ITSF Project -Science Fiction Contest Terms and Conditions

The Clarke-Bradbury International Science Fiction Competition

Collectibles

Rudi Ball

A figure moved gradually over the reflective surface of the probe, an artifact of the past era, preserved in the dark void of space. The bombardment of small meteorites speckled the probe’s hull in a manner resembling its starry reflection of the universe. The astronaut slowed every so often in her ballet across it to inspect the sections of fascinatingly old technology. P-39-ASJ was clearly visible in white bold lettering across its fuselage, a testament to a different time of technology in space.

Kendal communicated to the control column of the massive home ship, its shadow masking the probe’s true visual exquisiteness.

“What’s the story on P-39-ASJ?” radioed Kendal.
“She’s a twenty-first century probe”, replied control. “We’re uploading you with its details.”

The probes delicate structure of dishes and radiation shielding made her glint like a marble on a tarmac. The engineering was unmistakably distinguishable. Its design was a mesh of low cost pieces, of primitive modern alloys mixed with outdated classicism, which could easily be replicated and constructed quickly and with minimal fuss. They didn’t make anything without nanotechology today.

Kendal knew for certain that of the P-series probes; at least a thousand were produced for application in a variety of areas, be them research or reconnaissance. The probes cameras massed on the end of one of the four arms, which was connected to its propulsion system, a plain ion burst thruster. An antenna about ten meters long stuck out, like a stray hair, of the fuselage with racks affixed for other sensors, attuned for its intended mission and a darkness filled with messages.

The data on the probe completed its download onto her suit, its arrival followed subsequently by a voice redundantly echoing the obvious in a simulated human voice. Her mother’s voice reassured her every “burn of the way”. The team had been scavenging the sector for months. A well paying and dangerous job, it had been a two-year trip from Jupiter and this was Kendal’s seventeenth working walk in space and her second time working on junk as “classically” engineered as the P-39. She gazed lovingly at the probe overcoming her hatred of the cold silence of space filled with her monotonous breathing.

She called a voice command in her suit and a holographic set of notes appeared on the inside of her helmet, its glass pulsating as the light from the sun intensified and faded. The automatic glass shift shielded her from the blinding glare of the system’s furnace and the lights overhead. She called another command and the details of the probe with complete history surfaced on her display. At the bottom of the text summary was deemed the probes present status level. Collectable.

Launched on April 12th 2012 by the Samagutchi Corporation the probe had investigated a belt of asteroids, which had been selected for probability of mining. It ran software, which made it capable of tracking trajectories and thereby reducing its chances of destruction while making its investigations. P-39-ASJ would stay dormant once on its course, to the outer belt past Pluto. Dormant in the sense that it would maintain a visual for objects, which could destroy or damage it and celestial objects, which it required to maintain navigational concurrency. Kendal liked to think of its artificial intelligent hardware as keeping one eye open while sleeping. It was what they termed as a “seeker”.

The notes ended with the fact that of the 1,227 launched probes contact had only been made with 193. Kendal radioed her assessment of the probe’s status. And started making her way back to the towering hulk hovering above her, its navigational lights alternating like a heartbeat to its being.

The mother ship of the “Junkers” was the Ross. Its spotlights firmly fixed on the probe and monitoring sensors revolving to warn of any dangers to the working crew hanging in silence beneath it. The Ross was nearly 800 meters long and of that length roughly 80 meters was sectioned as living space for the workers. A tubular structure swirled around its center like the minute hand on an old earth clock. While the Ross was large compared to the antiquated human ships of the periods before mass space exploration, it took comparatively little time to produce. It was common to being built on the moon in lower gravity and took only nine months with the aid of a fully working production line to complete its propulsion section. The habitat was simply attached by a standard connection, to the extensive body structures used for recycling objects in space. The Ross was a glorified inter-planet rubbish truck.

Manufactured quickly this class of ship dubbed the K-Series from General Systems was interchangeable and extremely customizable, with two safe nuclear fission reactors providing more than adequate long distance propulsion and power to the mass of electronics equipment on board, required to sustain the collectors on board. In a dog eat dog universe there was competition in “getting the scrap to the flap” as the collectors termed it. It wasn’t impossible for Junkers to have battles reminiscent of historic pirates to grab the loot or in this case, the commission.

Kendal approached the one of the person sized airlock door of the Ross. Her suit’s backpack propelling her forward with voice commands and small bursts of compressed gas. She flipped open the control cover with her glove bidding the door to open. Gliding open breaking in two as light poured from its protective room within, while a door sensor scanned with an infrared beam for any obstructions.

Welcome back signaled the on board system called MAC, an abbreviation for Multiuse Artificial Companion. Kendal always felt annoyed by MAC’s repeated pleasantries. After removing herself from her self-contained environment she exited the airlock and made her way into to the centrifugal cabin space. A satisfying artificial sense of security flooded her emotions.

Kendal entered the weightless control sphere, filled with holographic camera representations of the view outside the Ross mixed with text reporting on systems and other data. Cooper was the captain. He sat strapped to his seat in the weightless environment with a headset on, shouting commands as was customary.

Jennings was responsible for operations. He began his lecture to Kendal.

“This is probe P-39-ASJ-Z3F174. Its apparently missing another arm and a few internal components. It seems somebody beat us here to her internals. She’s missing her mass-driver box and the swinger.”

Kendal lost her look of astonishment as she stared at one of the projections overlooking the floodlit probe as an extendible robotic dolly dragged P-39 into an airlock.

“Hennessey and Noble say they’re going to move her to airlock eight” explained Cooper, “I suggest you get in there and learn something”

Kendal pushed her way out of the control module and down a long expansive cylindrical structure for minutes as she made her way towards a small semicircular cut away, which housed the airlock viewing room. Hennessey’s veteran hands went to work, dancing over the classic probe. He used to tinker on junk all the time, while the crew was meandering around the solar system. This was his biggest piece in ages.

“This one’s like a time piece,” he muttered as he undid one of the panels on the now internally stationed probe. The zero gravity of the workshop airlock, made it easy to work but also easier to make mistakes. The P-39’s box panel sprung open and confessed what was initially implied.

“Why someone take it?” beckoned Kendal from the look-in box.
“ It looks like they didn’t do a great job because the modules been pulled out quickly”, said Hennessey. “They must have been in a rush.”

The Ross’s alarm went off. MAC’s chatter echoed down the float ways in a garbled noise, “Incoming unidentified mass approaching”.

In the control room, Cooper simply gasped at what he saw on the holoradar. A semicircular cloud of objects other than trajectory moving asteroids hung suspended, with the Ross’s bulk moving into them. Kendal peered out the radiation-controlled window over the belly of the Ross. Cooper pulled a switch, summoning an automatic distress signal from MAC. The yell for help began its four hour and twenty-two minute mission to Jupiter, the first friendly post, as a glinting object like P-39 bounced off one of the microwave antennas. The debris scattered outward behind the Ross.

MAC continued his alarm as Cooper shouted commands and armed the repelling mass driver slugs, with the turning of a key around his neck and the punching of a serial number set. The defensive systems hummed as they went to work carving a radius around their home.

“Give me emergency full stop!” shouted Cooper.

In an imitated manner the command was repeated and MAC initiated a countdown with a warning of the future action. The Ross’s bow thrusters ignited with fury on their activation. Personnel flew into the walls, some equipment in the centrifugal section fell to the floor and chaotic cursing was heard all around.

On the holoradar, the Ross’s bulk had beached itself on the edge of the dotted cloud like a whale. Control was now in an eerie green light, as the crew scrambled for equipment.

“No breach, Sir”, sounded MAC.

“Repeat MAC!” said a pilot.

“No breach. Negative Breach”

“MAC. When did you see these objects?” asked the pilot.

“Our systems did not detect these objects. Negative on object deflections inside radius until 1 2 3 7 clicks” returned MAC.

“Return damage” commanded Cooper.

A detailed damage report sprung up on the port video screen with the outside view backing. One of the crew gave commands in his control chair with his headset, as the others busied themselves checking systems, headsets glowing.

“Sir, I have a visual at 362 kilometers on the range finder.”
“ Show me…”

The cloud of metallic objects was structured like a globular cluster galaxy, with a faint red center. The Ross was sitting on its extreme outskirts. The picture was zoomed and panned periodically, while other screens zoomed and followed nearby objects.

“How can you tell me we couldn’t see this on radar!” shouted Jennings, about to crack.

“Run diagnostics on damage, download visual and transmit with log immediately. Hennessey tell me what this is,” continued Cooper pointing to a visual display.

Kendal still heard the hum of the engines and so did the crew.

“We’re still burning, Sir.” stated Noble.

Kendal glanced as a few radiation panels from the Ross peeled off and Noble’s expression showed his true confusion at what was happening to the ship, its internal structure starting to sound as if it were flexing. Consumption was at maximum and the small rotational ion engines were working hard to maintain full stop.

“We cannot maintain this Sir. We’re being pulled towards the red emission”
A long pause began Cooper’s voice, “Ok. Shutdown thrusters. Ready the evacuation pods.”

MAC responded with the usual unflustered confirmation. As the Ross moved towards the epicenter of the cloud with all the other objects in a swarm, the turrets massive capacitors could be heard charging repetitively to maintain a passage of safety around the ship, even though the odd probe fragment still managed to impact. Every crewmember now stuck in the control module was trying to do the math. This wasn’t physically possible thought Noble as an explosion emanated from the Ross, shaking it, as one of the mass-drivers overheated and gave up to the relentless bombardment of what orbited the Ross. MAC proceeded to solve the overheating problem promptly, like only a computers program could do.

Time passed slowly as the Ross got closer to the red center, debris from deflections peppering the surrounding area. Asteroids and countless satellites and probes were being gravitated towards a center too bright to look into. The Ross was now at roughly ten kilometers from a haunting finality of the unknown.

A chill swept over some of the crew. The red center was surrounded by a dark visible surface.

“Maintain transmission, MAC” ordered Cooper. “And ready evacuation of this ship.”

Members started their final trained rituals. Cooper punched numbers quickly into the console by his chair. Kendal didn’t like the thought that she’d be in stasis. Nobody was going to find them. She also didn’t understand why Cooper was trying to evacuate now. The likelihood of escaping this kind of suction was improbable, to say the least, given their proximity to the unknown mass. The Ross was breaking up and quickly.

“We’re the garbage”, mumbled Kendal. “They’re us and we’re them and they don’t know what they’re doing!”

“Repeat that!”, said Cooper.

A notion crossed Kendal’s mind. In the early part of the twenty first century a guideline was set on how to go about contact with “sentient” life in a tin can, much like the Ross. In Kendal’s mind this was the most trivial document ever. It involved transmitting a recording. The likelihood of contact within early human endeavor was minute, but this “chomper“ didn’t fit anything possible and was likely alien. It probably thought that they looked like good scrap.

”We need to tell them, Sir!” said an astonished Hennessey.
“ They’ve never seen us, nor we them and they don’t know that we’re here!” shouted Kendal.

“You’re expect that this is not a human object, when it could be. MAC. Flash our lights and broadcast contact message triple seven on all frequencies”, said Cooper. “The rest of you vacate now”

The Ross lit up like a candle, with the flashing emphasized by all the swirling debris around them. The remaining crew, including Kendal, in the control sphere took one last look of astonishment as the unrelenting and inexplicable suction of the luminescent object drew the Ross to destruction. The Ross shook silently as a module disconnected from the hull. Impacts with other objects where now commonly heard and the software which automated the defensive mass driver system was overwhelmed by numbers.

What was left of the Ross vibrated, shuddered and disappeared into the red light. The digital transmissions ended…

The object of their destruction with markings in English sailed onward out of its red glare as it systematically trawled and scoured this region of space, its robotic sensors ever watchful for the opportunity to collect.

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