Quinlan drummed the fingers of one hand idly against the tabletop as he thought about the mysterious Sith Lord. Darth Sidious could be anywhere, really – maybe even on Serenno, hiding from the Jedi in the heart of Separatist space . . . Serenno would arguably be the most obvious place to hide; but then again, it would be easy to keep an eye on Dooku from there, in case the apprentice decided to kill the master.

He glanced up when Hunter said, "Is Dverik or the Prince our primary objective?"

"Uhh . . . sorry, I got distracted." Quinlan tapped his fingers against the table, then nodded. "Okay. We've got a few different things we need to do; but, because I tend to think that staying alive is pretty high on the priority list –"

Wrecker laughed.

"– I really want to start by figuring out who's after us, and why."

Hunter leaned his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. "Last night you seemed pretty sure it was Grakkus."

"Yeah, but if that's the case, something isn't adding up. I said that all humans looked the same to Hutts, which is true. And yeah, my tattoos are recognizable, but my face was hidden – so was yours. Unless Grakkus had security footage of us and managed to recognize either you or me through the grease and the black armor . . ."

"It isn't entirely unlikely," Tech said, casting a rather pointed look at Quinlan's hair.

". . . True."

Wrecker nodded. "Yeah, and he also heard both of you talking – in his throne room and in the vault, right? He could've recognized your voices."

"Also true," Quinlan admitted. "So let's presume he recognized us. That still doesn't explain why the guys who went after Hunter, Wrecker and Tech were out to kill you, and the ones who came after Crosshair and me didn't try to kill us. Maybe Grakkus only recognized me?"

Crosshair looked up. "They seemed pretty intent on killing us."

"Nah, that Besalisk could have broken your neck before I ever reached you. Why didn't he? And why didn't he finish me off after he knocked us down?"

Hunter leaned back. "You think they wanted you alive – both of you?"

"That would be my guess, and Grakkus wanting to catch me makes sense; but why would he want both of us? I mean, sure, Crosshair thumped Grakkus a good one, and shot him, but you're the one he hired to keep an eye on me. Well, that, and you knifed him, poetically adding injury to insult . . ." Quinlan flicked a strand of hair away from his eyes and rested his chin in one hand. "Hey, Hunter, can you remember exactly what Grakkus told you to do?"

"Yeah. He said, 'I want you to find a way to work with him. As soon as he has evidence that can convict the Prince, report to me.' Quinlan . . ." He glanced at Crosshair, then back. "Is it possible that the Besalisk mixed Cross and I up?"

"Oh." Quinlan stared at the wall, then gave a slow nod. "Yeah, I should have thought of that. It seems more than likely. You guys are super close in height."

"All right," said Hunter. "Then, presuming he wants you and me alive, we can also presume he's out for revenge."

"Yep."

Hunter smirked faintly. "Of course, you said earlier that he'd have no problem literally pinning me to a wall, but that he wouldn't dare go after you."

Quinlan quirked an eyebrow and finished checking that there were no trackers installed on his datapad. "Yeah, I'm not so sure I like how good your memory is anymore. Seriously, though? I think I underestimated Grakkus, or at least underestimated his pride. He might be willing to risk angering the Jedi and the Hutts after all . . ."

Tech straightened. "Well, it might not be much of a risk. If Grakkus killed or captured you, no one would find out that he was to blame. He could simply hire someone like Aurra Sing to hire others, and then they'd bring you to her. She would bring you to Grakkus. No one would have reason to suspect him if they tracked you as far as Aurra. It would be easy for any Jedi to assume that she killed you, since she has a reputation for hating Jedi." He glanced down at his datapad. "I have noticed that a rather large number of the more infamous bounty hunters have a reputation for that."

"Usually because we're the only ones who can bring them to justice," Quinlan said with a frown. "But yeah. We're gonna have to presume I'm not as safe from Grakkus as I hoped I'd be . . . and you guys definitely aren't."

"We took down a lot of 'em yesterday," Wrecker said optimistically. "Maybe they'll leave us alone while they hire more men."

"I wouldn't bet on that." Quinlan drummed his fingers on the table's edge a few times. "But we can't exactly wait here. I mean, we could, but there's not much point. If they want to attack us, they'll find a way."

"Yeah," said Hunter. "That, and we'd be a lot easier of a target in the ship, especially if they have rocket launchers or grenades."

"Which they most likely will," Crosshair said. "Of course, if they attacked the ship, they wouldn't be assured of catching either you or Vos alive."

"As far as Grakkus is concerned, alive is preferable to dead," said Quinlan. "But dead is preferable to us escaping, so y'know."

"That is quite true," Tech said, unbothered. "There is another point I am curious about, Quinlan. Wouldn't Grakkus want to avoid angering the Prince?"

"Well, yeah, unless he's mad enough," said Quinlan. He considered for a moment, then ticked items off on his fingers. "Let's see. We freed some slaves, infiltrated his palace, stole his stolen lightsabers and that urn, and injured him several times. He'd probably kill us or whatever and then pay the Prince a good amount of money for the loss of his newly hired bounty team. . . Maybe even offer some of his own guys as replacements."

"That makes sense," said Hunter. "He's the only one with a reason to go after us, anyway."

"No." Crosshair looked up again. "Aurra Sing could be acting independently of Grakkus, especially once Quinlan threatened her."

"Yeah. . ." Quinlan narrowed his eyes at the table. "And she's got a vengeful streak a lightyear wide. Hmm. At the time, I was just – making stuff up, really. . ."

Crosshair snorted.

"However, there was a sense of conflict in her," the Jedi finished. "She had more than two motivations guiding her decision."

"Huh." Wrecker frowned, then shook his head and spoke bluntly. "It's weird that you can sense that kind of thing."

"Yeah. Well. I can't do it with everyone. But Aurra's a low-level Force-sensitive, and probably projects her intentions and thoughts without meaning to. Anyway, I wonder if she is actually working for the Prince as well as for Grakkus."

Hunter's eyebrows furrowed. "I thought neither of 'em would hire someone who's worked for the other."

"Exactly." Quinlan pulled out his datapad and typed in his passcode. "Unless the Prince, or Grakkus, wanted a spy and hired her in secret, specifically so that he could order her to be hired by the other one."

Of the four commandos, only Tech didn't look confused. "I see," he said. "You believe that Aurra Sing may be a double agent, on top of potentially having her own agenda?"

"It's definitely a possibility. . . which might mean we have more than one enemy to watch out for. Especially if Grakkus puts a bounty on us. No sign of one as of yet, but you never know. Hey, Tech, can you find out anything about Aurra?"

"Ah – yes." He lifted a finger. "Though that is an indefinite request. Do you have specific data you would like?"

"Yeah. Is she available for hire?"

Tech started typing.

"Uhh. . ." Wrecker frowned. "How's he supposed to find that out?"

Hunter smirked. "Probably better not to ask. Last time, he used the darknet and bribed someone with fake currency."

"Precisely what I am doing now," said Tech mildly. "Minus the fake currency bit, of course. Give me a moment."

Crosshair snorted.

Quinlan was still eyeing Tech in concern when Hunter said, "Either way, we're going to head out, right?"

"Yep. That's the plan."

"Oh, good!" said Wrecker. "I was afraid you'd decide to stay here."

"Why?"

" 'Cause if we decided to stay here, we'd never get a chance to pound Grakkus' guys for attacking us!"

Tech and Hunter shot him identical looks.

"What?" Wrecker asked. "You guys like not fighting back when we're attacked?"

"Don't worry," said Quinlan, giving Wrecker a friendly nudge. "They're just being hypocrites." He lowered his voice to a very audible whisper. "Is it just me, or are all four of you a little trigger-happy?"

"Kind of." Wrecker gave a conspiratorial chuckle. "But Hunter's the kind of guy who likes close-range fighting instead of long-range. It's more challenging and dangerous."

Hunter looked a bit disgruntled, Crosshair snickered, and Tech looked mildly amused before going back to his work; so Quinlan and Wrecker grinned at each other.

"Now that you've gotten that out of the way," said Hunter, folding his arms, "maybe we can return to planning our mission?"

"Sure thing, soon as Tech updates us." Quinlan jerked his chin at Tech, whose eyes were flickering back and forth as he read rapidly.

The shortest commando looked up. "Without doing a more in-depth search, I cannot say for certain, but Aurra Sing appears to have been on Nar Shaddaa for some time. She has claimed two bounties in the past month, both posted by Dverik."

Quinlan raised an eyebrow. "Well – what d'ya know. She's involved somehow with two crimelords for certain, and possibly the Prince as well. . .? I wonder if we can get a lead through her."

"How?" Crosshair removed the toothpick from between his teeth and gestured. "You want to comm her and ask if she knows anything about the Prince and who he's selling artifacts to?"

"Actually," Quinlan said brightly, then snickered at the look the sniper gave him. "No, I don't want to comm her," he said. "But I do want to poke around in Dverik's communications and see if there's any relation between him and the Prince and Grakkus."

"What for?" Wrecker asked.

"Call it – intuition." The Jedi tapped a finger against his cheekbone. "Or call it being nosy. I have been righteously accused of both. But she's shown up too many times for my liking, working for too many different people here."

"And if we find nothing?" Hunter asked.

"Well, we'll have gotten valuable practice at staying alive," Quinlan pointed out. "And on the side, we can maybe cause Dverik some grief, so he has more important things to focus on than terrorizing everyone around him."

When Hunter eyed him strangely, Quinlan raised an eyebrow. "You don't like the plan?"

"What plan?" the sergeant pointed out.

"Yeah." Crosshair's gaze flitted across the room. "We're involving ourselves with Dverik because you want some intel, which we might get, and because we want to cause trouble for him, and because –?"

"Because I strongly suspect we'll be just as safe there as we are here," Quinlan said calmly.

"You suspect?" Hunter folded his arms, frowning in consideration. "Is this how you always handle missions?"

"You mean making things up on the fly?" Quinlan smirked. "Yep. Though it's a lot easier with one guy than with five. I often just slip inside and learn a few things and leave."

"Successfully?" Crosshair asked. "Without getting caught?"

"Well, yeah." The Jedi decided not to mention that last time, he'd been quite literally thrown out of a building. "Most of the time, anyway. I could try it this time, perform a bit of sabotage, and get out."

Hunter shook his head. "You can forget that idea. This whole thing is in too many pieces already, and if you get killed or captured or turned over to Grakkus, the mission's good as over."

"Fair point," Quinlan said. "Okay. For the moment, then, we'll assume Grakkus is after us. Keeping that minor problem in mind, we'll start off by going after Dverik . . ." He snapped his fingers. "Which reminds me – I did learn a couple of things last night. One: we don't actually know what Dverik is."

Tech looked up. "Chopa said he was a human."

"Yeah, and I overheard some Twi'lek woman griping about how Dverik was nothing but an idiot Zabrak. Her contact was confused and said he'd been threatened by a Twi'lek. Only thing in common was an orange tattoo on the wrist."

"That complicates matters," said Hunter.

"No kidding." Quinlan pulled a loose thread off his sleeve. "Two: the Prince's headquarters extend down several levels, not just on that one we visited."

"So, the warehouse is just the top," Wrecker said.

"Right. Three: there's no traffic in the airlanes around the hideout."

"Oh," said Tech. "That could be very useful, especially if we need to make a quick getaway."

"Exactly – we can fly the Marauder down there, no sweat – even blow a small hole in the building, if need be."

Crosshair rotated a toothpick between his long fingers. "Any idea what kind of defenses the Prince has?"

"Apart from three seriously skilled bounty hunters? . . . No."

"Hm."

"My thoughts exactly."

Crosshair gave him a disparaging look, and Quinlan responded with a blank stare before turning to Tech. "Were you able to figure out anything from the intel you got?"

"Yes. I did some investigating into the man who signed the contract. His name is Wistern, and he's selling food to Dverik and his organization." Tech smiled a little. "I have mapped routes from our position to Wistern's store, which is on the fifty-second level, as well as located the delivery address of the shipment. I assume it is Dverik's stronghold, given the tight security measures. Wistern will be delivering another shipment in four hours."

"Awesome." Quinlan clapped his hands together. "Tech, you've got yourself a job."

"I am already a permanent member of this team."

" . . . You know what I mean."

"Of course I do."

Hunter looked up, tapping a finger against his opposite forearm. "We could hitch a ride in. This new shipment – is it being delivered by a speedertruck?"

"I have no data on that as of yet," said Tech. "However, I could attempt to locate all vehicles registered under Wistern's name . . ."

"Don't bother," said Quinlan. "He's probably outsourcing his deliveries anyway, especially if his store's a big one."

"It is," said Tech. "The largest in the sector, as a matter of fact."

"Good. Here's the plan: we get to Wistern's place, break in or whatever, smuggle ourselves into Dverik's hideout, and go from there."

"You mean we're improvising," said Crosshair.

"Yeah. I'm great at it."

"So are we." Wrecker laughed and stood up. "'Course, when I improvise, it's usually with explosives! I'll bring some of the good ones."

"You do that," Quinlan said. Explosives would probably be useful at some point anyway. "Now, we'll probably be followed at some point. It's always pretty dark on this moon, and it's currently raining, which just adds to the problem, but there's nothing we can do about it except keep a sharp eye out, watch for ambushes, basic stuff like that."

"Right," said Hunter, sounding amused.

"We'll get disguised, split up, leaving at five-minute intervals to avoid too much attention, and meet up near the Rimmer's Rest. Wistern's place is on the same level, so it's as good a starting point as any . . . Unless you have a better idea, Hunter?"

Hunter shook his head. "That was my idea, except for the part where we split up. So far that hasn't worked well."

"I know, but we're too close to the Prince's place for me to be comfortable with being super obvious. How about two groups instead of everyone traveling alone?"

"That makes sense. Wrecker, you'll go with Vos this time." Hunter stretched and cracked his shoulders.

Tech flinched. "Hunter. . ."

"That way," Hunter said, speaking over him, "you can haul the Jedi out of trouble."

"Works for me," Wrecker said.

"Hey," protested Quinlan. "I don't need to be hauled out of trouble. I got us out just fine last time, right, Cross?"

Crosshair stirred. "You got us out?"

"Yeah. I distinctly remember that you were busy getting clobbered."

The sniper narrowed his eyes. "Deadweight."

"Wasn't my fault I got thrown into you." Quinlan hopped up from the table. "You were in the way. Well – let's go make ourselves look appropriately thuggish."

And with that, Quinlan sidled into the hall, grabbing his pack on the way, and jumped down the small hatch to the lower deck. He rummaged around in his sack to locate his face paint, then covered his facial tattoos with the ease of long practice. After putting on a long-sleeved shirt, because it was always easier to hide when one was mostly in black, he swapped his tan tunic for a black one and fastened it with the leather belt which held his two new vibroblades. That finished, he double-checked his hold-out blaster, slipped it into its holster, and slid that on the belt as well. Fingerless gloves, commlink, ration cubes, hydration tablet, emergency stim shot and painkiller . . . all set.

As he always did before the start of any new mission, Quinlan took a few minutes to stretch. After limbering up each of his joints, he leaned backwards and touched the floor, unsuccessfully attempting to diminish the ache in his ribs and shoulder.

"Yep, that's gonna be a problem if I have to run or get into fistfights," he said to the ceiling. "Well. Kind of inevitable, I guess."

He flipped over backwards to land in a crouch, then climbed back up the ladder.

As he reached the cargo hold, a step sounded behind him and Hunter said, "Were you just talking to yourself?"

"To the ceiling, actually. It's an old friend of mine," Quinlan said smoothly.

The sergeant was dressed similarly to Quinlan, except that he'd exchanged his red bandana for a black one. He carried a pistol and his vibroknife, but not his blaster rifle.

"Hm," said Quinlan. "Not bad, but the tattoo should be hidden. Our skin tones are pretty close – you can use some face paint. Or grease, grease works too."

"No," said Hunter, looking peeved. "That took forever to get out. I'll use the face paint."

Gesturing to the ladder, Quinlan stepped aside. "Help yourself."

Wrecker entered just as Hunter disappeared. He had chosen a heavy jacket instead of a tunic, and carried his standard pack on his shoulders – though he'd used the grease trick again to hide the Republic insignia. Quinlan thought Wrecker looked a lot more like a gangster than Hunter did, with his scars and his towering build, although Hunter could probably act the better villain . . .

"This thuggish enough?" Wrecker asked, hooking his blaster to his belt.

"Yeah, just try to look mean," Quinlan advised.

Wrecker folded his arms and frowned, glaring at the Jedi. "Like this?" he asked cheerfully.

Quinlan hummed. "Yes. . .? But kind of no."

"Huh?" Wrecker dropped his arms at his side. "That doesn't make sense."

"No, it does not," affirmed Tech from the galley. He joined them in the hold, busily straightening his vest, which had multiple pockets down the front and along the sides. He had removed his knee guards, but still wore both pistols tied down.

"Hmm." Quinlan leaned against the wall. "You look like a gunslinger."

Ignoring the random observation, Tech fiddled with his goggles as though debating whether to remove them or not. After a moment, he jammed a fitted black cap over his head and turned up the edge. It didn't hide the goggles, but it did make them look a little more like protective eyewear, rather than – whatever they really were. Maybe they were protective eyewear, with infrared vision on the side. It didn't matter, since they looked like something a random criminal would wear.

Wrecker chose that moment to loom up next to Quinlan. "Is this better?" he asked, grabbing the Jedi's arm and throat with either hand.

Jerking in surprise, Quinlan pulled back. "What the heck."

"Well." With a lopsided grin, Wrecker let him go. "You said try to look meaner."

" . . . And now I've made amends," Quinlan acknowledged.

A few seconds later, Crosshair entered the room, glanced sidelong at Tech, and reached over to tug his hat down over his goggles.

Tech ducked away and fixed the hat. "I like it," he defended, though Crosshair hadn't actually said anything.

"Hm," said Crosshair, sitting down on a crate to adjust his boots, which ended a couple of inches below his knees. "These are going to be useful."

Tech looked down at his own, which were identical. "They will suffice, though I find them a bit too high to run comfortably in."

Wrecker grinned. "That's only 'cause you're so short."

The technician drew himself up to his full height, which was still a couple inches less than Hunter's, and said, "I am not short."

"You are compared to me," Wrecker pointed out.

"And me," Crosshair joined in.

Tech hesitated with his mouth open, apparently unable to deny that fact but still ready to think up a scathing retort, and Hunter's voice floated up from the lower deck. "If you guys start brawling . . ."

The three clones exchanged glances, then went back to their previous activities while Quinlan watched equitably from the sidelines.

"Glad to hear you listening," Hunter said.

Tech rolled his eyes.

After a brief pause, Crosshair glided over to the weapons rack to get his rifle, which he slung over one shoulder. He was wearing an outfit very similar to Hunter's – black tunic and pants over the blaster-resistant bodysuit that all clones owned – except that the sniper had chosen a shorter tunic, and was wearing a bandolier over it, along with a belt holding a long, thin knife.

Quinlan nodded to it. "That one a vibroblade?"

"No," said Crosshair. Drawing the knife between two fingers, he held it out, hilt-first.

The Jedi turned it from side to side. There was no engraving, no sudden sensation, nothing to indicate a previous owner, but there was no way this was standard issue . . . or even commando issue. "Strange weapon," he said, returning it. "I'll bet it could go straight through durasteel without breaking."

Crosshair sheathed it. "Haven't used it yet," he admitted. "Hunter had it made on Nal Hutta."

"There were good craftsmen there," Hunter said, joining them. He tossed the jar of face paint to Crosshair. "Tattoo," he said, by way of explanation, then turned to glance over the others. "Okay, I think we're all set."

"Nal Hutta?" said Quinlan curiously. "Just a few days ago, you mean."

"Yeah," Hunter replied. "Wrecker and I replaced our own knives a long time ago, but Tech and Crosshair never use 'em, so they hadn't bothered." He headed to the door and tapped the control. "Never be without a good knife. Right, Tech?"

"Yes, Hunter," said Tech absently, checking something on his datapad.

"Rule of life," agreed Quinlan, tapping the two at his waist. "Ready to head out, Wrecker?"

"Oh, yeah!"

Hunter glanced at his chronometer. "All right. We'll secure the ship and follow you shortly."

Three hours later, Quinlan crouched behind a metal crate and peered out at the activity before him. It looked like Tech's intel was correct – the workers in this warehouse were busily loading speedertrucks with boxes of supplies while Wistern, a slightly stooped man with a confident bearing, directed them.

Putting his back to the crate, Quinlan commed the sergeant. "They're about finished up here. You got that distraction ready?"

"Ready and waiting," confirmed Hunter.

"Okay. . ." Quinlan peered around again. They had to get the timing just right. Too soon, and there would be supplies left to load, meaning that the stowaways might be discovered on the trucks. Too late, and the truck doors would be locked. "Wistern's moving out. . . Last few crates – now!"

A shrill alarm rang through the area, and Wistern rushed to a computer terminal and glanced at it. "Fire in Warehouse Three!" he shouted.

The workers rushed from the room, presumably towards Warehouse Three. Quite coincidentally, of course, that was where Wistern stored his fuel supplies.

After checking the area one more time, Quinlan ran for the side door. He skidded to a halt, unlocked and opened it, and waved the commandos in. "All right, let's go! We've only got a minute."

He locked the door behind them, and they hurried to the trucks, the alarm still ringing around them. Wrecker climbed into the back of the last truck in line, moved as far forward as he could, and crouched in an empty space beneath two tall crates. Hunter and Quinlan repositioned a third just in front of him, then moved on to the next vehicle.

This speedertruck was already loaded and ready, the doors left open only so that the loadmaster could check one last time before latching them, but Tech still managed to squirm his way backwards between the crates and the wall.

Crosshair hopped in with him and climbed into the narrow space between the crates and the ceiling, and Quinlan shifted one of the lighter crates over a bit to keep him from view.

"Remember," Hunter said, leaning into the vehicle. "You two are the support for this mission. Don't move in unless necessary."

"Got it," said Tech, propping himself up on his elbows to use his datapad. "I am setting all the commlinks to transmit automatically."

"Right." Quinlan adjusted his earpiece. "Hey, Wrecker, say something."

"Something," Wrecker said obediently, then chortled.

"Okay, it's working," Quinlan reported, just as the alarm shut off abruptly.

Hunter and Quinlan ran for the foremost vehicle and jumped in, climbing over and around crates to reach the front. Quinlan dropped flat on the floor against the partition that separated the cab from the bed of the truck and cast a cautious look up at the crates towering over him. "If we stop fast . . ."

"Yeah." Hunter crouched beside him, surveying their surroundings. "Let's hope we've got a good driver."

"We should have made Wrecker get in this one," said Quinlan.

"Except we're scouting, and he isn't."

"Yeah, good point." Quinlan sat up, put his back against the partition, and bent his knees so he could brace his feet against the crate. "Still, if this stuff crushes us, I'm suing for damage."

"Technically, you would be unable to," Tech informed him.

". . . Thank you for informing me, Tech."

"They're coming back," warned Hunter. "Keep it down."

Quinlan heard annoyed voices, and then the slamming of a door as a speedertruck was sealed.

"Get these last crates in," ordered Wistern. "Dverik won't want these delivered late."

"I thought you said the fire alarm system was faultless," grumbled another voice.

"It was installed last week," said Wistern. "Shouldn't be anything wrong with it, but I'd rather deal with a false alarm than a fire."

A crate slammed onto the floor, and the deck vibrated.

"You sure we're gonna have enough room for all this?" asked a third person.

"If you loaded it right, yes. If you didn't – find a way, or reload it."

Hunter tensed and got to one knee. Quinlan slouched back against the partition and hoped they wouldn't shove the crates in too hard.

"Hey!" shouted the third voice. "Bring me that loader!"

"A loader?" Quinlan murmured. "Yeah, we might have to move."

"Get up top?" whispered Hunter.

"Not unless we have to. They'll see us." Quinlan tilted his head, listening to a humming engine. "They're not going to bother actually reloading – they'll just shove the whole pile as far back as they can."

"Great." Hunter glanced at the partition and touched his knife, probably wondering whether he could cut through it. "How many more crates did they have to load again?"

"Umm . . . ?" Quinlan squinted. "Four."

"Have fun," Crosshair interjected snidely.

The sergeant glanced at Quinlan, and they both rolled their eyes.

As the motor sped up, the vibrating intensified, and the crates squeaked forward, inch by inch. Quinlan got to his feet and reached for the top of one, ready to climb up the instant it became necessary. Hunter mirrored him, bracing one foot against the partition, and pushed off, hauling himself up on his elbows.

He dropped down instantly to report, "They've already got enough room."

Quinlan kicked backwards lightly, testing how much room he had left, as the crates kept moving. "Maybe you should tell them that?"

Hunter didn't have a chance to respond, because the crate he was hanging from skidded suddenly, as though breaking free from a rough area, and jolted him back. He lost his grip and fell, only a couple inches separating him from the metal container.

Quinlan twisted, hanging by one hand as he reached out with the Force.

The crate skidded again, slowing to a halt, but not before it had pushed Hunter back against the partition. As the sergeant let out his breath abruptly, Quinlan dropped to the ground and extended both hands.

For a long, endless moment, he concentrated solely on the container, willing it to move back while the machine tried to push it forward. The crate he was behind jostled against him, but he couldn't lose his focus. Almost – almost –

The crate trapping Hunter jolted back ever so slightly, and Hunter slid sideways to join Quinlan. The moment he was safe, Quinlan released his hold.

That crate smashed against the partition with a clang, while Hunter braced one foot against the second container in an attempt to keep it from crushing them. Quinlan leaned his back against the crate and braced his feet on the partition, struggling against the pressing weight while the machine's motors whirred. He would need to use the Force again –

"Stop straining that machine!" yelled someone.

The whirring stopped abruptly, and Quinlan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He straightened, wincing at the loud crack his knees made, as Hunter slowly stood upright.

"Something's in the way of this row," protested another voice.

"So what? Do you have enough room to put the supplies in?"

"Well – yeah, but the two rows should be even. The crates were identical!"

Something rustled around, and then another crate slammed down on the floor.

"Just get the supplies loaded before Dverik breaks off the deal, will you?" Wistern cut in. "As long as they fit, you're good."

"Thank the Force for idiots," whispered Quinlan fervently, and Hunter huffed a breathless laugh.

The last crate was loaded, and the doors banged shut, cutting off most of the light.

"You all set?" muttered Wrecker.

"We're fine," Hunter said, tilting his head sideways to crack his neck and spine. "Bit of a tight fit, is all."

The trucks rumbled to life and started moving.

"I am tracking our progress," reported Tech. "I'll let you know when we get close to our destination."

"Okay," said Hunter.

Quinlan glanced up. "I'm still worried about the driver stopping fast."

There was a short silence.

"Thanks," said Hunter.

"Just being realistic. We could always climb up top, but –"

"No, I meant thanks for the save."

"Oh." Quinlan reached up for the edge of the crate, then decided against it. There wouldn't be enough room between the crate and the ceiling to ride up there without hitting his head every time the speedertruck jolted. "Yeah, no big deal."

Hunter glanced at him, his eyes barely visible in the faint slivers of light that shone through the slits in the roof. "It would probably be more of a big deal if you were the one who'd been inches from getting flattened."

"But I wasn't," Quinlan said flippantly. "Hey, get your elbow out of my ribs."

Hunter tried to move aside, but promptly hit his other elbow on the crate. "Not much room to move. . ."

Quinlan snorted and twisted to put his back against the wall. "Yeah, come to think of it, we've got only a little elbow room."

There was a brief, scandalized pause, and then Wrecker laughed.

"That was terrible," Tech felt the need to tell him.

"It was perfect!" protested Wrecker.

"Shut up," said Crosshair. "He's bad enough – you're just encouraging him."

"Insubordination again," Quinlan said mournfully. "I can hear you."

"Yeah." The sniper's sneering voice was almost amused. "I know."

". . . Oh. Right."

Back when the commandos' heights were all listed on Wookiepedia as six feet, I decided on different heights. Quinlan's, I took from Wookiepedia.

Quinlan Vos: 6'3"

Wrecker: 6'6"

Hunter: 6'1"

Crosshair: 6'2"

Tech: 5'11"