Ghost Moon Part 1: Welcome Aboard the Amber Cow

Long ago, when humans first learned how to break free from earth’s gravity and launch rocket ships, they found themselves with a problem: they didn’t know what to do with their garbage while they were in space. At first, they just shoved it out the airlock and left it to drift. But over time, the garbage accumulated — bits of broken satellites, lost space wrenches, unidentifiable lumps frozen solid — until there was so much trash floating in space around Earth it was almost too dangerous to leave the surface. That was when a new kind of hero was born…

The Junker.

Junkers were brave humans and robots who risked their lives to snare these discarded hunks of garbage and haul them onto their ships, leaving space clear and clean. It was dangerous work but with rich rewards. Museums, wealthy collectors, resource-hungry industries, recyclers — these were the Junkers’ markets, and they were always wanting more.

It wasn’t work for everyone. It took a particular kind of person to be a Junker. No two jobs were the same, some of the rubbish they brought on board their ships was toxic, and space itself is a relentlessly dangerous place to be. But for some, it was the best life imaginable.

As humans spread far and wide, making new homes throughout the galaxy, the Junkers went with them. And everywhere the Junkers went, they came across new civilizations, new kinds of junk, new ways to collect it, and new ways to sell it and make it into something else. The exciting stories of these Junk Heroes, each one more rip-roaring than the last, could fill an entire branch of a data storage tree because, as the Junkers of history discovered…

…Junk is adventure!

* * *

Alex was in the spaceship library where she was supposed to be studying for her quantum field theory exam. She’d been working towards getting her qualification as a First Level Crew Mate for what felt like forever. Becoming a First Level Crew Mate was the first step to becoming a Junior Junker. Then, once she turned 18, she could apply to become an actual Junker.

You had to complete twenty subjects for First Level. There was a wide choice, and she only needed to finish one more subject but, unfortunately, she’d already completed all of the courses she liked. Quantum field theory was the least awful of the choices she had left, but it bored her to tears. So instead of studying, there she was, on her tablet, programming a hologram of Treasure, the ship’s tiger, who was fast asleep at her feet. Alex wouldn’t be tested on that — you aren’t officially tested on programming until Second Level — but she liked making holograms. The one she was working on was of her tiger bouncing from one big ball to another in zero gravity, chasing a rat. Treasure looked good, especially her fur, but Alex was having trouble getting the rat just right.

Quantum field theory would have to wait.

The spaceship was a junk ship called The Amber Cow. Alex lived on the ship with her Granny, who was the Captain; Edward the AI Robot, who was the First Mate; and Treasure the tiger, who was the Cow’s resident rat catcher. But since there weren’t any rats on the ship, Treasure mostly took naps on the long journeys through space.

The Amber Cow was a lumpy, bulbous sort of ship, with a big blunt nose at the front and stubby thrusters out the back. Since she didn’t operate much in atmospheres, nothing about her needed to be streamlined. And since junk comes in all different shapes and sizes, she was built to be ready for any of it. She had grabbers, harpoons and nets for gathering up the garbage, and cargo bays and storage tanks for transporting it to market. There were also special holds for transporting trash that was radioactive or poisonous.

Granny liked to say that the Cow was just like her Junker Jacket. “It’s got pockets for everything,” she joked.

Granny’s Junker jacket had so many pockets, straps, holders, and loops that it made her into a kind of walking toolbox. Alex couldn’t wait for the day she could have a Junker jacket of her own, but traditionally you had to be an official crew mate before you were allowed to wear one. As First Mate, Edward was entitled to wear a jacket, but having so many metal parts, he mostly attached things to himself with magnets.

Edward was an early ASANA 300 model, built for an Artificial Intelligence arts experiment on Callisto 4 that folded due to a lack of funds. When Granny heard word of him, he was being sold as junk. The seller had warned her that though Edward was smart, his type of model was hardwired with a lot of emotional programming. And since he was an Artsbot, she wouldn’t be able to stop him from singing. 

The seller was right. Edward did sing a lot. Lately, he’d been composing a musical about L-17, one of the first Junker robots, and he hummed the tunes as he went about his work. He could sing the accompaniment and the lyrics as well. But Granny and Alex didn’t mind. It was a really gorgeous soundtrack for their day.

Edward was built to appear roughly humanoid, with articulated joints, hands that could do the most delicate and the toughest jobs equally well, and a display screen face which did its best to mimic human expression but didn’t succeed very well. But since Alex was used to observing Treasure who, being a tiger, also had a face that didn’t give much away, she could tell what they were both thinking and feeling through other things — what position Treasure’s ears were in or what she was doing with her tail, and with Edward, it was whether the eyebrows on his facial display were waggling or his voice went high-pitched and shrill.

Which was what Alex could hear, out in the corridor, that very moment.

“Eeeeee!” Edward was saying, sounding like an agitated coffee machine.

Quickly, Alex turned off the hologram — she didn’t want to be caught goofing off — and stuck her head round the library door.

“What’s up?” she asked.

Edward and Granny were in the corridor. When they saw Alex, Edward stopped squealing abruptly, but Granny went on tapping her foot impatiently.

“Alex, look at this readout,” she said. “See? The sensors have picked up an old Junk Moon, and it’s not a day away from here.”

Junk Moon... Junk Moon... Alex tried to remember her Space History qualification — she’d done that ages ago and unfortunately forgotten lots of it. And then it came back to her. There had been a time, centuries back, when the planets needed more resources than their worlds could supply. So explorers set out in search of moons and asteroids with raw materials to mine.

After all the ore was dug out, a Mining Moon became a Junk Moon. The tunnels and empty spaces inside were filled up with the garbage the ancients didn’t know what to do with. After that, the miners would tow the moon to the edge of a Dead Zone, rig the thrusters and scarper, leaving the Junk Moon behind. Out of sight, out of mind.

The universe is full of strange and eerie places that have strange and eerie stories told about them — stories that wander across the Omniweb growing weirder and wilder as they go. The Dead Zones are places like that — empty sections of space where there are hardly any planets and almost no stars. 

“I don't expect we’ll have much competition,” said Granny. “Not so close to a Dead Zone.”

“I’ve read 3,462,307 articles about Dead Zones on the Omniweb,” said Edward. (When Edward’s emotional programming went into overdrive, he sometimes tried to calm himself by reciting facts.) “Apparently even Hundian Junkers, who are biologically incapable of fear, won’t go near them. Of all the articles, 14.23% are about ship-eating Space Whales, banshee skeletons that ride asteroids, whirlpools made of ice thousands of miles across, and Ghost Moons…” He suddenly noticed that Granny was glaring at him. “Though of course you can’t believe everything you read.” The Omniweb could sometimes be a very dodgy source of information, which was why Granny only let Alex have limited access, but Edward read everything and remembered it all.

“What are Ghost Moons?” asked Alex. “I don’t remember learning about them.”

“According to my research,” said Edward, “they’re moons haunted by the ghosts of long-ago miners, or they’re home to alien monster ghosts. Either way, if you go inside a Ghost Moon, you become a ghost and — ”

“And all of that is exactly what this moon isn’t,” said Granny. “This moon just might be a treasure house of vintage junk. I can feel it in my bones. This will probably be a quality sort of job instead of going for quantity. What I mean is, we’d be looking for a few choice pieces rather than clearing out the whole lot."

"What kinds of vintage junk?" asked Alex.

“Well, it’s foolish to get our hopes up too high,” said Granny, her eyes bright, “but I heard that you can find things on these old Junk Moons like antique microwave ovens that still light up — and sheets of transparent bubbles made out of a strange material known only to the ancients — and even, though this sounds too good to be true, flat cardboard boxes with fossilized fragments of old Earth pizza stuck to the lids. Anyway, like I said, all that might just be wishful thinking, but whatever it is on this moon — ” She gave Alex and Edward a stern look. “ — we’re going to find it and stow it on the Cow. And all sorts of collectors and museums and university archaeology departments are going to be glad we did. Understand?”

“Yes, Captain,” said Alex and Edward, shuffling their feet.

“And there will not be another word about ghosts.”

“No, Captain,” said Alex and Edward. Though one of the eyebrows on Edward’s facial display was twitching.

 * * *

So The Amber Cow changed course and turned towards the Dead Zone. As they journeyed closer and closer to the edge of it, Alex couldn't stop staring through the observation windows — staring, looking away, and then staring again to make sure she really was seeing what she thought she was seeing. Which was nothing. An enormous wall of black nothingness. No stars. No light.

It’s just space with no stars. Nothing scary in that, Alex was telling herself when a hand fell suddenly on her shoulder.

She nearly jumped out of her skin!

But it was only Granny, with Edward behind her.

“Look,” Granny said, pointing.

And there it was. The Junk Moon had come into visual range. It was a medium-sized rocky globe, mottled gray in color, with mountain ranges and steep canyons making black shadows across its surface. But the most important thing they could see was a single, enormous impact crater.

“Asteroid strike,” said Granny. “A big one.”

“I would say that’s what knocked it out of the Dead Zone,” said Edward. “But not for long. Look!”

“What?… oh!” said Alex. “Oh no!"

The Junk Moon had drifted out of the Dead Zone and straight into the deadly gravitational pull of a star. The Amber Cow was still far away, but already they could feel the engines shifting gears to compensate.

The Junk Moon was going to burn up. Soon.

“Can we get to it, land, collect junk, stow it, and get away ourselves?” Granny asked Edward.

“Well,” he replied, “based on the variables and maintaining our present speed, my guess is that we would have roughly four hours from docking point — though, of course, it’s not an exact science. But it’s your call, Captain.”

Alex and Edward looked at Granny, who was rubbing her nose and frowning. They could tell she was torn, perhaps thinking about those antique microwave ovens. Then she made up her mind.

“I say we go for it," said Granny with a brisk nod. “The Cow can handle this.”

“Right,” said Edward and began to chart their approach trajectory.

Granny turned to Alex. “Get the gear ready.” 

For a long moment, Alex lingered, mesmerized by the sight of the battered moon traveling away from the blackness of the Dead Zone and onwards, relentlessly, towards its destruction in the heart of a star.

To be continued…