“Whatever.” Peter looked at Shirley sideways not quite sure what to make of that statement, “Hmm, OK, so what's the problem?”
“It takes a week in hyperspace to get there.”
“So? That's longer than most trips and sure to be uncomfortable, but so what?” Peter said with curiosity.
“Peter, your complete lack of education astounds me sometimes! Most hyperspace jumps take minutes, hours, a day or two at most. After two days, small hallucinations start occurring, increasing exponentially with time until insanity or death occurs. The only way to avoid this is complete unconsciousness.”
“Heck, how was I to know? I've only had to travel the Nine World's circuit my whole life. So what now?”
“Consult the Medi-bot. He can create Nano-bots. I'm sure if you ask him, he will tell you what materials you will need to get for him to manufacture the necessary equipment. Obviously, everyone will have to be sedated, subjected to a sleep induction cap with a nutrient drip, and have catheters in place for elimination.”
“Catheters? You mean―? Oh, great! Now I have to tell the crew they have to stick tubes up their wazoos for a week,” Peter said in disgust.
“And before that, they will have to take pills to induce diarrhea,” Shirley informed him.
“Oh, for Tarcacks sake! This just gets better and better!” Peter said putting his head in his hands.
“Buck up, Buddy, I'm sure if you explain the unpleasantness of death, insanity, or waking up with their butts covered in poop, they will relish the alternative.”
“Ah, crap!”
“Exactly,” Shirley snickered.
~
The crew was in the galley where they were slicing and washing vegetables and going about the various kitchen chores that John asked them to do-- while they chatted.
“So, John, that's pretty cool... that faux diamond plate stuff you have on your skull. Where did you get that done?” Marcus asked.
“This?” he said patting his bumpy pate. “On my home planet, my friends had joked for years that I had a head as hard as diamonds, due to my single mindedness. I wanted to be a chef since I was a little kid, growing up hungry all the time, food was a fascination. I applied and went to culinary school at sixteen on Hyak I and graduated at the top of my class. I am still the youngest chef to graduate from the Culinary Institute of Hyak. I had this done to commemorate that. Besides, I hate the itch of hair under a chef's hat. It looks bad-ass, doesn’t it?” He gave his head a little scrub and grinned largely.
“Yeah, pretty bad-ass,” Marcus said grinning back.
John interjected, “Hey, Jik, smaller on that dice. About a quarter inch,” he illustrated holding his finger and thumb apart as an example.
“Say, Jik, I was, ah...wondering; that kid, that was pretty savage what you and Peter did to him. I like both of you, but that bothered me. I don't like being party to such barbarity. If you or Peter ever behave like that again, I-I don't think I can be part of this anymore.”
Both Monica and Oscar gave each other looks.
“What do you mean, John?” Monica asked.
“That kid whose yacht we stole...Peter and Jikilenga beat the ever-loving shit out of him, till he peed himself and then passed out,” John said frowning.
“Perhaps beings are forgetting that young human killed one of our crew. He was, as humans say…oh, heck, I say too; mouthy, hateful, over-privileged, arrogant, little prick! I have been beat and left for dead’s several times, even being respectful to tormentors that I had done nothing to. Part of growing up...learning painful. Maybe now--Sidney know when adversaries have foot on neck, be shutting up, don't be makings threats. Besides, no permanent damage done—get him to Medibot— he be good as new.
Most Vookins peaceful and non-violent, but Jikilenga violent upbringing make him—ah—sociopath-- by Vookin standards. I have pleasings dealing violence to others. Don't mind dealing pain. I am resigned to this in this being’s nature. Not ashamed.”
“I still think we should have ass-raped him bloody!” Heshe said from under Oscar’s apron.
“You be quiet, Putz,” mumbled Oscar.
“Yeah, but what does that say about Peter? What's his excuse?” Monica said with a disturbed look on her face and pouting lips.
“I think this being a pirate, captain, whatever, is turning Peter mean., I don’t know if I’m scared of him or for him.” John offered.
At this moment Peter strode into the gallery, “I guess we’ll see if I start instituting flogging for infractions, won’t we?” Peter quipped. The crew was silent, not sure if Peter was kidding anymore.
“What? I’m kidding, sheesh!” Peter said, seeing all the worried faces. Inwardly he was upset that they were afraid of him—did they see him as a monster? He was rather ashamed of his actions now too.
The pleasant aroma of cooking food filled Peters nose and made his mouth water. He had not realized how hungry he was. He went to the stove and lifted a few pot lids to sniff.
“It's almost ready. Sit, have a glass of wine-- don't make me smack your hand with a spoon!” said John, playfully smacking the back of his hand anyway, leaving a sauce smear with his spoon.
Peter sat, but then got up and helped clean up some of the mess made in preparing their meal as they talked of inconsequential things. Soon their dinner was ready, and much like the last time they had all sat down to eat together, it was all wonderful and delicious.
When they had eaten, and they were all comfortably replete--they sat back picking their teeth and emitting polite belches. Bob-Six let out a tremendous fart. The ladies and Marcus giggled and Jikelenga didn't react. Peter just stared at him in consternation.
John felt compelled to say, “Tarcacks sake, Bob! What planet are you from? It's not considered polite to do that in company, especially at the dinner table.”
“Sorry! Never borning on planet, grown right on Hyack station Meloovians have very efficient metabolisms, but when consuming large quantities of food matter, excess gas must be expelled to make room in body.”
“Oh, the old ‘more room out than in defense,’” Oscar interjected laughing.
“Similar natures but have different metabolism. Produce LP gas instead of methane like humans.
Monica sniffed about. “Wow! Hey! What do you know? No smell! You fart natural gas?”
“Yes, primitive Meloovians of early race even collected gas for heating and cooking, in hide bags with simple valves sealed with pitch. Meloovians not have habit of feasting or gathering in large groups, especially around open flame. Mostly eat raw food. Fear explodings. Have happened in past!”
They all exploded into laughter at the mental picture of exploding Meloovians or farting into bags inserted in their butts; all except for Jikilenga.
“Come on, Jik, that was funny,” Marcus said elbowing Jikilenga.
“This being not understanding of fart humor. Vookins not fart,” Jikilenga said almost smugly.
“Well, crew, speaking of matters of digestion, and now that you're in a good mood, I have something unpleasant to discuss with you,” Peter began. “We are going to be traveling to a colony world very, very far away. It's going to be such a very long journey in hyperspace that it will require that we all be asleep for a week.”
“Yeah, so? Oh…” Oscar caught herself.
“We are all going to be wearing sleep induction caps-- be hooked to glucose packs, and --uh, catheterized front and back. We don’t want to be lying in our own waste when we wake. It’s either that or you can use adult diapers. You will need to take these evacuation pills before bedding down also.” He held up a large white pill.
“So, we are going to be on the toilet all night, find a vein, and stick tubes up our whatsits?” Monica said.
“Um, pretty much, but Shirley’s spider-bots will help.”
“Eh, I've done worse as a whore and a soldier,” Oscar added humorously. The rest looked around in disgust and apprehension.
“You can sleep through the nutri
ent injections, and catheters, if you choose. You can skip the diaper-- it's just less messy the catheter way. It’s your choice.” Peter settled back in his chair and crossed his arms and looked about.
Within a few minutes everyone had agreed and stated their preferences, if not their happiness.
“Alright, then let's all get a good night’s sleep, and I will have Floyd set the equipment outside your doors tonight. Take your enema pills tonight. I want to get moving early.
“Thanks for your patience. I'm sorry about this, but you really don't want to experience hyperspace insanity—or incontinence. Oh, and pack those leftovers carefully, you are going to be very hungry upon waking!”
Peter went to the Medibot and explained what he needed and was instructed to place scrap metal, rubber, and plastic into the hopper. Fortunately, after years of freighting and smuggling, the cargo hold was full of junk and scrap that Peter could use. He didn't have to look far.
The next morning everyone did the necessary with the help of Shirley’s mobile robots, and they were off to Ferntucky.
VRUUUUUUUM.
~
Ferntucky was large in the holovid projection as everyone crowded around to see. New planets were not that big a deal to most of them, but it was not very often, never for some, that they got to see a colony world. This one was the farthest from the Galactic center that anyone knew or ever heard of.
It was large. Twice the size of Earth, the Dataware informed them, and instead of eighty percent water like Earth, the continents made up fifty percent of the planet, making them appear huge. The artificial moon loomed large as well. It was twice the size of the natural moon, which appeared as a small dot of light on the horizon on the other side of the planet before they dipped below the far side horizon. Shirley informed them it was exactly equidistant from the artificial moon. That was where they were headed—Ferntuckys space station was located there.
Peter and the rest of the crew walked out on to the dock, their breath steaming from the cold, their steps a little bouncy due to the low gravity. All except for Floyd, who Peter was leaving behind to work on the shuttle craft.
Two figures strode briskly toward them upon exiting the incontinence. They were human and appeared to be of Earth-Asian descent. It wasn't until they got closer that they could discern that one of them was female, with small breasts as they both had short jet black hair, and the same features. They were both attractive and seemed surprisingly young.
The male put out his hand and a warm smile spread across his face. “Hello, and welcome to the Artifact. I am Yuen, and this is Yen, my sister. I am the station manager, and she is the dock master.”
The looks of surprise on the faces of Peter and his crew caused Yuen to hurry on. “I know we seem to be bit young for such a task, but I assure you we are qualified. Yen is an expert in alien archaeology, and we both grew up around spaceports. Our father is head administrator for Dong Xi spaceport in Deng Mun Yi City. But come, let us leave the dock, it’s cold here-- it must be freezing for you.”
“So, is that what this planet is called? Dong Xi?” Monica asked politely.
Yen jumped in and said, “Yes, it is, although mostly we still call it Ferntucky after the early explorer that discovered it. It was discovered accidentally by a miner whose last name was Ferntucky, that did an uncalculated hyperspace jump due to a ship emergency and was lucky enough to not end up in a sun, but instead found this system.
Frankly, much as we would like to seem important, nobody really cares much for this assignment. It's boring, for the most part, we don't get a whole lot of commerce or trade, as of yet, we have no exports. Of course, for me it's a dream job, I get paid, and have a lot of free time to explore the artifact,” she added, leading them through an airlock into a corridor where there was a ground-vehicle waiting.
“So, how old is this thing and who built it?” Monica asked.
“Frankly, we don't know. This place is not giving up its secrets easily. That's why we sometimes call it the enigma. It's estimated to be at least a million years old, but due to the unusual isotopes and materials it's been built with, it's hard to date,” said Yen. “As for the creatures that built it, we have some pictures carved into the material it was made from. There are several races depicted, but nothing to indicate who were the rulers, creators, or whatever you want to call them. It's a mystery...Farzookian, huh?
“There is a primitive race on the planet below that resembles one of the bipeds depicted in the drawings, but they are so devolved, they don't even have a written language. We are not sure if they are the descendants of the creators, or what. It was certainly built for some purpose we have not discovered yet. It has what appears to be machinery throughout the moon; huge engines and control panels. No one has been able to figure out what any of it does.” Yuen added.
“We shouldn’t just start pushing buttons and hope for the best. Fortunately, nothing happens when we do-- some impatient and foolish scientists did just that in the early years of exploration. Some lights came on and there were some clunks, but that’s about it. This moon is definitely not from here and neither is the planet.
“Come on, hop in,” she smiled indicating the vehicle.
They whizzed rapidly along the corridor with an occasional doorway flashing by as they traveled until they came into a large chamber. By large, it was so vast that clouds scudded across what could only be called sky.
“Wow!” Monica said open mouthed.
“Farzookian,” Oscar added.
“Eeep,” escaped from Bob-Six.
Marcus murmured, “Tarcacks balls!”
Jikilenga said nothing, but his eye-stalks swiveled around in apparent amazement.
John nudged Peter and said, “I wonder where the light is coming from. Theres no sun or light windows on the ceiling.I’ve been in some Oneils, but nothing as large as this.”
“I'm curious myself. Say, Yen, where does the light come from?” said Peter shouting to be heard over the wind.
“The material that the moon is made of is similar to glow-metal. It emits light from its basic molecular structure,” said Yen.
“My God, a whole moon made of glow-metal,” said Oscar in wonder.
“No! It's not glow-metal-- similar, but with more of a crystalline structure. It is extremely strong, but like concrete, whack on it repeatedly with force, it will crumble and fracture. No malleability at all!” Yen went on.
“So, where are we going?” Peter asked curious.
“To the trading post, its located next to one of the main elevators. We did that for the convenience of the scientists; it takes you to the upper levels.
“Elevators?' John asked.
“Oh, yes, all the elevators still work. for the most part, ranging from roomy to Brobdingnagian. I'm no engineer, but that's still the most impressive thing to me about this place, all of the elevators still work after more than a million years., as well as the watering system. The elevators take you to where we think the controls and machinery that keeps this place running are located. The middle is mainly hollow, and a habitat for many species and the machinery is on the top and bottom for several levels. That’s what all the scientists including Yen are excited about and exploring. Of course, we still haven’t a clue how anything works or what the machinery is without a translation of the alien writing, but we’re all working on it.
“That's our biggest business actually-- archaeology. Almost every known race has a team here trying to figure out the engineering of this place, as well as the ones trying to figure out how to profit from it.” said Yen.
“Yes, too many! We need more studying to understand what this place is and why it was built, not trying to profit from it,” Yuen said vehemently.
Yen interjected, “Brother, that is unfair. Although some fools do try to chemically change the basic structure of this moon to glow-metal in ways like the quest for the ancient Philosopher’s Stone; the overabundance it might provide would destroy the price of glow-metal. We wou
ld never allow the dome to be mined for all the incalculable billions or trillions of pounds of wealth it might bring to our small system, even if anyone could succeed in accomplishing such a thing. Most scientists who come here are legitimate. The potential technology they might uncover here would benefit planets for generations of future beings and be vastly more lucrative than all the glow-metal in the universe. We make a profit from their purchase of archaeology permits, and supplies,”
Yen turned around to wink broadly at them. “Oh! We are here!”
They pulled up to an unremarkable prefab building with a hand-painted sign over the bat-wing doors leading inside that said in bold letters, ‘Crazy Yuen’s Last Chance Cafe and Outpost.’ The entrance was cluttered with a few newer and lots of older battered looking and sand blasted vehicles. One of the elevators that Yuen had been talking about earlier, leading to the other levels of the artifact, rose behind the cafe to dizzying heights before disappearing into the high clouds scudding across the ceiling an unknown distance away. Undulating dunes of sand with scraggly low bushes stretched farther than the eye could see. It looked like a desolate and forbidding place.
“Come on, let's get some lunch!” said Yuen pushing the bat-wing doors open. “I'm not really crazy, pointing at the sign over the trading post and restaurant, “I just thought the sign would be funny. Although some scientists undoubtedly think I'm crazy for taking this assignment!”
They strode into Crazy Yuen’s, which was crowded at noon, and all the chatter stopped as every set of eyes and oculars turned to the strangers. The man playing a Spilodium Juke[1] jangled to a stop. There came the clicks of weapons being racked. Someone coughed, and the sound of breathing was discernible, but not much else.
“They are with me. Everyone can relax. They are not scientists or prospectors,” Yen said firmly.
“I have several PHDs,” Monica added weakly. A few blasters could be heard being cocked again, along with the whine of lasers powering up. “…in SEXOLOGY,” she hurried on more loudly.
“Stand down, you bunch of surly eggheads, or I'll have Mongo crack a few heads,” Yuen said addressing the wary lunch crowd.
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