Chapter 1 part 6

Pests Extermination

The journey had been mercifully uneventful—no pirates lurking in the shadows of trade routes, no space vermin gnawing on hull plating, and no solar storms to send us spiraling into Havoc.

Mr. Healer, who had started the journey looking like a ghost haunting his own suit, recovered steadily with each cycle. By the time we reached the station, he was back to his peculiar self. Yet, his way of consuming nutrient paste was unsettling—sipping thin protein slurry through trembling gloves, flashing a crooked smile through his visor like an unhinged automaton. Energetic or not, watching him eat made me want to turn off my external cameras.

"Harvest cycles always bring such liveliness to these places..."

Our destination, Freyja Station, sat far from the familiar or the convenient—a lonely agricultural outpost orbiting in the silent void. Isolated from major hubs and light-years from my home station of Baldr, Freyja was the kind of place where you could scream into the stars and not even the background radiation would answer.

During harvest cycles, agricultural stations closer to hubs often saw guild members returning to assist. Familiar faces filled the halls, lending a sense of community. But Freyja was so remote that even migrant guild members didn’t bother. It was just us—a patrol team of strangers, completely foreign to the station’s routine.

In most places, outsiders like us were met with suspicion, if not outright hostility. Remote stations had a tendency to treat newcomers like planetary debris—something to be swept out the airlocks. Surprisingly, Freyja Station had an open-minded spirit. No one called me a "space-mutt" or muttered slurs under their breath. Instead, they offered us tea—synthesized, of course—and let us watch the resource collection in peace. A rare blessing.

"Will you be assisting in the med bay here as well, Mr. Healer?" I asked as we sat on the observation deck, the faint hum of station machinery filling the silence.

"Yes," he replied, his voice as calm as the void beyond the viewport. "Light treatment during the afternoon shift. Harvests always bring injuries. Suit breaches, mostly."

"Ah, the old busted seals. I’ve had my fair share of air leaks. Lost a lot of oxygen in a station once."

"Vacuum exposure on wounds can be dangerous. Please be cautious, Galaxia Narwhal..."

He wasn’t wrong. Out here, the dangers of malfunctioning equipment were as common as space dust. But it wasn’t just faulty suits or broken tools we had to worry about. The asteroid fields surrounding the station were teeming with life—not the friendly kind.

In this universe, asteroid fields were more than just rocky graveyards of forgotten worlds. They were havens for void serpents, Skreeks, and other nasties. Creatures that thrived in the vacuum, hunting anything foolish enough to wander too close. That’s why long-range harvester ships were favored—better to avoid close encounters altogether.

Back at my home station, we used plasma cutters for the job, tools with enhanced particle beams that could slice through mineral-rich rock—or hull plating, depending on how creative you were. Now, though, I carried my beloved Half-Spec Blaster. A more... personal touch.

"Yo, guild member! Over here!"

"Galaxia Narwhal, I think they mean you," Healer said, tilting his head slightly.

I sighed. "Alright, alright. What is it?"

"There are Skreeks in the field. Clear them out before they contaminate the collection zone!"

Ah, Skreeks. Time to earn my keep.

The old men of Squadron 3 are resting after done patrolling the station, and I have the most suit power. I wanted to slack off a bit more, but it can't be helped. Time to work.

"I have to go to the med bay later too. Galaxia Narwhal, please be careful..."

"Okie-dokie. Don't overexert yourself either, Mr. Healer."

Skreeks were the bane of asteroid fields. Small, fast, and endlessly resource-hungry, these pests reproduced like wildfire and hid their nests in the narrowest crevices imaginable. They could infest cargo holds, devour minerals, and spread through stations before anyone noticed. In dense asteroid fields, where sensors struggled to cut through the interference, they thrived.

Yet, dealing with them wasn’t as simple as firing up the starship’s weaponry and blasting the asteroids apart. The reason was painfully clear: these asteroid fields weren’t just floating debris—they were lifelines. Rich in valuable minerals, rare metals, and sometimes even exotic gases, the asteroids served as essential resources for spacers and industries alike. Destroying them would mean annihilating the very materials everyone was out there to extract.

That’s why the job of exterminating Skreeks fell to spacers themselves. Spacewalking through the cold void, they had to locate the nests by hand, using heat scanners and magnetic probes to pinpoint the little horrors before deploying specialized tools. Plasma cutters, sonic disrupters, or even small controlled incendiary charges were the weapons of choice—designed to neutralize the pests without compromising the structural integrity of the asteroids.

Although it's not really that dangerous, It was grueling work. Skreeks were quick, unpredictable, and fiercely territorial. If provoked, they’d gnaw through environmental suits or sabotaging tools with alarming speed. But spacers had no choice. Personal intervention was the only way to eliminate the infestation while preserving the asteroid’s precious bounty.

The asteroid fields stretched before me—a treacherous maze of jagged rock and frozen void. Human intervention rarely extended beyond what was absolutely necessary. Maintenance crews didn’t bother with the deeper parts of the field, leaving them to the Skreeks and, occasionally, amorous young station couples looking for thrills.

"There, see? They’re contaminating the minerals."

"Ah, I see them," I said, squinting at the faint signatures on my scanner. "Can’t spill radioactive blood in the collection zone, huh?"

"Exactly. If you could take care of them over there, away from the miners, we’d appreciate it."

"Got it. I’ll make it quick. Keep working just in case."

"Yeah."

Guided to the outskirts of the active harvesting zone, I picked up two distinct radiation signatures. Skreeks. Locals could’ve handled it, but since we were here, I figured I’d show them how a professional does it.

"Now then, let’s get started."

Skreeks were aggressive, but not entirely stupid. They wouldn’t charge headlong into a fight unless provoked. But they were greedy little things, and easy to bait if you knew how to push their buttons.

I pulled out a synthetic protein cube—a faulty batch with a strange radiation signature. Perfect for luring pests. I waved it in the air, my voice dripping with mock enthusiasm.

"Oh hoho, Mr. Skreek! Look at this delicious, juicy protein cube! Doesn’t it smell amazing?"

"Skreee!"

"Skree skree!"

The Skreeks screeched from their hiding spots, their guttural cries echoing across the comms. They weren’t coming out yet, but I could feel their anger building.

"You want it that bad? Here, have a taste!"

"Skreeee skree!"

I dangled the protein cube like a star sailor tempting a void shark, my expression overly theatrical as I pretended to savor it.

"Mmm, exquisite! Premium nutrient ration—straight from the synth farms!" A shrill, warbling screech echoed through the comms.

"Skreeeee!"

Bingo. Hooked. They're absolutely livid.

Time to lure them out of the asteroid belt.

"Look at this luscious protein cube... practically dripping with cosmic-grade nutrients!"

"Skree!"

"Skree skree!"

"Attention, galactic viewers! We're giving this away to one lucky winner—oh wait, just kidding! Om nom nom!"

Humans in powered suits are far superior, especially when maneuverability outclasses these primitive Skreeks. I carefully nudged my thrusters, weaving through the asteroid field’s dense maze. The Skreeks flailed behind, struggling to keep up as I drew them into open space.

Their shrieks were filled with bloodlust, but honestly, what did I ever do to them? It’s not like I stole *all* their food reserves. Their relentless ferocity didn’t falter, not even when one of them got vaporized. Admirable, in a way.

Their claws were their only weapons—deadly in close quarters but laughably short compared to the reach of my trusty Half-Spec Blaster.

"Alright then," I muttered, gripping the blaster, its sleek barrel humming to life, "let’s finish this in three ticks."

"Skreee-!"

I aimed and fired, the blaster's blue-white bolt tearing through the first Skreek’s armored carapace with a hiss and sizzle. It collapsed in a heap, sparks dancing off its fried sensory organs.

"First shot—clean disintegration."

"Skree—!?"

"Too late. Vaporization incoming."

I lined up the next shot and unleashed another bolt. The Skreek froze mid-lunge, its thorax splitting apart as the energy blast bisected it. The pieces drifted lifelessly, leaking a faintly glowing ichor into the void.

And that’s how you handle Skreeks.

"Skreek infestation cleared!" I called through the comms.

"Appreciate it!" someone replied, already resuming the harvest operations.

With the immediate threat neutralized, I glanced at my dirty suit, their radioactive fluids glinting like starlight in the dark. Cleaning this up wasn’t going to be fun. Maybe stunning them next time would’ve been smarter. Fewer glowing messes to scrubs.