Bowers watches the bulk of the Hesiod crest into view over the curvature of the asteroid to which his smaller spaceship clings. His fingers itch to touch the ship's flight sticks and maneuver it closer to their prize. The Hesiod is only a delta-class ship, but as a mining transport vessel, could hold untold wealth inside. Commercial grade explosives, or better yet, extracted ore. Both would bring a premium price at the black market.

"Two days, Gull. No directional thrust. She's just floating there, aimlessly."

"A wise man once said, 'Not all who wander are lost'. It's not abandoned." Gull replies in his frog-like voice.

"Three life signatures, and one has been stationary the entire time. Could be someone in cryo. We'll be long gone before they remember where they are. That leaves two others. Two of them, two of us. I like those odds." Bowers caresses the space ship's joystick.

"I'm almost finished unlocking remote access. Unless you'd like to get in your suit, float on over there and knock on the door?" Gull opens his mouth, showing off a black-gummed sneer.

The pilot mulls it over for a moment. "It would give me some time away from your geriatric stink," he says, "but we'll play it safe for now. On your watch, did you see the one leave its room?"

"No."

"So, one wanders the ship freely while the other stays confined. A prisoner, maybe?"

Gull taps at a keyboard, his eyes never leaving the monitor. "Could be Pandorum. Some boot gets the space-jeebies and has to be lock-and-keyed lest he drives 'em into the nearest supermass."

"I'm gonna drive us into a black hole if you don't finish your da-"

"Got it." Gull's screen lights up green as he hammers a final key.

Bowers slaps the dash of the ship and refrains from pulling the flight sticks back full throttle. Instead, he flips switches overhead to put them into stealth before using short bursts to propel them forward in a parabolic path.

Nobody says a word as the men cruise the ten kilometers to the Hesiod. Bowers pulls up broadside to the airlock.

Gull sets back to clacking at his computer and the bridge extends from the carrier to the scavenger's ship. The hacker smiles, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair."

The ship sways as the bridge makes contact, then settles as it engages its locks. The two men stop at a small armory chest before exiting. Bowers moves for a firearm.

"Not the hard light," Gull croaks, "We don't know the interior. Could make for ricochet madness. Bring the Slug-Plug."

Bowers grabs a 12-gauge snub-nose revolver and loads the chamber with four cartridges. He makes a quizzical face at Gull, who picks up a pair of daggers.

"What? I'm old school."

The men cross the bridge to the Hesiod's crew entrance. The metal creaks against the vacuum of the void outside as Gull opens the mechanical door. There is a rush of air when the pressures stabilize between the ships.

They enter a long, well-lit corridor that spans a lazy arc. "Cargo hold first," Bowers says, "We'll set up an ambush there for the roamer."

Gull nods in approval. They turn left towards the rear of the ship, passing no doors, but a thick floor-to-ceiling plexiglass creates a window into the bowels of the ship. Inside are crates of living supplies, with open boxes methodically moved to one side in a series of makeshift aisles.

"There's no place to lie in wait," Bowers says, the disappointment dripping in his voice, "We'll have to find a way into the hold."

"It's probably safeguarded," Gull chimes in, "If it's digital, I can hack it. But if it's biometric, we may have to find the sleeper and take his hand. Or his eyes, depending on the lock."

"And if it's voice?"

Gull clicks his tongue. "Well I hope you plan to be very persuasive with the remaining crew, Captain."

Bowers points to his shipmate's blades. "I think I'll leave the persuasive tactics up to you."

Nearing the end of the curve, both men slow to a stop, staring at the miracle behind the plexiglass wall.

"Holy nova..." Bowers whispers, taking in the sight. It is a small tree, seven to eight foot in height, with leaves a hue of green that no one has witnessed naturally in centuries. Small fruit bloom from the branches, but are undistinguishable, as neither Bowers nor Gull have seen anything like it before.

"I was in Atsim on Uranus last I saw one of these." Gull mutters, his voice dry and scratchy. "Just a boy, right before we left the system. They called it the Copse, and they had dozens of 'em. It was twenty years on a hard labor moon if they caught you trying to take trimmings."

Bowers' lips curl up into a smile. "It may not be explosives, but consider me blown away." Both men laugh at the cheesy joke. It comes out with a hint of mania as they consider the financial repercussions.

The chuckles die out when a young woman steps out from behind the nearest row of crates. She moves cautiously, glancing about as if to ensure that the scavengers are the only ones there. One eye is wide and blue like sintered cobalt. Her other eye is hidden behind a cascade of ash blonde locks that trail almost to the floor. Both features are a stark contrast to her caramel skin and full, umber lips.

Her hands hold a small wooden box, her fingers nervously trace the ornate inlays and crevices. "You must help me," she says, "I have to get home."

Gull scoffs. "Slow down Princess, we don't have to do a thing. Maybe we will though. How do you get in there?"

"She put me here. Trapped me in this flying tower away from my home." The woman speaks so fast her sentences come out like a single word.

"Flying tower, I see," Gull shoots Bowers a mocking look, "But how do we get in there? With you? And where, pray tell is home?" He presses his hands against the plexiglass, searching for a seam.

"It's a door, here." She lets one hand go of the box and places it on the other side of the window. Gull moves his hand over hers and a holographic keypad glows from the clear material. He takes a small digital device from one of his pockets and scans the keypad, then runs a program to decrypt the code.

"Earth," the woman says, "I'm from Earth."

Again, Gull looks over to Bowers, but he seems to be transfixed by the box the girl holds. "Nobody's from Earth anymore, and there hasn't been for centuries. Only thing it's good for is battery storage and strip mining."

"What's in the box?" Bowers interrupts.

She hesitates before answering, "It's just a toy. Something from home."

The first digit blinks on Gull's decoder, with five more lines still flashing through iterations. "She's messing with you, boy. She's not from Earth and neither is that trinket."

"Then where did that come from?" Bowers points to the tree in the distance.

The woman slowly steps away from the plexiglass. "She's coming."

The lights in the ship blink off, plunging them all into darkness.

Gull holds the decoder up, the LEDs giving off a few inches of visibility. There is a pop and buzz from a filament igniting. A short distance away, a glowing line of red appears. Gull draws one of his blades.

The thin red line quickly advances in an upward slash, Gull screams out as his decoder and dagger hit the floor. The hacker drops alongside them, sobbing. Still glowing, the filament turns to Bowers, who unloads two barrels directly into the center of it. For almost a full second, air escapes and cabin pressure drops when the slug tears through the hull. The sucking sound immediately wanes as the shell's plug expands, filling the hole with a rapid-hardening epoxy. Emergency measures trigger, bathing the ship in soft light and harsh sounds.

An older woman slumps backward, held standing by a plume of quick-weld which connects her to the floor via the slug's trajectory. She wears a nametag that reads 'Lt. Grimm', which is quickly covered by the epoxy as it bubbles and hardens from a grapefruit-sized cavity in her chest.

Grimm wheezes something, but Bowers can't hear it over the alarms or Gull's continuous whimpering. He leans in close to her mouth, trying to discern her words before the arteries pump the epoxy to her brain.

"Don't... don't...." Is all the woman exhales, then her arms hang limply by her sides.

The alarms go off when the ship automatically re-pressurizes, and the lights stay on. Bowers turns to examine Gull, whose arms are gone, cauterized just below the elbow. The severed limbs on the floor still grip his dagger, as well as the decoder with the six digits to unlock the keypad.

"Jesus, Gull. What am I supposed to do with this mess? You can't even help us get home now."

Gull stops sniveling when Bowers' words dawn on him. "I'm only useless for a bit, Captain! We'll take the money we make from the tree... I'll get cybered up! It'll be even better then before!"

Bowers raises an eyebrow.

"My half of the money from the tree?" Gull counters.

"Problem is, friend, I want the girl too. She's not as valuable as the tree, but think how much a flesh-peddler would shell out for a real Earth girl. And there's just not enough room on the skiv for all four of us."

"I don't take up much room anymore..." Gull holds up his stumps and gives a desperate chuckle.

Rather than answer, Bowers reads the decoder and punches the numbers into the keypad. A seam appears in the plexiglass and a section slides away to create an aperture. Bowers hefts the gun towards the woman. "The box. Toss it here."

She steps back and holds the trinket to her side, like a small child trying to hide something from a stern parent. Bowers lowers the twelve-gauge level with Gull's head.

"No! Cap-"

The piece roars, bringing with it the déjà vu of momentary suction, lights, and alarms. A gray circular plug replaces the center of Gull's face, making him eerily featureless.

"That was my friend," Bowers says, retraining the gun on the woman, "Imagine what I'll do to you. The box, now."

She takes a step forward and Bowers thumbs the hammer back.

"I said... toss it."

She gently throws the box through the opening and Bowers catches it one-handed. His fingers find a cleft, which shifts and separates the lid. A tendril of green slinks out, gingerly wrapping itself around Bowers' finger before budding a leaf.

"Another tree?" Bowers asks.

The vine continues crawling from the box and up Bowers' arm, its caress turning into a strong grip.

"What's going on? Make it stop!"

Bowers tries to turn his pistol to the box, but the plant shoots to his gun hand, controlling it with a vice-like clutch. He grunts as the vine expands, longer and thicker, snaking its way up his neck and engulfing his head. The more he struggles, the tighter it squeezes.

His cries are stifled when the vine sprouts thorns. They dig into his hands, making him drop the pistol. They pierce Bowers' eyes. Behind the thick foliage, the intense pain is the only way he knows he is blinded.

He can hear the woman speaking from outside his verdant tomb.

"You are a Captain, you must know how to fly... and I'm in need of a ride home. Looks like you will be saving me after all, my Prince."

The thorns burrow into his muscles, setting fires as they settle next to nerves. Bowers mumbles a choked prayer for death.

Instead, the vines move inside his legs, and heshambles toward the Hesiod's cockpit.