Author Note: This is my first attempt at a star wars fic, but I love the story and the possibilities. I don't own any rights to anything SW, and never will. The universe and trademarks are all LucasArts. I borrowed the time period from Episode three, otherwise, the fic is entirely original. Enjoy, review if you like. Thanks.

"How about now?" The chief's voice called from above him. The ship's engine made a high pitch whine, and then emitted a sound like a dying bantha. Seconds thereafter, smoke began to drift from beneath the wing foils and a grinding sound could be heard with growing intensity.

"No, shut it down," was the shouted reply.

Boss Haggs swung his legs over the cockpit ladder and dropped himself unceremoniously to the ground. He was wiping his hands on a rag that had seen much, much better days. "What do you think?" He looked down at the pair of legs hanging out from beneath the craft's port wing.

"The hydraulic arm is busted, and the interior cables are leaking fluid. We'll have to replace both of them." The voice, and it's owner, were young. Haggs had recruited Silas to work in his hangar two years prior, right when business had been getting really good. The boy knew all types of ships like Haggs did, and the chief could see the boy one day taking over for him. One day a long, long time from now.

"You mean you'll have to replace them." Haggs' grin ascended into a laugh when he heard the thump from underneath the wing.

"What! Me? By myself?" The young man was trying to crawl out from underneath the wing.

"You know better, I'll give you Ricket and Guido. Can you get it done in a week?" He crossed his arms over his barrel chest.

"No," the young man finally emerged. "I can get it done in three days, if you can get me the parts." He straightened, and the two mechanics appraised each other. Haggs was a huge man, heavy set with more muscles than someone his age should have, but he'd been a mechanic all his life. He worked hard, and it showed. His face was a mass of hard lines underneath a lot of skin and absolutely no hair. He was smooth bald and clean shaven, but he had a hangdog expression that turned his mouth down into a perpetual frown. Sadly, it was a façade; Haggs was the nicest man Silas had ever come across.

Silas himself was Hagg's polar opposite. He was moderately tall, about average, and whipcord lean. He too, had the deceptive strength of a mechanic and a manual dexterity that would rival a droid's. He had a full head of hair that was barely longer than half an inch, and Haggs always told him it made him look like a clone. The two years working for Haggs had rubbed off on him, and he too was a kind soul.

"Three days, huh?" Haggs rubbed his chin and appraised the crippled craft. It was a first generation X-wing, with foils that spread away from the center wing, and the entire port underside was malfunctioning. It would take the best mechanics in the Republic, or now the Empire, nine days to fix. "You've got it. I'll have the parts here tomorrow."

Silas nodded and surveyed his workplace. The hangar was gigantic. Currently the projects were his X-wing, a few land speeders, two swoop bikes, and two large luxury clippers that had to be dry docked and carted over by the local authorities. Haggs had it made for himself. It was only his chief's laughter that brought him out of his scrutiny. He turned to face him.

"What is it, chief?" He crossed his arms to imitate his employer.

"Two years," Haggs clapped a hand on his back, "Two years and you already work harder than anyone here, ready to run the place." He shook his head. "Your done for today, go on home. Get here tomorrow an hour early and you can get started. Your excused from other work until this is done. Good job today, go get some sleep." Silas nodded and turned, sliding the suspender straps off of his shoulders and heading towards the back of the hangar, where the office was. He exchanged tired smiles with a few of his fellow workers, and what could have passed for smiles with a few of the lesser humanoid resembling ones. He sighed as he walked through the open doorway into the office foyer, passing by the receptionist who's name he couldn't even begin to pronounce.

"Another day," he whispered, pushing open the door to the employee's locker room. A few moments and he was out of his jumpsuit and pulling on his everyday clothes. A simple white shirt and a pair of sand brown pants that he tucked into shin high boots. He believed in simplicity. He casually removed his canvas bag from his designated footlocker and kicked it closed. Without much thought, he made his way to the rear of the room and out the door that lead into the back alley.

Silas didn't own any method of transportation other than his feet, and hadn't, in twenty three years. His feet suited him just fine. He lived in a small, rented hab about twenty minutes from the hangar, and he liked it. Quaint, and the owners accepted any form of currency he would give them. Such was the life on Laebus II.

An Hour Later

Silas sat in the center of his home's common room, cross legged, with his eyes narrowed to relaxed slits. He stared into nothingness, letting his mind wander and focus all at the same time. Rhodian candles burned brightly in multiple places, giving the home a haunted, lurking feel. This was a ritual unique to him, as he had begun it a long time ago. Silas had been getting headaches for as long as he could remember, and when he was just a bit younger, he learned how to quell them. A simple daily exercise that over the years had developed damning implications.

He breathed deep and closed his eyes, searching for something, anything to be the object of his focus. He found it. There was a constant noise in the background; rain. A light patter had begun outside, a storm ahead of the season. His mind snapped onto the sound and he poured himself into the effort. It came so easy after so long. His eyes came back open, and his gaze shifted to a candle in the far corner of the room. It winked out as if blown upon. Another shift of his gaze, another candle snuffed. After two more glances, only candles behind him remained. His slipped into his far off expression, and all at once they extinguished, pitching the room into darkness. He slid to his feet smoothly.

In the aftermath of the clone wars and the birth of the new Empire, there was one thing more dangerous to be than a rebel.

Jedi.