The Garden - Melissa Scott [83]
The voices came back almost instantly, calling their
names, and Paris counted them off one by one. When the last one had answered-Joie Sakhlova, no surprise there-he touched the communicator again. "All right. We've had an update on the Andirrim approach, and the captain wants us back on board in two hours with as much of the harvest as we can manage. So this is the plan for now. Sakhlova, you and Laek finish the grain field, and then join me in the orchard. Renehan, you and McCabe move on to the next field-the one that we called two-A-see how much you can get from there. Maceda and Yoshiko, take two-B."
"We're not going to try for three?" That was Maceda, his voice almost obscured by a sudden burst of static.
"Say again?" Paris scowled, wondering what had caused the interference, and looked up at the now cloudless sky.
"We're not going to try to get field three harvested, as well?"
The static was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Paris filed it in the back of his brain, one more thing to worry about later, and answered, "No, not unless the two fields go a lot faster than I expect. We want quantity right now, not variety."
"Confirmed," Maceda said.
"Speaking of which," Paris went on, and heard choked laughter from someone, "I want to beam up what we've got. The ship should be able to do it on the fly."
There was a chorus of agreement, and Paris touched his communicator again. "Paris to Voyager."
"Voyager here."
Not Chakotay, this time, Paris realized, but Harry Kim, and in spite of himself felt a certain relief. "Harry. What's the situation?"
"No change." Kim sounded constrained, and Paris guessed that either the captain or the first officer was still on the bridge. "The Andirrim are still moving in-they've got their shields at standby, and so do we, but Adamant doesn't seem to think it's anything unusual."
"We have the first load of grain ready for transport," Paris said. "Tell the transporter chief she can take her coordinates from our communicators, and scan for the grain from that mark."
"Acknowledged," Kim answered. "Voyager out."
Paris turned back to the orchard, wishing Kim were on-planet with him-he liked the ensign, was closer to him than he was to anyone else on the ship, and if they were going to be in danger, he would rather they were facing it together-but then shoved that thought away. He heard the familiar, high-pitched whine of a Starfleet transporter, and the piled grain vanished from the back of his sled. The sound same again, more faintly, and he turned to see that Maceda's harvester had been emptied, too. At least Voyager would have some supplies, whatever happened, maybe even enough to make a difference, he thought, and looked back at his own harvester. It was moving delicately through the crowded orchard, the eight mechanical arms now fully deployed, glittering in the dappled sunlight as it reached for, tested, and picked the ripe fruit. The bright green ovoids made a hollow sound as they fell into the sled, and he hoisted himself up onto its edge to check their progress. The brown floor was already completely covered by the fruit, bright even in the shade, and he allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. It might not be as much as they'd been hoping to get, not a full resupply for the ship, but at least the science staff should be able to
extract enough ascorbic acid from this load to keep the crew healthy.
"Voyager to Paris."
Paris let himself drop back off the sled, and touched his communicator. "Paris here. What's up, Voyager?"
"Are there any signs of electrical disturbance- storm clouds, anything like that-in your area? We're getting unusual interference in the transporter beam."
Paris