Space Junk

It was another one of those things.

Drenk sighed. This would need more than a formal warning when she got there.

This made seven she’d counted in this sector alone. Analysis had shown their trajectories all mapped back to the same originating planet.

Drenk hoped a warning not to launch any more of their litter into space would be enough. But now as she drew closer, she was outraged to discover that not only were they littering the space lanes with their junk they were also polluting the radio wavelengths with their… well, noise pollution was the phrase that sprung to mind.

The Galactic Civilisations Collective was very strict about the rules. No junk in space, and no cluttering up the airwaves beyond their own atmosphere. Any decent civilised planet should understand that, Drenk thought. After all, it was not very neighbourly to fill up the interstellar airwaves with TV and radio signals that just anyone could pick up.

The first piece of junk was something called Pioneer 10 by those who’d dumped it out beyond the edge of their solar system. It was like someone hurling a stained mattress out of their ground vehicle window, Drenk thought. Most impolite and – to say the least – unhygienic. Who knew what they did with their space junk before they jettisoned it.

Some forms of life were downright weird. These seemed weirder than most. An analysis of their TV signals showed they only had four tentacles and a single head. To Drenk’s minds, this meant they could barely be classed as a living species, let alone an intelligent one. They even still had the disease called politics, which all the developed galactic societies had cured themselves of many centuries ago.

Drenk had spoken to Control about it, and her more recent discoveries too. Control had laughed at first, assuming Drenk was joking. After all, as he said – only the one head. Even the Agrodrians had three heads – at least when they were sexually mature. And – as Control whispered over the secure comms link – we know what Agrodrians are like. He’d made a gesture with his auxiliary seventh debating tentacle, which even now bought a smile to both of Drenk’s mouths.

Perhaps when she returned from this Earth as the inhabitants called it, she would see about taking Control as a mate. She could feel that her eggs needed fertilising, and soon.

She shifted in her acceleration couch as the tractor beam collected this latest piece of space junk and stowed it in the hold.

These Earthlings would have to take all their space junk back from Drenk’s hold and solemnly promise not to launch any more of it out into the galaxy beyond their own solar system. Otherwise, there would be repercussions.

Drenk steeled herself to watch another one of the human TV programmes she’d recorded as it beamed out into the void. Apparently, this one was what they called a documentary, seemingly about if there was other intelligent life in the universe. Drenk poured herself a long cool drink with her domestic tentacle.

She liked a nice comedy show.


Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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