UNIVERSAL TURBULENT

XVIII - SOMEWHERE ON THE GALAXY

Once recovered from the trauma of losing both the Pelocan and the drifter, Jyro found life on the Shem vessel to be unexpectedly serene. The days, as recorded as scratches in the ship's hull metal, seemed to drift by.

For the first time in years the human found himself with plenty of time to think and reflect. In fact, had it not been for the certainty that he would eventually run out of food, the experience might have been rather pleasant.

Jyro followed a self-imposed routine that provided a modicum of both structure and comfort. His body clock woke him at approximately 0800 each morning. Never one to lounge about, the prospector rolled out of his improvised bag and onto the cold metal deck. The calisthenics included thirty-five push ups, followed by thirty-five leg lifts, thirty-five sit-ups, and thirty-five additional push-ups.

Once the exercises were complete, there were prayers to say, not the repetitious sort of nonsense favored by his father, but long, one-sided conversation with God that left him feeling clean but empty.

Then, having strengthened both body and spirit, it was time for a sponge bath and a little bit of hot cereal.

The bay in which the Pelocan had been reduced to her component parts had proved far too large for the human's psychological comfort, so he had long since opted for smaller, more intimate quarters. Jyro had divided his "cabin", a nameless and insofar as he could tell purposeless alcove, into both a "galley" and "stateroom".

With the exception of some emergency rations, which the prospector had decided to save for last, the rest of his food required cooking. Jyro's first attempt was an unmitigated disaster. He rigged a stand on which his pot could sit, lit the welding torch, and applied the blue flame.

Everything was fine at first, and the water had just started to boil when the ship's fire-suppression system was activated and the entire area drenched with gallons of creamy white foam. He spent the better part of a shipboard "day" cleaning it up.

That experience led to hours of careful experimentation in which the prospector sought to determine the exact amount of heat that the ship would tolerate prior to extinguishing the flame. Unfortunately for Jyro, that level was so low that it took a long time to boil his water.

The human wasn't sure how to calculate which was more efficient - to run the torch on high, which used more of his precious fuel, but boiled the water more quickly, or to utilize the lower setting, which consumed less gas but took longer. He feared that it was the second approach, the one the ship forced him to accept, that was the less efficient of the two.

Breakfast was followed by self-appointed "rounds", which started out as exploratory journeys and evolved into a complex ritual, the main purpose of which was to occupy his time and ascertain that nothing had changed. Once that finding was confirmed, he felt mixed reactions.

While it was comforting to know that his surroundings remained unchanged, there was a downside, too. Assuming the status quo continued, he would run out of food in a month or so and water not too long after that. The simple fact was that he needed some sort of change. Escape would be preferable, but failing that, additional supplies.

And so it was that Jyro rolled out of the sack on his twenty-seventh day of captivity, completed his "morning" rituals, and armed himself for the upcoming patrol. He generally carried a light wand, for peering into corners, and a pouch loaded with hand tools in case he wanted to try his luck on one of the panels, junction boxes, and access doors scattered about the ship. A somewhat iffy activity, and one the ship took a dim view of. That was something he learned the hard way.

The first shock knocked Jyro on his a*s, the second threw him across a corridor, and a third, had he been stupid enough to trigger it, might very well have killed him.

Jyro made his way toward what he regarded as the ship's bow. The ship, or the intelligence that ran it, had chosen to illuminate some areas and leave others inexplicably dark. The wand threw an oval-shaped pattern of light onto the deck ahead. There were no signs of the bolts, screws, or other fasteners that humans relied upon to hold everything together. It appeared as though the alien nano had bonded disparate molecules together so there was no need for connecting hardware.

His boots clanked on metal, the ship continued the steady round-the-clock hum that he had learned to hate, and his tool belt creaked as he moved.

Suddenly, without warning, conditions started to change. The all-pervasive hum increased a notch, the deck started to tilt, and Jyro fought to keep his feet. The vessel was up to something, but what?

Hoping to find an answer, Jyro fought his way forward. A completely unprecedented source of light threw a glow down the corridor. The human felt his heart start to pound, wished he had his flechette thrower, and knew the thought was absurd. He was the only bio bod aboard, and the ship was impervious to darts.

Jyro knew the passenger by heart. There was a right-left turn just ahead. He slid along a bulkhead, peered around the bend, and dashed forward.

The bulkhead that had once blocked access to the area had been retracted up into the overhead. Jyro paused. What if the barrier fell? He'd be trapped, cut off from his food supply, and damned to starvation.

The prospector removed his tool pouch, placed it into the receiver slot, and continued his way forward.

The control room, for there was little doubt as to its function, was different from what he was used to. There was one monitor rather than multiple screens found on vessels like the Pelican, and an extremely simple instrument panel that featured four oval buttons, a joystick, and a hole that Jyro refused to explore.

The presence of two pedestal-style chairs confirmed that the oxygen-breathers not only existed, but occasionally rode their ships.

The entire setup reminded Jyro of the highly automated ground cars popular on the more industrialized worlds. Most had only minimal controls, barely enough to get the vehicle out of trouble. Did the same logic apply here?

Jyro blinked, found his eyes had adjusted to quite some extent, and eyed the monitor. It was at least eight feet across and filled with an unfamiliar star field. The deck tilted as the ship banked. A planet swung into view. It more than filled the screen. A thick layer of broken yellow clouds obscured the surface.

Herbert, the Pelocan's navcomp, would have fed the prospector all sorts of data, but the ship was gone, and so was the computer. All Jyro could do was watch, and wonder what the Shem vessel was up to.

The scout shuddered as it entered the planet's upper atmosphere, locked onto its target, and began to track. There was food among the sulfurous clouds, and the ship was hungry.