Lost Era 05_ Deny thy Father - Jeff Mariotte [39]
On this particular morning, Kyle had been looking for the gym he’d been told was on the fourth deck below his-all the decks were identified by Kreel’n symbols which looked like nothing more than squiggles to him, so he had to count every time he went up or down the ladders, on which the rungs were far too close together for his long legs. The ship had no turbolifts, he learned to his surprise.
He had found the gym, but it hadn’t taken long to discover that none of the equipment inside it was suitable for his physiology. He’d have to settle for the exercises he could perform in his own quarters, without equipment, supplemented by runs or walks through the long corridors.
Heading back to his quarters, he had indeed taken a wrong turn somewhere-he thought probably at one of the several points where five or six passageways converged on one another in a star pattern-and, trying to backtrack, had found himself in a part of the ship he hadn’t yet seen. Here, pipes hung down from the metal ceiling, suspended by thin steel straps, and the burning rubber smell that he was already getting used to was largely obscured by a harsh oily stench. Even the air seemed thicker in this area. Kyle found himself blinking as the atmosphere stung his eyes. He turned a corner too fast and smacked his head against a low-hanging section of pipe.
“Ow!” he shouted involuntarily. He rubbed the sore spot, certain that a bump would appear before long, hoping he hadn’t broken the skin so that whatever was crusting the outside of the pipe wouldn’t get into his blood. He was starting to duck underneath the pipe when a door opened before him and a human man smiled at him.
“I thought that sounded like a human voice,” the man said. “I’d heard rumors that there was another one of us about, but wasn’t sure, given the size and design of this tub, that we’d get a chance to meet one another.” His accent sounded indefinitely continental, as if he’d lived many places and spoke a plethora of languages, all of which contributed a little something to his English. “It’s nice to hear once in a while.” He was still standing in the doorway, hands gripping the jambs on either side of him, sort of leaning out into the hall but ready to flee back inside at a moment’s notice. He was a friendly-looking fellow, Kyle thought, with a thick black beard that merged with the tufts of black chest hair visible above his open shirt. He had little hair on the upper part of his head, though, and what there was he kept cropped close to the scalp. His smiling face was broad, with a large red nose, small red eyes, and puffy, rosy cheeks. He looked to Kyle like a young, disheveled Santa Claus. The illusion carried down to his belly, which was immense. His expansive shirt was checked, red and white, and his pants were pale blue. His feet, Kyle noted, were bare.
“My name’s Barrow. Kyle Barrow,” Kyle lied.
“Of course it is. I’m John Abbott. Double b, double t, that’s how it’s spelled.” The man was quite possibly the most cheerful fellow Kyle had ever seen. “You came from Earth, right?”
“Of course,” Kyle confirmed. “Didn’t you?”
John Abbott shook his huge head. “No, no. I mean, once I did, originally, certainly. Not recently, though. No, I’ve been here and there, moving about quite a bit, you know? I’ve been on board the Morning Star for quite a spell now. Quite a ways before I leave her, too.”
“Where are you headed?”
John cocked his head sideways and shot Kyle an admonishing glare. “That’s the first question you learn not to ask on a ship like this,” he explained.
“I guess I’ve still got to learn the ropes,” Kyle offered. “Sorry. Maybe I can buy you a drink sometime and you can tell me what else I shouldn’t ask. There is a lounge someplace, isn’t there?”
“There’s a crew lounge,” John told him. “But you wouldn’t want to go there. The Kreel’n are all very nice, to your face, but get a few of them together-especially