Titanium walls, floors, and ceilings polished to a low shine echoed every footstep through the entryway of the Vicio. Every two feet of patterned ridges on the floor ended with another two feet of grating, beating a thunk, thunk, plunk, plunk under our feet. Lights hung from double cords above every other solid square of metal. At each change in the flooring, a thick metal strip dotted with bolts arced up the curved walls. When I stepped over the grating, a faint light glowed beneath my shoes to the floor several feet below. The ship smelled like engine oil, something that usually calmed me since it reminded me of Pop, but he wasn't here with me.
A figure emerged around a corner up ahead. "Ah, you must be the cooks. The crew will be thrilled they don't have to rely on my skills in the kitchen anymore." A stocky black man with a wide, friendly smile thrust a hand toward Randolph then me. "Or lack thereof. Welcome aboard the Vicio. I'm Captain Glenn."