UNIVERSAL TURBULENT

XIX - SOMEWHERE ON THE GALAXY

The Vamoos ship was more than five hundred feet long and consisted of a ram scoop, some very complex separators, and six cylinders, each of which was divided into multiple tanks.

As with all the Vamoos race, the intelligence who controlled the ship and served as its single crew member was known by his job description, a rather lengthy affair that filled the brains of no less than 107 nonsentient storage beings, but could be Summerized as: "The one who travels vast distances in search of materials required to repair, maintain, and further Vamoos infrastructure to the benefit of the race".

The last part was especially important, since all activity was measured in terms of its usefulness to the race, and anything that failed to meet stringent criteria went unresourced.

Still, as with most of his peers, the pilot had chosen an abbreviated identifier in the form of a two symbol poem: Far/Fetcher.

But none is that was on the Vamoos' mind as he cruised the ocean of clouds. They were wonderfully thick, about sixty dom deep, and ripe for harvest. Far/Fetcher checked his sensors and took pleasure from the readings. There were useful amount of carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, hydrogen sulfide, carbonyl sulfide, sukfer dioxide, argon, and xanon, all flowing of the separator and into their pressurized storage tanks.

The ship carried other gases as well, but these made an excellent addition to the haul, and would earn praise from the Off-World Resource Procurement Committee.

Far/Fetcher's body consisted of a brain, neural fibers, three hearts, one lung, and twenty seven interconnected gas bladders, all of which could be individually pressurized. He fed some additional air to number sixteen. That particular part of his anatomy grew larger, pushed on a pressure sensitive plate, and sent the ship downward. The Vamoos "saw" the computer-mapped surface rice slightly and "felt" the vessel's skin grow warmer.

Air was allowed to escape from bladder sixteen, the ship leveled out, and a volcano loomed ahead. Far/Fetcher turned to avoid it. That was when the alarm sounded and the Vamoos knew something was after him.

* * *

Jyro tried one of the chairs, discovered that it was uncomfortable, and chose to stand. There was nothing to see at first except the thick, swirling clouds. They were yellow and appeared rather dense. The deck tilted, he grabbed a chair back for support, and saw a flash of what? Metal?

The scout turned toward the right, and the clouds parted to reveal a ship. A strange ship consisting of clustered cylinders and supply outriggers. Now the prospector understood. The Sham vessel needed fuel... And was about to take it.

The prospector felt sorry for the pilot and crew. He wished he could help them and started to pray. It didn't make any difference. The Sham ship closed the distance; the fugitive filled more of the screen, and jinked back and forth.

Jyro, for some reason he couldn't quite articulate, had assumed the other ship was human. He'd been wrong. The bow scoop and long narrow tanks were clearly alien.

The ships were close now, very close, with the Shem vessel hanging above and slightly behind its intended victim. What looked like a jagged bolt of lightning jumped the intervening gap. The viewscreen flickered, and lights dimmed. The victim had teeth!

Jyro felt a sense of excitement, remembered where he was, and considered his space suit. Should he leave the control room? And get his armor?

The battle was fought and won in the time it took the human to frame the question. The scout used tractor beams to lock the Vamoos vessel in place, drilled a hole through Far/Fetcher's life support tank, and waited for the pilot to die.

* * *

Far/Fetcher "felt" the tractor beams seize control of his ship, followed by intense pain as an energy beam punched a hole through bladder seven. He sealed that part of himself off, checked his sensors, and knew the situation was hopeless. There was no choice but to abandon ship.

The life pod was small and extremely uncomfortable, but the Vamoos managed to squeeze inside. He inflated a pseudopod, applied the correct amount of pressure, and felt the emergency vehicle fall free. But not before a final act of defiance. Even as the life pod fell away, and the Shem allowed it to go, gases flowed from one tank to another, hydrogen mixed with oxygen, and a spark was prepared.

* * *

The food ship was available for the taking. The scout opened the main hatch, shortened its tractor beams, and pulled the recently subdued prey inside. It was long, too long, but the Shem had consumed such meals before and knew the nano could handle it. So, like one snake consuming another, the digestive process began.

Jyro, who had been watching in open-mouthed amazement, heard something whir. He turned, saw the hatch start to close, and dived toward the opening. It was too far, however, way too far, and the prospector knew he wouldn't make it.

The tool pouch saved the day. The door hit the object, whined upward, and descended again. The human was through by then, grabbing the tools, and taking them along. There was a thud as the hatch hatch closed. That was when a series of three explosions rocked the ship.

The alien vessel! It had exploded! What about the atmosphere? Had the hull ruptured? The space amore! He had to reach it!

Jyro ran toward his quarters. Hatches closed behind him. The prospector was familiar with most but not all of them. Each barrier threatened to cut him off from his space suit and the supplies.

Boots pounded on metal and the prospector's lungs screamed for air as even more explosions rattled the ship. There, up ahead, the last hatch had started to fall!

Jyro drew on reserves he didn't even know he had, threw himself forward, and drove through the quickly narrowing rectangle. He hit the deck hard. Had his feet cleared? The prospector scrabbled his way forward. A clang signaled safety. He was alive! But for how long? The explosions had stopped, but the atmosphere could vanish any moment.

The human hurried to enter his suit, left the faceplate open to conserve on air, and settled in to wait. And wait. And wait.

Minutes went by, followed by hours, followed by days. The air continued to flow, and the lights continued to glow, but the hatches remained closed. Permanently closed, as far as Jyro could tell. Food and water continued to dwindle. There was nothing he could do but pray, and hope for some sort of miracle. Determined to be heard, the prospector fell to his knees and went to work.

* * *

Though still capable of movement, the scout was severely damaged. The artificial intelligence knew that, and took approximate steps.

A signal went out, took thirty-six standard time units to reach its destination, and was taken under consideration. The reply was clear: "Region the fleet".

The scout broke orbit, accelerated away, and entered hyperspace.

The Vamoos waited till the predator was gone, fired his sublight drive, and began the long journey home. It would take the better part of three unproductive years. The Committee would be most unhappy. Far/Fetcher sighed, adjusted his various bladders, and began a poem.