Help a writer out!

So! A chance to contribute your ideas for a survival on a hostile planet. The protagonist is being dropped in, has a fair amount of cargo space, is being offered more. What should she stuff into this new space? She is potentially going to be alone for years, and can farm/garden once she had established a predator-free zone. But that's going to take a while. She has weapons and ammunition. 

Snip:

Brian cleared his throat. He exchanged significant glances with the captain.

“Ione, you chartered six drop pods.” Captain Dalriada steepled those elegant fingers on the table and leaned slightly towards me. “Given the, ah, special circumstances of this run...”

“I’m happy to pay an overage fee.” I offered, seeing that he was fumbling. As short a time as I had known him, this seemed uncharacteristic.

“Oh. No, we...”

“We want to offer you the remaining two empty pods.” Brian butted into the conversation. “You need as much help down there as you can get.” He nodded, firmly.

“I...” I didn’t know what to say.

“We would also like to have a, er, brainstorming session about what to put in them.” The captain reached for the teapot and refilled his mug. “It may seem presumptuous...”

“I’d appreciate it.” I would, I realized. I’d done all of this by the book and on my own. My experience was rusty. Having many minds would help. “Mac has my list.”

“We’ve all seen it.” Brian grinned. “Some good ideas on there! But we had a few things we were thinking of...”

“Were you all sitting around talking about me?” I protested.

“Yes.” Captain Dalriada gave Brian a withering glance. “We were. You and your cargo are, separately, not unusual. Together? And when we had no other passengers booked? Yes. We started to speculate.”

“Um.”

“Again, we meant well.” He ran a hand through the red hair, which had enough silver at the edges to remind me again his grace belied his age. “Forgive us? As Captain MacGowan, well, we would be honored to do a service to you and... to your honored dead.”

I had a lump in my throat again. “One condition.”

“Anything.”

“Stop treating me like a delicate fucking flower.”