This latest story is my first round entry for the NYC Midnight Flash fiction competition. I was glad to draw Sci Fi as I’m currently teaching the genre, and I drew much inspiration from the film Blade Runner, especially in my choice of narrator.
Synopsis: From mountains and rivers of trash comes something truly life-changing.
I’m not going to bore you with the logistics of space travel or recount how my past and my programming got me here to this solitary posting on a rancid planet. There’s no point describing my physical appearance to you, except that I understand the human desire for visuals. If you need to see me, think about the female replicants in the film Blade Runner, but take away the sequins and the lithe sexiness of Daryl Hannah and picture a thick outer layer of matt brown latex over mechanical limbs and you’ve got me. You can picture me naked if you like, but I never had clothes and was never designed to please the human eye. Unlike the fictional replicants, I’m a functioning relic of 21st century robotics; a machine of circuitry and solar powered cells. Deep inside my chest is one of the few remaining biochips, most likely programmed by a teenager during an era obsessed with gamification. Please forgive the tone of my narration; I only have four AI stats that define my ‘personality’.
58% inventive: My mission- helping mankind solve their trash crisis.
29% patient: The reason why I haven’t ripped my own circuits apart.
11% cynical: Yay (!)
2% pride: No joke. I guess they thought I needed a will to live.
On a clear day this place can be aesthetically pleasing. Under a thin white sky, the vast quantities of trash come to mimic the geological landforms of earth; rolling hills, deep valleys, multi-coloured mountains and glaciers of compacted whitegoods carving the landscape, creating deep ravines where rivers of oil and putrefied organic matter flow. My small factory is positioned beside a wide crater that gradually filled with liquid, swelling over the years to form a vast lake. In time the lake’s contents reacted with the mineral composition of the planet, turning the pool a deep blue-violet with a glossy surface and a slight effervescence. The cynic in me calls it Lake Serenity.
The garbage arrives weekly on a rectangular shaped freighter that simply hovers over a coordinate, rattles close to the surface and evacuates the load through crude dispenser doors.
The only requisite for trash planet was a field of gravity strong enough to retain the refuse, but not so powerful as to interfere with the aeronautical operations of the super-junkers. There’s no oxygen here, no human-life sustaining conditions, and in a way that is ironic, given the miracle product I manufacture.
Filtration day is always a thrill. I flick a switch and a valve opens, sucking liquid through a pipe positioned with an intake inlet just below the surface at the centre of the lake; a spot with the least contaminants. The moody blue fluid fills a sterile vat and then seeps through a series of increasingly fine filtration compartments and strainers, ensuring the end product contains no microparticles larger than pollen. The fluid is measured into large glass canisters and stacked neatly, ready for transportation to earth. The sludge collected on the strainers is carefully removed after every operation and stored in thick-walled holding tanks.
In the early days I had done a series of increasingly stringent tests on the sparkling blue liquid and deemed it safe for human consumption. At the very least it was an attractive drink with UV light reactive qualities and a texture both fizzy and silky. I finalised my report, along with a copy of the positive test results which indicated that it may even have restorative qualities for human cells. I’d also done a few tests on the by-product and deemed it unfit for human consumption. At room temperature the sludge was stable but when warmed to 37 degrees, the solution became volatile and would attack the cell walls of organic matter.
It took an interminable amount of time for the earth agency in charge of garbage shipments to respond, but eventually a craft was sent that hovered above my factory yard, lowered a freight platform and signalled for me to load my product. It was six months before a second collection vehicle arrived, this time taking five times the volume of the first and confirming its early popularity. The drink was to become so popular that the vessels would make a pick up every second week.
I was eventually provided with a detailed brochure of product marketing, distribution and reception. Most interesting to me was the fact that my partners on earth had been awarded a Nobel Peace Prize for turning trash into a health tonic. ViBlu© was first used as a mixer in nightclubs. The purple glow under UV lights made it popular with bartenders and the slogan ‘Outta this world’ backed up by the truth of its off-world origin meant it was a marketer’s dream. When consumers reported an increase in energy levels, it was stocked on the shelves of health food stores and juice bars across every mega city on earth. Pretty glass bottles, glowing with vitality and sweetened with just enough skyberry flavour enhancer to suit the human palate. When scientists noticed that the ultrafine protein strands in ViBlu© soothed human nerve cells and resulted in a significant smoothing of wrinkled skin, the population went crazy for the stuff. A stunning example of human ingenuity.
I waited for personal recognition but none came. Maybe I was just an outdated clump of circuitry covered in brown latex, with a human programmed biochip in the place where my heart should be.
So, without an imagination it is impossible for me to picture the impact of the contaminated batch of ViBlu© on the human population. I don’t know if cells popped, if bodies exploded dramatically, if they withered over a number of days or if the effect was more like a slow spreading rash across the globe. What I do know is that the junkers have stopped and that no matter how patient I am, I’m only 2% satisfied, and forever is a long time.