Ship Wrecked: Stranded on an alien world Read online

  “Is there a way I can call this directory up myself? So I don’t have to keep bothering you?”

  “Organics, such as you humans, are not equipped with the necessary ship device interface.”

  Cameron, raising his eyebrows, waited for XI to continue.

  “Auditory commands will initiate basic ship functionality. For the directory, which you are now viewing, simply say: Primion, ship atlas open … or Primion, ship atlas close.”

  “Got it! Guess I’ll see you later.” Cameron hesitated for a moment, but the droid, already distracted, had its small digits moving in a blur of motion atop an input device.

  Cameron climbed the stairs two steps at a time. Once up on the landing at the top, he saw two narrow passageways—one veering to the left and one to the right—that he hadn’t noticed before. “Primion, ship atlas open.”

  The same virtual diagram presented itself, like it had down on the bridge, only this time the flashing red circle was gone.

  He next requested, “Primion, display ship’s nearest bathroom.”

  The blinking red circle was back. Success! In addition to finding a bathroom, he also was able to interface directly with the ship’s AI. And although the artificial intelligence was operating in a systems admin mode, it was a start. “Primion, ship atlas close.”

  Cameron, now veering left, headed into the narrower passageway. Whereas the main corridor had large, curved, brushed-metal panels—separated by softly illuminated bands of glowing dim light—things in this passageway were more subdued. The curved bulkhead panels, also somewhat reflective, looked to be a dark-gray color, as in all the other, darkened passageways. He briefly wondered if the bulkheads normally served some other purpose. Perhaps when the ship was fully functional, with an active AI in charge—the overhead lights would get turned on.

  He continued trotting along the narrow passageway. It sharply curved around, now running parallel to the main corridor. Along here there were doorways, hatchways, to other compartments. He slowed and approached one. It quietly started to slide open, beginning a process from the bottom up, one section at a time. It was like a cascade effect. Now peering inside, it looked like a crew’s quarters. He stepped all the way inside, and the cascading hatchway closed behind him. There before him was a subtly glowing tubular device, about the length of an average person. Not much else was in the compartment. Even so, he felt as though he was invading someone’s privacy. Unconsciously, he glanced around—half expecting the intended occupier to show up unannounced.

  “Primion, what is that tube thing?”

  A melodic combination of four tones emanated above, with no friendly female voice accompaniment. He guessed he’d phrased the question wrong. “Primion, describe the contents of this compartment.”

  “Crewmember quarters of the Senior Communications Overseer, there is an unoccupied HOD,” the AI said.

  “What is a HOD?” Hearing no reply, Cameron restated, “Primion, describe the purpose of a HOD.”

  “The purpose of a HOD, pertaining to those living onboard the Primion, is multifaceted. It is an inducible deep-sleep chamber and a comprehensive bio-health facilitator. It is a full-body-cleanse device. It provides sensory entertainment and stimulations projector—”

  Cameron cut in, “Primion, would my … human physiology be acceptable … for use within an HOD?”

  “Affirmative.”

  Continuing to study the glowing white, semi-transparent tube, he murmured, “Maybe later.”

  Cameron left the Senior Communications Overseer’s compartment, continuing down the passageway. Remembering a lot of the detail that was presented on the ship’s atlas, he made another left at the next intersection. Soon, the passageway wound around, following the outside hull. Every ten feet or so, large porthole windows appeared, shaped like parallelograms instead of a basic square-like window. The view outside was breathtaking. He felt he could easily stare off in a trance-like state for hours, studying the starlit blackness. But he really did have to pee badly and, if the flashing red circle was correct, he should be coming up on the bathroom any time now.

  Walking by just one more hatchway off to the right, Cameron noticed this particular one was far larger than the others. It was also heavily worn with dings and scrapes—perhaps from constant opening and closing abrasions. He approached the hatchway, and it cascaded open. He leaned in just enough to see what was inside. The compartment was unlike any other part of the ship he’d visited so far. It was large with various raised table-like surfaces—all of which were strewn with objects. The place was cluttered, a total mess. He fully entered the space and now had a fairly good idea what this place was. It was a workshop of sorts. It reminded him of his ninth-grade metal shop. He picked up a cylindrical object, roughly the size of a roll of toilet paper. It was heavy, and he had no clue as to what its function was. He put it back where he’d gotten it and moved on. There were what looked to be robotic parts, like legs and arms, strewn about on another super large table. Who could work in such a pigsty?

  He saw there was an adjoining compartment and headed in that direction. Again, he peered in and glanced around. It was poorly illuminated, and there was a strong ozone smell. There was a full wall of blinking lights, futuristic banks of computers was his guess. Along another wall there were individual upright, four-foot-wide by six-foot-tall structures, positioned along the far bulkhead. Suddenly, Cameron had the distinct feeling he shouldn’t be here. That Dorothy should not be looking behind the great Oz’s curtain. But stay nosing around inside the somewhat smaller compartment, he did. He was most interested in these five vertical structures, and now, upon closer inspection, he saw they looked like anatomical molds. Highly reflective, the hollowed out impressions, were in the shape of people—with two arms, two legs, a body, and a head. Cameron walked by each of the five mold devices and saw they were each slightly different from one another.

  “TAM, what am I looking at?”

  “You are not authorized to be where you are. You must leave immediately!” She sounded angry or anxious—maybe both.

  “I’m leaving. But just tell me … what are these things?”

  “These are highly customizable construct mediums. Each provides for both mechanical casting as well as the organic outer layering of cyborgenic support personnel.”

  “You can make cyborgs here?”

  “You must leave this area immediately. You must hurry.”

  He did as asked and returned back to the main corridor. He continued his search for the bathroom. And then there it was, just ten paces further on. Above the single hatch-door was a glowing symbol—a spiral with an underlying diamond shape. Before entering, he looked around, checking to see if a similar double-door entrance was nearby, but he found none. No separate Men and Women facilities. Apparently, the Thidion crew opted for unisex bathrooms. Once inside the compartment, one similar in size to most other public restrooms he’d visited on Earth, he looked about the space for where to relieve himself. But no individual stalls, no line of urinals along a wall, and no sinks with hot and cold running water were in evidence. Before him was a floor to ceiling mirror. He took in his six-foot tall reflection. An unruly dark brown mop atop his head—large, expressive eyes of the same color, and a generous mouth that had settled into a slightly bemused expression. He was dressed in faded jeans and a white T-shirt beneath a winter coat—something he didn’t really need in here, but what could he do with it other than keep it on?

  He now found himself shifting his weight, swaying back and forth on his feet. He really had to go. “Primion, how does the bathroom work? Where do I … um … relieve myself?”

  The same melodic four tones filled the compartment. Reviewing his word phrasing, he could find nothing wrong with it. “Primion, describe the operation of this bathroom facility.”

  “The bathroom compartment maintains a sanitization status until directed otherwise.”

  Tempted to just pee in the corner, Cameron said, “Primion, change bathroom statu
s to … functional status.”

  Immediately, from three of the bulkheads, various-sized panels moved out of the way and fixtures of varying shapes and sizes came into position. The whole process took less than a minute. When the changeover was completed, there were three semi-height stalls, three sinks—or what seemed like the equivalent of sinks—but still no urinals. He moved into the first cubicle and found in there what could only be described as a weirdly shaped toilet. At that moment he couldn’t care less how it worked or what it looked like. Within three seconds, he watched as a steady stream of urine vanished a foot or so beneath the toilet bowl’s rim. Finished, he zipped up and stepped out of the cubicle. Approaching the sink, he realized no water spigots were visible. Unlike an ordinary sink, it was a waist-high, horizontal rectangular repository. Tentatively, he placed first one hand then the other within the confines of the thing and felt a tingling sensation that was both invigorating and oddly refreshing. When the tingling feeling stopped, he pulled his hands free and studied them. They looked clean enough, and they sure felt sensational. His mind flashed back to the HOD tube within the crewmember’s cabin, which doubled as a cleansing device. Undoubtedly, it utilized the same waterless process yet would present full body functionality. He looked forward to experiencing that, especially if it offered anything like this hand-cleansing contraption.

  Leaving the bathroom, he said, “Primion, ship atlas open.”

  Cameron studied the ship’s directory. It was a large ship, holding hundreds of different compartments of which he was still mostly clueless about. With nothing better to do, he figured he might as well continue investigating. Toward the stern of the vessel he saw much larger-sized compartments were present. Everything was labeled in English, which was fantastic, although the words did not always make sense. The largest compartments simply read, Retention 1, Retention 2, Retention 3, and so on. Then, recalling the huge creature, he knew that must be the area on the ship where it had been confined. Curious, he memorized the route he needed to take to get there. Since the ship is pretty much empty now, why not check it out?

  Chapter 14

  The Primion possessed three distinct levels, or decks, that ran the length of the ship. They were evident on viewing the ship’s atlas display. Thus far, Cameron had conducted only a cursory exploration of the second deck. On entering the aft section of the ship through another cascading doublewide hatchway, he found himself standing on a small metal landing area—the midway point between the combined three-level-section. Across from him now, clearly visible, were the Retention compartments. Huge, each was probably forty to fifty feet in height. He stared at the four massive holding cells, each enclosed behind vertical bars—not so different from holding cells back on Earth.

  Cameron noticed an angled metal staircase on his right that led down to the deck below. As he descended, he breathed in something foul. Beginning to feel nauseous, he was tempted to retrace his steps but decided to keep trudging down anyway. Upon reaching the bottom deck’s wide metal grating, he had to step carefully—more great mounds of Loth shit, as well as wet, mucusy slime, made traversing there a challenge. From this lower vantage point—along the same bulkhead as the stairs he’d just descended—he found smaller holding cells lined-up one after another. He could see into them, via some kind of clear, almost transparent, material. He figured it wasn’t glass or Lucite; instead was composed of some kind of indestructible alien material.

  Cameron remembered something Ramen shared, something about being a keeper, and wondered if that really meant he was a jailer of sorts? He’d also mentioned the vessel’s purpose was to collect samplings of different alien species—from all across the galaxy. Even humans? It made sense. Maybe that was why XI and the minimally responsive ship’s AI, TAM, were so fluent in English. Now, staring into one of the empty, glass-like cells, he wondered how many humans had been abducted—men, women, perhaps even children—and forced to endure life within them for extended periods of time. If so, where were they now? And just where in space was the planet the Primion routinely delivered its living cargo to? Cameron tried to recall if Ramen or XI had mentioned its name. Yes … it was called something like Winston … No, Winforge. And Thidion was Ramen’s home planet, and the zoo-like destination was Winforge. Perhaps someday he’d be able to free all the captive humans there, if any were still alive. It was an interesting prospect, though he was a long, long way from discovering that information. He’d first need to become more than a guest aboard the spacecraft.

  Cameron, after first verifying that all the smaller cells were indeed empty, moved over toward the four ginormous compartments, designated by the atlas as Retention 1, Retention 2, Retention 3, and Retention 4. Three of them were empty, seemed relatively clean. But as he approached the farthest cell—the stench became far worse. An all-pervasive ammonia odor there was causing his eyes to tear up, forcing him to burrow his mouth and nose into the crook of his elbow. Retention 4’s towering metal gate was wide open.

  Cameron briefly wondered why he’d even come down here—to this keep. He wondered why he was so curious to see where the big monstrosity abided, prior to its escaping onto Grant Mountain and then, undoubtedly, into Larksburg Stand.

  Standing now at the open gate—where the bars were as thick as one of his forearms—Cameron took in the carnage inside the dimly lit space. Bones littered the deck. For the most part, they looked human. He knew his bones. He knew basic anatomy, and he was looking at an intact femur bone lying there on the deck. The bones looked similar to human bones, but he could see small differences that marked them as alien. An extra bump here or a sharper angle there, things just a little bit wrong to his eyes. Some other fragments were merely chips, peppered within mounds of dung. Shredded cloth—perhaps from uniforms—blanketed much of the area. A revolting scene Cameron found hard to turn away from: these were scant remains of Primion’s crew. One had survived, only to succumb later to the beast. Died right in front of him.

  Startled, he looked over to his right. Is that movement there? Or am I so friggin’ spooked I’m starting to see things? He continued to stare toward the dark far right corner, where a bundled heap of dung lay intertwined with remnants of shredded uniforms. He didn’t really care to know what was wrapped up within it.

  Turning away, he thought of something that could assist his pursuit to bring the ship’s AI further back to full-functionality. He needed to speak with XI, but it seemed ludicrous he’d have to hoof it all the way back to the bridge in order to do that. He spoke loudly into the cavernous space: “XI … can you hear me?”

  He waited, about to repeat himself, when he heard:

  “I hear you, human.”

  “Do you know where I am at?”

  “The ship’s Keep. You are positioned in close proximity to Retention 4.”

  “Did you know it’s a totally disgusting mess in here? Is that how you’re going to command this ship?” Cameron asked.

  The droid didn’t answer.

  “The right thing to do is to get this whole area properly cleaned up. A fully functioning droid in charge of a spacecraft would have been all over this. Tell me … don’t you have robots, or other droids, that do that sort of thing?”

  “As discussed previously, the Primion’s central AI continues to have limited functionality. Autonomous bots do not operate during that mode of operation.”

  “And what mode of operation is that?”

  “Mode Two.”

  “What mode of operation would allow the Primion’s bots to properly do their jobs?”

  “Minimally, Mode Four.”

  “What harm would there be, elevating the AI’s mode of operation to Mode Four?”

  “XI will assess your query.”

  “Good. Keep in mind an undamaged droid in charge would already know the importance of running a tidy ship.”

  “You are correct. The Primion’s central AI is now functioning at Mode Four. Sanitation droids will commence operation shortly.”

  “Go
od job,” Cameron said. “Oh, one more thing. How many modes of operation are there … relating to the ship’s AI?”

  “One hundred-and-thirty-seven.”

  Cameron let that sink in. He’d already prompted one progression, advancing the AI from a Mode Two to a Mode Four. Did that mean another one hundred-and-thirty-three-modes still to go before the AI was fully functional? He suspected not; it was probably some number in-between.

  He felt a slight movement of air on his face. The odor, although still horrendous, was somewhat improved. Increased ventilation. As Cameron crossed to the staircase, he noticed another large hatchway, located on the bottom level. He didn’t need to call up the ship’s directory to know that it led out to the aft hold, where he’d left his truck. He’d wondered earlier how the beast managed to move out from the Keep cells to the aft hold. As he approached the large hatchway, he confirmed what he suspected. This hatch was merely a bigger version of many other hatchways within the ship. Sensing his approach, the hatch automatically began to slide open—cascading segment following segment.

  Before Cameron could step through, a different sort of droid appeared within the hold’s darkness. Painted orange, its surface was chipped and showing wear and tear. It was wide and stubby-looking as it hovered low over the deck. In two of its outstretched appendages lay a dead body. Cameron stepped aside as the maintenance droid moved past him. Glancing down at Ramen’s corpse, he felt a tightening within his chest. He wished he could have gotten to know the alien better.

  “Hey … droid … hold up a second.”

  The droid beeped twice and came to a stop. Cameron, moving closer, asked, “Where are you taking that body?”

  In a tinny, scratchy voice the droid spewed out a string of totally unrecognizable syllables.

  “Can you speak the language I’m speaking? Human … in English?”

  “Depositing refuse at Dematerializer Station 5,” the droid replied.

  “Huh? There’s a dematerializer onboard this ship? Is that like an incinerator?” Cameron asked, though mostly to himself.