From: Eliver aka Womp Rat Bastard aka your husband

Subject: Thirty-seven times

I know because you made it a point to loudly inform us all that you were, once again, cleaning your guns. I kept count. It seems we have varying opinions as to what proper weapon maintenance entails. Upkeep is one thing. Pointing a blaster at Vector's forehead and screaming gibberish about being "freaking bored" and "gimme your freaking membrosia stash, bug boy" is quite another.

About the liquor cabinet...no. Never mind. Explaining the merits of a well-aged flagon of Chandrilan wine to you is like pulling my teeth out one by one with vibropliers and, frankly, I had enough of that on Corellia. Three words- restock it yourself.

I propose a compromise: ten new premium holo feeds, turret access every other week under my supervision, and one exceedingly attractive young Sith Pureblood acolyte. If it makes you feel better you can pretend you seduced her away from the Academy. That's what I did...

Go ahead and shoot 2V. I had him kitted out as a target dummy for a reason. You only seem to remember where the captain's quarters are after you've ransacked the liquor cabinet. It wouldn't be the first time by any means- you just don't recall the other two-hundred-fifty-six times. No worries. Despite my fetish for counting, your "visits" haven't been memorable for me either.

Consider the risk taken.

[attached: ornamental gold Sith lip-ring delicately etched with sub-microscopic lettering: "Vaa'lishi'us sends her regards, Love, Eliver"]

From: Eliver

Subject: Apology considered

How did you manage to do that? Were you trying to build some sort of miniature antimatter mad-grav superweapon from instructions in the Galactic Anarchist Cookbook? Just stay out of the bloody engine room from now on. I can't help but feel this was retribution for the turret not-compromise.

We won't be nearing Koru Neimoidia anytime in the forseeable future. Let me guess: another ex? Some Neimoidian aristocrat? For all your bluster about "not a big fan of neimoidians" I see right through you. Handle this one on your own. I refuse to finance a shootout in some purse world casino.

However, I do agree that we need a vacation. After what you achieved in the engine room I recommend we take a trip to Tython. If I keep my eyes lowered and wear a dull brown robe I could arrange to have you smuggled into one of the Jedi Temple cargo bays. You'll have to remain in the crate while I negotiate terms, of course, but envision a few hours...or days...later after you're set loose. Imagine the havoc you could cause. Then somewhere scenic, like a Republic holding cell. Not quite a picnic but 'Master El' will slip you premium rations...somehow...

Sounds romantic, yes? Certainly no Darths or Moffs to ruin our bliss.

PS: Vector has kindly volunteered not only to accompany us but to prepare your crate. He doesn't really grasp the concept of "a glass jar with air holes" but concurs with me that a durasteel crate without air holes will do nicely.

[attached: orbital surveillance image of the Jedi Temple, on flimsi, with an arrow pointing at an obscure location and the words "Cozy corner cell, no amenities, Love, Eliver"]

From: Eliver aka But He's Not A Freaking Jedi Master You Morons

Subject: Re: list

1) Of course I kill big bad things just for you, for us. How could you think otherwise? Just to further prove my devotion to you I've arranged a stunner of a party on Hutta. Did you know Nem'ro kept a secret stable full of rancors out in the middle of the Rustyards? Exciting, I know. I've paid fifty Imperial stockboys to stand around while you take on the remaining three rancors. You do the killing-of-big-bad, I pour the drinks, the stockboys take holo-snaps of the carnage, a good time is had by all.

And just to ease your itch for "awesome security" I've had the site extensively seeded with mines (not the perimeter, mind you, not where I and the stockboys will be cheering you on).

2) Did I ever mention my Voss wife? She contacted me last week about a vision she had of "where this war is going". Sorry for not bringing it up but I'm not an Interpretor.

Perhaps you didn't notice the words 'Hand of Jadus' emblazoned above the bed in the captain's quarters? The meter-high letters in neon gilt? Oh, that's right- I forgot you forget your "visits". Well, suffice to say I know what I'm doing. I have all along except for the brainwashing debacle...

3) Believe me, Lokin's Huttese is a delight compared to his Ugnaught. Deal with it.

I have a small but important list of my own:

1) SCORPIO has expressed some disquiet over your recent japes concerning droid-human relations. She used the word "eliminate" in several different contexts. I take no responsibility for what happens if you don't leave her be, so- leave her be.

2) Stop your recent breakfast ritual of asking everyone if they'd like "a little onomatophobia" in their caf. Stop referring to me as "onomatoagent". Stop sending those jawagrams with the damned things leaping out and shouting "ootinimatophobiac!"...

...it's getting on my nerves.

You're still bitter about Tython, aren't you?

[attached: rancor holo-statue, base inscribed "Love, Eliver"]

From: Kaliyo Djannis aka you spent 500000 creds on what

Subject: calls

you had 3 calls today while you were locked in your quarters still bellyaching about the concussion that rancor gave you when you fell over its carcass trying to avoid the last untripped mine:

1st was some hutt i've never heard of. i told him that you were unavailable but yes the rumors that you wanted a taxidermied hutt for the ship's conference room were true and was he interested in donating himself?

2nd was vaa'lishi'us. she saw me wearing her lip ring and threatened to fry you in unhappy ways and places. i calmed her down. we're having drinks on koru neimoidia tomorrow.

3rd was darth whatsissomething. wanted to know why his entire staff of stockboys left his compound last week, that he knows it had something to do with you because he tortured all of them, only took the 1st get the intel and the rest were just for fun. i promised him that you were a good little sith lackey and would never bribe a darth's stockboys, as a former imperial intelligence and current sith intelligence muckymuck you'd just steal them if you needed them so much.

50 stockboys, 10000 each in drinks and dancer tips, you add it up.

ps: tell vector to keep his larva to himself. it smells.

pps: i hope you don't mind that i sent a holorecording of you wallowing in rancor glop to the galaxy's funniest holos. if you're worried about staying anonymous don't be, you were face down the entire time.

[attached: a Poison Pit Cantina napkin with "wish you were there" scrawled across it]

From: Eliver

Subject: Re: calls

I'm paying a hefty sum to Globber'obba to ensure the "rumors" will remain quashed. Lokin served as translator for the negotiations. Apparently Globber'obba referred to me numerous times as "exquisite lovely gorgeous soft thing who should wear a loincloth and sit on my dais looking pretty at the next Cartel summit". Lokin's Huttese is not so abysmal as you might think, thus I'm also paying Globber'obba to not send a squad of his mercenaries to slap a slave collar on me.

Took a necessary trip to Dromund Kaas yesterday. I had to kneel down and kiss Darth Theatricus's boot, after which he kicked me and broke my nose, further sullying his boot with my blood and causing even more of an uproar. I then had to endure a six-hour-long reenactment of the Great Hyperspace War performed by sock puppets.

Sock. Puppets.

I do hope you're enjoying yourself there on Koru Neimoidia. Give Vaa'lishi'us my love and tell her that I passed her name on to Darth Theatricus. He let it slip that he needs a new apprentice, having murdered the last one for yawning during the Theatricus Puppet Theater presentation of "Socky Sacks Coruscant". I may have also mentioned your enthusiasm for puppetry and pulling strings...

Miss you. Send me a holopostcard.

PS: Expect a mail from Vector. He's on the warpath now. Yes, I told him.

PPS: I saw that episode of TGFH. I'm not bald. You are. Add it up.

[attached: a sock puppet sorcery poppet, Rattataki and female in appearance, bristling with pins, one pin securing a slip of flimsi reading: "Love, Eliver"]

To: Kaliyo Djannis

From: Vector Hyllus

Subject: Regarding Our Larva

Our larva is learning the Glorious Song of Pubescence Dawning and exudes only joy at the strange new auras scented and made melodiously wondrous. We are proud.

We are also most disquieted by the way you kick our larva. We have seen you do it many times.

We therefore will no longer offer to share midday tea with you.

From: Darth Theatricus

Subject: A Formal Apology

Agent: I offer you my most sincere apology for breaking your nose. I was aiming for your teeth. Be mindful that next time I shall not miss.

On a more personal note, the Rattataki woman is a delight! Indeed, were she not a non-Force-sensitive alien I would take her as my new apprentice. It pained me to dispose of Apprentice Vaa'lishi'us but she was an impertinent creature and could not sew eyes onto the sock puppets to save her life. I made a funny! 'To save her life'! I order you to laugh!

The Rattataki has been regaling me with scurrilous tales of Imperial Intelligence hijinks. She has been an inspiration; my creativity has been bolstered to new heights. It is therefore my demand that you attend the premiere performance of "No Exit Hatches". Not to spoil the experience for you but I believe it to be a masterpiece of marionettes, minimalism, existential angst and fear which spans fifty acts.

Afterwards you may have the Rattataki back, as she has informed me that only a medic acquaintance of hers might be able to treat your late-stage Bothan Nether Rot.

I expect your arrival at my compound immediately following receipt of this missive.

Postscript: the Rattataki insists you have a Joiner on your crew who has grown mandibles. Bring him with you. I would see this marvel of nature for myself and, if feasible, add him to the collection of stuffed and mounted Killik heads which adorn my study walls.

To: Kaliyo Djannis

From: Vector Hyllus

Subject: Now We Are Angry

The Joining is a gift. It does not cause one to grow mandibles.

Our song is tainted by cold-glimmering rivers of rage.

We will never again ask you to partake of our morning tea.

Please refrain from angering us further.

We would be forced to deny you tea altogether.

From: Eliver aka But Look At Him, My Lord, He's Suffering And You're Not Causing It

Subject: Grudging thanks

I suppose I owe you my life. Thank you for intervening, even if Theatricus will no doubt repeat that lie about the Nether Rot having affected my sanity. Let's hope he doesn't repeat it into the wrong ears; it has the potential to make my trips to the SI refreshers very unpleasant.

It was the show tune finale which did it. I'm still having nightmares about that Keeper marionette flailing its tiny arms around and singing out orders.

There's nothing I can do about the larva. Whenever Vector feels like once again being on speaking terms with you, bring it up with him. I'm not sure why it's taken a liking to your quarters. I certainly didn't let it in there and I don't know what the goo is all over your pillows.

You could stay in the captain's quarters until the issue has been resolved...

[attached: a single half-wilted Tarisian rose and a note on flimsi: "For you with more thanks. Globber'obba sent me a dozen but the larva ate the other eleven. Love, Eliver"]

From: Kaliyo Djannis

Subject: honeymoon

because we never really had one, i'm thinking makeb. you had me set course there for a reason after i heard lokin grumbling about darths, so something's up and i want in on it. we could fleece some hutts, hunt the local wildlife and have some serious us time in between all of it.

you owe me.

i didn't know you were keeping that THING in your quarters. what did you call it? "my little lylek"? what is this ship now? some kind of twisted insect zoo? we were already the biggest mobile freakshow in the galaxy with dr rakghoul, bug boy and psychodroid on board.

larva slime all over my room. waking up with "my little lylek" staring at me like i was breakfast.

oh yeah you owe me.

so makeb, you and me, agent. NO BUGS ALLOWED. that includes vector.

[attached: a holobrochure for Imperial military-grade insecticide]

From: Eliver

Subject: Re: honeymoon

It should be apparent that we disembarked while you were passed out. I have no doubt now that My Little Lylek didn't bother you as much as you claimed- it certainly didn't dissuade you from finding my collection of exotic liqueurs and polishing them off like so much nerf milk. But bridges burned and bygones.

Vector has mentioned more than once that he hopes you'll set a good example for the larva while we're busy on Makeb. Lokin will be tending to the creature's physical well-being but it's up to you and Temple to provide feminine psychological guidance as it seems it...she...whatever is to be no mere drone but a Queen. I did query Vector about The Kind's role in it/she's development but all he had to say about that was, well, nothing really (aside from an earnest plea to keep it/she away from SCORPIO).

So. Hold down the fort for me, so to speak, dredge up those hidden maternal instincts and be kind to it/she, and I promise a nice long just-me-and-Lord-Cyth...I mean, just-you-and-me trip to somewhere special once (if) I make it off this seismic hellhole alive.

PS: Hutt fleece? Or did you mean 'fleas'? Well, you'd know, wouldn't you?

[attached: fifteen broken souvenirs from Makeb and a note on flimsi: "They love me here! Go figure! Love, Eliver"]

From: Darth Theatricus

Subject: An Inquiry

Agent: how are your loins faring?

I was attending a particularly tipsy gathering at the Nexus Room and became engaged in conversation with a certain individual (for discretion's sake let us refer to him as 'Darth Rash') who is most desperate for a cure. Darth Rash would like to confer with you at your earliest convenience- which, of course, means at my convenience. The Rattataki took my holocall yesterday and informed me that you are vacationing on Makeb. I insist that you leave immediately.

In return for your expedience and obedience I will honor you with a front row seat at the premiere of my latest work of art: "Mankas", a ninety-act extravaganza rife with heartbreak, melancholy and haunting musical numbers courtesy of a motley band of corrupt manka cats. It's utterly inspired and brilliant! You will weep! I order you to snivel and sniffle!

Tissues will be provided.

You may discuss your ongoing rot and misery with Darth Rash during the sole intermission.

Do make haste. An armed escort awaits you at the Makeb Orbital Station.

Postscript: my offer still stands- ten million credits for the head of the Joiner.