Ship Wrecked

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

The droid did not answer.

  “Come on … tell me. How long if I do decide to help?”

  “One full year.”

  Even that seemed like an eternity. Cameron huffed an exasperated breath. He thought to himself, Well, at least I have a weapon to protect myself from the man-eaters XI spoke of.

  Cameron stared at the droid, feeling his present dislike for the hovering tin can turning to hatred. “Tell me, why did you crash land the Primion? We’re now stranded here due to something you either did, or didn’t do.”

  A full thirty seconds ticked by before XI replied. “In retrospect, XI should have engaged somewhat more of the vessel’s AI navigation functionality.”

  “You tried to land the ship yourself? Even though you are … what did you say before, operating at less than forty-two percent effectiveness?”

  “XI will complete its designated mission.”

  “Why are you so against fully reinstating the ship’s AI? This isn’t a competition.”

  “Conflicting designated mission parameters.”

  Cameron thought about that. “What fucking mission? The creature you were transporting isn’t even onboard the ship anymore.”

  “XI will deliver Griar Loth to Winforge … the intended interment planet.”

  Cameron, yelling now, shouted, “Listen to me! The Griar Loth is gone … It’s back on fucking Earth. Why don’t you recognize you are the problem here? Maybe you should just power yourself down, or throw yourself into the closest Dematerializer Station.”

  The droid wobbled as it spun around and moved away. “XI will ready an environmental suit for you.”

  Chapter 17

  With the recent crash landing of the spacecraft, and the subsequent violent jostling within the Primion’s Keep, the small creature awoke. Snug within its warm and moist birthing pod, it opened its eyes for the very first time. At the earliest stages of life, infant Minal Loths pretty much functioned on pure instinct. Cognitive reasoning would soon come—but for now, the basic need to feed was all consuming. The few morsels of meat left within the pod had been gnawed on, unconsciously devoured days prior.

  The pod was comprised of a fleshy embryonic membrane, which was left behind by the infant Loth’s mother. The organic material was tightly wrapped within shredded crewmembers’ uniforms, along with tidbits of hair, bands of flesh, and small bones.

  More awake now, the baby Minal Loth began to move about its womb-like confines. Suddenly aware of its six separate appendages—it began to gyrate each one around furiously. The pod, amazingly resilient, gave way—stretched until the Loth’s sharp little claws finally sliced through the membrane. The pod split apart, and the creature slid free. Instantly feeling the absence, and loss, of its once cozy environment, the infant Minal Loth raised its oversized cranium and bellowed loudly. Harsh lighting shining down on it from above and the rigid metal deck beneath its sensitive limbs contributed to new-found misery.

  Under normal circumstances, a mother Minal Loth would be present to feed and nurture the infant creature. But even though it had been left on its own, the instinctual will to survive was growing by the moment. As the Minal Loth learned to use its legs to propel itself around the Keep’s confines, it stopped to inspect various items strewn about the area. A slain crewmember’s tibia found its way into the creature’s mouth; its sharp pointy teeth grinded down on bits and pieces of bone. Hardly sated, it moved to a mound of feces left behind by its mother. It didn’t eat it. Instead, the creature rolled around in the mess, turning onto its back. It continued to squirm around—both this way and that—until it was satisfied, covered head-to-toe in the greenish-brown muck.

  Two small observant eyes finally took notice of the Keep’s open gate. Must feed … must find meat …

  Chapter 18

  Cameron, fuming, sat at one of the empty bridge consoles. His frustration with the droid was building by the second. He pictured himself laying into XI with a baseball bat—like bashing a piñata. The Primion only crash-landed on Sang-Morang in the first place due to the droid’s total incompetence. Thinking back, recalling the brief few moments on the ship when he had mental connectivity with the AI’s internal communication network, he’d witnessed firsthand how an intelligent, highly competent, computer-generated, mind operated. Yes, XI had to go—and if Cameron was contemplating some kind of mutiny, who cared? It wasn’t like he was considered a valued crewmember on board. There against his will in the first place, if he ever wanted to see Earth again, he needed to take action. But first, faced with the same old problem, he had to get the ship’s AI fully operational. Musing, Cameron wondered if going through XI was his only avenue to achieving that. Who did XI report to on the ship? Or off the ship?

  Not something he was going to figure out right then, he spun around in his seat and took in the deserted bridge. Again, he wondered what it would be like to experience the hustle and bustle of a fully staffed vessel. What the Primion would look like with all its systems brought back to life—all the lights turned back on.

  Tired, it had been a long time since he’d slept, maybe twenty-four hours. But even more than tired, he was hungry. Cameron glanced around to see if XI was milling about then said, “Primion, ship atlas open.”

  The virtual diagram popped into view to his left. Not too surprising. As he scanned the various ship compartments, he found he had much of it already affixed in his memory. But he didn’t see anything that even remotely related to food, like a ship’s mess.

  “Primion? I’m hungry. Where can I get something to eat?”

  “The Primion directory …”

  “I already tried that. Can’t you just tell me?”

  “Canteen. Level three … mid-ship … port-side.”

  Cameron looked at the diagram and found the compartment canteen. Now it made sense. “Thanks!” he said, rising to his feet. “Don’t suppose you have any recommendations …”

  There was no reply from the ship’s nearly disabled AI.

  * * *

  Cameron made his way to the third level Canteen without having to refer to the ship’s diagram. He remembered seeing references to three separate staircases on Level 2—one close to the bow, one mid-ship, and one astern. Personally, although he didn’t mind the exercise, he thought it somewhat archaic that a ship this size didn’t have a really cool lift system. One that would whisk him up or down levels with great speed and ease. As it was, he figured it took him about eight minutes, walking at a good clip, to get from the bridge to the entrance of the Canteen.

  Although hungry, curiosity got the best of him so he said, “Primion, ship atlas open.”

  Cameron scanned the diagram, his brow furrowed, when something else came to mind. He’d passed by a number of deactivated bots, lifeless bots, that he couldn’t imagine maneuvering up steps or stairs that easily. Giving up, he said, “Primion show me the automated lifts around the ship.”

  Blinking red circles appeared on all three levels. “Oh … so that’s what those things are,” he acknowledged with a slow nod.

  The pleasant sounding AI voice offered, “They are called jump stands. There is one directly behind you on the opposite bulkhead.”

  Cameron spun around and noticed a concave section on the bulkhead. The brushed metallic inset—wide enough for two or three people—didn’t look much like a lift just more like a fancy design element. He stared at it fascinated until the rumbling in his stomach pulled his attention back to the Canteen’s entrance. He said, “Thank you,” finding the AI’s self-initiated assistance encouraging.

  Entering the Canteen, he took-in the large oval-shaped compartment and thought, Boy, the Thidions sure liked ovals. Nothing like he expected, there were no tables, no stacks of trays, and no long, cafeteria-style counter to pick and choose meals from. But there was plenty of seating. Comfortable-looking seats, like those found in an airliner’s first-class section, only a lot bigger, and with more legroom. He counted forty comfy-looking padded chairs. Of course, they also were aligned in an o
val shape, conforming to the overall shape of the compartment.

  Cameron, arbitrarily choosing a chair toward the middle, sat down. A virtual menu appeared before him, displaying all the meals available. Under the heading of Earth Human, the food items were categorized into Americana, European fare, Mediterranean, Italian, and Chinese. Also, choices were available for customizing any selection. The AI certainly was current on Earth’s modern-day culinary expectations, and Cameron wondered how many unwilling hostage passengers had contributed to this menu over the years. Pointing to the Americana option, another virtual page of choices appeared. Instead of reading through it, he asked, “Can I just get a cheeseburger and fries … and a vanilla shake?”

  “Of course … Your meal will be provided momentarily. Enjoy.”

  Cameron replied, “Thanks.” He wondered if he was supposed to stay seated or if he should do something—like get up and retrieve the order from someplace. And right then, he felt a slight vibration pulse beneath his seat. Rising between his knees, a vertical metallic plate appeared, attached to an armature. It then moved into position just above his lap. No sooner had the vertical plate flipped-over, reversed into a horizontal position, when his lunch was set before him. It just appeared.

  “No way!” he exclaimed, taking in what had to be one of the largest hamburgers he’d ever seen. He could actually feel the heat rising off the food. Then the aroma of cooked beef and melted cheddar cheese greeted his senses. The fries, fried to a golden brown, came accompanied with small containers of ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise. The classic-style milkshake was served in a metal cup, frosted condensation visible all around it.

  “I think I’m in heaven,” Cameron said. Hefting up the burger in both hands, he brought it to his mouth. Taking an enormous bite, he chewed then moaned in delight. The cup felt icy cold to his touch, but he noticed it wasn’t really metal, only a facsimile of something solid—of something real. The realization suddenly dawned on him that none of what he was seeing—and devouring—might actually be real. Do I care? Nope …. Not in the slightest. On the other hand, a body needed calories and protein to survive. His memory of the encyclopedia entry for Vitamin included a list of thirteen that people needed to eat regularly to stay alive. If the food wasn’t real, he would be in trouble.

  Cameron finished his lunch. By the time he’d grabbed up the last French fry, the metal arm was rising between his knees. He watched as the faux-metal milkshake cup faded into obscurity, as did the containers of ketchup, mustard, and mayo. As the meal tray, too, disappeared from sight, he placed a hand on his belly. He certainly felt full though not over-stuffed. Hopefully that meant he wouldn’t starve.

  Cameron stood and took another look around. To no one, or thing, in particular, he said, “Thanks … that was delicious.” Leaving the Canteen, he approached the nearby jump stand. “Primion, any trick to using this thing?”

  “Step onto the stand and face outward.”

  Doing as directed, Cameron stepped forward and turned around. Three glowing blue bands, each one about eight inches wide, appeared in front of him. Like virtual guardrails in front of his head, waist, and knees, they evoked in him a feeling of security. But the jump stand, still motionless, stayed where it was. It occurred to him that it didn’t know yet just where to go. He said, “Level 2.” When nothing happened, he added, “Primion, Level 2,” and the jump stand moved downward. As it came to a gentle stop on Level 2, the three blue bands disappeared.

  Cameron stepped off the lift and peered down the corridor, first left then right. He did not want to sleep in anyone’s quarters. When he visited the crewmember quarters of the Senior Communications Overseer, he’d felt as though he was intruding. Even knowing that the crewmember was dead, it still didn’t feel right.

  “Primion … can you direct me to an unassigned crew’s quarters I can utilize?”

  “All crew quarters are currently un-utilized.”

  “How about one that hasn’t been utilized for a long time. Like before the Loth went on a rampage.”

  “There are nine such quarters. Please make a selection.” The Atlas display presented him with nine flashing circles. The closest one, located on the same level, was not too far from where he was standing.

  By the time Cameron arrived at the quarters, he was yawning almost continuously. The segmented cascading hatch opened at his approach, and he stepped inside. The compartment looked just the same as the other one he’d visited, but what he hadn’t noticed back then was there was also another open hatch. He could see it was a bathroom. Not having to go, all he wanted was to lie down. He stood to the side of the softly glowing HOD, searching for a way to open the thing. Finally giving up, he asked, “Primion, how do I open this thing?”

  “Place your hand anywhere along either side.”

  The HOD felt cool to his touch—like glass. Touching it, both sides of the unit descended in tandem to expose a cushion, with an integrated pillow at one end. Cameron sat down and quickly unlaced his boots. Kicking them off, he swung his legs up then laid back. As expected, the sides of the HOD ascended up and soon he was totally enclosed within it. The soft-white glow was soothing, and he felt his eyelids growing heavy. A sudden flickering of light brought his eyes wide open. The inside of the HOD was displaying all sorts of options. Later … I just need to sleep.

  Cameron’s eyes fluttered open again, hearing a noise outside the HOD. He heard the sound of one of his boots toppling over. Was something moving around out there? He remembered leaving the hatch into the compartment open and almost cared enough to get up and take a look. Almost. Way too tired, he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Heather and a boat—maybe it was a kayak or a canoe. He was paddling them across a tranquil lake; a little island appeared off in the distance. Heather, gazing back at him with a smile, tucked a strand of her wheat-colored hair behind an ear. “What’s in the basket?” she asked.

  Chapter 19

  The infant Minial Loth was attracted by the distant smell of flesh. Now, in a near-frenzy, it moved rapidly on its quest to feed. Walking on flat surfaces was still a challenge, but maneuvering up and down the vessel’s steep stairways was almost impossible for the young, eight-legged creature. Somewhere in the recesses of the creature’s mind it knew there should be someone nearby to assist it.

  By the time the Minal Loth reached the second level—the one containing Cameron’s borrowed quarters and the still-open hatchway—thirty-five minutes had passed. The Loth paused at the hatchway opening to sniff the air, bringing into its nostrils an abundance of interesting odors. Hesitant at first, the creature moved into the compartment. A soft glow emanated from a long object that dominated the room. Moving closer, the infant Loth, growing in size by the minute, brought itself up to its present height. At four feet, it observed a faint silhouette—something prone—lying within. The Loth put its snout up to the glass-like surface and breathed-in. Faint, but yes, there was flesh inside there. As it moved around the long tubular object, it discovered two smaller items lying on the deck. The Loth, burying its snout into the opening of one of Cameron’s discarded boots, inhaled a cacophony of rich, musky scents. Biting down, the cowhide shredded easily. Its sharp teeth and already powerful jaws made quick work of the boot. Not caring for the taste of the boot’s rubber sole, the Loth, maneuvering one of its six legs, tossed it aside. Again, it rose up to its full height to peer inside the tube. Movement. Strings of saliva that extended out both sides of its mouth collected in small pools on the deck. The boot had hardly sated its appetite. Fresh meat … Need to feed.

  Chapter 20

  Cameron awoke feeling as if he’d experienced the deepest, most gratifying sleep of his entire life. As he lay within the confines of the HOD, elbows bent, he stretched his arms over his head, and arched his back. Opening his eyes, he took in the myriad of information being displayed above him on the HOD’s inside surface. “What is all this?” he wondered aloud.

  Three prominent warning messages overlapped:

  Intrus
ion Alert! Unknown Species

  Intrusion Alert! Unknown Species

  Intrusion Alert! Unknown Species

  Cameron, leaning forward, brought his upper body onto his elbows, not liking the message implications. Unknown species? There were no other species onboard. Or were there? Maybe the triple warning referred to a visiting bot or droid? He wouldn’t be surprised if XI moseyed into his quarters earlier to check on him, but XI was not some species … not even close. Cameron then surveyed more of the data now on display—neat and orderly text boxes projected in soft hues of blues, pinks, and greens. Some were questions, but most were simply informative. The messages had probably appeared hours ago, when he first entered the HOD. He read them slowly, one after another:

  Body Cleanse Process Engaged …

  Oral Hygiene Initiated …

  Garment Sanitation Process Initiated …

  Cameron ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth and, sure enough, his mouth felt clean—even tasted a little minty. Sniffing under his left armpit, he was pleasantly rewarded with an airy, fresh scent. Typically, he did his own laundry. Achieving airy freshness was way beyond his skillset. He noticed next his entire body had a just-showered feel to it. Wow! I could get used to this.

  He thought about Heather, remembered he’d dreamt of her, although details of the dream eluded him for the moment. Feeling tightness in his chest, he wondered if he would ever see her again. Ever see anyone again.

  Ready to leave the HOD, Cameron ignored reading the remaining projected messages. Placing his open palm on the HOD’s inside surface, both sides lowered in unison and he swung his legs out over the side. He stretched again, thinking about the day ahead—also about the word guest. Considered simply a guest on the ship, and he didn’t like that. The word guest implied certain powerlessness—being at the mercy of someone, or something, else. That needed to change. It was like the first day of college. One had to stake his place in class right from the get-go. Let the professors know you are smart, serious about your grades, and willing to actively participate. He’d witnessed shyer kids—some smart as a whip—who didn’t get noticed. Never putting themselves out there, they later got shafted when semester grades were doled out. He needed to let XI know this Level 4-hierarchy stuff was bullshit and unacceptable.