That night, he camped on top of a tall spire of rock so he could look out over the landscape when the sun rose in the morning.

Sitting in the open cockpit of the Jerboa, seat reclined back looking out at unfamiliar stars, Buster felt incredibly at peace. He had seen many skies on many planets over his years, but always from well-lit spaceports and bases and the occasional resort. The one time he had gone camping was with Mirabelle, and she kept a bonfire burning bright all night long. Here there was no artificial light anywhere but the blinking diode of his collar, hastily covered by a strip of pink electrical tape. The night sky had a depth and richness that he never would have seen had he not found himself alone. His eyes traced along colorful nebulas, each bright pinprick of light crystal clear in the newly-terraformed atmosphere.

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"I'm so lucky." he said only for himself.

Then, in a smaller voice, "I don't deserve this."

But that's why I'm so lucky to have it.

The pilot's seat of the Jerboa had felt like a torture device when he had been fleeing in terror, running on fumes and guilt. Now he slept soundly on that very same seat, better than he had on a bed in a cell the night before.

He awoke when it was still dark out, resuming travel lit by headlamp. It was never easy, but he was comfortable piloting the Jerboa now. It was undeniably awesome to be at the reigns of such a large and powerful piece of machinery, and few could say that they had.

He might not be able to fight in it, but he was getting pretty good at running away.