I am writing this under the assumption that nobody has killed you yet. If I am wrong, kindly disregard this letter.
I've sent credits to the clan savings account from the last job. Four thousand. The rest of it went to general repairs and living costs. In order to cut costs, I have taken on a partner. He is a doctor, so at the very least I shall be taken care of medically. But more than that, he is wonderfully useful with a blaster as well. I have to laugh when I think about the irony of a doctor being so good with a firearm.
Apparently, this doctor is the very one that created and grafted a new hand onto buir. He says that last time he saw her, she was in pretty bad shape, at least emotionally. I hate to admit it, but I'm a little worried. Last time I heard from her, she sounded terrible. I wonder if she's gotten into some sort of trouble again?
I will be making my way home soon enough, and I'll be bringing Lorane by to make proper introductions. I think you'd like him. I know I do.
Warm regards,