by M. R. Holman
shipmates that Hans McSchtruckt had gone mad as he planned the Iron Island, and that was the cause of the lack of elevators and the admittedly insane floor layouts.
The Iron Island was a peculiar space port. Though quite large in size, it was a small structure when compared to its more modern counterparts. It had been constructed soon after hyper-travel and intergalactic trade became widespread in the Milky Way galaxy, and as such, it was quite a dated facility by modern standards. It was avoided by those travelers and traders that were in a hurry, due to its outdated facilities and confusing layout, but it was adored by the more eccentric space travelers for its uniqueness. It was this old-space charm that brought many of the traders and travelers to the Iron Island when they could just as easily stop at any number of relatively nearby space ports.
Clark's reverie of Hans McSchtruckt and the Iron Island's peculiar layout was cut short by the appearance of large letters reading ‘Out of Order' flashing on the display of the vending machine. He sighed heavily as he looked at the machine. The words 'Out of Order' burned into his eyes as he surveyed the hundreds of cans of sodas behind the semi-transparent screen on the vending machine. Clark, in his frustration and thirst, smacked the side of the machine. It yielded no results other than the attention of a nearby janitor.
"Hey now, no need to be impatient, young man," the ancient looking janitor said as he leaned forward against his broom handle and surveyed Clark. A great deal of white beard hung from his face, and he wore a baseball cap that said 'Iron Island' on it. The baseball hat looked as though it alone was several decades older than Clark.
"Sorry, I'm just really thirsty and I walked up two floors to use this vending machine. I don't understand why there aren't any damn elevators on this space port," Clark said as he shook his head.
The janitor appeared to be restraining himself from laughing at Clark. "Yeah, that's just too bad isn't it? Probably took you a whole extra minute, huh?"
Clark rolled his eyes at the janitor's sarcastic remark. "Can you tell me where a functioning vending machine is?"
"Of course I can. There's one in the swimming pool locker room on the seventh floor of the aft section of the ship," the janitor said, looking into the air as though he was examining a map that only he could see.
"Really? That's the closest vending machine?" Clark asked in revulsion.
"No, that's the closest functioning vending machine. That's what you asked for, right? If you want another non-functioning one, you can walk right down this hall," the janitor said, pulling a hand away from his broom handle and pointing directly over Clark's shoulder.
Clark opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the janitor answered the question he was preparing to ask. "It's the only other functioning vending machine on the space port right now, young man. The rest are down for their yearly maintenance update. They'll be back up in an hour or so."
"A whole hour?" Clark asked in shock.
"That's right."
"Just my luck..." Clark said, shaking his head and glaring at the vending machine. He was on the verge of just sitting down and waiting for the machine to come back on.
"A little walking won't hurt you. Get on down there. I think you'll find what you're looking for there. Besides, the journey is half of the adventure!"
"If you say so..." Clark turned to leave.
"Need some change, young man?" the janitor called toward Clark's retreating shoulders.
"Change?" Clark asked, utterly perplexed by the offer. Every vending machine on the space port was operated by electronic Units. Coin operated machines had not been used in years.
"For the vending machine... Do you need any change?" the janitor asked again, lifting his bearded chin in the air so that he could see Clark from beneath the tilting brim of his baseball cap.
"No. I think I've got it covered," Clark said with a smirk.
The janitor resumed his sweeping while humming a shrill and disagreeable tune. Clark turned around and walked back down the flight of stairs he had just climbed to reach the non-functioning vending machine. Clark had never spent much time in the aft section of the space port, and had certainly never been to the swimming pool on the seventh floor. In fact, he hardly ever left the freight dock area if he could help it.
"What kind of lunatic would put a swimming pool on the seventh floor of a building anyways?" Clark mumbled to himself as he walked down a second flight of stairs, re-entering the freight docking area he had so recently vacated. He paused in front of a great illuminated map that was mounted on the wall. The aft section of the space port was at the opposite end of where he was now. It seemed he had multiple route options, each of which was rather labyrinthine in nature. Only two of these routes could be walked without a full space suit and he did not have access to his own unless he was working. One route would require him to crawl through a large glass tube inexplicably mounted on the ceiling of the cafeteria like a hamster. The other would require him to walk a little bit further, but retain his dignity in the process. He opted for the route that would allow him to retain his dignity.
There were small pamphlet sized maps of the ship in a tray beneath the enormous glowing map that was mounted on the wall. He took one and set off at once for his destination. His mouth was growing dry. Clark longed for the moment when he would receive his sweet, sweet prize of a soda. He walked the halls absentmindedly as he fantasized about what variety of soda he would buy when he finally came upon the vending machine. His fantasy was brought to an abrupt halt as he met a brick wall blocking the passage he was supposed to be taking.
Clark thought that this was strange. Not only was it strange because the brick wall was not marked on the map he was now fervently staring at in his hands, but because there were no other brick walls on the ship. The walls were generally made of either aluminum or highly sophisticated clear glasses and plastics.
A bronze placard was mounted in the very center of the brick wall. Clark approached it, leaning in close to read what it said:
'Brick was, quite literally, one of the most important building blocks of early human architecture. Its weight and brittle nature make it unsuitable for use on space-structures, unfortunately, but I urge you to take a moment to appreciate its aesthetic beauty and its place in architectural history. For without the archaic, man would have never known the astral. - Hans McSchtruckt'
Before Clark could take a moment to appreciate the aesthetic beauty of the brick wall, as instructed by the placard, he was struck in the forehead by a shipmate's forehead. They had walked directly through the brick wall. It was a hologram.
"Dammit, Clark! Why are you sitting there and ogling the hologram like some kind of tourist?" The shipmate's name was Darcy and the only thing shorter than her temper was her patience.
"I'm sorry, Darcy. I had never seen this brick wall hologram so I was reading the placard, and - "
"It doesn't matter... I've got to go, Clark," Darcy said as she continued to rub her aching forehead.
Clark held a hand to his own forehead as he watched her retreat down the hallway. As he did so, another person walked into him through the hologram, causing him to stumble. It seemed that he was one of the few living beings on board the ship that was unaware of the brick wall hologram. He muttered a brief apology before walking directly through the apparently solid brick wall.
On the other side of the brick wall he walked about ten paces so that he would be out of the way of anyone else walking through the hologram. He continued to massage his forehead with one hand as he examined the map held in his other. He was now out of the freight dock and in the main deck area of the space port. He was roughly a third of the way to his destination.
Clark folded the map and began to walk again. This area of the ship was not nearly as crowded as the docking areas. In fact, he encountered no one else as he wandered down the hall he was in. There had been small shops and restaurants at the beginning of the hall, but now it was nothing other than a stretch of walkway. The area of the hallway
that lied before his was not even illuminated. Motion sensors brought light to each section as he strode toward them. His solitary footsteps echoed off of the aluminum walls, accompanied only by the sound of the buzzing light fixtures overhead.
Eventually, the hallway ended. Or at least it appeared to. Clark approached a nondescript aluminum barrier at the end of the hallway. It appeared the same as every other section of wall he had passed in this particular hallway, aside from a bronze placard mounted in the center of it. Clark smirked, thinking of the brick wall hologram he had encountered beforehand. He walked toward the wall with purpose and confidence, and bounced off of it and onto the floor.
Clutching his nose, he stood up and examined the wall. It was not a hologram. Cursing the illogical layout of the Iron Island under his breath, he read the placard on the wall:
'Aluminum is a wondrous material that has seen many uses over the millennia in which it has been utilized. The aluminum that was pounded flat to form the walls and walkways of this ship was not always a hall or a walkway. Aluminum may live many lives through the process of recycling. These walls may have once been a weapon, a bicycle, a chair, or even a can of my favorite drink - Anana Soda. This wall is not a hologram. Please do not attempt to walk through it. - Hans McSchtruckt'
Clark was forced
