Exterminator : The Dark Beneath

“Gentech’s Arcology on Ares is a engineering marvel, standing two and half kilometres tall and four wide at its bade, it’s design was inspired by the great pyramids of ancient Egypt

The Archaeology, or ARC as the locals refer to it, prides itself in providing all the convenience and comfort of a well-appointed city, with its inhabitants living, socializing, and working all in its carefully designed structure.

With public areas, restaurants, entertainment zones and more, everything you could ever need is right here in our walls. It houses cutting edge laboratories and manufacturing plants, producing parts and materials high end parts used on Ares itself and beyond. Gentech revolutionary design assures that every worker has adequate accommodation. Everyone, from the wealthiest executive in the upper levels, to the janitor cleaning the water recycling plants, everyone is provided for.”

-Ares Arcology, publicity information by Gentech Public Relations department.

“The Arc? Fair? Pull the other one mate! A fancy exec flushes their crapper up Arc and it flows down a pipe in the wall by my kids room. Shit flows downhill, as it always has and always will do “

-David Woods, Lower ARC factory worker.

10thSeptember, Lower ARC Quarters

The discordant sound of his alarm blared through Jack’s room, pulling him from a bad night’s sleep to blearily open his eyes, the darkness of his room broken by the red numbers projected on the moulded grey plastic of the ceiling, telling him it was 10 am.

He groaned and tried to roll to face the wall but his restless shifting in the night had tangled his sweaty covers around his legs.

“Computer,” he croaked, his voice rough as he pulled a pillow over his head and continued in a muffled voice, “Cancel alarm and reset to 3pm local time.”

“Apologies, but I cannot comply!” the soft computerized female voice replied through his speakers, “You have a appointment with director Stevens in 1 hour.”

He pulled the pillow away and kicked his covers back so he could stare at the ceiling blankly for a moment, before wearily sitting up. He scratched his head and turned to look over the side of his bunk down into his room, his eyes roaming over the piles of circuit boards and broken drones. It had been originally intended as temporary accommodation for two workers during the Arcology’s construction. Three metres wide and six long, with a high ceiling formed from moulded concrete and plastic, with metal support beams. Built during the early construction of the Archaeology, or ARC as most inhabitants referred to it as, and it sat below the outer wall of the Arc’s main structure, the clean alloy and tech-glass pyramid sitting on the grubbier industrial rock and steel of its base.

His room, along with several other living quarters for lower end workers, sat below the monorail station that exited from the south side of the huge pyramid mass of the ARC, the mass of concrete and polysteel leaving his room in permanent shadow from the harsh sun above. The external wall contained a huge reinforced glass window, looking out over the Arc valley, a wide stretch of red sand and dust running for 40 km between walls of barren red cliffs and gullies, the desolation broken only by the occasional abandoned mine head and the massive concrete columns that supported the monorail track.

Although the window was a foot thick it wasn’t the high-end nanoparticle infused tech-glass that covered the Archaeology overhead, just a high impact silicon polymer composite. It wouldn’t shield against direct exposure to the high levels of UV light and ionizing radiation emitted by the system’s star, but the station above provided sufficient shadow for it to be considered safe, or at least safe enough for lower tier workers according to the housing executives. At the moment Jack had the blast shutters down to keep his room dark enough to sleep in.

His bunk stood against the narrowest wall, the window to his left and facing the doorways opposite, one leading to his tiny bathroom, the other leading out into the corridor. Opposite his window to the right of his bed was a long workbench, the hip-high surface covered with bits of wiring and machines, along with e-pads and other writing paraphernalia. At the end of the wall nearest the door sat his tiny recessed food unit, combining a small fridge with basic cooking items and a dishwasher. The rest of the wall, all the way to his bunk, was covered by a huge interactive smart-screen he’d salvaged from the recycling plant, its glass transparent at the moment showing the concrete behind.

Jack sighed and groggily lowered himself off his top bunk, careful to avoid the odds and end littering his floor, before shuffling over to the glass of the window and reaching out to bringing the interactive controls to light under his fingertips. He carefully turned the pale blue circle that appeared to the right, slightly opening the shutters to let a smidgen of the predawn light through, even the weak glare it let in casting dull read lines on the far wall and causing him to wince.

“Computer” he mumbled, shuffling towards the bathroom, ”Get me some coffee ready. I need a shower.” The food station beeped as it began working, and Jack manipulated the controls of his bathroom, opening the door to reveal a space barely wide to contain a toilet and recessed sink. He kept his eyes shut against the white light from the LED Bulb overhead and relieved himself, before steeping back out into his room and manipulating the controls again, closing the door to the toilet. There was a muffled thump as the small compartment re-orientated itself and when the bathroom door opened again the space had been reconfigured into a shower.

Stepping out of his pants, he stood and let the water thunder down on him as he rested his head against the wall. He let the heat soak into his shoulders for a moment before applying some shampoo and washing his short hair, his fingers running around the metal of the bio-port at the base of his skull. He glanced down at the implants on his wrists that allowed the Exosuit’s medical system to sample his blood, before washing them as well. Awakened slightly by the shower, he activated the driers and let the warm air blast over him from the recessed vents. As he dried he reached for his laser cutters, turning his head to check his hair.

Setting the razor short he carefully ran it across his head. He generally kept it short and spiky on top but with three horizontal stripes over each temple to make a good contact for his helmet electrodes. Seeing that stubble was forming he carefully ran the dull beam of the razor along them, burning off the hair growth whilst leaving his skin untouched. He didn’t bother with the access port as he had a check-up at the cybernetics station later where the Doc would check it, along with the penny sized metallic attachment ports on his hips, shoulders, and on certain vertebrae of his spine that allowed the Exosuit to anchor onto and support his skeleton.

The computer beeped, “Your coffee is ready Jack, and you have several messages waiting!”

He walked out of the cubical utility and over to his kitchen, one hand reaching for his coffee as the other tapped the envelope on his clear screen to play messages. Most were the normal junk he got bombarded with, and he set about dressing in his uniform as the computer read them out to him. His work-clothes consisted of a tee-shirt, jacket and trousers all made of tough black and yellow material, impregnated with plastic and nanoparticles to resist corrosion and give some protection against gas and vacuum. Taking a sip of his coffee he sighed in contentment as the warm caffeine hit his stomach, and for a moment all was well with the world. He padded over to a chair and reached out for his folded up clothing.

“Computer, play something cheerful as you read them out”

Some soft techno began whispering through the speakers as the computer read off a local news bulleting that he ignored. Nodding to the tune, he placed his coffee down and slid on the black and yellow padded trousers. Made of tough plastic coated amide material, they were proofed in the same way as his jacket, and included an array of pockets and attachment points for tools. His boots were heavy issue ex-military design, black with yellow striped laces. He stuck his feet into them and sat, letting the auto-laces seal them as he sipped his coffee, half listening to a worried email from his boss as he hummed along to the music.

Stevens was informing Jack and the other Exterminators about maintenance and supplier issues with the Exosuits, as if Jack wasn’t perfectly aware of these problems, being the person who’d told him about the issues in the first place.

“It’s important that we reduce the use of replacement parts as long as possible to maintain out budget” the computer read, Jacks mind supplying Stevens’s worried tones.

“We could do ” Jack muttered angrily to himself ” If the others ever bloody maintained their suits”

Putting his half drunk coffee on a side table partially buried in dismantled tech, he stood and clomped over to the wall and tapped on a small icon, scrolling through a series of pictures until he found his work jacket. The wardrobe opened and a articulated arm handed out the clothing, straining slightly under its weight. Like his trousers it was a vibrant yellow jumpsuit with black areas of padding over the shoulders, down the line of the spine and segmented across the chest and abdomen. What stood out most however was the bio-hazard warning signs emblazoned on patches on the upper arms and on the right pectoral, informing people that the wearer was a registered exterminator, Yep Jack thought, just in case the highly subtle colour scheme didn’t tip them off.

A old favourite of Jack’s started playing and he continued to hum along softly, pulling a tee-shirt from the rack and sliding it over his head, when the computer started reading out a new email.

“Next message, received from Arita Assani, concerning the Alumni network of New Oxford University.” Jack froze, his arms over his head caught midway through donning the tee-shirt as the email continued. “Dear Alumni, our records have shown that it has been three years since your graduation, and the administration team was wondering about your current employm...”

Jack hastily pulled down the shirt and slapped the clear screen in anger, halting the message, eyes darting to the drawer where he’d stuffed his graduation awards and Ph.D. notification months before, having torn them from the wall in a fit of depression.

“Computer, I thought I ordered you to send any communication about my university straight to junk?”

“I have been Jack, but the current email was directed from a different source and so did not meet the criteria.”

“Well, add it to the list!” he said, resting his head wearily against the glass and sighing. His good mood was shattered as the memories of his disgrace where dragged to the surface. All his hopes and dreams, all he’d worked for gone. He looked around his room in a fit of introspection, his eyes falling on the framed picture of him and his parents.

Taken near his old home on earth, it showed a 12-year-old Jack stood on the rolling hills of Exmoor in Southern England. His mother stood behind him grinning, her arms warped around his shoulders and her long curly dark blond hair being flung across her face by the winter wind. His father knelt beside them on the stone path, holding Jack’s then 5-year-old sister in his big arms. He could still remember the warmth of his mother’s hug around him, and the lavender smell of her shampoo.

A month after the picture was taken, a random car accident took the lives of his parents and sister as he was waiting to be picked up from school. Nobody was at fault, just a man driving a truck too old to have auto drive, who suffered a stroke behind the wheel, ploughing through a junction and killing them instantly. He remembered waiting in the cold as the sky darkened, unaware that everyone he loved in the universe was gone. It was only hours after the crash that social services final tracked him down and gave him the news that shattered his world. He glanced at the old movie posters that covered his walls, mementoes of his mother’s obsession with classic sci-fi and horror. Her interest had fuelled her science carrier and had inspired Jack to follow in her footsteps.

For all the good it had done him.

He shook away the memories; no point thinking about it now. Just focus on getting through this tour and then back to earth. Finishing dressing, he turned on his smartpad, the palm sized rectangle of clear-glass and transparent electronics lighting up with his desktop. A hardened model, it was two centimetres deep and rigged with strong, black, plastic around the outside containing its batteries and electronics. Jack’s was smaller than most, but hardened against EM interference and environmental damage so that he could take it with him on the job. He’s once dropped it 30 metres down a shaft and it still worked perfectly. It served as his personal communicator, organizer and computer rolled into one, and most people would be lost without theirs.

Looking at the time on his pad he swore before hastily downing his coffee and headed out his door into the ARC.

Exiting his room into the drab grey concrete of the under-works, Jack immediately had to duck back inside as a refuse bot trundled by, its tracks propelling the square waist height bot along the corridor, its front vacuum picking up dust and the skinny manipulator arms attached at each corner of its chassis waving as they scanned for debris to pick up.

Jack shook his head in annoyance, locking the door with his smart-pad and followed the bot along the corridors, glancing up at the exposed pipes and conduits overhead, eyes unconsciously checking for nests even though the rats had never got into ARC itself. He didn’t know why the janitors even sent a bot down here since he was the only resident. The other bunk-rooms were empty or used as storage, although occasionally he had run into teenagers making out in them, or the occasional drug addict looking for a quiet place to shoot up.

He moved along the connecting corridor until he reached the blast door leading to a large intersecting corridor. The lower sections of the Arc were older and more primitive then the upper sections, the builders focusing more on the foundation structure then on comfort or providing decent interiors, after all, the important and productive workers would be working further up ARC, so why bother?

Large manual pressure doors sat at each intersection, when a accident in the construction could lead to a whole section depressurizing. During the construction of the ARC’s base they were required to be shut after use by Corp law. Now they sat open, unused for years as the risk of breach receded. The upper arc also contained pressure-doors in case of a breach, but they were artfully recessed into the walls and automatically deployed via pressure sensors or during security alerts.

Moving out into a corridor twice the width of his previous route, Jack finally encountered other people, workers moving to and fro, most dressed in the light green and white Gentech jumpsuits of lower level workers. They were simple one-pieces, with the stylized G and T of the Corp symbol on patched on the right arm. The suits sat over the workers’ normal clothing, unlike Jacks reinforced work gear. Their left arms usually displayed patches denoting their job and station, but some uniforms included additions, such as tool belts and the like. Moving along the corridor deeper into the Arc, Jack ignored the sideways looks of the workers, their dislike of his profession long since ceasing to bother him.

He reached the large personal lift at the end of the corridor and shuffled in, shoulder-to-shoulder with people heading to work, and rode it to the maintenance level. Edging by the other passengers he walked out into the cleaner, better lit corridors. The opposite wall was made of glass to allow a view over one of the workshops that ran maintenance on the Arc’s drones. The large open room was already filled with workers adjusting and repairing the numerous robots that kept the Arc running, from floor and vent cleaners, to the drones that trundled along the outside of the tech-glass walls of the Arc looking for damage to the outer shell. He could even see one of the large security bots in the corner, its chunky humanoid frame still as a pair of technicians worked on the riot foam sprayer on its right arm.

Turning he headed towards the Exterminators offices and workrooms, tucked away at the furthest end of the maintenance section, As exterminators were technically part of the maintenance department, and so housed on the same floor as the main facilities, albeit tucked away in a corner like a dirty little secret.

The doors into the workrooms were locked, heavy security doors in place to stop people wandering in, a wise precaution considering some of the gear inside. Jack waved his smart-pad in front of the palm-sized lock of grey plastic and let the biometric reader study him. The doors parted with a clump and rolled back into the walls and he swiftly stepped through. The layout of the workplace was an odd mix of locker room crossed with an armoury and metal workshop.

The changing area was about five meters square, with white plastic tiled floors and light blue walls. Grey metal lockers ran along the wall to his left, whilst to the right were toilets and shower cubicles. Between the two walls ran a line of changing room benches. Walking through the room he entered the workshop; tough rubberized flooring tiles and white strip lighting overhead, several work benches bolted down around the open area, walls hung with an array of tools, from simple wrenches and screwdrivers up to a compact nano-printer. He glanced over at the leg actuators he’d been repairing before his last mission. Hopefully he’d get a opportunity to finish the job before he got sent somewhere messy again.

Movement to his left drew Jack’s attention and he turned to see that his boss was already in, sitting behind his desk in his office, the smart-glass wall separating him from the workroom set to clear. Stevens spotted him and held up a meaty hand in greeting before turning back to his computer, his rounded shoulders hunched over the desk as he tap away at the clear-glass keypad as if trying to punch a hole through it and the table beneath. Stevens didn’t seem to get along with technology that well, something Jack had always found ironic considering his job. It was just as well holographic interfaces had never really caught one or Stevens would have no way to vent his nerves.

Turning back to the workroom, Jack walked to where the armour pods sat against the wall and eyed the Exosuits inside, each held in place by clamps behind a curved impact resistant glass wall. The pods were wonderful pieces of engineering, designed to assess the state of the suit and replenish its fuel and supplies. They also performed minor maintenance and cleaning on the suits using nano-bots, fixing micro fractures and internal ruptures. However, they couldn’t fix everything as the nano-bots were limited in the complexity of the repairs they could run, and so Jack would inevitably end up spending a good portion of his day repairing and running maintenance on his suit.

The last room in the area was the airlock around the lift to the lower levels, along with the washing station built into it. The regulations stated that, after a mission, Exterminators had to return via a separate elevator to avoid spreading contaminates, and then stand under a bio-wash to eradicate any potential hazards. Jack had spent a good five minutes under the chemical spray yesterday, fighting his fatigue as he waited for the automatic locks to disengage and release him.

A tapping from the office behind drew his attention, and he turned to see Stevens beckoning him over. His boss was still seated behind his desk tapping away at his keypad, the large coffee skinned man hunched over as he typed, his face locked in a grimace of stress. Jack often thought that Stevens must have been a imposing figure in his youth but years of worry and too little exercise had caused his weight to shift around his gut. The man wiped the sweat from his blotchy brow with the back of his hand, his lined forehead glistening below his receding grey hair. Seeing Jack, he gestured for him to take a seat.

“Dam quarterlies are up again Jack; trying to get the paperwork all filled before the Overseers office starts breathing down my neck!”

Nodded in sympathy, Jack wondered for the hundredth time how his boss had ended up here. Stevens seemed to live in perpetual terror of messing up in front of his bosses, even though as far as Jack could tell, no one gave a flying fuck about the Exterminators as long as they did their jobs and didn’t upset the status quo. Stevens could be an OK guy but his fear turned every little thing into a disaster of nightmarish proportions. The only reason for this Jack could theorize was that Stevens had been promoted from the ranks but somehow felt unqualified and out of place amongst the younger, ambitious, section managers he found as his new peers. This could lead him to be annoying, but Jack couldn’t help but sympathize, being a outsider himself. Finishing his work, Stevens looked over his desk at Jack.

“I read your report about the rats. You sure there were that many nests that high up in the works? They don’t like it that near the surface. Are you sure they were actually viable?”

“I’m sure boss!” Jack replied, with a slight frown, ”I checked. There were viable pups, even if they were sickly and malformed.”

Steven’s hands were fiddling with the keyboard in front of him, a sure sign that he was agitated. “Well, it’s just I sent a report to the science boys and they said it was unlikely for rats to nest that close to the surface, something about atmospheric content or the like. They think you might have….well....maybe you made a mistake?“he ended weakly as Jack frowned at him.

“No boss, “Jack said, slowly and deliberately, “I didn’t make a mistake. The nests were viable and where I stated in my report. We’ve all been finding nests higher and higher recently. What does the Environmental Science division think of the change in behaviour? And how many of them are experts in exo-species biology?”

Stevens shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Well...”

“You haven’t told them have you? “ Jack snapped, Stevens’ evasiveness suddenly making sense. The boss hadn’t been passing on the reports in case it drew unwanted attention from his bosses. “You didn’t send them my report- or any of the others!”

“Well...come on, Jack,” Stevens said, raising his hands placating, ”If I tell them the rats are moving they’re just going to ask why and start interfering. Me and the maintenance guys, we figure it’s easier to just quietly deal with them. There’s no need to get the overseers office involved.“

Jack suppressed his anger, knowing that however much he tried to convince Stevens, getting his boss to stick his neck out was next to impossible. “Fine, but I want it on the record that I think this is a bad move boss.” He stopped and took a breath before continuing; ”So, what do you need me to do today?” Stevens gave him a nod of thanks for dropping the issue and turned to look at his clear screen.

“Well, you have a check-up later with Doctor Jeffrey I see” he grinned and winced in sympathy. “That guy is a barrel of laughs.”

“I dun no boss,” Jack said defensively. ”I don’t get why you guys don’t like him, I’ve always got along with him fine”

Doctor Jeffrey, ‘Doc’ to Jack, was the only fully vetted cyberneticist in the Arc. A smart and highly educated man, he was known for being grouchier and unpleasant to just about everyone. Supposedly, numerous complaints had been lodged against him, ranging from rudeness and a condescending manner, to belittling people for their lack of knowledge about their own implants. Jack thought that it probably stemmed from the current public perception of invasive cybernetics.

For decades, increasing technology and understanding of the human body had led to huge strides forward in the development of prosthetic human limbs and organs. More lifelike artificial arms and legs, coupled with more precise sensory feedback, had allowed millions of people with compromised or missing limbs to achieve mobility, and cybernetic organ replacements saved numerous lives. The field had been a rich source of research and development, right up until a series of manufacturing failures and corruption scandals had tainted it, followed by the most serious case of nanotech terrorism ever seen, where a group of religious fanatics in New Buenos Ayres released targeted nanobots to destroy cybernetic implants. A thousand people died on the planet as their implants failed and released dangerous materials into their bodies. The cybernetics companies had scrambled to prevent a PR nightmare, announcing to all that design flaws that had allowed the group to strike had been eradicated, and everything was safe.

Then came Columbus.

The industry took a massive hit, suddenly the public didn’t want cybernetics anymore, they wanted biomedical implants, grown organic organ replacements not mechanical. Stock in companies that specialized in cybernetics crashed, and the industry imploded. Nowadays, only the biggest mega corps made complex cybernetics or did any research on them, but the field was stagnant, relying on tech years old rather than researching new designs. For someone like Doctor Jeffrey, a lifetime’s career had suddenly dropped from under him. And Jack understood. Perhaps better than anyone.

“Well, OK Jack, if you say so.” Stevens said, recalling him from his thoughts.“Now, there are one or two issues with the other workers’ suits.”

“Oh hell, no, boss” Jack said loudly, straightening in his seat “I’m not doing maintenance for those guys just because they’re either too stupid or too lazy to do it themselves!”

“Come on Jack” Stevens wheedled, hands clenched together in anxiety, apparently without his notice” You know that they aren’t good at suit maintenance”

“So what!? Make them learn! It’s part of their fucking contract Stevens, and if they can’t, get the maintenance department to do it, repairing shit is their job! Plus, I have enough work to do on my own suit after the last mission, without having to work on theirs”

Stevens held up his hands in defeat.

“Ok Jack, I’m sure their suits are in good enough condition to do a run in. They’ll be fine. Now you’d better head off and get some food before your appointment later”

Stevens turned back to his screen and gestured for Jack to leave, but as he walked out of the office Jack was fairly sure the issue wasn’t finished.