Quinlan, who had just entered the Marauder, leaned against a crate and gestured to the Bad Batch. "Well, did anything interesting happen?"

"I got hired by Grakkus," Hunter said.

Quinlan gave his head a quick shake and stared blankly at the sergeant. Maybe he'd heard wrong. "Hang on. You got hired by Grakkus? How and why?"

"To keep an eye on you." Hunter looked up from the charge he was wiring. "Grakkus thought I was a mercenary. He hired me . . . well, more like he gave me the option of being hired, or having a nice stay in his dungeons with some torturers."

Crosshair snorted. "Yeah, that wouldn't last long. Did you tell him his precious interrogators would only last a minute before you put their instruments through their eye sockets?"

"No, Crosshair." Hunter rolled his eyes, then turned back to Quinlan. "I agreed to assist you with your investigation – by which he meant assisting you, and telling him when you managed to infiltrate the Prince's headquarters. Oh, and he threatened to put a bounty on my head if I didn't. We might need to watch out for that."

Quinlan slid down into a cross-legged position on the floor, leaned back against the wall, and groaned theatrically. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Hunter shook his head and pressed a button on the charge. The indicator light glowed green, and he tossed it to Wrecker. "Here, put this with the others."

Quinlan stared vaguely around the cargo hold as he considered the news Hunter had brought. Crosshair was perched on a munitions crate, silently sorting through a heap of highly reflective disks. Three different computer systems were running scans and sorting the data from the palace while Tech bounced back and forth between the screens, typing a command here and recording something there. What the heck he was even doing, Quinlan didn't know, but presumably it was something useful.

Hunter threaded a red wire beneath a blue one and set to work soldering the connection, not seeming in the least concerned by the report he'd just given. He probably figured that it was Quinlan's job to call the shots. . . Wrecker seated himself on a crate next to Quinlan, pulled out a surprisingly large vibroknife and adjusted something in the handle.

Quinlan, still sitting cross-legged, drew his own extendable blade and twirled it idly between his fingers as he stared up at the ceiling, thinking over the mission.

On this side of Nar Shaddaa were Grakkus the Hutt and mercenaries. Grakkus had more or less indirectly hired Quinlan to infiltrate the Prince's operations; then he'd hired Hunter to infiltrate Quinlan's operations; and, quite likely, he had more bounty hunters to keep an eye on Hunter.

On the opposite side of the moon were Vythia Archane, the Prince, and several more bounty hunters. Quinlan needed to make sure that Vythia hired the Bad Batch, but didn't find out that the members of Bad Batch were already helping him; didn't find out that Quinlan was indirectly working for Grakkus; and didn't find out that Hunter was supposed to be working for Grakkus by working for Quinlan. Or – something.

With a loud sniff, Quinlan hopped up, sheathing his knife. "This is stupid."

Hunter simply watched him, as though waiting for him to say something else.

Before Quinlan could explain, or, more accurately, continue his complaint, Crosshair sat upright and flicked one of the shiny metal discs across the room. It stuck to the wall near one of the screens.

"That's magnetized!" Tech yelped, diving across the room. "Don't put it near the computer!"

Crosshair looked smug. Tech ripped the disc from the wall and flung it back at the sniper, who caught it one-handed.

"Cut it out," Hunter intoned, going back to his work.

Quinlan vaulted over the crate and joined Crosshair. "What exactly are those for?"

"Deflecting and amplifying rifle shots," the sniper said, shoving a small pile of them to one side. He put the others in his pack while Quinlan studied the rejected pieces.

"They've got to be placed pretty precisely, huh?"

"Not if I use a lot of 'em." Crosshair slid off the crate just as Tech glanced up and announced, "I found it!"

Everyone turned to regard Tech, who didn't appear to notice, as his nose remained glued to the computer screen.

Hunter set aside his explosive charge, gave Wrecker a warning look for some reason, walked over to Tech, folded his arms, and said patiently, "Found what, Tech?"

"Information on Vythia?" suggested Quinlan.

Tech shook his head, finally looking up at the others. "As far as Nar Shaddaa is concerned, there are no public records about anyone named Vythia Archane. For that matter, neither are there any records about purple-skinned Nautolan females. There is one for a green female – a planet-wide bounty – but it was posted nearly twelve standard years ago and has not been updated since. I could try a deeper and more widespread scan, but it would take some time to compile results."

"Never mind," said Quinlan. "It was kind of a long shot, and I have a feeling she won't have any records available that we can find."

"Very well." Tech adjusted his goggles and held up his datapad. "I believe I've located the information we need to cause trouble for Grakkus."

Quinlan clapped his hands together. "Okay, awesome. What've we got?"

Turning on the holoprojector, Tech plugged his datapad in. A blue, multi-layered map appeared over the table. "This is a current map of Hutta Town. This is a clearinghouse –" A wide building near the palace turned yellow. "– which belongs to Grakkus."

"A clearinghouse." Quinlan leaned closer. "For what?"

"Everything he has a hand in." Tech unplugged his datapad. "Specifically, there is a shipment of new slaves from Kadavo which is due in less than two standard hours."

"Kadavo," Hunter mused. "Never heard of it."

"It's in Wild Space," Quinlan told him. "Part of the Zygerrian Slave Empire. They've got several processing facilities there."

"Let's add it to our list of things to destroy!" Wrecker said enthusiastically.

The Jedi blinked at him and cocked an eyebrow. "You have a list of things to destroy?"

"Yes," Tech said precisely. "But getting back to the immediate problem, the slaves will only be in the clearinghouse for one hour."

"We'll have to move fast," said Hunter. "If you give me all the relevant data –"

Tech pressed a button, and Hunter's datapad, which rested on the control consol, beeped.

"Okay," the sergeant said. "Bad Batch, pack up. We've got a job to do."

"Ah –" Quinlan cleared his throat. "Don't forget, Hunter, you're supposed to be working for Grakkus. You should stay."

Hunter frowned, and the other three stared at the Jedi as though he were crazy. No one spoke for a long moment.

Finally, Hunter shifted. "All due respect, but . . . I don't think that's the best idea."

"Yeah, it's a bad idea!" Wrecker clarified.

"Why?" Quinlan asked with a shrug.

Nobody answered.

"Listen," Quinlan said, gesturing. "We'll have a hard enough time getting the three of you – plus myself – into the clearinghouse without being seen or recorded somewhere along the way. But Grakkus won't have a reason to look into said recordings in relation to Hunter if he sees that Hunter is staying on the platform. Don't forget – Grakkus has the Marauder's ID now."

"That is true," said Tech.

"He also has yours," Hunter argued.

"Yeah, and he probably knows I'm here, as in here in the city. But he's got no reason to know I've met you. My ship's on the other side of the airfield. I could be investigating a lead on the Prince in Hutta Town, for all he knows. Of course, the biggest difference is that Grakkus doesn't dare come after me, but he'd have absolutely no problem with dragging you back to his place and pinning you to the wall. Literally."

Hunter looked unconvinced.

"Also." Quinlan thought for a moment. "It's pretty important that he not find out you have three other guys with you."

"I thought the idea was to have Vythia notice all four of us."

"It is, and she will. But I wasn't exactly planning on Grakkus hiring you when I said that," Quinlan said. "On top of which, we could always say that one of you stayed back on lookout, if she bothers to ask. This way's safer. Trust me."

No one spoke for a long, tense moment. Quinlan examined a tear in his cape and wondered how it had gotten there.

"So . . ." Hunter looked unwilling. "What do you suggest I do in the meantime?"

Quinlan worked his index finger through the hole in the dark fabric, ripping it even more. "Fuel up, get supplies, get ready to head to the Prince's territory. . . I dunno."

Hunter looked at each of his squad mates.

Wrecker shrugged. "Shouldn't be too hard, Sarge."

"I'm not worried about it being hard," Hunter retorted, rolling his eyes slightly.

Tech referred to his datapad. "If this is correct, there will be twenty-eight slaves onboard. There are only ten names on the payroll, so unless Grakkus sends men to meet the shuttle, subduing the guards should be easily manageable."

Crosshair turned a piercing look on Quinlan. "What are the slaves supposed to do after we free them?"

The Jedi sighed. "They'll have to take the shuttle and get out, I guess. We can't do much for them."

Crosshair seemed to consider this for a moment. "And what about you?"

"I'm going with you three." At Hunter's dubious expression, Quinlan shrugged. "Look, I've pulled this kind of thing off solo before."

"Yeah." Hunter gestured at his datapad. "We know."

"Cool." Quinlan pulled out his blaster and checked it. "Well, currently, my plan is to hang around in the background and only step in if I'm needed."

Tech tilted his head. "What if Vythia Archane is still watching you?"

"I doubt she's able to. I located and destroyed three trackers on my ship while you guys were getting the intel. Putting two trackers on a fighter – one in an obvious place and the other as backup – is pretty standard if the enemy's being careful. Vythia put three on, which means she's the extra careful type."

Hunter shook his head uncertainly. "Right . . ."

When the sergeant didn't say anything else, Wrecker, Tech and Crosshair wandered out to collect their supplies. Hunter stared unseeingly down at the holomap, dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Quinlan gave him a few seconds, then leaned over and shut off the holoprojector.

The sergeant looked up with a surprised blink.

"We'll be back, hopefully." With that remark, followed by a smirk and a two-fingered salute, Quinlan went to join the others.

Two hours later, Quinlan followed the three commandos out of the airbus they'd rented from an old Weequay. "Y'know, we could have bought this piece of junk for the price you paid him," he remarked.

"Yes, well; that's not what the Weequay thought," said Tech obviously. "He was quite adamant."

The four of them stood on a small bridge that stretched over a road leading to the warehouse. Quinlan moved to the short railing and examined the building, lit at intervals with flickering or half-burned out lights. "Okay. We can move in. There aren't any guards outside."

"How did you know?" Tech looked from his scanner to the Jedi.

"The Force," Quinlan said. He put a hand on the rail and vaulted over, landing some ten feet below.

Tech followed easily. "I am curious as to how exactly the Force works."

"Good question. No one seems to know. What, you never thought to look it up before?"

"Strangely enough, I have done minimal research about it." Tech squinted his eyes critically. "Perhaps I should spend some time researching when we return to our ship."

Crosshair landed soundlessly between them and straightened. "Are you going to stand here talking all night?"

"Just while we waited for you to catch up." Quinlan smirked at the silent and invisible glare Crosshair gave him, then stepped away when Wrecker thudded to the ground behind them. "Far as I can tell, the only guards around are inside, just like you thought, Tech."

"Ten guards positioned near the entrance," Tech affirmed. "There are twenty-eight lifeforms grouped at the far end of the building. The shuttle they arrived on is just outside the back door."

"Great." Quinlan put a hand on his knife. "What's your plan?"

"Our plan?" Wrecker asked. "Uhh. . ."

To Quinlan's surprise, all three of the clones were genuinely confused. Tech rested a hand on the back of his helmet and stared thoughtfully at nothing. Wrecker shrugged uncertainly, and both of them turned to Crosshair.

The sniper lowered his rifle to point at the ground and took a couple of steps toward the Jedi. "We assumed you had one."

Quinlan frowned. This was weird. Sure, he'd been out of the loop a bit as far as the Grand Army of the Republic went, but he'd seen the clones in action. Even the lowest-ranking soldiers were fast thinkers, trained to act and adapt as the situation demanded. Wouldn't special ops guys have been taught to think even more independently, or was that only for ARC troopers?

Come to think of it, ARC troopers were special ops, too . . . But, far as he knew, ARCs were originally regular troopers, selected from the ranks for their skill, whereas commandos were trained for special ops from the very beginning. Something wasn't adding up here.

He glanced at the still-silent warehouse before turning fully to face them. "You weren't going in without a plan, were you?"

"We always have plans," Crosshair hissed. "But Hunter calls the shots."
Tech lifted a finger. "And you are the superior officer."

"I'm –" Quinlan considered smacking himself in the forehead to alleviate some of the stupidity that seemed to have hit him this past day. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh," Crosshair said acidly as he prowled toward the mouth of the alleyway.

Quinlan stared after him. He was pretty sure that Crosshair shouldn't be mocking him, but given that he'd forgotten how ranking worked, well. . . He didn't feel like calling the sniper out on it.

Maybe he should. He probably should.

Then again, it would just make the mission harder, and it didn't much matter if Crosshair thought he was an idiot.

He hoped. With a mental shrug, Quinlan turned to Wrecker and Tech. "Now that I've completely lost your respect, what was your plan?"

"You have not lost our respect," said Tech.

"I – haven't . . ."

"Naw." Wrecker cracked his knuckles. "You never had it to begin with. Ha!"

"Precisely," said Tech, with an air of absolute indifference.

Folding his arms with a tinge of irritation, Quinlan said, "Look, I get that I'm not much of a general, but I'm still – Wait. Is this because I told Hunter to stay behind?"

"Of course not." Tech clipped his datapad to his belt. "You were correct about that, although I suspect he was not pleased."

Wrecker snorted. "That's for sure."

"Okay." Quinlan scratched his head. "What is it, then – you guys want me to make the plan?"

"Not necessarily." Tech pulled two pistols from his belt. "But we can hardly function if we don't know who's leading."

"I don't work with a team, I told you that." Quinlan frowned at him. "I figured you guys would work better with just the three of you and I'd tag along."

"Well, someone has to be in charge," Tech said. "Normally that would be Hunter."

Quinlan shrugged. "So who leads when he's not around?"

"What?" Wrecker turned to stare at him. "He's never not around."

"Well . . . what would happen if he got killed? You guys must have a contingency plan."

"We would complete the mission," said Tech. "And then, I presume, we would be assigned a new sergeant, or one of us would be promoted."

"None of you is a corporal?"

"No," Tech said shortly.

Something about the way he said it made Quinlan curious, but he glanced at his chrono. "We don't really have time for this right now. If Hunter was along, what would your plan be?"

Tech gestured with his weapons. "I'm not sure, but based on the schematics and our current objectives, there is an eighty percent chance that he would call Plan Fifty-One."

"Plan Fifty-One. What's that?"

"Wrecker goes inside and causes a distraction while I cover him. Crosshair carries out the objective. Hunter helps whichever of us needs help at any given time."
Quinlan nodded. "Then I'll cover for Hunter. Grab Crosshair and let's get going."

Tech stepped forward decisively, then hesitated. "You call it."

"Ah, fine." Quinlan moved to the mouth of the alleyway next to Crosshair. "We're using Plan Fifty-One. Move out."

He hung back while the other three moved to the main doorway and broke through it with robotic precision. Wrecker tossed two small devices to Crosshair and Tech, who set them against the door's seal and spun to either side.

A tiny explosion sounded, and the doors sprang open. Wrecker charged in, firing in the air and roaring with glee, then flung his gun aside in favor of attacking the guards at close quarters while Tech dashed after him, firing stun rounds with both pistols. While Crosshair made his way around the perimeter toward the slaves without even looking at the guards, Quinlan kept an eye on the situation and wondered if he'd even need to help.

Wrecker and Tech had things pretty well handled, and Crosshair was nearing the wide platform. Only a few guards were left.

Quinlan, keeping one eye on the battle and one on the slaves, paused when a dark-skinned human staggered up after Wrecker's whirlwind attack. The Jedi let him stand upright before landing a solid punch against his chin. The guy dropped like a stone, and Quinlan didn't blame him.

A siren wailed, piercing the air. Quinlan winced, Crosshair broke into a run, and Tech sprinted for a control panel.

"Oh, yeah!" yelled Wrecker. He snatched his gun from the floor and sent a few rounds into the siren, mercifully cutting off the noise.

"We won't have much time now!" Tech called, swerving away from the control panel towards the slowly opening back door.

"We won't need it," Quinlan shouted back. "Get that shuttle running!"

"On it!" Tech and Wrecker rushed outside.

Quinlan climbed onto the platform, where Crosshair was methodically freeing the slaves from their shackles with some sort of electronic key. It looked like a modified door probe.

"Who are you?" demanded a middle-aged woman. "What are you doing?"

"Freeing you," Crosshair replied unhelpfully.

A yellow male Twi'lek stood up, rubbing his arms. "Where are we?"

"Nar Shaddaa," Quinlan said, herding the freed slaves toward the back door. "Look, this is literally the last place in the galaxy you want to be right now. . . Okay, except maybe for Nal Hutta or Tatooine or Kadavo or Zygerria or . . . " He paused. "Yeah, so anyway, you might want to get going."
The woman, who seemed to be speaking for the others, narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I don't understand. Why are you here?"

"To be honest?" Quinlan grimaced apologetically. "We need to cause trouble for Grakkus, and right now that means freeing you."

It sounded horribly mercenary when he put it that way, but it was true.

Then the back doors swung open, and Wrecker waved. "Get onboard! Tech's got the ship ready to fly!"

The freed slaves ran past, scarcely giving their rescuers a glance – except for the woman, who paused beside Quinlan. She was still suspicious, probably thinking her rescuers were new slavers.

The Jedi was just about to tell her to move it when a sense of urgency rushed over him. Spinning to face the front entrance, he shoved her behind him. "Get out of here, now!"

Panicked shouts and cries rang out as the front door slammed open and eight assassin droids dashed into the room, metal feet pounding against the duracrete floor.

Quinlan hissed under his breath and dropped into a defensive stance. Of all missions to have left his lightsaber behind! He drew his knife, instead, whipping it forward to extend the blade, and yelled, "Guys, get the slaves out!"

He'd hardly finished his sentence when the droids were on him. Jumping, Quinlan hooked a knee around the first attacker's neck, caught his weight on one hand as the droid fell, and vaulted to land in a crouch, knife buried to the hilt in the next assassin's fragile eye.

Before he could withdraw his knife, the others were grabbing at him. He released his weapon and backed away, landed a hard kick to one's head, ducked beneath and around a blow –

A cold, metal hand closed around his wrist and wrenched him sideways as another hand slammed against his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. As he doubled over, his other wrist was grabbed, and two assassin droids shoved him back against the wall and held him there.

Shaking his hair out of his eyes, Quinlan glanced quickly around the room. The slaves were gone, and so were four of the droids. Four remained – two holding him, and two on the ground. One of those had been taken out by his knife, and the other was smoking, presumably from a laser shot. Crosshair had vanished.

Being captured was nothing particularly new. Also the droids weren't immediately prepared to shoot him, so Quinlan allowed himself a moment to wonder if he should use the Force to free himself, despite the possible results should he be recognized as a Jedi.

A shadow flitted in the rafters overhead.

The back door reopened with a crash and Wrecker rushed across the room, followed by two droids. "Slaves are out!" he yelled to Quinlan before turning to face the droids.

Okay, awesome. Now they just had to get themselves out. . .

One of Quinlan's captors turned to the other and spoke a monotone, guttural voice. "It is likely we will be defeated."

"Agreed."

"Execute the prisoner."

The droid pulled a blaster. Quinlan threw his weight forward to avoid it, but his arms were twisted behind his back and a heavy foot caught him between the shoulder blades, crushing him to the ground. He was just about to summon the Force, regardless of the consequences, when a shot rang out.

The next moment, Tech dropped to one knee beside him. "We should leave."

"Oh, totally." Quinlan dragged himself to his knees. "Seems reasonable."

Crosshair appeared suddenly, standing on a rafter a few meters above them. Dropping to his knees, he caught the beam with one hand and swung down.

Then Wrecker joined them, tossing a mangled droid arm over one shoulder. "Hey, Crosshair! I took three of 'em out!"

"So did I." Crosshair gestured at the two droids that had held Quinlan. Both had holes through their heads.

"We're still tied? Aw, man!"

"Huh." Quinlan cracked his neck. "I could have sworn I heard only one shot."

"You did." Crosshair slung his rifle over one shoulder and headed for the door, followed by Wrecker.

Stooping to jerk his knife free of the droid's head, Quinlan said, "For future reference, this isn't great for taking out droids."

"I imagine not." Tech adjusted his goggles and observed it. "You should get a vibroblade like Hunter's. It works very well."

"Yeah, I think I'll just use my lightsaber next time." He smirked. "I can't let Wrecker and Crosshair have all the fun."

"True," said Tech. "I only got one droid this time."

"Looks like we're tied too, doesn't it?" Quinlan sheathed his knife. "Hey, did any of the prisoners know how to fly a ship?"

"Three did." Tech took out his datapad and trotted after his squad mates.

Quinlan followed, pausing only to twist his back until it felt normal again. Dumb droids. "Hopefully, they head somewhere safe."
"I input the coordinates for Naboo, along with a code that will identify them as Republic refugees."

Quinlan nodded. He had actually thought about sending them to Coruscant, but this would be better. Naboo was not the capital of the Republic, which meant it was less busy and far better equipped for handling refugees.

The airbus vibrated to life above them and descended to street level. Quinlan vaulted onboard, and Tech followed.

"Let's head back to the airfield," Quinlan said as Crosshair sent the vehicle into the crowded airway. "But land midway between the Havoc Marauder and my ship."

He pressed his comm. "Hey, Hunter?"

The sergeant's voice came back instantly. "Keep an eye out. A dozen patrolbots just left Grakkus' palace."

Quinlan scratched his cheek. "Okay, but how do you know?"

"I'm getting supplies, just like you suggested." Hunter's voice carried the faintest hint of confusion. It was a pretty good act. Too bad Quinlan had heard it all before – he might have been convinced of Hunter's honest intent, otherwise.

"Uh-huh. I went to the markets this morning, and they were a good two kilometers away from the palace."

Tech, who had just taken his helmet off, smirked.

"Must have missed this market," Hunter lied calmly.

Yeah, right. "Find any good merchandise?"

"Just a few malfunctioning policebots. . . Got 'em dirt cheap, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. No one wanted them. They were all, uh, broken. . ."

Crosshair cut in. "Before or after you found them?"

A short pause. "You guys on your way back?"

"We'll be there shortly," Quinlan said. "Landing platform five, meet you there in ten minutes."

"Okay."

The comms cut off.

Tech held up his datapad to reveal a map of the airfield and gave Quinlan a curious look. "He's going to have to move fast to get there on time."

"Yep." Leaning back in his seat, Quinlan crossed his arms behind his head with a satisfied grin.