Twisted Corridors
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In due course, the little blockade runner brought them to the first Terran Ghing tumor on their itinerary. The remainder of the trip had been less bad for Sharon. She was determined not to look weak in front of Amy again, and felt that she was succeeding. Richard would stay and talk some after their lighter practice sessions. This was fine, as Sharon wasn't generally in any shape to talk after the heavier ones.
Now they prepared to leave the relative comfort of their little ship, and to go amongst the goblins that haunted the tumor.
They didn't go to the dedicated berths, but instead the Blockade Runner found a secluded patch of hull. Wrapped in its webs of darkness, it pressed close. Through the open portal, they saw the oddly colored hull of the Tumor, which had been melted away by the little ship's fire. The atmosphere of the station mingled with that of their ship, and queasiness from the unclean and chemical stench washed over Sharon.
They passed through the opening, rolling as they fell, entering the gravity field of the station corridor. The opening in the hull re-formed behind them as the Blockade Runner erased all trace of its presence and departed.
They were greeted by the gazes of two men slouching against the wall of the corridor. That is, if you could call them that. Though they were free men in the tumor, those who fester for generations under a ghing are slow to regain the spark of initiative quenched by waves of unloving care. Sharon spared them a half curious glance, but followed as Richard and Amy ignored them and strode past.
Most of the histories that Sharon had read had credited these voracious outposts of licentious freedom to the decay of the Terran Ghing, though some still clung to the belief that it was the stalwart resistance of the early Coalition. Sharon got the sense that both were contributing factors, but the tumors' rogue spirit would have been enough to overcome the ghing spirit in the end.
The Tumor had much the same character as a nest of crawling things, not that of an abode of humans. There were parts that felt familiar, but a sensible architecture was one of the things lost in ages past, when the inhabitants destroyed the mechanisms that kept them as slaves/pets and the station an efficient size.
The effect was wildly disorienting for Sharon, accustomed to the orderliness of a hill and natural gravity. The twisting and branching corridors had no proper “up” or “down”, and you would often be able to see ahead to where the corridor curved alarmingly “up”, or the “floor” began to twist about onto the wall. Sharon had to fight waves of nausea as they passed through such sections.
Now eyes watched them from narrow, off-kilter passages. Ever and anon, a small face would peek from behind leather drapings across the alcoves and side tracks.
Sharon had heard that, though tumors still secreted food and water for the residents, there were limited options for other necessities. Thus they were able to track their progress: bone and leather in the outskirts, miles from the docks, gradually giving way to metals and plastics.
The goblins who were less burnt also moved to these areas. The glances that followed them became gradually less vacant, and more curious, or perhaps suspicious.
The occasional large chambers became marketplaces with such goods as made it to the tumor. Along with the accoutrements, the chemical smell grew stronger. In travelling through the universe, the rickety old metastases picked up hitchikers that are not of Terran descent. The alien metabolisms gave the docks the character of a poorly maintained amateur chemistry lab. Naturally, any organism that produced anything deadly killed potential carriers long before arriving to do greater damage, but that left many which were unpleasant, or slow to kill.
In the dock district, Richard took the lead, inquiring about passage to a distant tumor, which was their next stop. While travel between tumors is not much in demand, there is demand for travel out to greener pastures from the more savvy of the populace, and there was trade for the raw materials that the Tumors always hungered for.
As they made their way, Sharon noted the glances that they elicited from the crews of the material haulers. Darkly, she wondered what else they might be trading between the Tumors.