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Goa leaned forward and fixed Greedo with his beady eyes. “But if you take this money, that’s it, ya understand? I never want to see you again. You gotta make up your mind, kid. Do you want to learn the trade from an expert … or do ya want a few nights on the town and the down payment on a hot rod you’ll probably crash in a week? Warhog Goa can make you the galaxy’s second-greatest bounty hunter, kid … Warhog Goa being the first.”

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