When Nelson said they’d land with a “hard bump,” I didn’t think he meant jamming my balls into my spine and coughing up my bladder.
“You’re too fussy,” Nelson said, slamming me hard on the shoulder. All my organs fell back into place. “This was one of my softest landings.”
“Guess I’m lucky,” I said, fumbling with my straps. The old Crowstar made for fast lunar transit, but not comfortable. I needed to hide, not relax. And I needed to stash a bag of diamonds.
Nelson’s grip tightened, holding me in place. “Let’s talk about your cargo. Sorry, my cargo.”