The Space Cowboy

Be a Space Cowboy – Asteroid Life Awaits

Forget the rules.

Forget the fines.

Forget the grind of someone else’s world.

Strap yourself into your own ship and launch into the Belt.

The Micro Belt Miner isn’t about getting rich fast — it’s about finding yourself while chasing rare metals, precious ices, and uncharted freedom. Navigate the silence between worlds. Feel every burn in your bones. Hear the hum of your ship and nothing else.

This is life untethered.

No governments. No leash. No one telling you where to go or what you’re allowed to touch.

Just the vast dark, the hunt, and the quiet certainty that you write the rules now.

Be your own person.

Discover the Belt.

Find your fortune — or find yourself.

Micro Belt Miner

Life isn’t a place. Life is a trajectory.

I got myself strapped into Trigger’s restraints, ready for the ride.

I ain’t no bronco rider, but this was gonna be a thrill.

“Okay, Trigger. You’re up next. All certifications are clear. Launch at any time.”

I touched the panel.

Five… four… three…

The vibration slammed me into the hard cushions of the control seat. For the first forty seconds all you can do is lie back and take it. When the initial burn finshed shoving me into speed, the secondary burn locked me onto course for Glory — the space city that ran the Belt cooperatives.

What’s a Tucson cowboy doing in the asteroid belt?

I was done with the bull pucky. You couldn’t turn around in Tucson without stepping on somebody’s toes. Even the National Forest was off-limits without the Moon’s eye staring down your back. They caught me off-trail — claimed I was twenty miles out. Two hundred thousand dollar fine. No access for five years.

Five years.

I didn’t feel off-trail.

I just wanted to be alone for a while.

So I sold the ranch. Paid the fine. And wound up in a high-stakes poker game that went till three in the morning.

The last hand was Mexican Sweat — five-card stud.

Mike dealt.

I was first.

My hole card: Queen of Spades.

Mike said, “The rest are face up. Randy gets the Ace of spades. PJ gets an Ace of Hearts, Fred the Seven of Spades, George the Three of Diamonds, and I get the Four of Hearts. Ace of Spades is boss.”

It was my bet, fifty thousand dollars to stay in the game. It was early. They all paid.

Mike said, “Randy gets the Eight of Spades, possible flush. PJ gets the Ace of Diamonds, a Pair of Aces. Fred gets a Five of Spades, possible Straight Flush. George gets the Three of Hearts, Pair of Threes showing, what’s in the hole? I get the Five of Diamonds possible straight. Pair of Aces has the bet.”

PJ said, “Fifty thousand dollars if you want to play.”

We all paid.

George said, “And I will raise you Fifty Thousand Dollars.”

Did George have a three in his hole, or was he bluffing? I put mine in. He was bluffing. There were beads of sweat on his forehead.

Fred said, “let’s see the next round. I am in.”

PJ said, “Okay let’s see the next round, I’m in too, and pass the bottle of whisky.”

I said, “What the hell? I’m in too. I’ll take the bottle after you.”

PJ was the unluckiest guy I knew.

Mike said, “Looks like a fishing expedition to me, and I am having no luck tonight. I’m out. Is the pot square?”

We all nodded.

Mike said, “Good. Randy, you get the Eight of Clubs, dare I say it’s a possible Dead Man’s Hand.”

PJ said, “Dead Man’s Hand, what are you talking about?”

Mike said, “The hand that famous cowboy Wild Bill Hickok had when he was murdered while playing the Game, Black Eights, and Aces with an unknown hole card. PJ gets a deuce of hearts, no help. Where is the Ace of Clubs? In your hole PJ? Fred gets the Six of Spades, but the Eight is in Randy’s hand. Where is your three PJ's in George’s hole? George gets the Jack of diamonds, no help. Pair of Aces gets the bet.”

PJ said, “Hundred Thousand.”

“You sure you have that much? I’m not taking your house,” I said.

PJ said, “I’m fine. Pass the bottle.”

Fred said, “I’m out.”

George said, “I’m in and Hundred Thousand more. Pass the bottle.”

I said, “A lot of bluster for not much showing. I’m in. I’ll take the bottle next.”

“Pot is square,” Mike said, “Here is the heartbreaker. Randy gets PJ’s Ace of Clubs. PJ gets the Eight of Hearts. He is busted. George gets the Queen of hearts. What do they have in the hole? Dead Man’s hand bets.”

“Two Hundred Thousand,” I said.

The ranch had paid nicely.

George said, “Come on, dude, I don’t have that kind of money.”

And I took the pot.

Mike said, “I’m done with it. Let’s pay up and go home.”

PJ said, “I don’t have that much cash, but I have a spaceship, the Trigger. It’s in orbit at the space dock.”

I said, “What would I want with a spaceship?”

PJ said, “I thought I’d get off the planet, but Fae said she kill me. The guy I won it from said it was worth Four Hundred Thousand Dollars. Where are you going to go, Montana? It gets really cold there. Come on, I've got to get something out of it. Get away from them all. Go mine the asteroid belt. What is holding you here? This is perfect for you.”

So, I took it. I played “I’m a Space Cowboy” by the Steve Miller Band when I blasted off.

Discovery in the Belt

The rock wasn’t supposed to be there.

Randy had been tracking a scatter field off the edge of an old corporate claim, the kind of place the big outfits stopped caring about once the easy stuff was gone. Trigger drifted slow, the hydrogen engine whispering a low vibration. The Belt spread out around me like a broken sky.

The scanner chirped once.

Then again.

I frowned and rolled the ship to bring the nose around. The return wasn’t iron, not nickel. Too dense. Too clean.

“Don’t you start lying to me now,” I muttered.

I brought Trigger in close, fired the grapples, and the ship settled against the rock with a gentle shudder. It was bigger than he expected — irregular, dark, turning slow. When the work lights came on, something in the surface flashed white-silver, like a scar catching the sun.

I didn’t breathe for a second.

I swung the drill arm out and bored a shallow test hole. The core sample came back hot. Not temperature — composition.

Palladium.

I laughed, once. A sharp sound in the cabin.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

I ran another test. Same result. Clean vein. Thick. Running deep.

The rock was about the size of his old ranch house back in Tucson.

I didn’t whoop. Didn’t shout. I just sat there for a long moment, listening to Trigger’s systems hum, feeling the ship’s frame tick as it cooled in shadow.

Then I got to work.

I laid a fracture pattern, drilled a dozen holes, set the charges, backed Trigger off a hundred meters, and fired.

The rock split with a slow, silent grace, chunks drifting apart like they’d been waiting their whole life to do that. One piece — a good one — broke clean free, spinning end over end, silver glinting through the cracked crust.

I reeled it in with the claw and locked it into the forward cage.

Proof.

I flagged the parent mass in the claim net, filed my report, tagged it as a working despot rock, and set the beacon.

It would take me weeks. Maybe months.

Trip after trip.

Load by load.

I looked at the cargo cage, then out at the rest of the broken giant, drifting patiently in the dark.

I leaned back in the seat and smiled.

“Yeah,” I said to no one. “That’ll do.”

Trigger’s engine purred, steady and warm behind me, like it agreed.

The Smelter Line

Glory’s inner ring was all noise and light, a hard artificial dawn that never changed. The smelter queue ran the length of Dock Nine, ships nose-to-tail, heat haze rippling off the refinery stacks like a mirage.

Trigger slid in at the back of the line and latched to the waiting rail.

I killed the drive and let the cabin go quiet.

Ahead of me, a dozen miners were already cooking their loads — iron, nickel, water ice, junk rock. Nobody rushed. The smelters never did.

I logged my manifest and the system flashed back:

ESTIMATED WAIT: 7 HOURS 42 MINUTES

I snorted. “Good enough.”

I unstrapped, poured myself the last of the coffee, and floated back to the small viewport. From here Glory looked like a welded dream — Moon steel ribs, habitat drums, refinery towers coughing pale flame into vacuum.

A couple of hours later the bay shifted. A hauler eased out, glowing dull red along its belly, and the line crept forward one slot.

When Trigger’s turn finally came, the clamp arms reached out and locked onto his forward cages. The palladium chunk vanished into the smelter throat. The doors sealed. The furnace light rose until the whole dock bathed in white.

I waited.

The console chimed.

OUTPUT COMPLETE

The receipt rolled in, numbers stacking quietly.

I leaned in.

Fuel: covered.

Water: covered.

Food: covered.

Repairs: covered.

Profit: not much — but it was there.

Not a fortune.

Not a dream.

Enough.

I sat back in the chair and let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

That rock back there wasn’t going anywhere. I could work it slow. Clean. Safe. No rush, no panic, no boss.

Just the Belt and the work.

I keyed the next departure window and started my resupply order.

“Alright, Trigger,” I said softly. “Let’s go earn the rest of it.”

The ship’s systems hummed in answer.

Between Runs

I left Trigger on shore power and followed the noise.

Glory’s lower ring always sounded like a bad idea from a distance. Music bled through steel, laughter bounced off bulkheads, somebody was arguing in three languages at once. The Belt didn’t do quiet when it was off the clock.

The bar didn’t have a name. None of the good ones ever did.

Inside, the air was warm and thick and alive. Someone shoved a drink into my hand. I didn’t ask what it was. It burned in a friendly way.

There was a woman with copper hair who told me she hauled ice out past Ceres and a man who swore he once outran a customs cruiser on one boost and a prayer. I listened to all of it and none of it. The music got louder. The station lights dimmed. Somebody started dancing on a crate of coolant filters.

For a while, I forgot about mass ratios and claim beacons and the long black drift between stars.

I forgot about Tucson.

The next thing I knew, the station morning tone was chiming soft through the corridor and I was walking with the click of magnetic boots, and the shine of my head light, the world still moving a little sideways.

Trigger was right where I’d left her.

I strapped in, ran the preflight by muscle memory, and eased out of Dock Nine on minimal thrust. Glory slid away behind me, its lights folding back into the dark.

A few minutes later the station was gone.

The Belt opened up in front of me — cold, wide, and waiting.

I checked the nav, aligned with his claim marker, and brought the drive up.

The hangover didn’t matter.

The noise didn’t matter.

The party didn’t matter.

The rock was out there.

And for the first time in my life, it was my future.