Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer

Wenza waves a tentacle towards the screen.
“A pretty planet. All those blues and greens. What’s the white at top and bottom?”
Bintol smiles.
“Sub-zero territories. What you’re seeing is accumulated snow and ice.”
“What’s snow?”
“Frozen water that falls as uniquely shaped crystals. It drifts somewhat like sand, according to a report from a Ratturten expedition.”
“That sounds wonderful. Will we see some?”
“No. This is merely a stopover at our base on the dark side of their moon.”
“Why aren’t we- Hold hard. Ratturten haven’t been spacefarers for over a century! They renounced spaceflight completely after losing the Gendiflade War.”
“They were the last race to enter the atmosphere of this planet. Apparently they were playing their ‘catch me if you can’ games with the inhabitants.”
“Why hasn’t anyone visited more recently?”
“Wait until we’ve docked. A demonstration has been arranged.”
The luxury cruiser has been docked for only a short while when Bintol escorts Wenza and retinue into the viewing gallery. After making sure they’re settled, he steps in front of the wide viewport.
“Welcome to closed planet Terufon. It was known to its inhabitants as ‘Earth’, ‘World’, or ‘Global’. The exact etymology around that trio of names is unknown. Shortly before the dominant civilisation collapsed, they reached what is regarded by many of us more knowledgeable races as the unfortunate pinnacle of automated warfare: they created a genuine SPASOAN: self-perpetuating, artificially sentient, orbital aggressor network.”
He gestures to one side. One of the crew presses a button that launches a small cargo pod towards the planet. As it accelerates away, Bintol resumes.
“Watch, please. Note that it is entirely unarmed and devoid of personnel – organic or otherwise.”
The pod travels quickly until it reaches high orbit, whereupon they see several bright beams illuminate it.
“Coming fast from the left.”
The object he pointed out hits the pod, the impact tearing it in half. The object wobbles as plumes of exhaust indicate fierce deceleration.
“What you’ve just witnessed is an Orbital Interception Object defined as a ‘Type One’. The largest we’ve seen is Type Ten. Anything bigger than Type Six doesn’t decelerate. They are moving at sufficient speed for the impact to be mutually destructive. Also, they are only the first line of defence. They occasionally miss. The energy weapons of the next line never do.”
He indicates the many darker patches scattered across the view.
“You see these? They’re debris rejected by the scavengers that find materials for use in nanorepair of the interceptors. Originally from wasteful space exploration techniques, then warfare, and most recently from vessels destroyed by the SPASOAN. By most recently, I mean the last two hundred years. That’s when all access to this planet ended. Nothing gets in, nothing gets out. The cost in materials and vessels to remove the SPASOAN is deemed too high, especially as it is likely its core resides somewhere down on the planet itself.”
Wenza raises a tentacle.
“What of the inhabitants?”
Bintol shrugs.
“A very good question. Observations in the twelfth year after access was closed indicated an extensive conflict that ended in the use of thermonuclear weapons. We could have helped, but their deadly servant wouldn’t let us. It refused every appeal. What they’re doing down there is unknown. However, the atmosphere stabilised ten years ago. It’s hoped to eventually observe indications of life.”
Wenza gestures to the Type One that’s being towed away by a smaller object.
“I would venture a study of the SPASOAN is warranted. How many have survived two hundred years?”
Bintol bows.
“None, and we are already doing so.”