Eson's visage is cast in the glow of an igniting cherry on the tip of a cigar jutting from his parched and thin lips. He sits on a park bench, out of the way and unseen, datapad in hand, information spreading across the screen about the whereabouts of the two sentients that departed the Telgorn assault shuttle. And more information spreads along the screen, detailing the tall, booted and corseted female as a known past or present lover of Tritus, proprietor of Gundark Industrial. A slight smirk spreads across those crimson lips then as a tasty morsel indeed walks so close to home. The pale man accompanying her, however, comes up with little. "Let’s send our friends a little note." he decides audibly into the comlink on the face of the datapad. He takes another liberal puff on the cigar, ta