Grace found a spot in the sand she could set the ship down, not too far from her newly created dig site. She lowered the ship gently to a stop and got up, walking to the ship’s midsection, where she opened the side access door and casually jumped down into the desert sands below. Miles followed a moment behind her, being much more cautious in his disembarkation, snapping a few shots of the ship and Grace once he was on the ground.

It would take a bit of time to adjust to the heat. The ship’s environmental controls kept it at a comfortable 21°C, but out here in the scorching sun, it was probably in the high thirties.

“We are going to need to get you some sun lotion, Miles,” Grace said as she hurried towards the new dig site.

The great tunnel into the sand looked like a subway train would exit at any moment. The precision that the tractor beam had used to remove the additional sand made it look nothing like any dig site Grace had studied. Once she passed the tunnel’s entrance, she jogged down to its deepest point. It had a slight downward slope that increased as she got lower, before finally knocking up against the wall at the tunnel’s end.

She unclipped her slate from the back of her belt and unfolded it four ways. It took a moment to warm up, and she flicked the screen with her knuckle. The picture jumped to life. She ran a hand across the screen to unlock it and picked up the sensor readings from the ship. They still had several metres to dig. She would need to get her archaeology pack from the ship’s cargo storage; there were some particularly nice shovels she had checked out from the university that would come in very useful.

It was then that she heard the rumbling overhead of another ship. She expected it to pass in seconds, and when it didn’t, she realised it was coming in for a landing.

“The hell is that?” asked Miles.

“Let’s find out,” said Grace, pushing past him and running up the steep slope towards the surface.

The other ship was much smaller than hers; she doubted it could break orbit. Instead, it was designed simply for running around the world. Two men were getting out. The first one was in his late forties; he was portly and wearing an enormous hat that looked, at first glance, like an ancient pit helmet, the type worn by desert explorers in the Victorian era of old Earth. The other was wearing business dress—the sort of suit that was currently in fashion in the Cluster.

“What the hell is all this?” the first man shouted at Grace.

“Warm welcome,” Miles whispered in Grace’s ear.

Grace reached into her holster, hoping to find her pistol, but remembered she had left it in the cockpit. Damn.

“Never mind that,” said Grace. “The hell are you?” she demanded.

“Brewster,” the man in the ridiculous hat replied. He was wearing a grey shirt and had a thick ginger moustache. “I’m with Brewster and Cutler. We have the digging rights on this world.”

“No, you don’t,” said Grace. She did not know if that was true, but was hoping it sounded confident.

Brewster reached out his right hand, and his associate passed him a slate. Grace’s slate pinged, and she accepted the document transfer. A twenty-page contract appeared. It seemed that this guy indeed had digging rights.

“I’ll be showing this to my lawyer,” Grace said firmly. The man didn’t back down. That usually worked. Remembering she didn’t have a lawyer, she handed it to Miles, who began reading.

“You are to leave this planet immediately,” Brewster said. He pointed at the tunnel. “What even is this? It looks like it was done with a ship. That’s not how archaeology is conducted. If what I think you’re looking for is located, it needs to be done by professionals, not hobbyists.” He spat the last word like it was the rudest insult he could think of.

Grace had been called far worse by far better people and was not slightly taken aback.

“Well, I think you’ll find I’m quite professional enough. You’ve probably heard of Grace Dakota—discoverer of the Nomadic on Skaði VII, the woman that located the lost battleship Trafalgar.” She allowed herself a smile and stood with her hands on her hips.

Brewster laughed openly. “Most people don’t even believe the Nomadic exists anymore. And Celia Harding discovered the Trafalgar after twenty years of searching for it. Who are you?” he asked.

“I just said, I’m Grace Dakota,” Grace said somewhat meekly. “Now listen, if you’re interested in archaeology, we might let you tag along. We have an opening for a trainee intern,” said Brewster.

“A Fucking intern?” yelled Grace. “Seriously? Go to Skaði VII—you’ll find the Nomadic. It’s behind a door with ‘Grace was here’ carved into it,” she snapped.

“I was throwing you a bone there, kid,” Brewster said with a hint of arrogance. He turned around and he and his companion headed out.

Grace waited for him to leave and then slid down against the wall of the tunnel and sat in the sand. What an arrogant prick,” she said to Miles, who thankfully had not reached for his camera.

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“You could have been a bit more humble yourself,” he replied.

Grace stared at him. “I know you want them to take you seriously,” Miles continued, “but pretending you’ve discovered famous lost ships will not win anyone in the Archaeological industry over to you.”

“I found them, Miles. I can give you the coordinates.”

“What? Really?” said Miles. If he had tried to hide his surprise, he had failed entirely.

“Yes, really,” said Grace. She discovered the wreck of the Nomadic, and although she had immediately encountered several big and mostly life-threatening distractions that had led to her now being here before she could register it, it was not something she felt the need to bring up. She slowly got back to her feet.

“Now, since we’re talking about my finding things, let’s see what’s down here.” She picked up a hand shovel and began chipping away at the wall of sand in front of her. Her slate was still beeping away, indicating there was something down here. She wondered if her presence here had meant Brewster was now running deep-level scans as well. He probably was. It’s what she’d have done had she found him digging somewhere. Technically, there was nothing he could do without exclusive rights, but if they insisted on pushing things, Grace wasn’t sure Miles was the type to stand in front of bulldozers for her.

She shrugged it off. “Why is it you want to find this ship anyway, Miles?” After he’d grabbed a trowel of his own and was now carefully removing sand as well, Grace thought on this for a while. It was one of those questions that, to most people who didn’t feel obliged to seek ancient monuments, might come across as greedy.

“It’s the gold,” she said. “Gold is really valuable. The ship would be nice, but really, if all that gold is in one place, and I get to keep it because I’m the first one to find it, I think that’s reason enough, if I’m being honest with you.”

Miles didn’t look as repulsed as she might have assumed. He nodded slightly awkwardly. “Yeah, I get that,” he said in a way that suggested he didn’t really get that.

“Why did you come with me?” Grace asked him. “There were plenty of ships heading back to Earth, plenty of ships going anywhere in the cluster. What made you join Grace Dakota?”

“I wanted an adventure,” said Miles. This was much more convincing. He smiled widely. “I thought she just might be the one to do this, so I came along.”

“That’s the spirit, Miles,” Grace said, attacking the wall with slightly too much enthusiasm. Realising that, were she to be only millimetres from a historic discovery, she would take some of it with it, she slowed down and went back to a more cautious pattern.

“Well, you’re definitely going to get that here, Miles. I’ll tell you that for nothing,” she said. “Excitement and adventure, and probably some booze.”

“All right,” said Miles. Grace cringed when she heard the snap of his camera’s aperture starting up again.

“Glad to have you here,” she said. The wall of sand had been pushed back another metre since they started, and there was still no indication of actually finding a buried ship. Grace pulled out her slate again and ran the scan. They were still metres above it.

“I think we can be a bit less delicate for a while,” she said and walked over to pick up a larger shovel. Miles did likewise, and they continued down further and further.

“I think I hit something,” Miles said.

Grace scanned. There was definitely something below them. “This could be it!” she said in a loud, excited voice.

“You really think so?” asked Miles.

“Absolutely not,” Grace replied. “The chances of stumbling on it first time are astronomical, but let’s have a look.” Carefully, Grace dug the last of the sand away to reveal a metal contraption. There were small lights running up the side of it, none of which were illuminated. Miles had the slate and was looking disappointed.

“I’m not getting any power readings off it, whatever it is.”

When she had uncovered enough to get a good look, she was rather positive it wasn’t a ship. When she dug deeper, she realised it had actually come away completely. It was a unit about three metres tall, cylindrical, with various antennae poking off in different directions. It looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

“Isn’t that one of those moisture reclaimers?” said Miles. He seemed amused. Grace tried to hide the fact that she wasn’t.

“They put them out in the deserts. Any moisture in the air gets captured and processed to use for crops or to be purified for drinking water. It probably came down in a sandstorm at some point.”

Grace smiled. “You’re a natural, Miles. You’ve got it first time. We’ll get you installed in the local university” She paused. “You can run the Archaeological Department.”

“I actually quite like the sound of that,” Miles replied.

“I thought you wanted adventure,” said Grace.

“Academia can be an adventure, surely,” he replied.