Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars; Lucas owns Star Wars. I'm just having fun writing this.

This story takes place some three thousand years after the Battle of Yavin (A.B.Y.). I'll try to stick with the known Star Wars history as much as I can, though there are parts that may differ. In some cases, you can credit it to the seven thousand years' difference from the Knights of the Old Republic game era. In others, it is my mistake or possibly not having read that history yet. Of course, what has happened since the Legacy of the Force books (Invincible) is what I try to portray here, in what I imagine could happen. I have not read the Legacy comic books involving Cade, so there may be some changes in plotline there. This is based more so on KotOR happenings, though. In the meantime, relax, buckle your crash webbing, and we'll jump into hyperspace. Destination: A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

Smuggler

"You're not a Jedi."

Carsacc turned his head from staring at his drink to face his accuser. She was small, petite. Still, she carried a burning look in her eyes that told him quite clearly she didn't approve of something. From the way she glowered at his shoulders, he suspected it was because he was wearing a Jedi robe unbuckled or kept– without respect.

"No I'm not," he answered simply, choosing to ignore her anger. "Not a Sith, either." He looked back down to nudge the Corellian ale, which so far remained full. It was an odd habit of his, to spend a few credits for a drink he never tasted.

"Then why do you wear that?" she demanded. He scowled; she would raise a scene if she wasn't careful, and he didn't want that. She looked plain enough in her simple green vest and light top, enough that it fit in perfectly with the crowd. Truth be told, he was surprised she had even recognized the outer garments he wore as Jedi.

"The Sith are all dead, no fear of being flayed alive for being mistaken as the enemy."

"And you wouldn't be mistaken for a Jedi?"

He smirked, thinking about his beard stubble and unkempt, dark brown hair. He looked as far from a Jedi as a rancor, and he carried no lightsaber. A beat-up blaster that he couldn't aim was it, barely visible. "Anyone who would think that should get their eyes checked. I'm nothing more than a smuggler." He leaned back in his chair, hearing it creak and something splinter. Why was she being so persistent? And who was she, anyway?

"And what do you smuggle? Spice? Slaves?" The edge on her voice bordered on bitter anger. Did she blame him for a bad childhood past?

"That was outlawed long ago," he answered quietly. "No slaves. No spice. No knights to go and stop it, no lords to revive it again. That trade died along with the old masters."

"Then why do you wear a Jedi's robe? Who did you kill?" she asked suspiciously.

His jaw set sharply, and he clutched the handle of the drink. That was too close for comfort. "Careful, anger and passion are the traits of the Sith," he retorted.

"I'm not a Sith!" She snapped, raising a few glances from other cantina-goers. So that was a pressure point. He could use that. He looked up innocently.

"And are you Jedi?"

"No," she said quickly, not dropping the emotion that had backed into her voice. How like a pouty teenager, and she could be hardly more than twenty.

Carsacc pushed the chair back and stood, leaving the full mug on the table. "I am not a Jedi. I have no mythical powers, no way with the sword. I'm a smuggler; that's all." If only he could believe it, then maybe she would, too.

"What do you smuggle?"

He flinched. It was a bold question in that run-down place. But then he smiled curiously, turning to look at her. "Ideas. So tell me, what do you believe? That there is no emotion? Or that peace is a lie?" He grinned, tapping his fingers to his forehead in a short nod. Then he turned his back to the girl, letting the wrinkled robe flutter in his wake. Behind him, he heard soft footsteps. Great. She was pursuing him.