The stars are glittering overhead, framed by walls of azure ice. Yeah. This feels oddly familiar, except instead of being two point five thousand light years out, this is Morana 9A, well within the Empire. And this isn't the trusty Cobra either; that's docked up back in Federation space.
After a lot of soul-searching and beer, I decided I would keep on with bounty hunting. Call it justice. Call it punishment, if you want. But it needs doing. Pirates and smugglers won't ever disappear, but it's nice to know that just maybe, they'll regret their life choices when they see me coming.
Not in this ship, though! All they'll see of this is a vanishing point of light.
Vanishing Point. A Gutamaya Courier. Engines tuned and maxed out. Because I've decided to also do, erm, courier work. Yes. I know I said I didn't want to be a trader, and courier work isn't that different. But at least you get to do it in a fancy ship.
Ha! For a man who wants to avoid fame and attention. being concerned about appearances is kind of inappropriate, no? But let's be honest, no-one bats an eyelid when you lumber into port in a Type-7. Zip through the mail slot with a tricked-out Courier though, and people go 'oooh nice ride.'
Or maybe 'bloody showoff....'
Don't care. Vanishing Point is a blast to fly.
Right now though, I'm out looking for materials, so I can keep Danger of Death supplied with juicy ammo.
So here I am on Morana 9A, looking for antimony. Only found a little, but it's a spectacular location - water geysers that make the ground shake when you drive past them!
I've stopped for the night now. Even though the sleep-cell in the Courier is quite nicely appointed, I've a few minutes unclipping the bedding pod and dragging it through to the cockpit. There's quite a bit of space behind the pilot's chair and with those big, wide canopy windows, I'm laid here, dozing off, looking up at the stars.
There's worse places to spend the night.