while the local crimelords were lounging in the Corellian bath
houses, making deals with their interstellar counterparts.
Anky Fremp had shown Greedo the ins and outs of the black
market-who paid the most for stolen hardware . . . and who had the
best price on glitterstim, skin jackets, and Yerk music cubes.
Fremp and Greedo were a team, and had been a team for two
years. Pqweeduk was still a dumb kid, playing mindless street
games with his pals.
"Ska chusko, Pqweeduk!" Grow up, Pqweeduk!
While he waited for Fremp, Greedo watched the street. Every
kind of life, human and alien, passed through Nar Shaddaa. Maybe
half were legitimate traders and freight haulers, working for one
or another of the great transgalactic corporations. The rest were
operating somewhere beyond the outer edges of the law.
One group that fascinated Greedo didn't seem to be chasing gold
and excitement, and you almost never saw them on the street. They
were the so-called Rebels- political outsiders who had taken a
stand against the despotic rule of Emperor Palpatine and his cruel
military dictator, Darth Vader.
There were Rebels on this spaceport moon-Greedo knew. They hid
out in an old warehouse on Level 88, the same level where the
Rodian refugees lived. The Rebels were stashing all kinds of
weapons there-weapons that arrived hidden in exotic cargos of
precious metals and spice . . . and left in the darkest hours of
the night, on blockade runner ships destined for far-flung
outposts among the stars.
I'U bet the Empire would pay a lot to know what the Rebels are
doing on Nar Shaddaa. But how would I give the Imps that
information? I don't know anybody who works for the Empire.
Just then Greedo heard the shrill sting of laser shots and he
instinctively ducked, crouching down behind the crumbling
retaining wall his brother had repulsor-jumped a few minutes
before.
Peering carefully over the top of the wall, he saw a man in the
distinctive green uniform of an Imperial spice inspector emerge
from the shadows and run through the crowded thoroughfare. More
laser shots echoed, and the crowd began to rapidly disperse into
the surrounding alleys and gambling saloons.
Greedo saw bright bolts of energy smashing off buildings and
vehicles. The running man was hit and went down, not three meters
from Greedo's hiding place.
Two imposing figures stepped out of the shadows onto the
brightly lit concourse. With deliberate steps they approached the
fallen man.
The larger of the two figures, who was dressed in a rusted
skull-shaped helmet and full Ithullan armor, nudged the victim
with his boot. "He's dead, Goa."
The shorter figure bent over to inspect the victim, and Greedo
got a glimpse of a mottled brown wide-beaked face squatting on a
disarrangement of leather and iron and bandoleers. "Too bad,
Dyyz," said the short one. "I only tried to wing him. He was worth
twice as much alive."
Bounty hunters, thought Greedo. They've taken their prey... now
they'll be collecting the reward. I'll bet it's a lot. I'll bet
they're rich.
The big one, whom the other called Dyyz, bent over and picked
up the dead spice inspector and slung him easily over his
shoulder. "All in a day's work, hey, Goa? I gave this scum a bribe
or two myself, over the years . . . but when the Imps put a man on
the bounty roster, there's only one way to go! Let's bag and stash
him and go for a drink."
"Fine with me. I'm thirsty as a Tatooine farmboy."
Greedo noticed for the first time that the one called Goa had
an oversized blaster rifle slung on his back. He'd never seen a
blaster that large. It was cased in scrolled black metal and
layered with tubing and electronics. A custom job, Greedo thought.
Look at the sights on that thing! I'll bet that's one bounty
hunter who always gets his man.
Greedo expected the two bounty hunters to disappear back the
way they came, but instead they walked straight toward him.
The closer they got to the retaining wall, the more frightening
their appearance became. The big one, Dyyz, wore a corroded
parasteel helmet that covered a his entire head. The face mask -
narrow eyeslits in a stylized death's-head - communicated deadly,
inexorable threat. This one wore the armor of the extinct Ithullan
race - Greedo knew the warlike Ithulls had been wiped out hundreds
of years ago, their civilization crushed and annihilated by
another, equally warlike race, the Mandalore. From -the looks of
his armor, thought Greedo, he must have stolen it from an Imperial
museum!
The other bounty hunter, Goa, was outfitted in a hodgepodge of
gear that suggested he never changed it or took it off - he had
simply added new pieces over the worn-out ones, until he became a
walking collection of military costuming and equipment.
The most fascinating aspect of Goa was his head obviously an
intelligent species of bird - or descended from birds. Mottled
brown leathery skin, featherless, with tiny intense eyes buried
behind a broad scarred beak.
Dyyz and Goa reached the retaining wall and Greedo ducked down.
The next thing Greedo heard was a third voice, rasping and cruel
"Well, well, if it ain't Dyyz Nataz and Warhog Goa- where ya
been, boys? You should know be tier'n ta stiff an' old friend!"
"Ease up, Gorm. You'll get your share. Fact is, Warhog and me
are takin' in this blacklisted spice inspector. The Imps'll pay us
plenty and we'll be more than happy to cut you in on the deal!"
"Hell we will, Dyyz." That was Goa's voice. "There's two of us
and one of Gorm. He can wait for the credits we owe him."
"One of me is worth six of you cage cleaners-"
Blaster fire spanged and red bolts of energy shot over Greedo's
head. He ducked lower and the sounds of a fierce struggle came to
his ears. Suddenly Goa's big blaster rifle came flying over the
wall and clattered on the pavement next to Greedo.
As he impulsively reached out to touch the weapon, Greedo heard
the one called Gorm directing the one called Dyyz to hand over the
body of the spice inspector. "Give 'im up ... and I'll let ya live
another day-"
Finding the courage to again peer over the wall, Greedo saw a
most awesome figure, two heads higher than Dyyz Nataz, clothed in
heavy plated armor and full helmet. The eyes of the face mask were
glowing red electronics. Must be a droid, Greedo thought. I've
heard of renegade assassin droids taking up the bounty trade. Or
maybe it isn't a droid . . .
Greedo suddenly had an idea. Taking the huge blaster rifle in
trembling suckers, Greedo hefted the weapon as quietly as he could
into firing position. He checked for a safety switch-found it and
armed the gun.
Then, surreptitious as Uncle Nok waiting for a Manka cat, he
hoisted the nose of the rifle over the edge of the retaining wall.
It pointed straight at t
he back of Gorm.
Greedo saw Goa's eyes go to the rifle and then flick away.
Greedo squeezed the trigger.
The weapon whistled and roared and the bounty hunter called
Gorm toppled forward with a grunt, a blackened blaster hole in the
center of his back.
As Greedo stood up, Goa emitted a maniacal cackling noise and
lunged for the rifle. But Greedo swung the barrel at Goa's head.
"Whoa, kid! Easy there! That's a hair-trigger yer pinching!"
Dyyz snorted and laughed. "Thanks, kid. You saved our skin.
We're eternally in your debt. Now if you'll just give my partner
back his weapon, we'll be on our way."
Greedo clambered carefully over the wall, keeping the blaster
rifle trained on Goa. Moving closer to the prone figure of Gorm,
he looked into the hole he'd made in the big bounty hunter's back.
Fused wires, exploded electronics. "Is he a droid?" asked Greedo.
"You might say that," said Goa. "Now about the gun -how about
we cut you in on the reward for this inspector? You've earned it."
"I've got a better idea," said Greedo. "I think I can help you
guys make a lot of money."
5. The Smuggler and the Wookiee
"Spurch Warhog Goa?" Why do they call him Warhog?
Anky Fremp, Greedo's street friend, sat on the edge of a
parking platform, with his short legs dangling over a miles-deep
city canyon. Anky was a Sionian Skup, a near-human race with small
closely spaced eyes, hair as brittle as glass, and skin the color
of dianoga cheese. Anky pitched one bottle after another into the
abyss.
The distance from the spaceport's highest tower to the surface
of the Nar Shaddaa moon was so great, they never heard the bottles
hit. But sometimes the bottles collided with a cab or freighter
repulsing up the shaft, and that was fun.
"What you doin' that for?" Greedo said with disdain. "That's
the kind of stupid game my kid brother plays. If Corellian Port
Control catches ya, we can be conscripted to work on an ore
hauler."
"Yeah . . . you're right. I'm gettin' too old for this stuff.
Oh well, there goes the last one."
A hangar scow emerged into the shaft seven levels down, and
Fremp's missile hit the scow pilot square on his protective
helmet. The man looked up, screaming, and shook his fist.
When the scow lifted rapidly toward them, Greedo and Fremp
decided they'd been edge-sitting long enough, and began walking
fast toward Ninx's garage -one of their favorite hangouts.
"Okay, so tell me the deal, Greedo. These bounty hunters you
m et are going to make you rich?"
"Yeah, I told 'em about the Rebels runnin' guns through Level
88. The Empire pays a big bounty for that kind of information.
Dyyz and Warhog said they'd cut me in on the take."
"Wow. Will ya share it with me?"
Greedo sounded superior. "Yeah . . . I'll throw a few credits
your way, Fremp. But most of it I'm going to use to buy me my own
ship. Ninx has got a cute little Incom corsair he'll let me have
for fourteen thousand. All she needs is new power couplings."
"That's nothing. We can steal the couplings!"
"Right. I can steal the power couplings." Greedo gave his eager
friend the Rodian's version of a condescending look, as they
arrived at the secret door to Ninx's garage. Fremp doesn't need to
think any part of my new ship is going to belong to him.
Shug Ninx's assistant was an ambidextrous Corellian hyperdrive
mechanic named Warb. Warb recognized the two youths on the entry
monitor.
"Hey, Anky . . . Greedo. Got any hot therm pumps for rne
today?"
"Sorry, Warb. Tomorrow we'll have something."
"Okay, see ya tomorrow. Shug ain't around and I'm busy."
"I want to show Anky that little Incom corsair I'm going to
buy."
"Hmmm . . . okay. C'mon in. But if any tools show up missin'
I'm gonna know who to vaporize."
Warb buzzed them into Ninx's garage and went back to.work
helping a smuggler overhaul the lightdrive on a beat-up YT-1300
freighter he'd won in a sabacc game.
The cavernous repair shop was a confusion of dismembered ships
and the greasy clutter of a lifetime- parts everywhere, whole
assemblies hanging from lifts and cradles-and bright flashes of
ion flow welding from technician droids working high on
scaffolding surrounding a massive Kuat Starjammer-IZX fast freight
hauler that seemed to take up half the garage.
Greedo and Anky wandered through a maze of packing crates to
where the Incom Corsair sat on her landing skids, gleaming like an
Arkanian jewel. She looked almost new!
"There she is," said Greedo proudly. "I'm going to call her The
Manka Hunter. Nice, huh?"
Anky gulped. "Only fourteen thousand credits for this? I don't
believe it! Shug's probably going to substitute some broken-down
clunker once he's got the money."
"Not my pal Shug. He knows I'm going to be a bounty hunter. He
knows a bounty hunter has to have a good ship."
"You're going to be a bounty hunter?"
Greedo puffed out his chest. "Yeah. My friend Warhog Goa said
he'd teach me the trade. He said some of the best bounty hunters
are Rodians."
Anky became an instant believer. "Do you think he'd teach me to
be a bounty hunter, too?"
Greedo hooted. "I don't think the Skups were ever known to do
much in the way of bounty killing."
Anky looked crestfallen. The Sionan home world was noted mostly
for the master thieves it had produced.
"Come on, Anky. Let's look at the inside of my ship."
But the Corsair's hatch was locked. Since Shug wasn't around,
they'd have to ask Warb to unlock it. They made their way back
through the packing crates and clutter and headed toward the YT-
1300 where Warb and the smuggler were working. They were almost to
the freighter when Greedo spotted a pair of Dekfc-6 power
couplings sitting on a workbench, next to Shug's milling machine.
Greedo knew right away they were Dekks. Dekk-6's were the best.
Modog couplings used to be the best, but starship technology was
advancing very rapidly, thanks to the Empire and its insatiable
military needs.
Fremp spotted the Dekks too, and both youths stopped to admire
the gleaming components. A pair of Dekk-6's could cost twenty
thousand credits-that's how advanced they were.
"I'll bet Warb is planning to put these in that junk heap he's
workin' on," said Greedo. "He's going to have to mill the casings,
to fit the converter flanges on that old freighter."
"These are just what we need for your new Corsair," said Anky,
fingering the expensive hardware. "They'll drop right in."
Yes. Greedo had already felt an impulse to steal the Dekks.
They were brand-new, they were beyond beautiful, and he would
never find their like stripping Hutt caravels.
A bounty hunter needs a fast ship. My ship will be the best. I
will replace every part of my ship with the most advanced
components I can buy or steal. N
o one will outrun The Manka
Hunter.
Greedo looked around casually and scanned the garage. Warb and
the smuggler were floating a heavy power cell up the gangway of
the YT-1300. They disappeared through the hatch.
No one was watching.
Greedo slipped off his rancor-skin jacket and wrapped it around
the fist-sized couplings.
"Come on, Anky. Let's go. I gotta meet Goa in twenty minutes."
"Right. Let's go."
Suddenly Greedo felt powerful shaggy paws grip him around the
waist and hoist him into the air. He dropped the skin jacket as he
kicked and struggled, and the Dekk couplings clattered onto the
floor.
"HNUUAAKRN!"
"Te kalya jkrek, grulla woska!" Put me down, ya hairy heap!
The Wookiee turned Greedo with his paws so he could look into
the snouted green face. "NNHNGR-RAAAGH!" Greedo saw bared teeth
and angry eyes, and he wilted. Anky Fremp was already heading for
the door.
"What's goin' on, Chewie?" The tall Corellian smuggler
appeared, with Warb at his side. The smuggler had his right hand
on a bolstered blaster.
"HNNRRNAWWN. " The Wookiee's groans were just terrifying noise
to the youth, but the smuggler seemed to understand them
perfectly.
"Stealing our Dekk-6's, huh? Great. What kind of shop you guys
running, Warb? Do you know what I had to pay for these Dekks?"
"Sorry, Han. I told Shug I didn't trust these street kids, but
he took a liking to the green one . . . You know the rules,
Greedo. I'm goin' to have to tell Shug about this. If you know
what's good for ya, you'll get out of here and never come back . .
. that is, if the Wookiee don't break yer neck first!"
The big Wookiee was still holding the terrified Rodian a meter
off the floor, as if waiting for a signal from his friend the
smuggler.
"Wait a minute," said the smuggler. "Don't hurt him, Chewie.
I'm going to teach the little sneak a lesson . . . Where'd you put
those burnt-out Modogs, Warb?"
The Wookiee lowered Greedo to the floor, but kept his hairy paw
on him as Warb fished around in a big trash barrel next to the
workbench. A second later Warb emerged with two blackened and
corroded Modog power couplings. He gave them to the smuggler and
the smuggler handed them to Greedo.
"Here. The kid wants power couplings, he can have these. I took
'em off the Millennium Falcon. They've got a real pedigree, kid.
Star Wars - Tales From The Mos Eisley Cantina Page 4