Smuggler: Meridan's Tale/Part 2

His name was Meridan. The year was 3,686 BBY. He was sixteen years old, born in 3,702 BBY. He pushed a crate up the ramp into the cargo bay of the Distributor.

"How did it go?" Deimus asked.

"Good," Meridan said.

"Very good," his father agreed.

"We got the spices and the gold," his mother said.

"Both?" Deimus asked.

"Both," Streg Onè confirmed as he levitated a crate in.

"Good," Deimus exited down the ramp and started pushing crates into the Distributor from the hijacked cargo shuttle.

They pulled, pushed, and levitated the rest of the crates into the ship. Meridan's father grabbed his hat and headed to the control room. Meridan followed his father, as did Deimus.

“I'm getting too old for this,” Meridan's father said as he took the controls.

“Don't say that father. Smuggling is the greatest job in the galaxy. I don't ever want you to stop. It's so much fun to work as a team,” Meridan laughed.

“It sure is,” his father agreed. He then leaned into the intercom, “Prepare for lightspeed.”

“Where're we headed?” Meridan asked.

“Nal Hutta,” Deimus said.

Meridan nodded, then exited the control room.

“Does he know?” Deimus asked.

“Not yet. Soon, very soon, I'll have to tell him everything. But not yet. I will hold off as long as safely possible,” Meridan's father rubbed at his hat nervously as he spoke.

“This could get ugly, very ugly, very quickly. We are treading in very dangerous waters,” Deimus added.

“Yes, I know.”

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