97 - Printed Food

The pilot's chair had been retracted and Terry and Eshmaeel sat cross-legged on the floor, picking at the odd 'food thing' that Mom's printer had spit out. It was something chewy, textured like gluey bits of foam packing material in a pink sauce.

Outside the windscreen the sand/mud/water combination was surging around in slow waves that occasionally broke with a rain of rocks on Mom's hull. Undeterred the machine swam on, massive forelegs, scoops really, shovelled them forward as the whole back end thrashed like a tail, alternating with the digging motion.

"I believe I finally understand what an old earthan book meant," Terry growled. "When it referred to something called 'sea-sickness'. It was called Sailing Tales and had a fantasy world of enough water to cover almost the whole planet."

Mom spoke up. “Anti nausea medication is available next to the water dispenser.”

Terry rose and dumped his bowl, contents and all, into the disposal. “I am not having fun.”

Eshmaeel stared up at him, the spoon moving steadily and didn't get that he was joking. “Fun isn't the point, you know,” he said finally, using his finger as a scraper to get the last of the pink goo out of his own bowl. “If Mom hadn't told me that she can print something I can eat for the next thousand years it doesn't even matter how it tastes. Have you ever had to eat nothing but Raghnall pulp and lollipapera bark?”

Terry hunched his shoulders.  There was no where to pace in the cabin. “No. I never have.”

“You eat like an owner, you know.”

Terry turned toward him, hands clenched. “That's an insult. I request that you take that back, sir!”

“No insult intended.” Terence turned his back on the boy, fists clenched.

“You're insulting me every day I'm here,” Eshmaeel continued. “I am bare-faced before you.”

“What?”

“I learned to make do without a face veil when we were trying to be like your illiterates.”

"Mom, can you print this boy a veil, please?”

"Affirmative.”

It was only their first day in the intercontinental sand and Terry already felt grubby, sweaty and dirty even though there was filtered water to wash with... in a basin. No shower. His stomach growled at him and he regretted having dumped the bowl of plastic mush. Then the next surge of nausea made him gladder that he hadn't eaten it.

“Eshmaeel, I would appreciate it if I didn't have to keep expecting you to knife me in the back on this little journey of ours. You and your brother get the honour of turning me in to your 'Radiance' you call him? And made it home safe from Prime's Xanadu. Can we at least cut the hostility somewhat?”

"I suppose." The boy nodded and got up... staggering, to check on his brother. “Mom... can we undo some of the damage the Xanadu did to him?”

“I'm afraid that since I do not have access to his original thought wave patterns and personality, his current manifestation is not reading as an injury. I cannot fix what does not appear broken, Eshmaeel. Terence.”

“Yes, Mom?”

“We are about to exit the influence of Prime's code and you should be able to access your own. Should Eshmaeel share with you the contents of the briefcase, you may be able to assist Davood in your own code.”

Terry could feel the boy's eyes on him, considering, but he didn't say anything. “Mom... how did you spot that I have my own code?”

“I did not. Security programs up to level three had been alerted that there was an unauthorized code attempting entry. Your brother guessed that it might be you and when he short-circuited my loyalty protocols he removed the necessity that I alert Prime Level one, just in case it was.” Terry grunted as though he'd been punched in the lower gut.

“Prime LEVEL ONE?” Terry's voice was almost a squeak. “That's Prime himself!” A guess? The fact that we haven't been found out and hunted down was based on my brother guessing right? Pen, Page and ink in the rain!

“Correct. Gentlemen, please resume your bunks. I am approaching a rock ridge that will allow me to proceed in a more rapid fashion.”

Flea-mode, she meant.

“Gee, thanks Mom.” Terry went and lay down in the bunk across from Eshmaeel's.

Sarcasm detected. Please apologize.”

He took a deep breath as he recognized the restraints activating so they all didn't bounce around the inside of the cabin like strawberry jam filled glass jars. “Sorry, Mom.”

“Apology accepted.”