The Bay was open, and the pinnace, aptly called Plowshare, was already turned, its needle-nose pointing through the giant doors at the stars. The deck crew saluted as she crossed the deck. She acknowledged them and walked through the open hatch.
Renn stowed her small carrybag in a locker then went aft to the deck that housed her spacesuit. It stood stiffly upright in the middle of the otherwise spare area. There was a second, back-up suit standing in the corner. It always amused her to see them standing empty, like manikins in a window display, waiting for her to crawl inside. She grinned and ran a system check on the one she would wear as the rest of the crew came on board.
“Good morning, Lieutenant.” Captain Harry Campbell joined her at the suit, clicking his cheek at her, with a teasing, amused appreciation of her appearance.
Harry was a tall, lanky 10-year veteran of the Targus fleet, his dark hair, nearly the color of his face, slicked back in the newest retro-style of their planet. He was the pilot and a fine ship handler. He had to be. Maneuvering around the junk could be tricky and was always dangerous.
Renn smiled, happy to be working with him. They had an understanding, that maybe, when the mission was over, they would see each other again on more intimate terms.
Renn was a pretty woman, with dark auburn hair worn in one long braid that reached half-way down her back, and she was as fair as Harry was dark. Her eyes were an odd hazel color, sometimes appearing to be green, other times, brown. They were dancing now as she smiled at Harry, aware her skinsuit was so tight she might as well be naked.
She finished the check of the suit and went forward toward the command deck, Harry leading the way.
The pinnace was a special-built ship, not as large as a cruiser but close. It had life-support capabilities, as any ship did, but they were short-term. The Plowshare generally spent less than a day at a time in space to pick up junk.
It carried a crew of ten, plus Renn, who served as co-pilot if need be. She had scored high at the Targus Naval Academy in ship-handling, but her specialty was the keen eye she had for identifying space junk. She also had an uncanny knack at opening sealed compartments, control panels, whatever would let her “see” into a sealed container. She loved her job and the hazard pay that came with it.
Plowshare’s normal passenger seating had been removed to make way for compartments for stowing the trash to take back to The Gleaner and for the special monitoring and sampling equipment they needed to do their job. A heavily secured compartment, behind impressive bulkheads, was reserved for contaminated or questionable items. There was nothing on board at the moment, and the cargo decks were empty.
One compartment was down-right cozy—a Spartan but attractive mess galley with the usual alloy “café” style tables and chairs. A large vid screen allowed the crew to “see” the junk they were pursuing.
The crew was aboard and getting themselves settled. Tony Sanchez, one of the middies assigned as Renn’s assistant, smiled at her. “What do we have, ma’am?”
“Don’t know yet, Tony. Four garbage cans. They’re big white boxes. Could be anything.” Boxes meant something deliberately put in space, not just pieces of destroyed spaceships or spent satellites. “Who knows? Maybe it’s a cache of gold bullion and we all get to retire.”
Renn’s comm buzzed, and Harry’s voice was in her ear: “All on board, ready to roll, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir.” She waved to the assembling crew and went to join Harry on the command deck, slipping into the copilot’s seat.
Renn liked the copilot’s seat, liked to watch the Plowshare leave the embracing arms of the battlecruiser and head into the crystalline beauty of the universe. It gave her immense satisfaction, even as it took her breath away, to be in such a tiny craft in the black ocean that was infinite space.
The holocharts came up on controls. The Gleaner, Dark Star, and the other ships of the convoy, popped up as twinkling green dots. Far ahead of them, sparkling red on the chart, the garbage cans tracked across the stars.
Harry checked in with the bridge of Dark Star and brought up the thrusters. The convoy would decelerate as Plowshare accelerated to get ahead of them and investigate the target. It was a dance that both he and Renn enjoyed, calculating the degrees of separation, finding the angles, keeping on track so that the slower pinnace would not be left behind.
Twenty minutes went by, with little said to each other. There was intermittent chatter with engineering, and with the bridge of Dark Star, as they approached the spinning lozenges.
Harry looked over at Renn with eyes that definitely liked to do so. He smiled. “Time to suit up, Renn. Good trashing!”
“Right, sir.” She touched his shoulder lightly as she left the deck, returning through the mess to the suit-up compartment, where Tony and Kuota, another midshipman, waited for her.
Renn donned the lightweight mask for her rescue suit, checked the seals, then climbed into the standing spacesuit. The middies helped her, carefully sealing seams, attaching the belt from which her tools hung, and finally dropping the helmet over her head. They did a final check and stepped back, with a “thumbs-up” gesture.
Renn touched her comm button. “I’m in the brig, Captain.”
“Copy that. Standing by to open the bay.” Harry chuckled softly. Renn had chosen to call the suit the “brig” and there was a certain truth to it. Once in it, she was trapped and needed help to get out of it.
The pinnace had approached the four white boxes, standing off, but keeping close enough that they could be boarded. It was an intricate, careful, and dangerous exercise.
The two middies had already brought out what they called “the sled.” It was a jet-powered lifeboat, rather like an antique jet ski. It had minimal rescue gear on it, but additional tethers and umbilicals that would allow Renn a good range of movement if she needed it. She had been in on the design of it several years ago. It would help save her life, should anything go wrong, and it also gave her more mobility in dealing with odd-shaped or large objects.
She ran a quick check of the controls, then activated the comm in her helmet again. “Ready to go, Captain.”
“Copy that. Leave the comm on, Renn. I won’t report how many expletives you use.” Harry’s voice carried a smile.
She nodded to the two handlers. The small bay on the pinnace slid open. “I’m not going to grace that remark with an answer. Let’s do it.” Her voice was calm, but, as always, she sternly quashed the butterflies in her stomach.
“Good hunting! Be careful!” He couldn’t hide the tiny edge of concern. Any walk in space was unthinkably dangerous.
Renn’s voice was even. “Aye, sir. Always.”
She powered up the sled and headed for the garbage cans, smiling.
On the control deck of Dark Star, Commodore Whittaker watched the tiny green icon of Renn’s sled separate from the pinnace and shook his head. “God speed, Renn. Better you than me, my girl.”
His tac officer turned briefly. “Sorry, sir? I didn’t—“
“I’m muttering, Kim. I always get butterflies when I see her do that.”
The dark-haired, dark eyed, officer smiled and looked at the chart. “Hmmm. Yes, sir. Didn’t they used to do that in pairs?” He frowned at the thought.
The commodore sat in his command chair and brought up his repeater display. “Yes. Before the cut-backs.” He snorted. “Lt Haggarty says they got in each other’s way...I’m not sure that she was telling the truth.”
Kim smiled and turned back to his panels. “She’s a cool customer, sir.”
“That she is.” G.W. watched the tiny blob, barely visible on his small screen. He liked Renn, and he hoped at the end of this duty, the powers that be would bump her up a notch and give her something more to do, something—safe—he wanted to say. She had earned it. He shook his head again. He’d spoken to her more than once about daring the odds, but she protested that she loved her job.
Renn slowed the sled to a crawl as she drew near the garb
age cans, craning her neck to look at the size of them. Her comm sputtered.
“You all right out there?” Harry’s voice was edgy. “Talk to me.”
“This is one big trash can, Captain. It’s at least twenty by twenty on a side, and there are four of them. I’m going to swing around and see what the others look like. There’s no entry on this one. I’m calling this Box A.”
“Aye, copy that.”
She brought the sled alongside the huge box and slowly worked her way around a corner of it. The second box had handling bars, cleats, and eyes. She smiled. “Ahh, belay that last note. This one should be Box A. There are mooring cleats. It must be the master box.”
Renn took her sled around all four boxes, returning again to Box A. “Box C is damaged. I could probably get into it easy enough, but this Box A is the control box. There’s a panel. I’m securing the sled. Let’s see if I can open it.”
She fastened the sled fore and aft, checked her own safety attachments and stepped from the sled to a narrow ledge that ran around the bottom of the boxes.
In the Plowshare, the crew were in the galley, watching the live feed from the cameras in Renn’s helmet. No one talked. Her voice was piped in, but she wasn’t doing much talking, either. Leaving the sled for a careening object was one of the most dangerous steps, and she concentrated on it.
“Okay, there’s something here...” They could hear her breathing a little faster but they couldn’t see what she was doing.
“Renn?” Harry’s voice was quiet. “Talk to us.”
She scoffed and everyone relaxed a little. “I’m busy! It’s a—I dunno what—a control box, I think.”
Renn reached for a pry bar attached to her belt and very carefully moved it around what appeared to be the cover of a control panel. It didn’t want to open, and her audience could hear her grunts and muttered “damns” as she struggled with it.
“Aha! Got it. It was spring-loaded.” she took a deep breath. She leaned away from Box A so Plowshare could see what she was talking about. Inside, there were gauges and dials, and a handle. She pulled the latter and suddenly let out a yelp as the door swung outward, taking her with it.
“Oh, shit!”
“You all right?” Harry frowned watching the feed as the camera rocked and the visual blurred. One moment it was pointed at the stars, the next it was so close to the panel that nothing could be seen but the glare of the white ceramic skin of the boxes. “Lieutenant? Renn!”
The picture steadied, and Renn was back standing on the box, with the door wide open. She moved inside, turning on the light on her helmet.
“Talk to me, Renn!” Harry didn’t try to hide the concern in his voice. “Dammit, talk to me!”
“I’m fine, Harry. The door surprised me, that’s all, almost threw me away.”
Renn frowned as she looked around her, standing inside Box A. The box was loaded with flat, wide containers, piled on top of each other, reaching from floor to ceiling. She brought out her light bar and approached a column.
“I don’t know what this...” She chuckled, and aboard the pinnace a giant sigh went up as people exhaled in unison. “They’re marked in English, and several other languages, including—” They all heard her take a breath. “Oh, my God...”
“Including? You’re scaring us, Renn! Including—what?”
Her voice was breathless and very soft. “Including Latin. I don’t believe it.”
“I swear I’ll throttle you when you get back!” Harry was worried enough to let anger creep into his voice.
“I’m sorry. It’s just...” She took a deep breath and blew it out noisily. “They’re seeds, Harry. Millions of them.”
On the pinnace, people looked at each other in astonishment for a split second, then a cheer went up accompanied by some rowdy impromptu dancing.
“Seeds?” Harry’s mouth was hanging open.
“Yes.” Renn walked down the aisles, showing the contents for the benefit of the pinnace, barely containing her excitement. She pointed to one side of the container. “They’re stacked according to—well, genera, I guess. Those are all trees and shrubs.” She walked some more, reading the small labels on the ends of the flat boxes. “That whole wall appears to be forbs and grasses.”
Harry hit the intercom. “Recovery crew, suit up. Let’s get those boxes aboard ASAP.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” sounded throughout the ship as the recovery crew immediately got into their gear to join Renn and bring the boxes aboard.
“Renn, come back in. We’re sending the boats out.” Captain Campbell couldn’t stop grinning.
Renn was back at the control panel, studying the configuration. She wanted to get the door shut so none of the contents would be lost in the handling that they would have to do to get the boxes aboard Plowshare.
“They’ll have to go aboard on their sides, Captain. I need to get this door shut.” None of the other boxes had a control panel, so their doors were doubtless controlled from this one. Renn frowned and sucked on her lip. As a precaution, she had attached one of her suit’s umbilicals to a grab bar on Box A. She didn’t want to get hit by the door again.
“Aha!” She moved a lever and the handle, and the great door yawned shut as she stepped out of its way. “All battened down, sir. Ready for recovery.”
She looked back at the pinnace. The boat bay was open and two small runabouts were heading toward her.
Renn pulled in the umbilical mooring her to Box A, got into her sled and got it out of the way of the work crew. Her heart was still pounding with excitement.
There was nothing in space that was of more value than what she had just found. Four of the five planets in her home galaxy were suffering from a lack of diversification in their flora and fauna. The two terraformed planets most of all. They had been settled for less than six hundred years, and were still primitive and barely habitable, mostly from a lack of ground cover, food plants, and trees. Maybe that would all change now.
Renn turned her sled back toward the pinnace as the recovery team swarmed over the white boxes, securing them for towing.
On the Dark Star, Commodore Whittaker watched the moving blips on the holochart as they changed and went in two directions. “Patch me in to Renn.”
“Aye, sir.” The officer’s nimble fingers moved over his control panel. “Go ahead.”
“Lieutenant, looks like you’re picking the boxes up. What do you have?”
Renn chuckled, her voice still shaky with excitement. “A gold mine, sir! Worth every risk we’ve taken on this damned cruise.”
He chuckled, then pretended annoyance. “Don’t play games, Renn! Whatcha got?”
“Seeds, Commodore. Millions of seeds, all carefully stowed and labeled. One of the boxes is damaged, but it doesn’t look like the contents are, unless there’s some radiation that’s not registering.”
“I’ll be damned! Seeds!” The Commodore’s Exec and Tac Officers looked at him quickly, and then grinned. “Well done, Renn!”
She laughed. “I didn’t put them out here, sir. What I could see with a cursory look was that they’re all kinds of seeds—plants, trees, grasses. I don’t know yet who we have to thank. However, I’ve found what that appears to be a manifest. It’s locked. I’ll let you know when I get it open.”
“Good! Get back to me.”
“Aye, sir. That I will.”
The commodore leaned back in his chair, shaking his head, smiling broadly. “Seeds, gentlemen, the boxes are full of seeds. All kinds, Renn says, trees, grass...Imagine that.”
Kim stood up to look at his boss. His eyes were shining. “They’re probably worth more than everything that’s piled up in the scow at this moment.”
Whittaker nodded. “In real money, probably, but more than that—think what it could mean for the future of Targus. Get me The Gleaner. I know one captain who’s buying the beer when we get home.” He pulled on his nose and shook his head again. “And let’s plot a course for that home. Nothing says we have t
o stay out here any longer than necessary. My guess is, the powers-that-be in Targus are going to want to see this right away.”
Kim turned back to his work station and started punching in numbers. “Aye, aye, sir! Home it is.”
Renn carefully brought the sled alongside the Plowshare’s boat bay and cut the thrusters, drifting slowly so the workers could grapple it and bring it inside. One of them stowed the sled while the other began to undo the seals on Renn’s suit.
“I’m back aboard, Captain. I have what I think is the manifest, so I’ll be working on getting that open.”
“Glad you’re home safe!” There was a smile in the Captain’s voice. “Report as soon as you’re ready.”
One of the ratings handed her the carrybag she had brought aboard. He grinned at her. “I think you’ll need this.”
“Thanks, Tony. And yes, I need to peel out of this onion skin and get more comfortable. She picked up the flat, metallic box she believed was the manifest. “Run a radiation check on this and then get it back to me. I need to open it.” The sailor nodded and went forward. Renn headed for the berthing compartments.
Fifteen minutes later, she had taken a shower and dressed in the shipboard uniform she’d brought in the carryall. She inspected herself in the mirror and rubbed hard on her jawbones, trying to loosen them. It was a hazard of her job that she clenched her teeth mercilessly as she did it.
She popped her jaws and was rewarded with a click that sounded loud in the tiny head. It made her laugh.
The enormity of what she’d just found began to sink in, turning her excitement into a profound thoughtfulness. She ran a brush through her wet hair and wove a braid slowly.
“Of course, we shouldn’t get too euphoric. Maybe they’re duds. Maybe they won’t work in our crappy soil. Maybe they’re too old to be viable.” She looked at her mirror self and whispered, not wanting to confess her doubts. “Maybe they’re not even seeds.”
She shook her head. She wanted to believe. She straightened her back and her uniform and went forward to see what she could learn.
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