Space Junk

by Andrew Bixler

  “I like the new look,” Adam says. “It’s very yar.”

  “The black gold will soon be mine,” she tells him. “And there’s not a fishing thing you can do about it.”

  “What are you chidiots waiting for?” Adam pleads. “Get out of here!”

  Dave throws his hands up in resignation. “She made us a decent offer. Plus, we’re out of fuel.”

  “Gahhh,” Super Dave says.

  “You fishing chidiots!” Adam shouts. “You’re just going to hand it over to her without a fight? We don’t even know what that thing is capable of. You might as well kill us all.”

  “I’ve had enough,” The Foreman says. “Negotiations are over. Goodbye, Adam Jones.”

  By the time the Asteroid Jones II arrives, metal pests are already swarming Ferd’s. Adam anxiously finishes off a can of Ol’ Guard and, scanning the mob, he soon spots the van he’s looking for, parked opposite a wall of desperate, savage scrappers, its hazard lights lazily flashing.

  “You don’t need it,” Grandpa says. “That’s the beauty of the universe – there’s always more junk.”

  “But I found it,” Adam argues. “It belongs to me.”

  “Adam…”

  Ignoring the old man, Adam says, “She had no right to take it.”

  “Adam,” Grandpa says, placing a hand on his grandson’s shoulder, “let it go.”

  But before Adam can change his mind, he shoves the accelerator forward and plunges them into the fray. Swerving through the horde of motley junkers, he successfully, albeit narrowly, manages to avoid a series of midspace collisions and pulls up to a hard stop in front of the debt collectors’ van.

  A video feed opens on the window, and the skinny one groans, “Ughh… it’s the Asteroid Jones.”

  “I don’t want to get involved with whatever you’ve got going on here,” Adam tells the pair. “But I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

  “Hey, we traded you fair and square. It’s not like you didn’t get anything out of the deal.”

  “Listen, Dave, Daizy gave you the black gold,” Adam says. “But it wasn’t hers to give. You can reinstate my debt. I don’t care.”

  “I’m Steve. And it’s too late for that now. You should know as well as anyone; our claim to the black gold is protected under the oldest of the universal laws – finders keepers.”

  The Foreman, damaged and grinning, appears on the window alongside the two chidiots. “The black gold no longer belongs to you, Adam Jones,” she says. “Leave now and you might still survive this.”

  “Oh great,” Adam groans.

  Her dark lips curl into a bloody half moon underneath her frayed eyepatch. “That was a fine trick you played on me.”

  “I like the new look,” he tells her. “It’s very yar.”

  “The black gold will soon be mine,” she says. “And there’s not a fishing thing you can do about it.”

  “What are you chidiots waiting for?” Adam says. “Get out of here!”

  “She made us a decent offer,” Dave says, shrugging. “Plus, we’re out of fuel.”

  “Gahhh,” the glob of snot on Dave’s shoulder moans.

  “You fishing chidiots!” Adam shouts. “You’re just going to hand it over to her without a fight? We don’t even know what that thing is capable of. You might as well kill us all.”

  “I’ve had enough,” The Foreman says. “Negotiations are over. Goodbye, Adam Jones.”

  An opening on the front of her polished black pirate ship begins to glow blue-white, and Adam fumbles at his ship’s controls. But before he can get the heap moving, the Foreman fires her cannon.

  “Rat farts…” are the last words Adam utters as he, Grandpa, and the Asteroid Jones II are consumed by a surge of blinding light.

  A moment later, Adam calmly opens his eyes, squinting against the brightness. He tries to sit up, but a soft pressure pushes him back down.

  “Try to relax.” A face of soft light leans over him. Its features are subtle, at once masculine and feminine. “I’m surprised to see you back so soon.”

  “What?” Adam tiredly asks. “Where am I? What’s happening?”

  “Relax, you’re all right,” the light-form tells him. “You just died, again.”

  “I…” Adam fails to process the words. “What?”

  The light-form leans back, producing a strange noise that sounds sort of like a giggle. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Adam glances down at his body and notices that it’s emitting a soft glow. “So I’m dead?”

  “Yes, in a manner of speaking,” the light-form says.

  “So this is space heaven or something?” Adam questions.

  “Or something,” the light-form says. “It’s just… this.”

  Adam groggily glances past his feet at the other light-forms floating around the vast room, busily attending to the recently departed. A bright display above each of the deceased replays the moments leading to their deaths on a loop. Across the aisle, Adam watches a lumbering humanoid running a ball down a long, grassy field when he’s suddenly tackled and mauled by a hairy green mascot.

  “Let’s see where you went wrong this time,” the light-form says, looking toward the screen above Adam’s head.

  As soon as he sees his ship’s cabin and the weirdos talking at him through the window, it all comes rushing back. “The black gold!” he cries. “The Foreman, the debt collectors… What happened? Oh no…”

  The light-form smirks. “Hmph, looks like you got blowed up, again.”

  “Where’s Grandpa?” Adam asks.

  “Uhh, he’s here.” The light-form says, vaguely motioning across the room.

  “Wait a second. What do you mean I blew up again?”

  “You were just here a moment ago. It probably felt a little longer to you.”

  “But what does that mean?” Adam asks. “I died more than once?”

  “Do you really want to go over this again?” The radiance exuding from the creature seems to dim slightly as it stretches its slim neck. “My shift is almost over.”

  “Yes I want to go over it!” Adam says.

  “Can we just drop it? You can go back as soon as the system recalibrates.”

  “What about Grandpa? Is he going back?”

  “Uh, yeah,” the light-form says.

  Adam nods approval. But upon further reflection, he glares up at his attendant. “Why’d you say it like that?”

  “Huh? Oh, no reason. I just got distracted.”

  In the empty space next to Adam, two familiar-looking bodies of light suddenly materialize, thrashing and screaming as they peer around the room.

  “Hey, I know those guys!” Adam says.

  The light leans down and soothes each of the debt collectors with a touch.

  “Hey,” Adam says, waving.

  “Hey,” Steve and Dave reply.

  “Do they get to go back too?” Adam asks.

  “Nope,” the light-form says. “That’s it for them.”

  “Hmm, that doesn’t seem fair,” Adam decides. “I mean, I didn’t really like them all that much, but they weren’t so bad. They deserve another shot.”

  “They’re out of murrays.” The light-form shrugs. “That’s how it goes.”

  “‘Murrays?’” Adam moans. “What are you talking about?”

  “It means they can’t go back,” the light-form says.

  “That’s bullchit,” Adam says.

  “I don’t know what that means, but from your tone, I assume it’s derogatory,” the light-form says. “Listen, it’s not up to me. How would you feel if you knew that these two have already blown through more murrays than you’ll ever have?”

  “Oh, well,” Adam mumbles. “That casts a different light on the matter, so to speak.”

  “That’s what I thought.” The light-form touches him again, and his body relaxes as dying people blink into the room all around him.

  “How many murrays do I have left?” Adam asks.

>   “One,” the light-form says, fiddling with something behind the screen.

  “One?!” Adam cries. “That’s not enough.”

  “Hey, you should be happy to have that. Use it wisely.”

  “How do I do that? I’ve already fished it up twice.”

  “Actually,” the light-form says, “this is the… one hundred and twenty-seventh time you’ve died.”

  “One twenty-seven?!” Adam reaches for his non-existent chest, as if he might die all over again. “How can that be? What am I doing wrong?”

  “Try not to worry about it. There’s no secret. Just do your best.”

  “So far the only thing my best has gotten me is killed.”

  The light-form’s vague facial features contort into a pitying frown. “Listen…” It glances around the room and bends down close. “I’m not supposed to give you advice. Though I don’t know why. You won’t remember any of this anyway.”

  “I’ll try to remember,” Adam pleads.

  “Just stay quiet,” the light-form whispers. “It probably won’t help.”

  “I don’t care,” Adam says. “It can’t possibly hurt.”

  “Okay, just listen. I’ve noticed some striking similarities between your last couple deaths. In both instances, you were after the same… thing.”

  “Yeah, the black gold,” Adam says.

  “Is this giving you any ideas about how not to get killed in the future?” the light-form asks, patiently.

  “Um…” Adam pauses to think. “Does it have something to do with the black gold? I’m supposed to find the black gold? Will it give me more murrays or something?”

  “What?” the light-form says, incredulously. “No. Stay away from that thing. I don’t know what it is or what it does, but it’s not worth dying over. Find something else to chase.”

  “Hmph,” Adam snorts. “Stop chasing the black gold?” He pauses to think it over. “It doesn’t seem right, but at this point I’m willing to try anything.”

  Adam scooches over as another body of light squeezes in next to him. Soon they’re popping up all around him, variously shrieking and flailing their ill-defined limbs as the attendants race to calm them.

  “How long do you think this is going to take?” Adam asks. “It’s starting to get sort of crowded in here.”

  “Something big is happening,” the light-form says. “They’re coming in faster than we can process them. The system is lagging.”

  “You mean all these people are dying?” Adam asks.

  “They’re not dying,” the light-form says. “They’re already dead.”

  “Why are there so many of them?”

  “All at once like this?” The light-form glances around, shaking its head. “It has to be a war. Fraiche, they’re still coming. I’m never going to get out of here.”

  “Maybe the universe is ending,” Adam suggests.

  “Uh, no…”

  “Oh.” Adam shrugs. “How the fish do I know? I can barely conceive of my own existence over here.”

  All around him, dead people continue piling into the room. To make more space, he squeezes his incorporeal body down in on itself.

  “How’s it going?” he asks one of his new neighbors.

  “We’re all gonna die!” the glowing scrapper screams.

  Adam nods politely and averts his eyes.

  “We’re just about ready for you,” the light-form says.

  “Finally,” Adam sighs.

  “Remember, this is your last chance,” it reminds him. “Try not to fraiche it up.”

  “Now I’ve got you,” The Foreman whispers as the blinking red dot on the black gold detector’s gridded screen comes to a stop.

  The clunky ICA van is a beacon in the distance, its emergency lights flashing for the whole universe to see. As Pi speeds toward it, she mechanically applies a thick coating of black to what’s left of her lips and straightens her eyepatch in the mirror. She brings her ship to a dramatic halt in front of the clunky van, successfully startling its humanoid pilots as evidenced by their stunned, frightened facial expressions.

  “Ahoy! It looks like you boys are experiencing a little trouble,” she says, struggling to hold sympathetic-pout number seven as a new sensation threatens to betray her will. “It’s a good thing I found you. There’s no telling who you might run into out here.”

  “Hi!” Dave says, waving to her through the video feed.

  “What do you want?” Steve asks, right to the point.

  “I want to help you, of course,” she lies. “And it will hardly cost you a thing.”

  “What’s your price?” Steve asks.

  “Oh, I think you know the price.” She indulges herself with a sharp laugh.

  “The black gold is going to cost you more than a tow,” Steve says.

  Under normal circumstances, Pi would respond to such impertinence with simulated rage, but the chidiots are so helpless and pathetic, she calculates that there’s no strategic advantage to be gained. “Don’t be so hasty,” she says. “I’m also considering allowing you to keep your pathetic lives. How about that for a deal?”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Steve says. “We don’t need your help. We already got somebody coming for us, with a much more intimidating ship than yours,” he lies. “But we appreciate the offer.”

  Pi shakes her head and detects the sides of her mouth curling up involuntarily. “I wouldn’t worry about that.” She glances in her rearview and finds that her scrapper army has finally caught up to her, forming an impenetrable blockade at her stern.

  “Awaiting your orders, ma’am,” Zilch says.

  Her power is so far beyond the capabilities of the insignificant hunk of metal parked in front of her that, for the first time in her ancient life, she experiences what she can only describe as pity for the fragile creatures inside. If she were forced to explain the phenomena, she would blame it on data corruption within her personality matrix, but there’s a part of her that harbors a perverse desire to keep one of them around, like a pet.

  “Da-ave,” she coos, raising the pitch and breathiness of her voice. He gapes at her with a look of confused attraction with which she is more than familiar, and she seizes on the opening. “I really don’t want to hurt you. You understand the situation. Talk some sense into your chidiot partner, there. You know what’s going to happen if you don’t give me what I want.”

  “The black gold is ours,” Steve stubbornly persists.

  Looking into Dave’s wide eyes, she promises, “Once this is all over, we’ll have the opportunity to get to know each other much more… intimately.” She slips into vulnerability mode and lightly bites down on her bottom lip, the way the girls in the movies do it.

  “I’ve never gotten a better offer in my life,” Dave says. “Throw in a couple suites at Scrapper’s Delight, and you got a deal.”

  “Fine, it’s yours,” she relents, waving away their pathetic mortal needs.

  “Really? All right!” Dave cheers.

  “Hey, that’s not bad.” Even Steve is on board, it seems. “Nice work, Dave!”

  “Good, we’re all happy,” Pi says. “I’ll have you towed to Ferd’s, and then…” Behind the crippled van, from out of the depths of space, an unforeseen complication emerges. “Oh no… what’s he doing here?”

  There are more of the styleless black and white fighters than she can get a full accounting of, but she doesn’t require exact figures to determine that Zok’s fleet is many times greater than her own. An uncomfortable sensation rises inside of her as the odds of success flip out of her favor.

  A new video feed appears on the window, and Zok looks out at her with an expression that closely resembles her own smug sneer number twelve. “It appears that I have the upper hand this time.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving.” She lifts her eye patch, and he flinches looking upon her true face. “You may have the numbers, but I have something better – desperate, broke scrappers with nothing to lose. Each of them is as
good as ten of your pampered Ears.”

  “Hey, Zok,” Steve cuts in. “If you can make us a better offer, the black gold is still available.”

  “There will be no offer!” Zok predictably growls. “The black gold is the sole property of the UE. You will relinquish it immediately or feel the full wrath of the United Empires. Foreman, I order you to stand down as we commandeer their vehicle.”

  “Do not make the mistake of provoking me, Zok,” she warns.

  Disregarding her threat, a UE tow ship advances toward the ICA vessel. With a glance, Pi fires a warning shot, aiming well above its rig but close enough to broadcast her message.

  “You are impeding official UE business,” Zok shouts. “That is a declaration of war!”

  “It’s the only warning I’m going to give you,” she says.

  “The UE is prepared to take any measures necessary to recover our rightful property. Secure the ship!”

  “In that case, you’ve left me no option.” She fires, and with a blinding flare, the tow ship is reduced to a smoldering pile of scrap.

  Zok’s face turns dark purple, and he begins to tremble. “You have no idea the fishing space hell that is about to rain down upon you.”

  “It seems we’ve reached an impasse,” Pi says, sighing the way humans so often do. “Steve, and Dave especially… I’m sorry it came to this. It was fun having you around. But it was not to last. Perhaps our paths will cross again, in the next life.”

  “What?” Dave glances around. “What’s going on?”

  “No, don’t do it!” Steve shouts, futilely holding his hands up in defense.

  “So long…” With a mental command, she vaporizes the van, and its video feed cuts out.

  “What did you do?!” Zok howls. “You might have destroyed the element!”

  “That’s preferable to letting you get your fleshy paws on it.”

  “Destroy them all!” Zok commands.

  Zok’s armada launches a barrage of projectiles, showering fire over Pi’s ragtag army. Staring down a sizzling lightning bolt, she rolls her ship to dodge the attack, and with minimal effort, weaves up through the cascade of white hot light and out of harm’s way.

  “You’re a loose cannon, Zok,” she says as she retreats behind her fleet. “Is it legal for you to start a war?”