. He was savoring Dyyz’s remark that Solo was on Jabba’s list. Half-formed images of revenge flickered through his mind. He was content to sit and listen to his friends and watch the crowd of bounty hunters. I’m one of them, he thought. I’m a bounty hunter. Spurch is going to take me to meet Jabba … Jabba needs good hunters right now … lots of ’em. Jabba needs me.
Just then Gorm the Dissolver stood up at his table and scanned the room with his electronic red eyes. Greedo ducked and shielded his face with his hand. Squinting between two suckered fingers, he watched the big bounty hunter turn and swagger toward the lobby.
“There goes Gorm,” said Greedo, alerting his friends.
“Oh … yeah? Good riddance, I say. He’ll be on his way to find Zardra. I hope she melts him ta slag!”
“Maybe we ought to warn her, Warhog.”
“Don’t worry, she knows. She’s got a lot of friends in our line of work. I’ll wager a good krayt steak Jodo’s already told her.”
“You’re probably right … So what’s the rest of the story? Why is Jabba the Hutt payin’ Gorm fifty thousand to kill Zardra?”
“Easy. She killed a Hutt, that’s why! When the Thig Brothers came lookin’ for Jodo, they found him waitin’ in the Red Shadow—that’s a bistro on Taboon, a slag heap of a planet where nobody but ’Nessies would ever live. Trouble was, a Hutt named Mageye was passin’ through, on his way ta cut a deal with ol’ Bo
lBol, another Hutt who practically owns the Stenness System.”
“Oh, I get it. Mageye gets caught in the crossfire?” Dyyz made a yawning noise under his blastmask.
“Worse. Mageye is carried into the bistro on a palanquin, ya see, by these five strong Weequays. The excitement starts, the Thigs are shootin’ at everything that moves, two Weequays get hit, they drop the palanquin, and the worm rolls off … right on top of Zardra!”
“Hah! Poor Zardra!”
“Poor Mageye. Zardra’s wearin’ full armor, but she’s still gettin’ crushed and the slime and stench is about to suffocate her … So she pulls a gauge-six thermal detonator out of her pocket and pops it into the Hutt’s mouth!”
Goa paused for effect, letting his listeners form an image of what happened next. Greedo made a soft hooting noise. Dyyz emitted a choking sound. Goa picked up his Thundercloud and swallowed.
“It took ’em a month to clean up the mess, boys.” Goa swigged more Thundercloud, and his foam-covered beak made a satisfied clacking noise.
“Uh … great. Good story, Warhog,” said Dyyz, laughing. “So when’s our turn to meet with Jabba?”
Goa looked at his chronometer. “Actually, we’re late,” he said. “Let’s get moving.”
9. Jabba
Jabba the Hutt, gangster preeminent, was receiving petitioners at his Mos Eisley town house, a short walk from the cantina.
A violent windstorm brewed in the surrounding desert, whipping clouds of grit over Mos Eisley. The narrow streets of the spaceport were dust-choked and dim. The three bounty hunters pulled protective cloaks across their faces as they hurried to their audience with the notorious Hutt.
“Don’t know how they can keep droids functioning on a place like this,” said Dyyz. “My visor’s already got three centimeters of sand under it.”
“Moisture farmers use up a lot of droids,” said Goa. “Sand seizes joints and clogs cooling fins, and the ’tronics burn out. Half the population thrives off the junk that’s the main product of this hot and dusty planet.”
Star Wars: Tales from Mos Eisley Cantina Page 5