J Riff
The Ants are my friends..
I don't know if anyone has writ up a scrap planet SS before. Probably. There's been spaceship graveyards and the Bermuda triangle movies and whatnot. This is about half of this, so far, and surely I can think of a better name than Farnswoggle?
Scraplanet
His own planet, that was all he wanted. Even just a sizeable asteroid would do. He fantasized about it often, his own little private orb, somewhere in the depths of space.
All an idle dream of course, until Farnswoggle won the annual Solar Lottery in his home solar system – J57Q-NP57 – and bought a nice little used Deepspace skimmer in which he set off to look for his planet.
There was no uninhabited planet though, not within range of Farnswoggle’s skimmer, and no planets at all available for many light years beyond that, as Farnswoggle had known when he’d spent most of his fortune on a Deepspace skimmer.
But one never knew. It was a beaut of a skimmer, he thought as he skimmed past inhabited planets in nearby solar systems. He seldom landed on planets, preferring to shop at gas spacestations. He was searching for a world that didn’t exist and eventually he had to settle for a scrapyard.
Actually one of a chain of ancient waste-dump asteroids circling a solar system of rocky dustball planets, Farnswoggle’s new home was the oldest in a string of junkyard dump asteroids that had no names, only numbers.
The scrap planetoids had signified the end of the age of metal, virtually all metals. As a child, Farnsworth had read legends of the shining age of metal spacecraft and the many other things long since replaced by superior materials.
It didn’t matter, it only mattered the planet was here, and that the nightmarish landscape of twisted metal that he landed on was largely uninhabited.
There were various small creatures but no humans. The planetoid was overfull to bursting with rusted hulks, though none appeared to have been dumped there for many centuries.
The smell of musty rust pervaded the air but Farnswoggle ignored it as he wandered around on the surface, looking at the heaps and stacks and towers of what were once functioning spacecraft. All of them had a purple coloration that puzzled him until he realized it was a fungus of some kind, seemingly growing everywhere.
He cruised in his skimmer for hours inspecting the landscape and he saw nothing with two legs anywhere. He began to feel much better, much more like a King. The purple fungus reflected his royal hue, and he deemed it possible that this planet could be made liveable, fit for a King despite the musk of the ubiquitous purple growth.
Tens of thousands of ships had been dumped here, ages ago, but now rust-base fungus dominated whole areas of the cities. Cities of crushed spacecraft, towers of them hundreds of ships deep, dumped here by the thousands until there were a million of them and then more. Scattered all around the planet like a metal girdle of bizarre mangled space jewelry.
The ships had all been stripped of power cells, organic matter, expensive gadgetry and anything else deemed salvagable before being dumped here, that was the rule in the early days of this particular solar system, back when the scrapyard planets had become necessary. Yet there were so many stacks and towers of crushed spacecraft, that Farnswoggle explored for days before he gave up and rested. The number of rooms, of ripped apart, crunched-in, oddly-shaped control rooms, lounges, washrooms and gardens, gymansiums, armories - all largely gutted, was mind boggling.
Eventually he discovered a pile of ships that had not been through a crusher machine, for whatever reason, and were merely compacted by the weight of hundreds of other craft stacked on top of them. There were thousands of ships in this condition, and every other condition as it turned out, with one common thread. The purple rust-fungus.
The purple rust-fungus was the reason the scrapyard planets were avoided by sensible entities. Scrappers had returned here many times, Franswoggle has seen pictures of men in modern spacesuits working on the scrap planets, but even that was long ago. The humans had gone and the fungus had flourished.
Notices were posted of course, and automatic messages were sent to any ships approaching the system, warning that the scrap planets were not habitable and were in fact potentially hazardous to land on.
The fungus was oppressive and omniprescent and Farnswoggle knew he was going to have to deal with it somehow. He spent two nights learning everything he could about this particular fungus. How to kill it, what other plants could be used to supplant it, and how to prevent it from spreading.
It was a very tough fungus. There were only two other plants that could oust the deep-rooting fungus, and both were virtually unobtainable. There was one form of bacterium that could slow the fungus’ growth but it was on a prohibited list and Farnswoggle had no idea how to find it.
He walked around studying the fungus, noticing a few things that he hadn’t read about it. It appeared to avoid certain plastic surfaces, and glass, though not always. In some areas it covered everything like a thick blanket. It was on the hulls, in every room of every ship and on the rocks of the landscape. It was not deep, less than an inch usually, but it was fibrous and tough.
After staring at enough purple fungus to last him a lifetime, Farnswoggle went back into his skimmer and emerged with a tool he hoped may make an impact on his surroundings. A flamethrower.
He fired it up and burnt the hull of a ship for about five seconds, with a wide swath of fire. He stepped forward and looked at the now blackened fungus. He scraped at it and it came off easily. Dead. The flamethrower was going to be a viable weapon in his arsenal of cleaning supplies, an essential one in fact, and Farnswoggle smiled grimly as he went back into the skimmer.
The problem would be getting enough fuel for the flamethrower. He would need a huge amount, and also he would need a way to haul away the burnt fungus. And a gas mask, because the fungus burnt with an evil tang, not something a man could stand for long. So, oxygen tanks and a few other items were essential. Farnswoggled sighed as he realized he was going to need professional help. He dialed up the local system’s yellow pages and began looking at listings for demolitions experts.
Scraplanet
His own planet, that was all he wanted. Even just a sizeable asteroid would do. He fantasized about it often, his own little private orb, somewhere in the depths of space.
All an idle dream of course, until Farnswoggle won the annual Solar Lottery in his home solar system – J57Q-NP57 – and bought a nice little used Deepspace skimmer in which he set off to look for his planet.
There was no uninhabited planet though, not within range of Farnswoggle’s skimmer, and no planets at all available for many light years beyond that, as Farnswoggle had known when he’d spent most of his fortune on a Deepspace skimmer.
But one never knew. It was a beaut of a skimmer, he thought as he skimmed past inhabited planets in nearby solar systems. He seldom landed on planets, preferring to shop at gas spacestations. He was searching for a world that didn’t exist and eventually he had to settle for a scrapyard.
Actually one of a chain of ancient waste-dump asteroids circling a solar system of rocky dustball planets, Farnswoggle’s new home was the oldest in a string of junkyard dump asteroids that had no names, only numbers.
The scrap planetoids had signified the end of the age of metal, virtually all metals. As a child, Farnsworth had read legends of the shining age of metal spacecraft and the many other things long since replaced by superior materials.
It didn’t matter, it only mattered the planet was here, and that the nightmarish landscape of twisted metal that he landed on was largely uninhabited.
There were various small creatures but no humans. The planetoid was overfull to bursting with rusted hulks, though none appeared to have been dumped there for many centuries.
The smell of musty rust pervaded the air but Farnswoggle ignored it as he wandered around on the surface, looking at the heaps and stacks and towers of what were once functioning spacecraft. All of them had a purple coloration that puzzled him until he realized it was a fungus of some kind, seemingly growing everywhere.
He cruised in his skimmer for hours inspecting the landscape and he saw nothing with two legs anywhere. He began to feel much better, much more like a King. The purple fungus reflected his royal hue, and he deemed it possible that this planet could be made liveable, fit for a King despite the musk of the ubiquitous purple growth.
Tens of thousands of ships had been dumped here, ages ago, but now rust-base fungus dominated whole areas of the cities. Cities of crushed spacecraft, towers of them hundreds of ships deep, dumped here by the thousands until there were a million of them and then more. Scattered all around the planet like a metal girdle of bizarre mangled space jewelry.
The ships had all been stripped of power cells, organic matter, expensive gadgetry and anything else deemed salvagable before being dumped here, that was the rule in the early days of this particular solar system, back when the scrapyard planets had become necessary. Yet there were so many stacks and towers of crushed spacecraft, that Farnswoggle explored for days before he gave up and rested. The number of rooms, of ripped apart, crunched-in, oddly-shaped control rooms, lounges, washrooms and gardens, gymansiums, armories - all largely gutted, was mind boggling.
Eventually he discovered a pile of ships that had not been through a crusher machine, for whatever reason, and were merely compacted by the weight of hundreds of other craft stacked on top of them. There were thousands of ships in this condition, and every other condition as it turned out, with one common thread. The purple rust-fungus.
The purple rust-fungus was the reason the scrapyard planets were avoided by sensible entities. Scrappers had returned here many times, Franswoggle has seen pictures of men in modern spacesuits working on the scrap planets, but even that was long ago. The humans had gone and the fungus had flourished.
Notices were posted of course, and automatic messages were sent to any ships approaching the system, warning that the scrap planets were not habitable and were in fact potentially hazardous to land on.
The fungus was oppressive and omniprescent and Farnswoggle knew he was going to have to deal with it somehow. He spent two nights learning everything he could about this particular fungus. How to kill it, what other plants could be used to supplant it, and how to prevent it from spreading.
It was a very tough fungus. There were only two other plants that could oust the deep-rooting fungus, and both were virtually unobtainable. There was one form of bacterium that could slow the fungus’ growth but it was on a prohibited list and Farnswoggle had no idea how to find it.
He walked around studying the fungus, noticing a few things that he hadn’t read about it. It appeared to avoid certain plastic surfaces, and glass, though not always. In some areas it covered everything like a thick blanket. It was on the hulls, in every room of every ship and on the rocks of the landscape. It was not deep, less than an inch usually, but it was fibrous and tough.
After staring at enough purple fungus to last him a lifetime, Farnswoggle went back into his skimmer and emerged with a tool he hoped may make an impact on his surroundings. A flamethrower.
He fired it up and burnt the hull of a ship for about five seconds, with a wide swath of fire. He stepped forward and looked at the now blackened fungus. He scraped at it and it came off easily. Dead. The flamethrower was going to be a viable weapon in his arsenal of cleaning supplies, an essential one in fact, and Farnswoggle smiled grimly as he went back into the skimmer.
The problem would be getting enough fuel for the flamethrower. He would need a huge amount, and also he would need a way to haul away the burnt fungus. And a gas mask, because the fungus burnt with an evil tang, not something a man could stand for long. So, oxygen tanks and a few other items were essential. Farnswoggled sighed as he realized he was going to need professional help. He dialed up the local system’s yellow pages and began looking at listings for demolitions experts.
