Author Note: Refer to previous chapter.

Silas had pulled himself from sleep two and a half hours early, just so he could swing by the cantina to see Zeesa, the twi'lek bar keeper at the cantina. She always served him some kind of breakfast, even though most of the time he couldn't be sure what it was or wasn't. It helped that Zeesa was one of the most beautiful twi'leki's he'd ever seen.

The bulbous sun was just peeking over the horizon when he dragged himself through the door. Zeesa's head tentacles swiveled around her head as she polished the bar top, and he headed directly for her. She never looked up.

"Bad night?" her voice sounded obnoxiously peppy for this early in the morning. Silas nodded as he dropped himself onto a stool. "Another nightmare?" Again he nodded. She smiled a dazzling white smile at him that stood in stark contrast to her blue skin. "Sorry boy, something to eat?" She loved calling him "boy" because she knew it annoyed him. They had been having breakfast together, after a fashion, for months now. He enjoyed it immensely, she never complained.

"Sure, Zees, that'd be great." He rubbed at his eyes. It really had been an atrocious night. He had woken himself three times in a cold sweat, breathing heavily, trying to snap away from his dreams. They were always the same. No clear threat, but the sense of danger was ever present. It was like he was alone, in the dark. He hated the dark.

"Don't call me that," the Twi'leki grinned playfully, tossing her rag at him. He smiled and readjusted his pack and threw her rag absently back over the bar. "You missed the action last night." He scanned the bar as he listened to her. "No fights or anything like that, but just as exciting." She came back with a glass and a bottle of something clear. "A new pilot came in." She crossed her arms over her sizable chest.

Silas looked back at her, a little exasperated. He gave her a good once-over for the first time. She was as tall as he was, which wasn't unusual for her kind. She had a blue tint to her skin that matched her eyes in an appealingly odd way. She was muscular, but had to be, and her garb reflected her job; stained white shirt and a pair of black utility pants that she kept all kinds of necessary trade-tools in. "Is that suppose to excite me? I promised the chief I could do a week's job in three days, and someone new in town is going to get my ion running?"

"Do you want to go hungry, boy?" She grinned at his grimace, she was only about twenty years older than him, but on a proportional comparison, she was his age. He opened his mouth to apologize but she cut him off "The new pilot came in on a raft worth about as much as everything in your shop put together." She knew she'd hook him with that.

"Yea?" he pushed the glass and bottle aside, entirely forgetting he was starving. He crossed his arms and leaned forward on the bar. "What kind of 'raft'?"

She winked at him, "What's in it for me, Silas?" He grinned in return and remembered to pour himself a drink. "The cliffs, tonight when Tura lets me off?" Silas nodded and took a drink of his glass. "Good." She smiled. She enjoyed their outings. Not many people in the city really were available to talk with, socialize with, or even court with. She turned serious. "He docked at the main starport in a Sienar Marauder," she leaned in a little, "and word is that he's carrying a few work orders to Haggs." Silas' eyes were like saucers, and it didn't take long for the effect to set in.

He was running so quickly that the few patrons of the cantina jumped at the sudden movement. He was aware that Zeesa yelled something to him, but he wasn't sure what. A Marauder! A corvette hadn't docked on the entire planet since the absolute height of the clone wars. To have one here meant something had happened. He was in trouble, or something else had brought him here. Trouble would mean that either the empire or the old republic was causing a stir. But this far out on the Rim, that kind of action was few and far between.

Silas didn't realize how far he'd run until he came skidding to a halt in front of the shop. Usually he entered through the back, but he didn't want to waste time. He rounded the corner into the enormous hangar bay and stood thunderstruck. Everything was gone. The entire hangar bay was empty. No work projects stood on the dry lifts, no part trucks were housed on the turbolifts. There were more than half a dozen terrestrial ships in the hangar less than a day ago. Now they were gone. He jogged, still not understanding, towards the office. He knew there had to be an explanation, but he was clueless as to what it might be.

He had only formulated a possible few likelihoods when he managed to step through the auto-door into the office. Then his whole life changed. Every nerve in his body screamed the same thing, danger.

He barely had time to open his mouth, let alone scream, when the dull thud of a net launcher resounded through the reception area. His jaw clenched and his eyes snapped open rather than closed. His body convulsed as the pulsing strands of the net tightened around his upper body. He felt himself losing consciousness, pitching forward. He hit the floor with an audible thud, trying to fight off the pain and darkness creeping into his vision. Distantly, he heard voices, but they seemed so far away.

"I've been looking for this one for a long time," that voice was unfamiliar.

"I didn't know. Your not going to hurt him?" The second was hesitant, strained. It was Haggs. The chief? That couldn't be. What was happening? This was a mistake. He wanted to tell them something was wrong, that they shouldn't be doing this. He couldn't. He felt the fear seep into his mind with the darkness that he barely kept at bay.

"He won't be harmed. But the other one I told you about, the Twi'lek. Where is she?" Zeesa? What did they want with her? Who was this? He was losing himself, giving over to the panic. Why was Haggs helping them?

Before his eyes rolled back in his head, he could feel something pressed against his neck, and his muscles went lax. He screamed at himself to hold on, to fight back, but it was no use. Had he known he was being slung over the shoulder of a half-human half-mandalorian freelancer, he probably would have had several very loud objections. If he had seen the look on Haggs' face, he would have understood.

It was fear. He knew.