We put the Mothership in cruise control and travel further into the New Frontier of deep space, setting our eyes on a lonely world of junk and refuse. Ever the tinkerers, the people of this TrashPunk planet have somehow managed to build civilization...
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There was no way Durrick could have seen this coming, right? When he'd been given the job by DominoCorp to explore an isolated world in search of artifacts, he'd had no way of knowing said isolated world would actually be home to a savage band of green-skinned outlaws who'd scalp his entire crew and leave them hanging from their entrails off the edge of a cliff.
No. Surely no way. He was no visionary. No seer. Anybody else could have—would have—made the same horrible mistake.
Durrick was led in chains through a makeshift town, something that'd been built with the hulls of old downed starships and whatever else the planet's denizens could scavenge. As Durrick was shoved this way and that by armed men, he noticed the men's weapons glowed as if from some kind of power source. And the improvised buildings seemed to be emitting an eerie blue light through grimy windows that'd been refurbished from cracked viewports. He couldn't help but be impressed.
A nearby sign stated NO DOGS but Durrick didn't recall seeing any animals on the planet, native or otherwise. There were flies that roamed in thick black swarms, darting from one pile of refuse to the next. From the sky, he hadn't seen a single tree or anything like a tree. Just garbage. Space junk. Litter. He took a deep breath and sputtered. The air was heavy and had a foul and unpleasant odour attached to it. Brown smog hung over the world like a suffocating blanket, and the flies—big black things with enormous gold wings—wouldn't leave you alone if they came to notice you.
Durrick batted a bug with his shackled hands. It bounced off the dirt, then zoomed back his way to pester him some more. "How do you guys live with these damn things?" he asked the guys marching him.
One of the two guys in front looked back but said nothing.
One behind him croaked, "Quiet."
They went around another mound of trash, this one mostly comprised of soda cans with the logos all faded. They stopped at the base of a fifteen-foot-tall scrap pyramid.
A skinny guy wearing medals around his neck and a cooking pot for a hat sat atop the pyramid, like it was his throne. A heavily modified long rifle hung from his back. His boots glowed like the guns did.
"That was yer ship, yeah?" the guy said.
Durrick nodded. "Why are you doing this? I mean you no harm. I look for artifacts. That's it. That's my job."
"You'd do best to remember, bud: In a world of trash, the garbageman is king."
