Chapter 1 part 6

Pests Extermination

The journey had been, thankfully, smooth—no pirates lurking in trade routes, no creatures chewing on our ship’s shell, and no solar storms flinging us into chaos.

Mr. Healer, who had looked like a ghost trapped in his own suit at the start, slowly came back to life with each cycle. By the time we reached the station, he was his oddball self again. Still, watching him eat was disturbing—sipping watery protein paste through jittery gloves, grinning crookedly behind his visor like a malfunctioning robot. Energetic or not, he made me want to shut off my external cameras.

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

Our destination, Freyja Station, hung far from anything familiar or convenient—an isolated agricultural outpost orbiting alone in deep space. It was so remote that even background radiation seemed to ignore it. Light-years from my home station of Baldr, Freyja was the sort of place you could scream into the cosmos and not even get an echo back.

During harvest time, stations closer to civilization usually had returning guild workers, filling the halls with familiar chatter and shared routines. But Freyja was so out of the way that even the most dedicated wanderers didn’t bother. It was just us—a patrol unit of strangers, unfamiliar with the station’s rhythms.

Usually, places like this didn’t welcome outsiders. Remote stations had a habit of treating newcomers like stray space junk. But Freyja surprised us. No one muttered insults or called me a "space-mutt." Instead, they offered us tea—synthesized, of course—and let us observe their work in peace. That was a rare gift.

"Will you be assisting in the med bay here as well, Mr. Healer?" I asked as we sat on the observation deck, surrounded by the steady hum of station systems.

"Yes," he replied, voice as calm as the void outside. "Light treatment during the afternoon shift. Harvests often bring injuries. Mostly torn suits."

"Ah, the classic busted seals. I’ve had my fair share of those. Lost a lot of oxygen once."

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

He wasn’t wrong. Out here, broken equipment was as dangerous as any hostile life form. But suit leaks weren’t the only problem. The asteroid fields around Freyja teemed with life—the unfriendly kind.

In this part of the galaxy, asteroid belts weren’t just empty rock fields. They were alive with predators. Creatures like void serpents and Skreeks, adapted to survive in deep space, lurked there. That’s why harvesting ships favored long-distance tools—better to avoid getting too close.

Back at my home station, we used beam cutters—tools that sliced cleanly through mineral rock or hull plating. Out here, I carried my trusty Half-Spec Blaster. More intimate. More personal.

"Hey, guild member! Over here!"

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

I sighed. "Yeah, yeah. What is it?"

"Skreeks in the field. Clear them out before they ruin the harvest zone!"

Ah, Skreeks. Time to earn my keep.

The old guys from Squadron 3 were resting post-patrol, and I had the most power left in my suit. I was hoping for a break, but no luck. Time to work.

"I’ll be at the med bay later too. Please be careful..."

"Got it. Don’t overdo it either, Mr. Healer."

Skreeks were the worst. Small, fast, and endlessly hungry, they reproduced quickly and hid in tight spots. They infested cargo bays, ate through ore, and crept into stations unnoticed. In asteroid fields, where scanners struggled, they thrived.

Yet blasting the asteroids to dust wasn’t an option. These weren’t just worthless space rocks—they were treasure troves. Packed with rare metals, vital minerals, and pockets of strange gases, they kept stations running and ships flying. Wiping them out would mean destroying the very resources we came to collect.

So the dirty work fell to spacers like me. We’d suit up, float into the freezing dark, and hunt Skreek nests the hard way—tracking their heat signatures with handheld scanners, probing crevices for hidden dens. Our tools were precise: cutting torches that could slice through rock without cracking it, sound-wave emitters to scramble their nests, or tiny explosive charges just powerful enough to fry the pests but leave the ore intact.

Not the most dangerous job, but a miserable one. Skreeks were fast, vicious, and hated intruders. Piss one off, and it’d chew through your suit seals or wreck your gear in seconds. But we had no alternative. If you wanted the minerals and a Skreek-free haul, you had to go in yourself.

The asteroid field stretched before me, a twisted maze of rock and frozen space. No one ventured into the deeper zones unless absolutely necessary. Maintenance crews didn’t bother. The Skreeks could have it. Sometimes, brave or foolish young couples snuck in for a thrill.

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

"I see them," I said, narrowing my eyes at faint scanner blips. "Can’t have radioactive bug guts in the harvest zone, huh?"

"Exactly. If you could draw them away, that’d help."

"Consider it done. Stay sharp."

"Will do."

Two radiation signals blinked at the edge of the collection area. The locals could’ve handled it, but I was here. Might as well show them how a pro does it.

"Alright, let’s begin."

Skreeks were smart enough to avoid fights, but greedy enough to fall for bait. I pulled out a "delicious" protein cube—one that gave off a strange signal. Perfect.

I waved it in front of me, voice exaggerated and playful.

"Ohoho, Mr. Skreek! Look what I have! Juicy protein cube! Smells amazing, doesn’t it?"

"Skreee!"

"Skree skree!"

They shrieked from hiding, their cries cutting through the comms. Not moving yet, but I could feel their anger rise.

"You want it that bad? Come on out!"

I held the cube high, acting like it was the best thing in the galaxy.

"Mmm, delicious! Premium synth rations!"

"Skreeeee!"

Hooked. They were furious.

Time to lead them away.

"Look at this cube! Overflowing with nutrients!"

"Skree!"

"Skree skree!"

"Breaking news, folks! One lucky winner gets this—oh wait, too bad! Chomp chomp!"

Humans in suits outclassed Skreeks in every way. I glided through the dense rocks with a few nudges of my thrusters. The Skreeks chased, struggling to keep up.

Their screeches were full of rage. What did I do? It’s not like I stole all their food. One got incinerated in the chase, but the other kept coming. Gotta admire the dedication.

They only had claws—deadly up close, but not much good against a blaster.

"Alright," I muttered, gripping my weapon. It hummed to life in my hands. "Let’s end this."

"Skreee-!"

I fired. The blaster lit up, and the first Skreek exploded in sparks, its body sizzling as it broke apart.

"One down. Extra crispy."

"Skree—!?"

"Too late. Bye-bye."

I lined up my shot and fired again. The second Skreek froze mid-pounce, its chest splitting as the energy bolt tore through. It drifted apart, leaking glowing fluid into the dark.

That’s how you handle Skreeks.

"Infestation cleared!" I called over the radio.

"Much appreciated!" someone replied, already back to work.

I looked down. My suit was splattered with radioactive goo, glowing faintly like starlight. Cleanup was going to suck. Maybe next time I’d use stun rounds.

Fewer glowing stains to scrub.

Author's Note:

Ah, welcome back, dear reader, to another thrilling episode of "Why Settle for a Boring Patrol When You Can Have Pest Extermination?" If you thought our protagonist's adventures were all about mopping floors, punching idiots, blasting Krivvens, hunting space boars, and dealing with old ships and tired doctors, think again. This time, we dive into the delightful world of intergalactic pest control—or lack thereof.

Yes, you read that right. Our hero is back, and this time, he's not just cleaning up messes—he's making them. With his trusty half-spec blaster and a whole lot of attitude, he's on a mission to bring some real excitement to this part of the star system. And by excitement, I mean blasting Skreeks into oblivion.

Now, you might be thinking, "But why would anyone risk their life for a taste of real excitement?" Oh, dear reader, you underestimate the power of a good pest problem. Our protagonist might be a tough space merc, but he's also a pest control expert at heart. And when you've been surviving on flavorless goop and rubbery protein bricks, a taste of real excitement is like a little slice of heaven.

And who knows? Maybe one day, our hero will find that elusive excitement he's been dreaming of. Until then, he'll just have to make do with blasting Skreeks and scrubbing radioactive goo off his suit.