Free Tales from Mos Eisley Cantina by Kevin J. Anderson Page A

Chewie?”
    “Hwarrun!”
    “Disappeared, huh? Another half-baked bounty creep, probably. You’d think Jabba could buy the best to track a guy like me!”
    “Hurrwan nwrunnh.”
    “Yeah, I agree. We’re playin’ with fire hanging around here. The Falcon ’s prepped—we could have jumped this morning if Taggart had kept his promise. If he doesn’t show by tomorrow with that load of glitterstimhe wants transferred, we’re history, okay with you?”
    “WNHUARRN!”
    “I thought so.”
    Jabba the Hutt was not amused.
    “Kubwa funga na jibo! You said this inexperienced slime-wart could collect from Solo! I ought to toss you both into my private dungeon and let you rot!”
    Or words to that effect. The great worm huffed and rumbled and oozed foulness. On either side of his throne platform, Weequays and Nikto brandished their weapons ominously. As usual, Jabba’s audience chamber was crowded with the dregs of a hundred galactic civilizations.
    Warhog Goa was abject. He groveled shamelessly before the bloated drooling crimelord. As he did so, he regretted bringing Greedo back here without the prize. But he had to seek another audience, to persuade Jabba to let Greedo kill Solo without collecting the debt. That was the key. Now the words tumbled out in one breath—he had to say it all before Jabba pronounced their deaths!
    “Oh, most incomparable Jabba, as you are well aware, Han Solo, that worthless piece of dianoga dung, is a very difficult customer. May I suggest that you allow my protégé to simply kill Solo, and take his ship as payment for the debt he owes you?”
    Jabba grunted and puffed his water pipe thoughtfully. Then he seemed to brighten, if that were possible. “Ne voota kinja. Jabba likes your suggestion. He will spare the superfluous life of your protégé.”
    He looked straight at Greedo before he spoke again. At a signal from Jabba, the silver protocol droid, K-8LR, stepped up and translated Jabba’s every evil word into the Rodian tongue: “You may bring me Solo so that I may kill him—or you may kill him yourself and deliver his ship’s papers to me. Jabba has seen in his wisdom that this must be so.”
    Greedo breathed a sigh of relief and bowed slavishly. “Thank you, great Jabba. Your wisdom is—”
    “Na kungo! But you had better work fast! I now declare an open bounty on Han Solo. And I raise the price for his head to one hundred thousand credits!”
    “One hundred thousand!” said Goa. “Every bounty hunter in the—”
    “Yes. So true. If your protégé can’t get Solo, somebody else most certainly will!”
    Then Jabba leaned forward and once again fastened his malevolent eyes on Greedo. “And if you do not fulfill our bargain, you had better start running, little green insect. Bring me Solo—alive or dead!”
    11. The Cantina
    There was live music today. The patrons were in an ugly mood.
    Greedo and Goa sat in the booth next to the lobby entrance. When Solo and the Wookiee came in, Solo pretended not to see them, but Chewbacca articulated a low growl as he passed Greedo.
    “They know we’re here, Warhog.”
    “Yeah. That’s the idea. Are you ready to execute the plan?”
    “Nchtha zno ta. Fnrt pwusko vtulla pa.” I’m not sure. I’m getting a bad feeling.
    “Well, if you’re not ready, I suggest we head for hyperspace, before Jabba finds out. I’ve got work to do.”
    “Where’s Dyyz?”
    “He left this morning. Hitched a ride with 4-Lom and Zuckuss. Dyyz has a rich contract—a warlord who decided to evict the Hutts from the Komnor system.”
    “Sounds like a difficult job.”
    “Very difficult. But Dyyz Nataz is the man to do it. And you’re the right hunter for the Han Solo hit, Greedo my boy. Are you ready?”
    Just then there was a disturbance at the bar. Shouting, a scuffle, then the sudden flash and drone of alightsaber. A dismembered arm flew through the air, landing near Greedo’s chair. The music stopped.
    Greedo and Goa had noticed the old man