The not-Sith woman wasn't exactly as cold as the surface of Anteevy, but she was close enough. She was silent and relaxed, her liquid-smooth arms folded on the bar before her, listening with glacial patience as Cole tried his best. Soon as he stopped to take a breath, she said, "Listen, jockey, I'm not in the mood. It's nothing against you. You seem nice..."
Her lips rose in an apologetic little smile. As the moment wore on, Cole wished she'd just thrown her blood-hued drink in his face. Finally her golden eyes let go of his and drifted past his shoulder. "But why don't you try that girl over there? She looks lonely."
Lost in the moment, Cole twisted around to have a look. When he saw who she was talking about, he could only chalk it up to the Force's exceedingly cruel sense of humor.
That girl over there was none other than a certain diminutive Human whom Cole had been doing his absolute best to ignore as much as possible. With her messy ginger hair and plain spacer's garb—boots and trousers, long-sleeved tan shirt, and equipment vest—Kaevee was ostensibly nothing to look twice at. She was wedged into a small booth by the exit, her back as straight as a vibropike, scanning the crowd with a mortified, hyper-vigilant stare that was about as subtle as a beam lamp.
Smoke filled Cole's brain and his fists almost shook, begging to hit something. It was just his luck, having the half-Jedi freak poison his little moment of escapism just by being there. Before their eyes could meet, he grimaced and turned back to the not-Sith. "She's not my type."
The last drop of friendliness drained away from her manner; she may as well have turned to carbonite. "Then I guess you're out of luck, jockey."
"You don't know the half of it."
Cole started to push off from the bar, but the activity around them had suddenly grown agitated, causing two Niktos to stumble into each other behind him; simultaneously the space to his right was taken up by a corpulent Duros, giving him no room to leave. As he debated whether to clear the way with a harsh phrase or a shove, he realized that whatever was going on was worse than just an annoyance.
The first hint was that something had killed most of the conversation in the room, leaving the ironical tune of the jukebox much more pronounced. Then the two Nikto slunk away, giving Cole a better view of things. A cluster of four burly, goat-faced Gran had come in and were loitering in front of the exit, each wearing a blaster and a short vibroblade. The yellow stripes running down the arms of their light combat suits marked them as the hired guns who passed for security in Telthek Nest.
For a long moment they simply swept the cantina with their three-eyed glares, one of them repeatedly glancing down at a datapad in his hand. In mock dismay somebody cried, "I didn't do it! I swear I didn't do it!" followed by a lone, stifled laugh.
A barking, guttural alien voice from just behind Cole—and too close to his ear—made him wince in pain. It was the Arkudan bartender, whom he assumed to be Dono. "Argie! Uh, is that you?"
The lead Gran shook his bovine head. "No. I'm Bosca."
"Sorry. Bosca. What can I do for you?"
"Nothing except watch your mouth. Kolzaar knows you've been complaining behind his back."
The conversation was in Huttese, which Cole knew well enough to follow without trouble. When one of the Gran looked his way, he put on a nervous smile and made sure not to let his eyes wander toward Atton. But then again, maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe the goons' business had nothing to do with a couple of Republic spies.
"Hey, listen. I can explain, Bosca—"
"It's not you we're after. There's a Human in here named Lannik Mai."
The bartender only shrugged, but one of Bosca's fellows, the one with the datapad, tapped him on the shoulder and pointed directly toward the booth where Atton, Lannik, and the other spy were seated.
Here we go, thought Cole, remembering the instructions he'd been given in case of trouble like this. Draw attention to yourself, make a scene. And make it look real.
He took a deep breath and leaned in toward his erstwhile companion, close enough to discern the scent of haliat perfume. "Listen, beautiful, I think we got off on the wrong foot."
