Hello readers! This is my first official fanfic story EVER so I'm excited and apprehensive at the same time! As most of you are probably Star Wars fans I will make the disclaimers now that almost all of the locations and aliens and all around world (and a few characters) of this fanfic have arisen from the inspiration of Star Wars and are not from my own original mind.

phew- now that formalities are over, thank you in advance! I welcome any and all valued criticisms and thoughts and praise (especially praise ^_^) you wish to share so please review to your hearts content. As- again- this is my first time doing this I don't have a planned out schedule for posting new chapters. For now I'll try posting a chapter every week- but I'll get that sorted out soon depending on how well this first chapter turns over.

and so- without further ado- I encourage you to enjoy Star Wars: A Smuggler's Story!

-Ardoa88

Coruscant, the capital of the Galaxy.

A city-covered wasteland if you asked me; all 5,127 levels of it, from the towering skyscrapers to the toxic underworld. At a distance, the planet upheld the guise of a white collar, pristine existence. But underneath the thin metal skin the city was thriving with underhanded dealings, backstabbing politics, betrayals and treasons so daring that not even the diplomatic senators could claim ignorance to the corruption.

That's what made my job fun.

Down on floor 1,677- 32 levels above the chemically rich lower layers- I crouched atop a cantina, clad in dark brown with a black half-cloak draped around my shoulders. The scope of my P-47 sniper rifle was awash in the purple backlight of a neon sign that read, 'The Crowded Crown'. The beacon of purple stood out in the dark of the day: light from the surface rarely penetrated this deep into the planet, so it was eternally 'night' even though the sun was still up.

While my weapon lay silent besides me, I scanned the influx of customers and exodus of drunkards through a pair of darkvision goggles. My eyes flicked to my watch: 20 minutes since last contact with the target. According to the intel I received, the mark should be completing his transaction about now; the exchange of an item my client was extremely interested in acquiring.

The locator on my wrist blipped twice. Moments later, a green-skinned alien wrapped in thick clothes exited the bar, much too steady on his feet to be intoxicated. He began walking west along the skywalk, a vibroblade strapped to his belt and a small sack clutched firmly in his left claw. Pushing my goggles up, I moved quickly to the rifle. Within seconds the crosshairs of my weapon were trained on the target's diamond shaped, lizard-like... scales… damn it!

I holstered my weapon, standing into a half-crouch and slinking along the rooftops to follow the mark. A Barabel… Nada'la had sent me after a Barabel!

A few choice words about my employer slipped from my lips as I repositioned myself. As I moved, I adjusted the setting on the gun, reaching into one of the many pockets on my vest to produce an armor-piercing shell. Barabel's were a species of alien native to a primitive outer rim system. They had retractable claws, two stomachs, a regenerative tail, and a skin layer so thick that a simple blaster bolt would merely bounce off the natural armor. The barrel of the P-47 followed the lizard man as he turned into an empty side alley. I loaded the chamber with the modified round and took aim, the shot locking perfectly. My finger moved to touch the trigger as a second figure wrapped in a dark robe oozed from the shadows.

I blinked. The newcomer was taller than the Barabel, more humanoid in his gait as the two drew close- they were obviously acquaintances. Against my better judgement, I decided to hold my fire, curious as to what I'd been tasked with retrieving; not that I wouldn't look in the bag once I got it. But I knew people had loose tongues- especially when they thought they were safe.

With the noise from speeders and the typical city bustle, I couldn't ascertain their words from my position. Taking out a comm and slipping it into my ear, I tossed the other down into the alley below- the small 'clunk' it made upon hitting the ground practically nonexistent over the din. At my end, I switched the link on; their hushed conversation now loud in my ear.

"-late, Vangrath? What took so long?"

"Thiss one was delayed by the dealer. He tried to up the pricce, but thiss one denied him the privilege of negoccciating." The Barabel- the one called Vangrath- patted the vibroblade sheath at his hip.

The hooded figure sighed, "Just as well, we don't have many credits to spare. You made sure it was the correct one?" By the deep tones in his voice I deduced he was male.

"Yess." Vangrath began to remove the item but the robed man held out his hand.

"Not here, fool! Head back to the Cossack and wait for me."

The Barabel nodded, and as silently as he'd come, the hooded figure vanished- no doubt using the shadows to his advantage. My mind reeled, the Cossack was the name of Senator Millian's personal transport. What use did a diplomat have with illegal merchandise? I figured it was high time I found out.

As Vangrath turned to leave, there was a subdued flash as the bullet left the barrel. The lizard grunted as my projectile pierced through his armored skin. It was the last sound he made as he slumped to the floor, dead. I jumped down from my vantage point, landing heavily on the skywalk. I approached the dead man with one of my pistols drawn for insurance, but the alien was well and truly lifeless.

Smiling I bent down and retrieved my comm before snatching the black sack. Glancing around the alley, I snuck a peek into that little black bag that both my employer and- apparently- a senator held stake in. Inside was… I whistled, "Well isn't this interesting?"

I fingered the green powder carefully, holding it up to my nose. The sweet aroma from the drug filled my nostrils and I lifted the bag a bit to gauge its weight. At least 20 grams of it: If I was right, even half a gram of this stuff could get me arrested for 30 years, and selling such a quantity could make one just as rich.

"Makes sense that a senator would want Glitterstim." I mused quietly. The drug placed the recipient in a pleasant high, while making them more viable to suggestion for the duration of its effects. Under it's influence one might be persuaded to- say- vote a certain way, relinquish certain information, enter a code in a locked door, even walk off a balcony if their mind was weak or if the dose was large enough.

So naturally, I saved some for myself; putting only a gram or two in a small vial and slipping it into an inner coat pocket. You never knew what could come in handy on a job. Speaking of… I did a search of the dead lizardman, checking for hidden pouches or- aha! A small coin purse with maybe two dozen credits. I pocketed the prize and unbelted the vibroblade, the weapon was in decent quality and I could chance selling it in the lower markets.

I dragged the dead Vangrath to the side of the alley and propped him in a slumped position next to a dumpster, adjusting the clothes so it covered the wound and most of the blood. With any luck people would think he was drunk or homeless. Not that it mattered much. People in the lower levels were used to murders.

With the last task done, I stood and dusted off my hands, deciding it was time to get paid.

"You sent me after a Barabel?" My tone was a mix between outrage and disbelief as I stormed into the Crime Lord's office. The bouncers who I'd barged past at the front door entered seconds behind me, the two heavily armored Gamorreans grunting in their pig-like way as they each grabbed one of my arms. I allowed them the satisfaction of thinking I was under their control, my eyes trained on the woman behind the large desk in the center of the back room.

Nada'la barely gltanced up from her reclined position, waving a dismissive hand at the guards, "Release her, and go wait outside."

The pigs grunted, one of them snatching the blaster hooked to my belt as he went. I made no objection this time; it was standard policy that no one enter Nada'la's domain without first forfeiting their weapons at the front door.

When we were alone Nada'la glanced at me, "You're lucky they didn't kill you."

"I'm lucky they're terrible at their job." I retorted, crossing my arms, "which reminds me- you sent me after a Barabel?"

The Crime Lord waved away my complaint, "I sent you to retrieve a parcel. How was I to know your mark would end up being one of those short-tails?" I caught the subtle insult in her words, the Icarii people held grudges against anyone who wasn't an ally: they rarely had 'friends' so ally was the next best to an Icarii. Half a century ago there had been an attack on their homeworld that left the species devastated, only a few dozen of the aliens survived; tasked with breeding a new generation. The Icarii never truly learned to trust anyone after that incident.

Like all of her species, Nada'la had a crystalline blue hue to her skin, it's luminescent qualities causing it to glow in the low light. In contrast, her flame red hair was intricately interwoven with a variety of gems that- if she decided to sell them at black market value- would be worth gigatons of credits. In proper Crime Lord fashion her getup was- indecent, to put it kindly. Although she wasn't wearing much in the way of clothing, the silks left a fine display of the various gun and saber holsters attached to Nada'la's upper right thigh, waist, and forearm.

The Icarii went back to methodically cleaning the cylinder of the dismantled handgun, her golden eyes meticulously scanning the part for errors. The rest of the pieces were strewn across her desk: a Tm-30 by the shape of the grip. Her office room was the same as it always was, astonishingly well organized with a host of crates and boxes of questionable contents stacked in the corners.

Nada'la kept the more valuable items sealed in the vault behind her desk; hence the tri-phase lock, a security system with a bolt strong enough that a lightsaber would have difficulty breaking it, and a coded series of keys that were even harder to crack. Given the proper tools, I might be able to get in if I had a day or two of uninterrupted access to the lock. Knowing the Crime Lord, I would also need another day just to disable whatever traps she was sure to have in place.

Possibly the best deterrent for thieves was that her base of operations was situated on level 1,647 a mere two floors above the toxins. Not that she had to suffer due to the airborne chemicals- her whole building was jacked up with the best filtration system on this side of the sector. But any would-be-attacker would have to wade their way through of society of cutthroats and thieves just to get to her front door.

"And besides," Nada'la continued, drawing me out of my thoughts, "You're one of the best in the business. Nothing you couldn't handle," she nodded to the bag that was tucked in my belt, "or am I wrong?"

I hid a scowl from crossing my face, the blue skinned alien knew exactly how to make one feel important and insecure at the same time. "I'll be reimbursed for my troubles. Armor piercing bullets are getting harder to find with the new policies in place."

Nada'la had gone back to her maintenance, the only acknowledgement of my statement being a slightly raised eyebrow. "Naturally." She nodded, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a purse that sagged with the weight of the credits. She set it down with a 'thunk'; the coins jingling inside.

I placed the stolen goods on the desk, but neglected to pick up the bag of money. Even without touching it I could tell there was more than the promised pay in the purse.

"I know Glitterstim is valuable," I mused, referring to the rare drug in the bag, "but not this profitable." I looked up at my employer. "What do you want, Nada'la?"

"Presumptuous brat, aren't you? Most of my employees would be elated at the pay raise."

"Most would- but I can tell when someone wants to get me in their good graces." If I took that 'pay raise' I'd get a request for a special favor later in the week, one that if I refused, the Crime Lord would demand the return of the raise and then some. When I couldn't pay up, doing the 'favor' would be my only way out of her debt; well, that or death. Death was always an option.

"So what do you want?" I reiterated.

"It's not what I want. I have a customer who hold special interest in a particular item." The Icarii began to reassemble the handgun. Her fingers were a flurry of practiced motions as the weapon was pieced back together.

She was avoiding the question, "What's the job, Nada'la." I was getting annoyed now.

When the weapon had been fully reassembled, the Crime Lord finally withdrew a datapad from her desk and handed it to me silently, her yellow eyes scanning my face as I read the job. I admit, it was hard to keep up my inexpressive mask, and when I got to the last part- what the item was- my mouth fell open.

"No way in the 27 moons of Hell am I doing that!" I said after I finally managed to pick my jaw up off the floor.

"I thought you enjoyed a challenge?" There was a smile in Nada'la's voice.

"A challenge, yes. A death run? No thank you." I tossed the datapad on her desk and turned to leave. Before I'd taken two steps the sound of her handgun clicking made me freeze. My own hand instinctively dropped to the pistol holster at my side but touched nothing. I cursed quietly: Right- they'd stripped me of my weapons.

"Really?" I used sarcasm to mask the fear that shot through me, "you're gonna shoot me?"

"You know too much. Whether you take the job or not, it'll get done. Can't have a liability in the equation who could damage my business."

Shit, it was another common tactic of the Crime Lord. I decided to chastise myself later, for now I focused on not getting pumped with blaster fire. "You're gonna shoot your best runner?" I toned down the sarcasm this time, aiming for genuine curiosity.

"I said you're one of the best, I have other options."

"You mean like Suba or Ragger? They're as clumsy as they are stupid. Admit it," my hand reached for the door, "you need me. I'm the only one fool enough to take the job and the only one smart enough to succeed."

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a maybe, I need to scope out the place first. If it looks too difficult I won't take the job- let someone else risk their neck. If it's possible," I leaned heavily on the 'if', "I'll be back in two weeks with your prize."

"And how do I know you won't inform the authorities?"

"You'll have to trust me, and as a token of that trust," I nodded at the purse full of credits on her desk, "I'll leave that with you until my decision's made." The crime lord hesitated, considering my offer. The gun was still trained at my chest.

"I'm worth more to you alive than dead, Nada'la."

Another few seconds passed before the Icarii lowered her weapon. "Indeed you are. I expect you back in two weeks."