Space Junk

by Andrew Bixler

“Eww…” She cringes as she peels its fingers back and they crack apart, shedding fragments of icy skin. After a brief struggle, she manages to pry the object out of the hand’s frigid grasp, and she flings the arm out into space.

  Clambering back inside the comforting pink walls of her cozy ship, she rips her smiling helmet off and tosses it, bouncing, to the floor.

  “I found it,” she shouts, giddily, holding the dark object up to her ship’s camera.

  “No way…” Todd stares through his feed in wide-eyed awe. “The black gold!”

  “Ho-ly chit,” The One says.

  Horton’s feed suddenly comes to life, marking his first appearance in Pants Team Pink history. Little more than a shadow inside his dark cockpit, he says, “I will never again doubt the power of Pants Team Pink.”

  “It’s so beautiful,” The One says. “What are we gonna do with it?”

  “Pants found it,” Beer reminds them. “That means it’s up to her.”

  “Oh great,” The One moans. “She’ll probably use it to turn the world pink or something.”

  “It’s been a long and exciting adventure, you guys,” Pants says, grinning and turning the cube over in her hands as it greedily sucks the light out of her cabin. “We traveled across the universe, saw all kinds of brule stuff, defeated the forces of evil, and made a ton of new friends along the way. But we couldn’t have done any of it without all of you. That’s why I want to know what you think we should do with the black gold.”

  “Wait a second,” The One says. “Pants, are you talking to us, or your fans?”

  “I’m talking to all of you.”

  “You mean your fans are watching this?” Horton asks.

  “Of course,” she says. “They’re all official members of Pants Team Pink now.”

  Horton’s feed cuts back out. “Quit doing that! Now everyone knows what I look like.”

  “Now everybody in the universe knows we have the black gold!” Beer shouts.

  “Chill out, you guys,” Pants tells them. “We can’t keep secrets from the team. The black gold belongs to all of us. Together we’ll figure out something amazing to do with it. I just know it!”

  “Now that you mention it,” Beer says, “I can’t think of anything.”

  “Hmph.” The One scrunches his face and stares off-screen. “I can’t even remember why we were looking for it in the first place.”

  “For fun, of course!” Pants says.

  “Whatever we do, we need to be very careful,” Horton cautions. “We have no idea what that thing is capable of. All we know is that a lot of people died for it.”

  “Horton’s right,” Beer says. “All the most evil forces in the universe are gonna be after us, and probably a bunch of the good ones, too.”

  “No matter what comes our way, Pants Team Pink will win the day,” Pants declares. “We can do anything by working with each other!”

  The One frowns and grabs his stomach. “Well, before we do anything, can we please get something to eat? I’m starving.”

  “We found the rarest, most valuable object in the entire universe,” Beer says, “and all you can think about is food.”

  “Hey, don’t be mad, bro, just because I know what I want. What is there to think about, anyway? Let’s sell the thing and split the money.”

  “I have to side with The One on this one,” Todd says. “I’ve got a hankering for a tossed salad and a big ol’ plate of scrambled eggs!”

  “Whatever happens, we can’t let it fall into the wrong hands,” Horton says. “We have a serious responsibility. If we really stand for the things we say we do, we have to act like it. We can’t put the whole universe in danger for a few crits.”

  “All right, all right,” The One moans. “This is all very nice and good, but can we get out of here already?”

  “What adventures will the team get into next, you guys?” Pants wonders aloud. “Will they ever find out what happened to the Asteroid Jones II, and what will they do with the black gold?”

  “Who cares?” The One rudely interjects.

  “Will they make it to school on time?” Pants continues. “And where will they stop to eat? Join us next time as we find out the answers to these thrilling questions and more, on Pants Team Pink!” She winks and holds her fingers out at the camera in a ‘V.’ “See you next time, you guys!”

  “They was s’pose tuh be right ‘rount here somewheres,” Spez says. “But I kin hartly see anythin’ in this mess.”

  Hunks of scrap bounce off his ship’s armored hull as it plows through a dense patch of debris. Ferd’s glows bright in the distance, the parking lot overrun with greedy scrappers.

  “How’it yuh git this gig, anyway?” Tobi asks.

  “A big chit-loat a ships was out here breakin’ down,” Spez says. “Fert ran out a tow ships, so I offer’t tuh help out. Pait me double the normal haulin’ rate, up front. Threw in a case a Ol’ Guart, too.” Reaching down into the box next to his seat, Spez grabs a couple beers and tosses one to Tobi.

  “What’s the ship s’pose tuh look like, anyway?” Tobi asks, dribbling beer onto his greasy tank top.

  “It’s one a them ICA vans,” Spez says.

  “Well, I don’t see it.”

  Spez turns to glare at his dopey companion. “Neither do I, bit jist keep yer eye out, will yuh?”

  “Will do,” Tobi says, opening his eyestalks wide and stretching them toward opposite ends of the window.

  Junkers from around the universe roam the litter field, scooping up sheets of shredded metal, impossible-to-obtain military hardware, and any other valuable trash they can get their grubby hands on. Giant trawlers from Ferd’s are already out collecting loads of the stuff and hauling it back to his moon for sorting. Another space week and the place will be picked clean.

  “I guess we know what they was fightin’ over this time,” Tobi says. “But what a yuh think the black golt is?”

  Spez waves his hairy paw over the window. “The stuff that dreams are made of, Tob – nothin’.”

  “Then why’it erryboty want it so bat?”

  “Cuz erryboty else want’it it. Don’t yuh git it, Tob?”

  Tobi turns his eyes toward the driver’s seat and his toothless green maw twists up. “I think it’ll end up bein’ somethin’. Pants Team Pink’ll fig’er it out.”

  “Yuh might be right,” Spez says, “if any a it was real.”

  “What a yuh mean, if it was real?”

  “Wake up, Tob,” Spez grumbles as he swerves the ship around a wide, jagged slab of mangled metal, splashing part of his beer onto the floor. “They want yuh tuh think it happen’t, good triumph’t over evil ant all that. But like most things, it was obv’ously jist a trick tuh git yuh tuh think somethin’, or buy somethin’. Come on, black golt?”

  “I don’t b’lieve it,” Tobi says. “Pants Team Pink wit never lie tuh ther fans.”

  Shaking his head, Spez reaches behind him for an old t-shirt and tosses it over the puddle of beer. “What ‘bout the way the new character, Tot, show’t up jist in time tuh save the day? Ant do yuh really b’lieve a bunch a reg’lar scrappers beat the Ferman’s fleet ant a whole army a Ears? I jist don’t buy it. It all work’t out a little too perfect, if yuh ask me. BUAAA,” he belches.

  “Ther was way more fans thin Ears or Fermen, and Tot is ther merch guy,” Tobi argues. “They mention’t him in other episotes, I think. It’s not like he jist appear’t out a thin space.”

  “Ant I s’pose it was jist a coincitence that it happen’t at Fert’s?” Spez says. “Ther always showin’ c’mmercials fer the place, ant then a war jist happen’t tuh break out in the parkin’ lot? Ther ‘fans’ was probly a bunch a Fert’s cust’mers. I bit ol’ Fert was in on the whole thing. He might a even pait ‘em tuh do it. Probly not much…”

  “I don’t care what yuh say,” Tobi says. “I know it really happen’t.”

  “Git real, Tob. It’s a decent show, I’ll give yuh that, but that’s all it is – a
show. And the black golt is jist one a them things. What’cha call it… a Macgyver.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, like a gimmick,” Spez says. “Somethin’ tuh keep the characters busy.”

  “Well, what ‘bout all a this?” Tobi points his beer at the mess surrounding them. “How dit all a this scrap get here?”

  “Hmph, that’s a het scratcher,” Spez says. “May be Fert dump’t a bunch a stuff from his warehouse out here, fer show.”

  “This ain’t stuff out a Fert’s warehouse,” Tobi says. “Look at it. The only time I seen this kine’t a scrap is after a war.”

  Spez skeptically gazes out over the rubble, wiping beer foam from his beard. “Yuh know somethin’, Tob? I hope yer right. I hope it was all real. At least then we’it be rit a the Ears.”

  As the weary travelers resume searching for the busted van, they’re hailed by an approaching cruiser, and Spez switches to the public channel. “What kin I do fer yuh, frient?”

  A four-eyed humanoid glares out at them from a spotless cockpit and shouts, “You can get your big ugly heap out of my way, that’s what! Your wake is throwing scrap everywhere. Some of it hit my ship!”

  “We still have tuh put up with all the other ackles, though,” Spez tells Tobi, glancing in his rearview at the sparkling red Spacehog pulled up behind them. “That’s the kine’t a ship yuh drive to a pageant, not scrappin’. This must be yer first day.”

  The guy’s purple lips purse and twist up, and he juts his thumb out at them, unleashing a string of expletives as he attempts to steer his shiny ship around the omnipresent debris.

  Tobi takes another beer from the case on the floor and leans back in his worn seat. “Hey, maybe we shit have are own show. If a bunch a kids kin do it…”

  “I don’t wanna be on no show,” Spez says. “Besites, what’it it be ‘bout, us two chitiots workin’ and drinkin’? Noboty’s gon’ wanna watch that. They ‘rety got ther lives.”

  “That’s not all we’it do,” Tobi says. “We’it travel ‘rount the universe and search fer things, like Pants Team Pink. And we‘it call it The Spez and Tobi Hour, after us, and cuz that’s ‘bout as long as I can be ‘on.’”

  “Nah,” Spez says.

  Tobi smirks and gulps his beer. “Yeah, may be yer right. Hey, yuh got anymore a that popcorn?”

  “That chit’s too expensive. I got some new ant improv’t rations, though.”

  “Pass,” Tobi says.

  As they squabble over what to do for dinner, a light on the dash starts blinking and Spez groans. He flicks the switch and forces a wide grin as his boss’s lumpy pink torso appears on the window. “Hey ther, Mr. Steel. Sorry I’m late. Yuh don’t know what’s been goin’ on out here.”

  “No need to apologize, Spez,” Mr. Steel says. “As a matter of fact, it’s I who owe you the apology. All this time I thought you were just making up excuses so you could goof off.”

  Spez and Tobi exchange a knowing glance.

  “But the truth is, you’ve been out there making deliveries, braving war zones, risking your life to get the job done all along.” Mr. Steel pauses, and for a moment it almost sounds as if he’s getting choked up. “And all I’ve done is give you a hard time. I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you and your friend there…”

  “Tobi,” Spez says.

  Mr. Steel turns toward the passenger seat. “Ahh yes, poor, sweet, simple Tobi. I owe you the biggest apology of all.”

  Tobi just stares at the screen with a confused look.

  “Uh, yuh okay Mr. Steel?” Spez asks.

  Mr. Steel laughs, shaking his corpulent cranium. “I’m much better than okay, Spez.”

  “Yeah, that’s the weirt part,” Spez says. “I kin’t ‘member the last time yuh wasn’t yellin’ at me.”

  “Well Spez, dear loyal employee, the space tide has turned.” Mr. Steel lights a cigar and the screen fills with neon pink smoke. “Between the Foremen hijacking our deliveries and the UE trade embargo, things were beginning to look pret-ty bleak. But that’s all over now, and life is sweet, for a change.”

  “Oh, well that’s good news, then,” Spez says.

  “It sure as chit is,” Mr. Steel says. “And I owe it all to Pants Team Pink. I love those kids. Hachh, hachh, hachh,” he hacks. “It’s been so long, I forget how to laugh, but you get the idea.”

  “Yeah, I’m startin’ tuh come ‘rount myself,” Spez says.

  “Why don’t you take the rest of the night off,” Mr. Steel says. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. In fact, Tobi, if you want it, you’ve got a job starting tomorrow.”

  “Uh yeah, that’it be great,” Tobi says.

  “In the meantime, go get yourselves something to eat, on me,” Mr. Steel orders, with an exploratory smile. “And then get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a real good day.” He winks, holds his fingers up in a ‘V,’ and his feed cuts out.

  “Wow, dinner ant a job,” Tobi says. “Now do yuh b’lieve it really happen’t?”

  Spez crushes his can and reaches down for another cool one. “Chit, fer a free meal, I’ll b’lieve anythin’ they want me tuh b’lieve.”

  “Yuh think wer ever gon’ fine’t that ICA ship?” Tobi asks.

  “Well, I still ain’t seen it,” Spez says. “It must a ‘rety got pick’t up. Lit’s git out a here. We kin stop at Moon Burger ant then het out tuh Scrapper’s Delight. We d‘serve tuh have a little fun fer a change.”

  “Hey, wait a secont,” Tobi says. “Look at that.”

  He points out ahead of their ship, toward a charred metal skeleton floating amongst the debris. Its limbs are twisted back, and its face is contorted into a mad grimace, staring out at the stars in permanent agony.

  “We ain’t scrappin’,” Spez says.

  Tobi turns toward the driver’s seat, his cheeks blue. “Is it weirt that seein’ that thing is gettin’ me sorta… excitet?”

  “Nothin’s weirt, Tob,” Spez says. “Or errythin’ is. I don’t know. ‘Bout the only thing I do know is not tuh git involv’t with anythin’ that kin make this big a mess.”

  “I bet Fert’it pay a shiploat a crits fer somethin’ like that, though,” Tobi says. “Ther’s probly all sorts a amazin’ treasure out ther.”

  “Eh, fergit it, Tob,” Spez says, shifting his rig into gear and steering it away from the rubble. “It’s jist a bunch a space junk.”

  My first inkling of this book came about from a need to write something fun. I had just finished my first, unpublished, novel and was drained, intellectually and emotionally, from two years of digging up and interpreting the experiences and feelings that led me to begin writing in earnest. I knew that if I was going to continue I needed to work on something that would fuel itself, because I was all out. I asked myself and the ether and any gods that might be listening, what was the thing I always wanted to write once I could write? Almost before I finished the question, I knew. I had always known, it seemed, that space was the place.

  What followed were three grueling, exciting, frustrating, fulfilling, painful, enlightening years full of space, beer, and videotapes. My hope is that the words on the preceding pages remind you that the universe is, fundamentally, magic.

  Andrew Bixler hails from the same hometown as The Beav. He writes fiction, hundred proof, takes your roots out. He is also co-host of Big Orange Couch: The 90s Nickelodeon Podcast.

  For more about the author, news about upcoming books, and contact information, visit andrewbixler.com and twitter @andrewofbixler

  For more about the Big Orange Couch podcast, visit bigorangecouch.podbean.com and twitter @BOCpodcast

  I am grateful that you chose to spend your hard-earned crits on my book. Since I am my own publisher, I receive a larger portion of the revenue than I would under a traditional publishing house. But it also means that I don’t have the weight of a big corporation to market it. If you enjoyed this book, please spread the word to every sci-fi adventure fan you know. The fate of my world depends on i
t!

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