Space is Trash

By Shade Oyemakinwa

Our intrepid crew of 4 are the best of the best in the space trash business! Whether that business is saving our galaxy for future generations or just a PR stunt for the companies who created the problem is beside the point, as long as they get paid. We follow our crew on their last round of cleaning assignments before the legally required 5 year ship upgrade and hopefully abandon it for better jobs on a space station.

We follow them as they clear waste from microplanets in neighboring solar systems and do their best to live together on their ship that’s falling apart and just on this side of too small. Join Regina, the veteran newcomer, as they navigate a work/life balance in a job where it’s required to make it your life!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Mar 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781094459226

Book preview

1

The fast track to the good life was the surface waste management division. Regina had over seven years’ tenure in the free-float division of Intergalactic Waste Organization & Solutions, and their record was pristine. But Regina was sick of spending the majority of their time hurtling through the void of space, and they wanted a space station job. Nineteen months in this old ship vacuuming up corporate junk would be enough to qualify them to start applying. Regina’s lower tenure in surface waste meant they were guaranteed to get the more difficult commissions, and to make matters worse, Tisha kept stealing Regina’s cookies. They were a finite resource, and she just. Kept. Taking them.

And she was team lead, so what was Regina going to do? Complain? This was a mentorship run. They lived together nineteen months, Tisha signed a paper, and boom! Regina would be eligible for supervisor positions. Regina wasn’t going to jeopardize that over a few cookies; they wouldn’t jeopardize that over a lot of cookies.

Their gross abuse of power aside, Tisha was a fairly capable team lead so far. Training was significantly less of a chore with her and Pam than it had been with their trainer when they’d first joined the ranks of Intergalactic Waste Organization & Solutions.

Their current commission was on a microplanet named MSQ-90. There were parameters for what made a celestial body a microplanet, but Tisha had said it was essentially anything the company deemed too big to be an asteroid, and despite there being plenty of science to explain what an asteroid was, the company had its own definition of such as well. Tisha helpfully explained that unless you were putting in an audit for lost wages, it wasn’t necessary to know the differences on their end.

They got to the changing room, and Regina was a bit confused, seeing the standard indoor Mars uniform with the added bonus of what looked like neon yellow fishing waders and arm-length gloves.

We’re not using fully ventilated suits? Regina asked. Free-float crews were trained in the full V-suits, and though there were a lot of differences, a good portion of Regina’s training for the surface crew also involved the V-suits.

Breathable atmosphere, so no, Tisha said. It’s gonna be such a pain without them, though. The waste on this commission is mostly liquid.

This seems like… a bad idea, Regina said.

Most commissions where they don’t assign V-suit use tend to be, Pam said. This is gonna be hellish, so be prepared. Pam put a ventilated mask on, and after seeing this, Regina followed suit.

Pam had been dreading this commission ever since they read the survey information on it. This microplanet was owned by the Trellis Avenue Corporation. They’d used it to dump excess quantities of their shampoo for years. Specifically their bargain line. Specifically the scent Tropical Party Explosion. That was Pam’s go-to scent for their shampoo, body wash, and candles. They preferred an aloe scent for their body lotion, which, thank heaven for little favors. They’d been seriously contemplating cutting all their hair off, at least until they found a different shampoo.

I will now be landing the ship. Please take your designated landing positions so I may begin. Irene had spent several hours looking for a serviceable landing space. Most of the area was under shampoo, and it took some time to find a semi-dry landing space. Irene was a true bright spot, the silver lining to the stormy cloud of a ship Regina found themselves in. The ship was too small, the kitchen amenities were laughable, and Regina kept hitting their thigh on a corner of a shelf, but it was all worth having Irene on the team.

Irene was the ship’s volunteer AI— all shipboard AI in the company were created and placed in compulsory volunteer work unless they chose to apply for employment at a later date. Regina’s cousin, Kemi, had been on the quality assurance team that worked on Regina’s line of AIs over a decade ago. Regina got a kick out of talking about how they needed to get Irene to call her Auntie Kemi more.

Anyway, Irene was one of those artistic types. She’d gotten super into fashion design over the last few weeks they’d been on their way to the shampoo commission. She talked a lot about color theory, geometry, physics, and Shakespeare for some reason. Regina had no idea what she was talking about most of the time, but there were mood boards and talks of 3-D printing corsets, which sounded cool as heck. The job was as boring as it was dangerous, so having at least one person who was willing to talk to Regina about her hyperfixation for a couple of hours without interruption was very welcome.

The three crew members with bodies sat in bolted seats in the hangar, choosing to buckle up there so they could be closer to the equipment and start working immediately upon landing.

Once they’d landed, Irene called out: Landing complete. You are now safe to leave your seats. Regina, would you please recalibrate the landing gear before heading out?

Of course, dear! Regina said.

We can recalibrate before we take off, Irene, Tisha said.

But the recalibration is more effective if done right after landing, Irene said. Mother, you don’t mind, do you?

Of course not! Regina said cheerfully. It’ll only be a few minutes, and Tisha, you have to open the hangar anyway, and I’m already trained on that. We’re multitasking.

The recalibration did have to be done anyway, so Tisha went to open the hangar as Regina quickly worked on starting up the recalibration waterfall process. They were already done by the time the hangar doors were halfway through their opening sequence. Once fully opened, since Regina was already at the computer station, they had the honor of lowering the secondary shields, and once those were down, the smell hit. That all-consuming smell. Not heavy and oppressive, like humidity, but strong and inescapable, like a thunderstorm. Never before had the scent of mango been so unwelcome. Guava and kiwi and, for some ungodly reason, the strong scent of artificial peach bore down on them.

Tisha and Regina had to fight the urge to gag. Not Pam, though. Pam did not fight that urge.

The majority (and the first portion) of this commission would involve vacuuming up the old shampoo into the designated trash hold, so the most important aspect was the deployment and maintenance of the hose. At nearly two meters in diameter, it was cumbersome at best. They had affixed the filters and bolt attachments to the end of it beforehand and began dragging it by three cables attached to its head. It started out relatively light and easy to carry, but as they went, the shampoo levels rose and, not being able to turn it on until it was submerged, a significant portion of liquid just gathered and sat inside the hose, making it heavier as they went.

Once the liquid was at knee height, they placed the hose facedown and went about a quarter kilometer back to affix the bolt attachments. The goo was at about ankle height, and the arm-length gloves were effective in keeping the crew members clean as they worked. Attachments in place, Tisha started up the water drones that swam through the goo and took the head of the hose even farther out. Pinging their way along, once they reached an area of sufficient depth and confirmed the others were ready, Tisha turned on the hose. It vibrated, stirring up the liquid around it and creating a quick and steady fwap fwap fwap sound in addition to the low, loud hum from the suction coming through the hose.

On their way back to the other two, Tisha called over the comms, Looking good so far on our end. How’s it looking on your end, Irene?

So far, so good. The mouth of the hose is nested in a valley downhill of a significant portion of shampoo flow. We won’t need to move the ship or the hose for at least five days, Irene said.

That’s what I like to hear! Tisha cheered. All right. Nothing to do but lay a few spikes here and there to monitor progress, and even then, the sky drones will do most of the work; mostly, all we have to do is walk.

Tisha gave the other two their assignments for the next few hours, and the three started to move toward their destinations.

Now, it was Regina’s first surface waste commission, but they had been doing quite well. Even walking in all this slimy shampoo had been all right so far. The boots issued for the commission were weighted well and had an impressive grip, making walking through all this relatively simple. Yes. So far, all was going well. So what happened next made a sort of morbid sense.

Regina lost their footing and fell into the shampoo. All the way in. Regina had closed their eyes quickly enough to avert one major disaster, but when they got up, they were covered head to toe in the goo, and a not-insignificant portion of it had gotten into their clothes.

Okay, what do I do, what do I do?! Eyes shut tight and head thrown forward so the shampoo wouldn’t fall into their mouth, Regina was feeling a bit disoriented, but only a bit. You tend to expect something wrong to happen on the first day out in the field, so when it does, it’s less a horrific surprise and more a morbid annoyance. I need a face flush. I can’t risk opening my eyes.

Water incoming for flush! Tisha used the small container column of water in their emergency kit to flush Regina’s face and eyes. Okay. Let’s get you back and wash you off.

It was a good thirty-minute walk back to the ship. Once there, a not-insignificant portion of the shampoo had crusted over, since it was in thin enough layers on Regina’s body to fully dry out. Regina used the emergency shower by the bay doors and left their equipment in a decontamination unit.

For the most part, they got themselves clean with little issue, but they needed help making sure their ears were clean of the shampoo. There was a tiny disposable ear scoop, but it only helped so much. Regina felt waterlogged for hours afterward. They lay down on their side with hope they’d clear whatever water might be left, but the feeling endured. The ear plugs that had