Gorath Jin was an uncommonly mean-spirited smuggler, well known in Hutt space and the Outer Rim. When he picked up a shipment of certain rare materials that Wynston's espionage operation could use, Wynston decided to kill two birds - or rather, one supply problem and one infamous thug - with one stone.

And, since Malavai Quinn was still learning the ropes in this industry, Wynston brought him along.

"Do I get a disguise generator like yours?" said Quinn.

"No. It takes a while to produce them. We'll issue you one when we can. Besides, I doubt you'll need it just yet."

"Oh?"

"You'll want it to hide your face when you operate in Imperial space. But in the Outer Rim? You're fine. To be frank, you're in the luxurious position of being able to elicit positive social responses with your natural face."

"Positive...social responses."

The scarred Chiss looked him over and let one corner of his mouth quirk up. "You've done a much better job of preserving your looks than I have. You look striking, bordering on distinguished with the greying-hair thing, and quite possibly still handsome enough to sweep young Sith Lords off their feet if you had to."

"Don't joke about that."

"Ah. Sorry. It...may take a while to sort out how humor works here."

"Quite."

"For one thing, I am never hitting on you. You can set your mind at ease there."

"That is a relief to hear."

"I thought it might be. I'm as flexible as I have to be professionally, but I don't go after men in my spare time. And I won't be offended if you tell me I'm not your type."

The cargo was set to be handed over on Tatooine. Wynston put on an unremarkable Twi'lek likeness. Both Wynston and Quinn picked out street clothes, some light body armor, nothing that would stand out in a crowd of mercenaries. The warehouse stood in a deep desert canyon, with only the smallest of landing pads available alongside. Wynston and Quinn quietly infiltrated the warehouse, observing the Exchange crew that had brought the shipment that far and was now waiting for the handoff. Wynston hid in the shadows, Quinn settled on an out-of-the-way packing crate, they activated their respective stealth generators, and they waited.

Finally the lead Exchange thug got a holocall, grunted a few times at his correspondent, and nodded for his people to haul open the great cargo door. Gorath Jin walked in alone.

The ugly smuggler scanned the warehouse with a critical eye. "I see, I see." A few gunmen entered behind him and started walking up and down between packing crates, periodically prying one open to check inside. Eventually they gave their boss the all-clear. Gorath walked up to where the Exchange crew waited. "One credit stick for you, sir."

"Eh," grunted the Exchange leader, and accepted it.

Gorath beamed and backed off. "Now," he sang.

The gunmen who had examined the shipment opened fire from all directions, joined by another two from outside. The battle was short and one-sided; Gorath's men cleaned up while only losing one themselves.

"Nice an' neat," announced the smuggler. "Swipe their identicards and let's take this stuff home."

"I'm afraid that will be quite impossible."

Quinn strolled out from behind a pile of packing crates, his hands folded behind his back. He took up his distinctively military parade rest. "The shipment we have a use for. You, Gorath Jin, we do not. As of today, your bloody trade is at an end."

Gorath grinned a gap-toothed grin. "You don't want to be crossing me, buddy. I have powerful friends."

"They won't miss you," Quinn said scornfully. "I suppose eventually some of them might wonder where you went, but I can continue to supply them with their goods. As long as that's assured, I really doubt any of them will be sentimental enough to ask after you."

Gorath looked off to one side and beckoned. "May get hairy, boys. Come on."

The gunmen formed up around Gorath, blaster rifles and one assault cannon trained on where Quinn stood alone. The smuggler chuckled. "You still thinking you're in charge here, buddy?"

Wynston, without saying anything, stepped into the open behind them and tossed a thermal detonator.

"Yes, actually," said Quinn in a friendly tone. And the detonator blew.

Between the two of them, Quinn and Wynston rapidly cleared the survivors of the blast. Wynston holstered his pistol and spoke in a stage whisper. "Formal pose, stiff neck, accent, plus gloating?"

"Well, yes."

"Bloody hell, Quinn, try to remember you're a mercenary, not a...well...an Imperial officer."

"The gloating needed to happen," said Quinn defensively. "The opportunity was right there. Besides, it's not like anybody survived to get offended over it."

"You'll never get anywhere acting like that."

A cool feminine voice sounded from the staircase leading up to the second floor. "Well, that was unexpected."

Wynston took his blaster back out, but he was smiling. Quinn trained his blaster on the dusky beauty who was sweeping down the stairs, her intriguingly thin green dress billowing behind her in the slight air currents of the warehouse.

"Gentlemen, I have been waiting longer than you can imagine for somebody to clear that pig out of my warehouse. Are you planning on setting up...business...here?"

Quinn appeared to be calculating rapidly as he watched her. Wynston also appeared to be calculating, but he was clearly concentrating on a different data set. "Madam, I'm open to setting up business any place you like."

"Hm." The woman gave the false Twi'lek a dismissive once-over, then turned back to Quinn. "Nice moves during that little showdown, sugar. I like your style. And I wanted to say, you're missing out if you only take the parts of the shipment at this warehouse."

"And what does that mean?" asked Quinn.

"The Exchange always stashes the good stuff elsewhere." She jerked her head toward an undistinguished corner of the warehouse. "Come with me and I'll show you."

The woman took a step and waited expectantly. Quinn raised his eyebrows at Wynston and mouthed "Never get anywhere?" Wynston rolled his eyes and cleared out to let Quinn do his job.

*

Wynston, having finished directing the lifting droids to load up the transport, was waiting in the blissfully air conditioned cockpit when Quinn finally climbed in.

"Never ask me to do that again," said Quinn.

Wynston grinned. "Ask? Sir, you volunteered."

"No, I didn't."

"The minute that woman showed up you were ready for playtime."

"No I wasn't! I only did what was necessary to secure the shipment."

"Every last part thereof," Wynston said slowly.

"You are an extraordinarily unpleasant man."

"You're a real professional. Take it from someone who knows." Wynston's grin widened. "So, you go through with it?"

"Of course not."

"Backing out early raises a lady's suspicion."

"Not as such. She led me into a closet that, I regret to report, had no additional smuggled goods, and, once she was sure we were alone, she tried to stab me."

"Really?"

"Really. So I killed her and went back out to help load the true cargo. No intercourse required."

"I stand corrected, Quinn. You truly are a professional."

Quinn sniffed disdainfully. "I found this resolution considerably more tasteful than the alternative." He hopelessly brushed a little of Tatooine's dust off his sleeve. "Tell me these materials are worth it?"

"Absolutely. Instead of benefiting a Hutt, they're going to benefit scum like us."

"We're not scum."

"Quinn, you've been calling me scum for the past twenty years. Give or take."

"Fair point. I'm not scum."

"Whatever you say, sugar."