Nobody said Rock Hauling would be easy. Throughout settled space, terraforming is the fuel that drives the interstellar economy. For some worlds, this is easy. For others, lacking resources, or on the periphery, this is an unattainable dream. Throug...
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PROLOGUE
"I'm going to toss that bastard in a pot and eat him alive."
Jaemus ignored Mercator, and stamped his feet together, huffed on his raw, red hands, and wished for probably the eighth time today that he'd brought a damned hotsuit, as he lay here freezing among the long, wind-tousled strands of coarse grass. He blew on his hands again. This grass was the thousandth generation of it's kind that had been grown locally on the planet. Why they couldn't grow something more comfortable to hide in was anyone's guess.
Mercator touched his shoulder and he looked up. "He's here."
Jaemus squinted into the distance. Half a mile away, in a long, much-filled groove cut into the mottled greenish copper-rich substrate half a century ago, the shuttle touched down. It's glowing hot belly settled into the lichen-choked swampy inlet, steaming in the brackish water like a winded animal against the yellow-blue backdrop of the twisting sky. He grimaced. He'd never really liked the sky near Vikkenhill. It looked sickly, and made him feel like every breath he took was laden with copper particulate. But then again, that's why people flocked to the place. Copper was half the reason Sundari mattered at all.
"I wonder how Parlons taste," Mercator went on, clearly still indulging in his overblown satire, which, today, seemed to revolve around eating their pilot. Jaemus rubbed his hands together, and thrust them deep into the chest pockets of his coat, glancing both ways and rising to his knees.
