Space Juice: A Sci-fi Misadventure

By Dan Wild

A thousand years in the future humanity thrives as the self-proclaimed dominant species of the Orion Arm. Several other intelligent races reside in our corner of the galaxy, but aren't half as motivated to expand and exploit.

Neither is Chuck Marley, who'd rather be watching Lunar Golf at the Quasar Bar. But everyone has to earn a crust, even if you're not qualified to do anything. Luckily for Marley, his old engineering professor has loaned him a small cargo ship. What he'll do with it is anyone's guess. Along for the ride is historian Gaston Dimble, hungry to meet new life and sample new foodstuffs.

But a Zorgon has hijacked their craft - the Anaconda - and diverted it Zorge, a backwater humanity only finds interesting because of red dust: a mind-altering substance that also makes good skin cream. If Marley can deal with this Zorgon, maybe he can ship the dust back to Crete 581d and pay off his debts. Then do some real exploring.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Wild
• Release date: Jan 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780995500532

Dan Wild

Dan Wild is still trying to work out night from day, breakfast from dinner, creepiness from coolness. He exists in two realities, each with their own timezone. In one reality he services the body, mingles with humanity and tries to fit in. In the other reality he sends forth his creative outpourings in music and writing. Dan Wild will always be a work in progress.

Book preview

Chapter 1: SCR 1845-6357B

The ship thundered through the cosmic ether breaking all known laws of physics, except the law that allows science fiction writers to make a living speculating about laws being broken. To be precise, the ship was only breaking the laws of classical Newtonian physics, and a few of Einstein’s too. The ship: the Anaconda. Origin: Crete 581d, industrial hub of the known galaxy.

Mission: Unknown.

Destination: Unknown.

Humans knew little about the known galaxy. Even less was known about the uncharted areas beyond the Orion Arm in the Outer Rim. Unknown unknowns, to borrow a famous phrase popularised a thousand years ago.

How could anyone speculate what was beyond the Orion Arm, only a small fraction of the entire galaxy, when people didn’t know what the galaxy even looked like?

The Milky Way was a barred spiral, a belt of stars thrust through it from end to end like a shrimp on a barbecue. The popular myth of the Milky Way as a splendid, symmetrical spiral persisted long after scientists had contradicted that popular image, proclaiming instead that it was bisected by a barge pole.

Our stellar neighbourhood, the Orion Arm, is home to thirty-nine or forty inhabited planets, depending on whether Pluto counted as a planet. Many wars were fought over this issue, most of them at astronomy conferences where flablets were thrown and Plutologists stabbed with electronic styluses.

All known inhabited planets were within a radius of fifty light years. Except for Betelgeuse, 500 light years away. An ancient warp gate of unknown origin linked it to everything else. Many brains had been assigned to reverse engineer the technology. All had failed. Some disastrously, pulling scientists into unseen higher, or lower, dimensions.

Of course, there was the Outer-Outer Rim, far beyond the frontier colonies. This was myth. Most who ventured beyond the Outer Rim into the Outer-Outer Rim never returned. There were no refueling outposts in the Outer-Outer Rim, no radio relays, no satellite TV.

The Anaconda thudded through hyperspace, well within the Orion Arm. It shuddered through hyperturbulence, heading to Zorge in the SCR 1845-6357 system, although its three occupants didn’t know it.

SCR 1845-6357 was a binary system with three planets, Zorge being the second planetary body from SCR 1845-6357A, occasionally known as Pavlov. SCR 1845-6357B is a brown dwarf orbiting Pavlov, a red dwarf. No one had bothered to give SCR 1845-6357B a proper name befitting a healthy brown dwarf star. Instead, whenever anyone referred to SCR 1845-6357B they had no choice but to call it SCR 1845-6357B. Luckily no one mentioned SCR 1845-6357B, because saying SCR 1845-6357B all the time requires energy, and energy costs money.

The Anaconda cavorted through hyperspace towards Pavlov with all the elegance of a Martian rally driver on his final set of tyres. Gaston Dimble had entered hypersleep with his mouth open. A trickle of saliva caressed his chin. He dreamed about the terrain of Zorge, because somewhere deep down he sensed they were heading there.

He relived the wild events back on Crete 581d.

The Zorgon had some innate power that no one, not even the Zorgon himself, could control. It seemed to manifest under intense emotion. Remarkably, it seemed to have activated the dead core of their hyperdrive. As his subconscious reenacted the moment during the surreal state of hypersleep, he envisioned ethereal energies branching from the Zorgon’s horns straight to the reactor and igniting the drive, but containing any anomalies.

It was a long time since Professor Gaston Dimble had left Crete 581d. If they were heading back to the Zorgon’s home planet, and he strongly suspected they were, this would present the perfect opportunity for a fresh anthropological study.

A violent shuddering shook the ship as it ‘braked’. The emergence from hyperspace and hyperreality into conventional space-time began like an old washing machine escaping its enclave. The spaceship, a Fooolzian Trawler named the Anaconda, extricated itself from the clutches of non-reality and zipped towards a planet that could only be Zorge.

Everyone was asleep, except Zorgeous the Zorgon. The metal-loving chitter, Dimble’s pet, lay on the floor of the repair bay among wires, springs and a busted bag of giblets. They would have to trade these giblets at a discount.

Marley sat with his head lolling over the dashboard. He had just completed his first interstellar jump with no preparation allowed at all. His consciousness flickered between fantasy, philosophy, family. But it was mainly concerned with fantasy. Marley was taking full advantage of the semi-lucid hyperreal state, conjuring in his mind’s eye all sorts of fancy classical hentai erotica.

Hyperspatial travel had different effects on different species. Humans and chitters fell asleep. The pet chitter was the first to wake and quickly became hyperactive.

The loud banging from the repair bay woke Gaston. He perceived Marley muttering to himself in some way-out dream dimension: Watch without wanting, watch without wanting…

Gaston roused himself. Marley. Wake up! What are you dreaming? Are you in some ancient world? He barely recalled his own recent hallucinations and was already quizzing someone else on theirs.

Marley’s arcane drawl returned to Standard Galactic Standard: Pass me another goblet, and don’t sit on my…What? Gaston! Marley blinked. How do you feel? I bet a scholar like you never dreamed of becoming a traveller, let alone a First Officer.

Gaston replied, During the jump you gained access to the hyperspatial moment. If you can remember any details of your dream–

Marley was incredulous. We’ve concluded our first hyperjump and you want to psychoanalyse me?

Where are we and what are we doing here? We were just going to ship giblets and Prismatic Pizza to Crete 581c, and the next thing we know…

I believe that Zorgon we named Zorgeous has taken us back to his home planet. He may be wanted here. Let’s keep him under restraint and find out what’s going on. Marley sprung out of the Captain’s chair with panache.

The internal communications system began to buzz with the latest solar weather from Pavlov interspersed with hip hop music from another star system. The shrinking of time-space during warp speed had messed a little with the system’s internal clock. They would have to wait until a clear connection was established, and meanwhile enjoy the hip hop.

Marley headed to the cargo hold to check on Zorgeous. The Zorgon stared at him as he approached.

I appreciate your efforts in bringing me back to my home world. Now if you could loosen my restraints.

Our efforts? said Marley. We’re here because of you. And you can stay right in the hold until we work out who you are. He muttered, and whether you’re valuable.

You will find out soon enough. Maybe then you will have second thoughts about restraining me. I sense something in you. Something different and better than your fellow species planetside.

Marley’s skull faintly tickled. He turned away from Zorgeous. Don’t try any tricks.

Gaston appeared in the hatchway. Captain? He giggled. A hauler is on its way up. We’re going to make a 30% profit on pizza and giblets.

Not bad Gaston. Should be just enough for some juice to get us out of here. A sudden drumming obscured the end of his sentence, like popcorn exploding onto sheet metal. Go and feed your pet chitter some gourmet metal before it puts any further dints in the repair bay.

Chapter 2: Seek, watch, believe

One person was unaccounted for. Insomniac Fluton. Chuck Marley found him in the sleeping quarters. Amazingly, he was actually lying on one of the two bunks in the narrow quarters, fast asleep, on his back, hands neatly folded on chest.

It would be a crime to wake him. But he had already ordered a hovercab to the planet’s surface.

Marley got the fright of his life when Fluton started speaking. His eyes had stayed closed, his body as still as a serene lake, but the lips said, rather formally, Don’t worry. I’ll stay here. Somebody has to look over the ship.

Marley jumped back, a feeling of guilt that he had been watching someone asleep, or so he thought.

That’s a very good idea Insomniac. I’ll, ah, promise to promote your app, what’s it called again, FaceSwap?

FaceMash. Fluton raised himself and sat on the edge of the bed. It matches you to famous historical figures. And plays music based on your mood.

And soon it’ll be an all-in-one payment system too.

I don’t think I’ll go down that path.

Well rest assured, FaceMash will go viral on Zorge.

There are not many humans here are they? Fluton scratched his head.

True. But some of them may be influential scientists.

Good point. They’re innovators like me.

Here are the keys. The Anaconda really had no keys. Starting the ship involved a retinal scan and passphrase. So Marley pretended to throw something.

Thanks. Fluton caught the imaginary set of keys.

A blue light flashed on the sleeping quarter’s status screen. Incoming transmission. The Anaconda’s AI systems had a monotonously slow, drawling, almost drunken, voice.

We need to change the ship’s voice, said Marley. Accept transmission.

The screen displayed a dinted pink hovercab with attached trailer. It rattled out of the atmosphere of Zorge. The dusty orange planet showed mountains and deserts below the crimson clouds. The hauler sidled up to the Anaconda. The transmitter crackled: What type of ship is this? Where the hell am I supposed to dock?

It’s a Fooolzian Trawler. With Sirian pedigree, Marley added hastily. Dock below the bridge on the port side. The struts are ready.

The pilot was overeager on his approach and thudded into the jutting airlock module. Heavy magnets struggled with the hovercab, but finally captured it. Latex balloons enveloped the hatch.

A bearded man in his 50s squirmed tried to squirm through. Marley gave him some assistance, yanking him by the shirt collar.

I’m Jed, welcome to Zorge. Jed pretended to dust his jacket.

Have a safe trip. It was Insomniac Fluton on the Anaconda’s intercom.

We’ll be in touch when or if we need anything. Marley gave the CCTV a mock salute.

The bearded cab driver gestured Marley and Gaston back towards his vehicle. Marley had to push him through the hatch.

As the hovercab plunged towards the surface Marley’s stomach made friends with his neck. After an ungainly landing he was brave enough to open his eyes and look out the window. He saw a giant electronic billboard: Zorge. Innovation and Creation! Beneath these words a woman in a tight-fitting lab coat held a bubbling test tube. When she poured the tube’s contents Marley was slightly unsettled to read the words, Seek, watch, believe bobbling around the screen. They resonated curiously with the subconscious messages bubbling in his head.

Zorge was strictly divided into human and Zorgon. But the Zorgons had become increasingly restless about the human presence. Humans were now only admitted into their territory after a strict equipment search. This prevented many from entering the capital. For as soon as they could afford it most humans could not resist robotically enhancing themselves, installing intelligence chips, culinary regulators and chrome-plated abdomens.

Jed, Marley and Gaston Dimble nimbly paced across the tarmac. A trolley cruised by, towing their goods for import.

You’ve made a fair exchange, Jed said. My tip? Get your hands on some vials of red dust. It’s going to be the next big substance, the next space juice.

Marley stroked his cheek, feeling for the smoothness promised by the application of his sample vial.

Red dust will be useful for more than just skin care, Jed added.

Like tulips, Gaston made an attempt at humour with an obscure historial reference.

Marley ignored him. Do you have any idea, he asked, why a Zorgon would leave Zorge?

Impossible! Not a single Zorgon has left since the diplomatic mission to Crete, 70 years ago. We all know how that ended. The Zorgons had refused all offers of technological assistance and had threatened to walk out of the assembly. The only point on which they relented was permission to film an episode of Universal Idolatry on Zorge. This was enough for humanity to gain a foothold.

The temporary structures erected by the film crew had now expanded into a burgeoning scientific settlement.

What would you say, said Marley, if I told you I spotted a Zorgon on Crete 581d?

Jed laughed. I’d say you were delusional.

They glanced at a scrolling news display. …Guardian agrees to greater access…First visit to settlements in over a decade welcomed by scientists…Unrest in Ungarloot.

Where’s Ungarloot? asked Gaston.

A satellite town 30 miles south. Jed pointed to a rugged mountain ridge that crossed the northwest. My business is fine, as long as the unrest stays there.

Marley glanced at Jed without turning his head.

Gaston impatiently punched a few buttons on his flablet. Jed, you are aware of this…this announcement by the Guardian? He pressed play. A Zorgon filled the screen, minus its antlers. Without these spindly, grasping tentacles, the Zorgon looked less alien: I am the Guardian. My will is clear. But the Antlers of Amplitude must be recovered.

Marley turned directly towards Jed. The Antlers of Amplitude? What the hell are they?

I’ve heard of these. Gaston fingered his chin. The Guardian is chosen because of his latent psychic sense. The elders then hack off his antlers and attach the Antlers of Amplitude in their place. They have been passed down through generations. They bestow a persuasive power to anyone who can successfully wear them. There have only been five Guardians in the last 200 years.

Ridiculous, said Marley. But secretly he questioned his narrow-mindedness. I don’t suppose, Jed, you’ll give us a scenic tour? Marley looked at the financial readout on his flablet. With the 50,000 credits secured from the pizza and giblet exchange, he could afford some sightseeing.

Jed replied quickly, Anything for credits. We’re safe up in the skies. He banged on his chest three times. It sounded like a bell tolling. I won’t get anywhere near Goramus with my chrome-plated abdomen. Especially with its bonus ripple chip. Let’s look at the little critters from above.

‘Little critters’ did not spring to mind when Marley thought of Zorgons. They were creepy, rickety, but they weren’t little. At least not the adults. And those long, twisty antlers were anything but critter-like.

Can you fly us back to my ship first? I have a little extra cargo. Your trailer won’t be required.

Chapter 3: Trouble at the tower

Mountains capped with red snow poked through the clouds. Jed was on the watch, maintaining a safe altitude and distance from the mountain peaks. He kept the craft above cloud cover. It would be hard to spot them from the ground. But they could see ground activity with the hovercab’s powerful sonar and multi-spectral camera system.

Chuck Marley and Gaston Dimble watched the graphic display for any signs of movement on the vast plains between the peaks. They also kept their eyes on their fourth passenger. Their precious cargo. The Zorgon’s claws were bound behind his carapace.

Now that you’re back where you want to be, what do you think we should do with you? Bearing in mind you set off my ship’s launch systems, and gave us no alternative but to leave immediately.

The meter ticked over and a metallic