Intergalactic Pest Control

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Sector 12 Transgalactic Station

“Get a real job.” Joel’s imitation of his mom was spot on, capturing her nasally tone perfectly.

She’d been supportive of his gaming aspirations, and his participation in the VRE championships with the Notches. Up until she wasn’t.

“You can do anything you set your mind to,” Joel continued mimicking. “Except gaming. You tried that. It didn’t work. Set your mind to something else.”

A small ShimVen skittered out of an air vent near his feet.

“Holy s**t f**k!” he yelled out in his normal voice. He jumped and trained his flamethrower on the disgusting thing. Then he shouted “Die!” over and over again until the ShimVen did exactly that.

After spending five hours knee-deep in dead bugs he was ready to get the hell off this station and never look at another bug again.

“Goddamn bugs,” Joel said. “Why’d it have to be bugs?”

“Because we’re exterminators,” Cody reminded him through their commlink. “That’s kind of the job.”

Of course, never seeing another bug again wasn’t terribly realistic, given his line of work. Though since this was his first job, he hadn’t completely bought into the occupation yet.

“Pest control,” Reggie corrected over the link. “We are pest control experts.”

“Some f*****g experts,” Joel said, kicking the dead bug just to make sure it was still dead.

“It’s our first job,” Reggie said. “We’ll learn.”

“My point exactly,” Joel said. “It’s our first job. This is some expert-level s**t. Ridding an entire space station of these things in seventeen hours? What made you think we could handle this? I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve almost died at least twelve times today.”

“Gotta start somewhere,” Reggie said. “May as well start big.”

“Besides,” Cody added. “We kicked ass. Scanners show we took out the bulk of the swarm; there’s just a pocket of them left on sublevel eight. A sizeable pocket, but they’re all huddled together. And it’s nothing compared to what we’ve seen already. Should be able to wipe them out in an hour. Then we call it a day and get paid. Easy as pie.”

“Already on my way,” Reggie said. “Meet you down there.”

“Lock and load,” Joel said, completely devoid of enthusiasm.

If you’re ever on a space station hunting giant space bugs, never go to sublevel eight.

Especially if, just before going down to sublevel eight, someone says, ‘Yeah, this’ll be easy as f*****g pie. We just survived a hell swarm of devil bugs. Danger over. Sublevel eight will be like strolling through a meadow of fluffy bunnies. I wish I lived on sublevel eight.’

Because that’s a sure sign that you’re about to die.

The elevator rattled as it descended into the inevitable deathtrap. The station looked new from the outside, but it had old bones. The pipes were rusty. The internal mechanics were all gummed up. The gear works on the elevator probably hadn’t been serviced in years. Everything creaked and moaned like an old man trying to get out of his favorite chair. It only added to the sense of impending doom.

The elevator dinged, marking its arrival. The door lurched open. Joel held his weapon at the ready. After a few tense breaths, he thought maybe he was wrong. Maybe it really would be all fluffy bunnies.

A shadow stepped into Joel’s periphery.

“All clear,” a voice said.

Joel nearly jumped out of his pants. “s**t, Cody, you can’t just pop out of nowhere like that.”

Cody spread his arms wide like he was trying to calm a wild animal. “I literally haven’t moved at all. I was standing right here when the door opened. How fast does PTSD set in? I think you’ve got a touch of it.”

Joel took a deep breath and focused on slowing his racing heart. “I’m fine. I don’t have PTSD, you’re just a dick.”

Cody shrugged. “Whatever. Let’s just kill these last bugs and get the hell out of here. I’m done with this place.”

“We need to wait for Reggie,” Joel said. “Where is he? Shouldn’t he have beat us here? He was closest.”

In answer to his question, Reggie came sprinting at them, his face twisted up in horror. “Get back on the elevator!” he shouted. “Get back!”

“I’m going to assume this is bad news,” Joel said, raising his flamethrower.

“Likely,” Cody said. “Though he does get worked up at times.”

Reggie skidded to a halt in front of them. “Why are you just standing here? Why aren’t you running?”

Joel and Cody exchanged a look.

“You can be a bit of a drama queen,” Joel said with a shrug. “I mean, I hate bugs as much as the next guy, but is all this really necessary? We’ve already killed a whole shitload of them. What’s a few more?”

The source of Reggie’s dismay came screeching out of the dark at the end of the long corridor. A tide of ShimVens, like a wave about to slam into them. A disgusting wave of creepy crawlies.

“All right,” Joel relented. “I retract my statement.”

“Notches,” Cody said, raising his flamethrower. “Game time!”

Cody and Joel opened fire on the horde, unleashing a burst of fire that torched a hundred bugs. The odor of burning alien was thick in the air; Cody thought he’d be used to it by now, but it still made him want to retch. He felt like puking everywhere but suppressed the urge with a steady breath. Cody figured taking a break to vomit would only increase the likelihood of his face getting eaten off.

Reggie brought his flamethrower up just in time to waste a bug several yards from his head. The bug fell dead at his feet, leaving the smell of burning flesh to waft in his face. He didn’t have time to react. He trained his gun on the next bug, and the next, and the next. They didn’t end. Dead bugs fell at their feet until they began to pile high. Up to Reggie’s knees, then his hips.

“We need to move,” he said.

“No s**t,” said Joel. “Where to?”

“Cover me,” Cody said, pulling up the floorplan on his wrist-mounted computer. “Down this corridor.”

Cody’s spindly arms swung like wrecking balls to the left, knocking a few ShimVens aside. The other Notches ran after him. They moved clumsily, but as a unit. What they lacked in formal training, they made up for in unit cohesion. They weren’t soldiers. They weren’t even exterminators; this was their first gig. But they were nearly VRE pros, and they’d served lifetimes together on the virtual battlefield.

They pushed through the wall of bugs that separated them from open space. Once they reached that space, they ran for all they were worth, only stopping when they’d exited the claustrophobic corridor and come to an expansive room, full of moving parts and an astringent odor.

“The engine room?” Joel said, his voice full of intrigue. “I would love to take some of this s**t apart.”

“That’s what I was counting on,” Cody said.

A shriek by the door drew their attention. A bug had made it through before Reggie jammed the door shut, and it was on top of Reggie, slashing at his chest. Luckily, his cheap body armor was holding up, just barely though. It had been a gift from his parents when the Notches had gone into business. It was the thought that counted, Reggie mused, looking down at the damaged armor.

Joel yelled but didn’t dare fire on the thing, for fear of hitting Reggie. His yell was distraction enough, though. Reggie grabbed the bug by the throat and slammed it onto the ground. It tried to wriggle away, but he stomped its head into mush.

“Gross,” Joel said, already taking things apart and putting them back together as wholly different items. “Cody, hack into the fuel system and dump the lines in the corridor. I’ll rig up some flashbangs from this junk. Then we can flash fry those fuckers.”

“On it,” Cody said, pulling up the specs on his computer. “You were right, Reg. Piece of cake.”

“Uh, guys.” Reggie sounded like he’d been kicked in the junk. He looked like it, too. “I fear things just got worse.”

“Christ, man,” Joel said. “Can you spare me the melodrama? Yes, we’re surrounded by bloodthirsty space bugs, but we’ve got a plan. Just try and stay positive.”

“I’m all about being positive,” Reggie said. Then he held up a shaking hand and pointed. “But dealing with that wasn’t in the plan.”

The other two guys turned. Each of the Notches froze as fear severed their nerves, making it impossible for them to speak or move or even piss their pants. They were thankful for that last one because a ShimVen the size of an apartment building appeared at the far end of the engine room.

It lumbered forward with long, slow movements, digging its pointed legs into the metal floor as if it were construction paper. It stopped, caught the Notches in its multi-eyed gaze, then let out a thunderous roar.

“Holy f*****g s**t!” Reggie yelled.