They called it the Busty Dusty Stash .
Some are just meant to be kept.
I was a broke trajectory diver named Loxley. My ship, the Rusty Knave , ran on spite and patch-jobs. When a half-mad data-ghoul sold me the coordinates to B.D.S. 734 for two liters of grey-market synth-whiskey, I laughed. Then I saw the faint quantum signature pulsing from the rock—a stored energy reading so high it made my teeth hum. bustydustystash
But the stash ? That was the real story. They called it the Busty Dusty Stash