I put her down on an escarpment overlooking as brutal a sea of hardpan desert as I had ever seen on a hundred planets. It’s pretty, in its own desolate way. Telltales say there’s more ammonia than oxygen in the air: at least I won’t have to worry about being interrupted by natives while making these repairs. Hard enough being in the suit without having to carry a particle-beam rifle and look over my shoulder every two minutes.
They say the way to end up with a million Credits as a freight privateer is to start out with three million.