Posted by Lieutenant Markus Woods (Chief Science Officer) in Another New Ship

(Snip)

Without hesitation, Mark began to move with a purpose. Thankfully his summers spent in his grandmother’s garden helping pull weeds, tend the vegetables as well as the flowers had him well-prepared. The soil was heavy but he enjoyed the activity, carrying it over and plopping it down. As much as he might have been a high-minded scientist, there was still something ape and primal about using one’s own body and strength to get stuff done. A minute later he was back with the plant food and water, and the pots stacked up in the crook of his other arm. Stablizing them a little with his gift, he set them all down within easy reach, and the pushed his sleeves back up. “Which ones are the strongest,” he asked. ‘Use me, and we’ll see what we can do for them.‘

Mark

There was a deep shuddering breath and then she nodded. “Those,” she pointed at three of them, “I need 12 inch pots, 3/4ths full of dirt and enough water to make it the consistency of acrylic paint.” And then there was that soothing music issuing from her. It wasn’t that the pain she felt didn’t hurt her but she had to make it better. Her movements and directions were surgically precise. She removed the first one from the hard brick like dirt. She held the main stem and cradled the root mass in one hand. ‘Water, slowly so I can break the dirt off and free the roots.’

The three she mentioned, he took a moment to add water to the soil. It wouldn’t do much for the plants immediately. But it would make it easier to bring them out of it, untangle them, and prep for re-planting or potting. A little prep would make it faster and easier in a few minutes.

Grabbing the pots, he flicked out a pocket knife and made a wide cut at one corner and wen tot filling them a little more than she directed. The water that followed ad a little compression brought them down to the appropriate level. As she went to getting the first one out, he’d finished up prepping, and brought out a smaller water can that allowed for a precise and thin stream of water that could be a trickle or almost a beam, but still gentle. Working with her, flowing where she needed and wanted, he used it in tandem to loosen, clean, and break them free in virtual silence.

She worked the dirt loose slowly, but unlike earlier where she slowly untangled the roots, some of these were dead and she simply took garden snips and cut the dead parts off. “Put it in the dirt you’ll have to hold it up until the dirt is full enough to support it.” She started on another one. “The food with the purple lid, fill the watering can 1/4 full with it and the rest with water. Add water until the top layer is damp but no standing water.” Then they repeated the process for each one. All the while the song continued, her attention split on the plants and what she was doing. Over half the plants were lost by the time they were done.

Fayth

Putting one of the plants in the pot, he left it there but it stood, seemingly, of it’s own accord. Meanwhile he emptied the water, added the plant food then more water, then added soil and went to giving the plants a proper soaking, until it was quite damp but not drowning, exhibited so by using his fingers to check the moisture levels. It wasn’t very scientific, but sometimes the old ways were expedient and still worked very well.

She didn’t say anything but every so often while they worked there was a gentle brush of gratitude for his help and also respect - recognition of his own skill and knowledge - that it wasn’t just her working to save them.

As they finished saving what they could, he rested against the planter a little and sighed, mindful of the pots. Straightening, he brushed his hands, mostly, clean then rinsed them off with regular but clean water, followed by wiping them off with a red shop towel. Glancing around, he spotted a wall panel with a small PaDD. Reaching out the device flew off the wall and into his hand, where he tapped the screen a few times, then sat it down with a grumble, ignoring the dirt. Irritation flowed off of him for a moment, then resignation. “You okay,” he asked her quietly, his voice mentally and physically barely above a whisper.

Mark

As they finished she sat, tiny pruning shears in her hand as she carefully and as gently as possible clipped the dead parts of the plants away. She needed to move away from the music. It had turned sad and fearful; that’s what grabbed her attention, and as she worked and removed each plant from the soil the music had turned mournful and spread to the surrounding plants. She should, she needed, to detach herself from the sorrow before she became lost to it. But she couldn’t bring herself to stop listening, to share the sorrow. ‘The irrigation system is broken. There,’ she pointed one bed over, ‘is the problem.’ Half the bed was stunted growth and the soil dryer than the other half. It was surviving by drawing water and nutrients from the healthy half, stunting the growth of the whole bed. ‘the malfunction is there somewhere.’ Her voice was weary and sad.

Slowly little by little she removed the withered, brittle, lifeless parts from the remaining 12 plants. The discarded pieces she placed in the damaged bed. She took the last bottle of food, mixed it with water and dumped the entire thing across the whole bed. It would turn into a type of compost pile and eventually return nutrients back to the soil to be planted again. At his question she just shook her head no, sitting cross-legged on the ground leaning against one of the larger planters. [They were alive and the crew was responsible for their care and now they were dead.] She felt the loss acutely, painfully, allowing herself to cry for the loss even if no one else understood.

Fayth