Star Wars_ Tales From the Mos Eisley Cantina - Kevin J. Anderson [8]
An anvil-shaped Arcona head poked out the airlock. Clutching my Fizzz in one hand, I backed down the ladder. The human almost stomped my head in his hurry. “Come on,” he grumbled. “Move.” The ladder swayed from his weight. I barely held on, wishing I’d never met the guy. As more escapees piled on, the ladder’s sway became a terrifying oscillation.
I kept dropping. Once down, I spotted another half-dozen stormtroopers trotting up the main ramp in formation.
Another hot morning in Mos Eisley.
Ignoring the trickle of escapees behind us, we ran. “Now what?” wailed Nalan, cradling his arm against his chest. “Without the credits from that job, how are we going to get offplanet?”
“Three thousand credits,” Tech moaned, wagging his large, shiny head. “Three thousand credits.”
I glanced down to examine my Fizzz. It looked undamaged. “Not only that, but Figrin gambled away our reserves, seeding the table so he’d win today. Didn’t you, Figrin?”
The barman changed directions without even slowing down, and I almost got left. “This way,” he called.
“We can’t pay you for a bolt hole.” I hustled to catch up. “Thanks, but we’re broke.”
“This way,” he repeated. “I’ll get you a job.”
He led us up street and down alley. I followed, thinking, I’ll do anything—shovel sand, polish bantha saddles—but I won’t work for humans!
But his boss wasn’t human. The cantina owner, a beige and gray Wookiee named Chalmun, offered us a two-season contract.
No, I thought across the Wookiee’s office at Figrin. It’s too public, and that’s too long. Jabba will find us for sure.
“Sounds good,” Figrin answered. In Bithian, he added, “Once we find a way offworld, the Wookiee can keep our severance pay. Say yes.”
I almost walked back down the back stairs, but loyalty is loyalty.
We found crash space at Ruillia’s Insulated Rooms. We emerge daily to play in the cantina where my only human friend, Wuher, tends bar. Solo beat Figrin at sabacc yesterday, so he’s still alive, but D’Wopp was shipped home in pieces. Lady Val is single again and looks to stay that way.
And every time we tune up, I check the crowd. Just now, I spotted Jabba’s swivel-eared green Rodian … Greedo. He’s not bright, but he’s armed.
I’m watching him.
A Hunter’s Fate:
Greedo’s Tale
by Tom Veitch and
Martha Veitch
1. The Refuge
“Oona goota, Greedo?”
The question, spoken fearfully, was answered by the mocking cries of luminous bo-toads hidden in the mountain cave in the dripping green jungle. Pqweeduk scratched the insect bite on his tapirlike snout and made a brave hooting noise. He listened as the sound echoed with the wind in the dark hole that had swallowed his older brother.
Pqweeduk’s spiny back shivered. He flicked on his hand-torch and the suckers of his right hand fastened tightly to the shiny hunting knife Uncle Nok had given him for his twelfth birthday.
Pqweeduk stepped into the yawning cave.
But the cave in the jungle was not a cave, and a few meters in, the rocks and packed earth ended at an open steel door!
Pqweeduk leaned through the rectangular opening and flashed his torch upward. He was in a dome that filled the inside of the mountain. The young Rodian saw three great silvery ships squatting silently in the vastness.
“Greedo?”
“Nthan kwe kutha, Pqweeduk!” That was his brother’s voice. Pqweeduk saw Greedo’s hand-torch signaling and he walked toward it. His bare feet felt a smooth cold floor.
Greedo stood in the open hatch of one of the big ships. “Come on, Pqweeduk! There’s nothing to be afraid of! Come on inside and check it out!”
Their bulbous multifaceted eyes, already large, grew even larger as the two green youths explored the interior of the silver vessel. Everywhere were strange and unfamiliar metallic shapes that glittered and flashed in torchlight or presented dark angular silhouettes full of hidden purpose. But there were also places to sit, and