﻿Log 3: Honest dealings

Met some friendly fellas in white robes of all things. ‘Least, they were friendly until Glass called ‘em a cult. Then they got all kinds of riled up. Reckon the only reason we didn’t wind up tradin’ bullets is ‘cuz Doc has a way with words. 

After things smoothed over and Glass was back on our ship, we got to talkin’ about surplus and supply and suchlike. Turns out our new friends the totally-not-a-cult were thirstin’ for fruit. “Well,” I said, “it turns out we’ve got more fruit than we can handle. Maybe we can come to some kinda arrangement.”

The rest was numbers. Doc worked ‘em out. So we’re flyin’ away a mite light on the fruit front but plenty heavy on water, hyperfuel an’, to Katie’s relief, energy sticks.  Hell, the amount of water they gave us, they coulda grown as much fruit as we gave ‘em and then some. 

Which got me to thinkin’... Maybe there’s a living to be made doin’ this. I figure, it ain’t more risky than anythin’ else we could try, so… 

Why not?

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