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“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.”

Two stout Gamorrean tuskers blocked the heavy iron grid that protected the courtyard of Jabba’s town house. The piglike brutes made threatening grunts and brandished battle-axes as the bounty hunters appeared out of the darkening streets. But Warhog Goa didn’t hesitate, roaring but the password he’d been given earlier. The Gamorreans immediately stepped back.

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