Ishti gritted his teeth; Gan must have had a good reason to tell them that only he should touch it, but nothing seemed wrong: Nyron was fine, and more importantly, so was everyone else. The Corellian shrugged; he had more immediate problems, like the hole in his suit, and oh yes, in his body.
"Here," said Nyron cheerfully as he pocketed the box, "Alcohol's good for wounds."
Ishti gasped as the liquid burned into his flesh.
"Blast it Nyron!" He growled, "So's Kolto."
"Yeah, it does sting a little." Nyron admitted sheepishly.
Ishti shook his head. "Look," he said, "I know a guy who can fix up my suit; I've gone to him before for it, turns out bounty hunting isn't the best job for keeping things in one piece. He lives on Yavin Station, it's nearby, I imagine that's where the pirates were headed. We can stop there, repair the ship, repair my suit -"
"Replenish my supply of whiskey..."
"And restock." Ishti suggested.
"I'll get going then." said Olulm, "There's a lot of damage, Ishti, you owe me a lot of credits."
"Alright, I know." Ishti winced. "Before you do, would you mind taking this guy to a cell?" He gestured to the pirate they'd captured. "Nyron, put the box in the hold will you? I'll check that it's there when I fix this stupid hole."
Da'bral helped Ishti to the medbay and put Kolto patches on his wound, and by the time they'd finished they had already reached the station. Before they left, Ishti checked to see whether the box was in the hold; it was, Nyron wasn't an idiot. Ishti wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Olulm stayed on the ship to do repairs; he was a skilled mechanic so there was no point in hiring anyone. All he'd need were the parts. Thankfully the hyperdrive was not beyond repair, but the parts alone would cost 9,000 credits, which combined with the possible price of repairing Ishti's suit left nowhere close to enough credits to repair the weapons as well.
Ishti, Da'bral, and Nyron headed into the station with the other 6,000 credits to meet the repairman Ishti had mentioned. They arrived at his shop after five minutes of walking, and opened the door. Inside was a hugely muscled Sullustan in dull grey, soot-ridden clothes.
"Ishti Bonden? I not seen you in a long time. You been careful. And I - oh, that's, ah - what 'appened to your eye, Da'bral?"
"Please, Fero, I just need you to fix my suit, some pirate stuck a hole in it."
"A'right. Jus' tryina be nice, mate. It'll cost you though, ah, 'bout five thousand I'd say, lookin' at it."
Ishti groaned. "I knew it'd be bad." He said. "Here, I'll give it t -"
Ishti reached into his pocket, and found nothing. He spun around, hoping up see Nyron looking at him guiltily, but he knew that wasn't what he'd see. Nyron was gone.
"It seems that a new associate of mine has my money. I'll pay you after I find him, that okay?"
Fero rolled his eyes. "You got the worst luck I ever saw, Bonden. I don't think I has much choice 'ere, but fine, go on. But you will pay me, 'kay?"
"Yes, I'll pay you. Come on Da'bral, there are three cantinas on this station. Let's hope he's drunk enough to pick the closest one."
As it turned out, Nyron was pretty sober; sober enough to skip the two closest bars and invade the luxury cocktail and sundae restaurant on the other side of the station. He did have nearly 6,000 credits, so he could more than afford it. They didn't find him for fifteen minutes, and when they did the place was a mess. The bright glowing signs hung lopsided on the walls, or sparking on the floor, and the products they advertised were dripping and spilling in the same places. Tables were strewn all across the room, tangled with chairs and ripped apart. Ishti couldn't help but feel amused as he recognised a couple of well known smugglers swinging wildly at each other with table legs, never landing a blow, infected with Nyron's violent madness. The rest of the room was much the same, but Nyron was nowhere in sight. One thing they could tell: Nyron was no longer pretty sober.
"This brings me back." He smiled. "Look at all this! Nyron's not here, he must be in the bathroom. Let's see if he can keep us out."
They ran across the room, ducking to avoid tossed bottles and chairs, and made it to the bathroom. Ishti gagged on the air thick with whiskey and organic waste. The former told him Nyron had been here, but he couldn't see him. Maybe he was in a cubicle. He searched each one, but Nyron was still unfound.
"Any ideas, Da'bral?"
"He's clearly not here," the younger man said, "Are there any other rooms in this place?"
Ishti's eyes widened in horror as he realised where else Nyron might be. "The women's bathroom?"
Dabral's face copied Ishti's.
They turned to the door, determined to find Nyron before he could do any more, but before they could leave a Bith they had assumed was dead grasped Ishti's wrist.
"You know the madman?" He coughed.
"Yes, we do." Da'bral assured him, kneeling down to his level."
"I..." The man swooned, but blinked himself back, "I heard him talking about a - a - a box. Red one. He was rambling about how it was cr-crazy like...him."
The man broke into a coughing fit, drooling blood from his mouth, and finally died.
"He's gone back to the ship!" Da'bral realised.