“The Energy Scavengers”
a novelette of speculative fiction
By: Ryan Sean O’Reilly
Website: https://www.ryanseanoreilly.com
Artwork by: Daniel Gracey
© Copyright 2012 Ryan Sean O’Reilly, All Rights Reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9854265-0-7
ISBN-10: 0985426500
Acknowledgements: The Southland Scribes
Special Thanks: Linda Roche O’Reilly, John Doyle and Lydia T. Ponczak
“THE ENERGY SCAVENGERS”
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
Cover Art
Website Info
Start
Middle
End
Other Titles
Space debris assaulted the little ship’s hull like summer hail on a tin roof. Speed of descent increased as gravity drew the unmanned pod deeper into the atmosphere of the brown planet. Nutshell, as the craft was known, activated an exploratory rover nestled protectively within its frame, and an onboard computer came to life.
“CLVN online. Performing diagnostics check. Ok,” reported the rover, casually referred to as Calvin. After years of silence, interrupted only occasionally by a regimented test sequence, Calvin was finally online. His circuits warmed with electricity like blood putting life back into a frozen limb. He could feel his processors waking as each sensor turned on and booted up.
A loud crack and an answering burst from one of the ship’s rockets jostled the rover.
“Status?” Calvin queried.
“Rear thruster: damaged, unexpected impact with metallic object exceeding ten centimeters in length,” Nutshell reported.
“We are not on the surface?” Calvin asked, and then activated his visual scanner to look out one of the port windows.
“There is an unexpected density of flotsam. Protocol dictates your input in this event.”
“Are we on target for the rim camp?”
“Trajectory for the primary landing site is proving difficult at this orbital decay,” Nutshell answered, after a brief moment.
“Reroute to alternate three,” Calvin instructed, observing the chunks of debris through his camera.
Thrusters pulsed again and pushed the ship toward a different landing site. A noise reverberated from below as Nutshell opened one of the bay doors. Through the window, Calvin watched as an orbital communications satellite drifted away from them. Propulsion rockets kicked into life.
“Successful drop off of COMSAT—”
A loud clank echoed in the spacecraft, interrupting Nutshell’s announcement, sending the ship into a spiral. Calvin’s primary camera caught a glimpse of an explosion as COMSAT was destroyed by a floating piece of alien garbage. Blackness, polka dotted with stars and streaked with refuse, whipped past the port window. Pieces from the ruined satellite careened at them wildly.
“Nutshell, all thrusters go,” Calvin commanded.
“Affirmative,” the ship responded, but too late. New debris from COMSAT collided with them and Nutshell was spun further off course. Stabilizing thrusts were fired off in a continuous pattern as Nutshell attempted to regain control, but nothing seemed to work. As they slowed, they impacted something else and were ricocheted into yet another trajectory.
“Entering Delta plane, Gamma plane, Beta—”
“Maintain descent to the surface,” ordered Calvin. “Get us down.”
They zigzagged back and forth through the orbital planes of rock, dust and junk surrounding the brown planet. At times they were ascending, but mostly Nutshell managed to keep them on a downward path. The protective covering of the ship took hit after hit and was finally breached as they entered the atmosphere. A painted metallic part, possibly from an alien-built satellite, penetrated the ship’s interior and bashed into Calvin’s protective rear plate. Due to the placement of his cameras he could not see the damage; however, a quick systems test indicated that whatever he had suffered appeared to be cosmetic. Time would tell if this proved to be true.
The heat shield was compromised and the temperature inside rose. Calvin used his flexible arm to push pieces of metal framing from the landing ramp over the hole. Alternate flight paths flew by outside until Nutshell was beyond off-course. When they finally passed into the various layers of atmosphere, the ship regained some control. Nutshell’s exterior case was supposed to act like a giant brake against the friction of the planet’s heavy atmosphere. The hole prevented this. They were not slowing down quick enough.
“Launch parachute,” Calvin commanded. Sensors indicated their speed was still not within safe ranges to avoid a debilitating impact. “Launch second chute,” Calvin transmitted.
“Command executed,” Nutshell responded, and a series of clicks followed.
The ship buoyed briefly, as the second parachute mushroomed open. Seconds later, a sharp pop sounded and the spacecraft swung into a concentric spiral. Sensors informed Calvin that this chute had broken free, possibly damaged from the orbiting junk or severed by protruding metal at the hull breach.
“Deploy airbags,” Calvin ordered. All around him gases whistled out to inflate the giant balloons meant to cushion their landing.
His last image was the rocky surface rising to meet them. Expanding to full capacity the air bags filled the port window, blocking out the stars and everything else. Calvin waited. He could not see where they were, but expected to be somewhere near the great canyons and abandoned mines left long ago by the alien civilization. Far from their primary landing site.
The mission appeared lost; without the orbital satellite, they could not communicate with the mothership: Callisto XI. Nutshell had already given the initial signal of arrival, but it would be a few weeks before the crew realized something had gone wrong and at least two months before a reconnaissance mission might be launched. Years before they arrived.
“Shutting down power. Transferring remaining stores into rover batteries.”
“Goodnight, Nutshell,” Calvin said.
“Goodbye,” the little spacecraft responded.
A jolting crash and several pops shook the Nutshell’s metallic walls as air bags exploded. The spacecraft broke from the giant air cushions and was dashed into a pile of rocks, rolled over and dropped into a deep canyon. A loud crunching noise reverberated throughout ship as it hit the ground. Calvin’s auditory sensors picked up an unpleasant squelch-like transmission.
Everything went still. Calvin was bolted upside down and sideways to Nutshell’s lifeless husk. He activated all his remaining sensors and powered up his propulsion motors. Undoing the bolts and utilizing a flexible arm, he lowered himself to an upright position.
Inserting an interface into Nutshell’s network, he searched for indications of electrical life; signs of functioning robots. Nothing. Each query he made went unanswered. He checked again. Nothing.
Nutshell had shut down for the landing to conserve the last of the power. Calvin could not determine if the ship had sustained damage to its Central Processing Unit or Artificial Intelligence Chip, the tandem parts which made Nutshell a unique high-functioning machine. If these parts were corrupted, then the little spaceship would be nothing more than a lifeless transport, a dumb machine incapable of logical reasoning or decision-making. No different than a simple calculator and possibly less useful.
Darkness filled the little port window. They had traveled to that part of the planet which was still in night. Through his auditory sensors Calvin picked up the beginnings of a windstorm rising in the distance. Small rocks and sands pelted Nutshell. The rover hoped the solar arrays around the spacecraft would not be covered. Calvin powered himself down and waited for dawn as sand blew into the breached hull and collected on the floor.