[i] In Hyperspace, en route to Coruscant [/i]

A'sha was slouching somewhat in the pilot's seat, monitoring the monitors. By now hers was a token presence, it was rare that the navicomputer would slip up and get a major hyperspace lane wrong, but Silla would leave nothing to chance. She watched the counter of parsecs go down as time dragged on. Her mechanic had been in a foul mood for more than a week, insisting on replacing what seemed like half of the ship's parts and even get spares. And so it happened that the closest planet was Coruscant. The mercenary/jedi was more than anxious to go to the large megapolises, the planet-wide cities like Coruscant. It reminded her of Metellos. Not that she was paranoid and fearful of large cities, but they unmistakably evoked memories of that long-past hardship. She didn't notice that her brows had furrowed, though she did notice the hand that landed on her shoulder. 

A'sha turned her attention to the young woman who stood beside her and felt her expression relax. Out in the field, she would've felt the owner of that hand long before they were close enough to touch her, but her senses were lax on the Hound. It was home, after all. 

"What is it, Silla?"

"You should get some sleep." it didn't sound like a suggestion. 

With a snerk and a shake of her head, A'sha raised her hands from the consoles before her and slowly rose to her feet. Before she could stand all the way, however, the consoles began to chirp and beep away, signalling that the ship was about to drop out of hyperspace. Soon, before the pair was Coruscant, its dark side illuminated by innumerable lights from the gigantic city on the surface. 

"In a moment, then, we'll get to dock first." she muttered aside at her mechanic, who lazily plopped down in the co-pilot's chair beside her. 

The monitors and equipment blinked again, a message was coming up from the planet's surface. Someone was expecting them, it seemed. The jedi narrowed her eyes, before opening a comm channel. The voice of a young man rose from the console, his tone decidedly neutral, giving nothing away. 

"I hope I find you well, spacer." the man started, and after a brief pause added "I'll be brief, I have a proposition for you." 

"Not one for introductions, I see. I'm listening." A'sha replied in a non-chalant tone that was well-practiced. 

"It's not exactly secure to divulge too much over an open channel like this one. We'll have to meet in person for that. At any rate, I'm in need of transportation and I'm told you're a dependable sort." 

She didn't even bother asking where she got that kind of reputation.

"About as dependable as mercenaries get, you'll find. I'll need more than that to take on what you have for me, however."

"I certainly hope so. I'm sending you the address I want you to meet me at, we'll talk about the specifics there, I assure you, I can more than compensate you for your service."

With that, the comm channel was closed and the women were left thoughtful, staring down at the consoles from whence the voice rose. A'sha glanced aside at her mechanic, arching a brow some inquisitively. 

"You think this might be a set up?" the younger woman asked, seemingly skeptical of the notion herself. 

"Unlikely, we haven't stirred up enough trouble to be asking for it. Yet." the jedi mused, and raised a hand to stroke her chin "Though this might be the one that does the stirring. We've done refugee runs before, but Coruscant isn't on the front lines of the war. I have a feeling this man's trying to evade something, or someone." 

"Why else would he hire a couple of low-profile mercs like us?" Silla nodded to herself, and offered a teasing smirk at her companion. 

"I may not be Jango Fett, but we're also not getting shot at as much, I imagine." A'sha quipped back, then glanced down at the consoles as whoever contacted them on the surface transmitted his files as promised. A set of coordinates, an address in one of Coruscant's seedier wards. "We're going down to G-17, it seems. Probably some run-down cantina. Nothing out of the ordinary, but keep a blaster handy once we land. Oh, right...I guess we won't be sleeping yet." 

With that, the woman took control of her craft once more, and followed all the legitimate channels for landing on the planet's surface, in one of its innumerable wards, which just happened to be a bit more run-down than the rest. The landing pad was not too far from the coordinates they were given and through the wonders of modern navigational technology, the jedi began to make her way through the dimly lit streets and alleyways toward the designated location. Contrary to what her title might suggest, A'sha opted for something less conspicuous than the flowing robes that one might expect from jedi, in stead clad in a full suit of armor, complete with a helmet and all vaguely concealed beneath a token cloak. In a slum ward like G-17, she didn't stand out much.

 Her hunch turned out to be spot on, upon reaching the coordinates, the only notable thing in sight was the bright neon pink sign of a regular shady cantina - a pole-dancing twi'lek. The scene was complete with its own drunken vagrant gracing the ground close by the front entrance. The mechanical doors opened soundly enough and in the armored figure stepped, taking a moment to inspect the dimly lit interior. It was clearly one of the more frequented establishments in this part of the ward - the bar and the tables in the dark corners all mostly had someone already occupying them, likely waiting for someone themselves, but few paid her any more heed than to acknowledge that she was standing there, save for one man raising his hand to beckon her over. 

A'sha crossed the distance toward the expectedly dimly lit table in the far end of the cantina and stood before the table, hand on her hip. The patrons that weren't drunk seemed to take note of her armaments. A blaster rifle slung over her shoulder, and a smaller side-arm secured at her hip. Nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, the most dangerous of her weapons was hidden from sight. A lightsabre out in the open before a firefight began was asking for one in the first place, be it out of hatred for those who usually bore such weapons, or greed for such a prized and rare piece of technology. 

"You're the one that called for me?" A'sha asked, her voice slightly distorted by the helmet.

The man simply nodded. He too, kept his appearance hidden, though under his cowl one could see youthful features, and clothes a little too clean to belong to a local. She sat down across from the man, keeping her side to the door. The man, notably, was facing the way out. A clear sign, if ever there was one, despite his veneer of calm. 

"It's simple - I need you to get me to Hutt space, any planet will do. I arrive there in one piece, you get to fly away with a healthy sum of credits." the man explained, his hands coming together before him and clasping into one another. They were steady and nimble, but not worn or rough like hers, A'sha noted. 

"There's more to it than that." she replied simply, her faceplate turned toward the man, giving the notion of an unbroken, ceaseless stare. He couldn't tell, at any rate, the visor didn't show the eyes. The Mandalorian effect, A'sha liked to call it. After a brief pause, the man inclined his head somewhat. 

"True. There is the matter of the cargo I bear. It needs to arrive there with me safely." 

"And I'm not getting paid to ask questions." A'sha mused, dryly.

"You're not getting paid to ask questions." the man replied, just as well, and slid a small datapad over toward the woman.

A moment of silence ensued, though not complete, as the other patrons were busy muttering between themselves in alien languages, some of which A'sha couldn't place or understand. Her hand dropped to the datapad and turned it toward her, then her eyes turned down toward it. The number was high enough to both make her feel certain there was going to be a certain amount of risk involved in this assignment, but also meant it was more than simple smuggling. Whatever the man was having her ferry him with, was clearly valuable. She had every intention of finding out what it was, of course, though she never needed to ask with words to see why certain things were significant, to whom, and why. And there was that subtle feeling in the back of her head, that faint prompt of intuition that urged her to accept the deal, as if it promised to lead her into something greater. 

 She finally broke the silence between them and slid the datapad back. "My ship isn't far, get your cargo."