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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 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 better’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