Chapter 2:

"These will be your quarters."

The room – if it could be called that – was very small, as was to be expected on a ship the size of the Kestrel, as Draygo had informed 'Jaq' the ship was called. He hadn't exactly expected to be led to a luxury suite.

"More than adequate," he said, "but I have to ask where you plan to put the four people we're going to pick up on Corellia."

"Cargo bay. We aren't exactly a passenger ship."

"Ah. Oh course." The thought of billeting such esteemed personages in the cargo bay of a smuggler's ship needled his sense of propriety a bit, but the fact was that there was no doubt as to whether the four of them had endured such conditions before. According to the dossiers, two of them had actually been smugglers.

Draygo left him without a word. He closed the door behind her and locked it, then put down his small bag on the bunk that occupied nearly two thirds of the room's area. He opened it, took out his neatly folded clothes, his blaster pistol (he also had a small holdout blaster concealed in his sleeve and a vibrodagger in his right boot), and a few personal items – toiletries, mind you, nothing that would reveal anything about his actual life – and, finally, pulled what appeared to be a datapad, and would, if examined, even perform the functions of an the older model it appeared to be. The data stored on it consisted mainly of what appeared to be a record of the journal of a slightly unsavory traveler with unusually little fondness of references to his personal life.

He activated the device and entered a command, and it began to perform its true function: transmitting audio messages across hyperspace.

"Drebble, this is Jaq…"

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"What do you make of our new employer, Captain?"

Jaina turned to her. "Well, he's definitely hiding something. And there's no way 'Jaq Antillies' is his real name. The first name is pretty archaic, and the last is way too common. Wonder why he chose it."

"I do not know. It is indeed strange."

"Why did we even take this job?"

"I felt that it was necessary to do so."

"But why?"

"It was instinct, Jaina Draygo. For a witch, such instincts are rarely wrong. I believe that you felt the same thing. I think that, had you been born on Dathomir, you would have become a great witch."

"Sure, TK, sure."

"You do not believe me. I think you will, someday."

"Is that another instinct?"

"Indeed."

"… Let's talk routes." Jaina pulled up the navcomp display. "The question, I think, is where they'll be expecting smugglers to come at the system from…"

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Elsewhere

Four people, three men and one woman sit around a table sharing drinks in a shady bar. One man wears a cloak, and the shadows around his face are unnaturally dark.

"So Dreb' why are we here?" asks a man with gray hair and a thick beard.

"Jaq contacted me earlier today. He's on his way, about to leave Abregado-rea. We have to come to a decision," replies a dark-skinned man

"I thought we already had. We leave our operation in the hands of the regional leaders. We go with Jaq. We meet with the Bakurans," said the hooded man.

"The two of us have been talking," says the woman. "We're not so sure anymore."

"Why the hell not?" asks the bearded man.

"What do we really know about Jaq?" says the woman. "That he claims to represent the Bakurans. He admits to not giving us his real name-"

"Like we'd have given each other ours if we weren't all already well know for one reason or another." This from the dark-skinned man.

"- and that's about it. This is risky, very risky."

"I agree," says the cloaked man. His voice is, for some reason indistinct, its characteristics forgotten as soon as his speech ceased. "I haven't seen anything to indicate this is a sting, but I don't have access most intelligence operations unless they're joint. But we're loosing. We're loosing badly. It's getting harder and harder to throw the investigations out without arousing suspicion. As it is, I've had to resort to … extreme measures, more than once."

"You've had people killed?" asks the bearded man, surprised.

"No!" the cloaked man nearly breaks the hushed tone of the conversation, so appalled is he.

"Then what in the frak do you mean by 'extreme measures?'"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you. The point is, we have to trust Jaq, at least to degree. We have no choice."

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'Jaq's' fake datapad let out a soft beep, a sound that usually indicated that the powercell needed replacing. In this case it indicated a message. He once again activated the device, and an electronically altered voice emerged:

"We will be waiting for you."