by M. R. Holman
to resign to the fact that it was his own fault for walking into this wall. He should have read the placard first. He was no longer upset that he had done so, however. He was far too fixated by the allusion to Anana Soda. It was also Clark's favorite drink, though he had not had it since he had been an employee on the Iron Island. Aluminum cans were no longer used for sodas, and Anana Soda was apparently not sold in this part of the galaxy. It was a pineapple flavored soda made from real sugar and real pineapple all the way from Earth. He could almost feel the cool aluminum can in his hand and almost taste the sweet pineapple on his lips.
Clark smiled to himself as he reminisced about Anana Soda. Even the advertisements for the drink sprung to the forefront of his mind: 'A Can of Anana - It's a Mouthful!'. That was the tag-line that would be said after the characters in the commercial would try to say 'I need change for a can of Anana!' without getting tongue tied.
He shook his head, scattering the thoughts of the bygone unattainable soda and refocusing on his task. What had he done wrong? He extricated his map and looked down at it. He had misread the map. He was supposed to cut through a little luggage shop he had passed when he first entered the hallway. Clark turned around and began to walk back the way he had came.
The luggage shop was located about fifty feet from the hologram brick wall. It was deserted aside from one employee who dozed behind the counter. Her elbows rested on the counter top and her chin rested in her hands as she breathed slowly and rhythmically. Clark tiptoed through the entrance of the store, trying not to wake the person behind the counter, but a bell sounded when he entered. She woke with a start.
"Luggage," she said groggily, blinking quickly and appearing embarrassed. "Welcome to Luggage Planet, the one stop luggage shop for all your space travel needs. How may I help you?"
"I'm actually just cutting through on the way to the swimming pool. Sorry to wake you..." Clark said to the woman. She closed her eyes and fell asleep almost instantly after he said this. It was actually quite incredible. It was like she had just flipped a switch that alternated her mind between being asleep and awake.
As Clark exited the other side of the luggage shop, a bell sounded again. He looked over his shoulder and saw her wake and say 'Welcome to Luggage Planet, the one stop luggage shop for all your space travel needs. How may I help you?' all over again as she looked around in confusion at the empty store. Clark restrained himself from laughing as he continued down the hallway he had just entered.
A spiral staircase made of black metal stood in the center of the wide hallway. It was this staircase that would take him to the seventh floor. As he approached the staircase in the otherwise abandoned hall, he saw that a bronze placard hung from it. He stopped and read it to avoid any unwanted surprises. It read:
'Ironically, this is the only instance of Iron aboard the Iron Island. Iron revolutionized human history in too many ways to list on a small bronze placard. Watch your step! - Hans McSchtruckt'
Clark had never realized that there was no other iron on the Iron Island aside from this staircase. In fact he had never given the matter any thought before. He began to wonder why it had even been called the 'Iron Island' in the first place. He was quickly realizing just how little he knew about his surroundings. He stepped onto the staircase, and as he did so it began to spin upwards through the hole in the ceiling like a gargantuan motorized corkscrew. He held on tightly to the cool iron handrail, fighting to maintain his balance. He had not been ready for the sudden movement of the staircase, having not been aware that it was even capable of movement.
Large illuminated numbers indicated each level of the space port as the staircase rose silently through each story. Clark prepared to step off of the staircase as it neared a landing with a giant number seven radiating green electric light. As soon as he took a foot off of the staircase, it stopped moving abruptly. He fell forward, unprepared for the motion to stop, and landed in a heap onto the landing of the seventh floor in front of a family of vacationers wearing matching floral printed shirts. The children laughed openly as the parents attempted to hush them in some foreign language that Clark had never heard. The family stepped around him and disappeared down the spiral staircase that was now spinning in the opposite direction.
Clark rose to his feet and dusted off his clothes with a sigh. He had to admit that he enjoyed seeing more of the ship than he had ever seen before, even though it had been odd and at times painful. What he enjoyed even more was the fact that he was nearing his prize. An ice cold soda would soon be his.
Now that the foreign floral shirt wearing family had disappeared down the rotating spiral staircase, he was alone once more. He stood in the middle of the open floor and consulted his map. The seventh floor was the recreation floor. There was a deserted gym and a deserted basketball court. Ping pong tables lined the periphery of the room, their paddles and balls sitting still and silent on the tabletops. A regulation sized croquet field with real grass sat beneath a great number of bright lights. There were no walls separating these rooms and courts and diversions, so it was rather confusing where one stopped and the other began.
The pool was located at the opposite end of the floor. It was the only section of the seventh floor that had its own room, and though it was not marked on the map, he assumed that the pool's locker room must be attached to the pool room. Clark folded the map and looked across the vast hall that was the entire seventh floor. In the distance he could see the word 'POOL' illuminated in bright blue letters. He could even smell the chlorinated water. A smile stretched across his face as he began to walk.
His feet sank into the grass of the croquet field. He had not felt real grass beneath his feet in over a decade. He paused and bent down, running his fingers between the blades of grass. The sensation of the grass passing over his open palms paired with the scent of the pool made him think once more of Anana Soda. He was reminded at once of a cacophony of vague but dear memories of his youth, of sitting by pools on hot summer days and drinking an ice cold Anana while the hum of lawn mowers rent the air. It was a simple happiness he had not recalled in a very long time.
Clark rose from the grass and cut across a basketball court. He tried, unsuccessfully, to sink a few goals before continuing at a steady pace through the rest of the floor. He arrived at the double doors beneath the illuminated 'POOL' sign and pushed them open. He was greeted by a blast of chlorine scented air and a wave of confusion as he glanced across the pool room. There was a metallic deck that stretched from the doorway to the edge of the pool, and then there was wall to wall water aside from a small deck at the opposite end of the pool. Behind this deck was a door labeled 'Pool Locker Room'.
Clark looked from the deserted pool to his map and back again. There seemed to be no way to get to the locker room aside from swimming to it through the pool, but that could not be...
What was the use of a pool locker room if the user had to swim to get to it? If someone wanted to keep their clothes and valuables in the locker room, they would have to swim with them held over their heads...
Thirst, paired with the desire to culminate his journey, drove Clark to begin to do just that. He approached the edge of the pool and began to take off his clothes.
Before he could fully disrobe, and, in fact, before he could take off more than one of his shoes, he slipped into the pool. The metal deck was slick with unseen condensation. His curses against Hans McSchtruckt and his bizarre floor layouts echoed off the tile walls of the pool room as he swam toward his goal. Though the opposite edge had not appeared far away as he had stood on the deck, he found that it was quite taxing to swim to it.
Finally, he reached the opposite end of the pool. He pulled himself onto the deck and panted as his clothes dripped a steady stream of water onto the floor. When he caught his breath he stood up and approached the locker room door. At first he thought it was locked and was prepared to scream in frustration, but the handle proved to only be stiff.
If Clark thought that the rest of th
e ship was outdated, it was nothing compared to the pool locker room. Stale, musty air met his nostrils and he began to wonder if it had even been used since the Iron Island began operation. A giant egg shaped machine, plated with chrome and dubbed the 'Dry-O-Matic' stood directly by the door. As he stood in front of it and examined the machine, a motion sensor must have been tripped. The Dry-O-Matic began to open.
"Step inside or place clothes or items you wish to be dried within the Dry-O-Matic. Thanks for choosing Dry-O-Matic for your drying needs," an automated female voice said as the machine opened.
Clark was reticent to step inside the old machine, but he desperately wanted his clothes to be dried. He compromised by stripping himself bare and tossing in his clothes. The Dry-O-Matic slowly closed as he did so. A sound that resembled what he imagined a muffled tornado must sound like began to issue from the giant chrome shaped egg. A minute or so later, it opened and his clothes were warm and dry once more. He put them on in a rush, pleasantly surprised at the efficiency and expedience of the old machine, then continued to walk about the locker room.
Towels were folded and placed in each of the open lockers along with a