Ep V: Chapter 29

Enthea lets herself sit to catch her breath.

Myra is limp in her chair, positively glowing with satisfaction. Fluid drips down her legs, and she still has two fingers buried in herself. She drinks in the view of a shaken Scora pushing back up to her hands and knees, the light catching on the cum on her back and the huge wet patch on the sheets.

Enthea got a little carried away. Too carried away. She lost focus. If someone had attacked just then, she would’ve been useless. She’s allowed to have fun, but she has to do her job. She takes a deep breath and rises from the bed.

Myra looks taken aback.

“Master Jedi?”

“I have to get back to work.” Enthea’s voice is soft but steely. Myra doesn’t argue, although she looks disappointed.

Scora just seems shaken.

FTL

Chandar’s Hunt is just one more of the amenities that Scora offers, although Enthea would prefer whatever those women had been doing up in the mountain, personally.

The Stormlands are many things: beautiful, stressful, dangerous, and to someone like Scora, one more way to turn a profit.

Four large skiffs whoosh toward the Stormlands, loaded with tourists. Lightning crackles and wind howls. The intensity of the weather varies, and Scora’s meteorological office knows with pinpoint precision how bad it will be. Periodic windows of relative safety come along, and that means it’s time to hunt. Some visitors have come to Chandar’s Folly just for this.

Enthea has seen skiffs like this before, used to traverse the deserts of Tatooine. Scora’s skiffs are larger, cleaner, and packed with luxuries and comforts. Even as they rush toward the deadly storms, the drinks flow, and the energy in the air is that of a party.

“We call them Chandar Wolves. Chanwolves,” Scora shouts over the music and rush of air. She’s next to Enthea at the railing of the main skiff. Myra is beside her, and the Mandalorian bodyguard is nearby. “They’re really a type of Rathtar. An invasive species. Some pirates tried to hide some booty not far from here ages ago. Something went wrong, and these things started breeding. They like the storms until they’re fully grown; then they’ll venture out and they can be a real problem.”

“The hunt isn’t really for sport,” Enthea says. “You’re getting your guests to pay you a fortune to do your pest control for you.”

“You have a better idea?”

As a matter of fact, Enthea does not.

“Rathtar are dangerous. We’re only five meters off the surface. They can jump that,” Enthea notes.

“The hulls are electrified,” Scora assures her. “They can jump up here, but they can’t hold on. This is what? The tenth time we’ve done this? And they’ve run it at least a dozen times when I wasn’t here. The only thing we haven’t figured out is that it’s difficult. Too difficult for a lot of tourists. These things aren’t easy to hit.”