UNIVERSAL TURBULENT

XXXII - SOMEWHERE ON THE GALAXY

The Shem scout ship dropped out of hyper, scanned the three-planet system, and found what it was searching for. The Shem possessed two fleets, and this one, controlled by the Supreme intelligence known as the Hoon, consisted of no less than one thousand three hundred and forty seven heavily armed spacecraft.

Some cruised the margins of the solar system, watching for signs of hostile activity, while the rest swarmed around the second planet from the sun. Those capable of landing did so, feeding on the remains of a once-thriving Steam Age society, while shuttles fetched "food" into orbit for consumption by the larger vessels.

The ships, each protected by the same silvery sheen, flashed like fish through the ocean of blackness. They felt nothing for the millions who had died, or would die during the days ahead.

Recognition codes flashed back and forth as the newcomer identified itself and was readmitted to the fold.

The scout had no emotions as such, but did possess a sense of "correctness" in relationship to its return.

The Hoon noted that a relatively minor aspect of its anatomy had returned, launched a visual extension of itself through space, and queried the reconnaissance unit as to the outcome of the mission.

The scout ship opened itself to inspection and observed while the Hoon ran through the data collected during the two year journey.

The supreme intelligence spent 2.1 seconds analyzing the information gathered, used it to add more detail to the three dimensional map by which it navigated the galaxy, and took note of the Thraki spoor.

The signs consisted of a moon riddled with artificial passageways, half a ton of free-floating metallic wreckage, and a Stone Age society suddenly possessed of iron. All of which pointed toward the same conclusion: The Thraki fleet had traversed sector 789-BNOX-7862, and recently too. "Recently" was a relative concept denoting any event that had transpired during the last five years.

Satisfied with its findings, the Hoon started to withdraw. The scout ship sensed the departure and mentioned the prisoners. Surely they had value, and required interrogation?

The Hoon acknowledged the interrogatory, entered the bubble matrix, and examined the captives. The AIs were a strange and contentious lot, most of whom functioned at a rather low level. They sensed his presence, realized his status, and babbled all sorts of mathematical nonsense.

Most of the gibberish could be translated, however, and while little of it had any value, there were some interesting exemptions.

Among them were an AI who claimed to be one hundred fifty thousand years old, a navcomp that was extremely conversant with the sector of space toward which the Thraki were headed, and a gaming unit that might or might not offer a momentary diversion.

Those entities that the Hoon considered to have merit were plucked from the storage module and dumped into one of his secondary memory mods. The rest were deleted.

The Hoon withdrew, the scout ship headed inward, and the fleet continued to feed.

* * *

God had spoken to Jyro with increasing frequency of late, but always through dreams, making it difficult to remember what the supreme being said. This particular conversation was different however, since Jyro was asleep and somehow knew that he was asleep, thereby ensuring that he would remember.

God, who looked a lot like his father, smiled and opened his mouth to speak. Somehow, Jyro wasn't sure how, he knew that the divine being was prepared to reveal the reason for his birth and the work that awaited. Never had he experienced such a sense of warmth, significance, and impending purpose.

But then, just as his father's lips started to move, something tugged at his consciousness. He shouted, "No! I won't go!" But the force refused to obey. It dragged the human out of his dream and into the very world from which he had so recently escaped. The prospector's eyes opened. He looked around and swore when he saw the same old surroundings. Nothing had changed. Everything was the same. Or was it?

Then it came to him. The hum! The triple damned, unrelenting, round the clock hum has disappeared! A full ten seconds passed as he glorified in the resulting silence. That was when something horrible entered his mind. What is the ship was drifting in space? Unable to produce oxygen for him to breath? Falling into a nearby sun? Not knowing, and not being able to find out, was the worst t*****e imaginable.

The prospector sat up, freed himself from the makeshift bedroll, and started to stand. The deck slanted, the hull creaked, and the ship thumped onto something solid. Jyro experienced a momentary sense of relief. It seemed that the vessel had landed, or docked with another ship. But why? And what would that mean to him?

Mindful of how important his remaining possessions were, and eager to prepare himself for whatever lay ahead, the prospector placed items he considered critical into a large duffel bag, which, along with his space suit, he could barely manage to carry. His body, once layered with fat, was painfully thin. He was hungry, always hungry, yet afraid to eat. He had five ration packs and an energy bar left. When they were gone, so was he.

The human forced himself to break the energy bar in half. To take small bites, and to chow them with extra care. He had just swallowed the last morsel, and washed it down with tepid water, when things started to change.

Contacts closed, motors whined, and hatches slid up and out of the way. New air flowed into the compartment. It was cold, like space itself, and tinged with ozone. There were sounds. Metal creaked in response to a radical change in temperature, a motor whined out beyond the hatch, and something made a ratcheting noise.

Cautiously, with the duffel bag dangling from his left hand, the space armor slung over his back, and the flechette thrower in his right, the prospector emerged from his cell.