Read Online Tales from Mos Eisley Cantina by Kevin J. Anderson - Free Book Online
Authors: Kevin J. Anderson
Tags: Star Wars
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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 at the sight and smell of the miasmic mass of the great gangster, fawned over by unctuous Twi’leks and Squidheads and … Rodians . Yes, the two Rodians they’d seen in the cantina were before the great Jabba, bowing slavishly, like supplicants in the palace of a Paladian Prince. A silver protocol droid was translating their groveling remarks for malodorous Jabba.
“Maybe they’re bending over to throw up,” said Dyyz, reading Greedo’s thoughts.
“How would a Rodian know the difference?” said Goa. “The green goons stink almost as bad as Jabba.”
Greedo gave Goa a startled look. Why did he say that? Am I just a “green goon” to him? He decided Goa was trying to make a crude joke.
As the two Rodians faded back into the crowd, majordomo Bib Fortuna cast a suspicious eye toward the new visitors. With an almost imperceptible nod, he signaled for Goa, Dyyz, and Greedo to step forward.
The rabble quieted as the three hunters moved to position in front of the great worm. Everyone wanted to see if a death sentence was about to be executed. When it became apparent that these were just another team of rapacious bounty hunters, the hubbub resumed.
“Vifaa karibu uta chuba Jabba!” began Goa, speaking perfect Huttese. He knew that Jabba himself spoke many languages fluently, and used his protocol droid for the several million other forms of communication. But he wished to honor the crimelord in every way possible.
“Moja jpo chakula cha asubuhi!” rumbled the Hutt, apparently pleased to be treated with respect by scum.
“What did he say?” said Dyyz. “What did you say?”
“I told ’im he’s the most disgustin’ pile o’ swamp sludge in the galaxy. He thanked me for groveling before his bloated slimy putrid body.”
“R-really,” whispered Greedo. “You said that?”
“Goa’s pullin’ yer snout, kid. We’d be rancor bait if he’d said any of that stuff.”
Goa turned his full attention to the Hutt, hoping Jabba hadn’t heard the whispered exchange.
If he had heard it, Jabba gave no sign. He proceeded to laugh quite jovially and popped a squirming sand maggot into his mouth. Greedo almost retched at the sight of the swollen tongue, dripping with slaver. At this distance, of not more than a meter and a half, the malignant smell of Jabba’s breath was overpowering.The Hurt’s lardaceous body seemed to periodically release a greasy discharge, sending fresh waves of rotten stench to Greedo’s sensitive nostrils.
“Ne subul Greedo , pombo gek fultrh badda wanga!” Goa put one hand on Greedo’s shoulder as he introduced his protégé to the illustrious gangster. Greedo bowed nervously, as the huge eyes turned on him and reduced him to space dust.
Jabba and Goa exchanged a few more phrases, and then Jabba proceeded to deliver a long soliloquy that ended with the words “… kwa bo noodta du dedbeeta Han Solo?”
Goa turned to Greedo and Dyyz. “The worm has seen fit to offer us the opportunity of
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 at the sight and smell of the miasmic mass of the great gangster, fawned over by unctuous Twi’leks and Squidheads and … Rodians . Yes, the two Rodians they’d seen in the cantina were before the great Jabba, bowing slavishly, like supplicants in the palace of a Paladian Prince. A silver protocol droid was translating their groveling remarks for malodorous Jabba.
“Maybe they’re bending over to throw up,” said Dyyz, reading Greedo’s thoughts.
“How would a Rodian know the difference?” said Goa. “The green goons stink almost as bad as Jabba.”
Greedo gave Goa a startled look. Why did he say that? Am I just a “green goon” to him? He decided Goa was trying to make a crude joke.
As the two Rodians faded back into the crowd, majordomo Bib Fortuna cast a suspicious eye toward the new visitors. With an almost imperceptible nod, he signaled for Goa, Dyyz, and Greedo to step forward.
The rabble quieted as the three hunters moved to position in front of the great worm. Everyone wanted to see if a death sentence was about to be executed. When it became apparent that these were just another team of rapacious bounty hunters, the hubbub resumed.
“Vifaa karibu uta chuba Jabba!” began Goa, speaking perfect Huttese. He knew that Jabba himself spoke many languages fluently, and used his protocol droid for the several million other forms of communication. But he wished to honor the crimelord in every way possible.
“Moja jpo chakula cha asubuhi!” rumbled the Hutt, apparently pleased to be treated with respect by scum.
“What did he say?” said Dyyz. “What did you say?”
“I told ’im he’s the most disgustin’ pile o’ swamp sludge in the galaxy. He thanked me for groveling before his bloated slimy putrid body.”
“R-really,” whispered Greedo. “You said that?”
“Goa’s pullin’ yer snout, kid. We’d be rancor bait if he’d said any of that stuff.”
Goa turned his full attention to the Hutt, hoping Jabba hadn’t heard the whispered exchange.
If he had heard it, Jabba gave no sign. He proceeded to laugh quite jovially and popped a squirming sand maggot into his mouth. Greedo almost retched at the sight of the swollen tongue, dripping with slaver. At this distance, of not more than a meter and a half, the malignant smell of Jabba’s breath was overpowering.The Hurt’s lardaceous body seemed to periodically release a greasy discharge, sending fresh waves of rotten stench to Greedo’s sensitive nostrils.
“Ne subul Greedo , pombo gek fultrh badda wanga!” Goa put one hand on Greedo’s shoulder as he introduced his protégé to the illustrious gangster. Greedo bowed nervously, as the huge eyes turned on him and reduced him to space dust.
Jabba and Goa exchanged a few more phrases, and then Jabba proceeded to deliver a long soliloquy that ended with the words “… kwa bo noodta du dedbeeta Han Solo?”
Goa turned to Greedo and Dyyz. “The worm has seen fit to offer us the opportunity of
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