Space Junk

by Andrew Bixler

  He looks her up and down, wearing his oversized Ol’ Guard t-shirt and baggy cargo shorts, and laughs. “You look like an embarrassing picture from your childhood.”

  “These are your clothes,” she reminds him, punching him in the shoulder. “So, how are we going to find a buyer?”

  “Well, I’m out of ideas,” he says. “But if we hang around here much longer, the Ears will find us.”

  “You could try selling it to The Foreman,” Daizy suggests.

  “I already tried that. She tried to cheat me.”

  “Well, you could try again. What is this thing, anyway?”

  “It’s called black gold. Here…” Adam yanks the cube from his pocket and hands it to her.

  Daizy takes the object and squints at it. “It doesn’t look like anything special to me. Why does everyone want it?”

  “I don’t know. But that’s all there is in the whole universe.”

  “Well, I don’t see what the big deal is, but whatever.” She tosses the cube back to him.

  Adam fumbles it, barely managing to keep it from falling to the floor. “Careful!”

  “Hmmm…” Daizy scrunches her nose and glances out the window. “I might know another place we could take it. No one will find us out there. But it’s in another galaxy.” She smiles wide. “Some people call it scrapper’s paradise.”

  “You don’t mean…”

  “That’s right,” she says, “the garbage dump of the universe.”

  “Hmph…” Adam shrugs. “I’ve always wanted to visit Earth.”

  He wanders up to the cockpit, sets the autopilot, and announces, “We are now on course for the nearest starline. That’ll be another new experience. It’s going to be hard to top discovering the most valuable object in the universe and getting into my first dogfight.”

  “You mean you’ve never been through a wormhole before?” Daizy rolls her eyes. “This will be so fun for you.”

  “It’s going to be a while,” he says. “What should we do ‘til then?”

  “It looks like there’s only one thing to do around this heap.” Daizy plods back to the living room, where she pushes the cluttered coffee table against the wall and pulls out the sofa bed.

  “Well, all right,” Adam says, unbuttoning his pants.

  Daizy flips the lights off, climbs under the covers and turns on the TV.

  “Oh,” he sighs.

  She looks at him, remote in hand. “What did you think I was talking about?”

  “Nothing,” he says, lying on top of the covers next to her, legs crossed. “So what do you want to watch?”

  “Get us out of here!” Zok commands from the comfort of his ship’s gleaming cockpit as the battle rages around him.

  “Where to?” Stella asks.

  “Anywhere!”

  An explosion outside causes the ship to shake violently, and Zok braces himself against the dash as Stella flies them out into open space.

  Two of the five of his fleet’s video feeds have gone dark, and he calls to the survivors, “Glurpp, Boff, Rip, you still with me?”

  “I’m here, sir,” Glurpp says.

  “Right behind you, sir,” Boff says.

  After a few seconds, Rip, breathing heavily, answers, “Still in one piece, sir.”

  “I wasn’t expecting that level of opposition,” Zok tells them. “You did well. Rest for now and await my instructions.” He mutes their feeds and says, “Stella, call Admiral Glipp.”

  Moments later, the admiral’s rocky torso appears on the ship’s window. “Zok, what news?” the admiral asks, in his gravelly rasp. “I thought you’d be back by now.”

  “The situation is much more complicated than we anticipated, sir,” Zok reports. “It seems there are a number of additional factions pursuing the element. We just lost Biff and Vronk in an altercation with a group of scrappers claiming to work for The Foreman.”

  Admiral Glipp scrapes his hefty palm down his face. “Biff and Vronk were good men, of course. I’ll be sure to let their families know they died for something important. As for this Foreman business…” The admiral sighs. “That certainly does complicate things. I’d like to avoid a protracted conflict with him, if at all possible. What do you propose?”

  “Fortunately, I was able to keep The Foremen busy long enough for the ship carrying the element, a junker called the Asteroid Jones II, to escape unharmed.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “Yes,” Zok says, frowning. “However, we lost the junker and were unable to track it. Now that the pilot, one Adam Jones, knows we are on his trail, I expect he will remain scarce. He has already proven himself to be a very crafty adversary.”

  “You’re telling me you lost the element to some regular Spez?” the admiral growls. “I don’t think you’re taking this situation seriously enough, Zok. You need to get after this guy and recover the element before he accidentally destroys us all!” He slams his stone fist down on his desk, and the priceless wood splinters. “But it has to be done quietly. We don’t want to attract any more attention than we already have.”

  “I understand your concerns. I am doing everything in my power to locate the Asteroid Jones II, but my options are limited. We cannot comb the entire galaxy, let alone the universe, for a single ship.”

  “This Adam Jones managed to evade a fleet of the UE’s finest men, and The Foreman,” the admiral muses. “Who is this guy?”

  Zok shrugs, and an alert appears on his window. “Hmph, that’s odd. I’m being hailed by someone from Scrapper’s Delight.”

  “You been giving your number out to strange women, Zok?” The admiral smirks and winks over the video feed.

  “Uh, no sir,” Zok stammers. “The only people who have this number are UE personnel. It is probably just a video marketer.”

  The admiral reclines his chair and says, “Go ahead and answer it. Maybe Adam Jones wised up and decided to hand over the element, now that he’s seen what we’re willing to do for it. I’m supposed to be in a meeting right now, anyway. I’ve got time to kill.”

  “I’ll forward the transmission,” Zok says, and taps at his ship’s window to open the incoming video feed.

  A beautiful blonde woman, with dark red lips and glowing green eyes appears alongside the admiral’s feed. “Ahoy! I’m so glad I was able to reach you.”

  Zok clears his throat, fumbling for words, and finally stammers, “Ah, you are speaking with the, vice admiral, of the, uh, United Empires, on a private government channel. How did you get this number?”

  “Someone in my position is privy to all sorts of information,” the woman says, her lips curling mischievously.

  “Who are you?” Zok blurts.

  “My name is Pi Friendly,” she says. “But most people call me The Foreman.”

  “Uhh…” Zok gapes at her.

  “Were you expecting someone else, Vice Admiral?”

  “Excuse me, Ms. Friendly.” He tugs nervously at his uniform. “I wasn’t expecting someone with your…”

  “Figure?”

  “Something like that,” Zok says. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Vice Admiral Zok of the United Empires.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Vice Admiral. I must apologize for the welcome you just received. The men in my employ tend to be fairly impulsive.”

  “I lost two of my best,” he says.

  “And I lost two of mine.” Her smile fades. “It was an unfortunate miscommunication, but I concede I am in your debt. That’s why I’d like to offer you a cabin at Scrapper’s Delight.”

  “That is… kind of you.”

  “You will have unrestricted access to all the amenities,” she tells him, “compliments of yours truly. And while you’re here, it will give us a chance to discuss other matters.”

  “What exactly is it you want to discuss?” he asks.

  “It’s of a rather sensitive nature,” she says. “I would prefer to speak one-on-one.”

  Zok catches himself staring
at Pi’s delicate shoulders, and he quickly recovers his composure. “Forgive me, but I am not in the habit of wasting time. I think we both know what we’re after.”

  She locks eyes with him, tracing her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. “I’d like to propose a partnership.”

  Zok can feel the blood rushing to his face and suddenly worries that Stella is watching. “What good would it do either of us? Only one of us can possess the element.”

  “I believe it’s possible for both of us to benefit from such an arrangement.” She casually runs her finger along her neckline, holding his gaze. “Rather than going the way of Traxis and Zorma, and countless others, I suggest we pool our resources. Neither of us has much chance of locating Adam Jones on our own, especially if we’re busy fighting each other. But together…”

  “Why should I trust you?” he asks.

  “Because I need you as much as you need me,” she says.

  “I’ll need time to consider.” He searches her flawless features for any sign of duplicitous intent.

  “Please, take all the time you require,” she says. “Discuss the arrangement with your superiors, advisors, et cetera. In the meantime, I’ll prepare your accommodations.”

  Zok nods, cuts off her feed, and asks the admiral, “Did you catch all that?”

  “I knew it,” Admiral Glipp says. “Chasing tail on the UE’s dime.”

  Zok laughs meekly. “Do you think we can trust her, sir?”

  “I don’t entirely trust myself; I wouldn’t trust that woman to iron my uniform.” The admiral leans back and howls. “Nevertheless, with our combined resources, locating Adam Jones will cease to be a problem. At the very least, we’ll get this thing over with quickly.”

  “Maybe,” Zok says. “But we may also find ourselves confronting a new and greater danger.”

  “The way I see it, we’re going to have to deal with The Foreman in any case,” the admiral says. “This way, if she gets to the element first, at least we’ll know about it. We’re hedging our bets, keeping the enemy closer and so on. And there always exists the slim possibility that she’ll turn out to be reasonable in the end. But if negotiations stall, we’ll be prepared. Her scrapper militia can’t possibly hold a space candle to the full might of the UE army.”

  “I am risking my life,” Zok gently reminds the admiral. “I will be entirely under The Foreman’s control, in her space.”

  “Listen Zok, it’s almost dinner time, and I’m starving,” the admiral says. “Relax. Go have a good time on The Foreman’s crit while you have the chance. This will all turn out in our favor. And if it doesn’t, I promise I will try to avenge your death. In the meantime, enjoy yourself, for a change.” The admiral salutes, extending his thumb toward the camera, and his video feed blinks out.

  Zok slumps down in his chair and says, “Stella, set course for Scrapper’s Delight.” He unmutes his fleet and tells them, “We’re changing course. I’m sending the new coordinates now.”

  “Yes sir,” his men chant.

  He mutes their feeds and sighs. “I could use a smoke.”

  “Who was that?” Stella asks.

  “You know Admiral Glipp.”

  “No, who was that woman?”

  “Oh, that was The Foreman,” he says. “I’m going to be working with her for a while.”

  “I bet you’re happy about that.”

  “Actually, I’m scared for my life. What’s that supposed to mean, anyway?”

  “She’s pretty enough.”

  “There’s nothing to be jealous about,” he assures her.

  “I’m not jealous,” she shouts.

  “In that case, would you mind making me one of your special burgers?” Zok pleads.

  “I bet a smart guy like you can figure out how to make his own dinner.”

  After a quiet moment, he calls, “Stella?”

  When she doesn’t answer, he dejectedly plods back to the kitchen and rummages through the cupboards. The only food not locked away in one of Stella’s hidden storage chambers is a case of expired rations. Ripping one open, he finds the contents stale but edible, and so he carries it back to the cockpit, where he grows starry-eyed choking down one dry bite after another.

  Before Beer can react, explosions erupt on opposite ends of the sky, setting off a haphazard flurry of fire. The One and Horton keep the Ears and Foremen busy as Pants’s ship tries to right itself from a glancing blow to the noggin which allowed the Asteroid Jones II just enough time to escape. After a moment of stunned confusion, Beer goes after the crummy junker, but he loses it amidst a hail of light.

  One of the beams ricochets off The One’s toasted bun, and he shouts, “I guess they want a fight!” as he unleashes a wild burst of return fire, missing so completely that it’s difficult to tell what he was aiming at.

  “There go the Ears,” Beer says, as the black and white military ships abruptly cease firing and begin a hasty retreat. “This is stupid. The Asteroid Jones II is getting away. I don’t wanna die for nothing.”

  “Beer is right,” Horton says, his video feed off-air as always. “There’s no point in fighting if we can’t get what we came for.”

  “Let’s get out of here.” Beer sets a new course on his ship’s window.

  “I’m right behind you,” The One says. “I’ll keep them busy while you guys get some distance.”

  “Are you sure?” Beer asks. “Mom will kill me if I come back without you.”

  “I can outmaneuver these chidiots no problem,” The One says, “as long as I’m paying attention. My ship’s faster than any of yours. Trust me, I’ll be fine.”

  Everything is happening so fast, Beer can barely think. “All right, but watch yourself. Pants, you okay?”

  “They hurt princessfluffypants,” Pants cries.

  “I know, but try to hold it together,” he tells her. “We’re almost out of this.”

  They steer their ships away from Scrapper’s Delight, losing sight of The One as he diverts what’s left of the Foreman fleet.

  “That was tense,” Horton says, his voice shaking. “We’re lucky we got out alive.”

  “Don’t speak so soon.” Beer nervously glances in his rearview. “The One is still back there.”

  The One’s feed shows him tensely concentrating on his ship’s controls, mumbling expletives to himself.

  Pants sulks, hunched forward with her arms crossed. “Now I have to get princessfluffypants a new ear.”

  “The important thing is we’re all in one piece,” Beer reminds her.

  “We should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy,” Horton says. “I blame myself. And you guys, of course.”

  “What do we do now?” Beer asks.

  “I want to go home,” Pants whines.

  “I think that’s our best option,” Horton says. “Let’s quit while we’re not too far behind.”

  “But we were so close.” Beer can still feel his blood pumping from all the excitement. “I saw which way the Asteroid Jones II was headed. Maybe we can follow it.”

  “Even if it stayed on course, which is unlikely, we’d still have almost no chance of catching up to it,” Horton demurs. “There’s too much space to cover.”

  “But we could…” Beer trails off as he grasps for a plan.

  “Face it,” Horton says, “we gave it our best shot and we did all right, considering. Let’s cut our losses.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Unable to think of a better idea, Beer rests his chin against his arms and stares sullenly out the window.

  “Is this the end for Pants Team Pink?” Pants asks, dramatically.

  “It’s the Ack Kickers,” The One suddenly announces. “And we’re just getting started!”

  “Yay!” Pants shouts. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Beer sighs in relief at the sight of The One’s steamed ham approaching in his rearview. “Good to see you.”

  “Welcome back,” Horton says.

  “They didn’t put up m
uch of a fight,” The One says, brushing his shoulder. “Once they realized the Asteroid Jones II escaped, they took off. So, what are we gonna do now?”

  “Horton and Pants want to go home,” Beer says.

  Finishing off a carton of multi-milk and tossing it on the floor, The One says, “Yeah, I’m ready to go.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Beer jumps up from his seat and glares into the camera. “What about ‘just getting started’?”

  “I meant meta-phor-ically,” The One says, leaning back in his chair and peeling the wrapper off a ration bar. “I barely have enough fuel to get home. And now I’ve got repairs to do. But most important, I’m almost out of food.”

  “Fine,” Beer relents. “I guess we’ll just give up then.”

  “We’re not giving up,” Pants says. “But we need a new plan. My fans agree, for the most part.”

  “Wake me up when we reach the starline,” The One says, gnawing on his bland candy bar as he trudges off-screen.

  Beer sets his ship’s autopilot, and to relieve his tension he grabs a carton of chocolate multi-milk from the fridge under the dash. His mind quickly switching gears, he moans, “Man, I don’t wanna go to school. Can you imagine what life would be like if we actually found the black gold? We’d never have to go back again.”

  “I’m with you on that one,” Horton says. “This whole in-person thing is really cramping my style.”

  “Do you remember the title of the book summary we’re supposed to read?” Beer asks as he opens a puzzle game on his ship’s window and starts idly sorting colored bricks.

  “Hmm, I can’t remember. It was some historical thing, I think, about that blue-eye drug. What’s it called again, seasoning?”

  Beer shrugs. “That sounds riveting.”

  “Spoilers,” Pants complains.

  “We’re not spoiling anything,” Beer says. “It’s history. We already know what happened.”

  “Well I don’t know…”

  “Guhh,” Beer groans. “Forget it. I gotta use the space toilet.”

  “Hey, what’s the difference between a space toilet and a regular toilet?” Horton asks.

  “I think you already know the answer to that.” Beer grins and noisily sucks the last few drops of milk from the bottom of the carton.