A gambler’s den of the Vertical City’s greatest bettors, Club Vertica is a casino reserved for the wealthiest of Nar Shaddaa. Cardshark droids are used exclusively to deal hands to those willing to risk their credits at the sabacc tables. Cheating is rendered near impossible under the surveillance of the droid's six photoreceptors. That of course does not stop the downtrodden from accusing others of being a fraud, which can often happen before someone receives a blaster bolt between the eyes. The few that have able to use skiffers undetected are counted as some of the best swindlers in the Galaxy.

Cerulean lights illuminate the tables, making concealment during a game difficult. Seated around most of the oval tables are a mix of gamblers from different species, succumbing to their addiction for the ultimate prize—the sabacc pot. Credits are tossed onto the tables forming mountains that draw in fierce competitors with deeper pockets and faster wit than the usual patrons.

Behind the games of sabacc, drinks are being served from the alcove of a small bar. Most of these are a shade of blue in color, expertly mixed to dull the senses of all but the hardiest individuals. Onstage, a local band sets the mood of the venue with an upbeat number that deafens out most conversations. The stakes are always high at Club Vertica.

She filled the air with a floral scent, velanie and dew, and her lips had the spicy sweetness of ryshcate on his own. She pulled him closer by the lapel of his coat and the pair crashed through the plasteel door of the nearby stall, tumbling into the lavatory as he fumbled at the fasteners of her gossamer dress. She mouthed something incoherent as a sabacc card fluttered from his sleeve and—

Terran shook his head, dispelling the vision, and focused on the tattered Queen of Air and Darkness held loosely between two fingers. With the Queen, the Three of Cups, and the Idiot, he eyed the sabacc pot lustily. Then he folded. If he won too often it would send the wrong message.

The Kiffar's eyes flickered to the concealed doorway opposite the lavatories. He had spent the past three days staking out the casino, steadily losing the Consul's credits, and still no one had entered or exited the suspected One Sith safehouse. The datacard he'd lifted from Oricon had been clear, but judging by the lack of traffic the safehouse might well have been abandoned.

Terran heard the soft, mechanical whisk of the table's dealer droid shuffling the deck and looked back just as a cloaked Zabrak slid into the seat to his left. Cerulean lights glinted off the saber at the figure's belt and the stylized Krayt Dragon on his cloak identified him as a Plagueian. Crimson skin, orange eyes. Terran searched his memory but came up empty. Even without a name to put to the face, the newcomer's equipment was clearly Inquisitorious-issue. Zabrak. Plagueian. Inquisitor. The Kiffar weighed the possibilities. Even odds he's loyal to Pravus. The Arconan nodded amicably and extended his hand to the newcomer.

"Chet Graven. Pleasure to meet ya."

The Zabrak eyed him suspiciously before taking his hand and slowly shaking it. "Kul'tak Drol."

"Best of luck to ya," Terran said with an affected drawl as he turned back to the table and picked up his cards. He eyed them quickly before throwing a few credit chips into the pot. As play progressed, the Kiffar let slip the mental concentration that concealed his Force signature. He had done so a dozen times since arriving on Nar Shaddaa, briefly revealing himself before once more concealing himself. Tiny teases, but obvious to any Force sensitives watching him. The Zabrak's eyes flickered in response and his hand moved infinitesimally closer to the saber at his belt.

But the movement stopped there and Drol's hand lifted back to his cards. Kark! So much for getting him to force a confrontation. The Kiffar would just have to take matters into his own hands.

The round came to a close and the players began laying their cards down on the table. The others groaned at Drol's Pure Sabacc, but Terran shot to his feet. He tossed his own cards down, including the skifter he had risked palming from his coat sleeve, jumbling them up with the Plagueian's.

"Busted again!" the Kiffar shouted with mock indignation.

"Please return to your seat, patron." The dealer droid's vocabulator sounded strained, a mechanical wheeze giving voice to its age.

Terran sighed theatrically and complied as the droid gathered up the cards. It always examined them with exaggerated care before declaring a winner, but Drol was already reaching towards the pot to claim his winnings.

Suddenly, a shrill keen split the air and a bright red light flashed on the droid's domed head. Three card players had blasters out before the club's bouncers could take their first step towards the table and Terran quickly followed suit. Everyone else in Vertica looked away studiously. Drol himself looked smug, then confused, and finally angry as the droid's optical sensors swivelled towards him. The one thing he didn't look was worried.

"Cheater!" Terran shouted as the Plagueian stood and ripped his lightsaber from his belt. The crimson blade snap-hissed to life and the Zabrak barred his teeth defiantly.

"I won fairly!" A rykk blade appeared in Drol's off hand as he turned to face the Kiffar head-on.

Time to go for broke, thought Terran. Then he opened fire.

A volley of cobalt stun bolts assailed the Zabrak and he batted them aside aggressively. A few spattered against the opulent bar and one struck a bouncer making her way towards them. Terran saw none of it, his own eyes fixed on the snarling Zabrak leaping towards him and the pillar of scarlet plasma hungry for his heart.