Star Wars_ Tales From the Mos Eisley Cantina - Kevin J. Anderson [23]
On a signal from Fortuna, the three bounty hunters bowed ceremoniously and moved back to make room for the next team of job applicants—an unsavory human named Dace Bonearm and his IG-model assassin droid.
Greedo found himself separated from Goa and Dyyz, as they were swallowed up in the crowded audience chamber. Greedo made his way to an open spot in a corner, next to the bar. Without being asked, the Aqualish bartender slid a brimming glass his way. Greedo felt proud of himself as he leaned back against the wall and sipped the syrupy Tatooine Sunburn.
Across the room he could see Dyyz, standing next to a hunter named Dengar that Greedo remembered from Nar Shaddaa. They were both examining their scrolls and comparing notes.
Warhog Goa was deep in conversation with one of the Rodians. Greedo felt a twinge of jealousy, seeing his mentor talking to another Rodian bounty hunter.
I’m a bounty hunter, he thought. I’m going to stalk my prey and I’m going to collect the reward and I’m going to start building a rep. I’m going to be the toughest Rodian bounty hunter that ever was.
I wonder what that Rodian and Goa are talking about? He saw Goa look toward him and then the Rodian’s eyes met his, and Greedo realized they were talking about him. At first he felt uneasy being noticed by the strange Rodian. Then Goa waved and the Rodian held up his hand, suckers out, in a gesture of brotherhood.
Greedo beamed with pride. Okay, they’re talkin’ about me—Greedo the Bounty Hunter.
10. Solo
“RRUUARRRNN!” The Wookiee slammed a shaggy fist down on the Millennium Falcon’s shield generator and pushed back his welding mask.
“Take it easy, Chewie. I wanna get off this dirtball as much as you do. But without deflectors we’re easy game for spicejackers and nosy Imps.”
“Hwuarrn? Nnrruahhnm?”
“Right. Jabba’s throwing the biggest bounty-hunting bash in the sector—and you just know our names are gettin’ bandied around over dessert. That’s another reason to blow this joint. But like I say, if the ship had been undercover during the sandstorm, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Han Solo finished vacuuming sand out of the alluvial dampers and wiped his brow on his sleeve. Why does a free and unfettered guy like me always end up on wasted planets like this, when he could be basking in the oceanside breezes of any gambling resort in the universe?
Because I’m not very good at sabacc, he thought. Lucky sometimes, yeah. But not that lucky. Unlike some people I know, I gotta work for a living.
Chewbacca made a soft warning growl and Solo raised his head and looked around. Two bulbous faceted eyes were staring at him out of spiny green balls of flesh. The leather-garbed humanoid body beneath the head held a blaster in multisuckered fingers.
“Han Solo?” The voice from the long green snout spoke through an electronic translator.
“Who wants to know?” Han knew who wanted to know. A Rodian with a blaster is always a bounty hunter … or a bill collector.
“Greedo. I work for Jabba the Hutt.”
“Greedo … oh yeah, I remember you—the kid who tried to steal my power couplings. Okay, good for you, so now you’re workin’ for Jabba. By the way, I understand Rodian, so you can turn off the squawk box.”
Han jumped down from the scaffolding as casually as he could and picked up a rag to wipe his hands. Hidden in the rag was a small Telltrig-7 blaster, carefully placed there for just this eventuality. Fortunately he didn’t have to use it—his mouth was his best weapon:
“Listen … tell Jabba the truth—I came to Tatooine for only one reason: to pay him.”
Greedo turned off the translator. Goa had suggested he use it to make sure the “client” fully understood the gravity of the situation. But if Solo really understands Rodian, I’ll be able to use untranslatable Rodian threats.
“Neshki J’ba klulta ntuz tch krast, Solo.” Jabba doesn’t believe dorsal-spine parasites tell