The second year of operations had taught him where the good money could be earned—carrying perishable goods on quick dashes. JBI’s huge, lumbering cargo ships could move things cheaply, but they were neither speedy nor very maneuverable. Like the old square-riggers of Earth, they flew with the wind, stolid as the stations, and scarcely moving much faster. Sometimes their crew endured months between station-falls.

Rams usually got the best return when he had to make a darting emergency run from station to hub and back. Double charges both ways, and no hassle for it, either! Best of all, the fees kept him out of prison.

“Wind one-thirty meters per second and rising, Cap’n. Satellite shows some deep turbulence spinning off the edge about twelve thousand klicks upwind and heading to intercept your destination. Weather advises you should try to stay within the central laminar flows of sub-bands MM and KK until you’re almost to Charlie Sierra One. That should keep you out of the storm,” the station master said.

“Put it down that I acknowledge the limits on bands MM and KK,” Rams replied as the ’master logged his ship out. “How much margin does Weather give me before that storm hits?”

“Best they can project is that you have about a sixteen-hour margin, give or take six hours. Of course, if it swings south of CS-42 the edge winds might give you a lift.”

“When did I ever see one of those storms change course in a way that would help me?” Rams asked rhetorically. “I’ll plan on beating the weather the last leg of the trip. I just hope that Weather’s prediction is right.”

“I agree with that,” the ’master replied. “You’d better keep a watch for any miners who might be prospecting on the periphery of the storm.

Wouldn’t want to run into one of those crazies, would you?”

Rams grinned, remembering when he had been one of those crazies. “I’ll watch out for them,” he promised.