by M. R. Holman
pamphlet of pool safety rules and features of the swimming complex. Apparently there was some sort of "conveyance" that could transport pool-goers across the pool to the locker room, but it was only mentioned in passing. No indication was given as to how it was operated, or even what it was. Clark folded the faded pamphlet and placed it back in a locker. It cracked and split in half as he did so.
He turned from the first row of lockers and began to search for the vending machine. He saw it through the rows of remaining lockers at the very end of the room. It shone like a beacon, beckoning him forward to end his journey in victory.
Clark breathed a contented sigh as he approached the vintage vending machine. He saw the gleaming cans of soda behind the glass and studied each. There were many that he had never seen before, and the ones he was familiar with were in strange, nostalgia inducing packaging. Clark's breath caught in his chest as he saw slanted red lettering climbing up a bright yellow aluminum can... It was a can of Anana Soda.
He could hardly believe it. Could it really be? Was he delirious from the swim and the stale air of the locker room? No, it couldn't be. It was there. It was really there.
Clark fumbled for the tiny computer screen bound to his wrist and prodded it. He prepared to transfer Units to the machine in order to receive his trophy of Anana. There was a problem though. His computer was detecting no vending machine. He waved the screen over the machine, he stepped back a few paces from the machine, he even climbed on top of the machine, but for nothing. What was happening?
He climbed down and studied the antique vending machine. A small chrome slot that read 'Units' in calligraphic writing was mounted above the physical buttons for selecting the sodas. Clark groaned and banged his forehead onto the machine. That was why the janitor had asked if he needed change...
Clark put his hand in his pockets, searching for coins, but he knew it was for naught. He had not had a physical Unit coin in his pockets in many years. He thought he would never need one again... He began to walk between the rows of lockers, searching in vain for a Unit coin, but he saw none. He even got on his hands and knees and crawled on the floor, but for nothing.
In desperation, he pulled up the Contact screen on his tiny wrist-computer and scrolled through the names, thinking desperately of a co-worker who might possess and be willing to lend him a Unit coin. Darcy would likely be far too busy or angry, or maybe both, to lend him a coin... He pushed the name Dawin. His hall-mate was friendly enough, perhaps he would lend him a coin.
"Kind of busy here, Clark. What's up?" Dawin's voice came through the screen a few moments after Clark had pressed his name.
"Sorry to bother you, but could I borrow a Unit?" he asked hopefully.
"A Unit? Geez, Clark... You should really keep an eye on your finances if you need to borrow a single Unit... But sure, I'll transfer one to you."
"Wait, no. Sorry, I mis-spoke. I need a physical Unit coin." Clark's request was met with silence. "Hello?"
"Did you say you need a physical Unit or was there a transfer error?"
"No, you heard right..."
"Clark, why in this great galaxy would you need a physical Unit? Just use an electronic Unit like everyone else," Dawin said in exasperation.
"You don't understand, Dawin. I need change for a can of Anaba - I mean a can of Anana!"
His transmission was met with silence once more.
"Clark... you really crack up on your off days, don't you? Why are you re-enacting old Earth commercials? Surely you could find something more productive to do."
Clark smacked his forehead with his palm in frustration, but then he laughed. He had not realized that he had inadvertently recreated the Anana Soda commercial. When he had stopped laughing, he asked, "Well do you know anyone that might have some change?"
"Darcy has some. I saw them last time I had dinner at her bunk. I've got to go, Clark. Don't go crazy, please."
His computer went silent. Clark would not try to contact Darcy under normal circumstances, but finding a can of Anana was not a normal circumstance. He scrolled to her name and pressed it.
"What, Clark?" she answered almost immediately. He could tell that he was already running out of time with her.
"I need a physical Unit coin, do you have one?"
Her tone changed immediately. "You collect them too?" she asked with interest.
"Well, no... I need one to buy a can of Anana."
"What? I'm not giving you part of my collection so that you can buy a nasty old can of Earth soda," she said angrily.
"Could I buy one from you?" he asked hopefully. He was getting desperate. His eyes locked on the can of Anana resting behind the glass in the vending machine. He almost felt as though it was mocking him.
"No. I only trade with other collectors. I don't sell them."
"Why not?" Clark asked exasperatedly.
"Because I think they'll be rare and valuable one day," she said with a sigh.
"Oh, come on, Darcy. It's just a single Unit coin," Clark pleaded.
"The fact that you're having to beg for one only proves my point that they're becoming rare and valuable."
"Well reasoned..." Clark conceded.
"I've got to go, Clark. I have some very busy things to be impatient about."
She was gone. What options remained? There was the janitor, of course. He had even offered to give him change when he had first set off for his journey to the vending machine... The problem was that the janitor could be anywhere on the ship by now. Clark could call him, but he did not know his name. Would anyone know his name? Surely someone knew the janitor's name...
Clark scrolled up through his contacts until he reached Corporal Anderson. He pressed his name and waited.
"Who is this?" Corporal Anderson asked. This was perplexing as every crew member's name and photo was auto-programmed into everyone else's wrist computer.
"Clark, sir. One of your re-fuelers."
"Uh huh. What do you need?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, but I need the name of the janitor with the white beard and the baseball hat. Do you know his name?" Clark asked hopefully.
"Of course I don't. Get back to work, Claude."
"It's Clark, sir. And today is my off day."
"Right... Well get back to not working, Clark," Corporal Anderson said confusedly.
"I already am, sir," Clark said with a deep sigh.
"That's a good lad." The transmission cut off abruptly.
Clark abandoned hope of easily finding a Unit coin, and marched to the locker room door with his shoulders hunched. He did not even try to spare his clothing this time, he just stepped directly into the pool and began to swim, wondering where the janitor might be as he pulled himself forward through the water. He marveled at how only thirty minutes or so previous, he had begrudged the thought of walking two stories for a soda. Now he had walked the entirety of the ship, swam two laps in an Olympic sized swimming pool, and was willing to do it all over again.
He arose from the pool and onto the deck, his clothes sopping wet. He left a trail of water behind him as he exited the pool room. He could hear that someone was shooting the basketball on the distant court but he could not yet see who it was. Whoever they were, they seemed to be quite skilled. They did not miss a single basket as long as Clark watched them. As he approached near enough to see the court clearly, he could hardly believe his eyes.
The decrepit old janitor stood next to his mop and water bucket, dribbling the basketball before shooting it into the goal. "Hello there, young man," the janitor called across the court. "I see that you found the pool."
"I did," Clark said. His shoes squeaked with each step he took. The janitor passed him the ball and he tried to shoot it into the goal but it shot out of his slippery hands and bounced across the wooden boards beneath their feet. "I was actually coming to look for you. I needed that change you offered after all."
"I thought that might be the case," the janitor said as he leaned his weight onto his mop handl
e.
"I was going to look you up in the directory and call you but I realized I didn't know your name... What is your name, if you don't mind my asking?" Clark said somewhat awkwardly.
The janitor smiled. "Hans, is my name. Hans McSchtruckt."
Clark eyed the elderly janitor with suspicion. Could he really be the famed former architect Hans McSchtruckt, or was he just a crazy old man? But a crazy old man is exactly what everyone said Hans McSchtruckt had become...
"If you're Hans McSchtruckt, why didn't I know? Why doesn't everyone know? It seems like something that would be common knowledge, if the galaxy-known architect that designed the very space port he was in was also the janitor there..."
"Well, no one has ever asked my name before," Hans said simply as he adjusted his baseball cap.
"Alright... But why are you a janitor?" Clark asked pointedly.
Hans McSchtruckt put his hand in his pocket and extracted a gleaming silver coin. He flipped it through the air with his thumb and Clark caught it. It was one Unit. "We'll talk about it over a can of Anatta, I mean… Anana. Shall we?"
Hans began to walk, abandoning his mop and bucket. Clark followed. "I'll mop up this water later," Hans said, glancing back at the trail that Clark had left across the seventh floor. He was embarrassed by the mess he had made, but Hans seemed unphased and even content at the prospect of more mopping.
As they opened the pool room doors, Clark began to mentally prepare himself to swim across the pool again. Hans, however, approached a metal wheel that was mounted right beside the
