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back the way they came, but instead they walked straight toward him.
    The closer they got to the retaining wall, the more frightening their appearance became. The big one, Dyyz, wore a corroded parasteel helmet that covered his entire head. The face mask—narrow eyeslits in a stylized death’s-head—communicated deadly, inexorable
threat
. This one wore the armor of the extinct Ithullan race—Greedo knew the warlike Ithulls had been wiped out hundreds of years ago, their civilization crushed and annihilated by another, equally warlike race, the Mandalore. From the looks of his armor, thought Greedo, he must have stolen it from an Imperial museum!
    The other bounty hunter, Goa, was outfitted in a hodgepodge of gear that suggested he never changed it or took it off—he had simply added new pieces over the worn-out ones, until he became a walking collection of military costuming and equipment.
    The most fascinating aspect of Goa was his head: obviously an intelligent species of bird—or descendedfrom birds. Mottled brown leathery skin, featherless, with tiny intense eyes buried behind a broad scarred beak.
    Dyyz and Goa reached the retaining wall and Greedo ducked down. The next thing Greedo heard was a third voice, rasping and cruel:
    “Well, well, if it ain’t Dyyz Nataz and Warhog Goa—where ya been, boys? You should know better’n ta stiff an’ old friend!”
    “Ease up, Gorm. You’ll get your share. Fact is, Warhog and me are takin’ in this blacklisted spice inspector. The Imps’ll pay us plenty and we’ll be more than happy to cut you in on the deal!”
    “Hell we will, Dyyz.” That was Goa’s voice. “There’s two of us and one of Gorm. He can wait for the credits we owe him.”
    “One of me is worth
six
of you cage cleaners—”
    Blaster fire spanged and red bolts of energy shot over Greedo’s head. He ducked lower and the sounds of a fierce struggle came to his ears. Suddenly Goa’s big blaster rifle came flying over the wall and clattered on the pavement next to Greedo.
    As he impulsively reached out to touch the weapon, Greedo heard the one called Gorm directing the one called Dyyz to hand over the body of the spice inspector. “Give ’im up … and I’ll let ya live another day—”
    Finding the courage to again peer over the wall, Greedo saw a most awesome figure, two heads higher than Dyyz Nataz, clothed in heavy plated armor and full helmet. The eyes of the face mask were glowing red electronics.
Must be a droid
, Greedo thought.
I’ve heard of renegade assassin droids taking up the bounty trade. Or maybe it isn’t a droid …
    Greedo suddenly had an idea. Taking the huge blaster rifle in trembling suckers, Greedo hefted the weapon as quietly as he could into firing position. He checked for a safety switch—found it and armed the gun.
    Then, surreptitious as Uncle Nok waiting for aManka cat, he hoisted the nose of the rifle over the edge of the retaining wall. It pointed straight at the back of
Gorm
.
    Greedo saw Goa’s eyes go to the rifle and then flick away. Greedo squeezed the trigger.
    The weapon whistled and roared and the bounty hunter called Gorm toppled forward with a grunt, a blackened blaster hole in the center of his back.
    As Greedo stood up, Goa emitted a maniacal cackling noise and lunged for the rifle. But Greedo swung the barrel at Goa’s head.
    “Whoa, kid! Easy there! That’s a hair-trigger yer pinching!”
    Dyyz snorted and laughed. “Thanks, kid. You saved our skin. We’re eternally in your debt. Now if you’ll just give my partner back his weapon, we’ll be on our way.”
    Greedo clambered carefully over the wall, keeping the blaster rifle trained on Goa. Moving closer to the prone figure of Gorm, he looked into the hole he’d made in the big bounty hunter’s back. Fused wires, exploded electronics. “Is he a droid?” asked Greedo.
    “You might say that,” said Goa. “Now about the gun—how about we cut you in on the reward for this