The atmosphere of Telthek Nest was close to the boiling point as the pair of Sith and their reluctant underlings continued their pursuit. Ryoo Jantk gave the orders as Giran had instructed him, and soon his comlink was abuzz with reports from security squad leaders as grounded visitors began to demand access to their now-quarantined ships.

He had criticized Giran Faselli's heavy-handed plan before. Though it would undoubtedly slow down their quarry, it could just as easily cause trouble for themselves as well. Conscripting the local mercenary guards into service as henchmen, and by pure intimidation at that, wasn't Bevel's style. Aside from the Gran's obvious unreliability, he generally did not like involving others in his work, especially ones whose competence he had not been assured of beforehand.

His partner, on the other hand, seemed quite comfortable as he marched about, making orders and threats. It was as if he thought Telthek Nest's inhabitants were a unit of undisciplined soldiers under his command, rather than a mix of disparate beings whose sole commonalities were self-interest and disregard for authority—and who, probably, had never personally encountered a Sith before in their lives.

During their brief time together, Giran had said little about his own background, but he clearly had no experience in navigating the galaxy's underworld. Once these Republic spies were taken care of, Bevel hoped Lady Hoctu would kindly allow them to part ways, rather than having them collaborate again.

In short order the group came outside Dono's Cantina, scattering a group of beings who had been milling about there, most likely patrons spooked by the firefight. The security chief started for the entrance, but Bevel held up a hand and spoke in Basic. "Don't bother. I'll know which way to go in a moment."

The mercenaries glanced at each other in confusion, and Ryoo cocked his big head at Bevel. "What you mean?"

"Be still and be silent," Giran told him haughtily.

Ryoo ground his teeth and turned to bark at one of the bystanders. "Hey, you! You here a minute ago? What you see?"

A few other Gran did the same thing, but two of them stayed put, conversing in their own tongue. "Bosca was good at pazaak," one of them said. "Too bad if he's really dead."

Bevel went up to the wall beside the cantina entrance. Laying a hand on the aged permacrete, he closed his eyes and bowed his head, pushing distractions aside and letting the Force mingle with him. He was a hunter, and his prey had been here not a quarter-hour before. In the Force they had left a scent, or tracks, or echoes—any number of metaphors could adequately describe it—and even years before being found by the Sith, Bevel had been sensitive to such things.

A subtle grin was forming on his tattooed face when he opened his eyes a moment later, but it died as he turned away from the wall to see his partner and several of the Gran eying him expectantly. "They went that way," he announced, pointing to a small door down the avenue.

The group reformed and got moving again, bulling its way through a maze of shabby living units. Bevel gave the directions now, but Ryoo stubbornly insisted on staying at the front, grumbling to himself and snarling into his comlink whenever it chimed. Bevel thought the security chief was simply venting his anger and wisely directing it toward someone other than Giran. From the sound of the reports, small mobs had formed around the docking bays, and several firefights had broken out.

Behind him, Bevel could hear the other Gran talking in their own language again. Their voices were low, and he had to direct Ryoo according to the Force's promptings, so at first he paid them little attention.

"Chewn's posted at the docking bays," one was saying. "He's gonna get killed."

"These vac-brain Sith will get us all killed," snarled another.

"Or they'll call the garrison, like that one said. Send us to the mines."

"Unless—" The first one paused, then raised his voice to a normal level. "Which one is uglier? The white one or the short one?"

"White one, definitely," answered one of his fellows. "He's like a big, scrawny gorp tree."

At the front of the group, Ryoo laughed harshly. Giran frowned at him, but said nothing. Keeping his eyes forward, Bevel used the Force to enhance his hearing just in time to pick out the first Gran's urgent whisper: "They can't understand us. Let's waste 'em. Now."

"What about Ryoo?"

"Never liked him much. Did you?"

The other Gran trotted to a halt, mumbling negatives as they leveled their blasters down the narrow corridor. The pair in front dropped to one knee, allowing the rest to aim over their heads.

Bevel turned on them and charged, scarlet lightsaber lit and whirling as it scattered bolts of hot plasma, twisting and dodging the shots that he couldn't deflect. Behind him, he heard a wordless bellow from Ryoo and the hum of another active lightsaber.

Quick as a sabercat, Bevel was on them and slashing after two paces. His victims bumped into other as they tried to flee down the narrow corridor, firing blindly; by the time Bevel cut down the closest three of the mercenaries, two already had holes in their backs. In a few more seconds it was over.

Turning away, Bevel left behind a five meter-long stretch of corridor decorated with smoke, scorch marks, and pieces of Gran. He found little pleasure in the kills.

His partner was looking sourly down at the body of the security chief, who looked to have taken several stray laser bolts before Giran had cut him in two. "I only got this one. Treacherous vermin. Come on, let's get moving. Soon as these bodies are found, they'll be after us too."

Bevel might have made a remark then, except that a soft beep prompted him to check his wristcomp. "Report from Seeker-1. It's spotted the targets at Junction K-4." He clicked a few keys on the wristcomp, calling up a small loop of footage from the probe droid's holocam. "There's five of them. All Human, of course."

Giran arched an eyebrow, then leaned in closer as the hologram showed two of the spies—Lannik Mai and someone else—disappearing down one end of a T-junction, leaving behind one female and two males. One of the latter pointed at the holocam, and the footage looped.

Shutting it off, Bevel hid his relief as he said, "We'll have to split up."