Sniffing Gas

The clouds churned beneath the mining platform. Ruby, sapphire, a splash of topaz green to Robert's hungry eyes, before they subducted into the gas giant.
He watched from the bridge, his Python cold, immobile, scant kilometres away. The platform inhaled, processed, refined and compressed. The outcome, worth a fortune and critical to hypedrives all across space.
He opened a comm channel. "Is everyone in place?"
"Twenty raiders, seventeen tankers, good to go," a voice replied.
"The torpedo?"
"Primed."
Robert closed his eyes, savouring the moment, one step away from being rich. He pressed the transmitter again. "Let's go make history.