The Filth Fighter Ch 1

The days we hate start with the alarm clock. Every day we work, we have to flip the switch the night before. It is a small thing, flipping the switch, but it is the start of the stupid small stuff one has to do for a job. Not a career, not something fulfilling. A job. One of those miserable activities that are just too hard for a company bot, but just stupid enough that a human would be miserable. The only reason I traveled off-planet to a company-owned space rock is for a possibility that no longer exists on earth. I love the ocean, the smell, the fishing, the boating, and the freedom. I could have that for the rest of my life if I killed a decade to sweat away at the company. I could live in a beach house, fish, and much more. If I stuck to my silvers instead of spending them and invested well, I could be out in 8 years. My contract was for four more years, but I could retire in two with my investments.

For now, I had to flip the switch on the alarm clock on my weekend. I had to get into bed, tolerate the broken bedspring, and try to fall asleep. I used to like falling asleep when I was a kid because most of my dreams were fun. Now, it’s like dunking into a dry, black, abyss ocean. But, like most days, the company-distributed alarm clock roared like a foghorn. My hand reached for the switch, but I was still tired, and the black box was knocked off the counter and fell on the floor. That made the radio turn on, and the company’s station droned. Fighting off sleep, I turn it off and catch myself in the mirror. Pudgy, haggard features paint my face and body. The thinning black hair and beard make me look as old on the outside as I feel on the inside. My arm hair seems to get blacker and thicker every year, though. My friends say things about my paunch, but it’s not that big. Some family might say I am going through a midlife crisis, but I will have a better life than most of my friends in a few years. I shook my head and said, “It’s Monday. If that thing is broken again, I can’t supervise.” Supervising activities were always better than the more demanding jobs.

I clothed myself in the company clothes, a dark grey full-body suit. It once was thick, with knee padding, elbow reinforcements, and several pockets. I once actually enjoyed putting it on. It was a short moment because I then remembered how the company only repairs or replaces the company clothes every two years. Due to “paperwork” issues, this thing had three years of wear and tear. If I wanted to keep investing, I had to skip the spare, which would add two months to work. Now, the thin, full-body suit was held up by my patchwork, and with every repair, I was fined. The supervisor said, “For tampering with company property.” My faded nametag still read Ralf R. The tag had a brown outline, cleaning crew. The background behind the black-lettered name was an upper band of light blue and a lower band of dark blue. The two blues indicated that I cleaned the freshwater and saltwater areas. The absence of platinum or orange meant I could not clean the nice rooms. Offices, and classrooms, were all out of reach. Just the nastiest, grimiest places in the auxiliary towers. Even after four years of working.

The same thoughts ran through my head as I ate some food and opened the door to the outside world. I had to travel from his dwelling area, Crysquor, to the main company buildings. Again, the city greeted him with the smell of the nearby ocean. Looking eastward, I could see the mountain lines on the other side of the little ocean. I walked to the road, pressed some buttons on a mailbox-looking device, and waited. A pod on a track came zipping down in a few minutes and stopped. This grey, now dulled with age, transport pod looked like the head of a bullet train. It popped open its lid, showing enough space for only one person inside. I stepped inside. The lid shut.

“Alright, to work.”

The pod beeped, and a robotic female surfer voice said, “Let’s ride that wave.” The voice dragged out the “a” in wave. The pod then shot forward, climbing over 60, 70 miles an hour. The track transitioned from being on land to floating on the water in a few minutes. Here he had five minutes to watch the waves ebb and flow. Sometimes animals like dolphins would pop out, and manatees floated close to the surface. For most people, this trip would be an experience. For Ralf, seeing this nearly every day for several years sucked most of the fun out of the trip. Most. Even after all these years, there would be something special. Today a seahawk flew close by the water’s surface. The open space with the fantastic sight made him smile. On a trip that ended too soon yet took too long, the pod slowed down and eventually stopped.

He walked to one of the massive pillars, a dark ocean blue gradient with huge windows, and swiped his card to get in. He finally reached his little office as he walked down the building’s back entrance. A small, smaller than normal cubby he could barely fit into and turned on the computer. With some flashing, the computer told him the duties for the day. Instead of the regular saltwater cleaning, he relocated to the freshwater area. The kelp basements. As for why the assignment only listed three question marks.

“Hell. The last set of question marks had me sore for a week.” He got out of his office and traversed the hallways, bumping into Lyle. He was a man with darker skin, a short afro, and similar clothes to Ralf. The big difference was that he had an orange bar in his nametag.

“Ralf, doing ok?” he asked with a smile.

“Gotta clean in the kelp basements.”

Lyle clicked his tongue. “Man, that sucks.”

Ralf sighed and asked, “You?”

He shrugged and said, “Several tanks came in the saltwater shore department. The students are done with their experiments, and the corners need a human touch. Filth Fighter V6 don’t have thumbs, so I still got a job. After that, it’s easy-town for the medical rooms. I will be cleaning your building’s med area first.”

“Sounds like we can have lunch together. You would like Howard. Speaking of which, I haven’t seen him yet.”

“I haven’t seen him either,” Lyle said, shrugging his shoulders. “Last I heard, he also had to clean up in the kelp basements. Some massive lungfish experiment recently ended, so he got,” he said the next part while making quote marks with his hands, “volen-told.”

Ralf grimaced. “What the hell was Chunky Charlie thinking?”

Lyle straightened up and grabbed Ralf on the shoulder. “He’s coming.”

He turned around to see Chunky Charlie, a short, rotund, northeastern Asian. Everyone knew that he was into power plays and company politics and just competent enough that replacing him was more expensive. So his girth and greed had to be tolerated by employees and employers.

“You boys doing your jobs,” Charlie asked with a smile.

“We are getting there,” Lyle said.

“Ralf, Howard screwed up,” Charlie uttered with disdain. “He has been missing for two days. I reassigned you where he last was. While you are cleaning, you need to find him.”

“Or I will have it docked from my pay?” Ralf asked. He knew the answer already.

“Because he got here due to your recommendation, he got assigned to me. His bad performance will knock me down a peg. If my pay gets docked due to your recommendation,” he said, jabbing a fat, short, pudgy finger into Ralf’s chest, “then I expect you to compensate me.”

Ralf, gripping his pockets tightly, said with an even voice, “He applied to be a photographer. He is good with 3-D imagery, videos, and his application was for the marketing and documentation departments. I don’t know why he was placed here.”

Charlie said gruffly, “The higher-ups above me and my rival decided to put him with me. I didn’t know he was with you until he told me about his amazing friend, one that could fish a shark with nothing more than his bare hands. One that got him the special yellow watch. So, make the most out of that friendship, and find him. Save him if you must. It’s his first month, so his benefits haven’t kicked in. He is at the base pay, so if they dock his pay, it will be under the legal minimum. At that point, the company would rather kick him to the curb than deal with that legal headache. An early fire will look bad at my annual review Ralf. Lyle. So, fix this problem before it screws us all over.” The man waddled about down the hallway to pester the secretary.

Lyle said, “I hope he’s ok.”

“If he ain’t, we will all suffer together,” Ralf said with a smile. “Chunky will make sure of it.”