Warga Blarga | Teen Ink

Warga Blarga

October 18, 2023
By Anonymous

The fluorescent lights flicker on at the start of every shift. Sometimes I’ll wake up before they are activated and lay there in my bunk listening to the waves impact the walls. Sometimes I’ll wake up to the sounds of groaning as those around me complain about the early morning hours. Sometimes when the water is calm and the ventilation fails to initialize, I wake up to the faintest sound of clicking.

This station is older than most, set up during the start of the Weather Protection Program back when everyone was worried about “freak storms” or “rogue waves” killing people too slow to get into an airlock.This station does still monitor weather patterns, but because it’s so much closer to the seafloor than others it’s been repurposed to farm Patril Sprout.

An older woman’s voice spoke my name from the doorway. We argued about docking pay, and my developing habit of avoiding work. It’s annoying, but I had been lying there for twenty minutes past the alarm.

The mechanic’s wear was all one piece that zipped in the front, which made it quite easy to get on. It didn't matter all that much if my hair was matted to one side of my head as it would’ve contained at least a little bit of grease or oil by the end of the day. I shoved everything I didn’t need into the locker beneath my bed and made for the exit. I went through multiple hallways and crossed the enclosed jointed bridge and through the airlock.

My job’s to maintain the machines. A lot of my training was very focused on safety, considering that the compactor could pulpify me without warning.

A new shipment had come in. Two large crates, a new Energy Conserver, and some sort of tube shaped drill designed to eat away at the seafloor.

One short conversation with one of the delivery workers explained it was to facilitate a better growing environment for Patril Sprout.

The plant is especially unique and sought after for interstellar travel, as it is incredibly nutrient dense and once processed and compressed is very light and takes up little space. The plant itself along with its photosynthesis is carnivorous and uses a net-like root structure that folds inward to capture small creatures.

They sent some people to help with installation, but because it’s my job I had to mark locations and assist with bolting the Conserver down, and lowering the drill into the water with the cargo crane. There was a minor mishap with one of the automated harvesting machines almost getting crushed by the drill, but a quick shouting session between the operator and one of the workers on a monitor solved the problem relatively quickly.

Before sundown everything was in place and ready to go. The drill began its startup in a particularly rocky and plantless area of ocean.

As people gathered in the canteen to eat we could hear it and feel it beneath us; tearing away at rock and flattening the ground as it went. We all twelve ate and most of the conversation was dominated by complaints about sleeping with the sound. It did become more manageable as it furthered itself from the station, but it never fully left our hearing.
Early into the night a new nuisance arose. I woke up to the lights flickering on early, an orange light by the door indicating a machine required maintenance. Apparently the other mechanic had already headed down to deal with it, but the noise persisted; so I was instructed to head over and help. A glance out the windows as I walked showed it was still too dark to even see the water. A terrible grating sound grew as I neared processing.

Cycling through the airlock took about a minute. When the door finally opened it was impossible to hear anything other than the malfunctioning machine, the noise was dizzying. I hit a nearby emergency shutdown which stopped the sound immediately and peered over the railing to the sight of smoke from one of the compressors. I quickly moved down the metal scaffold staircase. I moved left towards the smell of burning. The compressor was odd to see, a dark and thick fluid I initially thought was oil coated almost the whole thing. Chunks of some kind mixed with the liquid. Another sound caught my attention over the soft sound of waves, something wet.

I looked around for the other worker, and saw no sign of them. A divider separated my view to the loading dock and ocean. As I made my way over another sound became clearer, a sharp and wt

I turned the corner of the divider, and saw two fat shapes, roughly five feet tall, sleek and dirty brown. They stood over a terrible mass of protruding bone, and an unrecognizable concave face with blonde hair. They both gorged themselves; small apendages shredding away pieces of meat from the carcass. One of them lifted two large flat faced forelimbs a good two feet off the ground before slamming them down. This along with further disfiguring the other mechanic, made me audibly gasp, and step back. They stopped eating and turned to meet me. While their backs were one curved and smooth carapace their underbellies were a mess of limbs and softer tissue. Four black dots above a mouth of interlocking pieces, both dripping.

I took another step back and this made the one on my left move towards me. Stepped back behind the divider and ran up the metal staircase; I could hear one of them crashing into electrical equipment behind me. I tried to pry open the airlock to no avail. Someone was already inside as it cycled. I turned to look down the staircase and one of the two was already turning up the steps. I could hear its feet skitter against the metal flooring. A beep emitted from the door. I turned and the thing was halfway up the steps. The door cracked open and I pushed myself through. Two people were in the airlock and both were obviously confused at my frantic entry. I failed to get out any words before one of them moved backwards out the entry. A clicking blur of grabbing arms and thrashing parts slammed. They were both pushed out of sight.

I immediately hit the cycle button and the door shut with a sharp mechanical whir; I could hear nothing through the two feet of metal.


The author's comments:

I've written this for my creative writing class.


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