"You got it boss," Toland silently replied as he took his place at the terminal and began cutting through code and draining every file or document he could find. Every single time he struck some piece of intel, he made sure to keep his tracks clean. He was a phantom in electronic shadows. Even with the ammount of data he was collecting, he might as well of been collecting some asshat's private stash. If they were lucky, it would be the Emperor's incriminating folder of Hutt fetish porn. 

Behind him though he could feel the tension of everyone behind him like wamp rats being lowered into a sarlacc pit. There weren't in the shit yet, but they were litterally at the outer rim of the toilet bowl. Tempers were flaring badly. If the imperials wouldn't shoot at them, he was pretty sure they would all blast themselves away.

A silent calm seemed to breath through the spaceport itself though as the whole place felt utterly empty. It was nothing like Berchest. Back home, his father's port was constantly active. Repair droids clanking along the ground and passengers being shuttled from ship to ship.

The silence made Toland's skin crawl. He could hear the ports every creak and moan, for the entire place was in sever disrepair. He swore he saw the rotting bulk of old repair droids in the corner as they entered. A damn shame. If things went well, he could probably snatch one of them and see if they have some photo-sensors for Iggy. One man's rust was another man's gold.

----------

HK-51 stood silently watching the east enterence with utter focus. He knew the job ahead of him and was dead set to follow his orders. His programming. "Master Toland", who hated the prefix, had ordered a temperary pause at his previous orders so that he could fulfil his tasks here without hesitation. HK was ready to kill. It had been far too long. But orders, programming, came first.