It's been awhile . . . :) Six and a half months, to be precise.

Between a long phase of burnout and realizing that my writing style had changed twice since I began this story . . . and realizing that I'd lost control of the story, and forgotten a couple of plot threads, and needed to add others, and needed to make the emotional arcs more cohesive because I'd lost touch with them over the thirty-plus months I'd been writing it . . . and, and, and. . . Well, in the end, I was forced to admit that rather than continue, I had to reevaluate the whole thing.

So, I figured I'd reread 'In the Shadows' over Christmas week, and fix all the errors. When I enthusiastically mentioned my plans to a writing friend, she laughed hysterically. She was - absolutely right. Over Christmas week, I got the first two chapters done and that was it. :]

Instead of 'editing', I ended up pretty much rewriting the story, except for the last few chapters. Those, I was able to just 'fix', since they were pretty well polished already. Overall, I made the style more cohesive, filled in a couple of plot points/threads that needed polishing, carefully did not add new scenes, and yet still ended up with 23,000 words more than before. Then I reposted the whole thing. So if you're skimming through older chapters and end up thinking, "I don't remember this at all!" then chances are you have a good reason for not remembering.


I've had this new chapter half-written for months, and am very glad to be finally posting it! :)


After some debate, it was decided that Tech would land the Havoc Marauder in a relatively busy, publicly accessible airfield, about two kilometers away from the edge of the Prince's territory. This, Hunter hoped, would keep the Marauder from being noticed immediately while also getting them within walking distance of their target destination.

The sergeant glanced at his teammates, all of whom were crowded at the front of the cockpit, being quiet and still for perhaps the first time today.

The first part of the flight back to Nar Shaddaa had been quiet. After the discussion they'd had during the early afternoon, the Marauder's occupants pretty much kept to themselves – well, all except for Wrecker, who didn't like to be alone and had bounced back and forth between each of the others when he wasn't sleeping.

Tech had stayed in the cockpit for the whole evening and night, sitting on the floor with an assortment of wires and tools and working on – something. Hunter wasn't sure that even Tech knew what he was making, if anything. Maybe it was just a way to keep his mind occupied.

Crosshair had slept for a while, then taken up a position in the galley and done exactly nothing for the rest of the night, except for those frequent moments when he was unnecessarily polishing his Firepuncher or knife.

Quinlan, meanwhile, drifted. Sometimes he was in the cargo hold, sometimes the bunkroom, sometimes the lower hold – wherever nobody else was. Several times, Hunter had seen him standing motionless and staring into the distance.

For the most part, Hunter didn't remember exactly what he himself had done; but there had definitely been a few hours where he'd been sitting on the floor in the lower hold, leaning back against the wall as he stared at the ceiling.

But that had been last night, and today the silence had been broken around oh-seven-hundred, when the team gathered in the galley for breakfast. Maybe everyone had simultaneously decided that what happened on Malachor had been put behind them for good. . . or maybe they'd chosen to ignore it, or decided it wasn't worth dwelling on, or something.

Hunter had entered the galley not four seconds after the others, and the very first thing he saw was Wrecker elbowing Crosshair into the table. The sniper retaliated ineffectively by whacking him over the head with a ration bar. Meanwhile, Quinlan had pointed at Tech's head and asked if that was a wire tangled in his hair. There was nothing in Tech's hair; so, after falling neatly for the Jedi's trick, Tech made a snide comment about psychometry and how Quinlan had a habit of seeing things that weren't there. The next instant, Wrecker had Crosshair in a headlock and Quinlan was arguing with Tech about something involving psychometry as opposed to Force-visions, while Hunter just there, eyeing his teammates in mild surprise.

The rest of the day had been every bit as bad. Hunter had mostly stayed out of the bickering – mostly – since he'd learned a long time ago that trying to intervene in half-serious arguments was the fastest proven way to get a headache . . . apart from the whole getting-hit-with-an-EMP thing, anyway. But staying out of it hadn't made it stop.

It was almost as though, for a day or so following their escape from Malachor, everyone had been a state of exhaustion and partial shock; and then, as soon as they came out of it, they immediately made it their life's mission to be as irritating as possible to each other. Maybe everyone was trying too hard to get back to normal. Or they had all been in such close quarters for so long that it was impossible to live peaceably with each other. All Hunter knew for sure was that his teammates had gone from carefully avoiding each other to actively antagonizing each other.

Hunter had stopped paying attention to most of the arguments after a while, since they didn't get especially violent and he couldn't follow the logic behind most of them, anyway.

Crosshair and Quinlan especially – those two had argued and bickered and sniped and bantered about absolutely everything, and Tech and Wrecker had taken sides, until Hunter seriously considered ordering everyone to different rooms until they reached Nar Shaddaa.

Now, it was fifteen-thirty. As the ship landed and Hunter listened to the peaceable silence that filled the cockpit, he had to wonder why his teammates couldn't have decided to be quiet earlier.

The Marauder was just touching the duracrete when a Rodian, probably the airfield official, approached. He stood nearby, arms folded, as someone in the control tower contacted the team.

"Docking fee?" Tech said, fiddling with his helmet comm. "Yes. All right. All right. Yes, one hundred credits –" He paused to listen again, then rolled his eyes. "You do not need to continue stressing the point. I understood you the first and fourth times."

When the tinny voice kept right on chattering, Tech cut comms with an annoyed sniff.

"Hmm." Smirking, Quinlan leaned back in the co-pilot's seat. "Tech . . . ? My Jedi senses tell me that guy wants a hundred credits."

Tech actually snorted.

Sighing, Hunter counted out the credits and headed for the door before remembering the bounty on his and Quinlan's heads. Hunter paused, considering. Tech didn't deal with docking fees properly. He always argued semantics, or, when he felt the cost was unfairly high, he made a point of informing the officials of that. Crosshair was so passively aggressive that even when he wasn't starting a fight, the other people involved would start it for him.

Hunter gave Wrecker the credits. "Go pay the official, Wrecker."

"Sure thing." Wrecker lowered the ramp, while Crosshair stood just inside the door and kept an eye on the Rodian. A murmur of voices sounded, followed by the sound of Wrecker stamping heavily up the ramp.

"All set!" he said cheerfully, as soon as the door closed. "He wasn't even interested in our ship name."

"All the better for us," Hunter said, gazing out the viewport at the airfield. There weren't many people around the immediate area. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too hard to get out without being stopped. Though there was the matter of Grakkus' bounty. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, "Quinlan?"

"Present."

The sergeant turned to face him and folded his arms.

"Well, I am," Quinlan protested, then suddenly became serious. Getting up, he clipped the padawan's lightsaber to his belt. "I take it you're ready to get started."

"Yeah. I figure the first thing we need to do is gather some intel before we go marching into the Prince's stronghold and get ourselves killed."

"Priorities," Crosshair cut in, flicking a toothpick against the viewport near Hunter's head. "Better to get ourselves killed after getting intel."

"Oh, you think so?" Hunter shot him a dark look. "I can change that."

Crosshair only looked amused, while Tech smirked a little.

"Come on," Hunter said. "Let's get a plan together so we can finish what we started."

They crowded around the galley table, and Tech set his datapad down in front of him. "I have tapped into the airfield tower's mainframe," he announced. "What is it we need to know?"

Everyone turned to Quinlan, who looked blankly back at them. "Honestly, I don't even know if I know at this point."

Hunter frowned at him while Tech stared, and Crosshair folded his arms.

"You don't know . . . if you know?" Wrecker asked, confused.

"Exactly." The Jedi propped his elbows on the table. "I'd have to think about it for a minute or ten. Hold on."

Clasping his hands, he rested his chin on them and fell silent, staring at the table as he considered. About thirty seconds later, he still hadn't moved, and the commandos exchanged glances with each other before looking at the Jedi again.

About a minute after that, Crosshair unfolded his arms and leaned back as much as he could on the narrow bench. "By all means, Vos, take your time. . ."

"Crosshair?" Quinlan said, without looking up from the table.

"Yeah?"

"Kindly shut up."

The sniper's left eyebrow went up in an expression of outrage, but – somewhat to Hunter's surprise – he did actually stay quiet.

Tech flipped open his wrist consol and typed something, then turned to his datapad while Wrecker glanced at Hunter, who shrugged. He figured the Jedi was thinking through the options. It didn't matter. The team didn't exactly have a time limit.

"Okay." Abruptly, Quinlan came back to life and sat upright. "Let's start with the bounty Grakkus posted for me and Hunter. Is it still active, Tech?"

"It is." Tech looked up. "Though there has been no update on it since the day before we left Nar Shaddaa, and the last report of your starfighter's whereabouts is the landing pad in Hutta Town."

"Huh, guess nobody located it. Lucky us."

"Good thing." Wrecker grinned. "Hey, Quinlan? I still think it would be fun to turn you in and get the bounty from Grakkus."

When Quinlan snickered, Hunter turned to him, shaking his head in disbelief. "What is wrong with you?"

"Umm . . ."

"Aww, c'mon, Hunter." Wrecker looked pleadingly at him. "You sure we can't do it?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Hunter said, exasperated. "We don't need to complicate this mission any more than it already has been."

"I guess." Slumping back, Wrecker shrugged. "It would be fun, is all I'm saying."

"Yeah." Crosshair rotated a toothpick between his fingers. "Bet the look on that slug's face would be priceless. Especially once he realized we'd taken the money and the Jedi, and that we were the same guys who'd already stolen from him once."

When Hunter's other three teammates looked too entertained and interested for his taste, he stood up to get their attention. "Can we focus?"

"I mean, we can try," the Jedi said, but sobered quickly. "Right. Yes. The bounty hasn't been updated, so we're probably safe to return to the warehouse across from the Prince's stronghold. . . I think. We could use some supplies anyway, and it's a good place to scope out the warehouse from. Though we'll want to talk to the storeowner. I'm not sure about him."

"Because he saw you were a Kiffar?" said Crosshair.

"Yeah. That, and because Chopa definitely knew who I was."

"Ah, yes." Tech said. "Chopa mentioned keeping his money in the storeowner's building every night."

"Exactly," Quinlan said, as Hunter sat back down. "He trusted him, so he might have told him my name – or, the owner recognized me on his own, after we left. Either of which could be a problem if he decides to report us in for the bounty."

Tech nodded in agreement. "From what little we saw of him, it would seem that Chopa is a rather naïve individual. Though I am not entirely sure that is always a bad thing."

Hunter leaned his chin in one hand and regarded his youngest squad mate thoughtfully. Judging by the weird look Wrecker was sending Tech, Hunter wasn't the only one confused by the statement.

"And that's relevant – how?" Crosshair asked.

"It is not relevant." Tech picked up his datapad and started to type. "It was a tangential thought only."

"Right . . ." Quinlan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Hey, Hunter, is it just me, or is there a distinct lack of focus going on around here?"

"That's what I just said," the sergeant pointed out, still leaning on one hand.

"Oh. Yeah."

Crosshair slid down on the bench a little. "What are we even talking about at this point?"

"Well, I dunno." Wrecker looked thoughtful for all of half a second, then shrugged. "But we were gonna get some intel on the Prince's place. Right?"

"Right," Hunter said quickly, before anyone could sidetrack the conversation. "To do that, we'll get to the store where Chopa works. From there, we'll be able to scope out the Prince's hideout and have a better idea of what we're up against before we move in."

"It's about a thirty minute walk there," Quinlan said, and glanced at Wrecker. "Maybe we should poke around and see if we can get a speeder or something, so we can avoid the long, narrow streets a hundred meters aboveground?"

Wrecker gulped. "Uh, yeah."

"Probably a good idea," Hunter agreed. "We should have transportation available anyway, just in case."

"Yes." Tech finally looked up. "And it will make it much easier to bring that chest with us as a precaution."

"Precaution?" Hunter asked. "You mean Vythia's papers?"

"Not those," Quinlan said. "Those, we'll leave on the ship. But the chest has the scepter in it – that's the one artifact the Prince specifically wanted Vythia to get, so if we get seen near his place, we can just say we were bringing it to him."

Hunter nodded slowly. "You think we'll be seen?"

"It's possible. Especially if the bounty hunters are still around."

"They shouldn't be too much of a problem," Crosshair said. "Except for Bane."

"Yeah, Bane's definitely gonna be a problem." Quinlan frowned. "I don't know about Embo. As far as Dengar goes – eh, he's skilled enough, but any of you guys could take him."

"Understood." Hunter glanced at his chrono. "As far as actually breaking in goes, are we trying that tonight?"

"I think so." Quinlan drummed his fingers against the table. "Soon as it gets dark out, anyway. How long does that give us for recon?"

"It's fifteen forty-eight."

"Okay, so we've got a few hours. We'll take a quick look around and come back here."

"Right." Hunter got to his feet and felt for his knife. "I'll go find a speeder for us."

"Tech and I can do it," offered Wrecker. "Or I'll go with you."

"No," Hunter replied flatly. "I'll take care of it."

"Alone?" Tech asked.

"The rental booth is in sight of the ship." After checking that he still had credits, the sergeant headed for the door.

"What's wrong," Crosshair drawled, and Hunter could hear the smirk in his voice. "You tired of our company?"

"Yes." Hunter went out into the hall, then turned to look back. "I'm pretty sure the Rimmer's Rest was quieter than this ship was today."


The Marauder had been locked down, and Quinlan was standing outside with the others when Hunter pulled up next to them in a speeder.

"I got one," he said unnecessarily. "Two days, no questions asked."

"Great!" Wrecker caught Crosshair by one arm and shoved him back into Tech. "And this time, I'm calling shotgun!"

Crosshair acted aloof and disinterested. Quinlan thought that was probably only because the sniper was well aware he couldn't win this particular fight.

With Wrecker and Hunter in the front, the other three were left to squash themselves into the back seat, which they did with a good deal of muttered complaining – especially when Tech, who had been in the center, crawled over Quinlan to reach the left side.

"Hey," Quinlan said half-heartedly. "You're shortest, you get the center."

"No," said Tech. "I am tired of spending entire flights getting crushed. Crosshair is the skinniest, therefore he should get the center."

Before Quinlan could hop out, Crosshair shoved him into the middle seat and took the right side.

"Ow," Quinlan grumbled. "Get your boney elbow out of my ribs."

Crosshair jabbed him harder and knocked him against Tech, who pushed him back towards the sniper. Shoving himself upright, Quinlan managed to brace one elbow on Tech's shoulder and the other on Crosshair's.

At the short scuffle that resulted, Hunter twisted around in the pilot's seat to stare disapprovingly at them. "Are you done?"

"Done with what, precisely?" Tech asked, pushing Quinlan off.

When Hunter opened his mouth to answer, Crosshair jerked his chin at the surrounding area. "Eyes on the airway, Hunter," he chided. "Remember, you're piloting."

". . . Right." Hunter put his helmet on, gave them one last look, and then released the brake, guiding the speeder out into traffic.

The ride to the airfield outside the Prince's territory was quiet. To avoid attention, Hunter drove slowly, taking a circuitous route while Tech ran multiple scans. Quinlan, meanwhile, reached out into the eddies of the Force. As evil as this place was, and as dark as it had felt the first time he came here, now the presence of the Dark Side felt . . . weak, compared to Malachor. The lack of the oppressive presence that had borne down on him for so many days made him feel almost giddy for a few moments.

Hunter landed on the far side of the warehouse, so the speeder would be invisible from the Prince's side of the airway. The team piled out and headed to the store while everyone keeping a sharp lookout on the relatively quiet area around them.

Removing his helmet, Hunter inhaled slowly through his nose. "Hm, doesn't seem like the crimelords are still waging war on each other. There hasn't been a fire or explosion in at least a few days."

"Maybe one of 'em took out Dverik," Wrecker said with a shrug.

"Yeah, maybe. . ." Hunter trailed off, turning his head as though listening, and Quinlan glanced over his shoulder.

"Are we being followed?" Crosshair asked, adjusting his rifle in his grip.

"No, just checking." The sergeant glanced sideways, then replaced his helmet. "I don't trust this place."

"Oh," Tech said, a bit snippily. "Well. I wonder what could have caused that."

"I dunno . . ." Quinlan shrugged. "Maybe the friendly natives and the complete lack of attempts on our lives?"

"That sounds likely."

"Cut it out," Hunter chided, glancing back at them. "We might not be on Malachor, but we're still on a mission."

They moved quickly along the walkway until Wrecker located one of the side entrances they'd used while working for the storeowner. The door was locked, but it took only a few seconds for Tech to deal with that.

"Hang on," Hunter said, as Wrecker reached to open it. Dropping to one knee, the sergeant rested his palm flat against the ground, then looked up. "Okay – I don't think there's anyone in our immediate vicinity. Keep it down, though."

"Yeah." Quinlan touched the lightsaber hilt at his waist and slipped through the opened door. "Careful not to trigger the alarms. We don't want anything drawing the Prince's attention right now, if we can possibly help it. Let's wait here for a minute . . . the storeowner's got to be around somewhere. We should talk to him."

They shut the door behind them and spread out slightly. "You think he'll let us use the roof?" Hunter asked, slipping between two shelf units loaded with crates.

"I hope so." Quinlan tilted his head. "Hang on – he's coming now."

"Hello?" Wrecker called.

The storeowner appeared between the rows of shelving in front of them and paused, surprise flashing over his face before changing into something close to fear. "You're back."

". . . Yeah." Hunter exchanged a look with Quinlan. "We needed to restock some supplies. Is – something wrong?"

"You could say that." The man paused, then narrowed his eyes. Resting a hand on the gun that hung at his side, he gestured to the main door. "Get out of here, all of you."

"What'd we do?" Wrecker asked, confused. "Did the explosives we sold you not work or something?"

The storeowner's hand hovered over his pistol, and he took a step forward. "I said, get out of here."

"We can certainly do that." Tech removed his helmet, then adjusted his goggles. "But first, I would like to know why."

"Too bad." The man glanced at the door again, then closed his fingers around the pistol. "Now get out before I make you."

"I don't think you want to start a five-on-one battle," Quinlan said slowly, reaching out through the Force. Without trying to influence him, he touched the storeowner's mind, then let out an exaggerated sigh. "Guys, he's not taking us seriously."

"What?" Hunter asked, just as the storeowner shot him a confused look.

"He's scared," Quinlan told them. "But he's not scared of us."

The man stared at him, then shook his head once. "So, you are that Jedi Grakkus has been looking for."

"I might be," Quinlan allowed. "You want to turn me in?"

"No." He released his gun. "But I want you out of my store."

The teammates exchanged looks, then turned back to him.

"We'll leave," Hunter said. "But before we do, I want to know what you're so afraid of."

Still looking wary, the man leaned back against the nearest shelf unit. "Last time you were here, there were two guys I chased out."

Wrecker chuckled. "Yeah, I remember that. You sure showed them!"

"No, I didn't." The owner looked at Quinlan. "I thought they were thieves, back then, but now I think they were spying on you."

"That's not ideal," Quinlan said. "Who were they working for?"

"You don't know?" The storeowner frowned, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he studied the commandos.

"There are a few different possibilities," Tech said.

"Yeah." Hunter gestured vaguely. "Far as we know, there were at least three people after us by the time we left Nar Shaddaa."

"I see. Well . . . I'm almost sure these two were working for Dverik. A couple days after you left, six guys broke in here – stunned me, and shot Chopa dead."

Quinlan jerked slightly.

Tech's eyebrows lifted as he pulled back, then tilted his head, face neutral. "Chopa – is dead?" he repeated.

"Yeah." The man shook his head. "It's too bad . . . He'd been saving up to get a flight outta here. Wouldn't have taken him more than a few weeks, either."

Wrecker stepped forward, glowering. "What happened Why was he killed?"

He shrugged. "When I came to, Chopa was dead – he'd been shot in the back a dozen times or more. The guys who killed him were waiting around to talk to me. They said it was too bad about the disruption to my store, but they'd been sent to execute Chopa for betraying his protectors. And, far as I know, his protectors were Dverik's men."

"Protectors," Crosshair sneered. "Don't tell me you swallowed that."

"Of course not. But what could I do about it?"

"Shoot them."

"Six at once?"

Crosshair glowered at the floor.

"We must have been overheard," Quinlan said slowly. "He told us about the bounty on me when we were here. . . and we talked about Dverik."

"Yes," Tech replied. "Unless someone saw or heard me speaking to him in Rimmer's Rest and assumed there was a connection between Chopa and the attack on Dverik."

"So you mean –" Wrecker hesitated. "You mean he might've gotten killed because we tried to help him?"

"Or because he was a convenient target," Quinlan replied. "Tech, nobody was paying attention to you or Chopa in Rimmer's Rest, I promise." He glanced at the storeowner, then added, "I was kind of keeping you from being observed."

Hunter looked at him, a touch of mild surprise in his Force-presence.

"Oh." Tech blinked, relaxing a bit, but as Hunter moved forward to ask the storeowner something else, Tech shifted closer to Quinlan.

Speaking just loud enough for the Jedi to hear, he said, "Quinlan, as – relieved – as I am to hear that, we should have been much more careful in how and when we spoke to Chopa."

"I know." Quinlan frowned at the memory of how happy Chopa had been after they attacked Dverik. "But . . . Tech, we can't account for everything."

"No." Tech narrowed his eyes behind his goggles, then pressed his lips together and added, "Nevertheless, it is – upsetting that we were the cause of his death, however indirectly that may have been. When we left, he was glad that we had been willing to help him. Now, he is dead, because we were willing to help. I believe you were correct when you specified that helping on this sort of planet leads to harm."

He rattled off the sentences in an almost clinically detached way, and was taking out his datapad even as he finished his statement. Despite that, Quinlan could easily sense his frustration and a distant sort of grief.

"Tech, believe me, I know." He glanced at Hunter and the storeowner, who were still talking. "And I hate to say this, but we can't do anything about it now. Beating ourselves up over it isn't going to help anyone."

"No, but it might keep us from repeating our mistake in the future." Tech shot him an odd look. "Perhaps not, though. It certainly does not seem to have kept you from repeating it."

The Jedi fell still. "You mean because of what happened with the village."

Tech nodded, still observing whatever scans he was running.

After a pause, Quinlan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah . . . but not everyone we help is going to be hurt because of it."

Tech quirked an eyebrow, stared at his datapad, and didn't answer.

Shaking his head, Quinlan went to join the others.

"I don't know much else," the storeowner was saying. "Four days ago, Dverik's place was raided again by Grakkus the Hutt. Dverik vanished. He left, or died, or something. No one's bothered to find out for sure."

Hunter looked confused. "Then what were you afraid of? If Dverik's gone, why'd you want us to leave?"

"His men are still around," he answered. "You think they don't keep tabs on people who were involved before? Besides, Grakkus' bounty is still up. A guy was in here just a couple of days ago, asking about you."

"Was he a Duros?" asked Quinlan.

"No. Some Kyuzo or other with a weird hat."

Quinlan glanced at Hunter, who said, "Embo?"

"Yep."

"Embo?" The storeowner stared, then reached up, rubbing one hand over the lower half of his face. "I heard Embo works for the Prince . . ."

"He does," Tech replied.

"Mother of Moons!" the storeowner burst out. "What the – the Prince, Grakkus, and Dverik? How'd you get so many people coming after you?"

"Long story," Hunter told him with a shrug. "Though as far as the Prince goes . . . we have no reason to think he's after us. Embo's probably trying to cash in on the bounty from Grakkus."

"Makes sense," the man said, and looked towards the main doors, which were still closed. "From what I hear, it's a high enough bounty, between you and him." He jerked his chin at Quinlan.

"Care to try your hand at it?" Crosshair asked dangerously.

"Not on your life." The man folded his arms. "I haven't survived this long by being stupid. I'm staying out of it completely."

"Gotcha." Quinlan gave him a wry smile. "I take it that means you won't let us use your roof to . . . check things out, shall we say?"

"Check things – you mean in the Prince's territory?" When no one answered, the storeowner shook his head. "Fine. But if you get caught, I am not involved, and I never knew you were there. Deal?"

"Fine by us." The Jedi studied him carefully, but there was no hint of treachery in the Force. He glanced at Hunter and nodded, then turned back to the owner. "How come you're willing to take the risk?"

"Because I doubt you'll be caught. I've heard things about Jedi, you know. Besides, you injured Grakkus and got away."

"I see." Quinlan glanced at the commandos, who were already heading for the ladders that led up to the roof. "Speaking of Grakkus – you said he attacked Dverik. You know why?"

"Apparently it was a response to Dverik's raid. See, Dverik raided Hutta Town and bombed Grakkus' palace because Grakkus had sent assassins to his place. That's all I know about it, sorry."

"No problem. I was just curious," Quinlan said lightly, though he was surprised by how much fighting had gone on since he left Nar Shaddaa. Hunter had told Dverik that he and Quinlan worked for Grakkus the Hutt . . . and this had been the result? Quinlan hoped that nobody else had been caught in the crossfire – Chopa was one too many innocent casualties as it was.

On the other hand, Quinlan felt no sympathy whatsoever for Grakkus or Dverik. He hoped the damage to the Hutt's palace had been severe and would take years to fix. Maybe Dverik had gone in person to raid Grakkus' palace, and miscalculated something. The best outcome would be if both the Devaronian and the slug had been buried under the destruction.

"What's so amusing?" the storeowner asked, a little warily. "Or don't I want to know?"

"Probably not," Quinlan admitted. The next moment, his sense of amusement faded abruptly, to be replaced with the same coiling unease that had been following him ever since leaving Malachor.

"Look, thanks for all your help," he said, with an attempt at a smile. As he headed towards the ladder, he glanced back. "We'll be out of here soon."

"You still want those supplies?"

"Oh. . . yeah, just a couple of days' worth of ration bars and meals and water or whatever. Some medical supplies if there's enough money to cover it." Quinlan pulled out a couple of hundred-credit chips and tossed them to the storeowner, then pointed at the side door they'd used. "Just leave our stuff here if you want. We'll pick it up on our way out."

"Fine by me," replied the storeowner. "Hey . . . good luck with whatever it is you're trying to do. Just don't tell me about it."

"We won't even talk to you," the Jedi promised. "We'll just pick up our stuff and leave when we're done."

When the man nodded and waved, Quinlan went to the ladder and climbed it. As he stepped out on the roof, he glanced at the warehouse where the Prince's Sith artifacts were housed and muttered under his breath, "Trust me – it's probably better that you don't know anyway."

"What?" Wrecker whispered loudly, from where he was crouched behind the thin wall that formed a sort of rail between the roof and the long drop below.

"Nothing," Quinlan said. "Just thinking out loud about how knowing too much stuff can really ruin your day."

"Yeah . . ." Wrecker peered carefully over the wall, then ducked back with a gulp. "You got that right."


It was almost seventeen hundred by the time the team got back to the Havoc Marauder and unloaded the supplies they'd gotten. Hunter told Wrecker to bring the silver chest back inside until they headed out again in an hour or so. No point in taking chances.

Hunter stood at the edge of the platform, resting his weight on one foot as he folded his arms and stared over the darkening city. Despite watching the Prince's warehouse for almost an hour, they hadn't gained very much in the way of intel.

"Hunter, the speeder is secured," Tech announced.

"Good." Hunter turned to join him, and they headed for the Marauder. Quinlan and Wrecker were already near the boarding ramp, and Hunter could tell Crosshair was trailing behind him, walking slower than usual. None of them were particularly eager to hang around the shuttle, not after the last few days. Still, it wouldn't be long before the last part of the mission was underway.

"Tech," he said, as they reached Quinlan and Wrecker. "We should bring two copies of the code, just in case we have to –"

Quinlan jerked his head up. Then, with a startled look, he took a step forward just before a clatter of armor and a gasp made Hunter spin around.

Six meters away, Crosshair was on his knees, helmet gone and his hands half-raised as he glanced up and to the right. Aurra Sing stood behind him, looping one arm around his throat as she pressed a blaster to his right temple.

Hunter reached for his knife, but a flick of the blaster made him freeze.

"Cool it, honey," Aurra Sing said dismissively, and tossed her head so her hair hung behind her again. "I only want to talk."


As always, thank you to everyone who helps with my writing - even when I don't necessarily appreciate the help at the time :P - especially SandriasSaber, kateriwriter, Sabari, and frazzled79.