Ardam gestured over his shoulder at the crumpled heap of the knight.

"That one was harder, honestly. Children don't make good soldiers, in my experience, no matter how much Force they have."

He sized up the man. At least, he assumed it was a man. The suit didn't give him much to work with. The man wasn't his enemy, he knew that. He just had never learned to [i]not[/i] size up force users. Handling a sith was very different than handling a jedi: they were more aggressive, usually less reliant on lightsabers, and much more likely to use the force to cheat the fight. He wouldn't be able to close to melee, not without getting his trachea crushed, a likely scenario given the man's obvious fascination with old Vader. He couldn't hit him with conventional blasters, the presence was too confident for such a lack of skill, and a slugthrower would have a hard (but not impossible) time cracking through the almost parodical black.

As he absently considered what to do if the situation soured, he nudged the splayed, twisted form of the padawan with his boot. Still out cold, but breathing well enough. He suspected some force nonsense was helping her carry on, even while she was unconscious. He double checked the ankle and wrist locks: still secure. Her leg hadn't gotten any less broken. The bloody indent on her forehead was starting to scab over, but the upper quarter of her robes were drenched in partially-dried blood.

"So, what do you want with her? I've got orders from the brass, gotta get this one to the [i]Bazaar[/i] as soon as it pops into the system. I'll need to stick around, you understand, gotta protect the valuables from accidents [i]amateurs[/i] are so likely to make"

He may have to tolerate the sith, but he didn't have to respect him. Anyone who dresses like that isn't worth respect, at least in Ardam's book.