In which we settle old accounts. . . .

Datalog Entry: Bymm.per.log/3318-1-B

Encrypted: SHARPE-2,2; RECALL/12; REPT

After a journey full of ever so faint pops and pings from hull stresses and microleaks, we finally we drop out of hyperspace and limp into the Kwenn system, a myriad of red and yellow warning lights across the board and the cockpit sealed from the rest of the ship – in case our patch on the canopy gives way. Oh, and it seems that we neglected to turn off the emergency beacon that I activated when the ship was first taken, so moments after arriving, the Imperial Star Destroyer Firestorm picks us up in her tractor beam.

Actually for that small act we were quite grateful – the Runaway was doing poorly and was in need of some tender handling anyway. Of course when the Imperials show up with full quarantine gear and hazmat suits, I’m a little confused. Apparently in my rush to flip on a warning beacon, I’d activated the virulent disease beacon, flagging us as having something called Rikter’s Disease.

Fortunately it was a fairly simple matter to clear up, that we in fact do not have Rikter’s became quickly evident to the imperial medics. That that was left to do was deal with the fine for violating spaceship safety regulations before dropping us off within tractor bean range of the Kwenn station.

Once aboard, Delany sets about assessing what needs doing to the ship, how to repair her properly. Meanwhile, the rest of us set off to locate where this hunting party had their ship docked. Apparently the plan was, after besting us, to return to Kwenn and recover their vessel. His ship was tucked away in deep storage and awaiting his return – and his astromech had all the access codes and security keys, so gaining access to his ship was simplicity,

Seeing that this hunting expedition still had an outstanding debt for the charter, it’s only fair that we strip his ship of anything of value to make up the other half of the agreed payment. While father equipped the Runaway with the best, there was still room for improvement in places – some nice art, good wines, some luxury textiles – all of which we find on this rather nice ship. Oh, and of course, credits to make this last two weeks of hell worth our while.

We also find holos of previous hunts, this hunter and his friends posing with assorted trophies and so on. In short, full documentation on his (rather long) history of murdering people for sport. Mind you, it does no good to bring him to justice, being that he’s dead and all – but still, I wont tolerate this kind of behavior. Killing him and escaping? Easy. Ruining his family and his name? Now that’s much more my style.

After making some annotations, I dispatch an assortment of discrete packages to old associates and people who owed me favors, outlining the full details on what this fellow has been up to. Then I send out another round of similar packages to his competing businesses and NewsFax networks. Of course I’m sure to include an equal amount of original material (so that the authenticity of the recordings can be verified) and duplicate material in each package so that there can be no doubt as to what he was up to.

With the ship nearly ready to go and the damming evidence sent to my very best resources, we were pondering what to do next – when the matter was solved by a courier, delivering a package. Inside was a data pad from Black Sun and Marru Jakkar. Inside, is a simple data plaque with a message. “Per our previous conversation, I do believe that resourceful operatives such as ourselves do indeed have a place in my organization. Please join me to discuss a potential business opportunity in four days’ time at my private docking bay in South Canton on Atikan. I’ll be in docking bay 18 – come around midday.”

Shadya, of course, was less than thrilled to be returning to Atikan and potentially running into Jenx Kava or his men – but the offer of a job was too good to pass up. So with some persuasion, we raise ship and head back to her old stomping grounds. I’m sure that she’s just being paranoid and that nothing too untoward will come of this. . . .


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