Hale laughed. After everything else that had happened, this was just icing on the cake. He leaned back against the wall of the hangar, head in his hands, his laugh turning into more of a low moan. He just couldn’t look at the burning pile of scrap metal that used to be his ship. The moan faded out, and he slouched towards the remains. He gave a section of armor plating a good kick, the resulting pain in his toe not helping. He brushed a piece of paper with his foot, with block letters across the front.
“A WARNING ,” it declared. No signature, no symbol.
He’d been on planet for less than two hours. A shipment of about twenty completely illegal radio jammers was sitting in the hovercraft not twenty feet behind him, police probably another thousand feet. He was stuck. He didn’t know anyone, didn’t know his way around, hell, he’d never even heard of the place a week ago. And now he needed to get out of here. Fast. Preferably with the jammers. He started to lean back again, but then it came to him. A plan.