An annotated maintenance manual for the 2087L-V Craft Sub Biome

Welcome to an exciting new career in the evaluation, maintenance, and repair of Class 2 Sub-Biomes. Like a sturdy foundation on the landhomes of our ancestors, your work is fundamental to the continued comfort and well-being of us all. How very inspiring! Don't be fooled, this is the last time you will be shown a scrap of respect. If you've been assigned to murk duty, it's either because you really screwed up “up there” or you never had a chance to go up in the first place.

The Stationary Undermount Class 2 Sub-Biome has provided our ever-increasing population with room to grow and thrive as we continue to adapt to our aquatic existence. Our forebears may have been land bound, but we have brought the glory of civilization ever forward, even to the briny depths! Whoever wrote that never spent much time in a StUC, let alone lived in one. You live in one, of course. You were probably born in one now that they don't let us up to the sun bubbles for medical care. So you know that our “glorious civilization” amounts to a lot of noise and stink and people scraping by under the vitamin lights, trying to ignore the whisper of that malignant darkness just outside. All stuffed into our pods like they used to stuff fish into cans. Somewhat less triumphant than it says on the tin.

Due to the destructive nature of the surrounding waters, the majority of your job will be dedicated to vigilance. You are required to completely survey your assigned pods daily, verifying your work by toggling the checkpoint switches as you go. This necessitates a great deal of time spent in the pressure suit, but it is vital that you limit your exposure to two hours at a time, with an hour break between. The suits are designed to allow for ease of movement, a steady flow of oxygen, and the general comfort of the wearer; however, prolonged periods in the pressure suit can result in headaches, blurred vision, etc. There is ample time for you to split your work hours among your pods without unsafe exposure, so remember to be cautious and allot your time wisely. Ah yes, no longer than two hours at a time to survey all of your pods in a work day! What a very quaint idea. I could follow this schedule and cover all of my pods, certainly, so long as I work twenty hours a day. So here is what to expect for when the pressure suit gets to you, because it will. The headache is a crushing, screaming monster of a headache, but it never lasts longer than an hour or two, and you'd better learn to work through it, because after the headache comes the “etc.” and it's a doozy. You might get some blurry vision, but you probably won't notice that since you will be hallucinating like mad. Something of a bright side is that the hallucinations come on a wave of euphoria. Downside is, if you’re hallucinating, it’s because you're basically dying, and you'll start doing all manner of idiotic things. I saw my mother once, calling me away from the pod and out into the black, and if I hadn't been working with a partner who stopped me, I would have followed her happily. Since partner work has been abolished, oops, I mean “phased out,” get inside when you feel the headache loosen up. Usually I get five hours.

While checking the pods, be especially attentive to algae and other buildup around the vents. You will be issued a variety of implements with which you can gently and carefully remove any impediments with a minimum of effort. It is also paramount that you remove and replace any dented or otherwise damaged exterior panels, and that the exterior be fully cleaned with regulation tools on a weekly basis. Where to begin with this nonsense? First off, the “tools” for “gently removing” buildup are worthless. You can gently remove the green stuff up on the higher pods, but we only get the globs of rotting garbage that float down from the kelp farms and the algae blooms. Every other vent will be catastrophically clogged with slippery, disintegrating muck almost daily. There is no way to be gentle, and you shouldn't try. Grab a power scrubber from one of the interior maintenance guys and have at it. Funny how the best tools go to those making the insides look good, while us making sure we don't all drown in the dark have to work with picks and squeegees. And the cleanliness of the panels is only important to the sun bubbles. Up there, they've got natural light to collect and people who can see the exterior. Even if the Stucks had windows, it's not like there's any light to see by down here.

Your headlamp and your tether are of the utmost importance to your safety and efficacy. They may, however, become hindrances if used improperly. Keep your tether untangled and your headlamp clean and lit at all times. If your tether or light attract fauna, remain calm and remember: there are no ocean predators. Whatever animal you attract will move on within moments.

LIARS! DAMN THEM ALL FOR LIARS!

Sorry for the language, but I know you'll forgive me because I'm about to save your life. We all learned as kids that the big fish died a hundred years ago, and all that's left are the jellies, right? Every kind of jelly you can think of but nary a fish to be found, and jellies are just brainless blobs that can't do a thing to a pressure suit.

None of that is true.

The jellies aren't much of a problem individually, but when they swarm, they can pull your tether and drag you out to die. They can't eat you through your suit, but they’ll try, and the trying will kill you just the same.

They aren't even that bad. I’ll tell you what’s worse.

This is the story that got me kicked down to the dark. It's all true, and plenty of people know about it, but don’t bring it up in mixed company if you know what’s good for you. Although, do you know what’s good for you? Not doing this job.

My partner and I were working on the first set of Stucks, back when we all believed that they would provide sleeping quarters, but that life would still happen, for all of us, up above. We had our headlamps blazing and our tethers clear and we were actually having a great time, surrounded by that empty blackness, the sky just a wink of light overhead. I had hated the work at first, the endless ink around the limited beam of my headlamp had felt suffocating, and the knobby, irregular shapes of the pods would play tricks on my eyes. But my partner, Lydia, was hilarious, and that day she was just letting loose. We were laughing so hard that we had to break to get fresh tanks, and when we got back out, we were feeling fantastic. Not the loopy, brain-death pressure-suit euphoria, but having actual good ol' fashioned fun.

At first, when I saw the lights down below us, I thought I was oxygen drunk and ignored them. Then Lydia saw them, and she went still. Her face... it’s like she’s still in front of me. She was confused, but not afraid.

“CJ, what are those?” She asked, and so I looked again.

There were five blinking lights below us, moving in a swirling sort of pattern, blue and faint in the dark but getting stronger, getting closer. I thought that maybe there was a deep sub surfacing from a trunk maintenance job, and I looked over to tell Lydia.

There was something behind her.

It was moving towards the beam of my headlamp, slow and steady, twisting itself towards us. It was like nothing I’ve ever seen, like none of the images of long-dead sea creatures we’d learned about as kids. It was half my size but with jaws as big as my arm, jagged teeth and translucent flesh that showed every pulse and twitch, but the worst was its eyes, those two huge eyes, shifting and shuddering independently, hunting the light and whatever made it. It made its own light as it glided out of nothing, those same blinking blue lights from below us, and I knew that we were surrounded. I just stared at the thing, and I found my mind drifting. I was terrified but somehow I still hoped that the creatures would just move along. They were curious, but they wouldn’t hurt us. That’s what they told us. The fauna would move on. If we just stayed still, it would move on.

And then Lydia, who had been transfixed by the lights below, looked up at me.

She met my eyes. She saw my fear, and she turned to see what I saw. Her headlamp lit the thing full on, now just inches away, and she screamed. She screamed and screamed and at the sound, that thing… It changed! It contorted into shapes I can’t find the words to describe, just a roiling horror of teeth and impossible angles and colors and speed! I turned and swam and I left her there, forgive me, I left her there! Her tether was snapped when they found it, that’s all they found, and they called me crazy but they knew the truth of it, the truth of those things just below us! Closer every day, closer every minute, drawn by our light and our warmth, drawn to us as their prey!

You don’t believe me, not on your first day. But you will, so be wary, and keep a cover for your headlamp on that stupid belt they gave you. I’ve had to use it one trip in ten, floating blind while they circled closer and closer. You can tell when they’re gone because that basest part of your brain will relax, that monkey sense that saved us in the jungles will guide you, but you must keep the lamp dark while you pull yourself in, remember!! I’m going out from now on without my cover, because I think I owe her that, don’t you? I doubt I could have saved her, but I can pay her back in kind, and so I will. And you will take up my post, squeegee drawn against the darkness. I wish you long life here in the abyss, my friend.

Safety, cleanliness, and utility are the touchstones of your work in the maintenance field. Congratulations on your new career!