UNIVERSAL TURBULENT

XXXIV - SOMEWHERE ON THE GALAXY

The corridors were like a maze. Jyro walked for like fifteen minutes. He turned right, turned left, and turned right again. The lock was just as he had left it. Such wanderings were frustrating,but more than that, extremely dangerous. The adrenaline had dissipated. He was tired, very tired, and a little bit dizzy. What he needed was food. All his dwindling strength should be focused on finding it.

But how? Where to look? What to do? Robots didn't need food, so he couldn't get it from them. From where, then? Despair threatened to pull him down. Jyro forced himself to think. The combined weight of the space suit and duffel bag was too much. He would leave them behind.

The maze of passageways was consuming time and precious energy. He would mark them. The prospector fumbled around in his duffel bag, found a can of blue spray paint, and eyed the indicator. Half full. Good. That should suffice.

The lock hissed open, allowed two of the humanoids to exit, and close again. They glanced in his direction, but showed a marked lack of interest.

The human stashed his belongings in a corner, hoped they'd be safe, and followed the robots. The prospector used blue arrows, Xs, and written notations to mark his path.

That was when he noticed something interesting, something that sent a trickle of fear into his belly. Some of the bulkheads bore notations other than his, handwritten messages so small, so fine, that he had missed them at first. The script was like nothing he had seen before, but the purpose was clear. Another castaway had confronted the same problem he had, and had arrived at the same solution. Had the alien survived? Did he, she, or it have food? There was only one way to find out.

Jyro allowed his hand to touch the flechette thrower and took comfort from its presence.

The robots went straight for a while, turned left, then right. They paused while one made use of a wall socket, then continued on their way. The prospector followed because the machines were headed somewhere, and somewhere beat the heck out of nowhere.

The threesome passed numerous compartments. Most were closed, but a few stared like empty eye sockets. Living quarters, perhaps? For the mysterious beings who had created the ship? There was no way to know.

The machines took another right hand turn. Jyro marked the bulkhead, turned the corner, and felt his jaw drop. A marker had been used to scrawl the words "home sweet home" across the wall. They were surrounded by all manner of doodles, scribbles, and diagrams. Every single one of them was written in standard. A human being! Or if not human, a citizen of the Confederacy! Fanciful arrows pointed toward a hatch and seemed to invite visitors.

Jyro took a look around. The robots had disappeared by that time, and there was no one else in sight. The prospector drew his weapon, palmed the hatch, and waited for it to move. The barrier made a whirring sound as it slid up out of the way. Jyro braced himself for some sort of confrontation, but nothing happened.

Slowly, lest he trigger some sort of trap, the prospector entered the compartment. There was no need for concern. The occupant was home all right, but in no condition to fight. The desiccated body looked at though it had been sitting in the corner for a long time. Months? Years? Anything was possible. Patches of dirty gray skin still clung to clean white bone. Strands of once black hair fell to a much patched ship suit. Gold thread spelled the name "Pardo" high on the mummy's chest. A folder rested on his lap.

The skull seemed to grin as Jyro spotted the tightly stacked boxes. Could it be true? Did the labels really say what he thought they said? The prospector blinked, took two steps forward, and read the words again: "Emergency Rations - 1 Doz. Human consumption only".

Jyro took a deep breath and stepped back to where he had been. How many boxes were there? At least a hundred! The food problem was solved.

The human felt an almost overwhelming desire to rip one of the containers open and eat himself sick. Saliva flooded his mouth, and he was forced to swallow.

Slowly, reverently, Jyro fumbled for the half-eaten energy bar, removed the wrapper, and shoved the entire morsel into his mouth. His jaw worked, the desire slackened, and he remembered to say grace.

"Thank you, Lord. Thank you for saving my life. All I am is yours. Show me the way".

If the supreme being heard, he or she chose to remain silent. Jyro found a dusty container, hoped the water was good, and took a long drink. It tasted of chlorine but served to slake his thirst. The prospector returned the cap, put the jug where Pardo had left it, and took a moment to think.

There was plenty to accomplish. Retrieve his belongings, haul them back, perform a rudimentary autopsy on Pardo, and find a new home. Something a lot less obvious, in case the next stowaway had antisocial tendencies.

The prospector was just about to leave, to backtrack his way to the lock, when his eyes came to rest on the folder clutched in Pardo's bony hands.

More curious than squeamish, the prospectors moved in for a closer look. He leaned forward and turned his head. The high quality holo stat was good as new. The little girl was ten or so, with a pretty face and long, black hair. An animated message crawled across the bottom of the page and would for as long as the overhead light continued to glow. "I love you, daddy. Please hurry home".

* * *

The robot was performing routine maintenance on the ship's internal communication system when it sensed movement. The machine aimed a sensor in the appropriate direction. However, rather than the robot the construct expected to see, there was little more than out of focus shimmer.

Certain that something was present, the robot switched to infrared. Yes, there it was, a long low multilegged creature that didn't match up with any of the threats listed in the machine's survival index.

A quick check confirmed that the amount of heat produced by whatever it was fell well within acceptable limits and posed no threat to the ship. The robot returned to its work.

The Worgan sampled the air, found the same intriguing scent, and padded down the corridor. There was prey in the offing, and Horth was hungry.