20 May 2023

Nope, nope. They definitely shot the messenger on this one. Or rather, threw the messenger in jail and terminated a *perfectly* good employment record. We haven't literally been shot yet, though not for lack of trying by Dalglee Hahsh's cronies. The irony of having that slithery nincompoop in internal compliance just proves the point that IC is merely a faux-respectable protection racket for people with an uncanny love of button-up shirts and ties.

Anyway. We're out now. Just had to have one more tussle with those horrendous local canids and then we were - locals in tow - picked up by the local jackboots. We even got Heloise's lab kit on board. It still blows my mind that there are indigenous... or well, *more* indigenous people here and that I never caught the rumor of it until now. Strays and leftovers from the Sindalian empire, maybe? Or whatever was left of who lived here after the Sindalians cratered this place into a whole new climate. No idea what side these folken were on.

I'm glad Rhys was able to get them out and repatriated. And having Karine go with them was probably a pretty good outcome.

Not sure where our friend Evan went to. He... slipped out somehow before we got on the shuttle? Hope he manages to evade the people who are looking for us even while staying planet-side.

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I don't think I've had a shower since I last hit this same star port, approximately one (1) ship wreck ago. I know my companions... cell mates... fellow contractors and independent specialists haven't either. Not my favorite shuttle ride, if I am honest, and decontamination protocols just don't get the job done the way I like. I need to moisturize.

There's this new guy too, name of Diogo. Nice beard on him. Found him in the jail cell with Brick and Franky. He seems to have a bit of an edge to him, though to be entirely fair we probably did not meet under the best of circumstances and our own personal charms may have also left something to be desired. He mentioned something about being a daft hand with computers, and he appears to know a thing or two about ships too, by the look he gave Pent Stavro and her giant box of spare parts. He demanded payment before coming with us, which, considering that we're effectively on the run, feels a bit funny. I gave him a few of the silver bars that Rhys stashed for us under his son's body (shared out the rest of them too), and that seemed to get him to come along without too much hassle. We can sort out the rest once we're aboard the Lua Bao. Surely there is something we can do to keep us all clothed and fed that's not too illegal.

And then there's Junior to consider. Stigo Peters... what the hell possessed my manager - pardon, ex-manager - to hand over his damned son to me? Like: "Oh, oh, Persy, I know you're now a disgraced former employee and a fugitive and are about to get Sternmore Legal on your tail to uh... "enforce" that NDA you signed, but get, hey, here's my too-buff-for-his-own-good kid, can you babysit him for me?" Damn, Rhys. Plus that whole "If someone calls you and does not use this code phrase, assume I am dead." Love, you read entirely to many spy novels.

Did I learn where the Lua Bao takes us? I can't recall. Too sleep deprived. As long as I get this herd of cats on board, I can probably get some shut-eye in and begin to consider our options. After a drink.

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