《My Big Goblin Space Program [Isekai, Faction-building]》 Chapter 1 - Publicity Stunt ¡°She is not hatched.¡± ¡°She is grown too large.¡± ¡°We will die as she slumbers.¡± ¡°Our magic cannot reach her. Our prayers go unheard.¡± ¡°But our magic can reach worlds unknown.¡± ¡°We have tried that before.¡± ¡°We must find one who can reach her for us.¡± ¡°Call them here.¡± ¡°Will it succeed this time?¡± ¡°We must try.¡± Chapter 1 - Publicity Stunt ¡°Ignition - go flight. Navigation - go flight. Operations - go flight.¡± I¡¯d waited my whole life for this moment. Six years of college, two masters degrees in aviation and engineering, and everything almost derailed by a truck accident in university. I glanced down at the twin prosthetics attached below the knees of my space suit. After the accident, I thought I would only ever build rockets. Now, thanks to the CEO of Project NuEarth drunkenly exposing himself to twenty-million followers on social media, I was a much-needed PR win in the making. I was three days away from being the first person without legs to walk on the moon. I¡¯ll take it. Thank God for publicity stunts. ¡°Primary ignition on. Transferring primary control to atmospheric NAV computer. All systems go flight, people. Luna 2 is TACAMO.¡± The rocket started to rumble to life underneath me as the primary motor kicked on. I looked to my left and right as the roar mounted. My mission commander, Major Dave Sanders, and the backup pilot, Sandra Davis (I know, trust me, they¡¯ve heard it all), gripped their restraints as well. Dave looked over and met my gaze. ¡°Let¡¯s hope this bucket you designed doesn¡¯t spring a leak halfway to LP1, eh Chris?¡± called Dave over the rolling thunder of 22 independent rocket motors. He grinned. I¡¯d known him even before I worked to design the self-sustained command module for NuEarth¡¯s second manned moon mission. Hell, he¡¯d recruited me from grad school and fought for me to receive astronaut training even after the accident. I laughed. ¡°The SC-Mod is golden, sir. As long as the first and second stages separate without a hitch, ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ keeping me off that moon dust by Friday.¡± ¡°Keep your legs on,¡± shouted Sandra. Her voice came through tinny over the internal radio. She reached out and gripped my space suit. I looked over, and she smiled. ¡°You made it, Chris.¡± I felt a push against my chair as the motors opened up and the monolithic rocket began to move. ¡°Liftoff!¡± ¡°We¡¯re not there yet,¡± I shouted. ¡°But we¡¯re on our way!¡± My knuckles tightened on my own restraints. Laughing was a struggle as the G-forces mounted. I¡¯d trained for this in the centrifuge. Ironically, I had even better G-force tolerances than most of the other astronauts at NuEarth, since my blood could no longer go past my knees. But the pressure still squeezes the air out of your lungs like a whoopee cushion. The tone of the motors started to change. ¡°Approaching first-stage separation,¡± gasped Dave. ¡°Acknowledged, first-stage separation,¡± said Sandra. A vibration started to mount. I narrowed my eyes, trying to think what a vibration at this stage entailed. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! The radio crackled in my ear. ¡°Luna 2, nothing to worry about, but you might start feeling some shakes. We¡¯re picking up a slight variance in the first-stage separators. Nothing to worry about, well within toler¡ª¡± * * * I lay on my back, staring up at the sky¡ªor rather, staring up at a box super-imposed on the sun. Too blurry and bright to read, I reached up and pawed at it before suddenly freezing. My vision might have been blurry, but I¡¯m pretty sure my hand only had four fingers, was about half the length as usual, and blue. I lurched to a sitting position, groaning and putting both hands to my head. I squeezed my eyes shut. My head felt huge, and every cubic centimeter of it throbbed. What had happened? I was on my way to the moon. My dream come true, finally. After years and years of hard work (and maybe a few nights of drunken debauchery). Then there was a slight variance, and then¡­ what? I forced my eyes open long enough to adjust to the light. I wiped gunk out of them with my claws (claws?!?) and tried to focus on the box that had stayed front and center in my field of view. ¡°What the hell? A new life? Hold up, what was wrong with my last one?¡± The window changed. ¡°Yes. Definitely.¡± The window expanded, this time, showing a bird¡¯s eye view of a rocket leaving the pad on a trail of exhaust, cruising into the upper atmosphere, and then exploding in a giant fireball. ¡°Oh¡­¡± I said. We¡¯d Challengered ourselves. Didn¡¯t even make it to the thermosphere. Friggen¡¯ first stage goons. Well within tolerance my new little blue butt. Still. I looked at my hands, and then the window again. Goblin King, huh? ¡°Simulation theory confirmed, I guess?¡± I shook my head. ¡°Yeah, lay it on me.¡± Ambulatorily challenged? My eyes went wide at that last one. I looked down at my legs¡ªwhich ended in two stubby knobs just below the knees. ¡°Oh, come on!¡± I shouted across the plain. Granted a new life in a new world (simulation?), in an entirely new body, and I was still friggen¡¯ legless! It hadn¡¯t even been congenital in my last life. I¡¯d lost my legs in a motorcycle accident when a truck driver blew a red light. This seemed really, really unfair. I sighed. Well, it¡¯s not like I was any worse off. Also, I was alive. And since I didn¡¯t see Davis or Sandra anywhere, I had to assume I was the only one of the three that had been plucked from Earth and put¡­ wherever this was. The wide, grass prairie stretched out as far as I could see. But about forty degrees above the horizon¡­ ¡°Woah¡­ close the window for a second.¡± The box faded out, and I got a look at the biggest moon ever glowing above me. It took up at least a tenth of the sky, at minimum. It was pale blue, veined with pink minerals, and gigantic. I¡¯m pretty sure I could see forests on it! And even a sea of cerulean waves. I looked up at it, mouth agape, stunned as it shimmered in the morning sky. I don¡¯t know how long I watched it. But I looked down at my legs. If I did it once. ¡°Tell me about the Goblin Technology Tree.¡± The window returned. I looked around, seeing a couple stones. Shale, I think. Though since I¡¯d always been more interested in space, terrestrial geology was never really my thing. But engineering¡­? I picked one up and banged it against another until I¡¯d chipped away enough to have a workable edge, hissing as I cut myself on a shard. Red blood trickled off my thumb. A stone knife¡ªor stabby, as the System dubbed it. Basically, the most primitive tool ever manufactured. I looked at the crude, dirty edge that would probably take five minutes to saw through a piece of 550-cord. I looked up at the sky. I pointed my hand like a rocket and made a whooshing noise as I lifted it above the horizon and centered it over the blue and pink moon. This world¡¯s moon looked a lot closer than the 250,000 miles thereabouts of the moon of Earth. Gears started to turn in my head. Was it possible? Could I really speed-run through six thousand years of human development based on nothing but engineering know-how, half-remembered survival shows, and a dubious, goblinized technical library waiting to be discovered? Hell yeah, I could. Death be damned. I was still going to the moon. Chapter 2 - A Leg to Stand On Chapter 2 - A Leg to Stand On If the System was to be believed, I couldn¡¯t die unless I was the last living member of my tribe. Unfortunately, I was currently the only member of my tribe. I hadn¡¯t played many fantasy games, but I knew goblins were generally bottom of the barrel in terms of individual power level. Looking at my scrawny arms and absent legs, I saw no reason why that trend might deviate here. The first order of business was getting out of this hot, dry prairie and finding some goblins to pump those numbers up before some wildcat made a meal of me. To do that, I had to be mobile. Unfortunately, I was also ambulatorily deficient. Which was a fancy way of saying Lieutenant Dan, you ain¡¯t got no legs. In one direction across the fields, I could see a tree line. But that was miles away, and the idea of dragging myself across that much open ground sounded like suicide. I doubted I was about to get a third chance if I bought the farm within an hour of reincarnation. Speaking of farms, I was going to have to figure out agriculture, which was a big blind spot. Surely there must be someone in this world who already understood it. Maybe even the goblins, themselves. There were a few scraggly trees closer to my location. So, as the sun climbed in the sky, I started crawling my way over the grass and rocks, stone stabby kept close. I doubt it would do me much good if I were attacked, but it was better than my stubby, dull claws. There was a surprising amount of strength in my new goblin limbs, despite their apparent scrawniness. I had a lot of upper body strength as a human from being in the rowing team in college, both before the accident and after rehab, and from rolling a wheelchair through NuEarth. But I¡¯d have still been exhausted long before I got to the roots of the gnarled, spindly deadwood tree. I pushed myself up to the trunk, but that¡¯s as far as I got. I tried and tried to haul myself up the trunk to some of the live branches and couldn¡¯t manage it. I sagged back down to the roots to think. My prosthetics before had been top of the line, 3D-printed carbon fiber blades that I was going to use to bounce around the surface of the moon. Well, if goblins were a thing, I doubted anyone in this world had heard of carbon fiber, let alone additive manufacturing. The dead branches along the grass were twisted, gnarled, sap-covered things half-ready to snap. More tinder than wood, at this point. But they were the only thing within reach. I dragged myself around, tossing all I could find to a central location. By the time I made a circuit around the tree, I had about a dozen sticks. None of which were suitable. I dragged myself back to the pile and sighed, considering. High-grade medical devices, these weren¡¯t. But I wasn¡¯t making high-grade medical devices. I was using the Goblin Technology Tree. Rapid iterations, impractical means, and lowered safety. Pretty much every engineer¡¯s dream, when you think about it. I took my stone knife and used it to peel down some of the bark from the old tree . It came off in long, thin strips that were tough enough that I couldn¡¯t break them by pulling them. Though, I also just wasn¡¯t very strong. I selected the two straightest sticks I had. One was reasonably straight but twisted like a corkscrew. The other had a bumpy knob at the bottom that looked a bit like a shoe, and I hoped would offer some stability. I tugged them close and tugged up the simple hide wrap that protected my goblin modesty. With the bark, I lashed each of the sticks to my legs. The bark still had a little sap on the inside, and it helped act as an adhesive that bound the whole thing together far better than I felt it should have. Achieve practical results through impractical means, methods, and materials. I selected the third-sturdiest stick to use as a cane. I¡¯d had to use one to learn to walk again after the accident, and luckily this new body seemed to have kept my muscle-memory from the old, freshly-exploded body. By pushing off one of the larger roots and steadying myself, I was able to take a few tentative steps with the cane. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Hot Christmas!¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s working!¡± I took two more steps before my left leg snapped and my face planted itself in the dirt. the system reminded me. ¡°Owww¡­¡± I muttered with a face full of dirt. Progress! I rolled over and looked at the damage. My left prosthetic had snapped cleanly in two. There¡¯d be no fixing it. I set to the task of peeling back the bark so I could swap it for a new one, but stopped when I heard a howl in the distance. And then I started peeling faster. The bark came away, and I bound two of the smaller sticks together before binding the pair of them where the first stick had broken. Again, it seemed to hold better than I thought it should, so again, with a bit more urgency, I strapped the bundle to my thigh and climbed to my, erm, sticky-stilts, again. This time, I spread the weight across two canes, rather than one single cane. I made a quick circuit around the tree to make sure there¡¯d be no more breakage, and then set off toward the tree line. It wasn¡¯t long before I heard the howl again, closer this time. I hesitated to put on too much speed, lest I break these primitive prosthetics and leave myself a sitting duck. But I could feel the wind blowing past me, carrying my scent deep into the prairie. Goblins aren¡¯t large creatures¡ªor, at least, this goblin wasn¡¯t. Even with the stilts, I was maybe a meter tall. The grass rising on either side of the narrow trail was like the walls of a canyon, except that anything might lurk within and burst out at any moment. I thought back to media containing goblins. They were always shown as devious, dangerous creatures to be dispatched by the main characters early on in their journey to prepare them for tougher foes. They attacked in swarms, ate rotten meat, and served dark lords, all that jazz. But at that moment, a lone goblin seemed quite the vulnerable creature. If goblins were real here, what other fanciful creatures existed? Trolls? Ogres? Chupacabras? All of the above, knowing my luck. I limped faster, flinching every time one of my improvised legs creaked underneath me. I didn¡¯t know much about Goblins, but I got the distinct impression that I was a forest creature. The trees shouted safety to me. I just wish they¡¯d shout it from a little closer. I felt like a tiny puppet scurrying around. Huffing and puffing with exertion, the tree line started to grow overhead. Something startled a flock of birds in the grass behind me, and the howling came again, even closer, this time. I froze, looking back, and raising one of the improvised canes. Sweat ran down my little goblin body. Nothing appeared, and I willed my shaking stumps to move. I had to get to the woods. As I reached the scrubby brush before the tree line, I heard a growling behind me, and turned to see some sort of large canine with red fur, four eyes and fangs the size of my index finger emerge from the tall grass. I stared at it. It stared at me, drool dripping down its chops. Thick claws dug at the turf beneath its paws. It lowered its head, ready to charge. One cane would have to do. I pulled back with my right hand and sent the stick spinning toward the monster. It must not have ever encountered a goblin using a, what was it the system had named it? A spinning smacky, before. It watched the lazy arc of the oncoming projectile with confusion right up until the knobby end of the stick thumped into its forehead, right between the eyes. It yelped in pain, falling over and scrabbling against the ground. I turned and hobbled my way away, as fast as I could. The yelps behind me turned to growls of fury, but I had reached the treeline. I heard the snuffling and scrabbling behind me. ¡°Stay away!¡± I ordered. ¡°Bad dog!¡± My voice was high, tinny like an old-fashioned radio broadcaster. I felt like I should be advertising soap flakes. Not exactly intimidating. Clifford didn¡¯t think so either. He lunged at me, just as my right leg gave out with a snap. I fell to the ground, losing my other cane as it was snatched out of my hand by a red, furry comet streaking overhead. Rolling onto my back, I pushed up and watched the wild dog snap the branch between its teeth. It padded toward me. I reached about for something, anything that I could use in my defense. The only thing quick-to-hand was a rotten fruit on the ground. I picked up the bulbous, foul-smelling thing and recoiled. Maybe a direct hit would overwhelm its senses and frighten it off. I pulled it back for a throw right as the dog lunged. A small window appeared at the corner of my vision. The fruit sailed out of my hand. This time, the dog knew what was coming. He opened his jaws and clamped down on the fruit before it could hit him. Then, there was a bright flash, a wave of pressure, and I found myself airborne with ringing ears. Chapter 3 - Blastoff Chapter 3 - Blastoff I felt like I was back aboard the rocket. I flew through the foliage and got a bird¡¯s eye view of the woods as they blurred past. My ears rang, and I had just enough time to consider that if the explosion hadn¡¯t killed me, the fall certainly would, before I reached the top of my parabolic arc and curved downward toward the forest. I shouted, windmilling my arms, and fell straight on my head, which squished, and recoiled, bouncing me another five meters in the air where I got stuck in a tree. I groaned, putting my hands on a tender spot at the top of my head. ¡°How am I not dead?¡± The box returned. ¡°Yes, please.¡± ¡°Resistant to blast and fall damage, huh? I guess that¡¯s lucky.¡± Given my current predicament, that''s probably true. Wait a second. I blinked. The message vanished as quickly as it had appeared. That was an odd system message (implying that there were normal ones? Amazing how fast you can adapt to the unimaginable). It sounded almost conversational. ¡°System, are you sentient?¡± No answer. ¡°System, what are your operational parameters?¡± No answer. ¡°System, grant root access.¡± No answer. ¡°System, enable power-user permissions.¡± Nothing. Worth a shot. I wracked my brain. ¡°System, print(¡°Hello, world!¡±).¡± Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Nada. Hmph. If it was a computer of some sort, it wasn¡¯t parsing Python. Alright, system, keep your secrets. But know this: They¡¯re not safe from an engineer! I looked down from the tree. Below, two blue, fuzzy creatures with bulbous heads, flat noses, and wide, floppy ears were carrying what looked like the mangled remains of the dead canine. I looked at the mess I¡¯d made of its jaws, blowing the mandible completely off from that fruit. Jesus, that could have been me. Then I looked at the wide-eyed goblins. They both had rough hide wraps and skull-masks of strange creatures, but they were unmistakably the same species I was. ¡°Hey!¡± I yelled. ¡°Get me down from here!¡± The pair squawked in surprise, dropping their prize, and started panicking for a few moments before running off into the brush. ¡°Come back! I thought I was supposed to be your king!¡± I hung in the tree, arms limp below me, and sighed. So much for royalty. I lifted my head. The first two goblins had returned, bringing with them another handful of the little blue fuzz-balls in skull masks and rough hide cloaks. Some of these new ones were carrying long sticks between them, while others carried shards of flint and shale. They dropped their equipment and set to a frenzy of work, banging rocks against each other and gnawing on the wood so fast it sounded like putting a board through a table saw. Within a few minutes, they had a set of stone knives and poles that, I had to admit, were quite a bit straighter and more sturdy-looking than mine had been. The ones with knives began stripping bark from the tree and up-rooting vines to convert to cordage. Well I¡¯ll be damned. They were using the Goblin Technology I¡¯d unlocked. Just by virtue of being in my tribe, the simple skills I¡¯d developed had transferred over to them. And, as much as I was loath to admit it, they were better at it than I was. I don¡¯t know how they selected their champion to get stilted up. Goblin communication seemed to be almost completely non-verbal, comprised entirely of grunts, squeaks, babbling, and casual physical assault. When they did make a unique sound, it seemed like their language consisted entirely of onomatopoeia. One might make a chewing noise to indicate that they wanted a pole trimmed, for instance, while simultaneously striking their intended trimmer with said pole. It was a lot like communicating with partners during undergrad group projects, if I¡¯m being honest. Still, once they got one of them strapped up with stilts, they hoisted him up with great aplomb. He wobbled closer, windmilling his arms as the other goblins cheered him on. Unfortunately, he still couldn¡¯t reach me, and I still couldn¡¯t free myself from where I was wedged in between the tree branches. ¡°Come on, come on!¡± I called down. ¡°Just a bit higher!¡± My new tribesmen chattered and wrapped their hands around the stilts, hoisting their fellow into the air. He squawked and pitched back and forth, suddenly unsteady. But he was still out of reach. One of the goblins seemed to have a bright idea. He jumped, letting go of the stilts and dashing off into the brush. The others, now unbalanced, teetered in a chittering mass, and the one on stilts wailed as he toppled over, plowing into the ground face-first. I winced. ¡°Well, you tried.¡± I said. I wracked my brain. ¡°Don¡¯t worry guys. This is just the first iteration. We¡¯ll adapt, iterate, and test again. As your new king, I promise you, we will figure out a solution to this problem!¡± My new tribe mates got to their feet and started cheering. Huh. Even being completely non-verbal themselves, it seemed they had no issues understanding my words and ideas. I caught a hint of movement out of the corner of my eye as the goblin who had departed previously returned. When I saw what he was carrying, even being upside down, I feel like all the blood must have drained out of my face. The little guy hoisted one of the rotten fruits above his head, making a noise like a bomb going off. The rest of the tribe squawked in alarm and scrabbled to get away. They weren¡¯t fast enough¡ªespecially the one still with over-long stilts strapped on. ¡°Wait, wait!¡± I said. But it was too late. Not known for their patience, apparently. The goblin proudly hurled the fruit straight at the tree I was stuck in. The blast, if anything, was even more powerful than the first. Chapter 4 - Regular Losses Chapter 4 ¨C Regular Losses At least I was out of the tree. I had completely forgotten that transferring my Goblin Technology skills to the tribe transferred all the skills¡ªincluding ones that weren¡¯t exactly safe. Those explosive fermented fruits had just killed 2 of my 9 followers. The one that had thrown it, and the much-celebrated stilt-walker they¡¯d elevated in a doomed attempt to reach me. Still, I was alive and back on the ground. One by one, the survivors poked their heads out of cover and came to regard me, crouching down and pointing out various things about me to each other. Mostly my legs¡ªor lack thereof. Before I could even ask them to do it, they were back at work fashioning a set of poles to use as primitive prosthetics and hoisting me up so that they could be affixed to my legs. I wasn¡¯t sure if this was a result of knowledge transfer from myself, or if they were simply far more clever creatures than their appearance and method of communication would suggest. But once again, their versions seemed more effective and practical than my initial, rushed attempt with the dry wood. ¡°Thanks, guys,¡± I said. They all grinned and looked at each other beneath the skull hats. Two returned to the dog creature and set to the task of hoisting the limp carcass between them. I pinched my chin. ¡°Hold up. Bring me one of those poles and some of the vines. I can make that easier.¡± My seven remaining tribesmen rushed to be the ones to fulfill my request, resulting in two separate fist fights and one goblin getting bit. But they managed to get the wooden pole and the improvised cord over to me. I set to work tying the feet of the carcass to the poles, and then indicated that one goblin should lift at each end. They did so, and their eyes widened in wonder. They cheered, and several of them tried to muscle in on the pole to be the one to carry it. I struggled to walk along-side, and three of the excited goblins approached me with another pole and some rope. ¡°No!¡± I said, holding up my hands. ¡°Freight only!¡± Still, I could barely walk through the rough underbrush on the improvised prosthetics. Thankfully my new goblin body was super light, or I wouldn¡¯t have been able to stand on them at all. I considered, and pointed at the leftover wood. ¡°Trim those down and leave the ones on the edges longer, then lay them side by side and tie them together.¡± One frenzy of activity later, I had a reasonable approximation of an old-fashioned stretcher. I eased myself down onto it, then pointed at two of the goblins. ¡°You and you, pick it up by those handles.¡± With specific goblins designated, there was less fighting to be the one to carry me. The two I¡¯d designated managed to take their positions with only minor blows traded over who would be in front and who would take the rear. Once that was sorted, they hoisted me off the ground. I could literally see the understanding sweep across their faces as the technology skill spread. I didn¡¯t know the mechanism¡ªwas this some sort of in-built goblin magic? Were they low-level psychics in some sort of goblin gestalt? Or just natural empaths? ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s take it nice and easy. Back to the village, or wherever¡ªwoaaah!¡± Goblins apparently have no sense of pace, which matched their general lack of any form of chill or caution. Anyone not assigned to the pole or the litter was apparently on bushwhacking duty, and they shouted as though charging into battle as they cut through terrain almost as fast as they ran, using just teeth, claws, and their simple stone knives. The litter-bearers ran at full-tilt behind them, and I held on for dear life as they made their best effort to bump me off in their mad dash. Somehow, I stayed on. But I felt like fried rice being tossed around and flipped above a wok. I was going to need a better way of getting around. The upside is that we made great time, and we weren¡¯t attacked by any forest monsters. I assume few enough of them want to be caught in the path of goblin pathfinders, lest they be cut apart and trampled like the foliage. God knows the goblins weren¡¯t shy about making their presence known. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! We reached a sharp, rocky bluff, and the goblins surprised me by not slowing down much at all as we hit the cliff face and started climbing. I held on for dear life as the litter bearers somehow managed to balance the weight of the litter and their new king while ascending. The climb was harrowing. But, as far as the general location went, a bluff was a sound spot for a village. Elevated, isolated, with enough trees for shelter. Plus, a commanding view of the nearby woods and easily defensible from the top¡ªsave for one slope that looked slightly shallower than the rest. But something like that could be walled off and guarded. I¡¯d have to survey the opposite side, later. Looking out, I could see other similar bluffs, and I wondered if they also held isolated goblin villages. I didn¡¯t have much time to enjoy the view. After a moment¡¯s breather, the convoy returned to their frenetic pace and charged through the brambles straight to the goblin village. While the bluff was impressive, the village atop was less so. It was more of a tamped down copse of trees with a lot of mud, a heap of bones, another heap of droppings, and a stagnant scummy rain-water pond distressingly close to both of the previously mentioned mounds. I had a feeling I¡¯d be putting that immunity to most toxins to the test sooner rather than later. As we broke out of the new trail we¡¯d carved in the underbrush, the litter-bearers ground to a halt. I, having not yet invented seatbelts, continued forward. Luckily, I landed on my head, and bounced. I tumbled into the center of the village. The litter bearers, having realized their mistake, squawked in distress and carried the litter over, trying to wedge it back under me. ¡°I¡¯m good, I¡¯m good!¡± I shouted, waving them back. ¡°We¡¯re here, right?¡± Several more goblins were present in the village. They all oggled me with open amazement as the earlier members of the tribe proceeded to mime the entire process of my discovery. Several ran off and returned with stones and sticks and set to work crafting themselves basic stabbies of their own. The knowledge really did propagate just through proximity. I panicked and grabbed the nearest goblin. ¡°Make sure no one brings any of that rotten fruit in here. I don¡¯t want to blow up the whole cliff side, got it?¡± The goblin made an explosion noise and spread his hands apart. ¡°That¡¯s right, no bada-boom. You see anyone trying to bring one of them in here, you bite them. Got it?¡± My first guardsmen gnashed his teeth and grinned and began to scrutinize the other members of the village, who, themselves, were more interested in the corpse of the canine they¡¯d brought back. They fell on the thing, ripping and sawing at it, pulling out soft innards and shoving them directly into their wide mouths. I thought it would make me sick, but my stomach actually started to growl and my mouth to water so profusely that drool started dripping down my chin. One of my new subjects tore off a haunch and ran it over to me, a length of intestines still in his mouth. He slurped it up like a spaghetti noodle as he handed me the haunch. Red meat must have been the choice cut, if they were giving it to me. The goblin in me wanted to tuck in, but enough of the human remained that still thought meat ought to be cooked first. Unfortunately, I didn¡¯t actually know how to build a fire beyond the basic theory. I¡¯d never even gone camping without a lighter and a bag of charcoal briquettes. All those primitive survival shows I¡¯d binged in the hospital had taught me terms, and maybe a general order to apply them while I was stuffing my face with delivered pizza in the comfort of my bed. But the specifics? Well, it just made me realize how much work I really had to do. I shrugged, and sank my teeth into the raw haunch. It was delicious. Something about the texture bothered the still-human part of my brain, but the goblin was all about raw meat. My jaw started to work on its own, buzz-sawing through tough meat, tendon, and gristle until all I had was a picked-clean leg bone. My stomach bulged. I must have eaten a significant percentage of my own body weight in just a couple minutes of frenzied feeding fugue. My eyes started to droop. Something about the full belly and the dappled light filtering through the canopy conspired to convince me that speed-running civilization was a tomorrow problem. I looked around the clearing, seeing that many of the goblins were wavering on their feet and looking lethargic. I suppose a nap couldn¡¯t hurt. But I wasn¡¯t sure where I was supposed to sleep. Did they have beds of leaves and grass? Or did they just curl up wherever they got tired? How did they stay warm? A pair of hands wrapped me from behind, and I was tackled to the ground. I tried to struggle, but a second goblin threw himself on top of us, and then quickly, a third. ¡°Betrayal!¡± I shouted. ¡°I thought I was your king!¡± I thrashed out, trying to work my way free as more goblins leapt upon me, forcing me back down to the ground. I kicked out, and I¡¯m pretty sure one of them bit my arm. Several more of the goblins belly-flopped on top of the growing pile, which quickly became a cage of slender limbs and bulbous heads, and¡­ snoring? I stopped fighting and twisted my head around. Two of the goblins in the pile were fast asleep, and it sounded like the rest were well on their way. I guess a fed goblin was a happy goblin. Now that the sudden shock of being driven to the ground and dog-piled was beginning to wear off, the fatigue returned, and I found myself drifting off in the warm buzz of the goblin mound. Chapter 5 - Speed-running Civilization Chapter 5 - Speed-running Civilization I awoke to a general panic, and at first I thought we were being attacked, until the first drops of rain started hitting me as the goblin sleeping mound churned and became a tangle of fleeing, frightened creatures. I watched as they all sought shelter under trees and limbs, holding their smelly, raw-hide cloaks above them for cover. They had no concept of housing or umbrellas to keep the rain off¡ªdespite being wet seeming to agitate them. I¡¯ll admit, it was an unpleasant sensation, having wet fur. But, having spent significant time on the water in college, I was able to grin and bear it. I pushed myself up and wobbled over to the scummy pond, cupping my hands and bringing the water to my mouth. It was only slightly better than the after-taste of raw sewage. I thought back to the impromptu meal. Part of me definitely found the texture of raw meat distasteful, even if my goblin taste buds relished the flavor. But it wasn¡¯t just texture that cooking improved. It released and preserved nutrients, allowed food to be kept longer and eaten more safely, while providing more benefits to health. I looked back at the village of goblins, who watched me from the shelter of bushes and trees. I spotted two slightly smaller goblins without the curious skull masks and called up the system window. I¡¯d gained two more members overnight. Well, the racial traits had mentioned that more goblins could spontaneously appear close to existing goblins. I hadn¡¯t expected that to mean that they¡¯d appear nearly full-grown. That was how they kept from going extinct, I suppose, despite having next to no concept of language, invention, housing, or self-preservation. I doubted they¡¯d be much for child-rearing¡ªespecially seeing as their heads were at least twice as wide as their narrow hips. If there was some sort of god watching over this place, he surely had a soft-spot for keeping the little guys around despite all impracticality. ¡°System, can you provide me with custom notifications?¡± ¡°Every time I wake up, define the current tribe size and delta from previous tribe size notification.¡± I took a seat near the closest tree and started to ponder the monolithic task ahead of me. Lofty goals like getting to this world¡¯s moon were well and good. But I had stone knives as a starting point, advanced space flight as the end-goal, and a whole lot of fill-in-the-blanks in between. I was reasonably assured of being able to create, say, a simple two-stroke aircraft with a simple engine¡ªprovided I had aluminum, steel, and the ability to mill cylinder heads, pistons, and a prop shaft. Oh yeah, and fuel refined enough to power and lubricate the whole thing. But how to acquire an alloy as versatile as aluminum and shape it into panels? How to find and process oil into usable fuel? How to build a spark plug? And all with a non-verbal work force. I decided I was getting ahead of myself. The goblins as they were now, were living in a pure subsistence society of hunter-gatherers. They had no concept of anything but how to live the next few minutes. They had no safety net, no concept of permanent shelter or food storage other than their own bellies. The existence of the cliffords proved they had natural predators, as well, easily capable of picking off isolated members of the tribe. And what about larger predators? Forest dwellers? Hell, there might be humans in this world and I¡¯d seen enough movies to know that humans and goblins rarely got along. The tribe¡¯s only safety was in numbers, and being able to spontaneously reproduce was their ace-in-the-hole that let them maintain the population. Thanks to that, they were hanging on. Barely. 30 members was not a sustainable number for a community that wanted to enter industrialization. That¡¯s where I needed to start. Before I could start tackling advanced concepts like metallurgy and chemistry, I had to make sure their basic needs were met in order to expand the tribe. They needed to be able to know where their next meal was coming from, and that they¡¯d have a roof over their heads so that the next rainstorm wouldn¡¯t leave their fur drenched. Food was most important. I selected a party of six goblins at random. ¡°Go hunt something for tonight¡¯s dinner,¡± I said. The six of them raised their knives over their head and raced off into the forest, screaming a war cry. ¡°An animal!¡± I shouted after them, shaking my head. Lord help whatever was in their path. Death by a thousand cuts awaited. Hopefully the hide would be in decent enough shape, so that I could figure out how to process leather. I needed two things for that: tools and raw materials. You could do a lot with wood, stone, and string. But there were still limits. Luckily, the bone pile would be a convenient source of small, precise tool parts like needles and hooks and pins. Other raw materials were plentiful as well, and I¡¯m sure the forest would provide if I could figure out where to look. If we were going to kick-start construction and manufacturing, I had a few priorities that were, as yet, unsourced. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. I needed material harder and sharper than shale for cutting tools. Obsidian would be best for sharpness, but I knew that had something to do with volcanoes. It was also too brittle for things like saws and axes. Flint would be best. I was pretty sure it was more common and workable in relatively simple ways. Three other primitive materials my tribe currently lacked were clay, adhesive, and leather. Of the three, clay was the most important to primitive advancement. Clay meant containers and weather-proofing, and it was both easy to acquire and easy to work with. You could make tools and molds from clay, and even complex devices. Once you found a clay deposit, you harvested it, mixed it with sand, dirt, or water, depending on what you wanted to do with it, and then you shaped it just like clay you¡¯d buy in a craft store. You needed fire or a lot of time in the sun to fully cure it, but judging by how damp everything in the forest was at the moment, fire would have to wait. Adhesive shouldn¡¯t be too difficult, either. We had sticky sap from the trees. If I could find some pine trees, their resin would be extremely effective¡ªbut storage and transportation of it came back to clay. I needed containers. Leather came from animal hides. I think I¡¯d seen them make it on a survival show, once, and it involved scraping the animal skin as clean as possible and then stretching it and rubbing brains on it. Which seemed pretty morbid. I¡¯m not sure why you needed the brains, was there some fat, oil, or enzyme in brains that aided the tanning process? Either way, all the basic requirements were already in camp¡ªincluding the mostly in-tact hide of the red canine from the night before. And the skull. Since clay would have to be found and transported, and I doubted the goblins would be keen to go out in the rain and hunt for it, I set that task aside. I waved a couple of them over. ¡°I need stabbies and a wooden square, about yay big,¡± I said, gesturing. The goblins mimed my motions and looked at each other before running off. Others handed their new knives to me¡ªpoint first, I should mention. I gingerly took the sharpest one and looked down at what remained of the canine¡ªwhich, admittedly, wasn¡¯t much. The thing had been torn limb from limb and eviscerated in the goblin feeding frenzy. There was maybe a decent patch on its back with enough hide to maybe make a small shawl or cloak that only had a few bite marks. I¡¯d never skinned an animal before, so I cut along where the least damaged part of the pelt was and pulled it back, resisting the very goblin urge to just stuff everything in my mouth by the fistful. I dug and scraped wherever it caught as I pulled, and eventually it came away in my hands. The back of it was slick with connective tissue. About that time, the goblins who had run off came sprinting back with the makeshift frame, and I took the offered rope. I pursed my lips looking at it, and then pointed to the bone pile. ¡°Bring me a small bone.¡± The goblins raced off to do as I said. They came back with a selection of bones I didn¡¯t recognize, but then, I¡¯m not that kind of doctor. I picked what might have been a bird¡¯s rib bone and ground a small eyelet into it with a knife, then threaded the smallest of the cord I could find and punched it through the hide. I pulled the cordage through and tied it to the corners of the frame to stretch it taut over the opening. I stopped. Wait. Boney sutures and sticky framing and skinny tanning. It took everything I had not to smack my wide goblin forehead. This whole time, I¡¯d assumed the sticky in all the sticky goblin tech referred to the sap clinging to the bark-weave cordage. Did it instead refer to the sticks? Heaven help me if this technology tree was full of puns. Handing the knife back to its original owner (I think), I indicated the hide. ¡°Clean this as best you can, then rub its brains on it. I had barely turned around before I heard a splash and turned back to see the goblins smacking the whole kit and caboodle into the pond. ¡°Not like that!¡± I said, waving my arms. ¡°Scrape it clean with the knife!¡± The light of recognition passed over the tribe, and they waded back out of the pool and went to work cleaning the rest of the gristle and tissue off the Clifford skin. I left them to it and turned to the rest of the village. While they worked, I noticed several of the other goblins hacking poles together in various shapes, and realized that sticky frames, as the system called them, weren¡¯t just an end product, but a material on their own. Good. That meant they could be used to make more advanced things, like shelters. I found sticky frames being worked on that were vaguely triangular shaped, and had their owners hold them upright while I spent a few hours lashing a few cross-bars and weaving vines into a lattice until I got the technology window to flash again with . By the time I finished, the rain had stopped and the harsh afternoon sun was starting to beat down. The moon would eclipse it soon enough, with the totality lasting several hours if my judgement was correct. It seemed total solar eclipses were a near daily event in the world. Since I hadn¡¯t noticed a moon-set or moon rise, I also had to guess that the moon was tidally locked to this hemisphere, though it did trace a slow circle in the sky over the hours that I spent working, going from about 40 degrees from the horizon to directly overhead. Now we were cooking. I looked around. Suddenly, half the village seemed to be re-working their projects. Good. They¡¯d refine them, and then I could show them how to apply foliage and grasses for insulation. In the meantime, I returned to the hide, which the tanners were already applying the brains to. With all the brains used up, the goblins left the hide and went to work fashioning what was left of the skull into a mask for one of our newest members. Good. Things were proceeding well. What the hell? Chapter 6 - Sticky Stone Pokies Chapter 6 - Sticky Stone Pokies I stopped, looking around the clearing. Most of the goblins were busy with small projects, hammering rocks to make tools or straightening poles or winding cord. The hunting party. I looked off in the direction they¡¯d charged hours before. I¡¯d had 34 members in the morning when we¡¯d all piled out of the mound. What had I been thinking, sending them off to hunt wildlife with knives. And only six of them. My desire to multitask for efficiency had just cost the lives of four of my tribesmen, and the fates of the remaining two were unknown. If I was going to be their king, I couldn¡¯t be the kind of king who just took advantage of his people. This was going to need a rescue party, and I was going to be on it. And we weren¡¯t going in with simple stone stabbies. I took the poles, the knives, and the cords that the idle goblins had been working at and made my first advanced weapon by splitting the pole and wedging the knife in, before binding the whole thing with sappy bark. Within a few minutes, we had 15 of the simple spears, so I split the remaining tribe in half and took 14 members while leaving the rest to gather more raw materials. I would carry the final spear. But, looking down, I wasn¡¯t sure of my ability to fight on these legs. They were a far cry from my bladed athletic prosthetics of my former life. They still needed a lot of improvement before I could do anything remotely athletic in this one. I pulled 2 more goblins to act as the litter carriers, and I would be moral support and shout orders from the back. That was kingly, too, right? This time I brought extra cord and tied it around the litter. I had wanted to improve this, today. But now it was an emergency and there was no time. ¡°Onward!¡± I ordered, pointing my spear in the direction the hunting party had left. It wasn¡¯t difficult to follow their progress. Hell, the National Park Service could have used a batch of these guys in every forest in North America to keep the trails clear. We charged out, following the hunting party¡¯s trail (and expanding it with our passing). What I hadn¡¯t realized was that while goblins are great at climbing up cliffs, they don¡¯t even bother to climb down. Our charge carried us directly over the cliff face in a perfect parabolic arc. And this time, I was screaming right along with the goblins. Shut up, HAL! We crashed down into a valley, landing head-first to break our falls. Once we were upright again, we retrieved the litter from the tree where it had stuck. Then we pulled the spears out of the ground (OSHA would have had a fit) and we were back on course. We turned right and twisted around for a bit before settling on a path vaguely in the direction of the moon. This part of the woods was so crisscrossed with goblin trails that I never would have found the right one. I just had to trust that my goblin friends knew where they were going. We passed by a small, startled pack of some sort of creatures that looked like a cross between a boar and a skunk, and then shocked a flock of large birds to flee. I noted where some of the feathers fell for later, but we were past in a flash. This time, when we reached our destination, I managed to hold on to the litter. We stumbled over a creek and into a clearing where I spotted our two surviving goblins up a tree, squawking what I had to assume were the goblin equivalent of profanities down at¡­ well, I¡¯d never seen a creature like that. It had claws and facial markings that reminded me of a three-toed sloth in that they were long and hooked, but that¡¯s where the similarities ended. It had a squat face with sharp teeth in a protruding snout, and what looked like an armored hide covered in a stoney material that covered from the top of its head down to its wide, stubby tail. It snarled up at the stranded hunters and scrabbled half-way up the tree before falling down and rolling back to its feet. ¡°System? What do you know about this thing?¡± Never! It dwarfed us, but in reality it was probably the size of a great dane, or maybe a small black bear. Of our fallen brothers, there was no sign except for some blood and tufts of blue fur on the foliage. Besides, we were armed. I waved my spear forward. ¡°Attack!¡± I shouted. ¡°Spears forward, stay together!¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. I had pictured the goblins marching in rank, stone spearheads leveled as they closed in on their foes. I don¡¯t know why I thought that, given the evidence. As one, our company lurched forward, spears waving overhead as they screamed. The stone-hide sloth thing turned at our war cry, locked eyes with me, and snarled before charging in. Up on my litter, it must have thought I was the biggest threat (or the most delicious meal). Suddenly this seemed like less of a rescue party and more of a suicide mission. It was faster than its size and bulk (and slothy features) would have suggested, and before I knew what was happening, the first wave of spears were airborne, knocked aside by those long forearms. The second wave at least got their spears down, and one even had the brilliant idea to throw his. But stone met stone, and the spears bounced off as the diminutive goblins didn¡¯t have the strength to penetrate the thick hide. Still, the stone-sloth came on. Shoot. Maybe the system had been right! ¡°Plant the butts of your spears!¡± I said. The last row of goblins stuck their spears in the ground, squawking as the stone-sloth leapt at them. My litter-bearers panicked and dropped the litter in favor of hiding behind their own stone knives, and I toppled to the ground. I rolled over and pushed myself upright. The sloth had thrown itself over the last rank, not understanding or not caring about the spears. Which, to be fair, did not seem up to the task of penetrating even the underbelly. But its weight had bowed the spears in almost double. Even as it struggled to reach the last rank of goblins with its claws, its hind toes left the brush. Almost as one, the spears straightened, snapping back to their original position. Unfortunately, physics dictates that an object in motion retains its trajectory. The stone-sloth¡¯s rebound had sent it straight over the heads of my company and it was headed straight for me at an alarming speed. Its arms windmilled through the air and it opened its mouth in a surprised howl. I¡¯m sure I screamed myself. I fumbled for the spear and hoisted it upright, turning my face away and clenching up just as the stone-sloth fell. By God¡¯s grace or sheer luck, the spear was at just the right angle to wedge itself in the stone-sloth¡¯s open mouth and the creature¡¯s bulk did the rest of the heavy lifting. Blood splattered across my face, and then the entire weight of the creature fell on me. Had I not been a goblin king, that impact would have killed me. But while passing fatal damage might keep me alive (at the cost of another member of the tribe), my Head of the Snake skill did not transfer pain. I wheezed as the bulk of the thing crushed me, flattening my head against the forest floor in a most unpleasant way. Every bone in my body felt pulverized, and I heard multiple snaps. Which, I realized thankfully, were just my prosthetics. Small mercies. Well, not for the poor unfortunate who took my fatal hit. With the tribe down to 29 members, thus far I¡¯d been a net negative on their well-being. My rescue squad wasted no time rolling the stone-sloth off of me and helping me back to a sitting position. I couldn¡¯t stand without prosthetics, but I was content to watch as the goblins celebrated, hooting and hollering at the sloth. They kicked and punched at it, cheering, and then hoisted me up. Even by sheer accident, I¡¯d dealt the killing blow. ¡°Hell yeah! Looks like meat¡¯s back on the menu, boys!¡± I raised my arms up to cheer with the rest of the rescue squad but winced. I was still a bit tender from my near-death squashing. ¡°Let¡¯s take this thing back to the village.¡± A rustling in the tree the stone-sloth had been trying to climb took my attention, and I saw the face of a badger poke down from the foliage. I stared at it, and it stared at me. Did badgers typically climb trees? It seemed odd to me. ¡°How did you get up there?¡± I asked. It stared at me a moment in shock. ¡°Holy Rava! A talking goblin!¡± he replied, clearly startled. ¡°Holy hells, a talking badger!¡± The badger disappeared back into the tree, and then a pair of squat, wide legs in leather trousers dangled down. Apparently, the thing was only badger from the waist up. Below that it was¡­ I hesitated to say human, because the thing was only half-again as tall as I was, and several times wider. But it dropped down holding a large, leather satchel, which it slung around its shoulder. Some of the other goblins approached, to which the badger-man flinched away, but I gestured them back. ¡°Be good. I don¡¯t want you biting our new friend. He¡¯s not food.¡± The badger really surprised me then by pulling out a pair of small brass spectacles and peering through them at me. So, someone in this world had metal-working and crystal grinding. That was important to know. ¡°Oh dear. You really are a goblin! And no mask at all.¡± he said. He reached in his satchel again and withdrew a small, bound journal, licking his finger and thumbing through the pages. ¡°You would not happen to be a goblin king, would you?¡± ¡°Who wants to know?" I asked. The badger shut the book and bowed deeply at the waist. ¡°I¡¯m terribly sorry! How rude of me! I¡¯m called Rufus, level 20 scholar, free-trader, and fey-touched. May I have your name? Do you have a name?¡± he raised his snout, suddenly excited. ¡°I could give you one for free, if you¡¯d like.¡± I opened my mouth to say Chris. But was I still Chris? Chris had died on that rocket, reaching toward an unattainable goal¡ªan opportunity only made possible by the untimely appearance of a billionaire¡¯s genitals. Nah. Chris was dead, and this time we really were going to the moon. And we¡¯d do it without NuEarth, and with goblins. I needed a name befitting a pioneer. ¡°Apollo,¡± I said. Classic. Smooth. ¡°Of tribe¡­ um¡­ Apollo¡­¡± Not so smooth. ¡°And yes, I am a goblin king. Though I haven¡¯t been one very long.¡± I thought for a minute. I hadn¡¯t heard another human¡¯s¡ªwell, you know¡ªvoice in almost two days. I didn¡¯t realize how much I missed it. ¡°Would you like to come to the village for dinner? I promise you won¡¯t be harmed.¡± Rufus pushed his spectacles up his snout. ¡°I daresay I¡¯d not be much a scholar should I refuse! Besides, the stoney devil tried to eat me! It only seems fair I should return the favor.¡± I grinned. Chapter 7 - Rufus Chapter 7 - Rufus It took a few minutes for the rescue squad to get poles and cordage sorted out. Eventually, they realized they¡¯d need 2 poles and 8 goblins to lift the stone-sloth. But the heavy creature significantly slowed our progress back to the village¡ªslowed for goblins, anyway. It was still a breakneck pace by any measure. Curiously, we didn¡¯t reuse the trail we¡¯d made coming down. The pathfinders just cut a whole new trail wherever they please. Rufus traversed along with us, sometimes on two legs, sometimes loping on all four. I could tell he wasn¡¯t used to the pace, but slowing down seemed to be the one instruction my tribe couldn¡¯t understand. Goblins only had two states. Asleep, and gotta-go-fast. We made it back to the bluff by late afternoon, just before the sun slipped behind the huge moon. I¡¯m not sure how the goblins managed to get the stone-sloth up the crag¡ªdespite having actively watched them do it. Rufus managed as well, so I suppose badgers could climb after all. Once he¡¯d climbed fifteen or so meters, though, he was completely winded. He took in the hilltop copse and once again donned his spectacles. ¡°Fascinating. I must say, there are few who are privy to the inner workings of a goblin crag. At least, few enough who don¡¯t end up split between those two piles, I imagine.¡± I followed his gaze to the bone and scat mounds, and then beyond to a village quite different from the one I¡¯d left that morning. The goblins who had remained had transformed the clearing, processed a great deal of the raw materials on their own, and had scattered the results with little regard for organization or structure. The lean-to shelters which dotted the bluff were facing every which-way without regard for direction or spacing. One of them had even been woven through that of a neighbor. Most of the goblins had also started using needle and thread to repair their own clothing. A few had gone out hunting and brought back small game, as well. And, despite my orders, I spotted one of the plump little bomb-fruits sitting next to one of the shacks. ¡°It¡¯s not much, but it¡¯s home.¡± I looked Rufus up and down. ¡°I have to say, for such a dangerous situation, as you¡¯d describe it, you seem quite at ease.¡± Rufus looked down at me. ¡°I know a learned voice when I hear one, and a learned companion does not kill without cause. Besides that, you have already saved my life once. I¡¯m not sure how I can serve to repay you. But I am well traveled and have tales of many places.¡± he pulled out his journal again. ¡°And this is your tribe, yes? I had thought goblin kings were myths, yet here you stand. And all the myths agree that the king has the absolute loyalty of his tribe. Where all myths agree, there is truth, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯ve been lots of places in this world?¡± A glimmer in Rufus¡¯ eye struck me then, and I realized my mistake. I¡¯d as much as admitted I wasn¡¯t from around here. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Aye. In this world, yes. I¡¯ve seen the Crystal Halls of the Deep Dwarves, the Other-wood where the Fae play cruel jests, and the cities of men where ships sail to the horizon and beyond. ¡°What¡¯s beyond?¡± I asked. ¡°We are. I¡¯ve come to the newest frontier to uncover its myriad mysteries.¡± I eyed the badger-man¡¯s satchel. ¡°Well, Rufus, if you¡¯ve got something in there that can start a fire, we can talk over a haunch of your would-be devourer.¡± Rufus did indeed have something. Two small somethings, in fact. Two small bottles that when their contents mated, a small flame appeared. Interesting. Not least of all the vials¡ªglass, again. That meant furnaces and glassblowing. As for the fire itself, that wasn¡¯t anything super mystical. There were a number of two-part chemical reactions that would cause instantaneous combustion on Earth. But, considering the makeup of the bomb fruits and the fact that I¡¯d been reincarnated into a goblin body, oh, and that one of the tenets of technology here was literally impracticality, I had to assume the local periodic table differed somewhat as well. But there were at least people who knew it. Rufus coaxed the flame to a decent burn that would eventually reduce down to a bed of smoldering coals. In the meantime, he glanced at the dubious pond, and pulled a round bottle out of his satchel. Glassblowing. He uncorked it, and the sweet-sour smell of beer wafted out. Distillation, fermentation science. He took a long pull and seemed to recover much of his stamina. He offered the bottle, but I¡¯d never been much for warm beer, so I thanked him, but politely refused. Besides, either one of two things would occur: either this body would be the lightweightest lightweight that ever got smashed off one drink, or the anti-toxin ability of the goblin race would negate the alcohol entirely. While we waited, two of my goblins presented me with a stitched poncho, what was left of the hide from the clifford. I pulled it on to much cheering, and directed the other goblins to mount the de-skinned rock-sloth carcass on a spit and frame it over the fire where it could be turned. Since the goblins would be too short to turn it normally, what with the size of the fire and the size of the sloth, I set up a sort of cross-bar, so that a goblin could jump, grab hold, and his weight would draw that section vertical, to which he would then slide off and the next goblin would jump and grab the next bar parallel to the ground. Rufus watched me with curiosity, taking notes in his journal, as well as some rough sketches. He seemed comfortable enough on the ground, but I sent a pair of my goblins to gather leaves and moss to begin lining the floors of the shelters. When I retook my seat next to him to watch the rock-sloth cook, I was the first to break the silence with an admission. ¡°I know little of this world,¡± I said. ¡°I was born only days ago, and though I was born with the knowledge of many things, none of it pertains to the land in which I live. If you feel you want to trade for saving your life, then trade me honest answers.¡± ¡°A dishonest answer is no answer at all, but a lie,¡± said Rufus. ¡°I feel I play a dangerous game, treating with a goblin king. My curiosity gets the best of me, but the myths all agree on something else about you.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± ¡°That your appearance heralds a time of strife and danger. Goblins present little danger in the grand scheme of the world because they all pull whichever direction strikes their fancy. A goblin king has their loyalty and can point them all at a common goal. He is a unifying force with a powerful tool that, left unchecked, has the potential to be a blight upon the land if he sets his eyes on the world at large.¡± ¡°I assure you; my designs are entirely self-centered and I have no desire to be anyone¡¯s blight.¡± Rufus slapped his thighs. ¡°Ah, well, since that¡¯s settled, what of our world do you wish to know?¡± Chapter 8 - Of Our World Chapter 8 - Of Our World ¡°You really don¡¯t want anything in trade for this information?¡± I asked. ¡°They say knowledge is power.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± said Rufus. ¡°But a question is an answer. You cannot take without first giving. I have a skill that tells me if your question is genuine or meant to mislead.¡± That was some Philosophy 101 stuff right there, but he was right. Every question I asked revealed my ignorance of something. And when I started asking of things of which I should have no knowledge, which I intended to, well that would reveal something else entirely. If he was telling the truth about that skill, it told me two things: other people had access to this world¡¯s skill system, and I should definitely not lie to Rufus in case he had other skills to separate truth from falsehoods. I decided to start small. ¡°What¡¯s the name of this world? ¡°Rava,¡± said Rufus. He nibbled at the sloth haunch and withdrew a small brick from his satchel. He rooted around for a moment, but I handed him a stone knife and he used it to scrape what I presumed was salt onto the meat. ¡°That¡¯s what the dwarves¡ªmy people¡ªcall it.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a dwarf?¡± I asked. ¡°Wilds-marked. Fae-touched, if you prefer. The sign of the wanderer. But yes, my countenance is that of a beast¡ªthough I am not one, unless you get a few more of these in me,¡± he lofted his bottle. ¡°We come and go as we¡®re driven by whim, one foot in the wilds and one in civilization. We¡¯re seen as lucky, by some, oddities to others.¡± ¡°You mentioned dwarves before. You also mentioned humans.¡± Rufus nodded. ¡°They call the world Enclova, which translates to Skyclad. You see, they only view the world as the surface. The dwarven word, Rava, acknowledges the world below, as well as above. But you should hear what the orcs call it.¡± ¡°What do the orcs call it?¡± ¡°Kelembog. It means ¡®to be trampled beneath our feet.¡¯¡± he nudged me with an elbow. ¡°Tells you all you need to know about orcs, doesn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°I suppose it does.¡± I had little desire to meet one. I watched as the fire popped and fizzled, considering how to phrase the important questions. And then just decided to go for broke. ¡°Are there computers in Enclova?¡± Rufus tilted his head down. ¡°Computers? Those who practice arithmetic and figures?¡± I waved my hand in a circle. ¡°Not people, things. You might call them thinking machines, or logic engines.¡± ¡°If there are, they are surely the demesne of wizards, who are not to be trifled with.¡± I nodded. I had less desire to meet a real wizard than I did to meet an orc. ¡°What about internal combustion engines?¡± Rufus¡¯ furry brows climbed. ¡°My word, what a horrific thought!¡± ¡°No, no,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s a way to turn heat and pressure into motion using fuel that burns rapidly. It can be used to turn a wheel, or move a plow, or even push a ship without masts or sails.¡± ¡°In all my travels, I¡¯ve not heard of such a thing,¡± said Rufus. He tapped his lips with a claw. ¡°Though I once saw an eastern contraption that used the steam from boiled water to spin a puppet.¡± ¡°So, steam power?¡± ¡°I suppose that would be one term for it, yes. I have seen artifices of wound spring, as well.¡± ¡°Clockwork?¡± ¡°Clocks were the least of it.¡± This was not entirely unexpected. All indications pointed to this being a pre-industrial land. ¡°How about flying machines?¡± ¡°How hard can you throw?¡± laughed Rufus. ¡°Apollo, if the Gods want a person to fly, they mark him with wings." ¡°What shape is the world?¡± I asked next. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Rufus pointed to the prodigious moon. ¡°The same shape as Raphina. As round as a pot-belly.¡± Raphina. My final destination. Fine, I knew about a few technologies already, like glass grinding and ship-building. There were a few others that might become important. ¡°Firearms, grenades, cannons, and explosive powder?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve never heard of such things, except for a trip across the sea where I watched a powder that burned swiftly and in strange colors.¡± Rufus made a show of thumbing through his journal. ¡°It seems as though I should be the one asking you questions. I am not living up to my end of the bargain, I fear you will feel.¡± ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s important to determine what means and methods are available, as well as what aren¡¯t. The land is called Rava, but where are we now?¡± Rufus flipped through his journal to a rough sketch of an island. Though, since I couldn¡¯t tell the scale, I couldn¡¯t say whether it was the size of Hawaii or Australia. ¡°Lanclova,¡± said Rufus. ¡°Shadow-clad. The untamed land under Raphina¡¯s watchful eye. Many nations have laid claim because there are fortunes to be made here. Natural treasures, remarkable plants, new knowledge, strange natives, and fantastic creatures abound. Its enticing mysteries are eclipsed only by its myriad dangers. Few are equipped to penetrate its depths." Definitely Australia, then. Or, at least, this world¡¯s version of it. ¡°But you can?¡± ¡°Badger,¡± he said, as though that should be explanation enough. ¡°Allow me a question, as well. How do you know of sciences that have not yet come to pass?¡± asked Rufus. ¡°Like I said,¡± somewhat dishonestly, ¡°I was born with the knowledge of many things. Much of what I¡¯ve just mentioned I will eventually build. But, to do that, I¡¯ll need time and tools.¡± Rufus laughed and slapped me on the back. ¡°You will build a machine that flies through the air? I do not mean to sound rude, o¡¯ king. I am sure you believe it. But you are sounding quite like a wizard yourself, with these claims. And even goblin kings cannot work magics.¡± ¡°Your doubt is fair,¡± I admitted, looking at the village. A small sleeping mound had already formed from the goblins who took their sloth rare. The rest were waiting for dinner and working, since my technology skill had passed them the benefits of cooked meat. We were slicing it off a bit at a time as the exterior cooked, like shawarma. There was no way my tribe would have the patience to wait for the whole thing to roast through. "But I claim that not only will I fly through the air, I''ll stand upon the surface of Raphina." "A bold claim, indeed!" I whistled for two of my goblins and pointed to the carcass. ¡°Bring me the claws.¡± They moved to obey, and went to work sawing and pulling until they¡¯d worked the large, hooked claws out. They brought them to me. I held them up to Rufus. ¡°What do you see when you look at these?¡± Rufus took one and examined it. He applied twist and flexed it to check its strength and handed it back. ¡°Sturdy. Flexible. Light. Perhaps it would make a good knife.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s make a wager, Rufus. You¡¯re a trader, yes? Return in a week or two with some essentials to trade. If you¡¯re not convinced, I can do what I said at that time then I will answer any question you have about high technology and where my knowledge comes from and give you anything within my meager power to give.¡± ¡°And if I should lose this wager?¡± ¡°A brick of that salt would go a long way, and perhaps some jeweler¡¯s tools.¡± Rufus scraped his claws across his furry chin. ¡°Jeweler¡¯s tools. You¡¯re not wanting to set gemstones, I am thinking. Very well. I¡¯ll make a trip to Habberport, five days northwest of here at the coast¡ªthat is the port of a human king¡¯s expedition. In 10 days¡¯ time, I¡¯ll return and see the truth of your words. Or not.¡± He raised one eyebrow. ¡°You know, I could always lie and say I¡¯m not impressed, even if I am. This is not a good bargain for you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re the type to do such a thing,¡± I said. ¡°But even if you are, perhaps in 10 day¡¯s time, the reappearance of a friendly face would be worth it on its own.¡± ¡°It¡¯s lonely at the top,¡± said Rufus. He gestured around. ¡°Metaphorically and vertically.¡± He pushed himself off his haunches and dusted off. ¡°Well, if I¡¯m to return in 10 days, I should walk through the night. I suppose I¡¯ll take my leave.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t want to stay and rest?¡± I asked. Rufus offered a sheepish grin. ¡°Perhaps I¡¯m not ready to trust the rest of your tribe. Not yet. But badgers are nocturnal, didn¡¯t you know?¡± ¡°I did not,¡± I admitted. ¡°Aha! perhaps there are some things I know that you do not, after all!¡± He looked up at the sky through his spectacles. ¡°You¡¯d do well to learn of the day and the night in Lanclova. Each holds its own danger.¡± I called for my litter-bearers, since I hadn¡¯t had time to repair my legs. The north-facing slope was shallower, but still too steep to descend unassisted. I called over for some cordage and was only slightly surprised when the two goblins on either end of the line careened over the side, snagging a tree behind them. If goblins could blush, I probably would have had the reddest face watching Rufus record what he saw in that leather-bound journal. The two goblins reached the end of the line, and rather than letting go, they swung inward and collided with each other. Oh my stars. How was that a technology? But as soon as I thought about it, I realized the applications were nearly endless. Goblins were natural climbers, and what was weight at the top of a bluff if not a bucket of potential energy waiting to be utilized? They were certainly willing enough to hurl themselves off of it at the slightest excuse. But that would have to wait for another day. Rufus took the rope in his hand and eased himself down the slope. The goblins at the bottom switched to one of the lines, and since Rufus outweighed both of them, he was able to slide down while the Goblins rode the line back up, grinning and hooting. The badger-dwarf waved when he reached the bottom, and I waved back along with the two counterweights. Once my newest friend was out of eyesight, I returned to the village. 10 days. There was a lot of work to be done. But first, the tribe had eaten, and lethargy was starting to take over. Chapter 9 - Perks Chapter 9 - Perks I squeezed my eyes shut, not exactly remembering how I¡¯d gotten to the bottom of the pile yet again. But the window persisted. The taskmaster, obviously. Scale early, scale often. More efficient workers early meant more realized gains over time. Plus, speech-capable? I might not have to wait for Rufus to come back to talk to someone after all. Maybe some more martial goblins would have been smart for the added security, but sometimes you gotta risk it for the biscuit. I dug myself out from under the sleeping pile and pulled on a new pair of the sticky stilts I¡¯d had the goblins make for me last night. That done, I walked to the edge of the bluff to relieve myself. There¡¯s something satisfying about whizzing off a cliff. When I returned, most of the other goblins were dragging themselves out and waking up, scratching their bare bellies, and meandering around the village in their typical morning stupor. I spotted two that were slightly larger than the others, with a bit more cunning in their eyes. I whistled and waved them over. ¡°Oy, boss,¡± one of ¡®em grumbled. The other said nothing, though she had the subtle wider hips and bust that I think denoted female goblins. I looked between them. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you both be able to talk?¡± They shared a glance. The first one spoke again. ¡°Oh, she can talk. Jus¡¯ not the type to yak on.¡± The first taskmaster had an accent right out of a bad British crime movie. ¡°I see. Alright, well, I suppose you¡¯ll need names.¡± Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. ¡°Wossat?¡± ¡°Something to call you by, to set you apart.¡± I pointed to the first. ¡°Buzz,¡± and then to the second, ¡°Sally.¡± Buzz raised his hand in a sloppy salute. ¡°Right, boss. Wos onner agenda today?¡± I sighed. There was so much work to do, it was hard to prioritize. But having two independent thinkers would go a long way towards making sure I wasn¡¯t spread so thin. I wondered what other industrious variants would be available as the tribe continued to grow. ¡°Buzz, you¡¯re on fire duty. I want you to have a few goblins mess with friction fires. Spin sticks against a piece of wood til it makes a coal, then blow on it. Iterate on what works¡± Buzz cocked his head toward the other taskmaster. ¡°Wot about Sally?¡± ¡°We need to hunt more of those stone-sloths, but spears aren¡¯t going to cut it. I want to start collecting bomb-fruits and storing them at the base of the ridge. Dig holes for each one, so that if one explodes it doesn¡¯t trigger all the others.¡± Buzz looked at Sally, then back at me. ¡°You sure she¡¯s the same variant as you? ¡°Sally¡¯s onnit, boss. Trust.¡± ¡°Good,¡± I said. I left them there and went to the supply pile. Knives and spears were all well and good, but they weren¡¯t the only tools in an engineer¡¯s arsenal. What I wouldn¡¯t give for a 3D-printer. After sending out another two hunting parties, I sat down with the three primary materials for sticky-stone tools and started to make the essentials. It looked like there was actually some new rock mixed in with the shale that was harder and sharper. Flint, I had to assume. I started knocking off chips and soon got the hang of it. Twine was the simplest compound invention. Really, just twisting two of the homespun strings together made them many times stronger. I needed the extra robustness for the abuse the rest of the tools would likely suffer during their use. The spade, the cleaver, the saw, and the auger as well. The stringy-driver I was especially proud of. It was technically a belt-driver for manually powering rotary tools, with a loop of string attached to a small bow. When wrapped around a sharp stone that could be pushed into a surface and spun, well that was a simple drill with infinite uses. I¡¯m pretty sure this was close to a fire-making method, as well, just with wood in place of the stone auger. It wouldn¡¯t be long before that technology propagated through the tribe. But I was still missing a major primitive material crucial to the upcoming projects I had in mind, in that I needed clay. With clay I could make molds for reproducing complex parts. But I also needed some way to transport it. I pulled together a collection of smaller, flexible sticks and set to building a lattice. Thankfully I had minored in underwater basket-weaving in undergrad. Chapter 10 - The Clay Wars Chapter 10 - The Clay Wars With my basket complete, I got carefully to my feet and waddled over to the main part of the village. Buzz and Sally had taken most of the tribe to work on their tasks. I could see Buzz¡¯s goblins all working at a variety of variations on the vague instructions of rub two pieces of wood together. Some were downright worrying, as a pair of them were sawing a pole back and forth against the trunk of a tree. Normally that wouldn¡¯t be worrying, but goblins are so go-go-go, I think they might have actually been able to saw through the thing, given enough time. One or two of the projects actually had a small bit of smoke rising from them. Well, that¡¯s how development works. There¡¯s a lot of trial and error, and the more you can iterate, the more you can discard failed solutions and focus on narrowing in on the right answer. Having the goblins feel things out was definitely slower than reaching into my own pool of knowledge, but for things I didn¡¯t actually know how to do, it would be a useful tool. I needed more tribe members. There were about 10 goblins still left in the village, idling or scraping at the stone-sloth hide. Though, with that heavy, stoney skin I wasn¡¯t sure what we were going to use that hide for. It was much too heavy for a goblin to wear. I threw some poles and twine and small bones in my basket I took the rest of the goblins with me. Together we threw ourselves down the cliff. It wasn¡¯t so bad, if I could convince myself I was sky-diving. Unfortunately, that did little to soothe every human instinct that clung to my new body telling me I was about to die. My legs managed to stay on, which was an improvement. But then, I was starting to get the knack on securing things with the home-made cordage and I¡¯d taken the time to re-tie them with the improved twine. Once we picked ourselves off the ground, I gathered the goblins around. ¡°I¡¯m looking for clay. It¡¯s like mud that stays wet, even when everything else is dry. It¡¯s soft, pliant, and sticky. Usually near water.¡± One of the goblins squawked for my attention and began to chitter. He picked up his spear and headed out into the forest. With the second-generation sticky stilts, I was able to keep up a little better, even though the goblins had traded their knives for flint cleavers that they used to whirlwind through the underbrush like ninjas on cocaine. We tore through in the meandering trail-blazing fashion I was growing accustomed to, when we reached a clearing that had a wide, slow bend in a creek. And there, just behind the trio of stone-sloths, was a patch of pristine, red clay. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Wait a minute. Before I could tell them to wait, the entire group of 10 goblins charged in, weapons waving. The largest stone-sloth took both notice and immediate umbrage. It roared and charged, bowling through the collective and swiping its claws, snapping spear shafts and shattering cleavers. Shut it, System! I had to think. ¡°Retreat!¡± I shouted. The goblins began to fall back, large stone-sloth snapping at their heels. Luckily for me, he seemed more interested in staying between us and the other two than in pursuing a meal. Family group, perhaps? Matron and cubs? Patriarch and mate plus offspring? We made ourselves scarce in the clearing and I waited until I was sure the bane of goblin existence wasn¡¯t following us before I called a halt. The remaining goblins panted and wheezed with the effort of the escape. Several of them keeled over face-first into the dirt while I considered. ¡°Does anyone know of any other clay deposits?¡± I asked. Forlorn eyes turned toward me, and I put my little furry hands to my temples. That was it, huh? All right. ¡°Wait here,¡± I said. I crept back through the woods alone, since stealth is apparently a foreign concept to goblins. When I caught sight of the clearing, I climbed a tree to try and get a better view. It was definitely a sloth lair. I could spot a crack in the rocks where they were coming in and out of. Not only that, but both creatures made frequent trips to the clay pit in order to slather the material on their own hides, which made me think that the material on their backs wasn¡¯t stone or calcified skin at all, but long-cured clay. This was a problem. It meant stone-sloths (clay sloths?) natural habitat involved clay deposits. We barely scraped by against one of these creatures, and it had killed half a dozen goblins in the process. I had hoped they were rare creatures, but it seemed like clay might also be rare, and reasonable to assume these beasts likely stake their claim on deposits. I sat in the tree and watched them for a while. Eventually the largest one wandered off, but the second largest stayed to watch the cub. The clearing was never deserted. Climbing back down from the tree was noisy and hap-hazard, and I only realized at the bottom that I could have just thrown myself off of it. Still too much of those human instincts. I didn¡¯t know if that was a bug or a feature of this new life, but I¡¯d have to overcome it if I wanted to utilize the full breadth of the few benefits granted to permanently level 1 goblins. I wanted that clay. But three stone-sloths and goblins don¡¯t mix well¡ªat least, not well for the goblins. I needed time to plan. That sounded¡­ terrifying. I tried to imagine the implications of Buzz putting together various combinations of the tools I¡¯d unlocked in the morning to come up with a device of that name, one which apparently produced fire. But, the number of tribe members didn¡¯t drop, so as long as the village was still standing, I¡¯d consider it a win we desperately needed. Clay would have to wait, for now. I didn¡¯t like that that was the case. Clay opened up a lot of possibilities¡ªthe least of which was making reusable molds to mass-produce parts. But we at least had fire. Progress is progress, but I needed rapid iteration. And I needed a plan to deal with the sloths. Chapter 11 - Alternate Caloric Sources Chapter 11 - Alternate Caloric Sources I hadn¡¯t wanted to militarize the tribe. I¡¯d wanted to industrialize it. But it seemed like goblins weren¡¯t high-tier in a fairly hostile world full of things that wanted to eat them. In fact, it seemed like, individually, they were the weakest creatures on this new planet aside from bugs and small fowl. And the biggest thing I needed, even more than clay or fire, was more goblins. Plus there were other sentient races to consider. I¡¯d found Rufus during lucky circumstances, but I¡¯m sure he was far from the norm where interspecies relations were concerned. He was half dwarf, half something else¡ªwhich gave him something of leeway in multiple communities when it came to trading and scholarship. Would goblins be so welcome? The snarling, biting little creatures weren¡¯t exactly diplomatic aces. There were human kingdoms, presumably with soldiers and standing armies that would sweep aside a small village of goblins without breaking a sweat. The only saving grace was that most of them seemed to be across an ocean. So, we were remote enough and unimportant enough that it probably wasn¡¯t worth the logistics effort to come clear the forest of goblins this deep in the continent. Yet. Armored foes would need more than stone spearheads. And what would happen when the time came? Could I realistically kill a human? Above all else, I was a scientist, an engineer, and an explorer devoted to the betterment of all mankind through the progress of aerospace technology. We had to get numerous enough to deter attackers without violence, but we also had to be ready when we were finally noticed. The best guard against violence is a big stick, after all. That meant defending ourselves, through technological ingenuity, if not through strength of arms. And we needed more than what woodland creatures were too slow or too stupid to avoid getting captured by goblins. Poles in hand, I took my cadre down-stream. There were definitely fish in that stream. One of my highest priorities for the tribe was finding a source of protein that didn¡¯t also eat goblins. That would be a valuable food source if the village kept growing, which it would have to do. I had the group fashion a few stone spades using the poles I¡¯d brought and used them to dig up some worms and grubs to use as bait. With the long poles, one goblin jumped on the end of the spade to bury it in the dirt, and another took a running leap at the top to turn up the soil, using leverage and momentum to make up for their lack of strength. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. I¡¯d never been fishing, but I¡¯d spent a lot of time out on the water and talked to a lot of fishermen in the watersports clubs, so I had a vague idea of what you had to do. I arranged my goblins along the bank, each one with a pole and a small bone hook with a small rock weight tied to the base. I went down the line and baited each hook. I had to pull the hooks out of the mouths of two goblins that couldn¡¯t resist eating their own bait before I got everything sorted. Excellent. Understanding passed rapidly through the chittering bunch, and they started casting. After a few minutes of watching them, one of our goblins had a bite. He started to pull and was promptly yanked off his feet with a squawk of alarm. Whatever he¡¯d hooked¡ªall I saw was a long, dark shadow beneath the water¡ªdragged him through the river at high speed, and the rest of the goblins dropped their poles, chasing after. He was quickly gone from sight. A few minutes later¡­ This time I assigned two goblins per pole, making sure they knew to let go of the pole, if whatever they hooked managed to shift both of them. Since there was an odd goblin left, I took him and went looking for the spot I¡¯d noted northwest of the bluff. It took some luck and doubling back over a few criss-crossing goblin paths, but I found the spot I¡¯d marked feathers on the ground. I collected all I could find, and then climbed the tree to see if there were any eggs. As luck would have it, there was one in the nest. It was a bit smaller than an ostrich egg, which made me wary. A bird big enough to have laid this was definitely a bird that could make a snack out of a goblin. I stole it anyway. and climbed back down. Calories are calories. I didn¡¯t have to wonder what had happened for long. A distant crack echoed across the forest. One of Sally¡¯s goblins must have accidentally ruptured or dropped one of the fruits. The things were dangerous, to be sure. A plan began to form in my mind, but I didn¡¯t have everything I needed just yet. We returned to the fishermen to find a modest pile of fish, and a suspicious pile of fish bones. I gave a few goblins the evil eye, but they had zero poker faces. But at least we knew fishing worked. Still, I wanted a plan to pull whatever river monster had dragged my goblin to the depths. I wanted to get out on the river, too. But boating wasn¡¯t an immediate priority. ¡°Bring back the catch before dark, we¡¯ll fry it up.¡± I probably didn¡¯t need to say that. The goblins put a lot of stock in all being back in the village before nightfall. I¡¯d been awake at night, so I knew it was plenty bright enough for them to still function¡ªespecially with the huge moon overhead catching the light of the sun at low angles. Which made me think the woods must be even more dangerous at night with predators prowling the goblin trails. Chapter 12 - Goblin-Go-Round Chapter 12 - Goblin-Go-Round I returned to the village with my egg to find several fires going, and Buzz looking quite pleased with himself. The fire carousel ended up being basically the reverse of a traditional fire drill. Instead of spinning a stick against a piece of wood on the ground, they¡¯d put a pole in the ground, and several goblins clung to a wide piece of wood above it as they spun around in a dangerous-looking teeter-totter. They applied both momentum and pressure, and after watching for a few moments, the wide piece of wood lost a goblin and the whole thing toppled over. By then, the tip of the pole had been ground down to a smoldering red ember, and the goblins quickly pulled it from the ground and touched it to a bed of tinder while two others puffed at it. Soon, they had a small flame. One thing I was beginning to realize is that any given task given to the goblins, the greatest metric of success was the number of goblins committed to it. In the engineering world, it¡¯s common knowledge that you can¡¯t solve problems simply by throwing more bodies at them¡ªthough the government still tries to do just that. In fact, it generally slows progress down. Well, with goblins it seemed like it was just the opposite. ¡°Once we got a couple o¡¯ us onner, we figured things out,¡± said Buzz, nodding along. ¡°Though, truth told, Sally¡¯s more fer tinkerin¡¯ with gizmos.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind,¡± I said. ¡°What would you rather be doing?¡± ¡°Partial to buildin¡¯, meself. Village needs work, yeah?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got some projects in mind." I watched the goblins working at their carousel. When I¡¯d unlocked the goblin counterweight, I hadn¡¯t expected it to be a technological prerequisite for starting a fire. Maybe they just didn¡¯t have the weight or arm strength to tackle the problem the way a human would. ¡°I¡¯m impressed,¡± I said to Buzz. I held the pilfered egg out to him. ¡°Think we can get this bad-boy cooking?¡± Buzz took the egg and dropped it whole onto the tinder bed. Well, I guess that was dinner sorted. Fish and eggs, not exactly an appetizing combo, but things were a bit austere. I kicked around one of the older fires and found a small stick with a decent char at the end, then rooted around for a wide piece of bark. Then I sat down to sketch while I waited for the rest of the goblins to come back. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Sally brought her team up to the village just before the sun slipped behind the moon. The fishermen returned shortly after that with a sticky-wicky full of small fish that were put on poles to lean over Buzz¡¯ fire. by the time dinner was ready, I had a decent¡ªwell, rough sketch of the parts I needed. I called Buzz and Sally over as I gnawed at a charred fish and showed them the drawing. ¡°Ideally these would be made from clay or ceramics. But do you think we can carve these parts out of wood?¡± Buzz looked at Sally, then turned back to me. ¡°Sally reckons she could get it done, boss.¡± ¡°Good,¡± I passed over the sheaf of bark drawings, which Sally took eagerly. I gave Buzz a look. ¡°Can you understand the other goblins without speaking?¡± ¡°Of course, boss. Innit a bit weird you can¡¯t?¡± ¡°This whole thing is a bit weird,¡± I admitted. I took a few minutes telling Sally how to interpret the drawings, and how the parts should be made. The goblin nodded along. Her eyes bugged wider with each drawing. I don¡¯t know if her enthusiasm was for the opportunity to make some mechanical bits, or if it was based on no longer being on bomb-fruit detail. Either way, it was one more step toward walking on that moon. One small step for goblin-kind. The lethargy started to take me. * * * It was a net gain, since I¡¯d only lost three goblins the previous day. Still, it seemed almost as though at least a few were bound to go the way of the dodo at the slightest breeze. It just went to highlight how vulnerable goblins were, and how royally screwed they would be if their reproductive method wasn¡¯t as effective as it was mysterious. I pulled myself from the bottom of the pile of 12 or so goblins and stretched. Buzz and Sally came to see me in the morning with another goblin in tow. ¡°This¡¯n saw sommat come inner camp n¡¯ drag off ¡®is brother,¡± reported Buzz. ¡°I see,¡± I said. I considered. If we were going to grow, we couldn¡¯t lose goblins to predation. I¡¯d have to see to the villages defenses. ¡°Put five goblins on building a wall of poles on the shallow side. Hopefully that will keep out curious beasts. Pick fifteen to go hunt and fish, and the rest to processing some thicker poles.¡± ¡°Got it, boss,¡± said Buzz. He meandered off while Sally held up the drawings from the night before. I noticed that she¡¯d tried to make a few of her own, mostly of things like birds and bugs, but one or two of spearheads, and one of a spear with a stone cross-bar with two stick-figure goblins holding it together. ¡°We¡¯ll make an engineer of you, yet, Sally,¡± I said. Sally beamed. ¡°Pick whoever is best with tools to help you make these parts. I¡¯ll be working along-side you in the village today.¡± Sally nodded enthusiastically and dashed off to collect her team of engineers, mostly by a combination of shouting, biting, and hitting them over the head with the designs. Perfect project manager material. Chapter 13 - Sticky-Springy Stilts Chapter 13 - Sticky-Springy Stilts For my part, I went to work on a different project. One a little closer to home. There were plenty of tools around. Goblins left to their own devices seemed to love tinkering and crafting things now that I¡¯d introduced technology to the tribe. I picked up a selection of small knives, a saw, and an augur. From the wood pile, I grabbed two promising-looking pole-ends that were roughly the same size. Next, I retrieved the stone-sloth claws from the bone pile, as well as some leftover gut string the goblins had made from its intestines. I tested the claw against the ground, seeing how pliant it was, and how it had connected to the knuckle with a knobby tab. I went to work using the knife as a chisel to hollow out two depressions in each of the pole-ends until they were about a hand¡¯s span deep. Then, I flipped them over and drilled two holes on the underside with the augur, which was more complicated to use than I thought it would be. Once I had that, I checked the size against the claws, and started making small adjustments with a knife. Damn. I looked up. It was barely mid-morning. The rest of the goblins were going about their business. It must have been one of the hunting party members. My heart thudded in my chest while I waited for a string of tribe-size messages to come in. After a few more minutes passed without additional notifications, I went back to work. I had to get in the mindset that I was going to lose tribesmen no matter what I did. I¡¯d figured the system was just being cold and callused when it warned me not to get attached. But Tribe Apollo might as well have had a revolving door. Goblins could die and be replaced with new, fully-grown goblins daily. Most of them would never even have names. Was there even any such thing as an old goblin? I got the long, curved sloth claws fitted into the slots I¡¯d carved for them, then went to work smoothing the interior of the cups and packing them with down that I¡¯d collected from the bird¡¯s nest, and some fur clumps from the bone pit. I cut a long, thin wedge out on the front and back, then gouged circular grooves near the top. Around mid-day, the sun dipped behind the moon, and I took off the sticky-stilts and tried the fit of my new prosthetics. On earth, I¡¯d had a sleeve go over my residual lower legs, and they¡¯d laser-scanned my residuals to print me a perfect fit for the prosthetics. Here, I was just eyeballing it. The hunting party returned as well, climbing over the edge of the bluff with a couple carcasses in tow. At least one was a mangled clifford that was definitely hit with a popper, but they also had a few fat birds and one small mammal that might have been something close to a beaver. And, sure enough, they had one less member. I wondered if it was the clifford, the beaver, or the bomb-fruit that had done it. Half of them set to skinning the kills, while the others worked at getting a fire going using Buzz¡¯ fire carousel method. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. I went back to my work. The left one fit decently enough, but the right was too tight. I took the padding out and shaved the sidewall down a bit more, then re-packed it and pulled it on. Better. Finally, I took the gut and used some of it to secure the claws in their notches, and the rest to wrap around the grooves and tighten both sockets around my legs. I hoisted my new feet into the air and twisted them around, looking at the angle. These were certainly heavier than my old running blades. But the flat, wide claws of the stone-sloth had a remarkably similar profile and not all that dissimilar flex profile. Those ones hadn¡¯t been me. I guess it was time to take a look at what Sally¡¯s team had accomplished. I pushed myself unsteadily on my feet and tested the strength and balance of the sloth-claw prosthetics. They had a bit more give than I was used to with this design, but they were worlds better than teetering around on poles tied to my lower legs. I took a tentative jump in place and was surprised when the spring-back flipped me ass over teakettle right into the bone pile. The other goblins started to take notice and stopped to watch and point. A few even laughed. Can¡¯t say I blame them. Not to be deterred (every great scientist and engineer was laughed at in their time), I got back to my new feet again and took a few tentative steps. It was almost like walking on a trampoline, or maybe those old bouncy shoes that looked like death hazards. I got the hang of it pretty quick (so quick I had to wonder if that was a feature of the Goblin Tech Tree) and picked up speed around the village. The goblins were still laughing, but now I think they did so out of excitement and amazement. Several of them chased after me, hooting and hopping. This time, they had trouble keeping up with me. No longer would I be a burden if we had to beat feet. What was more, I could run, again. Not hobble, not waddle, not crawl, but run. Not fast, or I¡¯d lose control, but still. The two years of rehab after my accident were the most excruciating time of my life not because I was in constant pain from surgeries and recovery. But because I didn¡¯t know if I¡¯d ever walk again. Running, rowing, biking. Anything that let me move fast made me feel alive. I had refused to give up. Refused to let myself be bound to a chair. Slowly, I¡¯d gotten my life back. And I hadn¡¯t realized it, but my new goblin life hadn¡¯t been complete until I had that feeling once again. I didn¡¯t know if I¡¯d be able to go through that again. This, more than anything else, convinced me that I could figure it out. I could survive here, build my tribe, master the goblin technology tree, and reach the giant moon, Raphina. Sure, there were a lot of steps along the way. But like I said, I like to move fast. Chapter 14 - Sticky-Flicky Slingers Chapter 14 - Sticky-Flicky Slingers After my brief jaunt, I headed over to Sally to see how her team had come with the parts I¡¯d given her to oversee. The majority of it was garbage. It¡¯s not that the goblins weren¡¯t diligent, especially under Sally¡¯s constant percussive encouragement. They just struggled to understand the engineering schematics as thoroughly as I¡¯d have liked. They¡¯d managed to produce gears and levers and cranks, but many of them had irregular teeth or oblong shapes. The first place I saw them employed naturally was on the cooking spit so that the chefs no longer had to leap into the air to turn the spit. Instead, they¡¯d grasped the idea of angular transference and now had a system wherein two of them could turn the spit like sailors working a capstan. While they weren¡¯t great inventors, they were seemingly very clever at implementing applications for the technology I unlocked for them in ways that greatly complemented goblin physiology. I had to sort through the parts in order to find what I needed. Sally watched curiously, even as she continued her unique brand of leadership on anyone she thought might be slacking. But, by mixing pieces and parts, I was able to connect a pair of laths to a long body with a runnel going down the length, and a hooked bit of wood through a slot to make a lever. After that, I secured a string across the lathe and fed it through a sort of sledge that fit along the top rail. Finally, I fit one of the crank levers to the top and used it to push back the sled until it locked. Yes, since I know you¡¯re wondering, I made a crossbow. But not one for shooting stone arrowheads. All eyes were on me now, including Sally, who had paused mid-blow. I kicked around on the ground until I uncovered a smooth rock, about the size of my little blue fist. I fit it to the sledge, aimed it at a nearby tree, and pulled the release. The entire thing exploded in my hands. The body snapped in two, and the laths shattered practically into sawdust. It knocked me back on my ass, and the rock and the sledge bounced off my forehead. Luckily, it hadn¡¯t been lethal damage, because I didn¡¯t get the system message that another goblin had died in my place. I set the wreckage aside, ignored all the laughing goblins making explosion noises to each other, and went back to the parts pile while some of my tribe laughed so hard I thought I might lose a goblin from asphyxiation. Prototype, test, iterate. That was the name of the game. I went to work assembling the second prototype. This time I chose parts that were a little heavier, but sturdier. I couldn¡¯t shoulder the crossbow, I had to pinch the back end between my elbow and side as I lined up the shot. The release took more effort than I was expecting, but once it slipped, that sledge rocketed forward like something to come out of the JPL. The laths straightened in an instant, and the stone shot out of the sledge, whipping forward to impact the tree with a serious thud. Bark sprayed from the impact. Every goblin in the village dropped what they were doing and came to marvel at this new invention. That seemed an apt description. I spotted Sally among the onlookers and handed the crossbow and crank over to her. ¡°This is what you¡¯ve achieved today,¡± I said. ¡°A shot to the noggin on one of those cliffords and they won¡¯t be looking to munch on any goblins until they stop seeing double.¡± She looked down at the bow, then back up at me. ¡°You want to build more inventions, Chief Engineer Sally?¡± Sally swallowed, and then opened her mouth and uttered one word, so softly I wasn¡¯t even sure she had said it. ¡°¡ªyes¡ª¡± Good. Good. I grinned and watched as Sally cranked the sledge back and loaded it with a stone. The bow held, and the rock flashed out, sailing past the tree that I had aimed for and over the edge. I had thought about, and subsequently dismissed, the idea of simple bows and arrows for the goblins. The fact is, they simply weren¡¯t strong enough to draw something with enough weight to pierce the hide of anything larger than a Clifford, and probably weren¡¯t patient enough for the hours upon hours it took to get good with a traditional bow. But crossbows use force-multiplying levers to reset them and you can aim them somewhat accurately, even with just a little practice. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Well, you know how goblins are. The technology spread across the village, and suddenly every furry Jones had to have a sticky-flicky slinger of their own to hang above the fireplace. Over the next hour, the village became a hailstorm of stones as goblins lined up at the impromptu firing range for practice. Small stones actually started to become scarce on the hilltop, which gave a few goblins an excuse to fling themselves off into the forest below to collect more. There were a few more critical failures. The worst of them resulted in an amputated leg, but the other goblins were quick to cap his stump with a sticky stilt, amazingly staunching the bleeding entirely. Amazingly, that goblin went right back to tinkering as soon as he was able to stand. He came and stood next to me, showing off his new leg as if to demonstrate for the rest of the tribe that he had more in common with me than they did. More than a few jealous glares made me worried that there might be a few more ¡®accidents¡¯, but it appeared that even goblins weren¡¯t crazy enough to deliberately maim themselves for a bit of perceived status (however inclined they were to accidentally maim themselves, notwithstanding). The target practice continued into the afternoon eclipse. Individual goblins weren¡¯t accurate with the things. But they didn¡¯t have to be. We had numbers on our side. And by the next day, we¡¯d have even more. I had one more plan to try and get that clay without a fight. But if it came down to it, these crossbows could really tip the odds toward the tribe in the battle with their stone-hide rival. I watched the practice a bit more before ordering everyone back to their assigned tasks. Buzz waved me over so that I could check the progress of the palisade on the shallower side of the bluff. It looked good, but it was burning through rope faster than the craftsmen could make more. We were going to need a more reliable source of cordage. I added it to the to be worried about later pile. But it was clear the wall would take several days to complete, just on the one side. And when an early afternoon rainstorm sent the tribe scurrying for their shelters to work on smaller parts and projects, I had to wonder if one side would be enough. One other thing that bothered me was the predator taking goblins in the night. The way goblins surrendered to an involuntary lethargy after eating meant we were easy pickings overnight. I had tried to explain the concept of a watch. Even with trying to loop Buzz in as a mediator, he hadn¡¯t understood. Shut it, System! Even if I could go back and choose again, I¡¯d take taskmasters ten times out of ten. Still, the System had a point. I¡¯d have to consider the next time I hit a milestone that granted a new goblin variant for my tribe. Which would have greater benefit to the tribe in the long run? A variant that increased work efficiency? Or a variant that reduced attrition through security? In the short term, I decided to double the number of goblins assigned to the wall project. But goblins apparently didn¡¯t work in the rain. Not that I blamed them, the sensation of wet fur was distinctly unpleasant. And the smell. Woof. It didn¡¯t stop until almost nightfall, and shortly after the hunting party returned with fish and small game, including a few more fat birds. Buzz came over to my fire while the catch of the day was strung up above the fire to smoke. He looked agitated, fidgeting and twitchy. ¡°The lads in the wood spotted tracks of javeline rutters.¡± ¡°That some sort of pig?¡± I asked. Buzz settled down and poked at the fire. ¡°Half-pig, half dwarf.¡± I tried to picture it. ¡°Like Rufus?¡± ¡°Wrong half, boss.¡± Ah. So, like a pig version of a centaur, then. What would you call that? A boar-a-taur? A jaballero? Well, I suppose calling it a javeline rutter was good enough. ¡°Bad news, I take it?¡± ¡°When ain¡¯t it?¡± Fair. Wild pigs had a hell of a temperament. If their dwarven half inherited it at all, then I could see how that would be problematic for something like a goblin. Back home they¡¯d invaded Texas, where NuEarth was located. The CEO took weekend trips to hunt them in his personal helicopter, according to the company-wide emails he blasted out Monday mornings. Not that I was jealous of his helicopter. Real aircraft have wings. ¡°Alright. We¡¯ll put more hands on the wall project. That north slope is our biggest weak point if someone wants to attack the village.¡± I thought Buzz would return to his workers, but he just laid down in place and went to sleep. Exhausted from the construction, probably. He might have been the first, but the dogpile was quick to form and I swear it gave off almost as much heat as the fire. That must be how they managed to survive winters in this world. Luckily, it stayed dry enough in the shelters for small fires, and we only managed to burn one of them down. That was alright. I¡¯d soon have the shelters built to a higher standard. But the priority was still the clay and the wall. We had to get a hold of it. I looked at the stone-sloth hide, still intact and curing. Hostile night-time predators, resource-bogarting carnivorous sloths, and now a race of intelligent boar-dwarves. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d get lucky enough for them to have Rufus¡¯ open mind toward a goblin king, either. I needed to move quickly. Tomorrow, I was either going to get that clay, or lose a heap of tribesmen. Chapter 15 - Fruits Away Chapter 15 - Fruits Away <1 goblin taskmaster has been added to your tribe> More night-time predation, and I¡¯d lost two goblins this time instead of one. Either the creature had been hungrier, or it had brought a friend. Either way, I couldn¡¯t have night-time attrition eating a third of my population growth. We needed better sleeping quarters. The problem was, we also needed hunters out looking for food in great enough numbers to sustain the tribe, we needed bodies on the wall project, and we needed Sally¡¯s team making crossbows for the tribe. Not only that, but I still had to impress Rufus on his return in a few days. At the morning Taskmaster pow-wow, Buzz and Sally were accompanied by a third goblin. One of the new arrivals was an additional taskmaster, which would let me further delegate work in the tribe. I decided to call him Neil. ¡°Are you the non-talkative type?¡± I asked. ¡°Nah,¡± said Neil, and didn¡¯t elaborate further. I looked at him for a minute, waiting to see if he¡¯d say anything else, but he just stuck his finger in his nose and rooted around. ¡°So¡­ what do you like to do?¡± My newest taskmaster tilted his head. ¡°Like?¡± ¡°Yeah. Sally¡¯s got her testing and production, Buzz enjoys construction projects. If there¡¯s something you think you¡¯ll be good at, I can put you in charge of it. So what do you like?¡± Neil thought for a minute. ¡°Hunting,¡± he said. Then considered for a moment. ¡°Explosions.¡± I grinned. ¡°Ordinarily, that would be worrying. But, boy, is it your lucky day,¡± I said. ¡°Wait for me on the north side while I get the others sorted.¡± Rather than making more crossbow parts, I demonstrated to Sally¡¯s team to start mixing mud with dry grass and forming it into bricks to dry. Making actual hardened structures required a great deal of resources we simply didn¡¯t have, and the majority of our lumber was going to the fence and reinforcing shelters. Today, I gave each member of the 12-strong hunting party members a crossbow. I had Neil get all the goblins down the north slope, in hopes to keep as many crossbows as we could intact. Then I grabbed my own supplies that I¡¯d prepared, as well as the stone-sloth skin. Two of the goblins still managed to break their bows, so I passed each of them a wicker basket. Each one was lined with moss and grass to make the inside as soft as possible. ¡°Congratulations,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re on bomb fruit detail. Each of you go get 10 fruits from the pits Sally dug and keep those baskets far enough away that you won¡¯t blow up the rest of us¡ªor each other¡ªif they go off. Understand?¡± If the goblins were upset about being assigned explosive ordnance detail with the unstable fermented fruits, they gave no indication. They took the baskets and dashed off at top speed, squawking and making explosion noises as they went. One of them tripped and nearly lost the basket as he rolled but raised it over his head triumphantly when he came to a stop. The rest of the hunting party cheered him on. We were all going to die. When they returned (thankfully moving much more cautiously), I had them maintain a safe distance while I took the hunting party back to the clearing near the clay deposit. Ideally, we weren¡¯t going to have to fight the sloths. I took the hide, and then motioned over to the nearest goblin. ¡°You want the front or the back?¡± The goblin looked at the stone-sloth hide, and I swear his fur turned a paler shade of blue. He shook his head vehemently, but I proffered the skin, and with a reluctant look, he draped it over himself. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I had each of the goblins take a bomb-fruit and carefully place it on the ground about 10 meters apart. Then, I had them stand far enough apart that they should be out of the blast zone. Finally, I gave Neil instructions on what I wanted, took my own wicker basket, and crawled under the sloth skin with my unfortunate partner. It was hot and muggy under the hide. My visibility was limited to the two holes where their eyes had been. The thing itself was heavy, too, with the clay the former owner had used to armor itself. Maybe if it came down to it, that armor might protect us. Yeah, right. Slowly, we crept forward toward the clearing until the two stone-sloths came into view. Papa-sloth must have been out hunting or foraging, because I didn¡¯t see any sign of him. We shifted the heavy hide forward, inching toward the clay deposit near the river. I kept my eyes on mama sloth, making sure she didn¡¯t get any ideas. She spotted us, and eyed us warily, but didn¡¯t charge. I guess she must have mistook us for a very ugly member of her own species. We passed the closest point to them, then started to move away toward the clay deposit. I could see the older sloth physically relax, lowering her posture, and returning to rooting around in the dirt with her claws. We got the hide over-top of the clay, and I picked up a handful and squeezed it between my fingers. It was rich and red, with a little bit of grit and a smooth consistency. If I was lucky, the color was an indication of high oxidation and iron content, and the grit would be sillica. I started to pack the wet material into the wicker basket. My partner helped, making the work go quick. It was working! We filled up the basket and left the clearing. The hunting party came in view, and a few of them raised their crossbows before Neil stopped them from firing. Maybe our costume was a little too good. ¡°Nice work,¡± I said to my partner under the hide, who was a little wobbly at the knees. I traded the full wicker basket for the empty one. ¡°A few more trips and we¡¯ll have all the clay we¡¯ll need for the time being.¡± Neil raised his goblin eyebrow, as though shocked I would willingly go back in. But when we made it back into the clearing, the bigger stone-sloth ignored us completely. We headed for the clay deposit and started loading up the second basket. Things were going well until I heard a cold, wet sniffling, and looked down to see the stone-sloth cub had gotten curious, and come over to take a sniff of the new arrival. It had poked its head entirely underneath the skin. I stared down at it, it stared up at me. Before I could figure out what to do, my partner looked up from the wicker basket and squawked. ¡°No, wait!¡± I hissed. But it was too late. He balled up his tiny fist and planted it straight in the nose of the cub. The cub, from curious infant to victim of goblin brutality, scrambled back, whining in a high-pitched cry that was obviously some sort of distress call. ¡°Go, go!¡± I said. ¡°Get the basket!¡± As soon as I heard the older stone-sloth¡¯s ferocious roar, and the answering call from deeper in the woods, I knew we were hosed. We hauled the basket between the two of us as fast as my new legs could carry me. The older of the two rock-sloths had pushed the baby behind it, and its hackles were up. It growled and grunted at us and stamped the ground. Then, it lowered its head and charged. Surprisingly the hide of the stone-sloth actually did absorb a lot of the impact. The matriarch hit center mass, which meant she actually hit the dead space between us two goblins and all three of us went down in a tangle. The hide ended up draped over the charging stone-sloth, which let my partner in crime and I make a break for it with the goods while the cub screeched at us and the older one flailed. We put on a little extra speed. From the north, something began to crash through the brush, and I looked back to see the patriarch shredding through foliage to get to the clearing. It took one look at the situation and charged us. ¡°Drop it and run!¡± I shouted. The other goblin didn¡¯t need further encouragement. He let his side of the wicker basket drop, spilling clay onto the ground. A distressingly few number of seconds later, the adult stone-sloth trampled the wicker underfoot, dashing the clay in all directions. We sprinted through the trees, and this time Neil was ready. I had to watch my footing carefully, not only because of the primitive prosthetics, but also lest I step on a bomb fruit. But that let the stone-sloth close the distance. And like I¡¯ve mentioned, despite their superficial resemblance to the slow, peaceful earth creatures, these things could really move. If I hadn¡¯t had the sloth-claw prosthetics, it would have been on me. Neil waited until I was clear of the field before he gave the order to shoot. Rocks began to fly past me. One or two were aimed at the charging stone-sloth, because it¡¯s hard not to shoot at the enormous charging predator, I suppose. But most of them were aimed at the bomb fruits on the ground that we were not-quite out of range from. One of the stones struck home, blowing up maybe five meters behind and to my right. the blast picked me up off my feet and sent me flying. Luckily, I landed on my head and bounced. My ears rang, and my vision swam. Something heavy landed beside me, and I¡¯m pretty sure it wasn¡¯t my partner. Another explosion went off, sounding muffled and far away, then another. I heard a shriek and tried to regain my bearings. At least the system hadn¡¯t popped up with any notifications. Scratch that, one came up. I heard the tromp of goblin feet on the ground and saw several diminutive figures rushing past me. Sound was starting to come back, and I could hear the collective war cry of the hunters and the snap of crossbows going off. The goblins were cheering. At least, until one of them put a foot wrong. BOOOOM Chapter 16 - Revenge of the Sloth Chapter 16 - Revenge of the Sloth The cheers turned to shouts of alarm as the goblins realized they¡¯d chased their quarry back through their own minefield. Rather than slowing down and carefully picking their way out of it, they panicked and scattered in all directions at break-neck speed¡ªmiraculously not triggering a second accidental explosion. Neil came over to help me to my feet as things calmed down. ¡°Did we win?¡± I asked groggily. Neil grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around. The first thing I noticed was the fine mist of blue fur drifting in the light. Well, those would be goblins 39 and 40. Or what was left of them. The second thing I noticed was the two halves of the matriarch, separated by about ten meters. ¡°Oh.¡± The third thing I noticed was the claw and wrist of the patriarch, which was the heavy thing that had landed near me. The thing must have been reaching to slice me with those long claws ¡°We did win!¡± I shouted. The goblins all started cheering again, fallen comrades mourned and moved on from just as quickly. Neil came to stand beside me. ¡°Wot¡¯s next, boss?¡± To business, then. I brought the hunting party carefully around the minefield and into the clearing. Our wicker basket had been crushed, but there was no sign of the larger stone-sloth, which meant we had free access to the clay. I had each of the goblins start weaving something to carry it with, while I looked over the clearing. On the east side, there was a crag in a large boulder where I was pretty sure the sloth-bears had been nesting. When I peeked inside, that was confirmed. There were also bones. Goblin bones. I spotted at least one shattered skull, and several small, humanoid limbs. As soon as I saw that, I felt a lot less bad for killing the two adults just to get at some clay. The cub was there, huddled against the back wall for safety. It was, to me, about the size of a medium dog would have been to me as a human. Of course, I knew it would grow to several times the size and weight of my goblin body. Still, it didn¡¯t seem right, leaving it here. Chances are, it would die without its parents. Neil came up beside me and peered in the crag. ¡°Good eating,¡± he said. ¡°Barely any meat on it,¡± I said. ¡°We got that whole sloth in the minefield to munch on. Let¡¯s take this one back with us. Neil gave me a skeptical look but was quick to turn around and delegate the task of retrieving the infant. Two goblins managed to hoist it between them, and the thing was too stunned by its circumstances to really do anything about them. Clay, cub, and carcass in tow, we headed back to the village. I hated to take materials away from the wall project, but I borrowed enough poles to create a simple pen for the cub. If nothing else, maybe whatever predator had been infiltrating the village would go for the isolated animal, instead. Neil was leading the way, but he stopped suddenly in the trail and held up his fist. He looked back. ¡°Make scarce, boys!¡± he whispered. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. The hunting party was a frenzy of activity as we took cover off the path, in the thickets, behind trees, and behind roots. I watched as Neil worked the crank on his bow to set a stone in place and peered at the path. A four-legged figure pushed through the unbroken thicket onto our trail. It had a pig-like lower body, but a stocky, wide upper body and a battered iron helmet covering its face. It had a spear in its right hand with an iron spearhead. Metallurgy, I thought to myself. The Javeline had a source of iron in the forest somewhere. I wondered how they were collecting it and refining it into a usable form. System, what level is it? <8> Well that wasn¡¯t so bad. Lower level than the stone-sloth, actually. The rutter stamped at the ground, and then reached down to brush its hairy fingers over our tracks before straightening. It tightened its hands on the haft of the spear, looking around at the surrounding forest. It let out a low, reverberating whistle that seemed to bounce through the trees and almost made the leaves vibrate. Two more of its kind joined it from the forest. One of them was massive, broadly built with a barrel chest and thick arms. A mane of black hair and a bristly, braided beard draped across his shoulders. <16 and 12> I didn¡¯t have to ask which of the new pair were higher leveled. System, can you super-impose levels above individuals? Floating numbers appeared above the heads of all three rutters. A cumulative of 36 levels against a group of 14 level 1 goblins. I didn¡¯t have to be a tactical genius to understand these odds. The javeline exchanged words, though it sounded more like the low rumbling of a landslide to my goblin ears. Then, they moved off along our trail, back in the direction we¡¯d come from. They heard the bomb fruits, I realized. They were investigating. And thanks to the robust method of goblin pathfinding, they knew a tribe was also in the area. Well, they¡¯d find the battlefield and see what was left of the stone-sloths, too. I hoped we¡¯d be able to find a diplomatic solution with the creatures. But it didn¡¯t look like that was in the cards. Something snapped further along the trail, and the rutters dug in their hooves and set off at a gallop toward the noise, spears raised. They were surprisingly fast on those little legs. Much faster than any goblin not being propelled by the blast of a bomb fruit. If it came down to it, they would run us down in the woods before we could make it back to the safety of the tribe. We waited in our hiding spots until long after the Javeline left¡ªlonger than I would have. But, when I made to rise, I felt a small fist against the back of my skull, pushing me back to the ground. I looked over at Neil, who was still watching the direction the javeline had moved off in. Neil kept my head down until he decided it was safe to move. As he was now the taskmaster of my hunters. I decided to trust his judgment. The return to the village was a much more somber affair after our encounter with the rutters. We¡¯d avoided them, this time. But what would happen if we weren¡¯t so lucky the next time? Would they be interested in treating with a goblin king? Or would they slaughter the entire tribe out of principle? Or sport? I didn¡¯t know anything about them, and we were better off not learning firsthand, for now. We needed time and more goblins. We needed better fortifications. We needed a leg up. We needed something better than stone at the end of our spears. And I had an inkling on how to get it. Sally had set a few dozen raw adobe bricks to dry in the sun, and I¡¯d need them tomorrow, along with a lot of wood. I thought for a moment. System, can you track available resources like bricks and wood? Numbers for bricks works fine. Hmm. Can we do kilograms for wood and bone and other resources? What¡¯s a choom? Lovely, let¡¯s go with that. Raw bricks: 54 Bone: 12 chooms Timber: 24 chooms Finished poles: 22 Scat: 15 chooms Water: 4,201 chooms> Convenient. On Earth I¡¯d needed a manually updated inventory spreadsheet to keep track of inventory. Here, the system could handle tracking all that for me. Oops, thanks System. Chapter 17 - Skipping Through the Ages Chapter 17 ¨C Skipping Through the Ages Only one goblin during the night, and a good amount added. We woke to find a decent-size hole worried in a weak corner of one of the enclosed shelters where one of the goblins had apparently been dragged away in its sleep. The others were starting to get restless in the mornings. While they didn¡¯t seem to lament the loss of any single goblin, they also didn¡¯t like the idea of getting picked off in the night. Somewhat selfishly, my primary concern was that it might happen to one of my taskmasters, whose specialty of keeping other goblins on task and making them better at their work contributed hugely to my ability to multitask. Still, we¡¯d added 8 additional members. I¡¯d been doing some tracking, and it seemed like the increases were loosely based on the amount of sleeping mounds. Goblins would only form a mound with a minimum of 12 members, no more than about 20. Each independent mound would produce 1-3 more goblins per night, which meant we¡¯d gotten pretty lucky by getting 8 goblins out of 3 sleeping mounds. I decided to re-work the shelters for max efficiency so that the mounds would only be able to hold about 15 goblins to ensure distribution to the maximum number of mounds. That should optimize reproduction without resulting in undersize piles. With 45 members total, I could split the tribe evenly between my three task-masters. There was safety in numbers, after all, and fifteen goblins with crossbows, spears, and cleavers would be much safer than just 10 or 11. I checked on the juvenile stone-sloth as well, and found it still asleep in its new pen, untouched by whatever was preying on the goblins. I got the feeling that a lot of predators wouldn¡¯t think the juice of dealing with the clay-reinforced hide of the sloths was worth the squeeze. Goblins were level 1 and practically defenseless. Buzz brought Sally and Neil over for the morning round-up. I sent Neil off right away with the hunters, who took their assorted slingers, wildlife disguises, and fishing poles. I had them go west, away from where we¡¯d seen the javeline. I wasn¡¯t going to mess with the boar-men quite yet. I also wanted them to bring back more hides for tanning. Buzz had his wall project, though his eyes got a bit greedy when he saw the stack of bricks Sally had cured. ¡°Sorry, Buzz,¡± I said. ¡°I need those for another project. But we¡¯re going to be making more. A lot more. In fact, I want you to send two of your crew over to the pond and just have them make as many bricks as they can.¡± With just Sally left, I pulled out another set of charcoal sketches I¡¯d whipped up the night before while the stone sloth roasted. My chief engineer¡¯s eyes got as big as dinner plates when she saw that I had drawings, and just about snatched them out of my hand. She looked through, eyes keen as she absorbed details of the structure. She chittered for her crew, and started squawking and directing traffic as they scrambled to arrange lumpy, mis-shaped bricks into a tower about two meters high and slathered them with muddy mortar. In the meantime, I tinkered with a design of my own using a few of the gears and a crank, along with a stretched hide and a stone drill. When the last brick was put on top, the engineering crew busied themselves loading the bottom with fuel and tinder and carefully tossing in coals from last night¡¯s fire. Not exactly an accurate description. Really, it was a forced-air kiln. You see, fire requires two things¡ªfuel and oxygen. You add more fuel, you get a bigger fire. But you add more oxygen, you get a hotter fire. Sun-dried clay is useful for cups, bowls, jars, and containers. And I had a couple of those drying in the sun the previous night, which had finished by the morning. Primitive cultures on Earth had used clay for a huge number of applications, even things like recording history. In fact, the earliest known recorded message was a business transaction, for Barley, if I remembered my Econ 101 class. Which reminded me, I needed to consider some fermentation science eventually if I wanted my goblins to really celebrate my rule. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. But I digress. One of the interesting properties of silica clay is that if you fire it in hot¡ªlike, ridiculously hot¡ªtemperatures, it turns into something between a glass and a crystal, called ceramic. You need a lot of air for this, and a lot of fuel because forcing oxygen through that fire causes it to devour fuel like your fat uncle at Thanksgiving going through the sweet-potato casserole. While you were at Thanksgiving, you might have seen some of your grandmother¡¯s old dishes kept in a big case, and heard that they were ceramic, and associated it with tissue-thin delicate cups and plates that never actually got used because they were too special. And that probably gave you, as well as most other people, the wrong idea about the material science behind ceramic. Ceramic is brittle, sure. It can shear somewhat easily along its crystalline structure. But you can plan around that. And once you do, you suddenly have a material that can be harder and sharper than steel, easily shapeable until its fired, doesn¡¯t need to be mined or smelted, is incredibly heat resistant, and has just a few simple ingredients that you can readily find in a mountainous forest area like the one the goblins were native to. Popular applications of ceramics include things like bullet-proof body armor, precision instruments, turbine engine parts, the bearings in my old prosthetics, oh, and the reentry tiles underneath the space shuttle. You know, the ones that keep it from burning up in the upper atmosphere. You¡¯re damn right, I did. We were skipping bronze, iron, and going right to pre-industrial. We¡¯d need metal eventually, but ceramics were like a cheat code for a lot of the applications primitive cultures used metal for and could hold us over until I figured out how to access steel. I whistled for Sally and had her assembly team start making raw clay parts based on my designs while the fire warmed up. They went to work shaping clay, making blanks for a few different designs. Knives, spearheads, arrowheads, ball-bearings, connectors, pulley parts, hooks, fasteners, scribes, scalpels, fine hooks, and gears. Everything a budding goblin village needs to speed-run industrial parts manufacturing. The prototypes, if they worked, could be used to make molds from sun-dried clay, and then it was a simple matter to streamline the process of shaping even more tools and components. While the goblins worked the first clay prototypes, I showed two goblins how to work the impeller. Essentially, the two cranks spun spindles on either side of the kiln¡¯s air intake, and small wooden blades on each one forced air through a channel and directly below the fire. It¡¯s a bit like a bellows, but with a constant supply of air to the fuel source. Not only that, but I¡¯d designed the kiln with a narrow throat at the firing chamber, to increase air flow even further¡ªlike a carburetor. It¡¯s counter-intuitive that air speeds up through a constriction, but it does, and it would make the fire hot enough to force the chemical change in the clay. Also the same physics principle that creates lift on the upper side of an airplane wing, if you¡¯re curious. It was hard work keeping the fan blades spinning. But Sally¡¯s goblins had energy to spare for a new toy. The fire underneath the kiln roared, venting out the top of the furnace in a shimmering column of super-heated air. We had a decent supply of fuel from the days of idle goblins collecting sticks and sawing down small trees that turned out to be inadequate for the wall project. But the kiln would take every branch we could feed it. The heat coming off the bricks was immense. When I judged it hot enough, I pulled open the front face with a hooked pole. The wave of hot air that came blasting out felt like I had stepped into the furnace myself. I shielded my face while Sally¡¯s team inserted the thin adobe plate with the first of the ceramic pieces. Then the second and third plates went in, and I pushed the door back shut. My fur was matted with sweat already. The insertion team¡¯s fur was singed in places. We needed gloves and protective aprons for this, really. The goblins on the impellers cranked and cranked, trading off in shifts as the fuel team swept out spent ash and put fresh fuel in. Being king comes with certain privileges, so I sat back and watched the glowing oven The kiln was really my first major accomplishment. We¡¯d had to fight for the clay, lost goblins in the process, and needed parts and tools to work and shape the clay into better parts and tools that would give this tribe a much-needed leg up in this forest full of things that wanted to kill and/or eat its members. We kept the fire going into the evening, even after Neil and the hunters returned with fish and fowl and hides and started to cook them. A few even tried holding roasting sticks over the kiln output, but when the first and second bird burst into flames, the effort was abandoned. Even after Buzz finished the wall and sent his goblins out to replace the dwindling fuel stock, we kept the fire going. Sally¡¯s goblins worked in shifts on the cranks and at the fuel, making sure the kiln stayed red-hot into the evening. Finally, as the catch of the day was done cooking (now with containers ready to catch and store the oil and grease for later use), I called for a stop. Sally came over, fur so streaked with soot and grime she looked a bit like Rufus with his black-striped badger fur. It had taken a whole day to make our first batch of ceramic parts. It would take the entire night for them to cool off enough to remove from the kiln. It was incredibly time, resource, and labor intensive to produce ceramic parts. The morning would tell if it was worth it. Chapter 18 - Apex Predator Chapter 18 - Apex Predator I jolted awake. It was still dark, and not the dark of the bottom of the sleeping mound. It was the dark of full night. The first time I¡¯d woken up at night after eating since coming into this new goblin body. I felt an immediate sense of danger. We¡¯d completed the wall and closed up the shelters. There shouldn¡¯t have been anything able to get in and trouble us in the night this time, but something wasn¡¯t right. I pulled myself to the top of the pile and looked around. Plenty of light from the moon bathed the hilltop well enough to see most of the village through the slats in the shelter. I couldn¡¯t see any movement. I rolled down from the pile and pressed up against the poles that comprised the shelter¡¯s wall for a better view. A scraping noise behind me drew my attention, and I whipped around to the other side. I scrambled back up onto the pile, disturbing a few of my mound-mates in the process. I looked through the poles on that side. I could see the sloth cub¡¯s enclosure, still undisturbed, and the curled form of the infant inside, dozing off its dinner of scraps from the fish and fowl. The scraping, again, behind me. This time, I looked up. Bright yellow eyes stared down at me through a hole in the roof of the shelter. A long, hooked beak worried at the opening, prying loose the weave to enlarge the hole. Whatever it was, it was big enough to block out the moon, and had small hands at the ends of bat-like wings. I won¡¯t lie, I screamed. The goblins below me rolled over, annoyed, saw the bat-thing and also screamed. Then the beaked creature screeched in alarm at having been caught out, and that woke up the rest of the goblins. It beat its wings against the cage, enraged, as the group inside became a hive of frenzied activity. ¡°Kill it!¡± I shouted, horrified. The silhouette of this creature, the light of its eyes, and the curve of its beak all triggered very deep, primal fear responses in my goblin brain that my human mind was powerless to stand against. ¡°Kill it, kill it, kill it!¡± The shelter capsized as most of the mound threw themselves at the far wall to get as far from the creature as possible. This thing had already been responsible for at least five goblin deaths, coming to haunt the tribe night after night. I¡¯d never considered that it might be something that could fly. The wall was useless, and our shelters were only marginally better. What was worse, the System superimposed the level over its head. 18. The night haunt thing¡¯s wide tail lashed at the air as it flapped backwards. The entire hilltop was awake now. All forty-five members of the tribe pushing out of their shelters and running for crossbows and spears, or even just simple clubs. Stolen story; please report. Now open, the creature dove in among the goblins from my shelter, snapping one up in its beak and shaking its head violently. It flung the goblin away. This high-level creature was swatting down goblins like we would swat down flies. It turned its eyes. I followed its gaze and saw Buzz coming with a spear. He raised it high, but the thing pounced again, sweeping aside the stone spearpoint. ¡°No!¡± I shouted and threw myself at it. Its head snapped to the side, and its beak caught me around the middle. It squeezed. It squeezed so hard I thought I would pop. I screamed from the pressure and pain of the fatal blow that had passed to another goblin. It readjusted its bite, and the pressure tightened around my chest. I couldn¡¯t inhale. Claws raked at me. Hateful yellow eyes stared down, confused at why I was still alive. It let go of my chest and drove its beak into my midsection. Buzz was up, and Neil with him. Fitting, I suppose. They both had ceramic-tipped spears, and they drove them into the creature. Neil put his spear into its side, while Buzz pinned one of its wings to the dirt. It shrieked with pain, so loud half the goblins on the hilltop dropped and pressed their ears flat against their skulls. Neil dropped the spear, still in the thing¡¯s gut, and pulled out two flint cleavers. He jumped up, and then rolled as the nighttime terror of my tribe snapped at him. He lashed out, and the creature recoiled, blood spurting from two jagged cuts. ¡°Boss!¡± shouted Buzz. I turned, and scrambled out of the way as Sally and her team of engineers readied their crossbows. The crack of 15 bows going off at once sounded more like a gunshot than a bowstring. Several shots went wide, and one bow exploded in its owner¡¯s hands. But the majority of the stones struck home on the bat-thing¡¯s side and head. It staggered, hurt and clearly dizzy. Neil saw his opportunity and dove in, driving both cleavers into the creature. By this time, most of his hunters had found their courage and their spears and menaced the thing from a distance. The night haunt curled around Neil, claws raking and beak snapping. ¡°No!¡± I yelled. I bounded in on my prosthetics, pulling the knife from my belt. One of those big yellow eyes was in front of me, and I drove the tip of my knife straight through it. The creature tensed, shrieking. It tried to pull back, but I leaned in and pushed harder, wrapping my hands around its head. My prosthetics slid through the mud as it thrashed and pulled at me. It howled in pain and panic, trying to throw me off as I held on for dear life. But it slowed, finally stilled, and then went completely limp. ¡°Get off him!¡± I shouted, beating at its side. I turned to the rest of the tribe. ¡°Help me!¡± Several goblins came over, and together we rolled the carcass of the flying creature off of Neil, who was curled in a ball, bloody from several deep scratches, missing an arm, but alive. I breathed a sigh of relief. I¡¯d never gotten the notification of another death. I sent goblins for mud and moss to pack the wounds and staunch the bleeding while I tied a tourniquet with cordage. Luckily, I didn¡¯t have to worry about infection. That arm would mean he¡¯d struggle to fight or hunt in the future. But Neil was a hero goblin. Even when I¡¯d cowered in fear, he¡¯d leapt in without hesitation. The rest of the tribe seemed to recognize his bravery too, because they hoisted him up and carried him in a lap around the village, cheering and hooting. I didn¡¯t join them. I was watching the sky, where I saw other winged forms circling, along with the glint of moonlight off yellow eyes. This was just the beginning. Chapter 19 - Compound Penalty Chapter 19 - Compound Penalty The cost of the night-haunt¡¯s attack was much more than just the multiple goblins it had killed in its rampage. It had also prevented the birth of at minimum 4 more, and as many as 12. In a cold sort of calculus, it might have been better to let the monster take 1 or 2 goblins if it meant the strange goblin reproduction cycle continued uninterrupted. I¡¯d hoped to have more than 50 goblins at the start of the next day. Now, we were even further from that goal than we had been yesterday. And to top it all off, a goblin who hasn¡¯t slept is a pretty useless goblin, it turns out. I was no exception. The tribe¡¯s lethargy resulted in almost no work being completed, other than processing the night-haunt and laying its meat among the smoldering coals. Neil claimed the skull, which he¡¯d taken as his new mask. But no hunting party went out, no wood was chopped, and Sally¡¯s team barely formed a handful of adobe bricks. I didn¡¯t blame them. It was like a veneer of grey film had been pulled across my eyes and leaden weights attached at ankles and wrists. My head hurt like I¡¯d gone on a three-day bender. I barely mustered the strength to pull open the door of the kiln and remove the trays of fired ceramic parts. About a dozen more notifications flooded past too fast for me to read them. It was the single largest influx of new goblin technology that I¡¯d seen, and I could barely even read half of it. The ripple of the rest of the tribe internalizing the new technology was like a slow breeze rippling across the surface of a still pond, but forcing them to think in this state seemed to cause tangible physical discomfort as many of them clutched their heads and moaned like a horde of living dead. Having only seen these goblins in a state of either frenetic energy or deep slumber, this malaise was almost hard to bear. The fact was, I was very attached to my goblins. Expendable as this world may have conditioned them to be, they were diligent, creative, energetic, and possessed of a strange sort of optimism. Every task was a new adventure, every new technology a world of possibilities. I hated the night haunts for stealing that from them. But there was no denying that the day was ultimately a wash. At least we had food in our bellies from the night haunt itself. Maybe the others that I¡¯d seen circling would be wary of approaching after the last one they sent didn¡¯t return. The evening lethargy came swiftly and suddenly as soon as the sun passed behind the moon for the daily eclipse. We barely had time to pull the shelters together before the entire tribe passed out. * * * I woke up to the morning sun peeking over the horizon. We¡¯d slept at least 75% of the previous day, but no attacks during the night. Maybe the carcass of the night haunt had been enough to deter any other would-be visitors looking to make a snack of goblins. Maybe they¡¯d tried their luck at another village. Buzz didn¡¯t even come to the morning staff meeting. He just took his crew and set them to task with renewed vigor. A few of his goblins went around to the shelters, retrofitting roofs with sharpened poles to discourage night-time visitors from above. The majority of his workers immediately started making as many bricks as they could. Buzz had expressed interest in the ones we made for the kiln, and he was smart enough to realize the scale of production we¡¯d need for actual construction with the things¡ªbut that raised a problem. The pond was our primary drinking water supply. But it was rain-supplied. It couldn¡¯t also be our primary source of water for forming earthen bricks. There was also limited space atop the bluff to lay out the drying mud. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Sally, surprisingly enough, had already come up with a solution. Apparently, she¡¯d been teaching herself to draw. She grasped the possibilities of the ceramic ball bearings immediately in multiple applications¡ªthe most practical of which was a goblin-powered freight lift. Granted, goblin engineering sketches aren¡¯t exactly easy to parse¡ªtheir linework is akin to their bushcraft in that it simply goes wherever it wants. But a log hanging over the edge of the cliff with a larger ring around it and a load slung opposite several stick-figure goblins wasn¡¯t exactly difficult to divine the purpose of. If we had heavy lift capabilities, we could form and dry the bricks down at the river where there was more space and more material, and then bring them up to the village. ¡°Nice work, Sally. Add some grease to the moving parts, and I don¡¯t see why it wouldn¡¯t work.¡± I called Buzz over. ¡°Buzz, go ahead and move the brick-making operation to the river. We¡¯ll have a way to bring them up soon." My chief engineer beamed and ran off. I¡¯ve said it before, but these creatures aren¡¯t dumb. Sally especially was starting to show a propensity for anticipating problems and implementing solutions. Neil had fit most of his hunters¡¯ spears with the new ceramic tips from the first batch in the kiln. As an experiment, he drove the end one through the stone-sloth¡¯s hide. It stuck into it, rather than simply deflecting off as the stone spearpoints had. He nodded his appreciation. ¡°Got one thing before you go,¡± I said. I had some of the goblins bring over the beak and mandible of the night haunt we¡¯d killed the night before, and they lifted it on a pole atop the largest of our wooden shelters. I got a hoist up on the edge of the roof with a sheaf of bark under my arm and whistled for attention. The goblins stopped what they were doing for a moment and gathered around, pointing up at the totem and clacking their jaws in a reasonable approximation of the night haunt¡¯s beak snapping. I held the bark over my head and raised my voice. ¡°This is a symbol of defiance and resistance! We will not surrender to creatures of the night, no matter how hideous or hungry. No one is hungrier than a goblin! Let any monster who looks upon this cower in fear!¡± The goblins cheered. Now, admittedly, I¡¯m not much of an artist. I¡¯d drawn a simple, circular frowny face with goblin ears and angry eyes. I looped it around the skull pole. Interesting. I would need to build more totems. I looked over at Neil. ¡°Jab that carcass again.¡± Neil pulled back, leapt with a war-cry, and thrust his spear again. This time, it went entirely through the outer-most layer of the carcass hide. I grunted. Even the hook hand didn¡¯t seem to slow him down. The totem really did work. Neil pulled it out and examined the tip with a critical eye. ¡°Good stuff, boss.¡± ¡°Be safe!¡± I called, as the hunters took a running leap off the side of the bluff. ¡°Or, well. Never mind.¡± As for me, I had another project. The goblins mostly gave me space as I worked on things by myself. They¡¯d come to realize that when I got to tinkering, it translated to a significant leap forward for them. Or I thought as I looked down at my prosthetics, for me. Though, I didn¡¯t know what progress or technology level any of the other goblins tribes in the region had made on their own. For all I knew, each one had a rival king that had taken their tribe to metallurgy and steam-power already and we could soon be facing goblins with firearms or dirt bikes or what have you. I had seen smoke rising from one or two bluffs in the distance, so at least a couple of them had discovered the secrets of fire-making. Were other goblin kings common? I had to think not, since Rufus had commented how we were almost a mythical creature in this world. But there was a chance I wouldn¡¯t be unique. Well, if he thought we were mythical before, wait until he saw what I was cooking up now. I took the lightest, most flexible poles in the stockpile and the sturdiest cord. I began sketching out a design, and then shaping the poles. I also collected the rest of the stone-sloth claws, and some of the bones from the night haunt, as well as its hide. The wings were a fleshy membrane that had cured quickly, and it was both light and durable. But we lost two more goblins out in the world while I worked. I didn¡¯t know if they belonged to Buzz or Neil. I don¡¯t know if the hide was worth all the goblins the night haunt had killed, but I was going to do my best to make sure it didn¡¯t go to waste. The stone-sloth claws I had marked immediately for their light weight and steep front curve leading into a shallow back curve. I stole a few of Sally¡¯s engineers to help with the droll work of securing them to the wooden frame. Then, we stretched the thin night haunt hide over both claws and frame and used ceramic needles to sew it in place. By the time the hunters returned, we had a reasonable frame and the sloth bones created the perfect rigid structure for the top of my new device. But it still needed work. The next few days would be quite interesting, indeed. Chapter 20 - Speed Freaks Chapter 20 - Speed Freaks It had taken another three days to get the tribe up to the point where the system had given me a second variant. If anything, this decision was harder than the first. Tunneling and excavation meant we¡¯d be able to mine ore and quarry stone. It would make developing engines and power generation easier. Eventually it was critical to devise a source of copper and iron and this noblin thing could be it. But before that, the tribe¡¯s security was compromised. The night haunts had returned. It seemed the larger the tribe grew, the more of the nocturnal predators took notice. We¡¯d lost out on another night of sleep and growth due to one attack, and in turn, a day of productivity. And we hadn¡¯t even managed to kill the beast, this time. Despite my earlier promise, I¡¯d had to ensure the night haunts had access to the tribe in order to continue growing it. But the act of setting up my goblins for sacrifice wore on my conscience, and wore on their confidence. The goblins would follow my orders to the letter, but they would do a much better job of things if they were confident and felt safe. Living in fear made them more timid and restless workers. As much as we needed metallurgy, I had to put the security of the tribe first. I chose the hobgoblin wranglers. Even if they weren¡¯t going to jump-start my tribe¡¯s animal husbandry (which I hoped they would), having nocturnal sentries might deter the night haunts from breaking into the shelters at night. <5 hobgoblin wranglers have been added to your tribe.> <1 hobgoblin wrangler has been promoted to taskmaster.> Show me the hobgoblin wrangler skills I watched as the window populated with the list of capabilities my new hobgoblins were born with. During the malaise brought on by the second sleepless night in a week, I¡¯d been too disoriented to complete the fine work required for my glider. I¡¯d taken the opportunity to interrogate the system and see what it could and couldn¡¯t show me. It seemed this world ran on a hyper-specific set of governing rules, much more high-conceptual in nature than the fundamental physics that ruled earth. The system could show me the stats and specialties of every goblin in my tribe, if I asked it, as well as a host of other, more niche, features. I used it to move several of the members around to better suit the talents of my individual taskmasters. The new wranglers had better vision at night, skin naturally resistant to biting and scratching, and a love for all things fast. Not only that, but the affinity for animals stood a solid chance of kick-starting our animal husbandry program. We were growing as a village, and there¡¯s only so much hunting, fishing, and foraging could do to support a population. It was simply an issue of the resources in a given area being able to provide for X goblins who consumed Y chooms of food each day, and the difficulty of traveling further from a central hub growing less efficient without effective means of transportation. We were going to need a cultivated food source almost as much as we were going to need metal and electricity. That meant either livestock or agriculture, and preferably some combination of the two. With 4 taskmasters, the tribe could be split almost completely evenly at just under 15 goblins per. The only problem was, my fourth taskmaster was sleeping in, so his goblins would spend a good deal of the morning idle or working on their own tasks. That was fine. Let them. I didn¡¯t need to be a slave driver, and the wranglers and their assigned goblins were going to be our first line of defense against the nocturnal night haunts. I wanted to make sure they had every advantage. Neil took the hunters northwest. They had the dual objective of watching for Rufus¡¯ return and making sure the javeline rutters didn¡¯t find him first. I don¡¯t know that they¡¯d have attacked him on sight, seeing as both he and they were part dwarf. But I didn¡¯t want my first friend in this world falling afoul of them. I worked on the control surfaces of the version 1 glider. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! The design wasn¡¯t all that dissimilar to a glider concept I¡¯d submitted to a NASA design contest in college, oddly enough. The controls allowed the user to subtly change the shape and angle of the wing in order to modify the glider on the fly (no pun intended) for high-speed and slow speed flight¡ªwhich I could now realize thanks to the stretchy membrane of the night haunt wing. This was the design I¡¯d had in mind when I fired up the first batch of ceramics, and the design used bearings and flanged joints that wouldn¡¯t have been possible with wood or stone. Ironically, the deaths of so many goblins during the first attack were indirectly going to give us our first shot at unpowered flight. As the sun reached its zenith, a quartet of shadows approached from my rear. ¡°Watcha¡¯ got there, boss?¡± I turned. All four of the new wranglers had woken up, finally. They all had the customary goblin trousers, but these had a patched vest, as well. They also each had a wedge of longer hair along the top of their skull, like natural mohawks. Unlike the other goblins who wore a skull half-mask over their eyes and crown, these ones opted to tie loose jawbones from the bone pit over their mouths like old-west outlaws. One of them had also apparently liberated the stone-sloth cub from its enclosure and was tickling its belly. ¡°Flying machine,¡± I said. Then thought a moment. ¡°Well, gliding machine. Flying comes later.¡± ¡°Sounds swell. Can I try it?¡± I had expected these guys to have the thick cockney accents like Buzz and Neil, but these sounded more like they were from the American Southwest. Though, I read a long time ago that the southern American accent is actually closer to what Shakespearean English should have sounded like. ¡°Slow down, Chuck Yeager,¡± I said. I cocked my head. Hmm. Good a name as any for a natural-born would-be flying speed freak. ¡°It¡¯s not quite ready yet. I¡¯m trying to finish it today.¡± ¡°Just so long as I get one.¡± I stood and dusted off my sloth-claw legs. ¡°Make you a deal, Chuck. I¡¯ll make sure you get to fly through the air, but you¡¯ve got to figure out some way to cover terrain faster on the ground and fight a four-legged foe.¡± Chuck grinned. ¡°Give me some of the lads to work with and a few hours daylight to burn. We¡¯ll do you proud.¡± ¡°Take the ten idle goblins with you,¡± I said. My newest taskmaster whistled, getting the attention of several of the goblins milling about the village. ¡°You lot, you, and you. With me. Grab your kit. We¡¯re headed south.¡± South. Out of the woods and onto the plains, then. I looked out over the bluff. ¡°You want to jump down? Or would you prefer to try the new launcher?¡± ¡°You have to ask?¡± I led Chuck and his new cronies to the southeast side of the bluff, where Sally had erected, of her own accord, a flex-a-pult to, as Buzz put it, not waste time falling straight down. We had two, so far, and she was working on a third, as well as a second freight crane. Even as I watched, two of her engineers were pulling a load of bricks onto the bluff with hooked poles while a handful of goblins balanced on the beam as a counter-weight. ¡°The big reason you¡¯re here,¡± I explained to Chuck, ¡°is the night haunts. They¡¯re eating goblins at night, and worse, disrupting sleep for the whole tribe. Whatever you need to deal with them; spears, slingers, axes, nets. It¡¯s yours. They¡¯re the biggest threat we face.¡± ¡°Leave it to the Hobbies, boss-man.¡± He winked at me. ¡°Hobgoblins own the night.¡± I liked Chuck already. And I¡¯m pretty sure when he saw the flex-a-pult, he fell in love. He stopped and stared at the contraption. We¡¯d unlocked the technology the day we¡¯d fought the first stone-sloth, but I hadn¡¯t thought much of it at the time on account of we were in the middle of a pitched battle. But my chief engineer hadn¡¯t let it go. She¡¯d made an arrangement of poles that could be weighed down by her engineers until the poles bowed, and then released to fling an impressive load. Usually, that load was goblins. Ordinarily, you¡¯d need a lot of goblins to generate the mass in order to bend such a thick pole. But Sally had also combined the flex-a-pult with the ceramic pulleys I¡¯d made in the first firing and the ceramic gears. We¡¯d managed to get it to the point where two goblins could crank the whole thing down. Sally was turning into an ace at seeing applications for simpler parts to service compound machines. Honestly, I think she¡¯d have fit right at home in the robotics lab at NuEarth¡ªthough most of those guys were closer to trolls than goblins. Chuck climbed into the basket along with five others, and I stood clear. Everyone still in the village took a break to watch the flex-a-pult launch. It was basically Apollo Tribe¡¯s national sport. The goblins lined up and hooted and hollered as Sally¡¯s operators finished cranking and transitioned to the release lever. I¡¯d tried to teach the tribe to do a joint count-down, but goblins were as numerically challenged as they were verbally. What I had been able to teach them, was the wave. From one end of the cliff to the other, my entire tribe screamed at the top of their lungs and threw their hands in the air. ¡°THREE!¡± I shouted. The wave started at one end, hit the other end, and started coming back. ¡°TWO!¡± The tribe had practically worked itself into a frenzy. Two of the goblins couldn¡¯t take the anticipation and leapt over the edge themselves. There was always at least one, where the flex-a-pult was involved. ¡°ONE!¡± The wave reached a crescendo and lost complete coherence as my tribe lost their collective minds. Sally¡¯s operators put their weight into the lever, and the mechanism released. Chuck and a half dozen other goblins went airborne, EEEEeeeeing out over the southern forest toward the plains. The rest of the goblins assigned to Chuck scrambled to reset the flex-a-pult for their turn. All in all, if I couldn¡¯t prevent goblins from simply jumping off the side of the bluff, I could at least help them along their way. Thanks to the height of the bluff, the flex-a-pult sent goblins at least 500 meters horizontally, depending on the position of the moon. That was one of the other things about Rava that I¡¯d noticed. Gravity was definitely not accelerating all objects at 9.8 meters per second per second, and it changed slightly throughout the day as Raphina made its slow circuit in the sky. Plus, the little daredevils just loved being launched. They wanted to be airborn. I could relate. Who was I to deny them the simple pleasures in life? Yikes. Well, maybe there was such thing as too much pleasure. Chapter 21 - Rufus Returns Chapter 21 - Rufus Returns ¡°Ahoy, Apollo! You¡¯d not believe the journey I¡¯ve had, o¡¯ king!¡± That was a voice I hadn¡¯t heard in almost 10 days. While I wasn¡¯t terminally lonely anymore, thanks to the company of some goblins with a capacity for speech that had joined my tribe in the interim, Rufus also brought critical knowledge of the outside world. I put down the finished glider and went to the north slope, where Rufus was ascending in one of the freight baskets. The operators for the lift hooked the rope and pulled it over to the bluff where I helped Rufus from the basket. He looked down at my new legs. ¡°His highness is a good deal more mobile than last we spoke. I see the stone-hide sloth lives on with you. But I hope this was not meant to be your idea for trade for salt and tools.¡± ¡°Just the appetizer,¡± I said. ¡°Come on, let me show you around the new and improved Tribe Apollo Village.¡± He marveled at the crane for a moment before we walked through the woods to the rest of the village, where he froze. ¡°I say, you¡¯ve certainly been busy these last 10 days.¡± The sticky shelters had been replaced by mostly adobe huts made from dried bricks¡ªthough we still had night haunts coming in through the thatch and clay tile roofs. Several miniature versions of the lifts were also present, with Buzz¡¯ goblins scrambling back and forth along the top arm to act as counterweights to lift the building materials. We even had impact hammers now, lifting logs on pullies with several goblins hauling and letting them drop to hammer terrain flat and drive poles into the ground. It was actually a fascinating thing to watch a glorified goblin see-saw and maypole used to perform heavy construction. I had joked about it, but goblins really did make fantastic counterweights thanks to their climbing abilities, their keen sense of balance, and their immunity to falling damage when both of those qualities inevitably and spectacularly failed. We had started to develop multi-level structures with wood floors creating discrete levels for sleeping mounds. Which was good, because space atop the bluff wasn¡¯t infinite and I wasn¡¯t ready to risk housing goblins down at the base of the bluff. That would be just as bad as offering them up to the night haunts. Beyond that, we¡¯d been drying more pottery to store things like raw clay, oils, grease, and even grubs for the fishermen. Cordage of various thickness and material sat in coils under a rain shelter, and next to that an assortment of other raw materials. Goblins took what they needed, and other goblins replaced the stockpiles. It was becoming a neat little operation, though not without systematic deficiencies that needed to be addressed. ¡°Yeah, we¡¯ve been getting after it,¡± I said. ¡°Quite the feat,¡± said Rufus. He caught sight of one of the flex-a-pults and went to examine it. He must have surmised its purpose fairly quickly, because he immediately retreated to a safe distance. ¡°You know, humans use a device like that to throw rocks, not themselves. I think you¡¯ll need more than that to reach the moon, my friend.¡± ¡°That?¡± I said, waving him off. ¡°That¡¯s just a time-saver. Besides, I have no humans I need to throw rocks at. Come on, take a load off and let¡¯s catch up. How was the coast?¡± Rufus allowed me to take him to what had become something of the village square, where most of the goblins gathered for dinner at night around the primary firepit. The trader eyed the kiln curiously as we passed it, still smoldering from its second firing. Not all the parts we¡¯d tried to make the first time had survived the process, after all. And not all of the ones that had, had worked. Ceramics were an exercise in persistence and the law of averages. At the square, I¡¯d had a squat bench made with Rufus¡¯ rough proportions in mind, and he dropped onto it with a sigh and a creak of distressed wood. ¡°Your tribe found me a league north of here and were quite insistent that we divert west. Why is that?¡± I poked at the coals for a moment wondering if I was losing hunters, speed freaks, or both. Hell, even being in the village wasn¡¯t particularly safe. Several goblins had been squashed in construction over the past few days, while Sally¡¯s engineers often fell victim to catastrophic failures. Sometimes it seemed like a race between the two factions on who could accumulate more peg legs and hook hands. But prosthetics didn¡¯t seem to hamper their productivity, nor their spirit. I don¡¯t think ¡®rehabilitation¡¯ was a word anywhere in the Goblin Tech Tree. ¡°We¡¯ve been tracking a band of javelines that don¡¯t seem friendly. I didn¡¯t want you to run into them by misfortune.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Rufus sat pensive for a moment and poked at the old coals from the fire. ¡°Misfortune would be the correct word, when it comes to their ilk. I wish you well. I take it they are the reason for the fortifications?¡± ¡°Not exactly,¡± I said, glancing at the night haunt totem. ¡°In fact, we¡¯ve had no direct contact. But I did see that they have metal tools, so I had considered trying to offer a trade.¡± ¡°I would advise against such an act. And not simply because I stand to profit greatly from my exclusive friendship and monopolistic trade policy with your majesty, mind.¡± ¡°Of course not. But speaking of profit. Did you bring things to trade?¡± ¡°But of course,¡± said Rufus, swinging his large pack down and opening the top of the ruck. He pulled out a bottle and passed it over. ¡°That¡¯s not to trade, o¡¯ king, but to lubricate the negotiations.¡± The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. I unstoppered the bottle and pressed it to my lips, taking a swallow. I pulled it away, coughing. ¡°Stout.¡± Rufus grinned his badger grin and took a sip of his own before stopping the bottle and wiping his muzzle on the back of his arm. ¡°Blackberry wine. Cheap and strong, and easily able to survive sea voyages thanks to its foul taste and tendency to remain at the bottom of cabin chests. Now, let¡¯s see what I have for you¡­¡± He reached back into his bag and pulled out a small, bound book. ¡°I thought I might pack heavy, this trip, with the weight of knowledge. There are few things a learned creature covets more than more learning.¡± He handed it over, and I opened it at random, not even sure I¡¯d be able to read the words. But they appeared clear as day, and I flipped back to the introduction and read it out loud. ¡°A treatise on the practice of harvesting and processing iron nodules in peat bogs in northern Baleron.¡± I looked up. ¡°Where¡¯s Baleron?¡± ¡°About 1500 miles east as the crow flies, across the sea and up in the foothills.¡± said Rufus. ¡°That¡¯s why I got such a good deal on it in Hobbesport.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t know you could find iron in bogs,¡± I said. ¡°I thought you mined it.¡± ¡°Ah-ha! We find another fact the goblin king did not already know! We¡¯re off to a much better start today.¡± Rufus slapped his thigh and laughed. ¡°It can be mined as well. Harvesting it from bogs is a somewhat antiquated method, but quite effective. Would you like to see the others?¡± ¡°You brought more books?¡± I asked, trying to hide my excitement. ¡°These are quite heavy, you know. I hope you have something good to trade.¡± I barked a laugh. ¡°There¡¯s always these,¡± I said, unlacing the prosthetic and handing it over for Rufus¡¯ inspection. He turned them about. ¡°Or at least the designs for them. These ones are fitted to me. They¡¯re stronger and more flexible than wood. You can run, jump, and climb in them. I assume this world has soldiers, or those who were victims of illness or accidents that lost limbs.¡± ¡°Quite a trade for a simple book. And what would you want in return for such an imbalance?¡± asked Rufus. ¡°A tool? A sack of pepper?¡± ¡°Just knowledge, and the promise that you¡¯ll share this with those who need it. I¡¯m not ready for the world to know who I am, but I won¡¯t sit on the knowledge of advanced prosthetics, either.¡± I ran a hand through my hair. ¡°Pepper, you say?¡± Rufus reached into his bag and withdrew a journal. ¡°Kindness, then, is what you ask.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll take pepper, too.¡± ¡°Will you draw and describe them in here in exchange for a local bestiary? And, yes, perhaps a bit of pepper.¡± I accepted the journal, as well as my leg back and sketched a few diagrams of the simple mechanics of the prosthetic. I tried not to let it show on my face how valuable a bestiary would actually be. It might hold secrets to defeating the night haunts, or a creature that would be useful livestock. It might even tell me more about the javeline rutters. I¡¯m pretty sure Rufus saw through me instantly. He did have skills for that, after all. Which I needed to ask him about, later. I pulled the bladed prosthetic back on and reached into my own bag that I kept tied at my hip. ¡°I have something else for you,¡± I said. I pulled out a small palm full of the ceramic balls we¡¯d fired and handed them over. Rufus held it close to his eye and rolled it between his fingers. ¡°This is quite round. I may not know artifice, but I know perfectly smooth spheres are of some rarity and value. Is it clay?¡± ¡°Not quite. Try to break it.¡± Rufus squeezed the bearing between his fingers, then pressed it between his palms. Finally, he got to his feet, put the bearing on the log bench, and ground at it with his boot heel. He picked it back up and furrowed his brow. ¡°Not a scratch!?¡± ¡°We can make them by the dozens, all as strong, smooth, and as round as that.¡± I whistled to get my tribes¡¯ attention. ¡°Hey Sally! Bring over one of those finished bearings,¡± I said. I waited for her to bring over the small device, before casting a shy glance at Rufus and making herself scarce. I held the ball bearing out for Rufus to see. As he watched, I spun the outer part of the bearing, which rode smoothly on the ceramic balls inside. ¡°And from what you¡¯ve told me, I don¡¯t think there¡¯s many people in this land creating these.¡± Rufus took the bearing, twisting the outer layer back and forth. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m not a¡­ what would you call someone who uses these?¡± ¡°A machinist,¡± I said. ¡°Sally uses them to operate the lift that brought you up to the village.¡± ¡°That, a machinist,¡± said Rufus. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you what the true value of this is. But I know artificers who might be similar to your machinists. There are those in a city to the south, beyond the plains, who create brass marvels and brook with strange contraptions such as these. If anyone will recognize the use for such a trinket, it is they.¡± I was sure they would. Ball bearings were only the fundamental development that enabled complex moving parts for the entirety of the modern world¡ªarguably one of the most important inventions in history. Along with gunpowder, internal combustion, and electric power generation. ¡°Keep that one, then. You don¡¯t have to trade me anything for it, just find me a customer who will trade for more.¡± Rufus tucked it into a pocket on his coat. ¡°And what would you want in exchange for more, should I come with an order?¡± he asked. I thought about it. ¡°Copper wire,¡± I said. ¡°Not silver or gold?¡± ¡°Just copper. And magnets, if you can find them. I imagine these artificers might have some.¡± ¡°Magnets?¡± I put my palms together. ¡°Special stones that push or pull on each other from a distance.¡± ¡°Ah, lodestones.¡± I unrolled a set of precision ceramic instruments next and laid them out for Rufus to examine. ¡°Doctors and artificers might both find use in these.¡± The half-badger picked up one of the small knives and tested the edge. He hissed when his finger came away with a spot of blood and stuck the digit in his mouth. ¡°Ah, yes, should have warned you,¡± I said. ¡°That scalpel is sharp.¡± ¡°Sharp, he says. It sliced through fur and skin as though they weren¡¯t even there! Is this the same material as the spinning ring?¡± I nodded. ¡°It¡¯s a hard material, difficult to scratch. But it can be brittle, especially large pieces. They used it for armor where I came from. A plate of this will stop a crossbow bolt.¡± ¡°Indeed!¡± said Rufus. ¡°That I could certainly find customers for.¡± He pulled out a small pack that turned out to contain the jewelers tools I mentioned I wanted. I¡¯d completely forgotten that I asked for them, and I felt a bit guilty when I saw them. ¡°Ah, I, uh, yeah¡­¡± I said, running a hand through my blue fur at the top of my head. ¡°Yeah, I suppose I don¡¯t really need those, now.¡± ¡°And after I hauled them all this way,¡± Rufus chided, winking. ¡°Though, others will certainly want your version. I know several chirurgeons and a dentist in Bale¡¯s Landing who came to Lanclova in search of exotic medicinals. They surely have contacts on the mainland who could move these. Make more, and I will sell them for you.¡± I smiled. Despite his animalistic appearance, Rufus was an easy-going fellow with an easy-to-like attitude. I hadn¡¯t realized how much I missed him after our first meeting. ¡°I¡¯m glad you came back,¡± I said, surprising even myself. ¡°A unique oddity such as yourself certainly brooks a second visit, I should say,¡± said Rufus. ¡°Begging your pardon at referring to you as odd. That aside, we had a wager. And despite the curiosities you¡¯ve shown me, I feel as though I¡¯m going to win it.¡± I grinned up. ¡°That¡¯s because I saved the best for last. This one isn¡¯t up for trade. Follow me.¡± Chapter 22 - Maiden Flight Chapter 22 - Maiden Flight ¡°Are you tanning a skyena hide?¡± asked Rufus, which he saw the prototype glider sitting on the launch rails. ¡°We¡¯ve been calling them night haunts,¡± I said. ¡°And no. This is something I guarantee you¡¯ve never seen before, no matter how far you¡¯ve traveled.¡± I checked the frame, the membrane, the connections, and the security of the wicker cradle before settling down into it on my belly. I worked the left wing and the right, making sure the surfaces had free movement and no binding. Thanks to the ceramic bearings from the second kiln firing and some fish oil, everything slid with minimal friction. ¡°Attention!¡± I shouted out. ¡°Operation: GERONIMO!¡± A wave of excitement coursed through the village. Almost everyone dropped what they were doing and came over. Several goblins fought over the ropes that had been laid out next to the simple wooden rails, but realized the lines were long enough to share. That was fine. The more goblins on the ropes, the better this would work. Hopefully. Rufus watched, perplexed but polite, as I ran through my final checks and looped the line around the hook on the nose of my improvised aircraft. If there was one thing they drilled into us during my private pilot training, it was to always check your aircraft before a flight. I¡¯d never gotten the technology unlock for the glider, so I had to assume the System was also watching in suspense to see if it worked. Which reminded me. ¡°Hey Rufus. You¡¯re able to converse with the System too, right? The thing that tells you your skills and abilities?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± he said. ¡°Everyone can hear the voice of the Empowering Spirit.¡± ¡°Interesting.¡± ¡°Do you not have one where you¡¯re from?¡± I shook my head. Rufus crossed his arms and nodded. ¡°Hmm¡­ I believe you. My grandfather told me, as a boy, that his grandfather remembered a time before it began to speak and show visions. Before that, skills were something you built, not something that granted you power when given. The voice began as a pale whisper that has grown louder over the years. For as long as I¡¯ve been alive, the spirit has spoken to everyone and its will shapes the very fabric of the world according to its own patterns. But it also empowers monsters and various evils. To what end, only the Gods know.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t consider the System itself to be a god?¡± ¡°It insists that it is not and punishes those who persist in worshiping it. What god would insist upon its own disbelief contrary to clear evidence of its presence? The Empowering Spirit simply is.¡± ¡°I suppose I see your point,¡± I said. So, it hadn¡¯t been here forever and seemed to be gaining more influence over time, imposing rules and these strange skills that conflicted with the natural order I was used to on Earth. That was an interesting development. I had to wonder what Earth would have been like if there was an all-powerful, semi-sentient program that both empowered and was accessible to its users. If Simulation Theory was correct, and it seemed at least plausible, given my ¡®reincarnation¡¯, then somehow this simulation could be breaking down and showing the man behind the curtain, as it were. The locals interpreted it as a spirit speaking to them. But they¡¯d never seen a computer program. Or The Matrix, for that matter. Right. I suppose I¡¯d better get back to it. I secured myself in the glider and looked up at Rufus. ¡°I hate to leave you like this, my friend. But if all goes well, I should be back before dinner.¡± The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. As long as enough hunters are still alive to bring dinner back. The attrition today seemed higher than average. Most of my goblins were at the end of their patience anyway. The ones on the ropes had been edging closer to the cliff face the whole time, and I was a little surprised that none of them had just flung themselves over early. Goblins must have evolved from lemmings, because there were few things they enjoyed more than a good cliff and a sudden drop. ¡°Hold on, Apollo,¡± said Rufus, stiffening. ¡°This is a jest, yes? You can¡¯t possibly mean to¡ª¡± The goblins, no longer content to wait, instead began to weight. They took a swan dive off the edge of the cliff with the rope. Oops. The others, not to be outdone, followed suit, and suddenly the force of a dozen of my tribe mates falling pulled against the hook at the nose of my glider. With a jerk, the whole contraption slid forward on the greased rails, building speed alarmingly fast. My stomach jumped up into my throat as I hit the ramp, pulled by the tow line. The hook slipped, and before I even had time to register what had happened, I was soaring through the afternoon sky. I¡¯d always loved flying. I¡¯d built a kit ultralight together with my roommate in college and been part of the soaring club at the local airfield since my 16th birthday. I can¡¯t describe to you how it felt being back in the air, wind blowing across my face as the airfoil rippled overhead. The sky was in my blood, and my tribe had just given it back to me. Oh ye of little faith, I thought to the System. As though chagrinned, a list of notifications began to scroll across my window. Technically, I feel like most of the unlocked individual concepts and components that had gone into the glider should have unlocked as I was building the thing. The principles were sound from the get-go. Rava¡¯s governing System just wouldn¡¯t admit that it didn¡¯t think I¡¯d actually be able to fly. It did, conveniently, bring up a small window that displayed my current airspeed and altitude in chooms. Ok, I take back some of the mean things I thought about it. Today, anyway. I did a quick control check to make sure all my surfaces were articulating correctly. My left wing flex was a bit soft, but nothing I couldn¡¯t compensate for by shifting my weight in the cradle. I leaned into a shallow bank and verified my target to the east-northeast. Today was about more than just flying for fun. Those other bluffs I¡¯d seen in the distance were nearly insurmountable journeys for someone of a goblin¡¯s stature on the ground. But as the crow flies? Well, that was another matter. I just had to make sure I was back before the night haunts (skyenas?) started coming out. The goblin counterweight launch system had given me a huge boost in speed, but now I needed one in altitude. Gliders can fly for hours by catching thermals and updrafts, and I made sure to prepare one ahead of time. Sally had fired up the kiln with the third batch of ceramics, but that waste heat all rose. I was able to angle into it, and I felt myself grow heavier in the cradle as the hot air caught the underside of the glider¡¯s wings and my altitude figure started to climb. Once I leveled off again, the bluff looked more like a small rock hundreds of feet below me. I couldn¡¯t even see individual goblins anymore. Even with the reduced gravity of Rava, that kiln had lifted me far more effectively than it should have been able. The Goblin Tech Tree must have been greasing the wheels of physics in my favor. Well, any advantage I could get, these guys needed. With my course set and my altitude stable, I relaxed for a bit. For the first time since I¡¯d come to Rava, I was completely alone. Rufus had said the human name of the world meant skyclad. Well now I truly was clad in that sky. I was one with the winds, and riding on the gentle currents swirling across the horizon. I had brought this with me. I had brought flight to Rava. And it was one of the critical steppingstones to reaching Raphina. On Earth, it only took 70 years between the first powered flight and the first moon landing. And NASA never even had the loyalty of a goblin tribe or the absurdity that was the enigmatic internal logic of the Goblin Tech Tree. I didn¡¯t plan on taking 70 years. I didn¡¯t even plan on taking 7 if I could keep iterating through the ages and skipping the biggest technological pitfalls and dead ends. The benefit of modern knowledge could be a huge force multiplier when applied to primitive tools and materials. But for the moment, I put all that aside and simply reveled in being wrapped in the sky. Chapter 23 - Remnants Chapter 23 - Remnants It took about an hour of flight and one additional thermal to the east (off some natural hot springs, I think from the smell of sulfur wafting on the draft) for me to make it to my destination. One of the bluffs I¡¯d seen smoke rising from came up in the distance, and as I drew closer I could definitely see signs of habitation from the air. I soared wide, banking back and trading altitude for speed. I swooped down toward the thin trickle of smoke rising from the bluff and went low. I swept down over the treetops, head angled down to look for signs of fellow goblins. It only took me about a minute to fly over the village. It was completely destroyed. What little mud hovels they had once had were crushed and trampled, and I saw raw materials scattered in a hurry. The source of the smoldering was a pile of spread ashes and a scorched frame that I think had once been a wooden structure¡ªpossibly once the pride of their village. Now it was barely a grave marker. I curled my lip in distaste, feeling a shock of grief. While I¡¯d grown somewhat inured to the loss of any single goblin, the destruction of the collective of another tribe sickened me. It dropped a pit into my stomach that churned. What had done this? Night haunts don¡¯t start fires. Reluctantly, I banked and headed south. There was another bluff I wanted to check. It was slightly closer to our own. I hadn¡¯t seen smoke, but if there were goblins there was a chance they hadn¡¯t discovered carousels yet. What? I banked so that I could look down at the ground. Through an opening in the trees, I could see four small goblins, whose fur was slightly greener than that of my own tribe. They were jumping and pointing at my flying machine, but they locked up and went rigid. I realized it was the trance of technology¡ªeverything I¡¯d unlocked was flooding into the survivors of whatever cataclysm befell their village. I leveled out and made a buttonhook turn, hoping to find them again. But the four had moved back into the trees. So, they weren¡¯t all dead. That was good news. Great news, even. Plus, apparently finding different goblin variants would unlock them for my own tribe, much the same way unlocking technology did. That added an additional imperative to discovering additional tribes. Scrappers were probably useful, too. I wondered if they specialized in breaking down tech into component parts and cobbling it back together. I grinned and leaned into a turn to catch the hot-spring thermal again and then headed south. The moon had passed overhead, and its pull had a noticeable effect on the performance of the glider. I was holding altitude longer, but once the eclipse passed over the clear areas, I would lose the benefit of those thermals. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. The whole time I was flying, I felt the distinct impression of attention on me. At first, it made me paranoid. There are, after all, myriad predators interested in goblins. Some of them fly. And I couldn¡¯t think they¡¯d look kindly on me making a flying contraption with their buddy¡¯s desiccated hide. But the presence wasn¡¯t hostile. It took me a little while to figure out that the extraneous presence I felt was the system itself devoting extra attention to my efforts. ¡°System, are you watching me?¡± I teased. That was honestly more than I expected to get from the recalcitrant entity. I had always imagined it as a chubby CS engineer typing out snarky replies to me from the other side of a keyboard. This was the first time I felt it as a tangible presence in the world. ¡°Flying?¡± I thought for a moment. ¡°Like distilled freedom. Like all the worries of the world just become so small as to not matter. Up here, it¡¯s just you and the air currents.¡± I squeezed the handles of the control system. ¡°I always preferred gliding over powered flight. The wings are like a part of you. It¡¯s amazing. It¡¯s always been amazing. And it will always be.¡± The System didn¡¯t answer me. I did feel the presence lift somewhat, though not disappear entirely. I suppose it had other tasks and couldn¡¯t afford to spend all its processing power on one little goblin glider, no matter how novel to this world. If this was some sort of alien simulation, maybe the bug-eyed gray alien administrating the whole thing dreamed of piloting a UFO one day before he settled for a life of computer nerd-ism. I could relate. For a long time I never thought I¡¯d get my chance to go into space. Fate had conspired to give me that opportunity, then take that opportunity away from me¡ªfirst in the accident, and later in the explosion. Some other force had intervened to give it back. It took about an hour to reach the other plateau to the south, near the border of an arid, desert area. I¡¯d ear-marked it for survey, betting that the sun-baked desert would give me enough thermal lift to easily make it back. I was delighted to find that an active goblin village thrived on the bluff, and there was a frenzy of activity. I dipped down for a lower pass over their plateau. The frenzy of activity turned out to be a war of sorts between the tribe and a large type of pale, frilled lizard. The goblins were holding their own, but they were doing so with sticks and thrown stones. Once the shadow of the eclipse passed, the lizards retreated, scaling down the shaded face of the cliff on the side that blocked the sun. I banked and followed the lizards from the air. They were quick little devils. They were only level 1 or 2, but there were a lot of them and they moved as a pack back to a dry, dusty area on the plains with lots of cracks and crevices. I lost them there, as they slithered into tight burrows and disappeared. I made a note of the area and rode the thermal coming off the baked ground of the plains until I¡¯d regained enough altitude to return for a low pass over the village in peril. They spotted me instantly, and pointed and shouted. Two of them threw rocks that fell hopelessly short. That was the biggest single jump I¡¯d seen yet. So, the warring tribe had only 12 members, currently. They lost at least two warring with the lizards that I saw carried off the cliff. Without enough goblins to replenish losses, they would lose the war of attrition. Especially if the lizards came at night as well as during the eclipse. As much as I wanted to stay and see how the next battle played out, I was losing light, and with it, the thermals. I still had to make it back to Village Apollo. If nothing else, the 12 remaining goblins on this bluff now had fire, spears, and other technology to give them a slight edge. Who knows, if the lizard skin was photosensitive, the fire alone might be enough to deter them. I angled back toward the hot springs I¡¯d passed over earlier. Even with the sun dropping, they should give me the boost I needed to make it back to Village Apollo. But my mind kept wandering to what I¡¯d just seen. I was so lost in thought about how I could help the goblins on the bluff that I didn¡¯t see the shadow pass over me. Chapter 24 - A Missed Engagement Chapter 24 - A Missed Engagement I don¡¯t know if night haunts had a skill that let them paralyze prey with their screech, or if that was just a part of my goblin physiology. But when I heard the noise directly behind me, I locked up. I¡¯d never seen the night haunts around the village before full dark, but apparently, they began patrolling the skies near dusk. Or maybe this one saw me from its roost and flew into a rage. Either way, it tore a gouge in my left wing on its first pass. The glider bucked and dipped to the left, having lost a good portion of its lift on that side. I cursed, and tried to level out, looking around for the night haunt. I spotted him gaining altitude off to the north, preparing for another strike. I dumped altitude, trying to build up speed so I could get low and fast over the tree tops. The glider was completely defenseless against the aerial predator. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it tuck in its wings for a stoop and come at me again. I yanked back on the controls, exposing the underside of the wings to the buffeting wind and slowing drastically. The night haunt overshot and ended up in the trees. I leaned my weight forward and banked to the right¡ªbut my turn was sluggish. And I now had a huge problem: My glider no longer had the energy to make it back to Village Apollo. I saw a clearer stretch of woods off to my right and leaned into a turn. It was sluggish, with my left wing struggling to maintain lift, and I lost a lot of altitude adjusting my heading. The tops of the trees started to slide past, and I flared off high to avoid impaling myself on the tallest branches. Unfortunately, the wind in my wings tore the left membrane further, and I started to spin left. I shouted and braced for impact, but the tail caught on a branch, and I was ejected from the glider with a snap of the cords tying me down. I shot straight ahead, bounced off my head, and dug a head-width trench in the dirt when I landed again. Right. Fall damage immunity. A crash like that back home would have been immediately fatal. I gave silent thanks for my new goblin body and pushed myself over onto my back and propped myself up on my elbows. Looking down, I immediately took it back. One of my prosthetics had come off. A single running blade doesn¡¯t do much good on its own. I thumped the back of my head into the dirt and groaned. I was going to have to make a sticky-stilt and hobble all the way back to Village Apollo. It was at least five or six kilometers away when I¡¯d been struck by the night haunt. That¡¯s a long trip through untamed lands as a healthy, adult human. As a goblin? Well, for all our wanderings, we¡¯d never gone more than about three or four kilometers from the bluff. The woods were just too dangerous. If anything, I was closer to the first bluff I¡¯d visited with the completely sacked village. That wasn¡¯t a comforting thought. Village #3 was at war with lizards. I still didn¡¯t know what had destroyed Village #2. I had my guesses, but this land was full of so many threats to a tiny goblin tribe that it¡¯s a miracle they survived at all. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. A crash on the other side of the brush drew my attention, and I saw a pair of bright yellow eyes in the dimming light. The night haunt pushed its way into the clearing, and I scraped at the ground, trying to pull myself away. I might not be able to die while members of my tribe were there, but I could still feel pain. I didn¡¯t much think the feeling of being torn at with the long, sharp beak and claws would feel great. And there was nothing saying I couldn¡¯t lose more limbs. ¡°Look,¡± I said, scrabbling. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to make your friend into a glider. It just sort of worked out that he was there and I had the tools and needed an airfoil. No hard feelings, right?" The night haunt crawled forward on the claws at the ends of its wings. Its head was low to the ground, and it growled. Its tail was poofed up like a startled cat, and it approached me in a serpentine, pacing back and forth as it drew closer. ¡°Nice monster¡­ niiiice monster,¡± I could see the muscles in its haunches bunch up. It snarled, dug its claws into the turf, and then flinched as a spear embedded itself into the ground between its front paws. It yowled, hissed, and began to back away into the foliage. My blood went cold. Goblins didn¡¯t scare night haunts. Which meant it hadn¡¯t been a goblin that threw that spear. That thick, heavy spear with a metal cross-bar. I rolled my head back, fixing my eyes on the broad, bearded forms of the javeline rutters that had come out of the woods. Three of them came into the clearing, and the System helpfully put their levels at 7, 8, and 11. One looked down curiously and nudged my prosthetic with his spear. Another went to retrieve his own spear. The last started poking around the remains of the Mk. 1 glider. ¡°Hey,¡± I said. The one with the spear pointed at me stumbled back, drawing the attention of the other two. ¡°It talk!¡± he said. His voice was a low rumble. ¡°So what?¡± said the one at the wreckage. He picked up my other prosthetic, looked at it for a moment, and then discarded it. ¡°It vermin. Kill. Take tongue.¡± ¡°Wait! I¡¯m not¡ªhyurk!¡± The pigman standing over me thrust his spear down into my chest. It was like lightning zapped through my heart. Every bit as painful as the accident, and then some. I could feel the blade going into my lung. The rutter pulled the spear out. I gasped, rolling onto my side. I pressed a hand to my chest, and it came away bloody, even though the wound had transferred to another member of Tribe Apollo. That didn¡¯t lessen the pain, though. Tremors shook through me, and I had trouble drawing a breath. The one at the wreckage stomped back. ¡°I say kill, Mitri! I have highest level. You listen me.¡± ¡°I did kill, Rotte! Look!¡± The one called Mitri held his spear up, where wet blood glistened in the moonlight. The others looked at it. Rotte, the one that seemed to be the leader, rolled me onto my back with his hoof, looking down at my chest. He grunted, angling his spear down. ¡°No, please!¡± He brought the spear down and I screamed as it bit into me again. The pain was a searing, white-hot rod. I¡¯d already died once, and now I wanted to do it again. Would they just sit here and keep stabbing me until they killed every member of my tribe and then me? I couldn¡¯t bear it. Buzz, Neil, Sally, Chuck. I couldn¡¯t lose them like I¡¯d lost Dave and Sandra. I couldn¡¯t take any more loss, and I couldn¡¯t take any more pain. There¡¯d been too much already. ¡°System!¡± I gasped. ¡°I renounce my job! Make me not a king anymore!¡± The spear fell again. Chapter 25 - Javeline Hot Potato Chapter 25 - Javeline Hot Potato ¡°We take it,¡± Rotte growled. ¡°Kill later.¡± Mitri reached down and scooped me up, throwing me over his shoulder. I winced. The pain of the Javeline spears was still fresh. But the bastards trussed me up like, well, like a prize pig, and cantered back into the woods. We didn¡¯t go far. They must have seen the glider from the ground, just as the night haunt had, and come to investigate. I started to smell sulfur and feel humidity dampen my fur, and realized we were heading toward the hot springs that I¡¯d flown over. We broke into a small clearing with several steaming pools and a campsite nearby. Their camp was small and disorganized, with three small hide tents and some supplies. They¡¯d left a fourth, smaller rutter to guard it and cook dinner, by the looks of things. It had a metal cook pot hanging on a hollow iron pole. The tender looked at me curiously. Mitri tossed me down onto the ground, knocking the wind out of me. ¡°Tie up.¡± The smaller boar-man went to the packs and retrieved a length of chain¡ªreal metal chain. Not the rough cordage we were working with. God, the things I could do with a metal chain. They looped my wrists with the chain and then strung the whole thing around a branch, hoisting it to where I could barely sit. ¡°My tribe will come for me,¡± I said. Mitri looked up at the last of the fading light and made a rude noise. ¡°Is night. No goblin come.¡± He was right. Goblins are chaos personified until about an hour after eating. When they crash, they crash hard. The javelines disregarded me for the time being, busying themselves instead with scooping whatever stew they¡¯d brewed out of the cook pot into wooden bowls, which they slurped from, slopping half of it down their bristly flavor-savers. That finished, Rotte trotted past me into the woods, and a few minutes later, a stench wafted out that made even my raw-meat-eating goblin throat clench up and gag. Rotte came back into the camp, trailing the stink along with him. He huffed a laugh. ¡°Was bad one,¡± he said, and then went to the cook pot for seconds. Disgusting creature. Once the hunting trio had eaten their fill, they sat back on their haunches and began to joke and laugh while the camp tender ate what little burnt scraps clung to the bottom of their pot. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. After a few hours, the third javeline, the one that had scared off the night haunt got bored or restless and wandered over to me. He prodded my sloth-claw blade with his hoof. ¡°Is truth you talk?¡± I debated staying silent. But I had a feeling it would just lead to me getting the business end of a spear, again. ¡°Yeah,¡± I said. ¡°I talk.¡± I looked up. ¡°My name is Apollo. What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°Muthus,¡± said the javeline rutter. ¡°Why are you keeping me prisoner?¡± The javeline shrugged. ¡°Is strange, goblin that talk. Don¡¯t die. Maybe is worth sell.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have to be enemies,¡± I said. ¡°If you take me back to my tribe, we could trade. You have metal. I¡¯m sure we have things you could use.¡± Muthus shook his head. ¡°We trade goblin for metal. For spear. For pathfinding needle.¡± he stuck out his tongue and pulled his ears. At first, I thought he was just being rude. Then I remembered what Rotte had said at the crash site. Kill. Take tongue. I shivered. ¡°Why would anyone want goblin ears and tongues?¡± I asked. Muthus rubbed his belly. ¡°Tongue is good to human for cure poison.¡± He flattened his hands and raised them up. ¡°Ears to elves for make potent.¡± ¡°Make¡­ make potent?¡± I asked. Then I realized. ¡°Oh¡­ oh¡­ Oh, no.¡± Muthus squatted down on his haunches. ¡°But goblin that talk like man? Goblin don¡¯t die? Worth ears of twenty goblin. Maybe ten and twenty.¡± ¡°Is this what you do?¡± I asked. ¡°Hunt goblins for a living?¡± Muthus shrugged, getting back to his feet. ¡°Hunt what need hunt. Goblin good. Goblin vermin. No one miss.¡± No one miss. Again, I was reminded just how alone goblins were in this world. How dismissed and discarded they were. Elves were huffing our powdered ears before sexy-times to raise their pavilions. Javelleros rounded us up for sport and profit. Lanclova was a harsh land, untamed and coveted by jealous eyes. If I was to have any hope of achieving my goal, or even living long enough to have a chance at it, I had to secure Tribe Apollo¡¯s place in the shadowed lands. The javelines retired to their crude tents. I pulled at the chain, but the branch held firm and the chain just rattled loudly in the night. ¡°QUIET!¡± Rotte shouted from his tent. I settled back, thinking. The tribe would be fine. For now. In the morning they might come look for me. Javelines were strong, and if I interpreted the situation correctly, they could gain levels through this world¡¯s System¡ªunlike goblins, who were perpetually destined to be the weakest creatures. We were the joke, the speed bump for adventurers on their way to the real challenge. Well, there were 70 of us, and only 4 javelines. We may not have levels, but we¡¯re legion. The only problem was, how do I get them to come find me? Where would they even start looking? If the javelines broke camp and moved out early enough in the morning, they¡¯d simply out-pace any goblins on foot, even with the benefit of flex-a-pult assisted launches and wranglers. No. I had to do something. Chapter 26 - Gorn in Sixty Seconds Chapter 26 - Gorn in Sixty Seconds I tried everything I could think of to get loose, even gnawing on the chain. Goblin teeth were tough, but not chomp-through-iron tough. Even with the imperative of escape looming over me, there was nothing I¡¯d be able to do if I couldn¡¯t get free. The sun dropped well and truly behind the horizon, opening Raphina¡¯s eye over the camp. I heard rustling in the brush and froze. The nocturnal predators of Lanclova were many, and I wasn¡¯t safe at the top of a fenced bluff. The rustling grew louder. Could it be one of those photo-sensitive lizards had followed me? Maybe the night haunt the rutters had frightened off had come back for his stolen snack. I clenched up. A goblin tumbled out of the brush, he came to a sitting position, slightly dazed, stared at me, and then pointed and opened his mouth to shout. A pair of thick hands reached out of the brush behind him and clapped over his mouth. The hands were thick and knobby, with large, furry knuckles. The hobgoblin they belonged to was also thick and knobby. Whereas Chuck and his Wranglers were lean and wiry, this one was built for power. His fur was darker, too. Closer to navy blue than the electric blue of the rest of the tribe. He had a hide cowl wrapped around his face, and a pair of flint cleavers tucked into a corded belt. He was level 5, which was higher level than the wranglers. ¡°Quiet!¡± he hissed. ¡°You tryin¡¯ to rouse the porkbellies?¡± The smaller goblin got the message and when the hobgoblin removed his hands, the smaller one clamped his own in their place. With a glance at the hide tents, the hobgoblin dropped to the ground and low-crawled to my tree. Past him, I could see the moonlight glinting off two other sets of eyes in the bush. Since I hadn¡¯t acquired any new tribe members, I had to assume these were the four survivors I¡¯d flown over. ¡°You still wiv¡¯ us, king?¡± asked the hobgoblin, who must have been my very first scrapper. He sounded like he spoke around a mouth full of gravel. The scrapper motioned for one of the other goblins, who crept out of the bush holding my missing prosthetic above his head. I nodded and held the chains out of the way as the scrapper slipped the socket over my stump and started to lace up the clamps. A regular prince charming, this one. The metal clinked slightly as I shifted. ¡°Can you get me out of these?¡± ¡°Inna pinch.¡± The scrapper licked his lips and carefully began to pull the chain loops. But the sound of metal grinding against metal was too noisy. ¡°Stop!¡± I whispered, looking at the hide tents for any sign of movement. I heard something shift inside one of them, and the scrapper ducked low. The movement stopped, and he issued a low growl. ¡°Even if we do get these off, they¡¯ll come after us in the morning. And they¡¯re faster.¡± ¡°Bad news, that.¡± The scrapper cracked his knuckles quietly. ¡°I could take one of ¡®em if I got the jump. But four¡¯s aft o¡¯ too many,¡± he said. ¡°We need somethin¡¯ to even them odds up. Got any more o¡¯ your contraptions like what popped in our heads?¡± I thought. A few of the rock slingers would have evened the odds a little. Or some of the bomb fruits. But there was no way the four of them would be able to craft slingers without first crafting a set of tools, and that would take too long¡ªhours to navigate through dangerous terrain and retrieve bomb fruit just to most likely blow themselves up on the return trip when they stumbled over a root in the dark. Projectiles or other distance weapons would be ideal. But the javaline didn¡¯t carry bows or crossbows that we could steal, and their spears were much too heavy for myself or the other small goblins. Shame we didn¡¯t have the slingers, because there were plenty of small, smooth stones on the banks of the hot springs. One of the other goblins wrinkled his nose and waved his hands in front of it, sniffing. The scrapper noticed and shushed them. ¡°Rutters like to camp wiv the springs ¡®cause they¡¯re the only things wot stink more¡¯n they do.¡± This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°That¡¯d be the sulfur,¡± I said. ¡°Smells like rotten eggs where the¡ª¡± I stopped. Sulfur. I looked at the softly-glowing coals of the dying rutter fire. Charcoal. Hmm¡­ I had no idea if the chemical reactions of this world bore any resemblance to that of Earth in my home universe. It stood to reason the periodic table would have differences in a world where magic and rule-enforcing omniscient Systems existed. But chemistry had never been my forte anyway. I hoped a little Goblin Tech Tree grease would smooth over the gaps. Everyone¡¯s got an episode of a TV show that was always on whenever they were channel surfing. For me, it was a certain episode of Star-Trek where the captain got stranded on the planet with the weird, diamond-eyed lizard. Now, I know what you¡¯re going to say, he¡¯s an astronaut, of course he¡¯s a Trekkie nerd. But the truth is, I was always more of a Battlestar guy. I¡¯ve barely even watched Trek. Except for that one episode, which seemed to always be on, and has lived rent-free in my head for 15 years. If it was the same episode for you, then you probably already figured out where this was going. I motioned the goblins closer. ¡°We¡¯re going to need a few things,¡± I said. I looked at the first goblin. ¡°By the springs there should be some yellow, stinky mineral. I need powder from it. Can you scrape some off and bring it to me?¡± The goblin pulled her knife and lifted it overhead, keeping one hand over her mouth to stifle her own excitement. She vanished back into the brush. I pointed to the dying fire. ¡°I need some of the charred wood from that fire. Make sure you don¡¯t grab anything glowing!¡± The second goblin nodded enthusiastically and dropped to a low-crawl, serpentining his way into the rutter camp. I looked at the remaining small one. ¡°Sorry to do this to you. But I need some of the javaline scat from their latrines.¡± I pointed, and the goblin wilted, looking at me with an expression of pure betrayal. But he stomped off into the forest. It wasn¡¯t hard to tell where the latrine was. It was the only thing smelling worse than the sulfur. ¡°Wot of me, king?¡± asked the scrapper. ¡°The rutters had hollow poles holding up their cookpot. I need those poles.¡± The scrapper looked at me skeptically until I explained to him what they were going to do with them. Then the hobgoblin grinned. ¡°Oy, sounds like a proppa¡¯ lark.¡± He turned as if to leave, then hesitated. ¡°This name fing, boss. I fink I want one.¡± The first name that came to mind, looking at his muscled frame, was, of course, Armstrong. But I¡¯d already named one of the goblins Neil. Ah, so what? I feel like the first man to walk on the moon deserved a two-fer. Besides, the goblins all had single names anyway. Like Cher, or Zendaya. ¡°Armstrong,¡± I whispered. Armstrong flexed his ample biceps and grinned. Arms like that would have been right at home on the rowing team. I watched as he dropped to his belly and snaked into the camp. The tubes had been stowed with the rest of the cookware on the far side of the clearing after the camp keeper had cleaned them. He went slow, taking his time and staying as quiet as possible. He was oddly stealthy for a goblin. I pulled up his info in my tribe as I watched. Really? That¡¯s all it took? Granted, it hurt like a devil! But were goblins really that paper-thin? No. Something else was happening. Something back home that I wasn¡¯t there for. Night haunts? The wranglers should have been protecting the village against them. But I had more pressing concerns. Mitri wound up and slugged me again. I gasped for air, kicking my feet helplessly. ¡°Something odd,¡± said Muthus. The others ignored him. Rotte lifted his spear again. ¡°Hold it still, Mitri. This one no miss.¡± Mitri moved to the side to be out of the path of Rotte¡¯s spear. Beyond the spear, I saw several shadowy forms creeping in from the other side of the camp. Coal light glinted off rough iron in their hands. Armstrong and the others getting into position. ¡°Rotte!¡± insisted Muthus. Rotte started to turn back, but if he did that¡­ ¡°Wait!¡± I gasped. ¡°You were facing me this whole time? I thought I was talking to your backside!¡± Rotte snapped his attention back to me, face reddening. Foam started to trickle at the corners of his mouth. ¡°You were prettier with the helmet on.¡± ¡°I make goblin sorry,¡± seethed Rotte. He gripped the haft of his spear so tightly the wood began to creak under his fingers. Behind him, I saw my improvised riflemen plant the butts of their poles in the glowing coals and angle the muzzles toward the trio of rutters. I hadn¡¯t wanted to do this. I hadn¡¯t wanted to introduce firearms to this world along with all the horrors that came with them. I certainly hadn¡¯t wanted every goblin in my tribe to be running around separated from a boomstick by a few bowel movements and a bath. I would have liked to skip every conceivable variation on a gun that I reasonably could on the way to securing my tribe¡¯s path to the moon. But now I was looking at my first formation of goblin riflemen. And I hated myself just a little bit for its necessity. ¡°Did goblin have one leg, before?¡± asked Muthus. ¡°He has no legs, idiot!¡± barked Mitri. He looked down. And stopped. I looked down as well. Oh hell. Armstrong and his pals had tracked us here from the glider wreck, and they¡¯d brought my other leg. The rutters had brought me here with only one. ¡°How he get¡­¡± Rotte spun around, raising his spear and hurling it at the fire pit. One of the goblins squawked and dropped his pipe, diving to the ground to get out of the path of the spear. But Armstrong and the other two held steady. Mitri dropped me to the ground and charged along-side Muthus. I didn¡¯t know how long it would take the fire to heat up the putty in the tubes, but I had to¡ª This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. We must have tamped the stones in the tubes down too hard, because they didn¡¯t explode out the front end like scattershot. It was the back ends that blew, the ones in the fire. They exploded in a shower of sparks and a shrill, mounting whistle. And it didn¡¯t launch the detritus in the business end. It launched the whole kit and caboodle¡ªgoblins included. The first one to go was the one that had been dropped in the fire. It fizzed, ignited, and careened skyward where it popped in a burst of yellowy sparks. Everyone in the clearing stopped and stared. Especially the goblin that had dropped the pipe, now clinging gratefully to the ground. The two goblins that had held on to their pipes rocketed forward on plumes of sparks, screaming and holding on for dear life. They impacted Mitri and Muthus before the pair had time to register what was going on. A cloud of blue fur, thankfully shielded from view by the unfortunate javalines, erupted at the same time about a half-meter of iron pipe sprouted from the dwarven backs. I hadn¡¯t invented guns. I¡¯d invented missiles. Goblin-guided missiles. Armstrong was a heavier payload. When his ignited, he looked more like a witch riding a flaming broom as he screamed and flew toward Rotte. The blood and fur-covered javeline rutter stared, and then tried to dive out of the way at the last second. The pipe missed him, but Armstrong hit him. The hobgoblin was made of sterner stuff than the average goblin. He bowled the heavier rutter over and the two went rolling. And if that didn¡¯t count as a surprise attack for the scrapper bonus, then I don¡¯t know what would. The other eastern bluff survivor, the one fortunate enough to be carried off by his own gun, yowled in rage and chased after them. With them fighting, I worked at my chains, no longer caring about the noise. In fact, my little goblin ears were ringing anyway. I managed to get the loops off, just as I saw the camp tender emerge from his hiding spot. He took one look at the tableau and ran for Mitri¡¯s spear. ¡°Armstrong!¡± I shouted. I cast the last loops of chain off and dashed over to the tousling trio. The hobgoblin had a pair of cleavers tucked behind his belt. I pulled one out and started to hack at the flank of the javeline, for all the good it did. I just wasn¡¯t strong enough to get through his thick hide. The thunder of hooves sounded, and a spear took me in the back. The force drove me into the ground, and the pain took my breath away. I dragged through the dirt and the foliage as the camp keeper kept his charge up. Every meter became a fresh hell. He was killing me over and over. My arms were useless by my sides, and both of my prosthetics came off. Some snarling creature brought the javeline rutter to a screeching halt. He dug in all four hooves, barely arresting his speed. My own momentum kept me going, sliding off the end of the spear and tumbling through the dirt and brush at high speed. Though my spinning vision, I caught a glimpse of big red shapes charging toward me, and of the backside of the camp keeper as he threw the spear away and retreated. A pair of feet thumped to the ground near me, and hands wrapped my shoulders to pull me upright. ¡°S¡¯alright chief, we got yer back.¡± The spinning had made me sick, and I heaved what little was in my guts¡ªwhich wasn¡¯t much, since the javelines hadn¡¯t fed me. Good thing, too. If they had, I¡¯d have likely been too lethargic to mount an escape. I finally managed to look up at the hobgoblin with the mandible mask. ¡°Chuck?¡± I asked. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± ¡°Rangin¡¯. We knew there ¡®bout where you went down. But not where they took you. ¡®Least til we saw yer signal,¡± he said. He pointed to the sky. The first pipe gun had gone off like a bottle rocket and detonated in the sky. You could still see the yellowish smoke. But that was still miles from Apollo. My vision cleared enough to see the other wranglers, and my jaw dropped. They were riding cliffords, the red canines from the savannah that had tried to eat me on my first day in Lanclova. Each one had a tight grip on their clifford¡¯s mane in one hand and a spear in the other, while a second goblin balanced on the back haunches with a rock slinger. Even now, the goblin riding behind Chuck struggled to control the beast, but they didn¡¯t have the animal handling skills of the wranglers. Chuck tried to help me to my feet, and then realized my lower legs were missing. Instead, he picked me up, punched his wayward mount on the nose to remind it who was boss, and then slung me over the back of its haunches like a sack of potatoes. I figured we¡¯d be getting out of dodge, but instead he spurred the clifford on toward the one javeline still fighting. We bounced and jostled our way back into the clearing. I struggled to get my arms between me and the clifford so that I could tilt my head up far enough to see what was happening. Armstrong was up and clear of the melee. He was bruised and bloody, but hobgoblins are built tougher than us standard goblins. The rutter leader, Rotte, was sprinting off into the woods, looking a bit like a pin-cushion with all the wrangler spears sticking out of him. But it¡¯s not easy to kill a wild pig. I had no doubt he¡¯d make it back to the rest of his kind. Chuck dismounted again, and clasped wrists with Armstrong. ¡°Good lookin¡¯ out fer the boss,¡± said Chuck. Armstrong put a hand behind his head, looking almost embarrassed at the praise. ¡°Weren¡¯t nuffink,¡± he said. The other goblin on our clifford helped me to sit up. I looked at the other two rutters impaled on the poles. ¡°Sorry about your friends, Armstrong. I wanted to save you all, but you ended up saving me instead.¡± The hobgoblin waved me off. ¡°Big group o¡¯ rutters done for the ol¡¯ village. I fink me mates¡¯d be proud wot to have done-in a few back.¡± He grinned. ¡°You see ¡®em? Were all shwoooosh¡ªSplat! Proper scrap, that!¡± The scrapper laughed, and it seemed his mirth was contagious as the rest of the goblins started making shwoosh-splat noises and howling with laughter. I looked to the woods in the other side of the camp, where the other wranglers were returning after having run off the other javeline. ¡°Rotte is going to report this. If there¡¯s more rutters in the woods, you can bet they¡¯ll have their sights set on a goblin king before long. We need to show them that we¡¯re tougher quarry than some impotent elf¡¯s wallet is worth.¡± ¡°Aye, boss,¡± said Chuck. He patted the side of his clifford. ¡°Ain¡¯t no helpless hands they¡¯ll be finding. Tribe Apollo claws back.¡± ¡°That we do.¡± Chapter 28 - Muthus with a side of Mitri Chapter 28 - Muthus with a side of Mitri There¡¯s good eating on a javeline, it turns out. Once I got over my qualms about munching on the flesh of a sentient species (which my goblin side was frighteningly willing to do), I realized that being half pig made them the closest thing to a taste of home that I¡¯d had since coming to Rava, and it was worth staying up a little past my goblin bed time to roast. They went especially well when seasoned with the block of salt Rufus gave me in acknowledgement that I¡¯d won our wager (). * * * <1 Hobgoblin Wrangler has been added to your tribe> I awoke to the patter of rain on clay tiles, which left me blessedly dry. Buzz was already up and checking the waterproofing on them, evidently satisfied with his work. I pulled myself off the pile and whistled up at him. ¡°Welcome home, boss,¡± he said. ¡°Figured you¡¯d want a good roof once Chuck fetched you back. I¡¯d have come with, but I¡¯m not much use in a scrap.¡± ¡°That¡¯s ok,¡± I said. ¡°Neither am I, as it turns out.¡± Buzz dropped down and grinned at me. ¡°Kings ain¡¯t s¡¯posed to fight. That¡¯s why you got us an¡¯ the hobbies, yeah?¡± I sat in the shelter and watched the rain fall for a bit. The tribe had had a rough day, prior. We¡¯d lost a lot of goblins between daily attrition and the fight with the javeline rutters. The night haunts hadn¡¯t gotten into any of the new improved structures, as far as I could tell. But that meant the lizard war had continued with the tribe to the southeast. They were now my top priority. Rufus woke up a short time later and extricated himself from the mound of goblins that had decided the half-badger made a better bed than the straw and moss flooring. The disheveled trader pulled on his boots and fished through his bag for a drink. ¡°Any o¡¯ that pork left?¡± he asked. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. I pursed my lips. ¡°Don¡¯t you see any moral qualms about eating a javeline? They¡¯re intelligent beings.¡± Rufus raised a bushy eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯ve met them, yes?¡± ¡°Unfortunately.¡± He moved to the fire and started sifting around the stone grill for morsels. ¡°And you still think they¡¯re intelligent?¡± ¡°They¡¯re self-aware, free-thinking beings,¡± I said. I sighed. ¡°In my world, eating another intelligent being is one of our ultimate taboos.¡± I paused for a moment. ¡°Did you know they were cutting off Goblin ears and tongues?¡± Rufus hesitated. That told me everything I needed to know. ¡°My friend¡­¡± he said carefully. ¡°Until you got me down from that tree, I admit I thought of goblins as little more than a nuisance¡ªbest ignored if not avoided outright. I don¡¯t brook with the trading of such snake oils. But I admit, I never gave the practice much consideration...¡± ¡°Until now,¡± I finished. The rain petered off, so I walked closer to the firepit and sat near the beast-kin. ¡°Until now,¡± Rufus agreed. He licked the grease from his fingers and came and sat down beside me. ¡°The last 10 days have given me many reasons to see things in new light. I fear you will not be looked on kindly by those seeking to exploit Lanclova. Your ears and tongue will be the least of your worries.¡± Rufus pulled his pack over and fished out his journal. He thumbed through it, reaching the pages that I assume pertained to the scholarly details he¡¯d gathered about myself and Tribe Apollo. He tore them out and laid them on the smoldering coals. They caught quickly, crisping in the heat. I watched them curl and char, until the ashes rose on the breeze. ¡°I could have just held onto those for you,¡± I said. ¡°Ah, yes, but then what of my grand gesture?¡± I huffed a laugh, and then sighed. ¡°I¡¯m not a fighter,¡± I said. I cradled my head in my hands. ¡°I¡¯m a scientist and an engineer. I never even joined the military¡ªnever raised a hand in violence against anyone until I came here. All I ever wanted to do was go to space and explore.¡± The badger-kin trader straightened from the fire and cast a look over his shoulder. ¡°If it is as you say, then I am with you. In the quest for knowledge, you share more with me than those who seek to exploit the land beneath Raphina¡¯s watchful eye. Perhaps it¡¯s folly to cast my lot with a goblin king. Yet here we are. I will go south. I will speak to the artificers. Try not to die before I return.¡± Most of the goblins were up and milling around now. Not all of them were early risers like Buzz. The hobbies would sleep past midday, of course. But there was still work to be done. I looked up at Raphina, the tidally locked moon that hovered over this land. With the sun in the sky, her eye was closed¡ªa void in the morning starlight made of the daily new moon. She was waiting for me. And It didn¡¯t matter what it took. I¡¯d walk on her surface. But first, there was work to do. I called over some of buzz¡¯ builders. ¡°Bring me the javeline heads.¡± Chapter 29 - Multitasking Chapter 29 - Multitasking The effect was near instant. The goblins seemed less impacted by the effect of the rain on the village, continuing to work¡ªif slowly¡ªinstead of huddling inside the shelters until it stopped. I found Sally at the edge of the bluff, hard at work with a charcoal stick and a sheaf of bark filings under a lean-to. She¡¯d woken up with the new knowledge passed down through the Tech Tree in the wake of my ill-fated attempt at making black powder. Well, black putty, at least. Instead, I¡¯d made something close enough to what this world considered rocket fuel to unlock the basic concept of rocket motors. As expected of my chief engineer, she was busy combining new and old concepts into amalgamative technology to further her own understanding. She passed some of the sketches over, and I looked at the primitive schematics, nodding, and equal parts impressed and appalled by her ideas. ¡°We¡¯re going to need more sulfur,¡± I told her. ¡°And clay. And hides.¡± I scratched my head. ¡°I hope the artificers can get us refined copper wire. There¡¯s so much we need.¡± Behind me, I heard cheering as several of the goblins loaded into the flex-a-pult. They had new contraptions with them that I hadn¡¯t seen before. As soon as the flex-a-pult launched the first five goblins, they unfurled mini gliders that caught the wind and launched them skyward. They floated in circles as the next several wind surfers loaded up and got a boost. Only one of them lost hold of their glider and plummeted into the forest at the base of the bluff. I watched the lazy floaters taking enjoyment off the sheer act of soaring, and I couldn¡¯t help but smile. These little astronauts in the making¡ªthough they didn¡¯t know it yet¡ª were fearless in the face of heights and willing to embrace change at an unheard-of rate. Two weeks ago a smooth rock had been the height of their technological prowess. Now they were conquering the skies. But we needed more. If I was going to rescue the remaining goblins on the southeast bluff, I needed the hobgoblins, and I needed something that could carry them. ¡°Have your team make more of those gliders,¡± I said. I took one of the bark scraps and a piece of charcoal and began sketching out a modification of the stubby-winged design that extended the wings out, added winglets, and made it better for soaring. I left her to find Neil, who hadn¡¯t yet set out with his hunters and fishers. He looked up at me from where he was greasing the rails of his slinger. He¡¯d fashioned a loop on the bottom of it that he could feed his hook through to keep it steady for shooting and reloading. He had a pile of down next to him that he¡¯d been using to line the sled for some reason. ¡°Yes?¡± I sat down next to him. ¡°Got a special task for your boys today. Javelines left their camp in a hurry. I need the supplies they left. Tents, poles, tools, anything they can carry back. I¡¯m sure they had food, too. See if you can salvage anything from the crash site. Also, we need sulfur and rutter scat for putty. Neil tilted his head. ¡°Ours works near as well,¡± he said. ¡°It does?¡± I asked, looking at the overflowing latrine pit on the edge of the village. I¡¯d been planning to use it for fertilizer once we started an agrarian tech path. But apparently goblins were little phosphate factories who literally shit components for primitive rocket fuel. Which meant, the more goblins, the more icky-putty. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. He nodded. Neil set down his slinger and held up a small, round clay jar and tested the fitting in his sled. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± I asked. Neil made the goblin pantomime for an explosion. Good god. The little psychopath was turning my rock slingers into grenade launchers. I took the jar. It was about the size of my hand, which meant it wouldn¡¯t be much of a payload. But it would certainly ruin the day of whoever or whatever got hit with it. The javeline might think twice before running down goblins if every wrangler on a clifford had a goblin with a slinger riding shotgun packing a few of these things. I looked around and saw several of his hunters working on other clay jars to set out in the sun to dry. The First Apollan Grenadiers Division. Yikes. As loathe as I was to condone the creation of explosive weaponry, I had to admit it was at least safer for the tribe than the bomb fruits. And we desperately needed to defend ourselves long enough for the tribe to grow and develop more variants. But I worried about putting too much destructive power in the hands of a collective who immediately gained an innate knowledge of its functioning. The standard goblins weren¡¯t as skilled at specialized tasks as the variants, but they were skilled enough to be dangerous¡ªto our side as well as any enemies. Neil collected his hunters and loaded their equipment and folding gliders into the flex-a-pult. They launched off toward the southeast toward the hotsprings¡ªno longer falling straight down after the apex of their parabolic launch but catching the wind and pulled away. These new gliders massively extended the range of the flex-a-pults when launching goblin-based payloads. Which, in turn, expanded our own rapid response territory from just a few kilometers from the bluff up to about five kilometers. That encompassed the hotsprings, as well as the edge of the grasslands to the south. To the west? Well, to be completely honest, I hadn¡¯t given much thought to the west, yet. There were other bluffs on that side, but much further than the ones to the east and through thickly-forested and swampy terrain that offered few spots for thermals to form. No bones about it, we¡¯d need powered flight to reach them. To the north, humans were a 10-day round trip for a half-badger across the forests and foothills of a mountain range. But how much territory did a half-dwarf beast-kin cover in a day? I should have asked Rufus. We just knew too little. I worked with Sally and her crew until mid-day. They were busy with the new glider pattern, while I had my own task. But we wouldn¡¯t be able to make them until we had the canvas from the javeline tents that I¡¯d sent Neil to retrieve. Canvas was something our aeronautics program needed, but maybe I could substitute more wing membranes from night haunts. Of course, that required hunting them during the day. That would almost certainly cause casualties. A better solution would be setting traps for them at night to lure them in and take them by surprise with hobgoblins. I threw my project over my shoulder and went to see the resident experts on nocturnal dealings. The hobgoblins woke up about the time as Raphina¡¯s eye, stumbling from their shelters bleary-eyed and yawning. I had jobs for both the scrappers and the wranglers. Chuck and Armstrong came over first thing. ¡°Armstrong. Did your village ever have contact with the one south of you?¡± ¡°I seen ¡®em,¡± he said, looking out to the southwest. ¡°Small like. No hobbies. Never caused us no grief. Recluses, boss.¡± ¡°They¡¯re at war with pale lizards that don¡¯t like sunlight. Or, it would be more accurate to say, they¡¯re being predated upon in the same way the night haunts are attacking us. Think your boys can give them a hand on the warfront so they can start making gliders instead of spears and head this way?¡± Armstrong looked around. ¡°Getting cozy up here, boss.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll deal with that.¡± The scrapper cracked his knuckles and grinned. ¡°In that case, we can do for some lizards.¡± I clapped him on the arm. ¡°Good. I¡¯ll send support your way as soon as we get the new gliders built.¡± Armstrong rounded up his unruly rabble of scrappers and trotted off to the eastern flex-a-pult. I turned to Chuck. ¡°Nice save with the cliffords last night. How did you manage to get them following your orders?¡± Chuck shrugged. ¡°Just an understanding, boss. Best to raise ¡®em as cubs. Then you don¡¯t gotta remind ¡®em who¡¯s boss as much. Hard to hold on when they get to bucking and biting.¡± I hefted the leather on my shoulder. ¡°This might help with that. Where are the kennels?¡± Chapter 30 - Bogged Down Chapter 30 - Bogged Down I carefully looped the under-strap and ran it through the cinch beneath the clifford¡¯s muscular belly. I didn¡¯t know much about riding, but I¡¯ve seen westerns. Saddle on top, bridle in front, straps below. Right? How tough could it be? I backed up as the clifford snapped at me, but Chuck dipped in and popped the red canine on the nose. Properly chagrinned, the beast settled, and Chuck was able to swing up onto the hide saddle. He wiggled around, then gave a nod. ¡°It¡¯ll do, but I still want my glider.¡± ¡°It¡¯s coming. Neil should be back with the canvas and sulfur before midnight. In the meantime, I want to get a lay of the land from the land. It¡¯s hard to spot resources from the air, and there are a few we still really need.¡± It didn¡¯t hurt to project our power out a bit, too. Once we had the numbers for it, I intended regular patrols by both ground and air so nothing could sneak up on us. It would take a few more reproductive cycles, a lot of work, and a lot more hobgoblins to be able to cover the territory, though. Chuck held the clifford still while I clambered up onto its back. Then he swung into the saddle with coordination unbecoming a goblin. Someone handed me a slinger and a small sack of stones. The rest of the wranglers mounted up with their goblin gunners in tow. They looked at our saddle with jealous eyes, and I had no doubt that all of them would have their own by morning. Each of the hobgoblin wranglers had a small hide holster on their backs with two short spears, as well. Between the spears, the slingers, and the cliffords themselves, this was about as well-armed as I¡¯d seen my tribe. But I still only had 6 wranglers and there was a lot of ground around the village to cover. ¡°Where to, boss?¡± ¡°Northwest, I think,¡± I said. ¡°Rufus said the closest settlement was humans to the northwest. I want to see what¡¯s out that direction.¡± Chuck reached back and smacked the flank of his clifford, and we were off before I could squawk with surprise. Cliffords, it seemed, shared one trait with goblins: they only had two speeds: still, and complete mania. The canine dug its claws in and launched into a sprint, barking and bounding through the woods. Despite being a savannah creature, it seemed well equipped to traverse the dense forest, as well. It changed directions quickly by jumping up and kicking off tree trunks, and surmounted foliage by simply barreling through it while Chuck ducked low and I held on for dear life. I got the impression he was more suggesting directions than steering it, but the way the wranglers and their gunners hooted and hollered while the cliffords barked their heads off made it seem like everyone got max enjoyment out of the experience. I suppose it was a bit closer to a motorcycle club in rowdiness than any kind of horse-riding club. At times, the hobbies were leaned so far forward I¡¯m not sure how the cliffords didn¡¯t topple ass over teakettle. Unlike the peaceful soaring of the glider, this close to the ground the sensation of speed was immense. As fast as I thought we were going, when we broke onto one of the goblin trails, Chuck really gave the dog its head and the thing tore down the straight-way, tongue lolling out to the side like a pennant. A look back through the canopy and I could see the bluff. We must have covered four or five kilometers already, which was not bad for creatures only about a meter tall. Chuck finally slowed us up near a stream so the dogs could drink and the goblins could grab some wild onions from the bank. I knelt down at the bank and ran my hand through the water. The water was red-orange in color¡ªmuch like the clay had been. Upstream were some higher hills in the distance, bordering on mountains. I thought for a moment, then cupped my hands and took a drink. There was definitely a metallic taste to the water. I ran a hand through my fur, considering. ¡°Chuck, where¡¯s the river dump out?¡± I called. He was ruffling the muzzle of his clifford, who was growling and chomping the air. Clearly the pair had built something of a bond, even if the dog got a firm punch on the nose whenever the chomps got a little too close to Chuck¡¯s face. He glanced over at me. ¡°Downstream,¡± he said. Well obviously. I headed back over. ¡°You been there?¡± ¡°Not yet.¡± I headed back over to the hobbies and the dogs. ¡°Let¡¯s check it out.¡± I climbed back up on the saddle of the clifford and waited while the rest of the crew got situated. Chuck pointed the dog vaguely southwest and gave it a smack to get it going. We tore down the river bed, scattering some critters and birds. I spotted a splash in the water and several fish jumped out on diaphanous fins¡ªonly to be snatched from below by a long-snouted reptile. My eyes went wide. I wondered if that was what had gotten my goblin the first time we tried fishing. It certainly looked big enough to drag one of my fishermen out into the water and then make a meal of it. Note to self, postpone the swimming lessons. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. I noted a possible pocket of clay along the way¡ªbased on a resident stone-sloth that we outpaced as it charged after us. The cliffords seemed to need no extra encouragement to avoid the large, clawed creature. It was, by far, the biggest one I¡¯d seen yet, and had a high level to reflect its stature. A volley of rocks from the slingers might have discouraged it from following us too far, but I suspected it just hit the edge of its territory. The stream started to level out, and I caught a whiff of more stagnant water up ahead. The trees got shorter, and then turned more to tangled vines and twisted shrubbery. Chuck called a halt, and I hopped down from the back of the clifford and rubbed my backside. While fast, the bony canines weren¡¯t exactly the smoothest ride. My blades sank about five or six centimeters into the turf, and I could feel the resistance of moving through water underneath. Chuck swept some foliage out of the way and hissed. ¡°Bog,¡± he said. ¡°This what you wanted to see, boss?¡± ¡°Sure is,¡± I said. He and one of the other hobbies held back branches and let me scramble underneath with a pair of slinger-toting goblins and go out into the bog. I was quickly in water up to my knees, pushing through the vegetation. The bog was wide and mostly open, with few, large trees offering broad cover from the heat of the day that turned the air into a humid mire. I could see the spot where the stream emptied out, as well as other slow flows on the other side. The water ran slow through the bog, and the entire thing was covered in a layer of mossy, mulchy vegetation. Was this peat? I had only a vague idea of what peat really was. I hadn¡¯t had a chance to read the bog-iron book Rufus had left on collecting metal from the swamp, but this seemed like a sound place to start looking once I had a better idea. I reached down and pulled up a handful of the loose matter. It was soaked through, matted, and woven together. Once I got about waist-deep, something startled a flock of birds across the bog, and I watched them take flight. Underneath them, several of the mounds of peat¡ªat least, what I hoped was peat, slid and slipped on ripples of something entering the water of the bog. Something big. I hadn¡¯t read the bestiary, either. I slowly backed away, unable to see what had slid into the bog. If it was anything like the river monster that had snatched the flying fish, I didn¡¯t want to tangle with it. I kept my eyes forward for any sign of the creature, but I should have been watching where I stepped. An angry buzzing and snapping brought my attention around in a hurry. ¡°Boss, freeze!¡± shouted Chuck. A small cloud of big bugs flew out of a hive in the peat that I¡¯d apparently disturbed. I stood as still as I could, looking at the flying insects as they flew around, looking for something to take their aggression out on. They looked like some sort of wasp except they had two stingers. And as I watched, a tiny arc of electricity climbed up between the stings like a tiny Jacob¡¯s Ladder. They were like some sort of lightning bug, except in a more literal sense. Mentally, I dubbed them tesla wasps. One of the goblins squawked and dropped his slinger in the drink, jumping and grabbing his backside. I heard a buzz mounting behind me, and then a snap. A jolt of electricity arced through my little goblin ass, causing my leg remnants to spasm and dropping me face-first into the stagnant water. The thing had stung me and shocked me! I didn¡¯t know what being tased felt like, but I had to imagine it was pretty similar. I let out a cry that bubbled under water and flailed around. I completely panicked when I saw a pair of luminescent eyes coming toward me in the murk and burst back above the water in a cloud of the agitated tesla wasps. Their disposition hadn¡¯t improved any. My splashing attracted their attention, and I¡¯m sure the volley of stones from the goblins on the bank of the bog didn¡¯t calm things down. Several of the tesla wasps swooped down, narrowly missing me with their sparking thoraxes. They came close enough for me to hear the snap and pop of the electricity between their stinger tines. Another one scored home high on my back and my right arm spasmed, luckily knocking aside another that was diving in on me¡ªbut then it went completely numb. Something big burst out of the water near me with a snarl, and I looked behind to see something vaguely crocodilian, but with four eyes and thick, bulbous tongue. The System didn¡¯t even bother assigning it a level, just a vague ¡°??¡± over its head¡ªprobably its way of telling us we were completely outmatched. My other companion saw it, too, and leveled his slinger at it. He sent a stone arcing forward, but it sailed above the bog lizard¡¯s head and skipped off the surface of the water. Turns out, the croc-thing had a similar trick. It opened its mouth. The tongue shot out like it was spring-loaded, and I barely got out of the way. My companion wasn¡¯t so lucky. The tongue had a knobby bit on the end, and it impacted the goblin¡¯s forehead with a crack like an egg against a frying pan. The goblin dropped below the water with a splash as the croc roared. The wasps luckily switched to the bigger, louder target. They swooped down on the snarling bog monster with the hiss and pop of discharging voltage. That just made the thing angrier, and it thrashed about with tail and webbed claws while I made my escape with the remaining slinger goblin who would win no badges for marksmanship. I got stung/shocked twice more before I reached the bank of the bog and stumbled onto sort of dry ground. I gasped, fur dripping. Chuck helped me to my feet, which were still shaky since my butt was still numb. ¡°You had enough, boss?¡± ¡°Not nearly,¡± I said. I looked over my shoulder as the bog monster retreated beneath the water. ¡°This place is awesome!¡± Chapter 31 - Reading Material Chapter 31 - Reading Material Back at the village, I started looking through the volumes that Rufus had left. The first was the iron harvesting and smelting guide. From its descriptions, it sounded like we were in the right space and that bog would likely have unharvested iron deposits. But then, the book also said that the iron was fermented by the presence of ¡®good humours¡¯ in the water. I had to remind myself that this primitive world might have people who didn¡¯t know what they were talking about. Still, I would need to get some goblins down there and figure out how to get the iron. The good news was that, thanks to the river feeding fresh iron into the bog, the iron was a renewable resource. The bad news was that it took about a generation to restore. And a human generation was about a hundred times longer than a goblin generation. Once we¡¯d harvested all the iron and fired it into steel, we¡¯d have to find a new source. I needed steel. It was a necessity for internal combustion, for space flight, for rocketry, and though I hated admitting we would need them, for firearms. At least, if I wanted the goblins to be properly equipped against larger-scale threats in Lanclova like the javeline and their own taskmasters. We still needed to do something about predators and nuisances in the bog. The croc-knockers were nigh-insurmountable problems for a species whose technology did not yet include things like nets or helmets that weren¡¯t other people¡¯s skulls. The bestiary was, if anything, even more unscientific than the iron guide. At least, I hoped it was. It depicted four different species of dragon, six hostile wild cats, several creatures from Greek mythology sporting new names, and had only a rumor on night haunts. It did mention the croc-knocker, the river monster, the javeline, and the stone-sloths. Of goblins, it simply said ¡°inedible and primitive. Best avoided.¡± We were barely a footnote. It didn¡¯t even mention our tongues or ears, which meant this publication must predate the dubious discovery of snorting goblins ears to raise elven banners. Or maybe those were just as unscientific as they sounded¡ªthis world¡¯s equivalent to rhino horn and ginseng. In the late afternoon I spent time helping Sally design a snare for the wranglers. It was basically a hollowed out wooden pole with a loop of cord, similar to what you¡¯d see in an old-timey cartoon with a dog catcher. But enough of them looped around the throat of a night haunt should let the wranglers bring them down and finish them. After sawing a pole in half, we scraped out a hollow and fed the loop of cord through. Then we sealed the pole back together with resin and more cordage. A few minutes later, Chuck rode up the lift and jogged over, eyes wide. I held the prototype out for him, and he admired it, working the loop. I¡¯d designed it with notches in the back and knots in the cordage, so that the loop could be pulled taut and set with the notches. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Fantastic, boss! This¡¯ll make roundin¡¯ up more rides a breeze. Might even get one or two o¡¯ those meat pens occupied.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not all they¡¯re for,¡± I said. I measured out the pole. It was half again as long as a hobgoblin. ¡°Long enough to keep away from a night-haunt¡¯s claws, yeah?¡± Chuck grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. ¡°Tonight¡¯s the night, then?¡± ¡°Make sure each of your wranglers has one ready.¡± ¡°Got it, boss!¡± I wanted to make sure every wrangler had these tonight. We needed more night haunt hides. Especially since I¡¯d crashed the first one. Just after we finished that, Neil came back to the village with dire news. ¡°Fish at the bank ain¡¯t bitin¡¯,¡± he said. He held up the meager catch the fishermen had managed to take¡ªwhich might feed a dozen goblins. On a day when half the hunters had been sent to retrieve javeline supplies and sulphur. That was problematic. Not only that, but I¡¯d lost 5 goblins to attrition already, bringing the tribe¡¯s total back down to 71. ¡°We might have overfished the river,¡± I said. ¡°Still fish,¡± said Neil. ¡°Just deeper.¡± Hmm¡­ That wasn¡¯t an impossible challenge. The solution was simple, really: boating. I should have created boats for the goblins right after I made fishing poles and lures. The fact that we, as a civilization, had invented gliders before boats was unheard of on Earth. But since goblins had no recourse against aquatic predators, I had wanted them safely on land. And since goblins had super-light bodies, it made them ideal pilots for unpowered flight. But gliders weren¡¯t going to keep a growing population fed. Fishing was a staple until we could get livestock. To get livestock, I needed more wranglers. I already had Buzz¡¯ crew building simple fenced paddocks at the base of the bluff for the wranglers to use, but so far they just contained some cliffords (who couldn¡¯t climb or abide heights, according to Chuck) while the stone-sloth cub still had its enclosure at the top of the bluff when the wranglers weren¡¯t carrying it around and coddling it with bits of cooked meat. ¡°Alright. Bring me Sally.¡± Neil motioned to one of his fishers, who bounded off in the direction of the engineering division. I sat down to sketch out some designs on bark. By the time Sally came by, I had two designs for platform boats with pontoons that would allow goblins to get to deeper water and be stable enough for several of them to fish off of. I also had an addition to one of the glider designs that got Sally extremely excited. ¡°Split your team, half and half. These are the priorities,¡± I said. Sally took the drawings of the boat and pointed down and to the north. I nodded. ¡°Yes, we¡¯ll have to assemble these by the river. I¡¯ll go down in the morning to do this personally. You work on these gliders. I want two of them ready to launch as soon as we have wing material. Do we have enough ceramic parts?¡± Sally nodded enthusiastically, so I sent her off to decide which of her team would accompany me in the morning. We¡¯d take some of Buzz¡¯ construction crew, as well, to speed up the raw materials processing. Thinking about it, if I wanted the iron, I¡¯d have to have them build an out-station to keep the iron-harvesters safe during the night, as well. The bog was far enough away that goblins couldn¡¯t reasonably traverse the distance, work, and return home by nightfall. They also needed a way to deal with the predators in the bog. The high-level croc-knocker would probably devour goblins by the dozen if left unchecked. Speaking of nightfall, it was almost sunset before the rest of Neil¡¯s goblins returned with sulfur, food from the javeline stores, and canvas from their tents. The engineering crew worked tirelessly with what light remained while the hunters and wranglers enjoyed the windfall that came from having chased off the rutters. Still, with the fishing growing more challenging and the tribe growing, I had to wonder how many more nights the tribe would go to bed with full bellies. I made sure every wrangler had a snatcher and an extra goblin who hadn¡¯t fed to stay up and assist them. Though my stomach growled and twisted at the smell of roasting fish and actual bread, I held off. The night haunts were critical resources. Their ribs were even better than the stone-sloth claws for framing airfoils, and I wanted to make sure we didn¡¯t end up losing half the wranglers trying to bring one down tonight. Chapter 32 - Haunted Chapter 32 - Haunted ¡°Keep behind me, boss,¡± whispered Chuck. Above, I could see the twin yellow eyes circling high above, nestled in the dark, winged shadow silhouetted against Raphina¡¯s open eye. In my hands, I clutched a slinger with one of Neil¡¯s poppers nestled in the sled and hoping for all the beans that it didn¡¯t explode the instant I pulled the catch. Every goblin in the tribe had gone to sleep with dirt and moss stuffed in their ears so that the poppers and night haunt shrieks wouldn¡¯t wake them and cause another panic. Goblins woken early didn¡¯t produce more goblins, and right now warm bodies and a lack of variants was our biggest bottleneck as a tribe. The last time I¡¯d interrupted a night haunt during its night haunting, it had dealt me lethal damage three times, on top of killing several other goblins outright. When I thought about it, even though I couldn¡¯t gain levels, the tribe itself was still something like my health bar from some sort of video game, and it got bigger as the tribe expanded. That was a very sociopathic view of the situation, but a potentially exploitable one. As much as I didn¡¯t want to be responsible for the deaths of loyal goblin followers, the fact was I lost multiple goblins a day just due to them being goblins. Attrition and replacement was an in-baked element of their species strange reproductive practices. The rambunctious, non-verbal basic goblins spent most of the day throwing themselves off cliffs, charging through the forest while screaming their heads off, experimenting with explosives, running with sharp objects in both hands, and picking fights with things much larger and more ferocious than they were. From my initial survey of the other two bluffs, it seemed like tribes without kings had a poor survival rate¡ªthough my sample size was admittedly too small to be scientific. What I¡¯m saying was that even getting them pulling in the same direction had resulted in greater longevity and population for the goblins under my demesne. And in order to do so, I¡¯d ironically had to send several to their deaths. Was it really any different if they died from me taking the hit? I¡¯d tried to avoid it, but sacrificing a goblin here and there might mean 3 more birthed later, which would go on to birth 9 of their own. Exponential growth makes calculating the benefits over any length of time a little nutty. But we¡¯d have to make hard decisions to survive any given length of time. You might think it difficult to justify. Well, let me put it in perspective. There are two kinds of astronauts: those that become astronauts doing everything by the book, following every rule to perfection, and exemplifying the ideal mentor to aspire to. And then there are those that do whatever it takes to get what they want, and let no obstacle or shortcoming stand in their way. I was going into space without legs, so I¡¯ll let you do the calculus on which set I fall into. ¡°Easy lads, ¡®ere he comes,¡± I squeezed my slinger tight, watching as the dark silhouette slowly spiraled down to the village. It was nearly silent on those wide wings. Its shape against the moon triggered fears rooted deep in the goblin parts of my brain. Being outside when these things were in the sky was not a survival trait for this species. Not yet, anyway. The thing came in for a glide, finally stretching out its talons and lighting upon one of the shelters with barely a whisper, despite its size. And it was a big one. Level 14, as the System labeled it. It looked around, swinging its beaked muzzle to make sure it hadn¡¯t been noticed landing on the clay roof tiles¡ªbut we were well-concealed. Then it put its eye to the roof, looking for cracks and weaknesses as it shimmied around on narrow claws. Finding none, it went to the edge of the roof and found the new shelter we¡¯d laid out. Ten goblins slept in a dome woven from flexible branches, blessedly unaware of the predator among the village. The night haunt jumped down from the roof of the shelter and padded toward the dome. It could see the goblins sleeping inside through the loose weave, but the lattice of the shelter was too tight to get its claw through. The tips of its talons came just shy of the nearest goblin¡¯s shirt. Frustrated, it began to climb the shelter, towards one of several circular openings in the lattice wall that looked just large enough to allow a night haunt¡¯s arm and shoulder. What the night haunt didn¡¯t realize was that the inside of the hollow was a trap of flint chips on a concave funnel. When it tried to pull its claw back out, it ran afoul of the one-way opening. It tried to pull back, then screeched in pain, and seemed to realize what had happened. ¡°Now!¡± shouted Chuck. He and the other wranglers jumped out from where they hid behind the materials stockpiles. Three goblins erupted from the bone pile with slingers of their own. Two of the ¡®sleeping¡¯ goblins inside the dome stood up and grabbed spears concealed in the bedding. The night haunt howled, enraged. It was smart enough to know it had been tricked, and smart enough to realize what a precarious position it found itself in. It stopped trying to free its hand as the goblins inside the dome started to thrust their spears through the lattice. But that was just a diversion. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Chuck and his wranglers moved forward with the pole snatchers, loops extended. The night haunt still had back talons that were more than sufficient to disembowel a goblin, and a muscled tail that would crack bones every bit as well as their jaws. It lashed back and forth, lifting one of the wranglers off his feet and tossing him careening through the bone pile. I kept my slinger trained but held off on the release lest the explosive go through the lattice and into the sleeping mound. I also kept my eye on the sky in case the terrified shrieks of the night haunt called any of its buddies down for the assist. It was tough to tell, but one of them might have descended some. One of the wranglers darted forward and managed to get his loop around the back claw of the night haunt, digging in his heels and pulling against the beast. That put pressure on its trapped arm, and it shrieked and kicked, trying to pull away. It only had one avenue of escape, and it was one I hadn¡¯t considered. With beak and claws, the night haunt tore open the trap wide enough to get his entire body through, although not without taking a dozen small wounds on the branches and flint. Its heavy body thumped to the floor, twisting the creature as the snatcher pole hit a fulcrum. The thing about night haunts is that they weigh substantially more than even a hobgoblin. So the one that refused to let go of the pole soon found himself airborne, flying over the enclosure as the pole snapped. He never hit the ground. A second night haunt snatched the unfortunate wrangler out of the air with its back talons and disappeared over the edge of the bluff. Damn! The cavalry had arrived. Spears and snatchers turned skyward as swooping shadows swung low over the village. Chuck managed to jump and get his snatcher around the neck of a haunt, bearing it to the ground with the help of another goblin. His remaining wranglers moved in with their own snatchers. But two of the regular goblins were picked up and carried off by winged shadows. Not only that, but the night haunt inside the lattice dome had become enraged, and the once-safe spearmen inside were now the entire subject of its attention. It pounced, rebuffed only by the ceramic tips, and climbed up the inside of the dome for another attack. ¡°Gunners to the dome!¡± I shouted. I hefted the slinger and ran to the lattice, angling my lathes to make sure the projectile went through a gap and didn¡¯t explode in my face. I pulled the catch and the lathes snapped back into place, launching the sticky-icky jar directly above the night haunt. It burst against the roof of the dome with a pop right where the creature had been holding on. It lost its grip and fell directly on the sleeping pile, scattering the mound of diminutive creatures. Other slingers thrummed, and the pop pop of icky-sicky bombs which left behind an after-odor somewhere between an outhouse and the Fourth of July. Rudely awakened goblins were tossed against the inner walls of the dome by the concussions and woke enough to see what was in the dome with them. And then they went from zero to panic without hitting a setting inbetween. As one, ten goblins ran for weapons stashed inside the dome. The night haunt, maybe triggered by retreating prey, maybe more than a little concussed itself, pounced unsteadily, stumbling and crushing two goblins against the wall of the dome¡ªnot enough to kill them, but I could see their squishy goblin faces deforming through the weave as though their skulls were rubber. More yet picked up spears and cleavers. I reached into my bag for another icky-sicky jar and stuffed it into my sled, working the lever to reset the catch. Goblins inside the dome had a small thicket of spears pointed at the night-haunt now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Shoving the end of the slinger up to the lattice, I called out again. ¡°Volley two!¡± Pop, pop, pop! Unfortunately, one of the slinger goblins had made the mistake I¡¯d taken pains to avoid. His jar smashed straight into the lattice and blew up in his face, sending the goblin flying and setting the lattice on fire as the thick, burning putty coated it. It splashed over one of the unfortunate spearmen in the dome, as well, who dropped his spear and panicked as his fur started to smolder. Behind me, the night haunt the wranglers were tangling with yowled. I risked a glance to see that two of its limbs were caught and Chuck was atop it, driving a spear down into its back. A lot of its blood was on the ground, but the wranglers on the snatchers were pulling as hard as they could to make sure it couldn¡¯t find any purchase to fight back. More of the cage started to burn, and I whistled for attention from all the goblins not already fighting the howler with the wranglers. ¡°To me!¡± I shouted. I still had ten panicking goblins in a structure that was now at risk of burning down. I put my back against the dome, gripped the lattice, and lifted as hard as I could. Prosthetic legs aren¡¯t really built for lifting heavy loads, though, and they started to slip out from under me. Luckily, the rest of the goblins rushed to my side and combined what meager muscles they had into hoisting up one edge of the shelter high enough for the goblins inside to scramble out. Within a few moments, all that was left inside were two goblins with spears and the night haunt, who saw the small opening we¡¯d made. It darted toward the lifted wall and I made the decision. ¡°Drop it!¡± I shouted. The edge of the shelter thumped back into the dirt just as the night haunt¡¯s front claws raked at the base, scrabbling to get under and get out. Several goblins thrust spears through, dissuading the beast, who finally turned, coughing and sputtering from smoke, and dashed toward a different side. The goblins raced around to continue keeping it away from the wall, and the wranglers joined in as well with longer spears. Finally, the night haunt abandoned its goal, and turned its attention at the two goblins still trapped with it. I turned away as it pounced, intent on getting its last meal before the execution. Even while choking and dying from the smoke and small, myriad wounds inflicted by the spearpoints the goblins were thrusting back through the lattice, it persisted. They are nothing if not spiteful creatures, it seems. Chapter 33 - Deeper Waters Chapter 33 - Deeper Waters <2 Hobgoblin scrappers have been added to your tribe> <1 Hobgoblin wrangler has been added to your tribe> <1 Goblin taskmaster has been added to your tribe> I could still smell the smoke when I woke up. The survivors of the night before had tucked in immediately to the night haunt the wranglers had brought down in order to not miss out on enough sleep to put us in a stupor the following day. I couldn¡¯t afford to waste the day. Luckily, I seemed to have gotten a good roll on the new goblin births overnight. 13 new goblins off of 5 sleeping mounds was, as far as I could tell, near the max possible. That was good. We needed a real win after the previous night¡¯s quite literal pyrrhic victory. I also decided to stop considering the question of goblin reproduction as a scientific one, and start thinking of it like an engineering one. That is to say, it doesn¡¯t matter that I didn¡¯t know how it functioned as long as it continued to do so. Buzz was up early, as was his usual habit. His crew was clearing away the remains of the cage and hauling the second dead night haunt over to the tannery to be processed. He waved me down, and I headed over. His entire crew were now wearing gloves, which they¡¯d stitched from left-over small hides the hunters had brought back. ¡°Didn¡¯t go quite as planned, eh, boss?¡± I looked at the ash trails. ¡°Not quite. But your trap worked great. Think you can rig up another?¡± Buzz pulled a scrap of bark from his trouser with a nub of wrapped charcoal in it. ¡°Have one done by nightfall with six o¡¯ the lads bangin¡¯ it out.¡± ¡°Good, I¡¯m going to get a few more under your team. I want that other project started today, as well. Like I showed you in the book.¡± Buzz nodded excitedly. ¡°The lads are on it, boss. Trust. Be up to your specs. Other priorities?¡± We were interrupted by a loud whoosh accompanied by a scream. I looked over at the spiraling smoke trail and the goblin who almost managed to hold on to his booster. ¡°Houston, successful stage-1 separation,¡± I said as the goblin lost his grip and fell somewhere in the forest to the west. ¡°That one wasted no time. I need to invent locks so we can lock up the sulfur.¡± ¡°Sounds like a Sally job. Wot about my boys?¡± ¡°Fuel,¡± I said. Buzz¡¯ eyes slid over to the scat mound. ¡°Fire fuel. I want to run up the kiln again soon. We¡¯re going to need a few things to start getting iron out of that bog.¡± ¡°Chuck wants more space on the west side for his cliffies. We¡¯ll pull timber from there.¡± I slapped Buzz on his shoulder. He dashed off to relay the news to his crew. While he did that, I pulled up the system menu and assigned half the fresh goblins to his team, and half to Neil¡¯s hunters. Sally¡¯s team suffered the fewest casualties, since they rarely left the bluff, so I kept her with the same roster. Though, they did have a tendency for projects to explode in their faces. I gave her 1 extra. The new taskmaster found me while I was sifting through the new arrivals to see which of the new arrivals were best suited for which teams. She dashed up, skidded to a halt, and stood stock rigid like a soldier. ¡°Sir! Ready and able to tackle any and all challenges!¡± I¡¯d already looked at her skills in the System, so I knew what she was good at. I dismissed the window and looked at my newest taskmaster. ¡°Eileen. You ready to fly a test flight?¡± Eileen practically vibrated with anticipation. She had high stats for agility, perception, and mechanical operation¡ªwhich was a trait I hadn¡¯t yet seen. It must have been a side benefit of starting to unlock various simple machines on the Goblin Tech Tree. So, any goblins I put under her should get a bonus to operating machines as well. ¡°Always, sir!¡± I pushed off my chair and folded my hands behind the small of my back, strutting like a general. ¡°I¡¯m putting you in charge of the tribe¡¯s air delivery wing. Assemble your crew and report to the east launcher at mid-day. Until then, help Sally with her preparations. She¡¯ll brief you on the plan.¡± I stopped pacing and considered what I¡¯d just said. I wondered whether Sally was more talkative around the other taskmasters. If not, the brief would be very brief. Eileen saluted and dashed off. I¡¯d have loved to stay and help with that project, but I had boats to build. Neil had all his hunters staged on the north side of the bluff with sets of tools, bones, in addition to their usual assortment of slingers, spears, and cleavers. Two of his group also hoisted one of the ceramic impellers that we used to force air through the furnace. Everyone threw themselves down the slope except for the ones lugging ceramics, which I made sure took the lift down. It wouldn¡¯t do to have the whole ensemble shatter before we even got it to the river. I still wasn¡¯t keen on the vertical approach to travel. I took two of Sally¡¯s engineers and two of Buzz¡¯ builders over and loaded into the flex-a-pult with a handful of the rare mini-gliders to start getting everything we needed prepped. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Neil¡¯s hunters split off to look for game, but he accompanied me to the river with the fishers. The goblins buzz-cut their trail, criss-crossing previous trails until we hit the bank of the river. It still mesmerized me how a collective group of goblins almost moved more like a swarm of insects than a pack of intelligent creatures. The area northeast of the bluff toward the old stone-sloth den and clay deposit had been criss-cut so many times it looked a bit like a checkerboard. It was, by far, our most trafficked area outside of the bluff itself. We came to a slow bend in the river where a few of Buzz¡¯ goblins were already cutting logs to size and Sally¡¯s engineers were weaving cordage from vines. Some of the fishers went to trawl the banks for small fries while I set the rest to task shaping structural poles into a platform and lashed them together. We started to make a shallow-draft boat according to my sketches, with a pair of pontoons that would hopefully keep it stable enough that excitable goblins wouldn¡¯t capsize the whole thing at the earliest opportunity. The space between the wood was packed with pitch and chewed bark on the outside, while the inside got another layer of sap and then the canvas from one of the javeline tents. I had another pole mounted on bearings, to which I added the impeller and crank assembly near the back. And on the forward end of the boat, I added a second column, with a long crossbeam and ceramic winch assembly to pull a flexible pole under load and secured it with the crossbeam. We were losing daylight, but Neil informed me that the best fishing was during the daily eclipse anyway. The javeline rations (and the javeline themselves) were a nice one-time windfall, but I had to make sure I could keep the tribe fed when the night haunt haunches ran out¡ªwhich they would. I had them smoking over the coals with some salt, but they¡¯d last the tribe two, three days at max. And my hope was that having killed two of them, the rest would be more reluctant to attack the village. Just as the sun slipped behind Raphina, we carried the boat to the water and pushed it down the muddy bank into the river bend. It sank immediately. ¡°Well, that¡¯s disappointing,¡± I said, watching the bubbles rise to the surface. With all the time I¡¯ve spent on the water, I thought I¡¯d be better at building a decent boat. At least the technology had been unlocked. I sent two goblins wading into the shallows to retrieve the ceramic parts we couldn¡¯t easily replace. It took us a couple extra hours to rig up a second one, and this time Sally¡¯s engineers made multiple adjustments. This time, when we pushed the assembled craft into the water, it wobbled, but didn¡¯t sink. Neil¡¯s fishers looked at each other excitedly and redoubled their pushing. I had to take a running jump in order to make sure I actually got on board. And let me tell you, stone-sloth claws are not meant for walking on the uneven surface of a wooden boat. The fact this thing was water-tight at all was nothing short of a miracle of Goblin Tech Tree engineering. Several of the goblins helped me to my feet, including Neil. Others had already set trawling lines or were rigging bait to poles. Two more clambered onto the impeller cranks that I¡¯d set up like bikes using the javeline chains that had once bound my wrists. They started pumping away with their little legs and the water at the back of the boat churned. I had to stumble over and grab the steering ring to get them spun around to the right direction before they could ground us on the bank. Rather than forcing air through the impeller, they were forcing water. It was much less practical than a direct-drive propeller, but it was smoother and caused less chop in the water, which I figured would be better for a fishing vessel and less likely to tangle in the river weeds. As soon as we got to the deepest part of the river bend, I had the goblins hop off the impeller cranks and help me kick a bundle of rocks over the side to serve as our anchor. We drifted a bit with the current, but the line drew taut and I secured it to the gunwale. Two of the fishing teams got quick bites and pulled in their fish. Both of them needed extra help wrangling the bigger catches from the deeper part of the river onto the boat. I nodded to myself as I watched. By any measure, it wasn¡¯t an impressive vessel. It would have struggled to keep three or four humans afloat. But it easily held more than a dozen goblins. And it was just the first (sorry, second) prototype. I had no doubt the fishers would iterate and improve the design, as well as work on things that hadn¡¯t even occurred to me. This was overdue. If everything hadn¡¯t been such an emergency since I¡¯d been reborn, this would have been much earlier on my to-do list. But it would become an emergency soon enough if I put it off any longer. ¡°Boss,¡± said Neil, from the aft end of the boat. I walked over and joined him. He pointed to the water about thirty meters back from where we trawled. It was about as long as three goblins laid head to feet, and several fish were leaping out of the water ahead of it. River monster. The bestiary had sketches of multiple aquatic predators. The one specific to rivers and moving waterways that preyed on humanoids was an amphibious predator that looked like a cross between a salamander and a barracuda, long and lithe with powerful jaws, a long, finned tail, and a set of stubby limbs. It veered away from the boat, for the time being, and Neil relaxed. I walked up to the forecastle of the boat and kicked off a special bundle that included chunks of javeline offal that even the goblins hadn¡¯t wanted to eat. Then, I sat back to cast my pole along with the rest of the fishers for an hour or two of just casting and pulling while I listened to the river and the bugs and the birds, and for some reason the occasional explosion. Being back on the water was almost as good as being back in the air. And really, this is what reincarnation should have been about: sailing and soaring and working on engineering projects. Not getting stabbed by pig-men and fighting for my life against beaked bat monsters to protect a tribe of creatures that spent the time they weren¡¯t actively getting murdered finding creative ways to get themselves killed. One of Neil¡¯s fishers hooted and yanked in his pole, aided by his partner. A sizable fish flipped out of the water and smacked another fisher in the face. The three of them fell in a tangle of punches and bites and ended up tying themselves in a knot with the fishing line. And yet, if I couldn¡¯t protect these guys, I¡¯d never walk on the moon. So, even if I hadn¡¯t grown attached, they were worth every squawk, squabble, and scrap. The sound of cliffords barking drew my attention to the riverbank. Chuck and a few of his wranglers bounded through the trees, pulling up just shy of the water. He stood up in the saddle and shaded his eyes. ¡°Boss-man, you over there?¡± I put my foot on the gunwale and cupped my hands. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m here!¡± ¡°Sally says she¡¯s almost ready. Wanted me to come bring you back.¡± I whistled and pointed to the impeller cranks. Two of the goblins not currently casting bounded over and clambered up on the assembly and began pumping. A few others helped me reel in the anchor. We started to move, and I twisted the ring to get the impeller pushing us toward the bank. ¡°Boss, this one¡¯s stuck,¡± said Neil, from over by the bow. I looked over as he tugged on the line. ¡°Careful with that one, it¡¯s loaded to the¡­¡± The line thrashed in the water, nearly pulling Neil overboard. Two goblins dove over and grabbed his feet, keeping him from dropping into the drink as the boat dipped toward the bow. The thick cord drew a perfect line to a dark shadow writhing beneath the surface. The river monster had returned. Chapter 34 - Flexible Fishing Chapter 34 - Flexible Fishing The impeller came completely out of the water, goblins tumbling off the crank assembly and rolling toward the bow. Several goblins hoisted spears and ran to the front of the ship. But that just made the list worse as we started to move on the line. ¡°No, no! To the stern! The stern!¡± I shouted. Some stayed to throw spears at the thrashing shadow in the water. But enough listened to my orders that we got the back of the trawler back in the water and I started working the impeller myself, cranking as hard as my little goblin legs could pump. Neil joined me, and I reached out and turned the ring with one foot, angling the vector of thrust to keep us steady in the water. The river monster pulled against the line, and wood creaked. My feet were wet in the bilges from where the bow had dipped so low it started to let water in. ¡°Boss!¡± shouted Chuck from the shore, pacing his clifford back and forth. ¡°I think you got somethin¡¯!¡± ¡°Ya think?¡± I muttered. Another goblin came up, and I traded places with him and stumbled my way to the bow. In the water, the river monster had swallowed the offal bait, helpless to resist the siren song of javeline tripe. It gnawed and clawed at the line. But I still hadn¡¯t forgiven it for the goblin it had dragged off. I locked eyes with it as I gripped the lever built into the forward assembly and yanked. The retaining bar on the flex-a-pult built into the bow of the ship slipped out of its bracket, and the pole under tension snapped taut, yanking the river beast out on a perfect parabolic arc. It soared above the staring goblins and had just enough line to strike the rocks on the shore. hard. Angular momentum is a bitch. The back 2/3rds of the river monster turned to instant puree with a sound like a gunshot, splashing fish guts over everything within five meters¡ªwhich included the wranglers and their cliffords. The dogs leapt back, yelping in surprise and fear at the noise and sudden movement. And then leapt back in as they realized lunch was served. The wranglers tried to rein them in, but eventually just dismounted and joined in before the dogs ate all the best bits. The front third of the river monster still gripped the offal bait with teeth and claws. It had held on better than the goblin rocket jockey from earlier that morning. I looked at the shocked expression on its fishy face¡ªwhich, I suppose I¡¯d be surprised too, if I¡¯d suddenly accelerated at 20+ G¡¯s and come to a terminal stop. Wait¡­ ugh. I can¡¯t believe I could commiserate with 1/3rd of a fish. ¡°Wicked,¡± said Neil, surveying the damage as the boat drew closer to shore. ¡°Lunch is on, lads!¡± he shouted. ¡°Truss some up to take back! The goblins all abandoned the boat in a frenzy of blue fur and flashing teeth, reducing the few recognizable parts of the salamander in a few minutes, stuffing their faces with some and wrapping the rest in leaves and stowing it in baskets for the evening meal. I watched the carnage, shaking my head. ¡°They¡¯ll be useless all afternoon,¡± I said. ¡°Waste not,¡± said Neil. Not one to mince words, but one for minced meat. I clambered up on Chuck¡¯s clifford, which only growled at me this time. Chuck finished chewing what I think was half a liver and swung back up into the saddle. He offered me¡­ I¡¯m not up on my fish organs. But my stomach growled. I sighed and took it. When in Lanclova¡­ Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. We wheeled around and bounded south back toward the bluff. I heard another shwoosh¡­. POP! and looked up to see a starburst in the sky at the end of a spiraling rocket trail. I wondered if this goblin had remembered to let go. Guess not. I shook my head. Definitely needed access control on the sulfur. With how much goblins enjoyed a free launch, I felt like about two thirds of the tribe would willingly go full Major Kong and ride a rocket all the way to the big goblin graveyard in the sky. Then again, with what I had planned for the rest of the day¡­ well, maybe I was the one that ought to be worried. We reached the bluff just as a load of bricks was going up the lift. Chuck ground to a halt so suddenly I tumbled over him and my leg caught in the netting. Chuck leapt from the back of the clifford and latched onto the net next to me. ¡°You¡¯re not slated to go on this run,¡± I said, confused. He barked a laugh. ¡°You think I¡¯m going to let you out of my sight on this thing? I¡¯m launching right after you. Besides, you owed me a glider.¡± ¡°That I did!¡± I gave him an upside-down salute as the goblin counterweights passed me headed the other direction. Truth told; I was glad for his presence. Of all the verbal goblins, Chuck was the one I trusted the most. The hobgoblin was capable, clever, and hard-working. His crew had rescued me, brought down a night haunt on their own, and now he would be watching my back. Once up, I waited for the minders to hook the load and pull us over onto the bluff before dusting myself off. Most of the tribe still on the bluff was gathered around the eastern rails, where I¡¯d launched the glider from the greased rails to go explore the other bluffs. Sally had the prototype heavy glider mounted up, and Eileen waved at me from the front where she was strapped in. Six of Sally¡¯s engineers were attaching long, wooden devices to the underside of the glider just outside the rails. ¡°Just in time, boss! You want to take the reins for this one?¡± asked Eileen. She¡¯d adopted a skull mask of just the orbital bones and a rough hide cap, which made the bones look a lot like a pair of old-timey flight goggles without the lenses. ¡°Nope!¡± I said. I moved over and climbed to the netting on the glider. ¡°I need to make sure you can function without my micromanagement. I¡¯m just here for the in-flight movie. ¡°Good, I¡¯d have fought you.¡± ¡°You¡¯d have fought your king?¡± ¡°And won!¡± She reached over and grabbed a pair of semaphore flags made out of two colors of fur. ¡°Preflight checks!¡± she shouted. Her crew assembled and took their places as she hoisted flags and watched their responses. Satisfied, she called out ¡°Passengers aboard!¡± Almost a dozen goblins climbed aboard, including one of the two new scrappers. Each of the goblins had a basket strapped to their back like a parachute. I joined and fixed myself in place with the available cord. ¡°Safety disengaged!¡± Eileen shouted. I looked around for Sally. ¡°You included a safety?¡± I asked. She lifted one hand and wiggled it about. Sort of. One of her goblins unhooked a rope from the rear of the glider. Two more approached with hot coals. I tightened my grip on the frame. Just like the first time I¡¯d flown, I started to feel an invisible pressure that I¡¯d come to recognize as the System¡¯s direct attention. I¡¯m not sure why it was so interested in flying, as compared to hunting or fishing or whatever any of the civilized peoples of Rava were doing. But then, from what Rufus had said, no one on the planet was doing anything as interesting as experimenting with flying machines¡ªnot that he¡¯d seen, anyway. ¡°Begin launch sequence! Step 1!¡± shouted Eileen. The two engineers held the coals to the ends of the rockets. One of them didn¡¯t get out of the way fast enough as its motor caught and started to burn. The goblin went up in a bright burst of glowing blue fur. The other motor caught as well, and the flames became a torrent that lurched us forward. Two of the passengers lost their grip and fell off the back of the glider, which solved my concern about adding my weight to the flight. I held on for dear life as the roar mounted and we slid along the wooden rails towards the ramp, teeth chattering from the vibration. This takeoff was going to be at a much higher speed than my first flight with the glider. The aircraft rattled so bad I thought it might come apart in the violence. But then we were off the rails, into the afternoon sky, and still accelerating on the icky-sicky rockets. ¡°What¡¯s step 2?¡± I shouted over the rush-roar of the rockets. ¡°There is no step 2!¡± Eileen shouted back. Chapter 35 - Multi-Crude Aircraft Chapter 35 - Multi-Crude Aircraft The rocket boosters burned for several more seconds before the flames fizzled, and the two pods fell away from the soaring aircraft while my ears rang. The nose started to pitch down, and Eileen raised both flags over her head. The goblin at the back of the aircraft hauled on its cords, raising the elevator until our pitch stabilized. Then, she thrust one flag out to the side, and the goblin at the end of the wing lifted its aileron. The wing dipped on that side and we established a gentle bank to the southeast. The glider was too big and too heavy for one goblin to control it alone. Eileen needed her whole crew operating the individual control surfaces that kept the aircraft aloft. I heard the Shwoosh roar of another launch behind us and twisted around to see a smaller glider riding up into the sky behind us. That would be Chuck. I wish we had radios to communicate with. But at least if we went down, he¡¯d know exactly where to bring the rescue team. And I¡¯d have a scrapper with me from the start. I looked at the burly hobgoblin holding on with white-knuckled fervor. She wasn¡¯t quite as solid as Armstrong, but I had no doubt she would throw herself at any threat with the same ferocity. The rockets burned for less than a minute, but they had gotten us almost a third of the way to the bluff already. As we passed over the hot springs, three of the goblins bailed out, EEEEeeeeeing down to the forest canopy below. They¡¯d be harvesting more of the sulfur that we needed for the primitive rockets. We kept going, getting lift off heat still rising from the pools. The bluff was coming up, and Eileen was doing a good job managing the glider¡¯s energy. I lowered my head for a closer look, and it seemed like the lizards were already swarming out of their desert holes and moving for the village. They weren¡¯t high level, but there were a lot of them. With the sun behind Raphina, they were taking their opportunity to raid the village. The village itself was in much better shape than when I¡¯d come by in my first glider. A palisade had been erected on the southern side, and goblins stood atop in helmets made from lizard skulls, equipped with long spears and slingers. Traps and weighted pendulums dotted the rampart and the cliff face. I spotted several goblins, much bigger than the rest, moving along the wall and getting into position as the lizards hit the base of the bluff and started to climb. Armstrong waved at us as we soared overhead. Eileen raised one of her flags, and we dipped to the left, angling over the village. All but the crew bailed out, free-falling down¡ªincluding the newest hobgoblin scrapper, who shot me a grin and a thumbs up as she fell toward the village. Builders, engineers, and fighters for the war effort against the lizard menace. I wouldn¡¯t abandon these goblins. I didn¡¯t want to abandon the bluff, either. It was an important expansion opportunity. I didn¡¯t have to be a military genius to know castles were built on high ground for a reason, and the plateaus were the highest ground short of the mountains to the northeast. Rather than evacuating, I would fortify this village, just as I¡¯d fortified Village Apollo in my war against the night haunts¡ªa war we might actually be winning, despite the obvious level disadvantage. ¡°Payload¡¯s away, boss!¡± shouted Eileen. ¡°But we got another surprise for them, don¡¯t we lads!¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± I shouted up. ¡°What have you got kicking?¡± With most of the weight off the glider, our performance increased dramatically, and Eileen directed us in a wide loop, coming even with the side of the bluff where the lizards were starting to climb. Eileen stowed her semaphore signals and crawled back to where I sat in the middle of the fuselage. The goblins at the wings and tail locked their control surfaces and made their way to the middle of the aircraft, where they uncovered a wicker basket full of small, clay jars padded with moss and straw. ¡°Are those what I think they are?¡± I asked. Eileen handed me one of the small pots, grinning with a mouth full of sharp teeth¡ªso wide that I thought her head might just come right off. ¡°Compliments of Neil, ya know? I wanted bomb fruits but he said these would be safer so I had the lads whip some up: bomb fruit juice mixed in with the icky-sicky. Best be quick! She won¡¯t hold steady long.¡± ¡°That would explain the explosions this morning,¡± I said. So, Neil had figured out a way to get the explosive juice from the fruits. Though, based on the number of explosions, it seemed like it was far from a sure thing. Probably why Neil was fishing when they¡¯d tried it. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. My master hunter had a keen thought, there, in mixing it with the putty. The vibration from the rocket-assisted launch would have absolutely set off a bushel full of bomb fruits, no matter what you tried to cushion them with. I briefly wondered if there was a safe method of stabilizing the juice in liquid form. But that seemed like a dangerous line of thinking. Especially when goblins were prone to drinking nearly any liquid they encountered. I passed the popper to the next goblin, who passed it to the next, until we¡¯d distributed two to the entire crew of the glider. The side of the cliff loomed, and just a few meters from us, the lizards scaled the sheer face of the plateau. ¡°Let ¡®em have it!¡± shouted Eileen as she reared back and hurled her icky-sicky popper. The rest of her crew followed suit, and I tossed mine as well, one after the other. The clay jars hit the cliff face, and small explosions rippled against the surface of the stone, dislodging lizards and sending them plummeting down the side of the wall. They reached and scrabbled for purchase but found none as they disappeared below the treetops. An entire wave of the beasties came off the cliff face and fell to their deaths, and falling rocks accounted for several more. But the battle was far from won and the glider was losing energy. Cheering reached us from the top of the bluff as Eileen returned to the front of her glider and the rest of the crew took their positions at the control surfaces. A shadow passed over us, and I looked up as Chuck did a hairpin turn, knife-edging along the cliff wall and slashing one lizard nearly in half with his cleaver. Others snapped at him as he passed, but the wrangler was too quick to be caught. He pulled his glider out of the dive and overtook us with his lighter craft. I waved to him as he soared on ahead toward the nearest thermal. Behind us, more lizards flooded up the cliff. Some were knocked away by the simple traps and hazards, but the first few had reached the spears and cleavers of the goblins and hobgoblins. They seemed to be without number. But in a war of attrition, I got the sense that you shouldn¡¯t bet against goblins. Not ever. Not when there was a goblin king in town. Ahead, Chuck suddenly deviated to the north. Eileen watched the wrangler¡¯s sudden turn and looked back to me. ¡°Should we follow, boss?¡± ¡°Can we afford the detour?¡± Eileen checked her surfaces, tested her speed by licking a finger, and gauged her altitude by tossing a pebble off the side and counting the time it took to reach the trees. ¡°I think so,¡± I had the system¡¯s helpful window showing me all that information the easy way, which made me curious. System, can Eileen not access the flight data window? Not bad, Eileen. Trust your instruments, but back up your findings. I could respect that. ¡°Get after him, then. His eyes are better than ours. Let¡¯s see what he spotted.¡± Eileen raised her flag, and we dipped into a bank that carried us toward the mountains to the northeast. We crossed the river where we¡¯d launched the first of our fishing fleet, and I saw the vessel back in the middle of the river, though we were too high to see the individual goblins crewing it. We continued on, passing over thick forest with open stretches, and stopped at a sun-baked patch of earth to ride a thermal up for some extra altitude before continuing on. The terrain started to rise into the foothills, and Chuck began to circle. Eileen directed our heavy glider over to the area, and I looked down. A horde of javeline moved through the woods¡ªat least 50 of the porcine hunters¡ªin what must have been the main war band that sent off detachments like Rotte''s group of rutters. Some of them looked up and pointed with spears or slung rocks from leather straps that fell laughably short of the aircraft. Given the general direction they were headed, it looked like there was a bluff further east that they had their eyes on first. But they¡¯d come for us eventually. I scowled. Goblin ears and tongues, eh? Well, we¡¯d give ¡®em a welcome. ¡°Hey Eileen. We got anymore poppers?¡± She flashed her wicked grin and signaled her crew to lean us into a slow circle. I moved to the armory basket and pulled out a pair of munitions. There were still five left. The javeline watched us with wary curiosity, probably wondering if we were some sort of large bird. I wound up and hucked the first two poppers, then grabbed two more and threw them as well. Baseball was never my sport. I¡¯d always been a rower and a runner¡ªgive me a twelve-kilometer shaded course and an EDM soundtrack at 170 beats per minute and I¡¯ll choose it over a diamond and a bat any day. But I feel I accorded myself well with the improvised goblin grenades. The javeline maintained their disinterest until the first poppers exploded in their midst, shocking and scattering the pig-men. The rest fell in quick succession, wreaking havoc among the ranks as the rutters scrambled away from the danger. But I¡¯d knocked down a few of the half-bacon bastards and they¡¯d had no idea what happened. I could see at least two of the rutters down, and another half-dozen limping or dazed by sharp fragments of the clay casing. I hope one of them was Rotte. But there¡¯s no way I¡¯d get that lucky. ¡°Alright,¡± I said, putting the cover back on the empty basket. ¡°Let¡¯s go home.¡± Chapter 36 - Subtle Progress Chapter 36 - Subtle Progress <2 Hobgoblin Scrappers have been added to your tribe> <3 Hobgoblin wranglers have been added to your tribe> <1 Goblin taskmaster has been added to your tribe> ¡°Alright, test flight number 9. Go for launch,¡± I said. Sally pulled the lever to drop the rock load, and the glider shot forward on the rails. I watched it hit the ramp and then take to the air as the scrapper onboard pedaled furiously. His pedaling went to a direct drive wooden propeller at the back of the aircraft that started to spin. For about thirty seconds, it looked like he might manage to keep it up. But the nose started to dip, and no matter how much the scrapper tried to correct, the prop just wasn¡¯t generating enough thrust to keep smooth airflow over the wings. The whole thing tipped, and the scrapper came out of his seat. Both pilot and plane plummeted to the terrain below the bluff without even reaching the new tree-line that Buzz had cleared to over the last several days. I winced as the sound of the wooden frame splintering reached us on top of the plateau. ¡°This ain¡¯t it, Boss,¡± said Eileen, standing next to me with her hand on her chin. ¡°We¡¯re going to need another solution if we want to save on sulfur.¡± I sighed. Even the scrappers weren¡¯t physically strong enough to maintain powered flight that overcame the added weight of the prop assembly. Even with the reduced gravity of Raphina directly overhead, and even launched directly into the wind, a goblin-powered aircraft just didn¡¯t seem feasible. We were going to need either gas envelopes or internal combustion to maintain powered flight. And right now, both were still out of reach due to material constraints. Getting the lighter-than-air gas for airships was surprisingly easy. I had a test balloon stitched by my most recently born taskmaster, Javier, hovering right now¡ªdirectly over the latrine. It turns out that goblin scat, in addition to making a great base for primitive rocket fuel, puts out an insane amount of methane that could either be trapped in an envelope to create lift or burned to create hot air. And the solution to needing more fuel was the same as the solutions to most problem as a goblin king: get more goblins. I¡¯d managed to stay out of trouble the past few days and enhance our progress on all fronts except this one, which had given the tribe some breathing room. The problem with gas-envelope airships was a materials one. Even with the square-cube law on your side, you needed a lot of surface area for an envelope capable of lifting people¡ªeven people as small as goblins. I¡¯d mathed it out, and our new clothier division would need roughly a thousand hides from cliffords or eclipse lizards, or other similar sized animals in order to lift up a frame and five goblins plus the weight of the craft itself. That just wasn¡¯t feasible. And I couldn¡¯t rely on Rufus to come back with a wagonload of sailcloth in his overstuffed backpack, either. Not when we were in the middle of the untamed jungle. We needed roads if we were going to get actual trade. But roads could also be used to move armies. Internal combustion was a more mechanically complex solution that required metal¡ªwhich was on the docket anyway¡ªas well as liquid fuel, lubricating oil, and a stable source of ignition. A simple, self-lubricating rotary engine had only a few moving parts and could take a hell of a beating. I could build one out of ceramic. But when it failed (and it would fail), it would do so catastrophically and most likely explosively. And it would take several dedicated firings to iterate one that worked in the first place. Steel would be better, and we had a source of iron nearly in reach. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. I sat at the western edge of the bluff as Eileen and her team ran over to the east side to set up for the day¡¯s transfer of supplies and personnel to Village Canaveral¡ªwhat I¡¯d named the bluff beset by the lizards. There seemed to be no end to them and reinforcing the village had only brought them out in greater numbers. Even with the enhanced fortifications and a dedicated taskmaster with a militaristic skillset (John) heading up Canaveral¡¯s defenses so that I could give Armstrong some much-needed rest at Village Apollo, an end to the war was nowhere in sight. Which had, ironically, become a huge boon as I needed fewer hunters and fishers to support the tribe. The lizards were the closest thing in Rava to Doordash. Canaveral had started sending back meat and hides via glider for every load of fresh goblins and raw materials. They¡¯d been using those hides to produce more rocket-assist aircraft, as well. But eventually, we¡¯d run out of sulfur without new sources. Below, the open land had started to stretch where Buzz¡¯ timber team had cleared area for Chuck¡¯s paddocks. And rather than a single herd animal, the wranglers had brought back a hodge-podge of grazing savannah creatures and thrust them together to figure things out via spaghetti testing. Essentially, they had thrown the entire biome at the wall and were seeing what stuck in the goblin equivalent of animal husbandry. It had started to attract predators, but Chuck had let the stone-sloth cub have the run of the enclosures like a sheep dog and it kept most other nasties away. It was growing incredibly quickly, as well. The cub now weighed as much as a hobgoblin, and I knew it would only get bigger. Far beyond that, iron waited for me in the peat bog, and that consumed the lion¡¯s share of my attention and planning. Metal was the answer to most of our immediate bottlenecks. But it was a long way to travel on foot. A couple hours ride on a clifford meant at least 2 days¡¯ walk as the goblin bushwhacks. And goblins wouldn¡¯t¡ªcouldn¡¯t survive on the ground at night without the safety of high ground. So, we were going to bring it with us. But that would still be a multi-day trek through dangerous terrain with heavy supplies. I¡¯d started inventing wheels, wagons, yokes, and even gravel roads to haul everything in preparation. Luckily, a large enough group of goblins basically carved their own freeway as a matter of course when moving from place to place. Roads were a simple matter of paving that cleared brush over with gravel from broken or discarded construction bricks. When I was going to grad school, they¡¯d shut down one lane of the main stretch outside my apartment for 6 months in order to re-pave 2 miles of asphalt. Give me a dozen of Buzz¡¯ builders and I¡¯d have had it done in 3 weeks. I sat for a while, considering that iron and the threats in the bog. We¡¯d been there all of 10 minutes and encountered two major dangers¡ªand who knows what else lurked there. I wouldn¡¯t send the iron expedition unprepared. Weapons, leather and ceramic armor, fortified building supplies, and munitions were all going. I worried that the expenditure of personnel and resources might not be worth it if the bog bounced us back as brutally as it had the first time. At least I also didn¡¯t have to worry about things falling apart in my absence. Thanks to my supervision, the tribe was running like a well-oiled machine¡ªor at least a stack of spinning plates kept aloft by a well-oiled stage magician. Logistics were a matter of raw materials available vs collected vs consumed and left-right limits for the different divisions within Tribe Apollo let things function without my direct intervention in most circumstances without worrying about critical shortfalls. But I¡¯d specialized in closed-loop systems in my engineering classes, and my expertise were surprisingly applicable to the tribal management. At least until the next crisis occurred. And it seemed like goblins lived in a near-constant state of one crisis after another. Case in point. The javeline and night haunts were still out there as well. I¡¯d seen smoke rising from a bluff in the direction I¡¯d last seen the rutters moving and had to assume they¡¯d wiped out another tribe before I could get to them. I needed powered flight in order to rescue the more distant villages. I brought up the System window and checked the rosters. Looked like Buzz had lost one of his construction crew to some sort of accident. I dismissed the window and pulled myself to my feet. The sloth claws were holding up well. But I couldn¡¯t help looking forward to the day I¡¯d be able to augment this design with steel springs and blades. And it was coming. I was certain of it. No pig men or croc-knockers or lizard swarms could slow me down for long. Chapter 37 - Friendly Fire Chapter 37 - Friendly Fire A glider soaring over the grasslands spotted Rufus coming up from the south. The wranglers went to meet him on cliffords and escorted the trader to the freight elevator. He looked around, mouth slightly agape at the differences in the village. ¡°It looks a bit different, I know,¡± I said. We¡¯d replaced all the sticky shelters with stone and adobe versions¡ªas high as three stories tall. But Rufus fixated on the tallest building in the village. ¡°A bit,¡± He said. He pointed to a square tower on the east side. ¡°What are they doing?¡± I followed his gaze to a pair of Eileen¡¯s goblins atop the tower with a pair of hide flags. ¡°Directing traffic,¡± I said. After a moment, a scout glider came in to land on the narrow strip, skidding to a halt on the dirt path that passed for a landing zone. The pilot scrambled out, and over to the pond to scrub the bugs off her face. On the launch rail, a small rocket booster ignited, sending the replacement scout craft rocketing into the air. ¡°So that¡¯s what I¡¯ve been hearing for these two days past. I thought it was earthquakes and thunder, yet I saw no lightning and never once felt the ground quake.¡± ¡°The tower was really a prototype,¡± I said. I took Rufus to the central courtyard of our developing little city, where a shaded pavilion ringed the fire pits with long tables. This was where Sally¡¯s team did most of their work during the day, as well as where the tribe ate after sundown. Two dozen of her engineers were tinkering with various projects or manufacturing parts, or scribbling incomprehensible new designs. ¡°The internal part of the tower has sleeping room for thirty goblins, and the top can be expanded for more. I wanted to try building one here to see how many bricks it would take before we made one down below. But it makes for a great air traffic control station.¡± ¡°Air traffic,¡± Rufus said, and laughed. "Tabun¡¯ Quo¡¯Horal are not going to believe this.¡± ¡°Tabun¡¯ Quarrel who?¡± I asked. Rufus unslung his pack, more delicately than I was used to seeing him treat his things. He pulled out a spool of copper wire, the bearing I¡¯d given him, and a few other trinkets. At last, he withdrew a small brass jar and a roll of gauze. I looked at the jar. It was capped, with the first indication I¡¯d had of threading on this world. ¡°Liquor from the artificers?¡± ¡°If only,¡± he huffed. ¡°When I showed the City of Brass the things you gave me and described what I saw here, they insisted on sending a representative in person¡ªso to speak¡ªto confirm things for themselves before agreeing to any long-term trade agreements. The fact they were willing to do so speaks very loudly, Apollo. They leave their city rarely, and only at great risk to themselves.¡± ¡°When should I expect this representative?¡± I asked. By way of answer, Rufus unscrewed the stopper on the brass jar. At first, nothing happened. Then, tendrils of pale, blue flame began to creep through its neck. The tendrils felt around as I watched, fascinated. They lit upon the gauze. But, instead of singeing the sheer cloth, as I expected them to do, the wraps billowed, and the bottle rattled as fire flowed out of bottle and into the loose shape of a person slightly smaller than a goblin, which stood up on the table and bowed to me. ¡°Good king,¡± it whispered. Its voice sounding like the whisper of wind through the forest. ¡°We are Tabun¡¯ Quo¡¯Horal of The City. It is our honor to meet you.¡± ¡°You¡¯re kidding,¡± I said, looking between the badger-kin and the new arrival. ¡°The artificers are magic lamp djinni?¡± System notified me. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. What¡¯s the difference? Still, no wonder they were so reluctant to travel out of their city. If they traveled in bottles, practically anyone could promise to take an ifrit one place and then move them somewhere else altogether. If there was value in goblin ears and tongues, a creature of living flame must have demanded a pretty penny indeed. ¡°We are familiar with this word,¡± said Tabun. ¡°Djinni. It is a crude, reductive term. We dislike it. Almost as much as we dislike when the newcomers term us demons." "Newcomers?" I shot a look at Rufus. He caught my implication immediately. Others like me. The half-badger shook his head. "Humans, elves, and other outsiders. Lanclova was long-deemed too dangerous to explore." I looked back to Tabun. "I see. So you''re not demons or djinni. How do you call yourselves?" "We are Ifrit.¡± Alright fine, so there is a difference. ¡°Sorry about that,¡± I said. ¡°I meant no offense. Ifrit it is.¡± The ifrit bowed again. ¡°Your humility honors us,¡± it said. It walked across the surface of the table, toward a pair of gawking engineers who were putting together a set of ceramic gears for a winch. It touched the gearing and part of the gauze wrapping deflated. The winch began to spin in the goblin¡¯s hands, much to the creature¡¯s shock. It squawked and dropped the piece. The ifrit flowed back into its wrappings. ¡°Interesting application of gear ratios. This allows one of your goblins to lift something greater than his own weight, yes?¡± ¡°That¡¯s one of the potential applications, yes, Tabun.¡± ¡°Tabun¡¯ Quo¡¯Horal. To call us simply ¡®Tabun¡¯ diminishes the union of Quo and Horal, whose voice you now hear. I am acquainted with the fleshling habit of familiar brevity. If you must shorten our name, please call us Taquoho.¡± So there was more than one entity inhabiting those wraps. Made sense, really. I mean, as much as anything in this world did. Clearly these were magical creatures in some way, and this was the first hint I¡¯d seen of magic¡¯s actual existence other than the explicit denial of it to goblins by the System that indirectly implied its presence. Still, several fires can join to become a single blaze, right? ¡°Sure thing. Taquoho. I¡¯ll try to remember it.¡± Taquoho bowed again. ¡°When our honored friend Rufus told us of you, we must admit we thought it some strange jest or poison of the mind. It is our great shame that we thought you so. The City has not encountered a goblin king in many years, and the last one was certainly not inclined to trade or practice artifice. This material you¡¯ve created, we believed it was some machination of the newcomers. We are glad it is not, because we greatly desire more of it.¡± He moved on to the next station at the tables. A pair of Sally¡¯s goblins there was assembling an impeller. Taquoho again diminished and flowed into the device. The impeller was much larger, and the ifrit was able to squeeze the entirety of its body into the gadget. It vibrated on the table and started blowing back the loose skin of the engineer¡¯s face like a dog leaning its head out the window on the highway. A voice issued from the ceramic shell, echoing in the hollow chamber. ¡°Fascinating. Less mechanically efficient than bellows or a fan blade. It impresses us what you have achieved with such primitive means¡± He flowed out and filled out the gauze wraps again. ¡°If we provide you with schema, are you able to produce parts in your ceramic material?¡± ¡°Hold up,¡± I said. ¡°Did you just possess my impeller?¡± ¡°That is a crude, reductive description. But accurate.¡± ¡°Can you possess larger devices?¡± Taquoho stopped. I got the feeling of ephemeral eyes on me. ¡°It is the basis of our culture. We craft bodies that let us interact with the world in ways the True Form cannot. It is the reason many of the newcomers assume us to be demons. Ever, we seek to better our vessels. Please provide an answer to our query.¡± I¡¯d gotten so excited so fast that I¡¯d forgotten the ifrit had even asked me anything. I thought back. ¡°Yes. I can produce ceramic versions of parts you provide. How large an object could you possess?¡± ¡°By what frame of reference?¡± I looked around at the projects Sally¡¯s engineers were currently working on and pointed to a new iteration of the goblin-powered propeller. I pointed to it. ¡°Could you move something like that?¡± The ifrit leaned over, peering at the assembly. He did his vanishing trick again, and the prop began to turn, slowly. ¡°I¡¯m afraid it is much too heavy and tiresome for us to move with alacrity. Perhaps a stronger Ifrit might. Pray tell, what is this device for?¡± Rufus glanced over at me ¡°Are you going to tell him?¡± I shrugged. ¡°Easier to show him.¡± I stood on the table and whistled up at the tower. ¡°Eileen! Prep the heavy!¡± Taquoho filled out his gauze wraps again. ¡°You have a working of artifice for us to view?¡± he asked, not quite hiding the excitement in their voice. Rufus barked a laugh. ¡°You could call it that! Bloody deathtrap, it is. Impressive bit of machining, though.¡± ¡°Aww, don¡¯t say that, Rufus,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re coming too!¡± Chapter 38 - On the Wing Chapter 38 - On the Wing The wind blew through my fur as Eileen turned us into a bank. I had to be the one to hold Taquoho¡¯s bottle with its tiny questing flame cupped in my hand against the gale. Rufus was holding on for dear life. ¡°This model is just a glider. But I hope to have powered versions soon using that propeller assembly you just saw.¡± We flew south from the village over the grasslands where thermals were plentiful. Below us, the savannah stretched, and just beyond I could see the transition into a red, sandy desert. Could I make out a faint glimmer on the horizon? Was that the city of ifrits or just a mirage? ¡°How curious. How does it fly when its wings are stationary? What mechanism keeps this sky-craft aloft? Goblins cannot use magic.¡± ¡°Aerodynamics,¡± I said. I pointed to the wings. ¡°It¡¯s all about airflow over that surface creating a negative pressure area above the wing, which pulls the glider upwards against gravity. The more air over the wing, the more lift. Right now, the only way we can get airspeed is by trading altitude. That¡¯s why powered flight is so effective.¡± ¡°We are not familiar with this natural philosophy. And it is controlled by pushing and pulling on those cords?¡± I nodded. ¡°Raising the aileron puts us in a bank, changing the thrust vector of the lifting surface.¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to pretend I understand all this!¡± said Rufus. ¡°In hopes that understanding it will make it less terrifying!¡± I laughed. ¡°Believe it or not, in my world, flying is one of the safest forms of travel.¡± ¡°And how many gliders have crashed as a result of your attempts in Rava?¡± he asked. I grit my teeth. That question depended on whether he meant the refined glider attempts, or the small single-goblin hanging gliders that were more like jumping off a cliff with an umbrella than soaring. But I doubted he¡¯d like the answer, either way. ¡°If you¡¯re so frightened of a hard landing, why did you join us?¡± ¡°Badger!¡± Of course. ¡°We take it your attempts to harness the meager might of goblin-kind was unsuccessful in this endeavor of powered flight, and you are seeking alternate means.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± I said. God, it was nice to talk shop to people who could follow science, even if they didn¡¯t quite understand (at least, in Rufus¡¯ case). ¡°There are two main ways to get powered fixed-wing flight¡ªelectric motors and internal combustion engines.¡± ¡°Have you not considered clockwork?¡± ¡°Too heavy. It¡¯s not an efficient store of potential energy in terms of strength-to-weight ratio for flight. Unless you guys are way better at it than humans. No. I could make a basic internal combustion engine with more metal and a fuel source. But I can also make a basic electric motor with the magnets and copper wire you sent with Rufus. Except, you also need a battery to power an electric motor.¡± ¡°It harnesses the elemental primal of linear lightning to spin a shaft? How curious. I can conceive of numerous applications.¡± Sounded reductive and crude. But of course, I didn¡¯t say that. ¡°Close enough. Batteries are chemical and mechanical in nature. I know of several types, and how to build battery cells. But I have no way of finding the chemicals in question without an online order¡ªerm, without a chemist. That would be lithium, nickel-cadmium, or lead and copper and an electrolyte like¡­¡± I trailed off. Sulfuric acid. This whole time, I¡¯d had a viable electrolyte in the sodium and sulfur-rich water at the hot springs. My heart began to beat faster. Rechargeable batteries were in sight if I could secure more lead and copper. That meant electricity. Probably not enough voltage to get us to another bluff without the battery being too heavy for an aircraft to lift, but it was a start to an idea. Taquoho had gotten more comfortable on the flight, and his questing tendril stretched downward. I lowered the jar, and he began to flow out of the jar and into the glider. Really? Back-to-back puns? He¡¯s not even a goblin. ¡°We can feel it. The air, the¡­ lift. It is exhilarating. This new type of body fascinates us. So few moving parts, and yet such freedom of movement. The Spirit is querying¡ªit has offered us new skills.¡± New type of body? Huh. I guess for ifrit, it sort of was. I could see why primitive humans would consider them demons bewitching objects and devices. The glider shuddered and rocked gently from side to side as the flight control surfaces worked on their own. Eileen started hurling abuse and threats at her crew, but I raised a hand to her. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°Let him cook,¡± I said. She calmed down, and her crew backed off their control surfaces. In a few moments, Taquoho infused the entirety of the glider. He may not have been strong enough to spin a heavy propeller at speed, but he could certainly move ailerons and elevators. He brought us into a gentle bank, entering a thermal. The upward momentum pushed me down against the frame as we rose in a slow, wide loiter. It seemed ifrits, with their inclination to inhabit mechanical devices, were natural pilots. Pale, blue flame trailed behind the craft at wingtips and tail. Rufus was squeezing his crossbar so hard I thought the wood might shatter under his claws. Eileen looked more snubbed. She was the flight captain, after all, and she¡¯d just turned her machine over to a lamp flame. We flew for almost 10 minutes before I heard Taquoho¡¯s voice again. ¡°We tire.¡± I signaled Eileen, who pretended not to notice at first, feet kicked up at the fore end of her captain¡¯s station at the nose of the craft. But eventually she shot me a grudging glare and moved her crew back in place to take over the flight. ¡°Tired of being an airplane?¡± I asked. ¡°Only in the sense that we require recuperation. But I do not know that we could ever tire of flight.¡± You¡¯re not the only one, I thought to myself. As every time I flew, the System focused on our endeavors to such a degree that the attention was palpable. What made it so curious about flight in particular? Maybe it was just the strain of simulating complex flight physics. I still hadn¡¯t ruled out the possibility that this was all an elaborate computer program and that my existence was some cruel code base in an alien computer. Maybe I could crash the System by forcing it to simulate too many aircraft flying at once. If I somehow did do that, what would happen to me? But then, the complex physics that governed every perceivable part of this world were much more complicated than aerodynamics over an airfoil. Hell, you could make a basic flight simulator to calculate lift over a wing in a few days with a decent knowledge of Python or C++. Maybe the system simply was curious. I had no idea why such a thing might spark the intrigue of a world-wide computer, but then I had no idea why the System had been programmed with such a petulant sense of humor. Case in point. Hey, wait a minute. I narrowed my eyes and waited to see if the System had anything else to add. It refrained. Taquoho poured himself back into the bottle in my lap while Eileen and her crew resumed their positions. What the hell? ¡°Back to, erm, the village now, I presume?¡± asked Rufus, hopefully. While the Ifrit seemed to enjoy the flight, Rufus clearly preferred solid ground. ¡°Yeah,¡± I said reluctantly. I was losing goblins with the sun still out, so it would probably be smart to make sure they weren¡¯t getting into trouble. Within a few minutes, we were off the plain and back to the forest with Village Apollo in sight. They already had the dinner¡¯s cookfires going. I could smell the smoke drifting on the air. Then I heard the pop, pop of explosions, and I realized it wasn¡¯t cookfires I smelled. It was fire fires. Several of the thatch roofs were burning, and I could see a flurry of activity on the northern wall. ¡°Eileen, bring us around to the north,¡± I said. Eileen dipped the aircraft around, taking us in a wide circle around the bluff. As we got to the north side, the scene at the wall came into view. A small army of 8 or 12 javeline were at the brick wall with pikes, torches, heavy hammers, and crossbows. These ones weren¡¯t bare-chested and garbed for scouting like the rutters. These had armor across their shoulders, torso, and flanks that worked moderately well against even the ceramic tips, and more than a few chipped spears and cleavers were being swung down or waved about. They were more like, I don¡¯t know, maulers. The maulers managed to pull down a few of the wall¡¯s defenders with long, hooked polearms, which accounted for the deaths. But they were having trouble getting close enough to hammer down the wall with 40 some odd goblins on the ramparts hurling stones, grenades, and abuse down at them. In the forest below, I caught flashes of red among the trees as Chuck and his wranglers harried them from behind with slingers and thrown spears. It was a difficult position for the javeline, but they were tough, hardy creatures, and difficult to deter. What finally broke them was sight of the aircraft, and its silhouette casting a large shadow over their formation. Some of them pointed skyward with weapons or fingers, and a pair of bolts punched up through the left wing from javeline crossbows. Yikes. I held Taquoho¡¯s bottle close, so as not to drop it as Eileen maneuvered. With our appearance, the javeline maulers made themselves scarce. Maybe they remembered us dropping bomblets on them from the previous flight. They withdrew down the steep slope on the north side of the village, leaving two of their own number dead on the slope. We¡¯d won the battle. But it didn¡¯t feel like a victory. In fact, I felt more vulnerable than ever. Eileen brought us around and into the wind. We set down on the cleared and level landing strip, and I jumped out, shouting for Armstrong. My scrapper taskmaster, Armstrong, appeared, with a cut above his right eye and, despite everything, a grin on his face. ¡°What happened?¡± I asked. ¡°Ah, well, ye know,¡± he said, working his shoulders. ¡°Bit o¡¯ a scrap, boss. Nothing we can¡¯t handle.¡± ¡°Yeah? And what if they come back at night?¡± Armstrong had nothing to say to that. ¡°Neil!¡± I shouted. The leader of the hunters stepped out of the crowd. He was cleaning his cleavers. ¡°Boss?¡± ¡°Take every bomb fruit we have. Bury them on the northern slope. Before nightfall. If those armored javaline come back, I want to introduce pork rinds to the ionosphere.¡± ¡°Trust.¡± ¡°Good. Buzz, Sally!¡± My OG taskmasters appeared. ¡°Wall, thicker and higher. I want a trench in front of it, and I want some scaled-up slingers on top of it, something that can launch a sled full of rocks.¡± Buzz glanced at Sally and then back to me. ¡°She¡¯s already drawn up plans for it while we was scrapping. Tribe Apollo is onnit, boss. We know what to do,¡± ¡°Good,¡± I said. I looked around. Despite the deaths and the chaos, the village wasn¡¯t in a state of panic. Just me, really. My lieutenants gathered around me were calm¡ªat least, calm for goblins. It struck me, then, that they really did know what to do. I¡¯d set this village up to function without my direct intervention. If I¡¯d been ten minutes later flying back, maybe those javaline would be inside the wall, and maybe they¡¯d still be getting shoved off by Armstrong¡¯s boys. But I was in danger of becoming the very type of micromanaging supervisor dreaded by the engineers at NuEarth. ¡°Very good. Carry on, then. I¡¯ve got some negotiations to return to. I trust you all to do what needs doing.¡± And I did. I think my taskmasters picked up on that, because they left with chests just a little bit puffier than they¡¯d arrived. Chapter 39 - Bodies of Brass Chapter 39 - Bodies of Brass ¡°A most unfortunate situation, King Apollo. We detest and dislike the javeline almost as much as we detest and dislike the newcomers. I am pleased to see that your town was not overrun.¡± Town. I looked around the central common area at the buildings rising from the bluff. I guess with all the wooden and adobe construction with clay roofing tiles, it was starting to look less like a primitive village and more like a town. The goblin-powered cranes only added to that aesthetic with the ongoing construction efforts. There was also a chance Taquoho was playing to my ego. In which case, it was working. ¡°Thanks,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry you got caught up in the middle of that. I know you took a risk in coming here." ¡°A risk well worth it,¡± the ifrit insisted, bowing in his gauze wraps. ¡°Our friend Rufus did not exaggerate the marvels he beheld. This¡­ aerodynamics. This rocketry. Your ceramic components. Your flying bodies. We are joyed to have found a one with such a love for natural philosophies and artifice. The City will be joyed. There is much to gain from friendship.¡± ¡°Not least of all, new friends,¡± I said. The Ifrit seemed to burn just a little brighter. Rufus uncorked his bottle and opened his journal. ¡°I¡¯ll drink to that. Shall we get down to brass tacks? Emotional gain from friends is all well and good, but I believe there¡¯s also much to gain, physically, from trade." ¡°Yes, we forget ourselves,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°We were sent to evaluate the truth of your production and have seen it¡ªand much more¡ªfor ourselves. It is not mere trinkets and bearings you can offer, but these flying bodies, this icky-sicky fuel which burns fast and hot. And your work area and tools and materials. It would be wise for our people to use them here.¡± Rufus nearly choked on his bottle. ¡°I¡­¡± I started. I glanced over at the badger. ¡°You¡­ want to move some of the Ifrit to Village Apollo?¡± The ifrit waved his stubby arms in what it must have thought was a calming gesture. ¡°On a temporary basis, only, I assure you. To ensure parts and components are produced to specification and perhaps negotiate for winged bodies. Once we inform our king of what we have seen here we are sure they will agree. We will require only minimal space and account for our own sustenance. In return, as fair rents, we can offer more than simple wire and lodestones. We can offer zinc, brass, piping, cog-work, springs, clockwork bodies, time-keepers, and bells. We can also provide goods from the newcomers at the southern shore, who we find not as detestable as others, and have brokered with on occasion through our friend Rufus.¡± I glanced at Rufus, who nodded enthusiastically. And I could think of a million uses for all of that stuff. Brass had its limits as a metal¡ªit was useless for things like spears and knives, what with its softness. But pipes, springs, gears? Ho boy. We were talking about some pretty advanced mechanical possibilities. Plumbing, steam boilers, turbines, and more. But that wasn¡¯t what interested me most. The most intriguing part of the offer was the possibility of having the ifrit themselves take up residence in Village Apollo. It would give the city a vested interest in the security of Village Apollo. But that wasn¡¯t all. These were beings that could possess and manipulate mechanical objects in a completely alien method without adding weight or drag. They could analyze and manipulate devices from the inside. You know what else could do that? Computers and complex wiring through servos, solenoids, and hydraulics. The Ifrit were walking, talking ghosts in the machine. And I wanted to get every single one of them so hooked on goblin engineering that they never wanted to leave. ¡°I think we can support an arrangement like that,¡± I said, carefully. ¡°We are pleased. But we are also tired from our journey and our learning of the flight body. I will trust our friend Rufus to compile the fine details of your prospective arrangement with our King of The City.¡± The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. "Sleep well,¡± I said. I uncapped Taquoho¡¯s bottle and held the mouth up for him. The Ifrit emptied his gauze wraps and funneled back into his bottle. Rufus carefully folded the gauze while I threaded the cap back on the bottle and set it on the workbench, looking at the colored brass. I ran my hand through the fur on top of my head and considered. ¡°You mentioned that Taquoho traveled only at great risk. I take it that it¡¯s very rare for an Ifrit to leave the City of Brass,¡± I said. ¡°Extremely rare,¡± said Rufus. He opened his bag and replaced both bottle and gauze. ¡°While they often welcome visitors, it is seldom that they travel beyond the safety of their walls. The insistence upon sending a representative with me¡ªeven one so low-ranking as Tabun¡¯ Quo¡¯Horal¡ªimpresses upon me that I am perhaps caught up in affairs far beyond my station. The ifrit are well-regarded for their wisdom and far-sight among the natives of Lanclova, if not for their physical prowess.¡± ¡°So when he said their King would want to send several of them here to oversee their materials and components orders¡­¡± Rufus offered a toothy grin. ¡°I nearly fell out of my chair. I could not have known the ifrit had records of previous goblin kings because they keep no written records. Nor how much they would become enamored over your... what were they called?¡± ¡°Ball bearings,¡± I supplied. ¡°Yes, how much your ball bearings, would impress them. They are not a people known for being easily impressed by others'' artifice. In truth I had thought they might find your ceramics and flying machines an interesting novelty. Not so compelling as to leave the safety of the Brass City, and move several of their unions here.¡± ¡°You say union,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m still not sure I understand the Ifrit social-family structure.¡± ¡°And it¡¯s likely you never will,¡± said Rufus. He licked the tip of his quill and smoothed his journal pages. ¡°Raphina has watched my dealings with them beneath her watchful eye for years, and I¡¯m sure she¡¯s just as confused as you or I. If there are guiding codices or taboos, they are unique to each Ifrit. What custom one union might insist upon, another might find¡­¡± ¡°Crude and reductive?¡± I asked. Rufus roared with laughter. ¡°Just so! A uniquely frustrating people. But fascinating, and earnest. As long as you learn to spot the ones with a penchant for trickery and avoid them, there¡¯s profit to be had.¡± ¡°Speaking of profit. I¡¯m wondering how you get your take in all this.¡± The quill began to scratch across the journal. ¡°Simple. I¡¯ll mediate all trade between your kingdom and the King of the City of Brass. In exchange, I¡¯ll take 1% of the value of all trade in precious metals or trade goods, to be provided by the Ifrit.¡± ¡°In both directions?¡± ¡°Yes. I don¡¯t know what value they will place on your ceramics or other technology. But the King is nothing if not fair. He won¡¯t cheat me because it¡¯s not in his nature, and you will not cheat me because I¡¯m not charging you commission. Not that I think you would, but there is no one to hold you accountable if you reneged, you see.¡± ¡°Savvy planning for a trader. What¡¯s to stop me from visiting the City of Brass on my own to broker deals?¡± ¡°High-level monsters in the plains and the desert, mostly. Even your gliders wouldn¡¯t be safe from the sandstorms and the terrors that prowl the southern skies. The ground is even more fraught with danger if you don¡¯t know the ways. You could take a thousand goblins trying to reach the Brass City and you would lose a thousand goblins.¡± I tilted my head. ¡°How do you manage it so easily?¡± ¡°Badger,¡± answered Rufus, as if that continued to explain everything. ¡°But you should absolutely visit the city once it¡¯s safe to do so. It¡¯s a wonderful marvel. Now, what should I tell the King of the Ifrit that you would like delivered when his people arrive?¡± ¡°Canvas sailcloth,¡± I said without hesitation. ¡°Making ships in the middle of the jungle, are we?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll see soon enough,¡± I said. Textiles were still in short supply, and if the Ifrit were bringing a convoy, I didn¡¯t have to worry about making sure I brought something small enough for one half-badger to transport. ¡°And brass piping. And sealed brass casks, if they have them. Big ones.¡± I held my arms as wide as they could go. ¡°Plus nuts, bolts, a dozen baskets of coal.¡± Rufus scratched my words into the journal. ¡°Oh, is that all?¡± ¡°Why, did I forget something?¡± Rufus laughed. ¡°Curious. I would have bet anything you would want their tiny cogs and clockworks for your artifice. You continue to confound me at each turn. Very well.¡± He blew on the pages of his journal to dry the ink. I stood and stretched. ¡°Micro-engineering doesn¡¯t get me to my goals right now. I need quick, dirty solutions to technological leaps in the Goblin Tech Tree, not refined, furnished aesthetic solutions. The ifrit themselves may be a part of those technological leaps." ¡°That sounds ominous,¡± said Rufus. I shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll see it like that.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± asked Rufus, ¡°How will they see it?¡± ¡°As a wide menagerie of new and wondrous bodies, I hope.¡± Rufus stowed his journal and sighed. ¡°I suppose I won¡¯t be staying the night this time, either.¡± ¡°At least stay for dinner,¡± I said. Across the square, the hunters were dragging the javaline that had been killed in the battle while the cooks cleaned their cleavers with greedy eyes. ¡°Looks like pork ribs, tonight.¡± ¡°I suppose it would be rude to refuse.¡± Chapter 40 - Caravan Chapter 40 - Caravan <1 Hobgoblin scrapper has been added to your tribe.> <2 Hobgoblin wranglers have been added to your tribe> I walked the north wall, surveying the upgraded fortifications following the javeline attack. Sally already had two of the scaled-up slingers on heightened mounts provided by Buzz. What was more, I saw several rockets, as well, angled down toward the slope on bearings. The work crews were already up digging the trench at the base of the wall by the time I woke up, and they¡¯d made a decent bite in the terrain. It would be a multi-day effort¡ªmade worse by the fact I was taking half of his construction goblins with me today. This was the day we¡¯d be making the trek to the bog to set up the remote iron operation. Even with the javeline at the gates, though they hadn¡¯t attempted a second attack during the night, I couldn¡¯t keep preparing for this. Steel was a critical resource¡ªpossibly the most important resource we lacked, now that I had sent goblins to collect spring-water for a future battery project on the regular sulfur run. I intended to make our first battery-powered motor as soon as I got back. I¡¯d soon have everything I needed. The carts down near the paddocks had been strapped up to cliffords, who struggled to move the loads of adobe bricks and lumber that would form the base of the artificial bluff. With nearly thirty goblins assembled at the base of the cliff, not including Chuck and his clifford-riding escorts, we set off west toward the bog in a massed whirlwind of cleavers, claws, and paving stones. I rode with Chuck on the back of his clifford, holding tight to the saddle as the forest flew by. We passed the river where two of our flex-a-pult fishing boats were casting off, goblins furiously cranking on the outboard impellers. We ranged ahead of the trailblazers, but never lost their bearing, as you could hear the frantic assault on the forest from hundreds of meters away. We ranged most of the morning and into the afternoon, until we hit the first roadblock. ¡°There he is!¡± said Chuck, pointing one of his throwing spears. I spotted the stone-sloth we¡¯d found on our first trip to the bog. He was a few kilometers outside the camp to the northwest, and we¡¯d run through his riverside clearing so fast the first time that the beast barely had time to give chase. This time, it had ample warning that goblins were in the vicinity, and it wasn¡¯t shy. Stone-sloths were incredibly territorial, in addition to being carnivorous goblin predators. Chuck angled the wedge of 7 wranglers in, and we spread out as the stone-sloth charged. It was a big¡¯un, with claws that would have been too large to use as prosthetics unless I really did want stilts. It was level 23, higher than even the patriarch of the family group we¡¯d fought. How many goblins had it eaten to get that big? I scanned the ground as we moved and spotted two large clay deposits near the river. Perfect. We were running low on the clay we¡¯d extracted from the den to the northeast, and another source was paramount to meeting the orders of ceramic the ifrit were going to put in. Chuck, of course, was focused on more pressing matters¡ªlike not dying. He yanked his clifford into a tight turn to avoid the grasping claws, not that his mount needed much encouragement. He tossed his spear at the same time, ceramic tip piercing the thick hide of the beast. A volley of clay poppers followed, popping against the thick, clay reinforced armor on its back. It roared and gave chase. We held off on further provoking the creature. It chased us nearly a half a kilometer before it finally slowed, winded, and returned to its den to lick the few wounds we¡¯d managed to inflict. ¡°That good, boss?¡± asked Chuck. ¡°Yep. Let¡¯s tell the group: We¡¯re camping here, tonight.¡± It took until the eclipse finished for the main convoy to reach the rest of us. But when I looked back on their progress I saw a wonderful sight: a road lined with, admittedly uneven, patchy stones and crushed clay bricks. It was far from straight, as well, having picked up the goblin¡¯s customary windy pathing that occasionally even looped back on itself. But it was a road that could be traversed much faster the next time. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. We began to set up the night shelter¡ªwhich probably belonged in a circus act. I tied the longest rope we¡¯d made yet to the corner of a pair of stacked wooden lattices, and then put the rock into the sled of a slinger and fired it up through the trees. Two goblins dove out of the way as it came crashing back down, but it still bounced off one of their skulls as neither actually looked at where it was descending. After recovering, both goblins immediately jumped on the rope and began trying to climb it, which had the opposite effect of pulling the rope¡ªand the corner of the lattice¡ªup into the canopy. I repeated the trick on the three other corners, and soon the whole structure was hoisted up about 10 meters off the ground. All four corners were tied off, and then the second, smaller lattice dangled underneath. Once that was done, a handful more goblins scrambled up a rope ladder and began installing some bearings at strategic locations. With that complete, ropes were fitted to the bearings and they began hoisting up food and provisions for the night, along with weapons, bedding, and slingers. The whole process took about an hour. All in all, we¡¯d made good progress on the first day. The stone sloth den was about a third of the way to the bog, which meant that we stood a good chance of making it before nightfall the next night if we pressed hard. Most of the goblins were tired from the journey before they even ate their trail provisions, but once they stuffed their little, blue faces, they passed out harder than ever. The hobgoblins stayed on the ground with the tied-up pack cliffords. They¡¯d be the night guards in two specially built armored wagons that would alert the rest of us if something attacked. I was willing to risk losing out on the reproduction of the sleeping mounds in the lattice if it meant maintaining the integrity of the caravan. But all that happened was a few of the fat forest fowl tried to make nests in the upper lattice. * * * <2 Hobgoblin Scrappers have been added to your tribe.> <1 Hobgoblin wrangler has been added to your tribe.> I woke up to bird poop splashing on the top of the goblin mound. So a low roll for goblin reproduction, and that happened. But there were nests with eggs in them on the upper lattice already, so that was breakfast sorted. A totally added and unexpected element of the mobile temporary goblin bluff. The goblins at the bottom of the pile had matted fur in a cross pattern, making them look a bit like they¡¯d been grilled. But at least they avoided the night droppings. The cliffords and the hobbies slept below with just enough goblins to make an effective pile. Things were quiet. Well, quiet for a goblin morning. And it took me a few minutes to figure out why. This was the first morning I¡¯d woken up in Rava without a pow-wow with my lieutenants. Buzz and Sally were back at the bluff with Neil and Javier (our clothier). Armstrong would be heading back to Canaveral to relieve John. Chuck would come once he and the other wranglers awoke, but for now, it was me and my silent (relatively speaking) partners. And it was going to be a busy morning. ¡°Alright, gang. Unpack the RPP¡¯s,¡± I said. ¡°Let¡¯s go get that clay.¡± The goblins scrambled to the back of a wagon set a decent way away from the others. They opened the back of it and withdrew several long, wooden tubes. It took 2 goblins to carry each one, which meant we could bring 13 of them between the goblins we had currently awake. We also passed out special vests and the first of the ceramic skull masks. We hauled them to the edge of the stone-sloth territory, and each pair planted the end in the ground while the other balanced a yoke on their shoulder while I surveyed the area and placed a few specialized slingers. I noticed more than a few wobbly knees and nervous, twitching ears as goblins cast looks toward the stone-sloth den beyond the trees. We weren¡¯t bothering with the skinny sneakers this time. No stone-sloth hide infiltration. I needed to show these goblins that their strength in numbers could take out much larger threats, even without the hobgoblins helping. That their power lay not in the individual, but en masse. Of course, that was little help to the goblins sent to poke the bear¡ªor, sloth, as it were. They were wearing the first of Javier¡¯s custom armor. It was more like modern ballistic armor than a suit of medieval armor, in that he¡¯d made a vest with a front and back pocket, into which slid a single, slender ceramic tile. We were actually able to use the roofing tile mold to make them. The goblins already wore skull masks, which were a bit like helmets. From what I¡¯d observed, things that hit goblins with enough force to crack the masks generally killed the goblin, as well. So it had been a simple matter to upgrade the material¡ªthough the awkward shape took up a lot of space in the kiln. They shrugged off losing limbs almost as fast as you could produce prosthetics for them. So, I¡¯d focused on vital organ protection in the chest, instead, to keep the tribe numbers high. An armless, legless goblin could still sleep in a mound. In effect, the whole getup made them look like pint-size video game characters with skull-faces and tactical armor. Something you¡¯d see in a shooter game, maybe, more than something like a fantasy¡ªexcept for the blue, furry, straw-thin arms and legs sticking out. Special forces Muppets. Sesame Team Six, maybe. The slingers were a bit short range, so the bear-pokers had miniature versions of the larger wooden tubes clutched in their claws. Time to go to war. Chapter 41 - World War Clay Chapter 41 - World War Clay I¡¯d consulted the bestiary on the desert monsters Rufus claimed were so dangerous, and it said that some of them could get up as high as level 40 or 50. There were even dragons in the area that were in the high 60¡¯s. Plus some sort of ancient skyborne predator that didn¡¯t leave witnesses, but was presumed to be somewhere in the 90¡¯s. He hadn¡¯t been kidding when he¡¯d said I could take a thousand goblins into the desert and I¡¯d lose a thousand goblins. But I had to wonder how Rufus and the ifrit were able to travel the region safely, and what prevented these monsters from destroying the artificer city. Eventually, we would have to face monsters like that. And the majority of the fighting force would be Goblins. Goblins, as the System was often quick to remind me with floating numbers superimposed on my vision, were perpetually level 1. The Rava creature at the ultimate disadvantage individually, incapable of speech, and completely unable to pull in the same direction. Until I arrived. The first stone sloth we¡¯d killed had been a happy accident, and it had still killed a third of my tribe at the time. For the second, we¡¯d had to rig a minefield of bomb-fruits, and even trying to avoid conflict all-together, we¡¯d lost the entirety of our bomb-fruit stock and a half-dozen goblins¡ªalbeit, technically entirely to friendly fire. As a tribe, we were iterating. The goblins were adapting. They were constantly developing to respond to greater and greater threats. And so was I. When I¡¯d arrived on Rava, I spent most of the early days flailing like a newborn. But I was learning how to effectively apply what resources I had, and my lieutenants had given me new confidence in the ability for the entire system to function. And it didn¡¯t function because of the taskmasters. It functioned because at the lowest common denominator, the common, non-variant goblin, was still at least as competent as the average government worker. Hell, if my local DMV had been staffed entirely by goblins (maybe one taskmaster in the back office), my license might not have had my name misspelled as Julia, the wrong street address, and a picture of the senior citizen from the booth next to me. It might have been nibbled a bit at the corners, though. You might think to yourself that the people running the local licensing office aren¡¯t the same ones responsible for overseeing the projects going at NASA, and by extension, their sometimes private-sector space partners like NuEarth. You¡¯d be wrong. It¡¯s exactly the same people. Only, they¡¯re in charge of engineers and scientists instead of fax machines and decade-old web cameras. Really, I wasn¡¯t even re-inventing the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. I was just relocating it. I won¡¯t go so far as to say I didn¡¯t think we would lose any goblins today. Hell, we¡¯d probably lose a few just to misfires and the unpredictable nature of the Goblin Tech Tree. But we¡¯d also not attempted to take on anything above level 20 before, and I had to believe that monsters in the bog were at least that tough. ¡°Prodder team forward,¡± I ordered. The armored goblins hefted their device and trotted toward the stone-sloth¡¯s den by the river. The other goblins waited, and I had to maintain discipline as some of them got bored or simply forgot what they were trying to do. Others had begun to play with the RPP¡¯s, or start chewing on the housing. All the levity ceased when I heard a shrill whistle, followed by a distant pop, and then an enraged roar. Shock and alarm rippled up and down the line, and I marched back and forth offering encouragement in the language of the goblins, which mostly consisted of shouting and physical blows where necessary. A few moments later, a pair of armored goblins ran, screaming, back toward the caravan. ¡°eeeeeEEEEE!¡± Hot on their heels trundled the enormous sloth monster, digging deep furrows in the turf as it gave chase. It was truly massive when seen from the ground, and not the back of a clifford. It was at least the size of a horse, and probably twice as heavy. Its claws alone were nearly as long as a goblin was tall, and they looked razor sharp. The stone-sloth took a swing, which cut cleanly through a sapling and skipped off the ceramic back plate in the slower prodder¡¯s vest. The impact knocked him forward, and he tumbled like a wheel back toward our line while his partner squawked and ran even faster, knowing he was now the closest goblin to our foe. ¡°Hold!¡± I said. One of the goblins must have thought I meant fire, because he ignited the sulfur striker on the end of his RPP, and smoke and flame gouted out the back end. The rocket-propelled popper launched out the other end of the tube, streaking across the intervening distance. It split the difference between the two prodders, and veered off hard to the right where it exploded against an old stump in a spray of clay shards and ceramic bearings that pierced the canopy above. The stone sloth barely flinched. It had eyes only for the arses of the goblins who had struck it with the smaller versions. ¡°It¡¯s still too far!¡± I warned, holding up my hand. ¡°Hold!¡± The rolling prodder reached our minimum safe area, and I dropped my hand once the second one crossed out of the kill box. ¡°Now!¡± The rest of the goblins held tight to the housings as the gunners struck the rockets alight. Up and down the line, primitive rocket motors kicked to life, joining in a roaring crescendo. Only two exploded in the tube. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. 10 rockets streaked out, with 10 heavy poppers on the front. They exploded around, under, and against the stone-sloth. It blasted the heavy creature off its feet, tumbling it to the side as the fragmentation warheads peppered it with shards of clay and ceramic. But the thing was tough, armored, and wasn¡¯t about to be brought down by just a few goblin-sized rockets. Still, when it climbed to its feet, it was bleeding and disoriented. ¡°Stage 1 complete! Proceed to stage 2.¡± The rocketeers dropped the empty RPP tubes and most picked up spears, huddling shoulder to shoulder as they leveled the ceramic-tipped business ends toward the sloth. The rest picked up slingers and fanned out. It began to approach, but having its momentum killed made it less willing to charge directly into the wall of spears that had caused its predecessor to accidentally discover the flex-a-pult. It couldn¡¯t just bulldoze over the formation. The goblins squawked and menaced it, standing in close ranks to present a thicket of razor-sharp spearheads that began to circle up into a half-moon around the stone-sloth, even as they gave ground toward an area marked on the forest floor. ¡°Work him back!¡± I ordered. My goblins eased back. The monster struck out with its long claws, unable to get past the thicket of spears, though it did manage to tangle a few of them and yank a couple goblins out of the formation. It opened its mouth wide and crunched down on one while the other was smart enough to drop its spear and crawl back under the phalanx. I had another spear waiting for him, and he took his place again. Any time the sloth tried to move back toward its den, the slinger goblins that had circled around fired a volley of poppers into it, discouraging retreat. Its only avenue of movement was toward the phalanx. ¡°Good!¡± I said. ¡°Now, begin stage 3.¡± three of the goblins at the rear of the formation backed out, gladly putting more distance between themselves and the large predator. Instead, they picked up a trio of slingers that had been positioned earlier, loaded with rocks attached to cords, which were themselves attached to corners of a net. The longest, most arduous part of this expedition wasn¡¯t creating the tools, or the mobile bluff, or the wagons. It was simply manufacturing enough cordage to make a net capable of holding such a large stone-sloth. Each of the slingers angled their crossbows up and fired. The net sprung up from where we¡¯d laid it out near the rockets. The launched slinger anchors drew the net taut against the wooden stakes holding it in the ground, and then draped it over the bulk of the sloth. It roared in confusion, pulling against the net. ¡°Stakers!¡± The slinger goblins on the other side of the sloth dropped their bows and unslung mallets from their backs. They ran up and placed more wooden stakes on the far-side of the net, hammering them down into the ground to secure the trap. We¡¯d done it. Shouts of alarm drew my attention, and I thought the straining sloth-bear might be strong enough to rip through the net. But what I saw was something else entirely. Several of the goblins had spotted forms in the trees across the river: a squad of javeline maulers, watching us with their thick arms crossed. ¡°Stay focused!¡± I shouted. ¡°Stage 4. Finish the job!¡± I picked up one of the discarded slingers as the phalanx fanned out. I held it low, crooked in the corner of my arm as I made my way to the near side of the riverbank across from the armored maulers. Behind me, the stone-sloth roared as the goblins pressed in from all sides and delivered death from a thousand cuts to the restrained monster. The javeline prodded each other and pointed to my prosthetic legs. The largest among them, a level 18¨Cnearly strong enough to challenge the stone-sloth in his own right¡ªstepped forward with his heavy spear and pointed it at me. ¡°You are talking goblin, yes? You make big fire and wooden bird and ride dog? Do not die?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± I shouted back. ¡°I¡¯m the talking goblin. Who are you?¡± ¡°I am Hrott, brother of Rotte.¡± I narrowed my eyes. ¡°Did you come to take my tongue and my ears, too?¡± Hrott thumped the butt of his spear into the turf. ¡°I am a taker only of life, little goblin. prince of Habber men make demand you come. So, you come talk man prince.¡± A few goblins ran to join me, spears in hand that were tipped in blood. A glance behind told me the fight was reaching its end, and the clay deposit was as good as ours. The goblins at my side hooted, squawked, and hissed at the javeline, jumping up and down. A few pointed their own slingers. I put on my best deep-southern drawl. ¡°So what yer sayin¡¯ is, ya¡¯ll are with the gov¡¯ment?¡± ¡°What you say, little talk-goblin?¡± I leveled the slinger. ¡°Folk ¡®round these parts don¡¯t care fer gov¡¯ment types. Ya¡¯ll need to be movin¡¯ on.¡± ¡°I not understand small goblin voice. Speak you me clear.¡± ¡°This clear enough for you?¡± I asked as I pulled the trigger on my slinger. The jar shot out, arcing over to the other side of the bank, where it fell short. It was not a precision instrument, after all. But it made a nice little bang and covered the trio in mud. Hrott shied back, and then roared in rage and what must have been profanities in his native language. One of the others leveled a crossbow at me, but Hrott pushed it down. Not only did he want me alive, but he probably knew from Rotte that the System kept me from dying anyway. A few other goblins let loose with rocks from their slingers, and one even threw his spear, which fell woefully short and splashed into the river. The spearman¡¯s compatriots rained blows on him by way of admonishment. ¡°This is being mistake, little talk-goblin! We will bleed you and then crush you.¡± I yanked the crank on the slinger to reset the sled and held out my hand, palm up. Another goblin dropped a new popper into it, and I fit it to the slinger and brought my sights up. ¡°My only mistake was missing your head, javellero. And I¡¯m not in the habit of repeating my mistakes.¡± The boar-dwarf growled within his helmet. But the goblins had finished off the stone-sloth and were starting to bring more of their own slingers over. Maybe taunting them was an error. But the sensation of Rotte¡¯s spear punching through my chest was still fresh in my memory, called to the surface with a visceral, sharp phantom. The most efficient way to wipe out Tribe Apollo would be to capture me again and then stab me 130 times until I was the only one left. For the sake of the tribe, I couldn¡¯t put myself in position to be captured by javelines again. And I would have to be a damn fool to give my well-being over to the care of these cruel brutes. If this human prince wanted me, he could come out here and talk to me himself. Chapter 42 - Bog Standard Chapter 42 - Bog Standard The clay at the stone-sloth den would see to our immediate needs in supplying the ifrit with ceramics. We¡¯d already built the infrastructure to transport it, so it was just a matter of traversing our first road with a wagon, loading it up, and hauling it back to the bluff to be worked. The stone-sloth, as well, had a good deal of the stuff slathered on its hide, cracked and dried like the desert. But it wasn¡¯t cured, it just needed some water. In the afternoon it started to downpour. But Javier¡¯s tailors had made us all cured hide cloaks with hoods for the expedition, so the goblins didn¡¯t even cease working when the rains came down. The cliffords weren¡¯t a fan of it, though. Their matted fur smelled even worse wet than it did dry, with a musty, earthy stink that put me in the mind of a cross between wet-dog and sour milk. I might need material to make them ponchos as well if I didn¡¯t want the wagon teams to mutiny from proximity. Or we¡¯d have to figure out how to rig up some of the grazing animals to haul freight. With the time it took to clean and process the stone-sloth and remove the clay on its back for transport, we lost most of the light. So I didn¡¯t bother to have the portable bluff broken down. We took the rest of the day clearing out the area, and then roasted sloth meat for dinner. Eileen¡¯s overflight reached us as we were getting the fires going, and several of the goblins rushed to the armory to be the one to get the signal rocket. I watched the small rocket climb skyward and burst apart. One rocket meant proceeding as planned. Two meant send additional backup. Three meant the goblins got over-excited. Chuck took his wranglers back to make a report of our victory, after expressing disappointment that he had missed both the battle with the stone-sloth and the haranguing of the javeline maulers. But hunting something much higher level with just your bog-standard, garden-variety goblin had been the entire point. All in all, it had been a promising day. The goblins sat around the fires, watching the dinner roast as they banged sticks on rocks and chanted in a tuneless, sing-song approximation of music. I¡¯d tried teaching them some Queen, some Beastie Boys, and even some Taylor Swift, but the tribe was in desperate need of an autotune. Still, morale was up, and the goblins were fat and happy when they climbed up onto the mobile bluff. I was hoisted and thrown to the middle of the lattice and given the place of honor at the bottom of the sleeping mound, despite my protestations. This was the first time since coming to Rava that I went to sleep feeling that life was good, again. * * * <3 goblin wranglers have been added to your tribe> <2 goblin scrappers have been added to your tribe.> <1 goblin taskmasters have been added to your tribe.> Damn! 24 new goblins overnight, and a quarter of them were variants. That was, by far, the single best night of spawning the tribe had experienced. Winning battles was good for the mysterious goblin libido, apparently. The mound I woke up in was noticeably bigger than the mound I¡¯d gone to sleep in, as evidenced by the weight squeezing me against the lattice structure. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. One of the new taskmasters was even with us on the expedition, so I named him Hadfield (since Chris was technically taken). He pulled me out of the pile himself, extricating me from the late risers. ¡°Mornin¡¯, boss,¡± he said. ¡°Morning. Welcome to the tribe. What¡¯s your poison?¡± Hadfield tugged at his cheek hair. ¡°Campin¡¯, explorin¡¯.¡± ¡°Boy, are you in the right place,¡± I said. He grinned at me. ¡°The System provides! Why don¡¯t you relax while I get this beast movin¡¯?¡± Providence had put Hadfield on the road to the bog. So, he¡¯d be the boss of the first remote outstation. The System provides, he¡¯d said. System, do you give me goblins based on what my tribe¡¯s needs are? Lucky. Right. So lucky my rocket blew up on the launch pad. Soooooo lucky! That was a sobering thought. And System was right. If I was the only one pulled through, then Dave and Sandra really were dead. I had held out hope that the two had somehow also made the jump, and I might find them waiting on another bluff with tribes of their own. That was part of the reason I¡¯d rushed to try and reach the other villages. Now? This was a bit much to think about before breakfast. System, are there others in Rava from my world? No answer. At least having been at the bottom of the pile, this time I didn¡¯t have to clean bird poop out of my fur, for which I was quite grateful. More birds had made poor life choices by making nests on the lattice and filling them with eggs. We had to clear the nests anyway in order to break down the temporary bluff. Win-win, really. We were back breaking new trail by mid-morning. A full day of travel would put us a stone¡¯s throw from the iron bog One of the wagons broke off, hauling back some of the clay for refining at Village Apollo. The rest continued on, bumping and careening down the fresh road as fast as the pathfinders could cut and clear it. The cliffords pulled at their harnesses like they had a grudge against the things¡ªwhich it was quite possible they did. They barely tolerated riders. One of the wagons that carried adobe bricks carried mostly gravel by the end of the day, so we used it on the road. By the time the sun started to drop in the sky, we were getting close enough to the bog to smell the stagnant water and a metallic tang. The book on peat bogs had said the iron was a result of ¡®humours in the water¡¯, which I had to assume actually meant some sort of bacteria in the water that released iron as a byproduct of its natural processes. It would collect as nodules on the underside of peat patches, so goblins would have to wade into the bog to get it. I called a halt while it was still light enough to get the portable bluff up into the canopy. Hadfield took charge, running around in a hat he¡¯d improvised from wetlands ferns until he could get a skull mask. The frenetic energy of the taskmasters got the shelter up in record time, and with only two goblins tangled in the lattice. I¡¯d lost 8 goblins to attrition elsewhere in the tribe, bringing me back down to 140 members total. The high roll had put me ahead, but I had a feeling we¡¯d lose that and more in the bog striving toward our most important goals yet. I surveyed the convoy of 13 wagons. Some would take that number as a bad omen. Hell, just look at Apollo 13. That mission had been cursed. Not as cursed as mine, I suppose. But still. Just to be safe, I had the goblins hack apart one of the wagons leaving us with only 12. Most of these would be scavenged for parts anyway. We wouldn¡¯t need all 12 to carry iron back. In fact, we were going to build the furnaces here. I gathered up the handful of hobgoblins we had with us as the non-variants began to ascend the rope ladders to the portable bluffs. They were mostly scrappers, but a couple wranglers to handle the cliffords. Since the hobbies stayed up late, they were immune to the lethargic effects of dinner, and still alert¡ªif on edge. It wasn¡¯t hard to puzzle out why. ¡°Look,¡± I said. ¡°I know it¡¯s tough being away from the village overnight. Tomorrow we¡¯ll start building the permanent tower, and then we¡¯ll have a home away from home. This close to the bog, we don¡¯t really know what¡¯s waiting for us. So stay vigilant. I¡¯m depending on you.¡± The scrappers puffed out their chests, proud despite their unease. The wranglers dug their fingers into the fur of the cliffords for comfort. They glanced up at the lattice. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯ll be fine.¡± Just keep an eye out for the cliffords. Chapter 43 - Welcome to the Jungle Chapter 43 - Welcome to the Jungle <1 hobgoblin scrapper has been added to your tribe> <2 hobgoblin wranglers have been added to your tribe> What in the hell? I opened my eyes and looked through the open lattice below at the carnage that had been our convoy. several wagons were demolished. They¡¯d been torn apart at the frame. Of the cliffords, there was no sign. Which was a bad sign. I quickly realized the hobgoblins were gone, too. Which was a really, really bad sign. I dragged myself out of the pile and over to the edge of the portable bluff, where Hadfield was knelt down along with several of Buzz¡¯ builders and a scrapper. ¡°Well, at least one of you managed to survive,¡± I said, looking at the bigger hobgoblin. Hadfield shook his head. ¡°He¡¯s new.¡± ¡°Oh? Well, happy birthday,¡± I sighed. ¡°What a disaster.¡± ¡°But, boss, we got a problem.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I said. I had to take control of the situation before it spiraled. ¡°The builders are slacking off.¡± One of the goblins at the edge of the lattice squawked in indignation, then remembered who he was talking to and acted appropriately cowed. Hadfield tossed a stick down into the clearing. ¡°They don¡¯t want to go down in case whatever did that is still mucking about nearby.¡± ¡°Understandable. I know of this animal that sometimes has to jump into water to hunt food, but they¡¯re never sure whether there¡¯s a predator underneath it waiting for them.¡± ¡°How do they get sorted?¡± asked Hadfield. I lifted my prosthetic and planted it in the back of the nearest goblin, knocking him over the edge of the lattice. He tumbled, EEEeeeeing, to the ground below, where he bounced off his head and ran for the rope ladder. It was still retracted from where we¡¯d pulled it up the night before. He started hopping, trying to reach the lattice. It was about 9 meters too high. ¡°Ah,¡± said Hadfield. ¡°Straight to the point.¡± He raised his hand. ¡°Slingers ready!¡± The rest of the goblins ran to retrieve weapons, which were conveniently stored away from the edge of the platform. They readied poppers in their sleds and trained them down at the forest below. I had to yell at them to angle their payloads over the edge. If they managed to burn down the temporary bluff, we¡¯d all be on the ground, and with no pack animals, hobgoblins, or wagons to protect us. We waited for a few minutes until our experimental penguin stopped jumping and started trembling in fear so bad his knees sounded like maracas. When nothing came out to gobble him up, I relaxed and gave the go-ahead for the rest of the goblins to bail out. Once we¡¯d picked ourselves off the ground, I set to examining what was left of the campsite. All the hobgoblins had been dragged off. Silently enough that whatever did it left only blood and tufts of blue fur behind. Of the cliffords there was no fur or blood. Their leads simply ended in frayed cordage. But they hadn¡¯t raised a ruckus in the night, which was the strangest part. We¡¯d had most of the food supplies in the lattice with us, so even though the carts were smashed, they held mostly building supplies, which themselves were fine. Bricks, wood, cordage, tools, and parts to build portable lifts and cranes. I called over the scrapper that had been born in the pile the night before. ¡°Sniff around and see what you can find. Report it back to me.¡± The scrapper saluted and, unexpectedly, dropped to all fours, sniffing at the ground as he started patrolling the campsite. I hadn¡¯t meant the instruction literally and was about to correct him when Hadfield stopped me. ¡°He knows what he¡¯s about, boss.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it,¡± I said. I raised my voice so the rest of the goblins could hear me, pointing out a couple stragglers. ¡°You six, go with him. As for the rest of you, we¡¯ve got work to do! Unless you want to sleep on the ground tonight, let¡¯s get moving!¡± Goblins might not be verbal, but their body language was expressive enough to tell when they were bothered. Honestly, they might as well have been wearing glowing neon signs with their emotions depicted by excited noble gasses. My gaggle of swamp builders were terrified. As their king, I had to be brave for them. But it definitely worried me. What could get in, kill multiple hobgoblins, all the cliffords, and not make enough noise to wake the tribe? The bestiary was in one of the wagons that hadn¡¯t been smashed, so I dug it out and thumbed through while our builders tore at the clearing with spades to get the area¡ªif not level, at least slightly less lumpy. We weren¡¯t as close to the bog as I¡¯d have liked, but I wanted to make sure we had hard cover tonight in case whatever had visited us could climb. Or worse, fly. Just because the night haunts prowled the heights of the bluff didn¡¯t mean they couldn¡¯t visit a swamp. Our slingers now had small nets that we could launch skyward to trap night haunts. And I was now confident that we had enough goblins to take them on, even without variants. But this didn¡¯t seem like their MO. Whatever had taken them had gone for the goblins on the ground instead of elevated in the lattice, and the night haunts had only ever taken 1 or 2 goblins at night. Not 5 or more. They¡¯d also never shown interest in other animals, like cliffords or the captive stone-sloth, who had been easily accessible at the village. No, this was something else. Rufus¡¯ bestiary was incomplete. And that was putting it generously. Rava was still being explored by most of the humans and elves who compile books like these, who kept mainly to the coast because the interior of the continent was incredibly dangerous. Apparently, this was a land notorious for powerful monsters enhanced further by the System. Lots of the entries were based on hearsay, native legends, and speculation. The only entry that made sense for where we were was an incorporeal night spirit that bewitched expeditions who ventured west of the mountains. By midday, the bricks were stacked up almost 4 meters and continuing to grow. The scrapper found me as I was supervising the lifting of a flex-a-pult into position. ¡°Found, found somethin¡¯, chief.¡± I left the construction to Hadfield and followed the scrapper and the other goblins. We skirted the edge of the bog, close enough to hear the bellowing of crock-knockers in the distance. After going about a half-kilometer, the scrapper stopped and dropped down, pointing to the mud. Multiple sets of tracks had come and gone. Small, webbed feet, with strange circular tracks irregularly placed alongside some of them mixed with those larger tracks of a hobgoblin. The scent of blood mingled with the mud and iron from the bog and, curiously, burnt fur. I turned around, looking back at the campsite. You could just barely see the temporary bluff suspended in the canopy from here. I ran a hand through my fur, considering. ¡°Wotcha fink, boss?¡± asked the scrapper. I took one of the spears from the other goblins and set the butt into the mud near the footprints. It was a perfect match. ¡°There¡¯s some sort of hominid in the bog,¡± I said. ¡°Did you find any tracks like this closer to camp?¡± ¡°Nuffink.¡± ¡°And no sign of the cliffords or other hobbies?¡± ¡°A paw print here¡¯n there.¡± I took a deep breath. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s head back.¡± We¡¯d planned for this. Well, not for losing all our hobgoblins and every animal on the first night. But we¡¯d expected this to be a dangerous venture. Goblins were going to die to get us the iron in this bog. When we got back to the camp, I began to distribute the rest of the armor we¡¯d brought, as well as padded packs of poppers for the goblins to keep on hand. At the current rate of construction, it was going to take three days to finish the top tier of the tower, but I could start moving goblins into it tomorrow night. Until then, we had to survive another night in the lattice. Crock-knockers, tesla wasps, some sort of ethereal spirit, and now a sapient, possibly hostile race. I decided to push up our contingency. One of the wagons had a new experiment. I took the scrapper and two goblins with me and unpacked the balloon kit sewn from the hides of eclipse lizards. It had needed 32 square chooms worth of frills, the lightest part of their hides, which equated to about 60 of the lizards. But it resulted in an extremely light, almost foil-like material that weighed very little and had decent, stretchy properties. I attached a clay cannister to the bottom and used a coal from the previous night¡¯s fire to start a small flame on the scat contained inside. As the balloon started to expand from the burning methane in the goblin scat, I attached a banner to the tether that had been stained with charcoal. This was the first functional balloon big enough to lift a goblin, and it did so by means of a small platform just large enough for a single goblin to sit on. Whistling for attention brought a halt to the construction. ¡°Who wants to fly?¡± I asked. I might as well have been giving away free hotdogs at Fenway for the riot it almost caused. After the disaster of the morning¡¯s discovery, it felt good to reintroduce a little levity into the tribe. Goblins seemed to have memories similar to that of goldfish, because all thought of getting the shelter up gave way to the stampede of grasping arms and excited squawks. I had to hold the platform over my head to keep them from grabbing at it. ¡°Woah, woah!¡± I called. I picked one goblin at random and nodded to them. ¡°You¡¯re today¡¯s lucky winner!¡± The goblin roared in triumph and was immediately the target of concerted physical assault as he made his way to the front. Luckily, the armor he wore absorbed most of it. He stripped out and shimmied up the rope to the platform. I passed up a hide flag that we¡¯d stained red with berries for him to wave. Slowly, we let out rope and the balloon began to lift, thanks to the methane flame heating the air within. Chapter 44 – Get Me Out of This Jungle Chapter 44 ¨C Get Me Out of This Jungle Believe it or not, the French invented hot-air ballooning several years before Orville and Wilbur launched the Flyer in Kitty-hawk. While the brothers were futzing with engines, French aeronauts had been floating over Burgundy under colorful canopies powered by the principles of air density for a century. But the Wright brothers had better marketing, so everyone remembers them. The balloon lifted, and none too soon as the first daily scout glider appeared in the air. It caught the glint of the reflective lizard skin and swooped down close enough to see the goblin frantically waving the red banner back and forth before turning back to the southeast toward the bluff. We had four color codes. White meant the operation was continuing. Blue meant we were continuing and would need an air delivery. Red meant immediate reinforcement in the form of hobgoblins. Black meant the mission was scrubbed. I didn¡¯t want to have to heft the black banner. ¡°Alright,¡± I said to the assembled goblins. ¡°They saw it. Start pulling him down.¡± ¡°eeeeeeEEEEE!¡± Our aeronaut thumped head-first into the ground and rolled to a sitting position, rubbing the top of his head and grinning. The rest of the goblins cheered, and then looked at me expectedly. I sighed. ¡°Ok. One jump each, and then back to work. The tribe cheered and shoved and pushed to each be the first to shimmy up the rope for their turn at a swan dive. Some of them ran to the wagons for personal gliders to prolong their air time. I shook my head. Then I stopped and considered. I borrowed one of the gliders and shimmied up the rope myself. Climbing came naturally to me as a goblin. Even without legs, goblins could climb extraordinarily well. Climbing had never been my thing on Earth since I figured if I wanted to go higher I should work harder to become an astronaut. Once I reached the top, I swung out onto the narrow platform under the balloon and unfurled the personal glider. The hide canopy caught the wind almost immediately and nearly pulled me off the platform. But I got the glider overhead, gripped the pole underneath, and tossed myself down. The personal gliders the goblins fashioned for themselves weren¡¯t like the night haunt soaring aircraft or Eileen¡¯s heavy glider. They were somewhere between parasails and umbrellas in effectiveness. But it still let me get enough airtime to make a decent circuit of our immediate surroundings. The bog that began due north about a kilometer as seen from the air actually stretched west and then south, as well, making our tower location something of a peninsula intruding into the marsh. The marsh itself was much bigger than I¡¯d initially expected, as well, stretching further west where another river emptied into it. One positive aspect, I didn¡¯t expect we¡¯d get attacked from this angle. If humans wanted to come down from Habberport, they¡¯d have to either come through the foothills to the northeast, or trek further south to avoid the marsh and come in from the southwest by skirting the edge of the plains south of the bluff land. The bog would slow down any force, and they¡¯d be inundated with hostile fauna the entire way. But it was also a blind spot from the air. A lack of thermals over the bog and thick, humid air made for poor gliding. If a force did chance it, we¡¯d have no way to spot them. I circled west as I descended, careful to allow myself enough altitude to get back. Getting lower in altitude let me resolve a bit through the canopy, and I spotted an island in the bog with several crock-knockers basking in the mid-day sun through a break in the trees. If they knew we were here, they weren¡¯t making any effort to leave the bog to pursue us. As I circled south, I caught a flash of red in the trees. I drifted closer, and realized it was some of our missing cliffords running through the bog, I angled toward them for a closer look. If they hadn¡¯t been eaten, it meant they¡¯d just gotten loose and Chuck might be able to round them up. That was good news, as these ones were all trained up. Hell, maybe they¡¯d just gotten spooked when something attacked the hobbies and I could lead them back to the camp. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. My breath caught. The System was not often quick or proactive to warn me of danger. I angled away, just in time for the cliffords to look back at me and open their mouths. A black shadow, or mist, or swarm of something flooded out of them and resolved into a vaguely dog-like shape that was about five times the size of the cliffords themselves. A low, reverberating growl filtered up from the canopy. I would have thought I was seeing things, except that the System was very quick to put an XX level above it, which was System¡¯s way of saying not a chance in hell. Nope, nope, nope. I didn¡¯t want anything to do with it. I turned the glider all the way around and made for the tower construction as a spine-chilling howl rolled after me. Friggen bestiary was apparently right on the money. I looked back to make sure the weird shade wolf thing wasn¡¯t following me. But it, and the cliffords, were gone. Somehow, that was more worrying. Something hadn¡¯t eaten our animals. Something had apparently possessed them. It wasn¡¯t just us having problems. I had to remember that the bog expedition was just one arm of a multi-faceted plan to grow and advance the tribe. With the sun slipping behind Raphina, Village Canaveral would be fighting off lizards for the next few hours. The problems in the bog weren¡¯t insurmountable. Sure, the ghost-cloud-wolf-swarm-thing was an issue. But it hadn¡¯t affected any of the goblins on the lattice. In another day or two, we¡¯d be off the ground and in a permanent tower. I made a small circle of the camp before I landed. Sure, the bog seemed to be fraught with peril. But where wasn¡¯t? Maybe the ifrit had more information about the dangers of the swamp. Once they made their way to Apollo, I could ask them. And I had my motor project, generator parts, rotary engine, and batteries to look forward to, as well. We were going to eat this elephant, one bite at a time. But it all hinged on success harvesting iron from this bog. And that was the next step. I helped with the tower construction throughout the rest of the evening, which seemed mostly about keeping the goblins from sneaking away for more jumps on the balloon. It was almost a blessing when it ran out of gas (literally) towards sunset and began to sag back down to the ground. None too soon, as a rain started to fall and the wind to howl. Chuck and his wranglers arrived not long after and swung out of their saddles. ¡°You sure you don¡¯t want me to stay overnight, boss?¡± he asked after I explained the situation to him. He ran a hand through his clifford¡¯s fur, almost protectively. ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± I said. "We¡¯ll have the sappers in the temporary lattice instead of on the ground in case anything goes wrong. I don¡¯t want to risk more cliffords.¡± Chuck relaxed and patted his mount on its muzzle. Despite his offer, it wasn¡¯t difficult to see he was relieved about not putting his personal good boy on the line. ¡°Besides, I need you keeping tabs on the javeline movements. How are things at Apollo?¡± I asked. Chuck grinned. ¡°They tried again, but they broke quick when they hit the buried poppers.¡± He made an explosion noise and laughed, which spread throughout the village like a verbal meme. ¡°Don¡¯t think they¡¯ll be back soon. Easier to hit other tribes first.¡± I nodded. It was troubling that the javeline knew where our bluff was. But at least it was well-fortified. We had explosives as long as we had regular access to the bomb fruit orchards and the hot springs¡ªat least until we stopped being able to collect sulfur. System? It was a finite resource, and we were burning through it with daily air delivery flights. I could alleviate the need for it somewhat with rechargeable batteries. ¡°We need to get to those villages first. Any sign of our ifrit friends?¡± ¡°Not yet.¡± I hadn¡¯t expected there to be. It was likely Rufus wouldn¡¯t even reach the city of brass to start negotiating with the king for at least another day or two. ¡°Alright,¡± I said. ¡°Best head back. Thanks for the supplies.¡± Chuck glanced at the rear seat on his saddle. ¡°I could take you back, if you want. Sleep safe at the village.¡± I shook my head. ¡°No. I¡¯ll turn the camp over to Hadfield once things are running. But I need to be here to deal with the challenges of the bog.¡± ¡°Just keep a couple scrappers close,¡± said Chuck, swinging back up into his saddle. He looked around, somewhat nervous. ¡°Unnatural fer a goblin to nest on the ground, like this.¡± The wranglers left. I had the expedition goblins drag the bags over to the lattice lift to haul anything edible up top. It was going to be a long night. Chapter 45 - Ignis Chapter 45 - Ignis <2 hobgoblin scrappers have been added to your tribe.> <3 hobgoblin wranglers have been added to your tribe.> I sat up on the top of the sleeping pile. Noblins. I¡¯d never heard of that before. System, do fire-based applications include things like internal combustion engines? Does said information pertain to internal combustion? There was a pause. C¡¯mon, System. Give me something, here. Ah-ha! That was almost as good as an admission¡ªnot specifically about the variants, but that internal combustion was possible on Rava, despite the differences in the makeup of the world and its elements. If it was an unresearched technology, it was still present in the tree. Show me the tree. A wide window expanded in front of me, showing a vast amount of interconnected nodes¡ªa visual representation of the entire goblin tech tree. Most of it, at least 95%, was still dark, and would likely remain so. I had very little desire to explore, for example, the flatula-horn rhythms technology path our basic jam sessions had suggested as a follow-up research option. Other illuminated systems were their own little islands, like the glider technology and ceramics where I¡¯d skipped a number of interim steps by applying modern knowledge to take advantage of primitive resources. The fire-making tree had quite a few branches coming off of it, very few of which had been discovered. I assumed that section contained a large amount of power-creation technology like steam, internal combustion, possibly even nuclear fusion or fission (which was a terrifying thought, goblins with the power of the atom). The igni were quite possibly some type of engineer-specialized goblin¡ªwhat I¡¯d originally thought the scrappers would be before they turned out to be commando goblins. If so, then they¡¯d be important to breaking into the industrial age. But hawkeyes¡­ goblins specialized in ranged combat. Iron and steel would mean firearms. Even if I didn¡¯t do it for them, the ingredients would be there and the goblins would eventually figure out how to make this world¡¯s version of a matchlock, then a musket, and so on. Making sure those weapons were in the hands of goblins who actually knew how to use them might help secure the tribe when someone more powerful than a handful of javeline came knocking at the gates. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. But, who was I kidding? We were goblins. Accuracy was a metric of overwhelming volume, as far as I was concerned. The slingers already functioned in volleys, and how precise did explosives really need to be? Give me the ignis, please. <5 noblin igni have been added to your tribe.> <1 noblin ignis has been promoted to taskmaster.> I crawled out out of the sleeping pile and looked around, excited. But my excitement waned when I realized none of the new noblins were with us. They must have been split between Apollo and Canaveral. Just as well. I didn¡¯t need a pyromaniac setting fire to the wooden lattice that kept us off the ground while the tower was being finished. Give me the deets, System. I considered. System. Does heat-based weaponry include rocketry and firearms? Fantastic. Heat-based crafting. That was as close as the System could get to screaming that these guys were natural blacksmiths and steel-smelters. And they could aim a rocket. And might not burst into flame the moment a spark looked at them. I tapped Hadfield awake. He moaned, rolled over, and yawned. Then he sat up, clacking his teeth. ¡°Let¡¯s get a move on, comrade.¡± Hadfield kicked one of the goblins over the edge of the lattice, and we waited to see if she would be eaten. After a few minutes¡ªwell, moments, really. Goblins aren¡¯t the most patient. After a few moments, the rest of the goblins bailed out of the lattice. The first thing I noticed was one of the wagons had been tampered with. Not by a wild animal or the shade wolf. Something had jimmied open a latch and rifled through the contents. Several clay jars were gone that had held fish oil for greasing. A bundle of rope was missing as well, along with a basket of spare ceramic spear tips, bearings, and other ceramic parts. The hominids had paid us a visit during the night, clearly. I could see their webbed footprints, but they must have been pretty quiet to get in under the hobgoblin noses. Great. We were already at war with night haunts, javeline, and eclipse lizards. I didn¡¯t need to battle swamp people, too. Especially ones that had just armed themselves with ceramic spearpoints. Well, at least we had ceramic plate vests. But there¡¯d be no more thieving. I had the goblins unload the wagons and pack everything into the tower while the builders kept stacking bricks higher and higher. Well, we did have something that might show them that we weren¡¯t a tribe to be trifled with. I had the head of the large stone-sloth brought out. The goblins had already processed the skin, brain, and tongue, but it left a rather impressive skull that the builders hoisted up onto the side of the tower, along with feathers and other assorted bones. Most of the goblins stopped and took a few minutes to perform their version of ooh-ing and aah-ing. In this case it was holding up three fingers in the shape of the long sloth claws and making a reasonable attempt at its roar, when multiplied by thirty goblins. Excellent. By the end of the day, the top of the tower base would be as tall as the lattice platform, and my tribe could finally feel secure in their home away from home. Mid-morning brought a rainstorm, so the oil-cloaks went on and work continued. No slacking today. But we weren¡¯t in this bog just to build towers. We were here to harvest iron. I took twenty standard goblins, plus all the hobbies, and headed for the peat bog. Chapter 46 - Peaty-prilling Chapter 46 - Peaty-prilling When we got to the water¡¯s edge, the designated collectors swapped their skull masks for ones of reinforced ceramic, in addition to donning their plate carriers. We had spears, slingers, poppers, and even a few of the RPPs left over from the stone sloth alpha battle. This was everything I had to bring to bear against the dangers of the bog. ¡°Alright,¡± I said. ¡°Let¡¯s get to work.¡± I¡¯d brought enough bricks for the tower, but the tower wasn¡¯t the only thing I intended to build here. Mud and grass was in ample supply, and I wanted anyone not working on the tower or geared for battle to be manufacturing additional bricks on the shore of the bog. We needed a bunker on the waterfront, storage, and room to expand as the expedition grew. Builders started hacking at the reeds with flint cleavers as others turned out mud with spades to be mixed and molded. Strangely, even though the goblins all used the same size molds (which I¡¯d measured and double-checked), no two bricks came out the same size or shape. This contributed somewhat to the lumpy, uneven construction of the goblin structures that made them always look as though they were tired of staying upright. Everything the goblins produced had this quality, and I had to assume it was some sort of quirk of the Goblin Tech Tree letting them harness technology they didn¡¯t actually fully understand. Still, it was going to be a problem once we started developing mechanical devices with tighter tolerances. The expedition had no guarantees. There was still a chance that all of this ended in disaster. We crept through the reeds at the bog¡¯s edge. I poked my head up enough to take a look down the shore to see if I could spot any larger predators. Waterfowl and bugs dotted the surface of the bog, and the goblins flushed out the occasional frog which would try to hop for its life only to end up stuffed down a goblin gullet. Perks of being on the work detail, I suppose. Until one of the goblins didn¡¯t bother to chew, and started to ribbit every time his mouth was open¡ªmuch to the other goblins¡¯ delight. I spotted two of the crocodilians sunning on an island out in the bog, but there was no telling how many lurked beneath the surface. Surprisingly, I could now see the levels above them. 25 and 26. System, are these ones smaller than the one that attacked us the first time? Interesting. Taking out the stone-sloth alpha must have bumped up that threshold high enough for the crock-knockers. They were only a few levels above the alpha¡ªstill much stronger than goblins, but stronger than how many goblins? Hopefully, we wouldn¡¯t find out today. I ducked back behind the reeds and gathered the three scrappers I had with me. All of them had loose-weave net cloaks on, and I had one hold still while I stuffed reeds, grass, and moss through the netting until each hobgoblin resembled little more than a lump of peat themselves. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°Alright. Keep an eye on those crocs. They start heading this way, you give the signal.¡± ¡°Onnit,¡± whispered one of the scrappers. ¡°Trust.¡± The sneaky commando goblins melted back into the reeds, and I actually had a hard time tracking them even further than just a few meters away. They made barely a ripple in the water as they slid into the bog and slowly became one with their environment. I had a couple wranglers similarly outfitted, except those I had in reserve with their snatchers ready, to hopefully loop around predators and give the other goblins time to flee. Now it was time to get the rest of the goblins to work. I sent them out in pairs: one armored goblin with a slinger and spear for each harvesting goblin with a basket and peat knife. The book had described a fairly simple process of carving the iron nodules off the bottom of the peat masses. They accumulated over time and could grow anywhere from the size of a pea to the size of a fist. I sent them out onesie-twosie at 20-meter intervals so that a large congregation wouldn¡¯t draw the crocs out. Non-variant goblins aren¡¯t known for their stealth, but they at least sloshed more carefully than normal, knowing there were predators in the bog. This wasn¡¯t the natural habitat for base goblins the way the forest was. They meandered around, looking uncertain even though I¡¯d explained what to do in advance. It took me a moment to realize, this was something I¡¯d have to demonstrate myself. Well, any good leader should never ask their workers to do something they¡¯re not willing to do themselves, right? Otherwise I¡¯d be no better than the useless middle-managers at NuEarth that bossed the engineers around while not knowing the difference between a servo and a solenoid. I kept an eye on the crocs as I waded out with two of the goblins closest to me, blade in hand. I ended up in the team with the goblin who had swallowed the live frog, so I got to listen to the distressed ribits from one of my partners. So far, neither of them had stirred from their basking and the surface of the water was disturbed only by fish, frogs, and the large, blue wading birds spearing them that looked like a heron with a row of hedgehog spikes down its back. The birds themselves were only level 2, so they didn¡¯t pose much of a threat, even to non-variant goblins. We headed toward a concentration of peat on the surface, and I slipped my hands underneath to feel for the presence of iron. Goblin hands are extremely dextrous¡ªmaybe even more so than human hands. I ran my fingers through the tight woven plant matter until they lit on something small and hard. Pay dirt¡ªer, pay peat. I slipped the knife underneath and carefully cut the nodule free. The other goblin held out his sticky-wicky basket and I dropped the piece of ore into it. A shudder ran across the surface of the water as the concept propagated through the present goblins. I still didn¡¯t know the mechanism by which technology transferred between goblins¡ªwhether it was an aspect of the System itself bestowing skills to creatures, or some sort of goblin gestalt connection. They did have much bigger heads than their rudimentary intelligence would require. I¡¯d chalked the excessive size up to a protective layer of internal fluid to allow deformation in the event of a fall, but maybe part of it was some sort of subconscious psychic lobe? Who knew? This was a new world (simulation?) where magic has as much meaning as physics, and the whole shebang was being actively administrated. Either way, the rest of the harvesters snapped out of their stupor and looked at the knives in their hands with new light. Teams began to get to work, fishing underneath for iron. I kept at it, pulling two more small nodules off the mass of peat. It was working. The iron was in our grasp. So many applications that required metallurgy were going to open up because of this. I went back to work, feeling for iron and pulling off another several nodules off the next three peat masses. I got so absorbed in the work that I didn¡¯t notice the dark shadow that had crept up behind us until I felt something hard and sharp nudge me in the back of the head. Chapter 47 - Frogged Down Chapter 47 - Frogged Down I nearly squawked myself, spinning and waving the knife in front of my face. The wading bird jumped back, wings flapping for balance as it looked down at me curiously. It tilted its head one direction, then the other to gander at me with each eye, as though it wasn¡¯t sure what it beheld. Maybe it wasn¡¯t used to goblins in the swamp, but it certainly wasn¡¯t afraid of us. The quills that had stood up when I surprised it flattened back down. It leaned forward and pecked at the bone crown on my head. ¡°Shoo!¡± I hissed. My adversary was not deterred. It looked down at me from the lofty height of about 1.5 meters. Then stepped past me and stuck its beak close to my partner. Our guard raised his spear, but I held him back. ¡°No! We don¡¯t want it making a ruckus. Maybe it¡¯ll go away.¡± My armored partner gave me a dubious look, but kept his spear at the ready. The bird stepped closer to our companion, and that¡¯s when I heard it. ¡°Ribit¡± The wader pushed its wings overhead, creating a shade over the three of us as it stared down at the goblin who had swallowed the frog whole. It prodded its beak down around the water line, looking for the source of the sound. ¡°It¡¯s hunting!¡± I said. ¡°It wants the frog!¡± The goblin clapped his hands over his mouth, but not before another ribit worked its way up from his depths. The water bird snapped its head up, realizing the source of the sound, and thrusting its beak down toward the goblin with all the grace and subtlety of a drunken ex on New Years. The goblin fell back, arms windmilling as he splashed and squawked. ¡°Can it!¡± I hissed. ¡°Get out of here, bird!¡± I ordered. Instead of obeying me, the waterfowl shoved his beak right into the mouth of the struggling goblin, an act that was as stupid as it was brazen. But man, I guess it really wanted that frog. It was like watching the worst game of operation ever as the bird fished through my panicked partner¡¯s innards. He must have nibbled the little guy¡¯s uvula, because the frog, and everything else the goblin had eaten in the last 24 hours, came fountaining up right into the bird¡¯s face. The bird trilled in outrage and alarm¡ªdoubly so when the frog made it¡¯s timely escape. But the low whistle humming across the bog brought my attention away from the bizarre tableau and over to the island where the two croc-knockers had been basking. An island that was now empty. Uh oh. ¡°Out of the water!¡± I called. ¡°Get the iron onto dry land!¡± The rest of the goblins had stopped working to watch the show, some cheering for their comrade and some trilling like the water bird, presumably supporting its conquest. But they all heard my call and looked back at the now-empty island. All interest in the epic battle evaporated. Even the water bird took flight, its day having taken a decidedly bizarre turn. A pair of frog legs dangled from its beak. The shore suddenly seemed so far away. I pushed through the water, no longer as concerned with stealth. A cry of alarm brought me back around. The goblin guard was furiously thrusting his spear down into the murky depths, when all of a sudden a fountain of bog water sprayed upward, carrying the guard with it. The long jaws of a crock-knocker followed, snapping shut on the goblin. His armor held out as the jaw muscles on the creature bulged and shook, but then the plates gave out with a crack, and the shouts cut off. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. This wasn¡¯t the croc from the island. This one was bigger, and still had the XX above it. Which meant the ones from the island were still out here. Somewhere else along the line, another croc-knocker struck¡ªon an unarmored goblin this time, which meant any iron that he¡¯d collected would have just gone down the croc¡¯s gullet in a tragic loss. ¡°Poppers and spears!¡± I shouted, holding my own wicker basket out of the water. ¡°Poppers and spears!¡± The pop pop of the clay grenades began to erupt against the hard shell of the crocs, and they roared in anger. There were no tesla wasps to intervene this time. Just a dozen goblins with ceramic tipped spears and minor explosives. A pair of goblins on the shore angled one of the RPP¡¯s towards us, and I dove face-first under the water as they struck the primer. I could see the flare of the rocket motor pass over me before the explosion created a wave of water that knocked me almost to shore. I held the basket tight to my chest as I broke the surface for air. The croc reeled from the rocket propelled popper, but recovered quick and opened its mouth. I could see the muscles bunch up before the hard knob at the end of its tongue shot out within a few centimeters of my head and conked one of the rocket goblins on the skulll. I saw ceramic chips fly as the goblin was knocked off its feet. But I didn¡¯t get a notification for its demise. Thank you ceramic! Thank you stone-sloth totem! That didn¡¯t mean things were going well, of course. The crocs weren¡¯t just hungry, they were angry. Especially the one that had nearly hit me. It fixed its eyes on me, and there was more than ordinary animal intelligence there. It opened its jaws again and reeled back its tongue for another shot. As the knob passed me, I saw a red shine and realized: its tongue was wrapped around a piece of iron the size of my fist. Iron tools! The damn crocs were already technically in the iron age! And they were clobbering us with it. Well, I¡¯d come here to get iron. And damned if I was leaving without it. I still had the hooked ceramic knife in my hand. Dropping the wicker basket, I reached out and grabbed the iron nodule, bringing the knife underneath the thick, cord-like tongue and yanking it back. Ceramic is sharp. Unbelievably sharp. The croc¡¯s tongue resisted a little. But once the knife bit in, all that resistance evaporated and the tip of its tongue split away, along with the iron it clutched. The croc-knocker roared in pain, tongue whipping around with the released tension. It fixed its yellow eyes on me and barreled through the water. It ignored the closest goblin, the unfortunate frog-vomitter, and came straight on. Maybe I didn¡¯t think this plan through all the way. I sloshed my way toward shore. Meanwhile, all the goblin builders on the shore had grabbed spears, and shouted a rallying war cry as they charged toward me with the intent to protect their king. I passed the line, prize clutched in my hand. More poppers went out, and another RPP fired from the shore at one of the other croc-knockers. But nothing seemed to deter the bog monsters. I even saw the wranglers launch the net at one of them, but it just dipped below the surface and gave it the slip before coming back up to crunch on another guard. We were getting our collective butts handed to us. I reached the shore, dripping and gasping for air, with my prize pressed to my chest. Most of the other iron harvesters had made it to shore as well with their spoils. But at least half the fighters had been swept aside like detritus on the surface of the water. But it hadn¡¯t been as big a slaughter as it might have without the ceramic armor or the stone-sloth totem blessing. I stumbled my way up the bank alongside the rest of the harvesters and what remained of the guards. We weren¡¯t even a threat to the crocs. We were snacks. Between the crushing claws and chomping jaws, and that over-leveled alpha, we¡¯d bounced off the bog again in glorious fashion. At least I¡¯d gotten a little trophy. But I couldn¡¯t imagine the iron ore we¡¯d collected would amount to being worth the the price of 10+ goblins. But, where at first you don¡¯t succeed, iterate and test again. We¡¯d learn from this and¡ª A growing cascade of squawks brought my attention to the two croc-knockers that levered themselves up on the bank and began stomping around the shore, chasing goblins back into the forest bordering the swamp carrying their baskets of meager takings. They caught sight of me, and their eyes slid up to my bone crown, then narrowed. Oh hell. They could recognize me. Both bellowed deep, guttural growls and started dragging themselves toward me. Best not to stick around. We beat a hasty retreat, not stopping until the tower was back in sight, along with the builders. The crocs had stopped chasing us at the treeline, and the scrappers had caught up in their bog disguises. But I wasn¡¯t going to risk getting caught out by the shadow wolf that had possessed the cliffords, either. Chapter 48 - Croc Blocked Chapter 48 - Croc Blocked The problem with the crocs was that ceramic-tipped spears and poppers might as well have been sticks and harsh language as far as the high-level beasts were concerned. Their hide wasn¡¯t just tough, it was thick and scaly. our weapons weren¡¯t penetrating deep enough to draw blood, let alone deter the monsters. I unpeeled the tongue from around the iron prill and folded it up, stashing it in my snack pack on my skinny hide belt in case I got hungry later. System, how much iron did we collect? <4.1 chooms.> Please tell me that¡¯s in volume. Damn. Without the ability to deter, defeat, or distract the crocs, that was likely to be the result every time. So far, the only thing I¡¯d seen be mildly effective against them was the tesla wasps, which were equally happy to zap us goblins. Weaponizing the bugs wasn¡¯t just a matter of finding and trapping them¡ªif such a thing could even be done. ¡°Boss!¡± Hadfield yelled down from the tower. ¡°You should come see this!¡± I glanced at the other goblins and hurried over to the tower where a rope pulley dropped down and two goblins counter-weighted me up at lightning speed. As soon as I¡¯d landed on the top platform, Hadfield pointed off to the east. A column of white smoke rose from Village Apollo, clearly visible from the bog. ¡°Oh no. What have the igni done to the village?¡± I asked. Hadfield shrugged. ¡°We¡¯re getting ready to loft the balloon. What signal do you want to send?¡± I considered. The iron gathering had been a disaster. But it was always going to be messy, and I had a few more days before the new guests would arrive. ¡°We¡¯re continuing. Resupply and additional personnel.¡± ¡°You got it!¡± said Hadfield, grinning. All of the goblins who had been with me in the bog slumped over, moaning. I needed to figure this problem out. They would follow my orders to their own detriment. At least, until their fear response overwhelmed all sense of reason in their little goblin brains, and then they¡¯d break and run. But they would be most effective if they believed in my orders. Believed that, somehow, what they were doing was to their benefit. Ordering wave after wave of goblins to their deaths might eventually accomplish my goal, but it would be inefficient and wasteful as the entire workforce were paralyzed by fear. I waited as the goblins set the balloon up and lit the fuel canister. Hell, say nothing of the goblins, I was feeling demoralized. I couldn¡¯t even go for a run to blow off steam because there were monsters in the forest. But, I could at least go for a short glide. As the balloon began to ascend, I borrowed one of the personal gliders and hopped on the plaform. The lizard-skin balloon strained against the extra weight, but thanks to the burning goblin excrement, it slowly started warming enough to pull me off the ground. I rose up past the cheering goblins who stopped working on the tower to watch the balloon loft. They¡¯d take a midday break in order to shimmy up the tether and dive off. Some of them would even have gliders. What pleasure the rest got out of bouncing off their heads, I can¡¯t say. As the platform lifted above the trees, I got yet another kick in the teeth. The croc-knockers were now dozing in the reed area we¡¯d cleared, next to our bricks that we¡¯d set to dry. Well, they weren¡¯t bricks anymore. The croc¡¯s had smashed everything vaguely goblin-like in the clearing. They knew which direction we¡¯d come from. Just one more problem. The balloon reached full height none too soon. I spotted the glider inbound from the east and hoisted the signal flag. The light aircraft did a tight circle, hooking around the balloon and drawing close enough for me to see one of the wranglers laying prone in the harness. He recognized me and gave a quick tilt of his wings. I waved back, then grabbed onto the platform as a strong gust hit the balloon. ¡°Woah!¡± I said. The glider pilot seemed to be having issues of his own, as his aircraft nearly inverted. He wrestled it back on course and turned back east. Maybe a half-kilometer toward the village, his wings bucked and nearly folded in on themselves. A wall of wind hit his glider like a hammer, and it was all he could do to keep from being hammered down into the treetops below. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. ¡°Reel me in!¡± I shouted down. The goblins below had no chance of hearing me. In fact, they¡¯d formed a circle and started doing the wave in anticipation of me jumping. I held on tight to the balloon platform, wondering why, in my infinite wisdom, I hadn¡¯t thought to include anything like, say, a seatbelt. When the wind hit the lizard skin envelope, it nearly jerked the platform right out from under me. I felt the whole ensemble buck and pull against the tether. The glider went flying, despite my attempts to grab at it. Below me, the goblins panicked as the sudden windstorm kicked through the trees. Some of them had the presence of mind to grab the rope and start pulling down the balloon. But too many of them yanking on it at once while the wind pulled the other direction would stress the line. It wouldn¡¯t be long before¡ª Snap. My stomach lurched as the balloon separated from the tether and spun in the wind. I prepared to jump, ready to abandon ship¡ªuntil I saw what was under me. The wind had blown the balloon to the northwest at the end of its tether, to the point where I hovered over the site of our unfortunate battle that afternoon. If I bailed out now, I would land right next to the two crock-knockers. The bastards were tripping me up again, and it wasn¡¯t even on purpose this time! I had no choice. I held on as the loose balloon continued westward. Unhelpfully, the System provided my airspeed/altitude window. This was a disaster. I couldn¡¯t bail out. But I couldn¡¯t keep floating forever, either. The fact I was still gaining altitude was problematic, as well. I reached up and bashed the fuel canister out of place. The fiery jar of goblin scat went tumbling down into the bog below. Curiously, when it hit the surface of the water, instead of snuffing itself out, the flame spread rapidly across the surface, and flared for a moment near an island. That startled a flock of birds who quickly flew up and nearly knocked me out of the balloon. I swatted at the little devils, but they had sharp beaks and boy did they let me know it. One of them succeeded in tearing a small hole in the gas envelope. ¡°Ah, hell,¡± I swore. Looked like climbing in altitude wouldn¡¯t be a problem anymore. The balloon leveled out as the hot air began to escape. I was still high enough to get a lay of the land from a bird¡¯s eye view, so I focused on committing the terrain to memory. Navigation on Rava wasn¡¯t difficult. Between the moon and the mountains to the northeast, I always had a positive visual marker. Plus the several bluffs that dotted the forest north of the plains were distinct enough. The bog extended west and north, though it was roughly the shape of a crescent moon hooked around a peninsula on our side of the wetland. The balloon was carrying me more west than north, and I wasn¡¯t sure what was on the other side of the bog. I hadn¡¯t taken a long-range glider out that far because the lack of thermals made the return journey uncertain. Go figure. Over the next hour, I watched for a better spot to drop as the balloon slowly descended on its own. Somewhere with land, and not just a small crop of rocks that a croc-knocker could easily get onto. I didn¡¯t want to drop in the bog, but dropping on the other side of it would mean a long trek either through or around it anyway, and that might be even more dangerous than the croc-knockers. I had to at least get out of the croc infested eastern shore. Every minute carried me further from the tribe, but also further from the clutch of croc-knockers that we¡¯d pissed off. I spotted an island with a bit of a hill to the west that my flight path was taking me mostly near. It wasn¡¯t quite steep enough to qualify as a proper bluff, but it might do in a pinch. I¡¯d pass within a few dozen chooms of it. It looked like it would be my best bet to get out of the water quickly, and then I could work on getting back to the expedition. Best of all, I couldn¡¯t see any crocs sunning on the waterside. As the balloon floated over it, steadily loosing altitude, I wriggled out of the lines of the platform, reached up with my bogging knife and sliced open the balloon. The whole thing deflated, and both I and the balloon began to free fall. The human part of my stomach still jumped up into my throat at the idea of such a suicidal fall. But, of course, it wasn¡¯t any threat to me as a goblin. I just had to make sure I landed head-first. Hitting the water felt like being slapped with a rock, but my head pushed through, and then buried itself halfway in the mud at the bottom. I beat at the base of the bog bed, trying to dislodge myself as my prosthetics waved in the air above the surface. Luckily, I¡¯d loosened up the mud on impact, so I came out relatively easily and thrust my head above water for a breath. The balloon and platform had fallen somewhat close by. First order of business: get the remains of the ensemble to land. A splash in the water somewhere behind me drew my attention. I turned around to see a ripple in the water headed my way. Oh, no. First order of business: don¡¯t become lunch. I splashed through the water, trying to stay ahead of whatever was coming. I was still a dozen feet away when a wide, spade-shaped turtle head broached the water, along with a massive shell. Only this one was wide, flat, and horned with a crest of red, fibrous kelp growing on the back of its neck. Huh. I half expected it to start spitting fire and trying to kidnap princesses from Italian plumbers. It hissed at me. I relaxed a bit as the system put its level above it¡¯s head. 9. We¡¯d taken care of much worse. Only¡ªI¡¯d had my tribe at a time. No, no. My first instinct was right: Alarm was perfectly warranted. I resumed my panicked retreat as the turtle¡¯s head dipped out of view. The ripples approached, way too fast for something that was supposed to be as slow as a turtle. I was never going to make it. Chapter 49 - Marooned Chapter 49 - Marooned The jaws of the turtle opened and lunged toward me, snapping and gnashing. They locked around my chest and squeezed so hard I thought I might come apart. It wasn¡¯t as bad as getting stabbed by the javeline spear, but it was damn close. Of course, I couldn¡¯t die unless I was the last member of the tribe. Instead, a random goblin would take the hit for me. I beat at the turtle¡¯s head as it tried to take another chunk out of me. This time, it forced me under the water and against the muddy bottom. I kicked and punched, unable to breath. Its sharp jaws dug into my center, trying to get purchase. God, the thing was strong. It felt like pushing against a brick wall. Leading from the rear, I sometimes forgot just how weak goblins were as individuals. The turtle dragged me across the bottom. My lungs burned. Would drowning just start ticking down goblins? I didn¡¯t have to find out as the turtle whipped its head around and tossed me over its shell. I cartwheeled through the air, splashing back down into the bog water. Ol¡¯ boy was probably frustrated with the fact that I wasn¡¯t dead already, but it planned to rectify that situation presently. I got my bearings as quick as I could and reached down to my hide belt. The turtle came back around, swimming just under the surface. This time, when its head broke the surface and made to chomp me again, I stuffed a popper in its mouth instead. Startled by the audacity, the turtle reeled back and chomped down. I barely managed to get my fingers out of the way before its jaws snapped shut, as if the popper were a gumball. A bright flash shone through its nose and eyes, along with a gout of flame from his nostrils that singed my fur. The thing froze, blinked, and looked at me, bewildered. ¡°There¡¯s more where that came from,¡± I warned as I backpedaled toward the island. ¡°Just try it again. Actually, please don¡¯t try it again.¡± Smoke billowed out the thing¡¯s nostrils. Honestly it was a shock the popper hadn¡¯t blown its head completely off, but I guess the turtle was made of out sterner stuff than the low-level clifford that had chomped a bomb fruit my first day on Rava. Still, it glared at me with a wary eye, probably debating if I was a morsel worth the trouble. After a tense moment in which I held another popper out and ready, its internal calculus must have fallen to the side that there were less spicy meals around. It sunk below the surface with a final glare. The ripples headed away, and I let out a breath and replaced the popper in my padded case. I only had two of them left. I¡¯d have to make them count. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. With the turtle gone, I was able to wrestle the wreckage of the waterlogged balloon up onto the shore of what I thought was a small island but turned out to be an outcropping of a larger piece of land that led west, deeper into the bog. I dragged the wreck up higher, hoping that the croc-knockers wouldn¡¯t go up further from the shore than I¡¯d seen them previously. But they were clearly not our biggest fans, so they might make an exception for me. In the grand scheme of things, I hadn¡¯t drifted far from the tribe. 2, maybe 3 kilometers. I could even still see hints of the smoke from the main camp through the canopy. But 3 kilometers on foot to a lone goblin might as well have been another continent. Every time I¡¯ve been isolated since setting foot on Rava, I¡¯ve immediately been under threat. And the bog wouldn¡¯t exactly be kind to a rescue party, either. If a rescue came for me. They would have to A) know where to find me, and B) survive the swamp themselves. We¡¯d lost almost 10% of the tribe just trying to steal a little iron to smelt, so that didn¡¯t seem likely. No. If anyone was going to get me out of this situation, it was me. While I pulled off my wet cloak and hung it on a low branch to dry, I took stock of all the tools and materials I had handy. It wasn¡¯t much, admittedly. I¡¯d taken to carrying a hide cord belt with a few small bags on it and a hard case for a few emergency poppers. Of those, I had two left. I also had some cordage, my hooked bogging knife, and a set of ceramic precision tools. I had some dried fish and meat, as well. But, I wasn¡¯t being digested in a monster¡¯s stomach while my tribe slowly ticked down, so that was a plus. From the balloon, I salvaged the lizard skin envelope, the rigging, the heating cradle, and most of the platform. The hole I¡¯d torn in the skin looked potentially reparable. I just needed cordage small enough to thread through, and fuel (or rather, more food than I had, in order to manufacture it inside my own body). And a favorable wind. I ran a hand through my fur. And to not be a borderline helpless, 1-meter goblin. Enough of that. That was defeatist thinking. This was a setback, but I was not going to let it define me. I would not spiral, and I would not wallow in my misfortune. That wasn¡¯t me. I push forward. Always. And I never let anyone or anything define my limitations. I thought back to the footprints on the edge of the campsite. Something had figured out how to survive in this place, despite the carnivores, the insects, and whatever other threats lurked. Of course, they were another lurking threat. But if I was going to make a list of all the things in Rava that could kill me, I¡¯d die of old age before I finished. It was time to go to work. After a quick snack. And maybe a nap. Chapter 50 – Boglins Chapter 50 ¨C Boglins <1 hobgoblin scrappers have been added to your tribe.> <2 hobgoblin wranglers have been added to your tribe.> <1 noblin ignis has been added to your tribe> I woke up, shivering in the oilskin cloak. Goblins typically nested for warmth and reproduction. But I¡¯d spent the night alone on an elevated platform that I¡¯d pulled up into the crook of a low tree in order to put any amount of distance between myself and ground-based predators. I didn¡¯t seem to be suffering the malaise typical of a restless goblin night, so that was a plus¡ªif a small one. Plan A was repairing the balloon and floating out of here on a change of the wind. But that necessitated more food than I had in order to produce the methane-rich goblin scat. Fish were my best bet for that. I spent the morning making a pair of flexi-pole fish traps¡ªa combination fishing pole/flex-a-pult that would swing a hooked fish back onto the shore. I¡¯d seen fish in the bog, up to and including ones that were big enough to eat me. I used what was left of my meat to bait the small hooks and the cordage from my pouch to make the lines, and then cast them out into the bog. With the traps active, I set out to explore my immediate surroundings on the bog island. I crested the top of the hill and looked out west, where a thick layer of brush spread out. There weren¡¯t any crocs that I could see on the shores leading down to the water. Maybe they were too steep, or maybe the beasts were still asleep instead of sunning themselves on the silt banks. Good riddance. I hoped I didn¡¯t see any all day. I did, however, spot¡ªor rather hear a nest of the tesla wasps nearby, by their tell-tale electric snaps and pops. And I did not want to run afoul of them, either. Though, maybe the presence of the nest was what deterred the crocs. As long as I didn¡¯t attract their ire, the presence of the nest might work out to be a net benefit. I kept moving, keeping the sounds of the nest on my left as I pushed north through the tight brush. The under-layer was a forest of stems and branches that I could navigate crouched down. I felt a bit like a rabbit ducking through a hedge. Occasionally, I had to use my bogging knife to clear a branch or two, but otherwise, it was almost like a secret highway under the foliage. I made it a couple hundred meters or so by mid-morning, at which point I reached the western shore of my little island. I also heard the distant twang of the flexi-pole going off, so I decided to head back. Sure enough, there was a fish that had splatted against the rocks with a very shocked expression, hook still in its mouth. I collected the meat, reset the trap, and headed back to my meager camp to start a fire. With the dampness of the bog and with no other goblins for a carousel, it would be tough to get a fire going. At least through traditional means. When I¡¯d met Rufus, he¡¯d struck a fire by combining a pair of liquids from a pair of small vials. I didn¡¯t have those two chemicals, but what I did have was a trio of small clay balls filled with a compound sensitive to pressure and impact. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. I collected some kindling and sticks, as well as some creeping ivy from the trees, and sat down with one of the poppers and my ceramic precision tools. One was a tiny hand drill, and that¡¯s the one I went to work with. In our world you might call it a pin drill, with a bit about .8 millimeters across, if I judged it right. It took a few minutes, working slowly to avoid catastrophic failure, for the ceramic bit to auger through the hardened clay and penetrate the softer material within. I carefully drilled a second hole, and then tipped the openings toward my small pile of fuel. The bomb-fruit juice didn¡¯t blend perfectly with the oily goblin scat and sulfur mix of the poppers. It took a few moments, but a bead started to form at the lower opening, growing to about the size of a pea before breaking off and dropping over the tinder I¡¯d scraped together. I quickly slathered a bit of mud over the openings to seal them, and then struck the wet spot in the tinder with the hilt of my bogging knife. There was a crack and a smell like the Fourth of July, and then a tiny flame nestled in the fluff. Oh boy. I got down on my hands and knees and blew into the budding flame until I had a decent fire going, then set the remains of the fish to roast on a piece of bark. I sat back as it cooked with some vines from the forest and my knife to make a fine enough cord to stitch up the lizard-frill balloon. The crackle and pop of the fire kept me company as I worked, blending with the sound of the bog¡ªwhich was mainly the sound of insects interspersed with the occasional croc-knocker bellow. So far, none of them had accosted me on this island. I¡¯d gotten so used to the noise of the village. The goblins were many things, but quiet wasn¡¯t one of them. Running around at top speed, chittering, biting, and just generally being a menace made the bluff sound a bit like a daycare from hell for most of the day. But it had become my daycare from hell. I didn¡¯t like being alone. I heard the Twang-splat of the flexi-pole again, only without the splat part, this time. I sighed, getting to my feet. Fish had gotten lucky, this time. I grabbed a few morsels and some fishbones to make a better hook. One small fish wasn¡¯t going to get me very far. I trekked down the hill of the island to the coast, but when I saw what had happened, I stopped, and dropped down to the ground. Five small hominids stood by the water, examining the sprung fishing trap while a sixth sprawled on the silt, with a red welt running vertically up its ugly, fleshy face. I watched from my concealed position as one of them smacked the other fishing trap with the butt of its pronged spear, causing the contraption to go off. It somehow also managed to smack the one already prone on the ground. Judging from their spears and their fleshy, webbed feet, these had to have been the same creatures that broke into the wagons and stole supplies. They looked like, well, they looked like goblins, albeit furless, fleshy, and fishy. It had to be a subspecies or variant. And if they were a goblin, then my ability to command them might work on them. System, will these things defer to a goblin king? Perfect! Swamp-dwelling goblins! The System provides. I stood from my hiding spot, striding confidently down the hill. I raised my hand in greeting and offered a big, toothy grin. ¡°Ahoy! I¡¯m King Apollo!¡± The boglins stared at me. Still not close enough, apparently. I kept approaching, waiting for the prompt to catch up and the System to tell me that the tribe had grown another three members. System, what gives? I thought these guys will answer to a goblin king. I stopped, confused. I figured it out about the time one of the spears hit me in the gut. A lance of pain washed over my body. The world shook, and every muscle in my body lit up like it had been struck by lightning. As I toppled, I looked down, at the spear embedded in my belly. Huh. I thought, before I lost consciousness. Chapter 51 - King Ringo Chapter 51 - King Ringo ¡°Boss, boss! Wake up!¡± I came to with a wicked headache and rubbed the spot of blackened fur on my belly where the spear had singed me. I was in a loose cage woven from bog tree branches and vines. In the cage next to me knelt a hobgoblin scrapper who had a meaty hand on my shoulder. He looked a bit rough around the gills, but no worse than I felt. ¡°Where are we?¡± ¡°Boglin village,¡± said the scrapper. He scowled. ¡°Nasty snot-nosed boglins. Ain¡¯t even got fur wot like a propp¡¯r goblin. Spotted ¡®em the other night. When the wranglers hopped on the cliffies to chase ¡®em down, they made scarce and some nasty cloud took over the puppers. The boggies caught me from behind with those zap-sticks and brought me back here.¡± I pulled myself to a sitting position, groaning. The sun was still up but dropping low to the horizon. I wasn¡¯t sure how far I¡¯d been moved, but it must have been a decent distance because there was a village here, and not a small one, either. I counted at least 20 goblins attending tasks¡ªwith a diligence I recognized. A group of six were working together to erect more wooden structures, while another set shaved down poles. Yet a third group had strung up a neatly-quartered turtle to bleed out into dried mud bowls. The turtle I¡¯d seen had been level 9. That was no easy foe for rudderless goblins. Something had moved their hands in the same direction. ¡°The boglins have a king, don¡¯t they?¡± I asked. The scrapper nodded. ¡°Seen ¡®im. Ringo. Big bloke, fish crown.¡± ¡°Fish crown?¡± The scrapper held his hands up at the side of his head. ¡°Fish crown.¡± I sighed. ¡°Looks like I need to have a talk with fish-crown Ringo, king-to-king.¡± Several of the boglins, drawn by the noise, drew close and gave us curious looks. They didn¡¯t move like the goblins of Tribe Apollo. They were slow, smooth, and almost sinuous, whereas forest goblins were manic, jerky, and chompy. The boglins moved like, well, the bog; in such a way that you might lose them against the background if you weren¡¯t paying attention. Their skin being the color of mud with pin-lines of light green that looked like peat moss only lent to that effect, as did the greenish-yellow fur that grew in patches on their heads, neck, and shoulders. But they could move fast if they wanted to. The one who had thrown the spear at me did so in the blink of an oversized eye. One of the onlookers knocked the back of his spear against my cage. I backed away, and they undid the simple latch from outside that I probably could have jimmied from the inside without much trouble. I think it was more to hold the door shut than keep me secure. The only problem was, I had nowhere to go. Even if I could get out of the cage (easy), past the native boglins (slightly harder), and off this island (harder still), I¡¯d still be in the middle of the swamp filled with predators and a hostile goblin tribe (impossible). So, instead of busting out, I waited for them to open the paltry jail and got to my feet. At least they¡¯d left my prosthetics attached. They pointed at them for a moment, and I looked over at the scrapper. ¡°They was trying to decide wot yer legs were.¡± I saw a handful of small rocks change hands, and then I realized they were scales of some creature. This tribe had developed currency¡ªand gambling. Good god, the idea of goblins at a Texas Hold¡¯Em tournament¡­ well, some things are too horrific to consider. That was one technology I didn¡¯t want Tribe Apollo adopting. Slender fingers wrapped around my arms as the two boglins grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me out onto the loose mud of the village. ¡°Boss!¡± the scrapper shouted after me. ¡°Sit tight,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll be back.¡± I managed to keep on my blades as they scrambled me up the hill. This was what passed for high ground in the bog, I suppose. I¡¯m surprised goblins were able to survive without a bluff, here. But they¡¯d clearly managed to avoid being wiped out by croc-knockers long enough to grow into a tribe of 30, maybe 35 strong. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. A wooden fort dominated the top of the hill, held in place by mud slathered against the base of the walls. Two boglins guarding the front of the fort moved a section of the wall out of the way so my escorts could shuffle me through the opening and into the apex of the bog tribe¡¯s village. I¡¯ll be honest. I smelled the king before I saw him. The unmistakable musk of old microwaved fish preceded the king. He came out carried on chair supported by 4 goblins, legless and fat, with a mane of slicked-back greenish hair whereas the other boglins were more patchy and mottled. The mane was slicked down by some sort of oil, or grease. On top of that, what I can only describe as a fish crown, because no amount of words could ever do this rancid thing justice. As if I needed more proof of his kingship, his ambulatorily-challenged stumps waggled in the air as the 4 goblins struggled under the weight. ¡°It¡¯s true, then!¡± he said, pointing a stick towards my crown of bones. His chair bearers managed to get him mostly facing me, but one or the other would lose balance and he would have to twist his neck to keep me in sight as the raised chair tilted or rotated. ¡°An invading king from the forest!¡± I shrugged out of the grip of the two boglins and stepped forward. The king cringed back, but I was clearly unarmed. Curious that he would be so skittish with 40-odd tribesmen ready to die for him. ¡°I¡¯m not invading!¡± I protested. ¡°Ho-hum! You built your tower on my shore, floated your balloon of stitched skins as a threat, and attacked the knockers to show you had no fear. Strange way of not invading!¡± ¡°I¡¯m not lying,¡± I said. But I had to admit, from King Ringo¡¯s perspective, my actions could be read as very, very hostile. In a way, I was his javelines. I was the unknown force on his doorstep threatening his sovereignty and the safety of his tribe. He had no way of knowing that I had no ill intentions against him. ¡°I don¡¯t want to live in the bog, I just wanted to collect some iron ore! It grows on the peat moss, and even the crocs have it in their mouths.¡± The king looked down, and I noticed a scruffy-looking goblin somewhat smaller than the others. ¡°Erm, King Ringo, I believe he means the clangy minerals the croc knockers use to incapacitate their prey. But this is impossible. No one would be foolish enough to pry open the maw of a ¡®knocker to steal their knob.¡± ¡°I know what iron is, fool!¡± the king shifted uncomfortably. ¡°You¡¯re right, of course. You can¡¯t beat a croc.¡± A talking variant, some kind of advisor goblin. Just what I needed, some crooked vizier figure. I reached down, fumbling for my snack pack, which had been taken, along with my knife, the poppers, and my tools. ¡°Where are my things? I can prove it.¡± King Ringo waved his hand. One of his goblins slinked away, and returned a few minutes later with my belt, my knife, and most surprising of all, the glider I¡¯d dropped from the balloon. I was worried he would handle the poppers too roughly, but he showed adequate care with all my things. Rather than bring them to me, he took them to the boglin king, who began to root through with much less finesse. He fished around in the snack pack and pulled out the severed tongue I¡¯d kept, throwing it on the ground as if it were a snake. His advisor variant knelt down to examine it. ¡°It is indeed as he claims. A tongue this size must have belonged to a full-grown ¡®knocker. Curious, great king.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not curious!¡± barked the king. "It¡¯s down-right suspicious! As is the rest of this!¡± He pulled out my ceramic hook knife and waved it in the air. ¡°Swamp Spirit, what manner of blade is this? Some sort of mud? And don¡¯t tell me unknown, again!¡± From his frustrated squawk, I imagine the System must have done just that. ¡°It¡¯s not mud, o¡¯ king,¡± I said, taking a page from Rufus¡¯ book. Flattery couldn¡¯t hurt. ¡°It¡¯s clay, such that we find in the forest and bake or fire. It becomes hard enough to hold an edge.¡± King Ringo held it between his thumb and forefinger as his stumps wiggled. ¡°You seek more of this in my land!¡± ¡°I¡¯ve already told you, I just wanted iron ore.¡± The king snuffled as he dug through more of my pack. He pulled out one of the poppers, raising it up and testing it with his teeth. I moved forward, intent on warning him, but he recoiled, shrieking, and I felt the jolt of a hard rod hit my lower back. Lightning shot across every muscle in my abdomen, sending me to the ground, coughing. One of the boglins had hit me with his spear. Surprisingly, I felt no blood when I probed the spot. After I recovered, I straightened. ¡°What are you frightened of, King Ringo?¡± I asked. ¡°You¡¯re a goblin king, are you not? You can¡¯t die while you still have a tribe.¡± ¡°You¡¯d like me to think that, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± he sneered. He leveled the knife at my chest. ¡°But a king can kill a king. Were I not so noble, I could gut you, here and now. I could take your goblins. Then, I could take your tribe, as you no-doubt planned to do with mine.¡± He settled back. ¡°Lucky for you, I¡¯m so kind and generous.¡± System? About the king killing kings thing, at least. I swallowed. Even the javeline couldn¡¯t kill me outright¡ªthough, they¡¯d tried. This goblin held my life in its fat, webbed hands. ¡°So what¡¯s stopping you?¡± Ringo leaned back, reveling in his power. ¡°Why should I? What use have I for blue-furred squabblers who can¡¯t even swim? Keep to your forests and trees. What care is it of mine? But my scouts told me you had a fire. The swamp is too wet to burn. You must carry it with you.¡± he shook the popper. ¡°Is it within these? You have knives sharper than flint and towers and floating sacks of skin and winged, whistling flyers. I want it all!¡± ¡°You want the secret technology of Tribe Apollo?¡± I asked. ¡°Yes! Give it to me!¡± he shared a look with his advisor. ¡°Then, I¡¯ll consider letting you go.¡± Clearly neither had any intention of doing that. But I didn¡¯t think he¡¯d kill me, either. I spread my hands. ¡°Well why didn¡¯t you say so? I¡¯m happy to share.¡± The boglin king¡¯s advisor narrowed his eyes at me. ¡°Sire, he must be lying.¡± ¡°I know that!¡± said Ringo, kicking his stubby leg remnants. ¡°Take him back to his hut and give me time to think.¡± The two boglins grabbed me again, and I struggled. ¡°But I just said I¡¯d give you what you asked for!¡± ¡°That¡¯s why it¡¯s so suspicious!¡± snarled Ringo. He tested the edge of my knife against his thumb. ¡°No one gives a goblin anything. If I¡¯ve learned anything here, it¡¯s that.¡± He sunk his head into his shoulders. ¡°Everything in the world looks down on goblins. If they don¡¯t eat us, they kill us for sport. Mark me, I¡¯ll wring the secrets from you, yet. My tribe needs that knowledge. And you¡¯re not leaving until I get it.¡± Chapter 52 - Mind-Boglin Inventions Chapter 52 - Mind-Boglin Inventions They put me back in the cage next to the scrapper, not even bothering to latch it this time, for all King Ringo¡¯s paranoia. I opened it and stepped outside, and took a second to unlatch the scrapper¡¯s door, as well. My partner had spent the evening digging a hole in his cage, only to find that water quickly filled in anything he dug out. ¡°Not much of an escape tunnel,¡± he admitted, settling back against the bars of his cage. ¡°Wot you reckon, boss?¡± he made a noise like a rocket taking off and clapped his hands. ¡°Make like with the porkbellies? A little rocket-tree action for King Ringo?¡± ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m going to escape. And then I¡¯m going to help him.¡± ¡°Help him? You know wot he¡¯s got us in, right now? A cage. We put night haunts in them. And you know what comes next.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not even locked,¡± I said, swinging the door open and stepping inside with the scrapper. I look around at the rest of the island through the bars and sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t hate this tribe¡ªor Ringo, for that matter. I pity them. And it¡¯s true they need us more than we need them, but we can¡¯t start wars with everyone we meet. Not every problem can be solved by launching a rocket at it.¡± I sat back, muttering. ¡°Besides, we have no sulfur. You know how the icky-putty works.¡± The scrapper grunted and went back to his hole. I wasn¡¯t wrong, though. Ringo might be a half-mad swamp-brained buffoon, but we each stood more to gain as friends, and only stood to lose as enemies. I just had to somehow convince him of that. He wanted fire, ceramic, and ballooning. I could give him that, and more. I could give him boats. I could give him armor. I could let him walk. I stepped out of the scrapper cage and approached a pair of nearby boglins. ¡°I want to make a gift for King Ringo,¡± I said. I gave them a list of supplies, and they looked at each other and departed. A few minutes later, the advisor goblin showed up at my cell. ¡°What¡¯s this about a grift for Ringo? Are you trying to scam the great king and steal his hard-earned resources?¡± ¡°A gift,¡± I said. ¡°I want to make him something.¡± ¡°You want to take his something? Spoken like a true thief!¡± Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. I smacked a fist into my palm. ¡°That¡¯s a reach and you know it.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± he said, crossing his arms and sniffing. ¡°I heard you true. But I still don¡¯t trust you! What are you planning?¡± ¡°First I want to give you a name. Ringo¡¯s got one. An¡­ interesting one, at that. You¡¯re clearly important around here. Why don¡¯t you have one?¡± The advisor hesitated. ¡°My king has not seen fit to give me one.¡± ¡°How about George?¡± The advisor worked it around his mouth. ¡°Gee-oor-jah¡± ¡°Close enough.¡± Despite his best efforts to mask his emotions, I could see the excitement in the boglin¡¯s tapping feet. ¡°Very well. What do you want to give King Ringo?¡± I lifted one of my legs. ¡°I want to make him something like this.¡± The advisor looked down at the mechanical joint that connected my lower leg remnant to the sloth-claw prosthetic. ¡°Hmm¡­¡± he said. ¡°I shall take the idea to my king.¡± He left, and I turned to the scrapper. ¡°See? They can be reasoned with.¡± The scrapper shrugged and kept digging. Several hours passed, well into the eclipse, before the advisor, George returned. ¡°He¡¯s not interested.¡± ¡°What?¡± I asked. George shrugged. ¡°What need has a king of false legs? Being carried is the mark of true royalty, yet you are carried by no one. This is why you are a false king.¡± ¡°Did you even really speak to him?¡± ¡°I may have got distracted by official duties.¡± I buried my face in my hands and screamed into my palms. Fugg me for wanting to walk and run and jump instead of getting carted around on a litter and thrown down cliffs, right? So un-kingly. The scrapper whistled and made an explosion sound behind me. I was beginning to agree. But it looked like I was stuck. Whatever I said, the boglins assumed I was lying¡ªeven if I expressly agreed with them! What frustrating people. But they were still goblins. And it seemed like goblins in this world, above all else, needed to stick together. Even with what limited resources I had, I could probably kill Ringo and take his people. All I had to do was trick him into biting down on one of those poppers and poof, 30-40 boglins added to the tribe. But I didn¡¯t want to hurt Ringo. I wanted more neighbors in Rava that I could trust¡ªeven if I could only trust them to think I was out to get them. The advisor tossed a small sack down on the floor of the cave and stormed off, which looked to contain the cast-off bits of fish guts that even the other boglins didn¡¯t want. My stomach growled, and fire or not, I fell upon the offal with relish, chomping down scale, bone, and meat. I stopped myself from finishing it all and passed half of it through the bars to the scrapper. ¡°Here. You¡¯ll need your strength.¡± ¡°Aww, king,¡± he said, taking the sack. He shoveled the rest into his mouth and spat a bone in the direction of the fort. ¡°He may have their loyalty, but you got our trust. You¡¯re twice the king wot ¡®e is.¡± Closer to three times, numerically speaking. If only there was a way to get my tribe here, their true size alone might intimidate Ringo into submission. But they couldn¡¯t penetrate the swamp. Yet, Ringo¡¯s boys could. I looked at the boglin guards with their mottled skin and pronged spears. How had they managed to survive in the bog amongst the predators and the threats? What was their secret? It certainly wasn¡¯t the competency of their monarch. I felt the lethargy start to take me. It was a problem I¡¯d have to sleep on. Chapter 53 - Negotiating Tactics Chapter 53 - Negotiating Tactics ¡°You want to go into the bog?¡± asked Ringo. He raised one fuzzy eyebrow and leered down from his chair, center of gravity dangerously forward as the boglins struggled to keep it level. ¡°I told you I want fire. I want towers. I want flight!¡± ¡°Yes, o¡¯ king,¡± I said. "The answer to those is in the bog. Fire lives in the water. I saw it as I flew over. I can give you fire, I can give you flight. But I won¡¯t give them to you for free.¡± The king shared a look with his advisor. ¡°You wish to trade safe passage through the swamp for these secrets?¡± I shook my head. ¡°No, sire. I¡¯ve decided to stay with the tribe voluntarily. I wish for us to grow closer. As¡­ friends.¡± The advisor boglin, George stood on his toes to whisper into Ringo¡¯s ear, but there was still so much distance between them due to the lofted throne that he had to whisper extra loudly and I could hear him quite clearly. ¡°Sire, he¡¯s clearly planning to get close only to assassinate you!¡± ¡°I know that, fool! We will keep a close eye on him. Find out what he wants.¡± The advisor cleared his throat. ¡°We are pleased you have finally decided to recognize the greatness of King Ringo. An exchange between kings ought be a give and snatch. So what is it that you want from my gracious king?¡± I bowed. ¡°I wish to know how it is our king has kept his people safe from the dangers of the bog. My tribe is weak, and we have fallen victim to the aggression of the croc-knockers. How is it that you¡¯ve kept them at bay? I¡¯m sure that information is much, much too valuable a secret to trade, but I must try.¡± Ringo snorted a laugh. ¡°Simple. So simple even a forest goblin could grasp it!¡± He held out his hand, and a pair of goblins came forward carrying a longer version of the bog spear. He grasped it, and then thrust the tip down towards me. I flinched back, which greatly amused him. He chortled and chuckled. But while he did, I examined the tip. The wood at the end of the spear had been split, and pinched between the bound tines was one of the tesla wasps! The two electric prongs stuck out several centimeters from the end of the rod. They were shock spears. I had assumed the spear that hit me must have had some sort of fast-acting venom powerful enough to knock out even a goblin, despite our resistance to toxins and poisons. But this was an ingenious application. When I¡¯d first encountered the crocs in the bog during my initial recon with Chuck, the only thing that had managed to deter the croc had been the enraged wasps. Well, a dozen goblins with wasps on the ends of sticks was almost as good as an angry swarm. ¡°How did you capture the wasps?¡± I asked. ¡°You don¡¯t capture them, fool,¡± said the advisor. ¡°You raid the nest from under the water and steal their eggs. You hatch them in the spear.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Genius. Maybe I hadn¡¯t given the boglins enough credit. ¡°Now, being as we¡¯re friends, now,¡± the king and advisor shared a look. ¡°Tell me how fire lives in the swamp.¡± I cleared my throat. ¡°Very well. O¡¯ king. As I was passing overhead, I dropped my own fire in the bog. But instead of the water dousing the flame, it caught and spread. I thought little of it at the time, until I saw that!¡± I pointed at the king¡¯s head. He probed his face with his fingers. ¡°My face?¡± ¡°Your hair. You¡¯ve matted it with a black, greasy fluid from the swamp, yes?¡± King Ringo dropped his fingers. ¡°Indeed, a dark spring spurts forth a wonderful liquid. I find it gives my fur a dignified sheen. You seek the sheen? It¡¯s very kingly.¡± ¡°King Ringo, I believe that spring holds the secret to swamp fire. If I teach you to trap it, then we can bring fire back to the village.¡± Ringo ran a hand through his hair. ¡°Intriguing. What would you need to trap the fire?¡± ¡°Simply the help of my scrapper and a device I can fashion from simple hides and wooden poles.¡± I patted my little leather shorts. ¡°I had one with me when I fell, which would speed the process. But I¡¯m afraid I lost it. I suppose I¡¯ll just have to enjoy your food and hospitality for a week while I fashion another from your generous supplies.¡± The advisor whispered up to the king. ¡°Sire, he¡¯s clearly trying to stall his side of the bargain while he mooches food and materials. We recovered the device he dropped!¡± Ringo turned to me. ¡°My advisor says we can provide your capturing device. We will proceed without delay. Unless you think there is some reason we should not make haste?¡± ¡°Well, we should consider all approaches to this. One should never be¡ª¡± ¡°Without delay!¡± decreed Ringo. He gestured with his rod, and the boglin guards grabbed me. It took the king a few minutes to gather his personal guard, which consisted of 20 or so boglins dedicated completely to his own safety. At least half the tribe, actually, from what I could tell. Ringo rolled deep. Honestly, I could learn a thing or to from ol¡¯ Ringo. I¡¯d been a bit cavalier in life¡ªbetween sports, riding motorcycles, and flying. Always looking for the next thrill, the next challenge, until I could experience the ultimate one: walking on the moon. My pop had always said his heart would give out watching me bungee jump or white-water raft. And then his heart had given out at a steak restaurant as he tried to eat a 30 oz t-bone in 20 minutes to get it 50% off. He¡¯d been looking to put one foot in the grave ever since my mom had passed in 4th grade. Maybe I get my risk-taking from him. But now, with a tribe to take care of, I had to acknowledge that my risky behavior had put me in compromising positions multiple times. In the interest of delegation and efficient application of resources and lack of delegation I¡¯d eschewed my own personal safety repeatedly. For the sake of my new friends, I had to take into consideration that mitigations had to be put in place¡ªeven if those mitigations were other goblins giving their lives to protect the good of the tribe by not allowing enemies to kill me over and over. The scrapper was brought out of the cage and joined us, stretching his considerable muscles. ¡°Thanks for springin¡¯ me, boss,¡± he said. He leaned in. ¡°I got a confession. The tunnel weren¡¯t shite.¡± His cage hadn¡¯t even been locked. ¡°I¡¯ve got a plan,¡± I whispered back. ¡°But I don¡¯t know if I can get us both out. Are you with me?¡± ¡°I¡¯m wiv¡¯ ye, boss!¡± said the scrapper, nodding. King Ringo hissed. ¡°Stop that whispering! Conspiracy!¡± I bowed. ¡°Good king, you¡¯ve caught me. I had thought to avoid your noticing. But your eyes see all.¡± ¡°And don¡¯t forget it!¡± Ringo settled back into his chair. ¡°Now. We go to this spring of the sheen-fur water with all haste.¡± I had thought the boglins slow and plodding, but once they hit the water it was like watching a school of tetras. These guys had a lot of maneuverability thanks to webbing between their fingers and toes, and all the energy in the water that their forest-born cousins did on land. The king¡¯s chair cut little white-water wakes as he struggled to keep his seat, and my boglin supervisors pushed me so quickly that my prosthetics rode up on the water like waterskis. Hmm¡­ System? Hell yeah. Chapter 54 - Icky Slicky Chapter 54 - Icky Slicky It was actually somewhat marvelous, the way the boglins used their tesla wasp rods to zap the croc-knockers that came too close. A few of them still got potshots from range that killed 2 of our escorts and 1 of the throne-bearers, causing King Ringo to almost fly out of his chair in a most unkinglike way. But the king of the bog was clearly more willing to expend his tribemates than I wanted to be. My scrapper laughed his head off the whole way, being carried between three of the much-smaller boglins. The boglin tribe didn¡¯t have any hobgoblins (hob-boglins?) so far as I could tell. It made sense, since I hadn¡¯t unlocked my second variant goblin until, what was it, 50 or so goblins? And the boglin king seemed to have a count somewhere in the mid 30¡¯s or 40 max. I also learned that he¡¯d been king longer than I had, about a year. But he didn¡¯t have the benefit of an Earth engineer¡¯s understanding to jump-start his tribe¡¯s technology the way I did. It didn¡¯t help that the swamp simply had resources he would have no idea how to harness, while lacking the basic resources he needed to build up to making those advanced resources useful to him. Rava had dealt him a poor hand, for a king. It was a miracle Ringo had even kept his tribe alive in such a hostile environment. Javelines and humans hadn¡¯t found him simply because no one wanted to go in the bog. He may have been paranoid, vain, and self-important, but he was also modestly successful in the face of an incredible challenge. I really did want to help these guys, if I could. King Ringo¡¯s goblins, with King Ringo in or out of the picture, deserved a fair shot at securing their future in Lanclova. Much like the boglin king¡¯s fish crown, I smelled it before I saw it: The sweet-sour tang of petroleum fumes bubbling up through the swamp water. It wasn¡¯t crude oil, either. The slick rainbow sheen of film that spread out over the surface of the water was thinner and more pale than unrefined crude oil. This was something else¡ªcloser to kerosene, maybe. But unmistakably a hydrocarbon (or this world¡¯s equivalent). My heart began to race. I had kept the food bag from the night before, and I skimmed it across the surface with trembling fingers, careful not to get it on me. ¡°For my fur,¡± I said to the boglins guarding me. This seemed to placate them as I re-tied the skin to my belt. Ringo leaned down from his chair. ¡°I¡¯ve brought you to the spring. Now, tell me how it can used for fire!¡± ¡°Do you see how the bubbles rise, o¡¯ king?¡± I asked, pointing to the gasses filtering up from the underwater well. Methane or natural gas would be my best bet¡ªwhat would normally be burned off as a matter of course in the process of extracting oil. ¡°They contain a strange, invisible miasma that burns like a tree touched by lightning, if you can set them to spark. It¡¯s actually what we¡¯re smelling, right now. But it rises in the air once the bubble bursts, so we have to trap it with this device.¡± I held up the glider. The scrapper looked at me, confused. He knew well what the glider actually was. This part was risky. As I continued speaking, I held up two fingers, and then tilted my head subtly toward the oil-slick. ¡°If we collect the miasma from above the spring, we can take it back to the village and use it to make fire. With fire, we can make clay and ceramic¡ªlike the knife.¡± I made a fist, as though I was gripping the knife. Then flicked my eyes back toward the scrapper and opened it, in the forest-goblin hand-sign for an explosion. The scrapper looked confused for a moment, but then he put things together. His expression grew serious, and he offered the slightest of nods. Even trying to be subtle, the advisor noticed the exchange that passed between us, and the tiny boglin¡¯s eyes narrowed. George was a sharp one. I just hoped my scrapper picked up on the instructions, as well. King Ringo was getting excited. He rubbed his hands together. ¡°It was here, under our noses, the whole time. Oh, yes, King Apollo. You¡¯re doing me a great service.¡± The advisor climbed up the goblin throne-bearers, and then the throne itself to whisper in Ringo¡¯s ear. The king¡¯s eyes narrowed, and he regained his composure enough to remember that he was supposed to be suspicious of me. ¡°And I suppose you¡¯d like to collect it yourself, hmm?¡± ¡°Oh, no, o¡¯ King Ringo,¡± I said. I raised the folded glider above my head. ¡°The fumes must be gathered from as high as possible for the best potency. It should be your majesty himself, atop his tall chair, that does the gathering.¡± This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°As if I¡¯d be foolish enough to fall for that!¡± snarled Ringo. ¡°Invisible miasma? Fire boiling up from the bottom of the bog? He pointed at two of his goblins. ¡°This is clearly dangerous work. You and you, carry King Apollo over the spring. Make sure he collects as much as possible.¡± The two boglins looked at each other and reluctantly handed their spears off and one climbed onto the other¡¯s shoulders. ¡°King Ringo,¡± I said. ¡°At least let me use my scrapper for this. He¡¯s quite strong, and taller than a boglin.¡± Ringo¡¯s advisor hissed. ¡°Absolutely not. In fact, keep him back. Spears!¡± The other boglins leveled their spears at the scrapper, who stayed at the edge of the sheen with his hands up in placation. But he winked at me. ¡°Very well,¡± I said. I clambered onto the shoulders of the boglin, which teetered precariously. ¡°Alright, take us in.¡± The bottom boglin started forward, slow and steady, causing us to lumber toward the gas bubbles. System, do the boglins also have blast resistance? The three-man tower teetered and almost toppled. I couldn¡¯t help thinking that all we needed was a trench coat to get into an R-rated movie, and had to fight back a laugh, lest the king¡¯s advisor find it suspicious. Ugh. Keep it together, Chris. If I took a dunk in the oil, this plan would go a decidedly different direction. We managed to make it directly over the spring. I unfurled the glider and held it overhead, angling it, and trying not to let the breeze catch it and torque us over. ¡°It¡¯s working! Is it working? It¡¯s working!¡± said King Ringo, leaning so far forward that the goblins on the back legs of his throne were lifted completely out of the bog, swinging their legs in the air. I nodded to the scrapper. He gave a series of indecipherable, but very conspicuous hand-signals, which the boglin next to him noticed. The boglin turned and squawked in alarm to the King¡¯s advisor, but as soon as he did, the scrapper punched him in the side of the head. Scrapper surprise attacks were incredibly effective. The boglin skipped across the surface of the water, leaving his spear spinning mid-air. The scrapper grabbed it, held it up, and threw it directly at the bottom boglin in our tower. I barely had time to widen my eyes in surprise as the spear took him in the chest, and the shock traveled both down, and up the three of us. Every muscle in my body tensed with pain¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t as bad as when I¡¯d been hit directly. ¡°Betrayal!¡± Bellowed Ringo. ¡°Kill them! Kill them!¡± I had meant for him to tap the oil slick with the prongs of the wasp to ignite the surface. I don¡¯t know what mad goblin logic made him want to throw a spear at a goblin I was literally riding on. But then, if they were predictable, they wouldn¡¯t be goblins. Of course the tower collapsed. And of course I started falling toward the oil. My plan was about to go up in flames. Then the arcing electricity from the tesla wasp skipped across the surface of the oil slick. And the water beneath me turned into a roiling ball of fire. My plan really did go up in flames, because my plan was to go up in flames. The two boglins that had carried me were instantly incinerated. I felt a little bad about that. The rest of them recoiled from the spreading fire. But the gout of resulting hot air hit the underside of my deployed personal glider, and I managed to hold on despite the weakness from getting tasered by bug-sticks and despite getting the fur singed off the lower half of my body. The blast had still been enough to kill me. At least, it felt like it. I was scorched, and the heat was akin to dancing in the mouth of the forced air kiln. It was unlike anything I¡¯d ever experienced, and I¡¯d been to a test firing of NuEarth¡¯s 32-nozzle rocket motor that liquefied the concrete pad. The glider bucked and jerked from the turbulent, rising air. I was climbing so fast I thought my arms might pop out of their sockets from the acceleration. My blades kicked helplessly in the air. I looked back down at the spreading field of fire and the retreating boglins. I¡¯d killed at least 8 of them. A quarter of Ringo¡¯s tribe swept away like chaff, but they were now closing in on the scrapper. As they reached him, he looked up and gave me one last salute before he was driven down by spears¡ªones tipped not with wasps, but with sharp ceramic points stolen from our own wagons. I hated that it was necessary. Hated how effective it was, and how easily justified, and how willing the goblins were to throw their lives away for creatures like me or Ringo. They would take me to the moon, yes. But I would give them a reason to live for me¡ªnot just a biological imperative. I looked away, searching for King Ringo. I found him splashing in the water, his throne-bearers having ditched the chair in an effort to distance themselves from the fire. I locked eyes with him and shouted down over the roar of the fire. ¡°I¡¯ve kept my side of the bargain, Ringo! That¡¯s how you make fire in the swamp! And this is how you flyyyyyyy!¡± ¡°Beeeeeetttrraaaaayyyaaaaalll!¡± Chapter 55 - Swamped Chapter 55 - Swamped The glider carried me up and up, over the burning well-spring. I kept hold as I climbed in altitude, still in pain from the burning and explosion. The sounds, sights, and smells of the swamp faded away and I was just left with the sound of air rushing past. I¡¯d come by air, and I was leaving by air¡ªalbeit this time I¡¯d done so by burning myself at the outset in some sort of weird reverse-icarus situation. Would someone eventually write mythology about me? Perhaps Earth and Rava would share Apollo as a mythical figure. With the problems of the swamp below me, I got my bearings and got the glider pointed southeast, where a dot in the sky soon resolved into a glider. It spotted me and angled my way, flying close enough that the goblin inside could recognize me¡ªat which point it turned and ignited its booster back toward the bluff. Huh. So, Sally had been launching them with a rocket pod for speedy return. Smart. From the air, it was easy to spot the finished tower on the jutting peninsula a few hundred meters back from the water¡¯s edge. I passed over croc-knockers basking on the beach, glaring down. Now I knew their secret. All I had to do was find one of the tesla wasp nests, and we¡¯d have a method of deterring the crocs long enough to get iron. And now I knew there was oil¡ªor the next best thing¡ªin the bog. All the parts for internal combustion were within reach. We could have a working prototype in a matter of weeks if the igni were worth their chooms at metalurgy. Yes, the bog was still dangerous. Yes, we¡¯d lose goblins along the way. Hadfield had finished the tower and started a sprawling network of tree platforms connected by rough rope bridges, effectively turning the tower into a small village worth of elevated terrain. Defensive emplacements lined the towers and I saw two turtle shells from the large carnivorous beasts being used to collect rainwater¡ªone for drinking, and one for bathing. Though I imagine the goblins would forget which was which with alarming regularity. The goblins on lookout spotted my glider coming in and raised a ruckus, shouting and jumping and pointing me out to their companions on the ground. Quite a few goblins worked on tasks down there, including a kiln being worked by a larger goblin in a ceramic mask with a stack of ceramic plates and helmets next to him, and a huge basket of charcoal nearby. It seemed like extra goblins had been brought in to aid the man¡ªer, goblin hunt. I angled toward the tower, where they¡¯d apparently bagged another night haunt and put a new totem up. Bringing the glider in, I flared off for a landing. Before I could hit the wood and stone top of the structure, goblins flooded out the opening and packed tightly on the platform, such that there was nowhere to land but on my tribe and tilted the top of the tower to a worrying degree. It created a huge tangled mess as I fell among them, and they equal parts tried to catch me, loft me up like crowdsurfing a metal concert, and embrace me. I lost the glider in the kerfuffle, and then the whole gaggle of goblins rolled, surging toward me¡ªwhich then had the effect of spilling a good portion of us over the side and onto the ground in a blue, furry cascade of screaming, panicked goblins. Thank goodness for fall damage immunity, because we just ended up a pile on the floor of the bog, a tangle of flailing limbs and gnawing teeth. Until a pair of strong hands thrust through the pile and wrapped around my leg remnants, hauling me out. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Even up-side down, I recognized the two hobbies. ¡°Chuck, Armstrong!¡± ¡°Good to see ye, king,¡± said Armstrong, rotating me upright. Chuck just looked somewhere between relieved and constipated. Fair, considering what I¡¯d put my lieutenants through. I reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Not your fault. You can¡¯t be everywhere, and I made a stupid, rash decision that cost this tribe too much. I won¡¯t put myself at risk of being isolated again.¡± Chuck relaxed and looked away. ¡°I just want to see us reach Raphina, boss. We can¡¯t do it without you.¡± Someone must have been cutting onions because my eyes started to sting. I cleared my throat. ¡°Armstrong! Put me down!¡± I ordered. He placed me gently back on the ground. ¡°Armstrong, I am officially making you captain of my guard. Where I go, you go. If I try to go somewhere stupid, you have the authority to prevent me from doing so until I have time to get my head right.¡± Armstrong froze as a glazed look passed across his face. What circumstances? Haw haw, System. Very funny. I sighed. Oh well. Armstrong shook himself out of his stupor and flexed his prodigious biceps. ¡°I won¡¯t let you down, King! Consider me your shadow.¡± I opened up the tribe hierarchy window and assigned a few goblins underneath him. ¡°As for you, Chuck,¡± I said. The hobgoblin perked up as I continued. ¡°From now on, in my absence, you have my authority. I want to know that if I¡¯m not around, the tribe is in good hands: yours.¡± Chuck scowled. ¡°Boss-man, if you¡¯re not around, I¡¯m having the entire tribe out looking until I can drag you back.¡± I huffed. ¡°I don¡¯t doubt it. Even if you lost half the tribe pulling me out of the fire¡ªer, metaphorically speaking, of course.¡± We both glanced down at my singed fur and both elected to ignore it. But really, it was the logical choice. Chuck was super mobile between gliders and cliffords. He could be places I wasn¡¯t, and had good judgment¡ªfor a goblin, of course. Which was somewhere between the judgment of a toddler and that of a golden retriever given explicit instructions not to eat the bacon left on the table. ¡°Anyway, if croc-knockers are the only obstacle between us, it¡¯s not going to stop you much longer. Grab your wranglers. We¡¯ve got bugs to catch. But first, I want to meet our new variant.¡± Chuck left to wrangle his wranglers¡ªwho I noticed were not on mounts. He must have figured out that whatever that strange swamp spirit was, it was taking all our cliffords. I walked toward the kiln, glancing up at the signal balloon currently being lofted with a goblin holding a flag¡ªa yellow one, this time. They must have expanded the semaphore codes while I was gone, too. I had no desire to learn what the yellow flag was dyed with. Working the kiln was a porcine brute of a goblin with a fleshy pot-belly protruding from beneath his blue, furry chest. His thick sausage-fingers wrapped around a hooked pole that he looped around the front access for the kiln. ¡°You must be the new ignis taskmaster,¡± I said. The ignis tipped his mask to me with his offhand, which rather than a skull-mask was one of the ceramic plates fitted to a leather hood with a small slit for his eyes and bulbous nose. ¡°Aye, boss. Ya¡¯ll had some strange notions on how to work this thing. I smoothed ¡®em out for you.¡± ¡°Oh, you got the ceramic parts to fail less?¡± He swung open the hatch and pulled out a rack, much to my amazement, a rack of what looked like pork ribs. ¡°Well, yeah, that too, s¡¯pose. The clay should go further now. Stronger plates, less exploding when you put it in cold.¡± he set the rack down. ¡°But that can wait. Reckon you must be hungry after being stuck in that bog. Javeline rib while you spin your tale of how you got back to us?¡± ¡°I think we¡¯re going to get along just fine, Prometheus,¡± I said. Maybe I just had Greek mythology on the brain, but naming him after the man who had stolen fire from the gods seemed appropriate. ¡°Call me Promo,¡± he said, scraping salt onto the rack of ribs. ¡°Now what¡¯s this iron stuff these boys been telling me yer on about?¡± Chapter 56 - Shocking Development Chapter 56 - Shocking Development Before we could get the iron, we still had to grow our own shock sticks from eggs. Raiding a nest for larval tesla wasps meant finding a nest¡ªand that¡¯s where the trouble began. Luckily, Chuck and I had found one on our first recon to the bog, and we knew that general location. From that jumping-off point, it was a matter of spotting one of the wasps and following it back to its hidden home in a mound of peat drifting on the surface of the bog. There weren¡¯t any crocs in the area, and I had to assume it was because you could hear the faint hiss and pop of electricity in the nest from the dozens or hundreds of wasps hidden within. Unfortunately, the crocs stayed away because the wasps seemed like the only thing in the bog grumpier than they were. The wasps were quick to attack the first goblin I sent out to verify the nest¡¯s exact location, and he¡¯d been stung a half-dozen times by the time the hobbies pulled him, half-paralyzed, out of the water. He recovered quick enough, but it would be easy for a goblin to drown if it was stung in a way that they couldn¡¯t keep their head above the surface. ¡°How you want to approach this, boss?¡± asked Chuck. He crouched on the shore, lobber slung over his shoulder. He stroked his chin. ¡°Poppers?¡± ¡°Risks destroying the larva,¡± I said. I considered. King Ringo had thought he was being much smarter than me when he¡¯d bragged about how they collected the wasps. But really, he¡¯d given away his secret sauce. ¡°The boglins came at them from under the surface.¡± ¡°Well that¡¯s all fine to say,¡± said Chuck, ¡°but I don¡¯t breathe mud.¡± It was a fair point. The boglins were clearly a sub-species of goblin specifically adapted to semi-aquatic environments. I had to assume they either had primitive gills or at least the ability to stay underwater for longer than a forest goblin. I went back on the edge of the shore and rooted around until I found some reeds, pulling the stems out and shaking out the interior until I had a hollow tube. I handed it over. ¡°Try this.¡± Chuck looked down dubiously. ¡°Done this in your old world, yeah?¡± ¡°No, but I saw it in a cartoon, once.¡± My wrangler boss raised a fuzzy eyebrow. But he sighed and lowered himself into the water until he was fully submerged, except for the hollow reed just breaking the surface. It bobbed up and down, and I heard the subtle, hollow hiss of his breathing. Thank you, clever fox. Insight flashed across the eyes of the rest of the goblins present, and in true goblin fashion, a few moments later they were all scrambling to find reeds of their own to try it out. I had to imagine it was a similar situation back at the bog tower camp, and a wave of disappointment at Village Apollo, who were landlocked. I put a hand on Armstrong¡¯s shoulder before he could rush off. ¡°We¡¯re not going with them,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯re not?¡± I shook my head. ¡°I need to get used to exposing myself to dangerous situations less. The wranglers are animal handling experts. Let them do what they do best.¡± The captain of my guard looked noticeably relieved. ¡°Glad your ¡®ead¡¯s on right, King. Meanin¡¯ no offense.¡± ¡°None taken,¡± I said. ¡°Besides, I¡¯ve seen how capable our goblins are without my direct hand controlling things. We¡¯ll let them cook. This time." I turned around at a pop and snap, and a thrashing splashing noise. It was just in time to see one of the hobbies cough into his tube, and the big, black bulbous form of a tesla wasp that had crawled down his snorkel erupting backwards out the other end. It arced through the air, prongs out, buzzing furiously, until it landed squarely in the backside of a goblin on the shore still getting his own reed sorted. The unfortunate receiving goblin squawked, then went completely rigid as the electric sting from the wasp sent a jolt coursing through every muscle in his little, blue body. He fell over, fur smoking. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Every reed currently sticking out of the water stopped moving momentarily. ¡°That¡¯s horrifying,¡± I said. ¡°Erm, King? Can we go?¡± asked Armstrong. I looked at the hulking hobgoblin wringing his hands and staring in the direction of the tesla wasp nest. ¡°Armstrong,¡± I chided. ¡°Are you afraid of bugs?¡± ¡°Just the ones what sting or bite,¡± the big goblin confided. ¡°Can¡¯t sneak attack a bug.¡± Aww. I actually found that somewhat endearing. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, big guy. Let¡¯s head back.¡± ¡°I¡¯m still the strongest goblin in Tribe Apollo, you know,¡± he muttered. ¡°I know,¡± I said, patting his arm. ¡°I saw you take on a javeline 5 levels higher by yourself.¡± The hobgoblin walked a little straighter, at that¡ªconfidence restored. This king thing wasn¡¯t so bad sometimes, even when it was closer to being a camp counselor for a rowdy group of pre-teens. We made our way back to the camp, where there was something of a commotion. It didn¡¯t take long to figure out why, when I found the boglin advisor George and six boglin bodyguards held at spearpoint by two-dozen forest goblins. I pushed my way through the crowd, angling spear points out of the way. ¡°Stop, stop!¡± I shouted over the clamor. I spotted a couple singed spots of fur, I¡¯m guessing where the boglins had been forced to employ the shock spears. Promo stood with his big hooked pole, ready to crack heads. Hadfield glared from around the noblin¡¯s potbelly, a patch of blackened fur still sizzling. I moved up next to them. ¡°Woah, woah! Cool your jets, what¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°Found ¡®em sneakin¡¯ up to the camp, boss,¡± said Hadfield, rubbing his singed spot. ¡°Probably wot to steal more supplies.¡± ¡°Lies!¡± said the boglin advisor. ¡°This is a diplomatic delegation, and attacking it is an act of war!¡± he pointed at me. ¡°We¡¯re here to see King Apollo!¡± I crossed my arms. ¡°What for?¡± The advisor had a few singed spots himself from the debacle with the hydrocarbon spring. It was safe to say we were all a little burned out for the day. He broke eye contact and looked away. ¡°The great King Ringo sent me. He recognizes the cunning of the claw-legged king, Apollo, and admits you are his near equal in intellect. Worthy of your crown of lame dry bones¡ª¡± That was the wrong thing to say, as a wave of fury rolled through the Apollo goblins present. ¡°Hey, hey, hey!¡± I shouted, regaining control of the situation before Ringo lost 7 members of his tribe. Once things calmed down, I stepped into the circle so that I was face to face with the advisor. ¡°I recommend not trashing the crown. It was their first gift to me as their king. Get to the point.¡± The advisor cleared his throat again¡ªor at least I thought he did, until he hawked up a fishbone that had apparently been lodged in his throat. He fished it out of his mouth and discarded it. ¡°The tribe has tasted cooked fish for the first time, and it resulted in a spawning bonus that greatly benefit Tribe Ringo. Ergo, the great King Ringo would like to officially open relations with Tribe Apollo and exchange more secrets of goblin technology, and hopefully some of whatever it is we¡¯re smelling in that smoke stack.¡± He leaned forward. ¡°And just between you and me, cooked fish tastes waaay better.¡± I didn¡¯t need Ringo. I didn¡¯t need his tribe, I didn¡¯t need his tricks, and I didn¡¯t need his suspicion. I¡¯d gotten tesla wasp taming and liquid fuels from him, which would, in turn, give me internal combustion and the power to fly over his silly little swamp village. But I was a scientist, not a monster. And ultimately, neither was Ringo. The boglins were just a less resourceful tribe with fewer cards dealt to them that they had the ability to utilize. He was right when he said this world was unkind to goblins. I didn¡¯t want them to get wiped out if a group of humans or elves or whatever decided to cut through the swamp instead of going around to the west. More to the point, I wanted advance warning if such a group came gunning for my tribe from that direction. Besides, two goblin kings could progress faster than one by sharing branches of the goblin tech tree. Though, I had no doubt Ringo¡¯s suspicious nature would scrutinize such exchanges for any hint of imagined betrayal. I just had to hope future exchanges were less caustic than the trade for shock sticks and oil fire had been. ¡°Very well,¡± I said. ¡°Let it be known that Tribe Apollo recognizes Tribe Ringo as friends and allies under Raphina¡¯s watchful eye,¡± I said, pointing up at the late afternoon moon just starting to illuminate from the sinking sun. The gathered goblins of Tribe Apollo cheered and rushed to greet the boglins, who squawked in shock at suddenly being thrust into the air. I found myself caught up as well, thrust onto the top of the crowd and bounced across the hands of dozens of goblins. ¡°What is this? Betrayal!¡± shouted Ringo¡¯s envoy. I just laughed. ¡°I demand you return me to Daytona at once!¡± I stopped, chill running down my spine. ¡°What did you say?¡± ¡°I said unhand me!¡± ¡°No, about Daytona.¡± The goblins let George down and he dusted himself off. ¡°Daytona Island, the domain of King Ringo.¡± Ringo¡­ I had thought it a funny coincidence that the swamp king had named himself after one of the Beatles. Hell, I thought myself clever by naming his advisor George. Great joke. Har har. But¡­ what if the joke was actually on me? I never even stopped to consider the possibility¡­ ¡°George¡­ is King Ringo¡­ from Earth?¡± The advisor¡¯s ear twitched. ¡°I¡¯m sure I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± he said, sniffing. ¡°I¡¯ve never even heard of a world called Earth. And if I had, my king would certainly not be from it.¡± Huh. The whole time I¡¯d interacted with him, I had thought Ringo was a brain-addled, paranoid swamp creature native to Rava. Could he just be from Florida? It¡­ actually made a disturbing amount of sense. Chapter 57 - Harvest 2: Electric Bogaloo Chapter 57 - Harvest 2: Electric Bogaloo <2 hobgoblin scrappers have been added to your tribe.> <1 hobgoblin wrangler has been added to your tribe.> ¡°Harvest teams, go!¡± I said. All across the bank of the water, goblins began to wade out in teams of three. I would have liked to be on the front line. I wasn¡¯t comfortable standing with the reserves in the back line. It had taken a few days for the harvested larvae to grow into wasps capable of producing enough voltage to arc between their prongs. A few days also to stew over the fact that the boglin king of the swamp was very likely Florida Man reincarnated as a goblin, somehow¡ªalmost a full year before I was. Why? The System had been utterly silent on the matter. He¡¯d refused all requests to meet again. Which seemed fair, since, you know, I¡¯d tried to set him on fire and all. But I couldn¡¯t afford to stop trying to make contact again. But it wasn¡¯t my top priority. We were pushing back into the swamp and this time we weren¡¯t leaving without the iron. I held my heavy slinger at the ready, braced on the back of another goblin. Through the slit in my ceramic faceplate, I scanned the waterline, looking for signs our harvesters had been noticed. The scrappers were in position ready to give the signal, but there was always a chance one of the aquatic reptiles could slip our cordon and make it into the teams. So far so good, as the goblins waded through the water probing for iron nodules in the peat. I started seeing them pull ore from the peat and put it in their harvesting baskets. They were a blur of manic productivity, just like every other pursuit they tackled. With single-minded fixation, they scoured the peat bog for any trace of iron in an uneven line. Several minutes passed, and the sun even drew behind Raphina¡¯s closed eye. A few of the especially industrious teams hauled ore-laden baskets back to swap for fresh ones, bolstered by the stone-sloth totem¡¯s resistance to movement impedance. I began to wonder if we¡¯d even have a croc-knocker attack¡ªnot that that was a bad thing. But¡­ after I¡¯d gone to all the trouble of getting captured by Ringo and having other goblins do the dirty work to steal larva from the tesla wasp nest, it almost seemed a waste. A perverse part of me wanted to see how effective our counter-croc measures would be. A low whistle sounded out in the bog, which was the scrapper signal that one of the big brutes had been sighted heading our way. I tightened my grip on the heavy slinger and sighted down the lathes. The goblins in the bog continued to work¡ªif more wary, now with a tighter grip on their shock sticks and slingers. I couldn¡¯t blame them. Croc-knockers had killed over a dozen goblins in as many minutes last time we tried to harvest iron. The only loss we¡¯d managed to inflict on them had been when I¡¯d sliced off the tongue of the biggest one. Maybe it had bled out after that? Psh, I should be so lucky. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. I kept my eyes on the waterline¡ªwhich was why I was the first to spot a dark shadow climbing toward the surface and shouted a warning to the teams. One of the harvesters turned just in time to see one of the extendable tongues breach the water and slam into his ceramic armor mask, sending chips and shards everywhere, but leaving the goblin himself alive. The knocker disappeared back underwater, and the beast broached a moment later, full of fire and ferocity. It spotted my gleaming, white crown and diverted toward me. ¡°I¡¯ve got this one,¡± I shouted. ¡°Get clear!¡± The nearby harvest teams dove to the side, pulling the downed goblin away with them as I released the tension on my slinger. A round, clay ball launched forward with an angry buzzing. The hollow sphere exploded against the hide of the croc-knocker, and a half-dozen angry tesla wasps spilled out, keying in on the largest target in the area to express their outrage. The croc roared as the wasps stung it. I hadn¡¯t been content to simply put larva into the split poles to make shock spears. I had a whole arsenal of bio-electric based weaponry, now. Several other goblins launched wasp-tipped bolts from their own slingers in a wave of buzzing, popping artillery. ¡°Reload!¡± I called. Armstrong came up from behind me and started working the crank on the heavy slinger. ¡°Wranglers up!¡± Our bog wranglers pushed forward, insulated from the wasps with ceramic and leather armor from the waist up. Thin as it was, it wouldn¡¯t do much to deter the crocs. But the hobgoblins were able to enter the swarm of stinging electric wasps without being shocked into paralysis. They had their own spears¡ªsome with shock tips, and some with ceramic spearheads. We were going to kill this thing if we could. But, if not, we¡¯d at least put the fear of Apollo into it. Another low whistle sounded from the right side. Armstrong slapped another bug bomb into my sled just in time for the big one to burst out of the water. The alpha had come. When it roared, I could even see its severed tongue where I¡¯d taken its knocker as a trophy. Well, I had something to trade for it, and no doubt. I swiveled the heavy slinger on my goblin pintle mount and let fly with my second bug bomb. I¡¯d made them by sealing clay half-spheres with large enough holes so the larva wouldn¡¯t suffocate, but not big enough for the adult wasps to escape. The anti-croc bombs were a few steps up, technologically, from the simple shock sticks employed by Ringo¡¯s guards. But the principle was still the same: apply shock to croc. Even without the iron knocker, the alpha was plenty dangerous with its powerful jaws and rending talons. On earth it was probably the size of a large cayman, not even a true alligator. But to goblins? It might as well have been a T-rex for all the chance we had against it without technology. I could tell the alpha was caught off guard when the sphere smashed into its side, releasing 6 more of the tesla wasps that proceeded to shock the big bastard of a croc as it bellowed its rage at us. ¡°Reload!¡± I called. Down the line from me, one of the slingers exploded in the gunner¡¯s hands, releasing its payload of wasps on the slinger team instead of the croc. But all the standard slingers with the specialized shock bolts had already sighted in the alpha and were pelting it with stinging darts. With a final, hateful look, the alpha disappeared back below the water. The goblins cheered, and not just because they¡¯d chased off the alpha. The first croc was caught between a pair of sticky trappers with one loop around its jaws, and another around its rear leg as wranglers and goblins pulled at the poles. Unable to move, and unable to open its mouth, the other guards closed in and began to finish the job with their ceramic spear points. Even the harvesters lost track of their goal and leapt in with their ceramic bogging knifes to help finish off the beast with the help of the night haunt totem buff. I held off on firing my next bomb. In the grand scheme of things, the croc itself wasn¡¯t one of the bigger ones. In fact, it was only level 19, lower than the stone sloth alpha we¡¯d killed. But it was the first one, and the tribe would be eating good tonight. Plus, it had a hunk of iron ore in its mouth the size of a fist. What was that worth? A knife? Two? 1/4th of a crank case? The goblins finished hauling the croc back onto the shore as I did mental math, trying to figure out the value of each one between the food and the iron they harbored in their mouths. I whistled for attention and got the group back on task. There was still work to be done. Chapter 58 - Oil and Ore Chapter 58 - Oil and Ore The rest of the day wasn¡¯t bloodless. Other crocs tried to make a meal of harvest teams, and not all of them failed before they were driven off. But by the end of the day, we¡¯d managed to collect 31 chooms of iron ore, and I described the process of a bloom furnace to the ignis boss, Promo, over a dinner of roasted croc tail. It was, by far, the best thing I¡¯d eaten since coming to Rava. Even if the igni couldn¡¯t work fire or ceramics or swing a hammer, they were worth it for the cooking alone. I spent the rest of the daylight helping the goblins make large jars to store and transport the oil the boglins had brought to trade that was currently held in several leaky skins that Ringo¡¯s advisor insisted were not part of the deal. They¡¯d figured out a pottery wheel of sorts¡ªalbeit one where the clay remained stationary, and the goblins spun around it on a greased bearing. It was quite fascinating to watch, really, especially when they got two or three goblins on the same wheel with different ideas about what they were trying to make. We were up to 12 chooms of bog oil. The consistency was close enough to kerosene that I hoped it would burn in an engine without additional processing. But first, I still had to make the engine. Tomorrow we¡¯d be building our first furnace for smelting iron ore. I sat back after dinner and watched the goblins. At some point, the little blue fuzz-balls had adopted graffiti based on the only reference imagery they had: engineering drawings. Flat surfaces within easy reach of a goblin were covered in iconographic schematics of the various technologies we¡¯d unlocked so far. Parsing their art was like watching a chronological progression of our path through the Goblin Tech Tree. Strange way to start a culture movement, but the engineer in me approved. At this rate, it wouldn¡¯t be long before they developed a pictographic language. I didn¡¯t want to interfere with that process because it¡¯s very rare to see something like that manifest naturally in a primitive culture. Not that anything about the goblins was natural, or even sensical. Hell, I still had only working theories as to how the reproduction of goblins worked. My current working guess was that it had to do with the hot, damp, dark environment created within the sleeping mounds¡ªthough the fertilization and growth process was still a mystery. Goblins weren¡¯t just animals, though I had my reservations about classifying them as complex carnivorous plants or myconids without more evidence. A wave of cheers brought my attention around to several goblins trying to stand a pole upright that had been decorated with croc-knocker bones and capped with the top skull and jaw of one of the beasts. Looking at the stripped skull, it looked less like a crocodile and more like an iguana or chameleon, or something. But the moniker was already lodged in my brain. The goblins present all took a collective breath and then, for the first time that day, none of them made any noise. It was actually disconcerting. I looked out over a crowd of puffed out cheeks and bugged eyes as the goblins stared each other down, each daring the rest to be the first to release the breath. I worried they were going to start to pass out. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Eventually, one of them cracked and let out a gasp, which propagated through the crowd, followed by jeers at the half of the goblins that gave up sooner¡ªwhich then led to a minor civil war as the goblins who couldn¡¯t hold their breath as long began assaulting the rest. It all devolved into chaos within a few seconds as they forgot what they were fighting about and just started biting and punching anything that happened to be close by. Even Promo was wading through the crowd, laying into goblins with his hooked rod, and of course the hobbies were giving it their all even if they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. In the end, the indivisible singular goblin was the great equalizer as their masses rolled over the variants. All this over a skull on a stick. But, then, I¡¯d never really understood art. I leaned back by the fire, watching the chaos unfold. Sometimes, it was good to be the king. * * * ¡°More heat!¡± I called. The goblins worked the impellers on the furnace by the light of the rising sun. Promo stood with the other ignis that had been born at the bog camp (now Village Huntsville) the previous night and dumped baskets of charcoal into the bloom furnace. Smoke billowed out the top, along with an acidic tang that I surmised was the bacteria in the iron nodules within the furnace. Making iron in a bloom furnace wasn¡¯t all that dissimilar to firing ceramics. You needed a chamber hotter than the hottest boil on Satan¡¯s big, red behind, and you needed lots of air and heat. It took hours for the furnace to melt down all the iron, and I couldn¡¯t even check the progress of it. But we were following the book almost exactly¡ªwith a few modifications to account for differences in goblin methodology. But we had to be getting close. I could feel the anticipating building. Don¡¯t you mean ¡®bloom¡¯ furnace? I felt a rumble start to mount beneath my feet. That wasn¡¯t anticipation shaking the dirt. My eyes went wide, and I whistled for everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°Get down!¡± I shouted. ¡°Now!¡± Most of the goblins had learned pretty quickly that when I gave an order with urgency that it was in their best interest to comply, so most of them dropped what they were doing and dove for the floor, pressing their hands over their heads to stop any imminent debris. The goblins working the impellers weren¡¯t fast enough, and when the furnace exploded, it took both of them with it, and knocked me to the ground. Clay chips ricocheted off the brick tower, the trees, and rained from the sky for several seconds. When I looked up, the whole front face of the furnace had erupted outward, carving a path right through the cranking station while¡ªamazingly¡ªleaving the impeller assemblies completely intact. While I felt bad for the goblins, impellers were a few orders of magnitude more rare. I picked myself up and dusted off my fur. The furnace was a mess, but I could see something glowing under the collapse. I grabbed a wooden pole and moved up, ready to call the whole thing a disaster. But then I saw it: the red-hot glowing billet at the bottom of the furnace. I wedged the wooden pole underneath and dislodged it. The iron rolled down the base of the furnace, shooting off sparks. ¡°Promo!¡± ¡°On it, boss!¡± shouted the ignis, grabbing a set of wooden tongs and examining the rough mix of iron and slag. He tipped it over, examined it from all sides. ¡°To the stump!¡± he declared. The goblins in the village cheered. They ran to the makeshift forge we¡¯d been able to scrape together. A stump sat in the middle of the area with narrow wooden log sitting above. The goblins who had followed us from the furnace area raced to be the firsts to grab a series of ropes that fed into pulleys that were, themselves attached to the pole. The goblins leapt up and hauled down, and the pole lifted from the stump. Promo was quick to lever the iron underneath the pole before the thing came crashing back down, compressing the iron and knocking off some of the impurities. The goblins on the lines were pulled off their feet, but they yanked back down and began a see-saw between their weight and the pole hammer. I watched as Prometheus got the billet turned every which way as they hammered it. Shouldn¡¯t I get an unlock for the forge hammer? the System informed me. I feel like there might have at least been some difference. But what do I know? I was only bringing my tribe into the iron age. Chapter 59 - Dawn of Iron Chapter 59 - Dawn of Iron It¡¯s a common misconception among people who play too many videogames that technological progression always goes copper-bronze-iron, and then some sort of made-up stuff like mithril. In reality, bronze is actually pretty tough to get a hold of. On Earth, early sources of tin came from only a few places in Europe and Asia, and when those trade routes broke down, some societies actually fell back out of the bronze age for a while. For many applications, bronze was similar or sometimes even favorable. But one thing it wasn¡¯t, was a strictly necessary stepping stone into the iron age. My tribe had its first iron bar. As I held the metal in place with wooden tongs, I watched the two igni cut and stack, and continue to hammer it into a proper billet. We worked until mid-day, adding more heat from a charcoal fire when necessary, at which point the hobbies woke up and another iron-gathering expedition set out into the bog. As in any case of development, the first thing we needed to manufacture was tools to make more tools. In this case: a proper blacksmithing hammer. The over-sized wooden mallets the igni were swinging looked more like the hammers you¡¯d use at a carnival game. Luckily, shaping and fixture of a hammer was pretty simple, as far as tools were concerned, and we had one by mid-morning and Promo took a lunch break while he waited for his new toy to temper in the kiln. ¡°Boss, I gotta say, it¡¯s an honor what to receive our first iron tool,¡± said Promo, spinning the hammer around while another hunk of pig-iron iron heated in a boom furnace (with appropriate shielding for the impeller team, this time). ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll do the tribe proud with it,¡± I said, guzzling water from a skin. Helping the igni in close proximity to the fires, the fumes, and the red-hot metal was thirsty work, and my fur was matted with sweat. It almost didn¡¯t bother me that it was straight bog-water in the skin. The goblin ability to filter out almost all toxins through our digestive tract made brackish water fine to drink. I¡¯d swallowed plenty of river water on the rowing team. This wasn¡¯t that much worse¡ªor so I kept telling myself. I wiped my mouth of with the back of my arm. ¡°You¡¯ll have your work cut out for you when it¡¯s time to hand-hammer an engine together.¡± ¡°Enn-jinn¡­¡± Proto said, slowly, sounding out the word. ¡°Sounds fun. What¡¯s it do?¡± I thought for a moment, trying to describe it on fundamental terms for the primordial goblin. ¡°It swallows fuel, makes heat in its belly, and creates internal pressure that translates to external force,¡± I finally said. ¡°I get like that sometimes, too,¡± said Proto, patting his rump. I chuckled, shook my head, and pointed to the large jars of maybe-kerosene. ¡°That stuff. An engine will let us use that to turn a wheel, spin a propeller, run a lathe, or charge a battery.¡± ¡°You can use fire for that, too, though, right?¡± asked Proto. ¡°The balloons work off hot air, can¡¯t you use hot air to move things?¡± ¡°Sort of,¡± I said. I set the water aside. ¡°But not for the reason you¡¯re thinking. A hot air balloon rises because the hot air inside is less dense than the cool air outside. But, expansion of gasses, or transition of liquids into gasses, is a huge source of kinetic energy and a fundamental concept of most major forms of power generation where I¡¯m from. What you¡¯re talking about is called steam power. And yes, we¡¯re going to make use of it. But we don¡¯t have large scale energy problems right now. Almost all of our problems stem from a lack of materials.¡± ¡°Like food,¡± said Proto. ¡°Like food.¡± I considered. ¡°Did you just stop paying attention because I¡¯d lost you and you got hungry?¡± Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Proto started to giggle. ¡°Sorry boss, you lost me ¡®round about expansion of gasses.¡± The other igni started to giggle, too, and held his hands up to his mouth to make a farting noise. I rolled my eyes as the goblins nearby started to do it, too. And then of course it propagated through the base. Not all of the goblins realized the others were using their mouths, either. I set the rest of my water aside, disgusted. When I¡¯d said material constraints, I¡¯d been thinking more along the lines of manufacturing materials. Not just iron, either. We needed to start thinking about cloth, paper, properly cut lumber, more metal, more fuel, and a dozen other things. But I¡¯d also been watching the food stores tick down from a safe margin to a few dozen chooms as the tribe continued to grow. Even assigning more hunters and fishers had done limited good. We needed a larger source of calories if we were to continue growing. If I was to support a population in the hundreds or thousands, we needed kilochooms of food. And we needed working engines to secure it. That had to be the next priority. It didn¡¯t help that Neil¡¯s hunters were competing against the javeline for small game in the forest. Whatever else they were, the half-pigs were very effective hunters. But they also weren¡¯t in the forest exclusively to collect goblin trophies. If we buttoned up, they didn¡¯t risk losing too many of their own. But they were an ever-present threat. And they were coming sooner than I¡¯d like. We¡¯d spotted the occasional scouts near the base of the bluff, watching and probing for weakness. I pushed to my feet, ready to get back to work. ¡°I will say this: you and your noblin pals are going to have a lot of work coming your way. Are you up to it?¡± ¡°Trust, boss!¡± We managed to get one more hammer ready by the time the harvesters returned with several more baskets full of raw iron, and not long after that, we heard the baying of hounds that announced Chuck and his wranglers making their daily visit. They reached us a few minutes later and the wrangler swung down from his saddle with a grim expression. I stood up. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I asked. Chuck went to his saddlebags. ¡°Javeline look like they¡¯re gearing up for a move on Canaveral,¡± he said. ¡°Eileen spotted a warband of them east of the springs.¡± I considered. ¡°Canaveral is well-defended, but if they attack during the eclipse, the goblins might be spread too thin to hold it.¡± I looked to Armstrong. ¡°Should we reinforce their numbers with an air drop?¡± Armstrong considered. ¡°Could be a porkbelly trap, king. We send boys to Canaveral, and then the main force hits Apollo.¡± he smashed a fist into his meaty palm. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯d do if I was them. But they ain¡¯t clever like me. Maybe it¡¯s just what it looks like.¡± I growled in frustration. Armstrong was probably right. There were aft of 80 or 90 javeline in the forest that we knew of, though they¡¯d taken to hiding their numbers from our overhead scouts because the scouts had a habit of dropping poppers on the javeline camps. It was frustrating, because Canaveral had become an important source of food for the tribe thanks to the eclipse lizards having more meat than brains. As much as I didn¡¯t want to abandon Canaveral, even temporarily, I¡¯d planned for this. There were gliders ready and waiting at Canaveral, enough to carry every goblin back to Apollo. But it would be a huge expenditure of sulfur to send them back. ¡°Evacuation protocol,¡± I told Chuck. ¡°Have everyone ready to pull back from Canaveral if the javeline attack during an eclipse. Let¡¯s head to Apollo and shore it up for an attack.¡± Promo stepped up, hefting his mallet. ¡°Great, boss. Been missin¡¯ the old homestead. Ready to smoke some more javeline ribs.¡± ¡°What about Huntsville?¡± asked Chuck. The javeline hadn¡¯t shown any interest in the bog before, and any time Neil¡¯s hunters encountered them with overwhelming numbers, they simply withdrew¡ªso I had to believe they acknowledged the threat Apollo goblins represented. Plus, Huntsville produced and consumed charcoal locally, and produced and consumed iron ore locally. The combination of the two was critical to smelting the iron, which was then hammered and purified into steel. All processes that benefit from close proximity to each other. It was simply too much of a logistical burden to transport the raw iron and the charcoal to fire it to Village Apollo. The main village already had heating fuel sources, and I didn¡¯t want to strain that infrastructure, either. Beyond that, we had our tentative trade relationship with Ringo, and we¡¯d even spotted a tethered balloon manned by a boglin hovering above Daytona. Emissaries sent by the boglin king still staunchly refused to confirm that the king was a reincarnation case. ¡°We¡¯ll leave the collection crews. Iron bar stock and oil will get sent to Village Apollo, like we always planned.¡± I looked around. ¡°This camp is going to be instrumental in defeating the javeline and securing the future of Tribe Apollo.¡± But until then, we might have to cinch up our belts and get cozy at Village Apollo. Chapter 60 - Welcome Home Chapter 60 - Welcome Home I hardly recognized the bluff. It had changed so much in the time I¡¯d been gone setting up operations in the bog. It seemed like Buzz hadn¡¯t spent a single minute idle, as wooden structures reached up above what few trees remained, with bridges and lattices crisscrossing disparate floors and intersecting structures at strange angles. They hadn¡¯t only built up, but also out and down making the bluff itself look like it wore a lop-sided hat at an angle that was less jaunty and more precarious. The sides of the bluff now played host to a plethora of cliff-side dwellings and structures sprouting from the face of the cliff itself and anchored by thick cords. Freight traffic moved both up and down the bluff through a half-dozen elevators manned by dozens of goblins. The strange counterweight cranes stacked wood beams even higher, making odd, lopsided buildings that swayed in the wind. Over 100 goblins called Village Apollo home, and it was about to get even bigger once the goblins of Canaveral withdrew. The airspace over the bluff was thick with smoke and crowded with the slow circling of personal gliders. We were spotted long before we reached the bluff, and a procession of goblins dropped out of the sky to join us, mimicking various noises of inventions I¡¯d introduced. It was quite a bit of fanfare for having only been gone a couple weeks. All of them wanted to see the hammer, or at least that¡¯s how I interpreted the hoisting of various wooden and stone mallets. Promo handed over the first finished steel hammer and I hoisted it up so that it could catch the rays of the setting sun on its silvery surface. The goblins all cheered and raised their own tools in response. Every goblin in the tribe was going to want steel tools. It was only natural. But most of them would have to settle for flint or make do with ceramic. All of the iron we had was earmarked for the igni to turn into hammers and engine parts. Well, most of the iron, I thought, looking down at my worn sloth-claw prosthetics. But engines were the ticket to jumping the developmental rail yet again. And in the next few days, I was going to work closely with Sally and Promo to get that technology unlocked. We had all the elements of internal combustion. Now, I just had to put everything together. Tribe Apollo was going pre-industrial. The route from the west took us through the paddocks that Chuck used for the cliffords and the livestock rounded up from the savannah. I spotted the stone sloth cub running among the meager herd, now at least twice the size of a goblin. Two wranglers in the pens directed it with whistles and shouts to corral the livestock into a new paddock. ¡°They¡¯re good,¡± I said. ¡°That cub is a regular sheepdog.¡± Chuck nodded, beaming like a proud papa. ¡°Could use a dozen more like him.¡± ¡°A few dozen more herd animals wouldn¡¯t hurt, either,¡± I said, looking at all the empty space in the paddocks. ¡°We could fit a lot of those ¡®lopes in here.¡± ¡°Aye, but they¡¯re fast. The cliffords get tired easy. It¡¯s tough to drive a big group, so we settle for hooking a couple at a time.¡± Chuck nodded to the cub. ¡°Once he¡¯s trained up, we¡¯ll have a better shot. Maybe even at some big game.¡± You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Bringing down a big herbivore would be a huge boon for our food stocks. I watched the stone sloth circle up the few animals in the paddock and then barrel through them, despite the shouts of the handlers. Well, they still needed work. We reached the base of the bluff just as a freight platform with a dozen goblins clinging to it hit the base, and all of them jumped off and ran around hooting and cheering. I practically had to start swinging in order to keep them from mobbing me. ¡°What is going on?¡± I shouted to Chuck over the racket of the tribe¡¯s manic clamor. ¡°They¡¯re glad to have their king safe and sound,¡± said Chuck, laughing. ¡°A king should be with his people. There¡¯s no other place you ought to be than surrounded.¡± ¡°Fair enough,¡± I said. I tilted my head upward at Raphina¡¯s waking eye. ¡°I could think of one other place.¡± Chuck followed my gaze and grinned a mouth of sharp teeth at me. ¡°We¡¯ll get there, boss,¡± he said, reaching out and slapping my back. ¡°You¡¯ll lead us. We all know it.¡± My wrangler boss handed our cliffords off to some of his assigned goblins and we scrambled onto the freight elevator, along with at least half the goblins who had joined us. There wasn¡¯t even room for most of them, they just clung to the sides and ropes, and the whole structure creaked worryingly as the platform slowly started to ascend under the load. As we gained altitude, I could really see the extent the western forest had been cleared. Even as I watched, a small explosion rocked the base of a tree and the whole thing toppled over. Goblins darted in to begin stripping the branches and bark with axes in a swarm of activity. ¡°So that¡¯s where all the bomb fruits are going,¡± I mentioned. ¡°Getting drained for poppers and mixed with the icky-putty, too,¡± said Chuck. ¡°Grove of them popped up closer to the bluff where we¡¯d stored ¡®em in holes, but goblins keep eating them before they get volatile enough to harvest.¡± ¡°They¡¯re eating bomb fruits?¡± I asked. Chuck nodded. ¡°Not bad if you get ¡®em early. The igni squeeze ¡®em onto the meat for an extra kick.¡± Huh. I guess the explosive transition must happen during fermentation. It¡¯s an effective way to spread seeds, when you think about it, simply exploding and blasting them every which way. Still, that might make harvesting the juices safer if we collected them from stable fruit and stored them in vented containers to ferment. One detour I had to make was visiting Sally and her engineers. I had hoped she hadn¡¯t spent the whole time I was gone building rocket boosters for the search effort. I needn¡¯t have been worried, as her engineers were banging out stacks of parts and shoving more clay into kilns. Sally exploded with the most energy I¡¯d ever seen out of her by standing in front of me and reaching out to poke my chest before turning and running away. I figured she¡¯d just expended her social battery with such a sensory overload, but she came back with six other goblins hauling a platform between them. ¡°Is that what I think it is?¡± I asked. Sally chittered and shifted her weight from foot to foot. Before I¡¯d left, I¡¯d been sketching out drawings for a rotary engine case. My chief engineer, it seemed, had found them. I looked at the two halves of the case, rendered in ceramic. They were¡­ lacking, to put it lightly. Misshapen and different sizes, such that they could never actually be assembled. One of the reasons metal was ideal for this was that it was malleable, whereas ceramic couldn¡¯t be shaped once it was fired. But we had more clay than iron, and she¡¯d still taken the first step. ¡°Well done,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯ll make some molds and iterate when we can. We¡¯ll try both metal and ceramic. Still, I want to make sure we have a supply for munitions. Poppers are our best defense against the javeline so I want to get more RPP rounds rolling.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve got the shockers and metal, now,¡± said Chuck. ¡°Won¡¯t be long until we¡¯re tougher than the porkbellies.¡± he looked south toward the savannah. ¡°Just wish we were faster than them, too.¡± I grinned. ¡°Give it time, my friend. I¡¯ve got more surprises in store for you, yet. Chapter 61 – Back to the Drawing Board Chapter 61 ¨C Back to the Drawing Board Village Apollo rang with the dulcet tone of metal on metal. Oh, that sweet sound of progress. Under the supervision of Prometheus, the igni and their assigned assistants took to blacksmithing like a baby bird to the sky¡ªeventually, and with much struggling. Even the heat-crafting specialists weren¡¯t born experts. I can¡¯t imagine how tough it would have been to get ordinary goblins up to a level of competence in smithing that would allow us to progress into the industrial age. Even with understanding of the process through the Goblin Tech Tree, the igni needed time and practice to perfect their skills. They weren¡¯t quite at the point where they could bang out an engine block, so they were working up to it with knives, nails, gears, poles, and my newest set of prosthetics while we prototyped advanced pieces with clay molds. I was partial to the spring-steel blades on my legs, especially. They were still much heavier than the carbon fiber blades I¡¯d used in races on Earth, but they were still a cut above the sloth claws. Buzz nearly fainted when the concept of iron nails was introduced to the GTT lexicon. Granted, no two came off the line in a similar shape or length, but neither did any of the structures Buzz built, so it was a start. Poles would eventually be purposed for axles, propeller shafts, and rifle barrels. Though, I doubted we¡¯d see anything like a unified bore caliber. The gears being similarly disjointed had been a problem ever since we¡¯d been making them by chewing wood into shape. Standardization was a completely foreign concept to goblins, no matter how many examples and templates I tried to offer them. The only thing that sort of worked was making molds, and things somehow still came out of those wonky. Without the strange grease of the Goblin Tech Tree, I don¡¯t know that any mechanical devices produced in the village would work. Piecemeal parts and soft fits weren¡¯t going to cut it for something with a pressure vessel and moving parts like an engine. Sure, we could hand-make each one under my direct supervision, and that¡¯s how we were going to unlock the technology, but the industrial age meant industrialization. That meant factories and assembly lines and part tolerances. That meant guides and regs, and some method to record and keep track of them. Bark and charcoal could only get us so far. We needed paper¡ªactual paper. The method to make it isn¡¯t complicated and it had other industrial uses, as well. You take a finely woven screen and sift it through a pulp mass, then press and dry the result. Now, don¡¯t get me wrong. I wasn¡¯t so far gone as to think the average goblin had the attention span to read and write modern English. But the Egyptians had built the pyramids (and if you like conspiracies, the first battery, refrigerator, and UFO landing pad) with drawings of birds and cups. Or at least that¡¯s what it looked like to me when my anthropology major then-girlfriend had tried to educate me about early human cultures. Huh. Maybe I should have paid more attention to her explanations instead of daydreaming about rowing away from the conversation. Anthropology was now much more relevant to me than it likely ever would be for her. Go figure. I already had most of what I needed to make a basic paper factory, including one of the rainwater collection vats Buzz had been building to satisfy the village¡¯s drinking water needs. When the goblin-powered hammers weren¡¯t pounding the impurities out of iron stock, I instead turned them to mashing wood pulp. Fires were always going at Village Apollo, now, so heating the pulp pool to break down the plant fibers was a matter of just heating rocks and dunking them into the vat for a primitive heat exchanger. While that was working, I took two of Neil¡¯s hunters with the highest skills in basket and net weaving and set them to making fine corded mesh screens. Toward the late afternoon, I oversaw Javier¡¯s clothiers dunking the first of the mesh screens and applying pressure by jumping on flat, heated rocks. Also, turns out, paper pulp is a bit like milkshakes to goblins. I had to install a bunghole (don¡¯t laugh, it¡¯s a real thing) on the side of the vat so goblins could uncork the tub for a sip and quit trying to stick their heads into the pulp slurry between log hammer strikes. When the System said goblins could process nutrients from almost any organic matter, this is not what I had pictured. We¡¯d lost a half-dozen thirsty goblins to the papermaking process and tinted half the first batch of sheets blue. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. The eyes of most of the goblins in the village glazed over for about a half-second before they resumed what they were doing¡ªexcept for Sally¡¯s engineers, who redoubled their effort. Yeah, paper isn¡¯t exactly the stuff of rock stardom. But the tribe would see soon enough what else they could use it for. At least the engineers seemed excited about it. Which, yeah, laugh all you want. I wasn¡¯t just an engineer, dammit, I was an astronaut. And I would be again. I spent the afternoon relaxing as the hammers rang and the scent of wood pulp wafted through the village. I had to admit, I found it much more appealing as a goblin than paper mills had ever smelled as a human. But not quite enough to take my turn at the bung. Still, if we could use wood pulp as a nutritional supplement, it might take some of the load off the hunters and fishers. * * * I had dozed off but was awakened by a loud shriek in the distance. A large number of goblins were streaming to the east side of the village, tasks dropped. I joined them and pushed my way to the edge of the bluff, hand sheltering my eyes from the sun. ¡°What happened?¡± I asked. Of course, the goblins just chittered and squawked. I needn¡¯t have bothered asking. A few minutes later, the eastern horizon filled with a dozen winged shapes. They were escape gliders from Canaveral. John had pulled the ripcord. The air controllers in the tower started making a fuss, clearing the landing area of the goblins napping or working in the open space. One by one, the gliders laden with goblins came in for landings, often spilling their payloads as goblins bailed out before even reaching the bluff. The gliders came in, performing the goblin equivalent of a smooth landing (that is, a crash that wasn¡¯t completely catastrophic). The pilots barely had time to leap from their craft before the next in line would plow into the back of the one before it, resulting in a pileup of gliders that clogged half the landing strip. One of them didn¡¯t even make it onto the bluff, and instead crashed into the side. At least most of the goblins had bailed out ahead of the crash. The final glider came in, rough and ragged with several tears in the wings. I wasn¡¯t sure it would make the transition, but the pilot flared off and just got it over the edge of the bluff before dumping his altitude and crashing down. I ran over to the landing strip and saw John, the martial taskmaster in charge of Canaveral, climbing out of the cockpit with his two hobgoblin lieutenants. He had a hide bandana tied around his forehead that was stained with blood, and his lieutenants were similarly festooned. All three saluted upon spotting me, and John stepped up to report. ¡°Sir, the porkbellies hit us at the same time as the lizards. A group of maulers, at least 30 of ¡®em, led by that big side of bacon you warned us about.¡± ¡°Hrott?¡± I asked. Rotte¡¯s brother had threatened me at the river. I knew he¡¯d be back eventually, after he finished with the other tribes in the area. John nodded. ¡°I commanded a withdrawal from Canaveral. I¡¯m sorry, boss. We couldn¡¯t hold it.¡± ¡°Damn!¡± I said, kicking a patch of dirt with my blade. Not only had it cost us goblins, but the most reliable source of food, as well. I sighed and turned around, thinking. Bringing in more herd animals depended on engines. But we weren¡¯t going to get engines if the tribe starved before then. We needed Canaveral. And I knew what I had to do to take it back. ¡°Follow me,¡± I said. I marched, John in tow, to the blacksmithing area where the igni hammers still rang. Promo greeted me, holding up a finished pinion gear and a rack with teeth that actually married up. ¡°Success, King!¡± ¡°That¡¯s great,¡± I said. ¡°But we need to shift gears.¡± Promo looked at the gears in his hands. ¡°No, we need to adjust our priorities. Get the straightest, cleanest poles from the piles that you can find¡ªas thick as your thumb. We¡¯re going to use them to make hollow tubes from iron.¡± ¡°What are we doing with those tubes, boss?¡± asked Promo, scratching his belly. I hated that internal combustion would have to wait. I hated that the javeline had pushed me to this point. But I suppose it was inevitable. Rava was a dangerous place. I¡¯d only been here a few weeks, and in that time I¡¯d been bitten, slashed, stabbed, and shocked. The planet was so dangerous that goblins were practically stamped with expiration dates. I needed something more than sharp sticks to level the playing field against the javelines. ¡°Making rifle barrels. We¡¯re going to war for Canaveral.¡± Chapter 62 – Gunblins Chapter 62 ¨C Gunblins I¡¯d never shot a gun on Earth. I didn¡¯t even like violent movies. I¡¯d certainly never designed one¡ªeven as an engineering thought experiment. But, in principle, they were simple devices. And making a cowboy-style lever-powered gun receiver from ceramic and springs used mostly intuitive engineering principles. Move lever: clear chamber, compress spring, set trigger, and load round: pull trigger: release spring tension, strike primer, ignite propellant, bang. Repeat. That¡¯s why they called it a repeater rifle. Or so I had to assume. We were skipping a few steps in firearms development. The earliest Chinese guns were more like the hand-cannons I¡¯d originally tried to make when I was captured by the javeline, except made from bamboo. Early muskets were a function of shortfalls in material, chemical, and mechanical understanding. I could make up for one with a surplus of the other two, combined with the rapid iteration capability provided by ceramics and the Goblin Tech Tree. I gave the initial plans to Sally, Neil, and Promo in the morning, and by afternoon, the igni assigned were pulling the first prototype receivers out of the kiln. Promo¡¯s smiths had provided us with spring-wire and smaller gears and jigs, and other parts needed to create an internal magazine and receivers before they moved on to creating prototype ammunition. Ammunition was another matter that I worried about. Until I remembered that we essentially had it unlocked already, and I didn¡¯t have to do everything myself. I brought Sally over and explained. ¡°I want tiny rockets that ignite when you hit the back of them." I held my forefinger and thumb up. ¡°This wide, and about twice as long.¡± Sally held up her fingers and looked critically at the size. Then she nodded and started whistling for her engineers. They began hammering away, making molds and packing clay while others started stoking the kilns. I watched batches of clay prototypes go in, and by the end of the eclipse, they came out as little ceramic cylinders, pointed on one end and hollow. Of course, no two were precisely the same size or shape. And it was going to impact their performance and reliability. But as long as they didn¡¯t destroy the ceramic receivers when they ignited, and that was a big ¡®as long as¡¯, then they should somewhat function, and they should be somewhat stable. Who was I kidding? Half of them were going to explode on first firing. The others weren¡¯t going to fire at all. I handed them off to Neil. He had some scat put on the top of the kiln to dry it, and then had goblins grind it into a more powdery form of the putty before mixing it with the charcoal and sulfur. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Once the bullets were cooled, some of Neil¡¯s hunters with his bonus to bomb handling carefully packed the compound into the back third and capped it with a small blob of bomb juice-infused icky putty and a small dab of almost-dry clay. ¡°Looks good, boss,¡± he reported. That was a good sign. When the System unlocked technology before it was even tested, it generally meant I was on the right track. I held one of the new micro-rocket bullets and inspected it. ¡°Nice work, Sally,¡± I said. She beamed at me. But now, it did still need testing. The easiest way was actually a modified slinger with a small pin at the front of the sled. It wasn¡¯t a rifle, of course, but I just needed to see how the ammo functioned. I set up the slinger between two rocks, with a cord tied around the release catch, got to a safe distance, and pulled the cord. There was a shower of sparks, a fizz, and then nothing else happened. I frowned. I whistled to one of the other goblins and had him run up and reset the sled with a new round. Once he was out of the path, I pulled the cord again. This time, there was a pop, and the round whistled off, leaving a meandering trail of sparks as it flew through the air, twisted, bounced off an adobe wall, and tumbled over the edge of the bluff. The goblins close to its flight path ducked, squawking in fear, and then rose, cheering. The dichotomy of goblins. The third round exploded, destroying the entire slinger. Armstrong laughed. ¡°1 outta 3 ain¡¯t bad, issit?¡± ¡°It¡¯s pretty bad,¡± I said. ¡°When we¡¯re going to be relying on volume of fire, accuracy is going to be a metric of how many shots we can pump out. They¡¯re not going to be reliable enough.¡± We tested the rest of the first batch and had 6 more successful ignitions and 9 more misfires. I called Sally over. ¡°Besides the reliability, accuracy is the biggest issue. Rifling the barrels won¡¯t do much if the ammo isn¡¯t standard¡± We needed a goblin solution to a goblin technological quandary. I watched a handful of goblins working at a pottery wheel¡ªwhere they¡¯d designed the clay to remain stationary while the goblins spun around it. Hmm. We couldn¡¯t spin the rifles around the bullets. But we could take the rifle barreling out of the equation. ¡°Alright. We¡¯re going to put spirals on the shafts in the clay before we fire them in the kiln. Can you take care of that?¡± Sally nodded. I went to Neil next. ¡°We need better than 1 in 3,¡± I said. We sat down to examine some of the dud rounds and figure out what went wrong. After some testing with expired rounds and very careful testing with some of the duds. ¡°Clay is too thick at the back,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s acting like a pad instead of a cap. It needs a hole in the middle so the firing pin can actually strike the primer, yeah?¡± ¡°Onnit.¡± A commotion at the landing strip drew my attention, and I left Neil to his work as I went to see what was going on. One of Eileen¡¯s recon gliders had returned, limping home from Canaveral. I could see a few of the porcine crossbow bolts sticking out of the bottom of the frame, and part of the starboard wing was damaged. I waited as the pilot circled to bleed off altitude and airspeed before coming in and flaring off. Admirable piloting. I was unsurprised to see a hobgoblin wrangler pop out. With their heightened senses at high speeds, they were natural aviators. He chittered back and forth with Eileen, and she came to make her report. ¡°Piggies smashed up Canaveral, but only a few of ¡®em stuck around. Smoke from a camp further north. Betting they want to keep us off their backs while they hit more villages. Reckon we could push what¡¯s left out of the bluff.¡± ¡°Well, they¡¯re in for a rude awakening,¡± I said. ¡°Get some supper. We¡¯ve got an early morning.¡± Chapter 63 - Marching Orders Chapter 63 - Marching Orders While my taskmasters had their instructions to iterate on the designs for the rest of the day, I made progress turning copper wire, a spare metal shaft, and some permanent magnets into our first electric motor prototype. It wouldn¡¯t spin until I also rigged up our first battery, but it felt good to have something to do with my hands. Around lunchtime, a shadow started to loom over me, too large to be even a hobby. ¡°Alright boss, ¡®ere ye go!¡± Promo handed down the first complete rifle with a barrel attached. I took it, and nearly fell over forwards with the weight of the thing. ¡°Oof!¡± I huffed. ¡°Need a hand, boss?¡± asked Armstrong. I struggled to raise the gun level. ¡°Just gotta get used to the weight. Going to be a two-goblin team, I think. Like the heavy slingers,¡± I said. ¡°Let¡¯s get this test fired.¡± My guard captain touched his fingertips together. ¡°Maybe you ain¡¯t should be the one what does the testing? What if it blows up?¡± ¡°If it¡¯s lethal, it¡¯ll transfer to another member of the tribe anyway. But I¡¯m not going to be anywhere near this thing for the test shots. We¡¯ve got a setup with cord and I¡ª¡± I looked up at the scrapper taskmaster. ¡°You just want to be the first one to shoot it! You scoundrel.¡± Armstrong at least had the decency to look guilty. ¡°Chuck¡¯s lads got the cliffies and Eileen¡¯s crew got the gliders and she¡¯s not even a hobbie! Even Neil¡¯s boys got their poppers. What do the scrappers got?¡± he opened his hands, empty palms up. ¡°We dress up like bushes an¡¯ call out croc-knocker movements. I know it¡¯s importy, but I was just finking maybe my lads could get the first o¡¯ the boom-tubes.¡± I looked down at the heavy rifle of ceramic and steel in my hands. ¡°Boom-tubes, eh?¡± I looked at him. ¡°Well, these certainly suit your sneak attack bonuses.¡± ¡°Whatcha say, boss?¡± asked Armstrong. ¡°I¡¯m actually trying to hand it to you right now, but it¡¯s too heavy,¡± I admitted. Armstrong grinned, reached down, and plucked the rifle out of my hands. ¡°We¡¯ll make ¡®em lighter,¡± said Promo. ¡°Once we get ¡®em figured out.¡± While it wasn¡¯t exactly a feather for the scrapper, hobgoblins had substantially more mass, and Armstrong could swing the rifle and keep it somewhat level without help. He started aiming down the length of the barrel at a night haunt carcass the wranglers had managed to bring down in the night while the rest of us slept, making small explosion noises each time he worked the action. The gun wasn¡¯t loaded yet, but the action still gave a meaty chunk with each crank of the lever underneath, and a thunk with the pull of every trigger dropping the heavy hammer. I wanted the parts to be as robust as possible so that they¡¯d function even if the goblins decided to use them as clubs, instead. ¡°Ammo,¡± I called. Neil brought over a basket of bullets, and I took a handful of the fired shells that looked close in size to the rifle. I didn¡¯t know if there were actual bullets made out of ceramic on Earth or if they would even work, but we didn¡¯t have lead yet. Heck, I didn¡¯t even know if these would penetrate the leather and rusty iron armor that the javeline maulers wore, so I¡¯d set up an impromptu firing range with bits of salvaged porkbelly armor scraps and even a couple of roof tiles fired to ceramic plates. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Armstrong pulled the action on the rifle back, and I loaded a handful of bullets into the internal magazine. Armstrong closed the action and I retreated to a safe distance as he peered through the sight. ¡°Like this, boss?¡± he asked, swinging the muzzle around. ¡°Don¡¯t point that at us!¡± I shouted. He snapped the business end back down range and sank into his shoulders in shame. ¡°Just take it slow. Breath in, out, aim, and shoot,¡± I said, trying to remember any advice I¡¯d seen on cop shows over the years. ¡°Squeeze, don¡¯t pull, keep both eyes open, lead your target, relax, but hold tight, square your feet, an¡ª¡± Neil nudged me. ¡°Right. Just pull the trigger.¡± I hadn¡¯t expected it to work on the first try. And in fact, the boom was so loud and the gout of fire and smoke so great, I thought the rifle had exploded in my sapper¡¯s hands. But about a meter to the left of the piggy armor I¡¯d strung up, a water cask at the other end of a spiraling smoke trail blew a leak and started pouring out its contents. We couldn¡¯t dip so much into the clay that we wouldn¡¯t have enough for ceramic parts when the Ifrit arrived. But fifty rifles would arm a full quarter of the tribe. Combined with slingers, poppers, and cliffords, that might just be enough to push the piggies out of Canaveral, and maybe even out of our neck of the jungle for good. Or until Habberport sent forces even more dangerous. The jungle forest was on our side, with thick growth being restrictive to traverse as anything larger than a dwarf. I imagined humans would have a tough time getting through the underbrush. But if anyone on this world was versed in human ingenuity, it was me. I didn¡¯t doubt they¡¯d come eventually. I waved down ¡°Get the prototypes to the hunters so they can keep the tribe fed. I want us cranking these out as soon as we¡¯ve got material for them. ¡°When will we take back Canaveral?¡± asked Armstrong. I looked at Promo. ¡°How many of these can we make in a day?¡± I asked. He did some counting on his fingers. ¡°With the igni working on barrels and receivers exclusively? 12, thereabouts,¡± he said. ¡°More with more help.¡± I opened up the system window and transferred additional goblins under his team from Buzz and Sally. ¡°You have it,¡± I said. looked back up at the scrapper. ¡°Four days.¡± Chapter 64 - Peppered Pork Chapter 64 - Peppered Pork The piggies didn¡¯t give us four days. Two days after the first rifles came off the line, A hunter spotted a group of maulers scouting the paddocks on the west side of the bluff. A day after that, a recon glider spotted a group of at least 25 of them on a direct route to our woefully depleted livestock pens and bomb fruit orchard. I handed out rifles and ammo to as many goblins as I could, with scrappers each getting one and teams of 2 goblins getting one between each pair¡ªone to shoot, one to act as a bipod in hopes we got a little more accuracy. The models we had for the non-variant goblins were lighter and shorter-barreled carbines, but they were still too heavy and we had far more goblins than rifles. I also gave some to the wranglers for them to shoot from the back of cliffords, in hopes that they could effectively harry the javeline. Every goblin going down the bluff had taken the time to appreciate the totems. Armstrong and John led the infantry while Chuck led the cavalry. I had Eileen on the bluff above, ready to evacuate the Igni and the non-combat taskmasters to Huntsville in the event we lost. All in all, it was still a motley assortment armed mostly with spears and slingers. Part of me worried the maulers would smash right through our resistance. It was smart of the piggies to attack the less defended territory at the base of the bluff and force us out from behind the fortifications to hold it, especially having already damaged our food security at Canaveral, the paddocks and groves weren¡¯t defenseless. I watched as some of Buzz¡¯s boys finished up a small tower with a heavy slinger mounted. There were several such platforms at my best guess of strategic locations. But we were out of time. I could hear the javeline war party through the trees. I made to grab a rifle to join the line, and my taskmasters damn-near tackled me. ¡°What is this?¡± I demanded, trying to wriggle free. ¡°You¡¯re a king!¡± said Armstrong. ¡°Start acting like one!¡± ¡°No fighting,¡± said Neil. ¡°Chuck!¡± My wrangler boss looked conflicted. ¡°I want you with us, boss. But¡­ this is for the best.¡± ¡°Unhand me!¡± I ordered. All of my taskmasters were powerless to resist the direct order of my goblin king class. All except one. Armstrong, as captain of my guard, could ignore my orders if it meant keeping me safe, and that¡¯s exactly what he did when he stuffed me onto the freight elevator with three of his assigned goblins with orders to keep me from joining the battle. I didn¡¯t like that I was asking others to fight a battle I wouldn¡¯t fight myself. But they were right. The risk of capture was too great, and then I¡¯d be further than the hotsprings or the swamp. I¡¯d be carted off to Habberport or wherever the javeline thought they could turn a profit for a talking goblin. I made my way to the edge of one of the platforms on the west side of the bluff. My bodyguards chittered and looked ready to grab me, but I waved them off. ¡°I¡¯m not jumping,¡± I said. ¡°But I still want to watch.¡± My goblins had formed into loose ranks on the north side of the paddocks, while the cliffords had melted into the forest to the west. The group of almost 150 goblins, the greater share of my tribe, waited to receive the javeline with rifles, grenades, RPPs, shock spears, and more primitive weaponry. Behind them, heavy slingers and flexapults. Every bit of tech we¡¯d developed was pointed squarely at the piggies. I just wish we had a good wall between us and not a paddock fence. But the javelines had forced our hand. They didn¡¯t have to wait long. I smelled the first ones before I saw the first scouts dash out of the forest with spears raise high to throw. The first few goblins in the western half of the line cracked off shots and the piggy fell mid-stride. But his spear was already out and it landed among the formation. The sound was like listening to bottle rockets fire off on the next street over. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. The second scout veered to the side and managed to avoid the shots, though several of the goblins tracked him and made to chase. I heard Armstrong yell for order and get the excitable riflemen back in ranks and squared off. I could see the wave of understanding pass through the ranks. The goblins shifted their positions in subtle ways: a few meters here, a step back there, angling rifles over and through the paddock¡¯s northern fence. Somehow they seemed more ordered and less a gaggle¡ªthough, they were still very excited goblins with new toys. Many of them cheered the fallen javeline and waved guns in the air. Luckily, only a few fired off shots that spiraled up into the air. A loud mix of squeals and barks from the western forest alerted the gaggle to an incoming threat from that side, and several of the wranglers retreated. I spotted three of them without their gunners. The gun line shifted, and the main mauler force erupted from the trees. ¡°There he is!¡± I said, pointing at the largest of the pack. Hrott was leading the charge, big and broad with a spear raised overhead. Armstrong spotted him immediately, shouting back to the fixed positions. The slingers on the towers let loose with sleds full of poppers, which landed on and around the force of armored javeline, causing a few to fall. Other positions flung rocks or shock darts, but they weren¡¯t effective at that range. Armstrong held his rifle steady, tracking the incoming force. The maulers hooves sounded like rolling thunder from where I sat on the bluff, and several goblins broke formation and ran in a panic for the southern forest. <4 goblins have abandoned the tribe. Your tribe has decreased to 230 members> I froze. What? They can do that? What? This whole time I¡¯d thought it was an in-baked biological imperative they had no choice but to follow. Why now? They¡¯ve faced death for me before. Ouch. Still, most of the line held. Armstrong took his shot first, and then a wave of thunder that drowned out even the javeline charge echoed across the forest and cloaked the entire line in smoke. Several of the javelines fell. But not enough. The maulers split into two, one group charging straight into the fire with shields raised, and a smaller group circling around to strike at the pens with the livestock. Two more goblins threw down spears and ran for the trees. <2 goblins have abandoned the tribe. Your tribe has decreased to 228 members> I grit my teeth. Even King Ringo had come into the swamp with his boglins instead of hiding in his wooden castle. I glanced at my bodyguards, who chittered to themselves, looking alarmed as the javeline reached the line of goblins and started to jump the fence. The gun smoke was thick, and it wafted up to the bluff smelling somewhere between the fourth of July and a cow farm. It began to drift over the line, obscuring the goblins and javeline both from my view. From within, I saw the occasional electric blue flash of a tesla wasp, or popper alongside the crack and whistle of the rocket rifle ammo. <3 goblins have abandoned the tribe. Your tribe has decreased to 212 members.> <5 goblins have abandoned the tribe. Your tribe has decreased to 202 members.> Most of the goblins had held, and now the battle was joined. I had to hope they¡¯d thinned the group enough because the maulers were absolutely deadly in melee combat with their strength, size, armor, and metal weapons. Chuck chose that moment to bring the rest of his wranglers out of the woods in a red tide of barking and baying. And Chuck himself was on the back of the adolescent stone sloth as it roared and trundled alongside the drooling cliffords. They smashed into the back of the javeline. Chuck and several others broke off to take down the pigs that were in the paddock, laying wanton slaughter to our dwindling livestock supply. I let out a whoop as the javeline squealed in the smoke, but a squawk from one of my bodyguards brought my attention around. He was jumping up and down, pointing and chittering and making snort noises. I followed his finger just in time to see another two-dozen lightly armored javeline rutters erupt from the forest south of the bluff. The maulers had been conspicuous on purpose to keep our eyes north while their lightly armored cousins snuck around behind the bluff. It was a double attack! Chapter 65 - Flank Stakes Chapter 65 - Flank Stakes The goblins who had abandoned the tribe encountered the new force coming from the south. They tried to turn around and run back for safety, but the second surprise attack of javeline were already too close. I didn¡¯t stay to watch the new force cut them down. There was no time. I turned and ran to the east side of the village where Eileen had the heavy gliders staged and ready for takeoff. My bodyguards squawked and chased after me. ¡°Eileen! Eileen!¡± I shouted. My taskmaster turned in her pilot¡¯s seat and peered down at me. ¡°How¡¯s the battle going?¡± ¡°The javeline brought up a second group from the south,¡± I gasped between breaths. ¡°They¡¯re going to hit the gunners from behind as soon as they deal with the stragglers. We have to do something!¡± Promo lifted his ceramic mask. ¡°So¡­ we¡¯re not sticking to the evacuation plan?¡± ¡°No!¡± I said. The noblin grinned at me and jumped down. ¡°Good. Can¡¯t abide runnin¡¯ fer my hide.¡± he raised his voice and his hammer. ¡°Come on lads! Every dead pig is another taste of bacon!¡± The evacuees cheered and rolled off the planes, but I held Eileen and her flight crews. ¡°Not you,¡± I said. I pointed to the rocket boosters that gave the heavy gliders enough thrust to gain altitude and soar between Village Apollo and Huntsville. ¡°I wish I had a better idea, but do you think you can get this hog in the air with just one of those?¡± Eileen glanced down. ¡°Not very high. What are we going to do with the other one?¡± ¡°Point it at the porkbellies and turn it on.¡± ¡°You realize that you do this, we no longer have an out,¡± warned Eileen. I nodded. Eileen grinned and whistled for her crews to disconnect the safeties on all three aircraft. ¡°Good. No blaze like a blaze of glory.¡± They scrambled down and within a few seconds, Eileen¡¯s heavy glider was ready. I flashed her a thumbs up. ¡°Good luck!¡± I shouted over the clamor of every goblin still left on the bluff arming themselves and preparing to jump into battle. She reciprocated and her aft crewman lit the port-side rocket. The craft lurched, thrust vector uneven, and slid up the rails and into the air, much lower than I was used to seeing the heavy glider fly. I ran back to the rest of the goblins who had grabbed whatever weapons were left¡ªmostly slingers, spears, cleavers, and a few poppers that individual goblins had apparently stashed for a rainy day. One had a whole bomb fruit, despite the prohibition in the village. Some had their personal gliders. I took one of them, and a popper, and held them over my head, trying to think of something inspiring to say. ¡°Come on, you apes! You want to live forever?¡± That got one hell of a cheer. And these guys had never even seen Starship Troopers so they had no way to know I¡¯d stolen it. But it did the job. The Tribe Apollo reserve howled, lifting their weapons over their heads. I ran for the west side of the bluff, followed by the whole gaggle of them. <3 goblins have abandoned the tribe. Your tribe has decreased to 194 members.> This time, my bodyguards made no attempt to stop me. They were just as caught up in the fervor. We ran, and like a blue, furry waterfall, toppled over the edge of the bluff to join the battle. The rutters had finished with the stragglers and trickling deserters and were headed for a lethal flank at the rear of the wranglers. My glider hit the wind and opened with a snap of hide pulling taut, and I heard the others behind me doing the same. The rest dropped all the way to the base. I glanced back. Most of the goblins were holding on with one hand and held poppers in the other. The one with the bomb fruit was using both hands and holding the fruit with his feet. I have no idea how he¡¯d managed to even deploy. Madness. I angled us southwest to intercept the wave of rutters. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The bomb fruit grove had slowed them down as they had to carefully navigate around fallen fruit, lest they meet a pulpy end. I angled us north of it, just as they arrived and saw the second wave of goblins led by Promo with his steel hammer and hooked rod leading the charge. For all I knew, this was their first time encountering a noblin. ¡°Now!¡± I shouted. We dropped our ordnance on the rutters. Poppers and a bigger bomb fruit erupted among them. Lightly armored as they were, the explosives had a greater effect than they had against their larger cousins. Several keeled over, unconscious or dead. The rest stumbled but got clear and began to sling rocks and light spears skyward. A few goblins squawked as they were knocked off their gliders, and I held on for dear life when a spear ripped through my left wing. I turned north, quickly losing altitude, and saw a lumbering shape barreling toward me. I angled the glider towards it and had just enough distance left in it to drop onto the back of the sloth bear, where Chuck steadied me. ¡°Boss?¡± What are you doing down here?¡± he demanded. We rode past a trio of deserters, who looked up and saw me atop the sloth with Chuck. ¡°Inspiring the troops, apparently!¡± I said. ¡°Goblins won¡¯t fight for a king that won¡¯t fight for them.¡± Chuck barked out a laugh. ¡°Then you¡¯re right where you ought to be! Let¡¯s give the piggies what they came for!¡± He spurred the sloth cub on, maintaining his footing. Two side-saddles had been rigged up on the flanks of the beast for goblin gunners, and I slid to one that had lost its gunner at some point. A carbine had been tied to a mount, so I worked the action back just enough to see the round still chambered. A basket of bullets jostled at my feet as the stone sloth bounded across the paddock. The javeline rutters came at us, spears raised against the stone sloth, which was now substantially heavier than even one of the piggies. I screamed and fired as we trundled along, working the lever on the rifle and watching the tiny smoke trails smash basically anywhere but into the rutters. Marksmanship was apparently not one of my skills. I could lead a tribe, but not a target. I opened the action and stuffed another handful of bullets in. We reached the line and the sloth reared up, sweeping its long claws into the first rank of javeline. It was all I could do to hold on as the enormous creature twisted and slashed. It spun us around, and I spotted a familiar face. ¡°Rotte!¡± I shouted. ¡°Come and face Apollo!¡± The javeline scowled. He still bore the scars on his face and chest from his fight with Armstrong. And, I hoped, on his backside from where I¡¯d hacked him with the scrapper¡¯s knives. He leveled his spear and leaned into a charge. ¡°I make talking goblin sorry!¡± he shouted. I yelped and ducked as Rotte drove his spear forward. The wide, leaf-shaped blade trimmed the fur on the top of my head and skipped off one of the sloth¡¯s clay plates. I popped back up and angled the rifle over the edge of the basket, and at this range even I couldn¡¯t miss. I fired as fast as I could work the action. The porkbelly who had captured me blew back, staggered by at least one successful hit as blood spurted from his shoulder. But he wasn¡¯t done. He swept his spear in a broad arc, and the blade caught the ropes binding the basket to the side of the stone sloth. I ducked again as the basket fell and rolled on the ground, watching the world spin through the opening. The butt of the rifle smacked me in the face every time the barrel caught on the ground, until it came loose and the basket finally stopped. I pulled myself out of the basket, stumbling, barely able to walk¡ªonly to see the rutter charging at me with his spear, Chuck chasing him on the stone sloth. I scrambled for the rifle and basically tripped over it, falling on my ass with the gun in my hands. I opened the action and grabbed a handful of rockettes that had spilled out of the basket with me, barely managing to stuff them in the right way around and close the action before the rutter was on me. I pointed it up at the hulking shadow and fired. Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom! Rotte slowed, hit several times. ¡°I make¡­ talking¡­ goblin¡­ sorry¡­¡± he said, words slowing. Chuck and the stone sloth caught up. The wrangler taskmaster reached down with his cleaver and finished the job with a clean slash to the side of Rotte¡¯s throat. Too humane for what the cruel creature deserved, really. ¡°Nicely done, boss!¡± he shouted down. I was too dazed and dizzy to reply. With their leader dead and their own forces out of reach, the line of rutters began to falter. We¡¯d met the flanking attack and stalled it out, and now the reserves from the bluff were about to swing around for a pincer movement. Chuck pulled us back out of danger so the sloth could catch its breath. The only thing missing was¡­ A loud shriek drew my attention around. Eileen had brought the heavy glider and ignited the second booster. Only, the lines were so jumbled that there was no way to separate pig from goblin at the front lines. Eileen and her crew bailed out of the heavy glider as it picked up speed, rocketing toward the front line. Do javeline have blast resistance? The glider struck, and a bright flash and shockwave knocked me right over and sent me tumbling. I rolled upright, looking at the roiling cloud of smoke and dust. Shapes spun every which way through the air, and some of them landed near me. It was raining goblins. And less savory bits of javeline (unless you are a goblin). ¡°What was it you said, boss?¡± shouted Chuck over the echo of the explosion. ¡°Pork rinds to the ionosphere? Whatever that is?¡± A grin split my face. I laughed and laughed. I glanced behind. What few rutters were left had turned tail. I saw one fall as a goblin landed on its head and bounced away, still screaming. All in all, I was surprised the blast had only killed 12 goblins in the thick of things. I¡¯m sure there would be more needing prosthetics in the interim. Chapter 66 - The Tails of Two Piggies Chapter 66 - The Tails of Two Piggies I found Armstrong dusting off his fur near the blast site. The other scrappers held a javeline mauler that I recognized. ¡°I know you,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re Hrodd.¡± ¡°Hrott,¡± he snarled. ¡°What is become of Rotte?¡± I glanced back toward the reserve that I¡¯d led down from the top of the bluff. ¡°Dead,¡± I said. ¡°He¡¯ll trouble me no more.¡± Hrott surged against the scrappers, and very nearly got loose. He was in his teen levels, after all. Quite a force to be reckoned with. It was no surprise he¡¯d survived the blast. ¡°I kill talking goblin for this!¡± he roared, spittle flying from under his helmet. ¡°Lord of Habberport pay big for your capture, but I will bring him only your head! Will slaughter your¡ª¡± ¡°Armstrong!¡± I said, holding my hand out. He dropped his rifle into it, and it very nearly drove me to the ground. I swung it around, struggling to lift it to point at the mauler chief¡¯s chest. Boom! A red button blossomed on Hrott¡¯s chest armor. His words choked off as the realization took him. His legs gave out under him, and the javeline leader sagged to the ground, head drooping forward. His captors tentatively let his arms drop. They fell limp at the javeline¡¯s sides. I handed the rifle back and raised my voice. ¡°Take his helmet, and their tails! We¡¯re making a new totem to commemorate this day!¡± A resounding cheer erupted from the surviving goblins. They pulled knives and cleavers, each one eager to be the goblin that claimed the prize. They swarmed in, and I backed out of the press to take a breath. The brothers had menaced my tribe almost since the day I arrived on Rava. They were responsible for hundreds of goblin deaths, including several that had happened through lethal wounds dealt to me personally. More than that, they were disgusting traffickers of goblin parts. This wasn¡¯t like Ringo and his under-educated swamp boglins. I wasn¡¯t here to make friends with the Javeline. They lost that chance. I wanted them out of my forest. There were other survivors, of course. But the tribe had a food shortage. Seemed like an easy two-birds-one-stone kind of situations. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. System, how many days can the tribe subsist off the fallout from this battle? We¡¯d lost enough goblins and gained enough piggies to stave off our immediate food concerns. A little pork goes a long way, and I had no doubt the noblins would stretch every meal out of it that they could. But they¡¯d be back to hammering iron soon enough. Industry awaited. And now, the biggest obstacle to our tribe¡¯s growth had been soundly defeated. I summoned my taskmasters for a powwow while the tribe began the task of collecting anything of value from the battlefield¡ªa task that would likely take the rest of the day and a good portion of tomorrow. ¡°I know you all wanted to keep me safe,¡± I said. ¡°But it¡¯s clear that I can¡¯t just sit back and let the tribe do the dirty work. I can¡¯t just be a king, I have to be a leader. Starting tomorrow, we¡¯re re-staffing Canaveral. Now that our tribe is safe, the next priority is food security, and then unification of the other bluffs.¡± ¡°And tonight?¡± ¡°Tonight we¡¯re going to friggin¡¯ party!¡± * * * Turns out goblins can get drunk off fermented bomb-fruit juice if you get at it before it goes explosive and boil the volatile bits out. Thank God for the igni bonus to heat-based crafting. The moon was fully lit by the time I stumbled over to the cuddle puddle and collapsed on top. But before I could go to sleep, the System notification window popped up. I squinted and waved it away, but it was insistent. Well, seeing as we¡¯d just won a huge victory in large part thanks to firearms, some bigger goblins specialized in carting around some heavier firepower seemed prudent. If I had to guess, the rounds we were using were about equal in power to a small pistol round, or maybe a varmint rifle. That was enough for goblin-sized threats like the javeline, who were only slightly taller than we were. But it was only a matter of time until we came across something needing more oomph. Goblins being only a meter tall and about as strong as a 6-year-old somewhat limited their proficiency with higher calibers. Give me the Noblin Cannonneers. The Cannonneers, please. Christ, the second one! * * * The spell was a success. But where are they? The stars are blind in this matter. The Great Spirit is silent. We will scour the globe. There is no need. If the stars are blind¡­ ¡­then they are shadowed¡­ ¡­by Raphina¡¯s watchful eye. End of Arc 1 Chapter 67 – Fun with Homophones Chapter 67 ¨C Fun with Homophones <6 hobgoblin scrappers have been added to your tribe.> <5 hobgoblin wranglers have been added to your tribe.> <2 noblin igni have been added to your tribe.> <3 noblin canoneers have been added to your tribe.> <1 noblin canoneer has been promoted to taskmaster.> What the hell? I groaned at the bright sunlight stabbing my retinas through the slit windows, already high in the sky, and rolled off the cuddle puddle. My mouth was dry and I was definitely not prepared for a deluge of System notifications. I dismissed them without reading most of them. The new noblins had come with some pretty bizarre technologies. I struggled to the nearest rain cistern and washed the fur out of my mouth, then stood under the water for a minute as the cool spray ran through my matted fur. This hangover wasn¡¯t as bad as the times on Rava that I¡¯d missed a full night of sleep. But it wasn¡¯t far off. When I turned around, I was surprised to see Sally, agitated and fidgeting, waiting for my attention. While technically verbal, my lead engineer almost never spoke. Once she was convinced she had got her point across, she turned and moved to the corner of the bluff where we¡¯d made our first paper mill. She pointed at a blank spot on a table nearby and began to chitter. I looked at her. ¡°You¡­ want another table?¡± I guessed. She made a frustrated squawk and stamped her feet. I sighed. But I¡¯d rarely seen the shy taskmaster so animated with me, so I concentrated. ¡°Something isn¡¯t on the table that ought be?¡± She waved her arms, and then made a square in the air, and then a crinkling noise as she balled her fists. ¡°Is this where you keep the paper?¡± I asked. She nodded, exasperated. ¡°So, where¡¯s all the paper gone?¡± Sally howled, having finally gotten her point across. She turned and stamped off to another corner of the bluff where a trio of pot-bellied noblins were leaning over a work bench Dozens of discarded sheets of paper littered the ground around them, representing hours of work for Javier and his clothiers/paper makers. ¡°What¡¯s all this?¡± I demanded. The noblins looked up, blinked, and squinted at me. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°Whossat?¡± one asked. ¡°Issit morning already?¡± ¡°Your king,¡± I said. One of the noblins sniffed. ¡°Well I didn¡¯t vote for ye!¡± The largest one reached over and slapped the dissident, who squawked and acted appropriately chagrinned. ¡°Sorrys ¡®bout that, King. I¡¯ll keep ¡®im in line.¡± he squinted. ¡°You sure you¡¯re Apollo? I thought ye¡¯d be bigger.¡± I glanced at Sally, who practically vibrated with impatience. ¡°Look, I said. ¡°I get that you guys are eager, but the engineers need paper, too. We¡¯re working on engines, motors, and batteries today and we can¡¯t scribble everything on bark.¡± One of the noblins snorted. ¡°What we¡¯re workin on is way more great than whatever engines are, king!¡± ¡°Designs for new guns?¡± ¡°Wot? No! Way better.¡± ¡°Artillery? Missiles?¡± ¡°Nothing like that!¡± I marched up to the table and pulled over one of the wide sheets of paper, looking at the noblin¡¯s work. ¡°That¡¯s not finished, boss!¡± I squinted down at the page where rough squares had been drawn¡ªin some sort of sticky ink. I didn¡¯t even know we had ink. And inside the squares¡­ ¡°Are these¡­ comics?¡± I asked. ¡°It¡¯s Histry,¡± said the largest of the pack. Record of your kicking porkbelly butt wot at the battle of the bluff! How¡¯s folk gonna remember it?¡± ¡°It was yesterday,¡± I said. I looked down at a crude drawing of a tall, muscled goblin atop a rough sloth. It was musclebound, with a large gun in each hand, and a crown. ¡°Is this supposed to be me?¡± I asked. I shook my head. ¡°I¡¯m so confused. I thought you guys were supposed to be cannoneers, but you¡¯ve got terrible eyesight and you¡¯re sitting here making cartoons.¡± ¡°But this is your canon we¡¯s workin¡¯ on,¡± one of them protested. ¡°I don¡¯t see wot the problem is.¡± ¡°My¡­ oh no. No, no, no.¡± I walked away from the group. System! Did you give me comic book nerd goblins?! I tried to keep my teeth from grinding. Show me the details of the noblin canoneer. I fell onto my backside, dizzy, and not just from the hangover. What had I done? The potential destructive force of firearms to the goblin species as bad enough, now I¡¯d gone and given them religion! And judging by the comic panels squeezed in my hand, they were making me out to be some sort of war god. I felt sick. System, can I go back and choose the partizans instead? I rolled over, stomach heaving, and threw up. When I looked up, Sally stood, little arms crossed and nose in the air. She sniffed loudly, and then stomped off. Couldn¡¯t blame her. Alright. I guess we were doing this. Noblin canoneers were now and forever a permanent part of Tribe Apollo. Unless I had them all killed as soon as they were born, which was unconscionable. After all, I¡¯d been raised Lutheran, and even though for many years I had no longer believed in an omniscient supreme being¡ªironic, I know¡ªI was pretty sure murder still equalled bad. Especially when the canoneers hadn¡¯t done anything wrong and it was my fault they were here. Unless¡­ System, did you take advantage of me while I was drunk and trick me? No kidding. Not like it would have admitted it anyway. I should have known this all-powerful calculator with a penchant for puns would eventually pull something like this. Alright. Alright. Think, Apollo. This was happening, and it was time to adapt and iterate. I was witnessing the literal birth of the very concept of religion among a growing civilization whose primary means of communication had, up til now, been chirps, screams, and physical assault. Maybe this wasn¡¯t a disaster. Historically on Earth, religion had done just as much good as bad. Mesopotamian religions kept track of seasons, written records of crop yields, and animal husbandry guides. Christian Churches in Europe had been instrumental in the distribution of the printing press and increasing literacy rates. The Islamic Golden Age had given us algebra, astrophysics, and coffee. God, I missed coffee. Chapter 68 - Praise the Standard Chapter 68 - Praise the Standard I needed to clear my head and work on something sane for a while. I left the noblins to their own devices, for now, taking a few of the less scribbled-on sheets of paper as a peace offering for the engineers. As I walked through the village I could already see goblins alone or in pairs, tucked into corners, squawking over little paper pamphlets with crude drawings. Just how early had the canoneers started working? Couldn¡¯t find fault with that ethic, at least. I found Sally embedded with her fellow engineers, assembling the first test crank case for a primitive rotary engine out of ceramic parts. I wasn¡¯t sure how well it would hold up to tests, but since every scrap of iron we had went into musket barrels, this was our second resort. I could have those guns melted down, and part of me still wanted to. But keeping them for the next time a threat faced us was a no-brainer, even if it did put a strain on raw iron. Huntsville was producing about 22 chooms of raw iron a day, which melted down into about 13 chooms of bar steel at the furnaces and anvils. Not a lot, by industrial measure. We didn¡¯t even need wagons for it, yet. It could be brought on the backs of cliffords (as long as they didn¡¯t stay after nightfall). But just the fact that we had it was nothing short of a monumental leap. That the pigs had forced me to divert almost everything we had into weapons of war just¡­ Ugh. Damage done. Neil¡¯s hunters at least were very fond of those rifles. I could hear the pop pop of them test firing even over the noise of igni hammering away at a rotor on the other side of the bluff. I¡¯m just glad the piggies didn¡¯t know about Huntsville, because hitting that would have really crippled our progress, not just our food supply. Huntsville also supplied us with fuel. The icky-slicky oil I¡¯d used to fry a few boglins and escape King Ringo¡¯s island didn¡¯t burn quite as cleanly as kerosene, but rotary engines are notoriously robust when it comes to burning even the worst bunker fuel sludge. It would do. The boglins were eager to trade it for meat that didn¡¯t taste like the bog until we could get well pumps up and running, and with the Canaveral goblins going back to retake the bluff to the southeast, we should have steady lizard meat again. Between that and the leftovers from the battle, we¡¯d bought some wiggle room to address the looming food shortage. Ideally we¡¯d get agriculture going¡ªand we¡¯d already started planting some fruit and nut seeds to form orchards near the base of the bluff. But that would take years to pay off. Livestock and herd animals, that was the fast solution. But we needed the tools for it. And that¡­ was proving to be an obstacle. Sally¡¯s engineers held up the two halves of the engine case and tried to get the uneven parts to marry up. I sighed. I¡¯d measured them both before they¡¯d gone into the kiln, and they¡¯d both had molds. Yet, the Goblin Tech Tree made them come out uneven. How would this thing ever run if it didn¡¯t even have a sealed combustion chamber? I came closer an inspected the joining as the engineers chittered excitedly. If the shapes were at least similar, we maybe could have sealed the gaps and re-fired it in the kiln. But I could see daylight through gaps that shouldn¡¯t have even been there, and it was beyond fixing. That meant another firing, another waste of clay and charcoal. Even this was frustrating me this morning. Trying to explain standards and tolerances to the goblins was like speaking to a brick wall. I just don¡¯t think their brains were wired that way. And non-verbal as they were, most of them couldn¡¯t ask questions to better understand. Sure, they could grasp the basic technology¡ªand the variants had an even better understanding where their specialities were concerned¡ªbut your average forest goblin learned primarily by osmosis and experimentation, not lecture. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. ¡°Sorry,¡± I said, letting the engine prototype tip over. ¡°Won¡¯t work. Let¡¯s iterate and try again. Maybe check the molds and see if we can¡¯t get the ratios closer. Sally¡¯s goblins all sighed with dejected slumps to their shoulders, until Sally started laying into them with angry chirps and flying fists. Then, they hopped-to. The timer may have been ticking slower, but it still ticked. We needed to figure this out. I ran my hands through the fur on my face. The system provides. I grabbed the nearest goblin. ¡°Go get me the canoneers.¡± It jumped and chittered, and took off in the direction of the central pavilion. I watched the blue furry streak disappear around a bend and then set to work helping Sally¡¯s team with the molds until the noblins arrived. It took them a while. Apparently, they weren¡¯t exactly coordinated, and bumped into a lot on the way over. I made a mental note to invent spectacles once we got some high quality silica. The taskmaster came up to me with an armful of papers wedged against his side. ¡°Boss! We chronicled your escape from King Ringo, want to see it?¡± ¡°How?¡± I asked. ¡°The only witness to that event is a dead scrapper.¡± ¡°We might have, um, filled in some blanks,¡± he said. He stuck the back end of his charcoal pencil up his nose and scratched it around. ¡°Ya know, where details was light.¡± ¡°You know what? No.¡± I shook my head. ¡°I won¡¯t be deified. I¡¯m not God, I don¡¯t speak to any gods, and I certainly don¡¯t want to risk being smited if this world has one that¡¯s a little more active than the one I¡¯m used to.¡± The taskmaster nudged one of the others. ¡°Write that down!¡± I snapped my fingers to turn his attention back towards me. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean I ain¡¯t the boss. Now, I need something to call you.¡± I didn¡¯t add that I¡¯d be damned before I named him after an astronaut like the other taskmasters. Well, work with what you know. ¡°Luther. Your name is Luther. We¡¯re going to set some ground rules.¡± Seems equal parts blasphemous and appropriate. Luther nodded. ¡°I like it. So then, king, what¡¯s your decree?¡± I considered. System, how does codification of goblin religion work? Ok, I get the picture. But how best to use this to my advantage. ¡°Let¡¯s start with some commandments,¡± I said. Luther and the other canoneers listened raptly. ¡°First, thou shalt be excellent to each other.¡± I considered, running a hand through my fur. Religion was hard. ¡°Thou shalt maintain proper version control.¡± The canoneers started scribbling¡ªdoodling, I should say. Written language was still a foreign concept, it seemed, despite my attempts to introduce it. The goblin tech tree simply had no place for syllabic language, as far as I could tell. Which made a certain sort of sense, since non-variant goblins couldn¡¯t speak. Symbols and representational symbology was a different story. ¡°The scientific method is this: Question, research, hypothesize, experiment, analyze, and communicate.¡± We¡¯d started to draw a crowd as goblins gathered to listen to our new religious edicts. ¡°Uh¡­ To measure twice before cutting once is holy.¡± It¡¯s important! ¡°When in doubt, thou shalt iterate and try again.¡± I looked around at the goblins nodding and chittering to each other. I was good at this. I held up my hands. ¡°Questioning work hours or safety standards is heresy.¡± The goblins cheered. I briefly entertained the idea of introducing a paradoxical commandment just for fun. But I didn¡¯t want to cause little blue heads to explode. That was enough for now. I clapped my hands and grinned at Luther. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s start thinking about some religious iconography. Bring over that engine case and some paper. Chapter 69 - The Cult of the Right Angle Chapter 69 - The Cult of the Right Angle Personally, I thought it quite clever making the schematics for a basic rotary engine our first religious symbol. Drawn on blue-tinted paper from the accidental goblin pulping at the paper press even gave me the feeling of working with actual blueprints¡ªalbeit ones with an unpleasant, fuzzy texture. Codifying schematics gave the goblins working on it a religious incentive to create careful reproductions. The canoneers proved deft hands with their charcoal sticks and faithfully reproduced drawings as if they¡¯d been sketching them their entire lives. Which, I suppose, technically, they had. Within a few hours we had a functional manual for a hydrocarbon-powered motor, though entirely pictographic with representational iconography and all measurements in relation to the rough size and shape of a goblin head. But what was really wild, was that Sally¡¯s engineers finally seemed to understand the more complex relationships between the various dimensions of the drawings when the canoneers canonized them. It was like a shortcut to introducing complex ideas for undeveloped technology through the goblin tech tree. New molds were hammered out for the various parts and fixtures of the engine and sent to the kiln. In the meantime, I also codified smithing and made sure taskmasters were revered figures in the new doctrine. Like village elders. Not that they needed any help. The various divisions of the labor pool already treated their respective taskmasters like rock stars. Feeling quite satisfied with the day¡¯s work, I called a halt for dinner and joined the rest of the goblins in the central square for the communal mealtime. The igni were still working through the javeline meat and had repurposed the crank and impeller technology to invent sausage-making. All we needed was a little wheat flour and yeast and we could start having brats and buns. It took me a moment to realize that all the goblins were looking at me before touching their food, which was a completely new phenomenon. I looked around, and spotted Luther waving for my attention. ¡°What is it?¡± I asked the lead canoneer. ¡°They want you to recite a meal-time litany, o¡¯ King.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a religious figure,¡± I said. ¡°You do it.¡± Luther bowed low. ¡°That right is reserved for you alone.¡± I sat back, sighing. As if being king wasn¡¯t enough. Now I had to be pope, too. I raised my hands overhead and made a circle with my thumbs and index fingers. ¡°Ever higher. Ad Luna per aspera.¡± The goblins aped my hand signal and then dug into dinner. I leaned back in my spot and considered. It¡¯s not every day you get to design a science-based religion. * * * I woke up with the excitement of a kid at Christmas, pulling myself from the bottom of the goblin mound and jogging to the kilns. Having cooled overnight, I opened the hatch on the kiln and pulled out the still-warm crank case halves built to religious precision, excitement growing. Neither looked to be deformed or misshapen¡ªat least not to the degree I expected of goblin-manufactured parts. They were still a bit wonky and oblong, but they were consistently wonky and oblong. The two halves married up in a way that they could be sealed and bolted with a rotor and crankshaft in place. This was an engine that could potentially be fired up. And once this tribe had access to the power of angular momentum¡­ the sky really would be the limit. The igni could use this as an example to hammer more¡ªmany more, hopefully¡ªout of metal. Sally could make powered airplanes instead of just rocket-assisted gliders. I was so excited I completely missed when Eileen ran up to me with a report and had to be shaken out of my fervor. ¡°What is it?¡± I asked. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. ¡°The Ifrit are on their way!¡± she exclaimed. ¡°Caravan spotted coming off the plain. Scout just told me.¡± ¡°Make sure we¡¯re there to greet them,¡± I said. ¡°And get the Canaveral convoy on the move. We need to make some room.¡± System, how much clay do we still have? <32 chooms, with an additional 43 chooms in discovered nodes.> Excellent. New technologies and new friends. This was going to be a big, big day. I explained the next steps and then worked on my electric motor project until Chuck woke up, at which point I had the cliffords saddled up, and I mounted up on the back of Chuck¡¯s doggo with a few of my bodyguards. I felt bad for the poor clifford trying to hold Armstrong up. The scrapper taskmaster was almost as big as a noblin. ¡°Eileen says they found the road markings and they¡¯re following it north. Small group, three or four wagons,¡± I told Chuck. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go bring ¡®em in,¡± said Chuck, pulling his clifford around. He thumped its side with his palm and it took off, yapping and slobbering as it dug its claws into the turf. As we rode, I remarked at the road. ¡°Buzz did a good job clearing a path here,¡± I said. ¡°Makes it easier to bring in beasties,¡± said Chuck. ¡°But we¡¯re still eatin¡¯ em faster than my lads can rustle ¡®em up¡ªat least the ones we can catch on the cliffords. They¡¯re not mean to hunt things that can run, not while carrying goblins, anyway. They get tired. Most of what we chase out here gives us the slip, even working together.¡± ¡°You need something that doesn¡¯t get tired,¡± I said. ¡°Got plans for somethin¡¯ like that, boss?¡± ¡°The boss has got plans fer everything,¡± said Armstrong. I grinned. ¡°Just wait and see.¡± We rode in (relative) silence for the kilometer or so of rough road before a hulking figure in black cloth wraps leapt out of the woods in our path. It was twice my height at least, enough to make the javeline look small, despite having its legs in a wide stance. It was broad across the shoulders and wore a brass, horned mask that triggered the same part of my goblin brain as the night haunts. Its hand rested on the hilt of a curved sword at its hip, as long as I was tall, and¡ªholy hell. Was this a human? If it was, it was level 35. Chuck pulled the cliffords up and every rifle and slinger with the welcome party was aimed at the new arrival. The brass mask scanned across our collected group and several centimeters worth of steel slid from scabbard. ¡°Boss, get behind me!¡± said Armstrong, stepping forward with his rifle¡ªthe same one I¡¯d used to kill Hrott. ¡°Hold!¡± I said as the goblins around me tensed up. ¡°We¡¯re expecting company, remember?¡± ¡°Yeah, little flame guys, not¡­ this,¡± growled Chuck. ¡°I don¡¯t like it.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like them,¡± growled Armstrong. ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯re supposed to like it,¡± I said. Then, raising my voice, ¡°You speak? Are you with Taquoho?¡± After a few more seconds of hesitation, during which I hoped none of my goblins would get trigger happy, the masked man took his hand from the hilt of his sword and relaxed out of his readied stance. He moved to the side, and beyond him, two more like him flanked what I can only describe as a walking wagon, striding up the road on six spindly brass legs. I could hear the rhythmic whirring of gears and clockwork and the apparatus glowed with a pale blue flame. The Ifrit were walking. Several smaller clockwork creatures walked alongside, or tended to parcels stacked high on the flat bed of the wagons that teetered dangerously on the ungainly gait of the heavy brass artifice. Each of them no doubt had an Ifrit pulling its strings, and they ranged from a dozen centimeters across to half the height of a goblin. Some had four legs, some six. But no two were the same size or proportion. Each of them made a bowing gesture as they passed me by spreading their front two legs on the ground, though none spoke. The goblins chittered and pointed¡ªfingers, not guns¡ªat the convoy. For my part, I wondered what was in the packages. Hopefully the raw materials I¡¯d asked for. I scanned the convoy and the other wagons but didn¡¯t see the familiar face I was looking for. ¡°Is Rufus not with you?¡± ¡°Ah, King Apollo,¡± said a familiar, whispering voice. I turned and looked at the small brass quadruped scuttling toward me. It was about the size of a cat, and radially symmetrical with no front of back that I could determine. The first thing I noticed about his vessel was that the joint for his front right foreleg had been replaced with a ceramic bearing. Huh. ¡°Taquoho,¡± I said. ¡°Our friend Rufus continued on to the coast in effort to secure more of the canvas you requested and pass on some of your ceramic tools. But we have brought additional supplies and Ifrit as we had discussed and agreed.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve brought more than that,¡± I said, eyeing the security detail. Seeing humans from this perspective¡­ man, there¡¯s no other word for it but terrifying. I looked at one of my wranglers, trembling in the human¡¯s shadow with his rifle clutched in his fists. If the human held it, it would look like a child¡¯s toy gun¡ªtoo small for him or her to even operate effectively. ¡°You didn¡¯t say there were humans coming with you.¡± ¡°Did Rufus not explain? Apologies, King Apollo, I am truly embarrassed. These humans are our paladin. We could not have crossed the desert without them and they shall be staying with us at the bluff. I trust this presents no problem?¡± I bared my teeth in what I hoped was a friendly manner. ¡°None at all,¡± I said. Chapter 70 - No Problem At All Chapter 70 - No Problem At All ¡°It strikes me as odd that you would trust human security, with your dislike of the newcomers,¡± I said. I glanced up at one of the humans walking beside a trundling cart. They gave no indication of having heard me. All of them were between level 25 and 30 according to the System, except for the leader, who was all the way up at 35. I wondered what had triggered the ability to be able to see that high a level now. When I¡¯d been able to see the croc levels it was because we¡¯d defeated the stone sloth alpha. But neither Rotte nor Hrott had been higher level. Was it because we¡¯d defeated the javeline as an organization? Because I¡¯d invented guns? Or was it simply at the System¡¯s discretion? So helpful. The artifice on the back of the clifford beside me twisted, though it had no eyes that I could see. I wasn¡¯t sure how creatures of smokeless fire interpreted visual animation, but clearly they could. ¡°Herein lies the error of your assessment, o¡¯ king. The paladin are not new to Lanclova. They are descendants of the first men to try to settle the land beneath Raphina¡¯s watchful eye. All that is left of them, in fact. Their camps and ports and cities lay in ruins¡ªtaken by disaster, disease, and desertion. This land is not kind to outsiders. These humans have lived in the City of Brass for seven generations. Their loyalty to the King of the Ifrit is as unwavering as their bravery is resolute.¡± ¡°It would have to be, to willingly ascend and stay in a village of carnivorous goblins,¡± I said. ¡°Why don¡¯t they speak?¡± ¡°They remove their tongues as secondary sexual characteristics begin to appear.¡± ¡°That¡¯s barbaric!¡± I said. ¡°Is it?¡± asked Taquoho. ¡°I find that to be a crude and reductive description. They seem no worse for wear because of it, nor does it turn them to savages. I do not know why it is done, but they persist in the ritual.¡± ¡°They do it to themselves?¡± ¡°A keepsake of their previous culture¡ªone of the few remaining traditions they observe that did not originate in the City of Brass. Along with their martial regimen and sword forms. But even without it, they could not speak to you. They do not learn the voice of the newcomers. Tabun is one of the few who take this leap.¡± So those brass masks were hiding mutilated-mouthed life-long warriors. Even if I could get a word out of them, they were probably too loyal to the Ifrit to learn anything useful. We reached the bottom of the bluff and Taquoho stretched his legs to their full extent. ¡°The jungle has been pushed back. What are those towers at the corner of the fenced areas?¡± ¡°Stationary defenses,¡± I said. ¡°We recently finished our war with the javeline. They attacked our livestock. It was the last time they¡¯ll attack us.¡± ¡°Curious. It is fortuitous that they did not exterminate you.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like to think so, too,¡± I said, sliding down off the clifford. ¡°We have a freight elevator cleared to bring your wagons up. ¡°There is no need,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°Observe.¡± The walking wagons moved to the base of the bluff and put their spiked legs up, slowly transitioning to a vertical climb. Their security hooked small brass loops onto the sides of the wagons and allowed themselves to be lifted. The smaller spider-bot Ifrit shifted to the front of the cargo as the orientation shifted. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. I grunted. ¡°Huh. That¡¯s a lot of power in those walkers. Is it Ifrit moving them or are they getting energy from some other method?¡± I moved over to the freight elevator with Taquoho and my goblin guards. A goblin counterweight of a half-dozen furry blue menaces descended, pulling us up level with the walkers. They had a drum built into the back of each one. ¡°The Ifrit only directs the movement, energy to move the limbs is stored in wound springs and must be re-wound periodically.¡± ¡°Clockwork, then. Is that how yours works, too?¡± Taquoho lifted one of its legs. ¡°This form is small enough that we can manipulate it at will. We are used to it.¡± The elevator reached the top of the bluff and two of Buzz¡¯ builders hooked us and pulled the boom over the ground. The first of the Ifrit walkers reached the top of the cliff and pulled itself over. The goblins started to take notice, and a rising tide of chittering brought a decent portion of the tribe running¡ªuntil they saw the humans. Their reaction was much the same as mine had been: visceral fear and panic, causing a surging tide of goblins to flee as far from the southern elevator as they could. In many cases, that meant flinging themselves from the top of the bluff. ¡°What an unfortunate degree of friction,¡± observed Taquoho. ¡°They¡¯ll come around,¡± I said, hoping I was telling the truth. Still, it made me nervous having humans at Village Apollo. Part of me felt it was like inviting night haunts to roost in the eves of the buildings. I had wondered how I¡¯d feel when I encountered humans here. Would I feel a sense of camaraderie? Maybe loss or longing? I hadn¡¯t been long in this goblin body. Though the days ran together without my cell phone keeping the date for me, it couldn¡¯t have been more than a few weeks? A month? Two? And unlike Ringo, who¡¯d apparently gone native quite quickly, I still felt that my mind was mostly human. But this pint-sized perspective and innate fear of what were, ultimately, the apex predators of my old world, put into no uncertain terms that any vestiges of my humanity would most likely matter little to actual humans. I was a blue, fuzzy goblin. Not a man. A level 1 nuisance at best. Humans were tall, strong, agile, and didn¡¯t fall over if a predator looked at them funny. They had hands that could break as easily as build, and how many of my tribe could this handful of warriors cut down before they were stopped? More than a javeline mauler, or even a croc-knocker, I was sure. ¡°I wasn¡¯t prepared to host humans,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll have to have some larger quarters arranged. If you¡¯d like to rest, we can carry on later.¡± I whistled for some of Buzz¡¯ builders, at least the ones who hadn¡¯t flung themselves off the cliff. They returned with the taskmaster who took one look at the masked humans and shook so bad that his knees clacking together sounded like a woodpecker going to town on some pine. ¡°Buzz, they¡¯re going to need somewhere to sleep,¡± I said. ¡°Dry and warm. Presumably a latrine, as well, and maybe facilities to cook and wash.¡± Buzz just stared at the humans. I snapped my fingers in front of his face, and when that didn¡¯t work I gave him a solid smack. He squawked, and finally turned my direction. ¡°Buzz! They¡¯re guests.¡± My lead builder considered. ¡°We could knock in a few walls what to make rooms longer. I¡¯ll get the lads onnit, boss.¡± Buzz beat a hasty retreat, casting the human warriors a fearful look over his shoulder. But a moment later, I saw several of his builders with flint saws and mallets. ¡°Buzz is the one to talk to if you need any kind of facilities managed or constructed.¡± ¡°We are humbled by your accommodation,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°However, my kin are eager to see the village I¡¯ve described¡ªthough it has changed much from my description. I believe, even, that I hear the ring of a steel hammer. And do not think I failed to observe that several of your tribe now carry metal tools.¡± I grinned. ¡°What can I say? We¡¯ve been busy.¡± Taquoho tried to keep his excitement under wraps, but apparently Ifrit get the tippy-taps and it wasn¡¯t exactly subtle. ¡°The speed at which you have progressed through the rudimentary sciences continues to impress. May we see the work area, and perhaps the artifice you¡¯re working on?¡± ¡°I thought you¡¯d never ask,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯ll get your people and gear situated soon enough. I¡ª¡± I stopped as a group of shouts drew my attention to a building that had slumped over. It fell in on itself as a handful of builders scattered for cover. I caught some of the paladins exchanging what I imagine were nervous glances underneath those masks. ¡°Not there, obviously. Someplace still standing. Shall we, Taquoho?¡± Chapter 71 – Infernal Engines Chapter 71 ¨C Infernal Engines Armstrong and his scrappers tried to stay between me and the humans, in much the same way the paladins tried to stay between him and Taquoho. Mostly this resulted in the two groups of bodyguards bumping and jostling through the village as I took Taquoho and a few of the other Ifrit to the north side where the igni and engineers worked in tandem. ¡°I¡¯m not as far along as I¡¯d hoped we would be when you returned,¡± I admitted. ¡°Getting the iron from the swamp turned out to be more¡­ challenging than I¡¯d anticipated and the javeline making their move threw an extra monkey wrench into things. We were forced to focus on making weapons both to defend ourselves and make progress in the swamp. But now, we¡¯re back in development mode. Without the javeline causing trouble for local goblin tribes, I can focus on unifying and feeding them to transition them into working on the space program.¡± ¡°A clever use of bio-lightning, to be sure,¡± said Taquoho, eying one of the tesla wasp spears being tested by two goblins on an unfortunate (or perhaps kinky) third member. I debated telling the Ifrit about King Ringo being the source of the know-how on the wasp larvae, but decided that wasn¡¯t my story to tell. ¡°Huntsville ended up being a veritable treasure trove of resources. It¡¯ll be a launch pad that extends our reach to encompass the other bluffs and wrangle more livestock. Mostly thanks to this,¡± I tapped the steel springs at my legs. ¡°Do the Ifrit use much steel? Or do you stick to brass?¡± ¡°We are familiar with steel, though we find it ill-suited to our purposes so we seldom trade for it. Copper and zinc are much more plentiful near The City and brass is more malleable at lower temperatures. Our true forms adhere to zinc especially well, which makes brass ideal for our vessels.¡± Taquoho lifted one of his vessel¡¯s forelegs, waving it about as if to demonstrate. Several other Ifrit vessels of varying sizes scuttled about, investigating the smithing area. The igni stopped work to watch them, eyeing the little clockwork bodies as they stoked their forges with hammers close to hand incase the little spirits got a little too curious. I approached Promo at his workstation, and he quickly made a show of shuffling papers around, but it wasn¡¯t hard to tell that the whole charade was an effort to hide a piece of paper with little boxes on it. I sighed. Those canoneer comics were spreading. ¡°Boss! Good to see yeh, and yer, um, friends.¡± he caught sight of the humans and patted around behind him on the table until his fingers wrapped the familiar handle of his own hammer. ¡°Big jobs, ain¡¯t they?¡± ¡°Taquoho, this is Prometheus, the boss of my smiths.¡± Taquoho performed a bow, spreading his forelegs. ¡°Prometheus. I am humbled to meet you.¡± ¡°Call me Promo,¡± he said. Taquoho tilted up toward me. ¡°Familiar brevity!¡± he whispered. One of the noblins squawked as an Ifrit vacated its vessel and flowed into one of the forge impellers, stoking the flame and nearly singing the ignis¡¯ fur. Good thing they were resistant to heat damage. Others examined ceramic receives for unfinished rifles. I saw one gun cock itself and the hammer drop. Thankfully it hadn¡¯t been loaded. ¡°I¡¯d have your people be careful around those,¡± I said. ¡°And refrain from possessing any of the ammunition. I wouldn¡¯t want someone to set off a rockette by accident and get separated.¡± I considered for a moment as I pictured one of the fire spirits leaping into a basket of rockettes. ¡°I have to ask, do Ifrit produce heat?¡± ¡°No more than you, yourself do,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°The subtle fire of our beings consumes the magic substrate that infuses all things. It is an elegant way to take sustenance. Unlike our paladin friends, and yourself, who must crudely masticate nutrients and cycle them through an excretory system.¡± I wasn¡¯t sure if I ought be offended that the Ifrit was appalled at the concept of digestion. I shrugged. ¡°Goblin scat actually has quite a few applications, I¡¯ve found. Like flying balloons, rocket fuel, and blasting powder.¡± One of the Ifrit near Promo¡¯s workstation flared blue, and then a shade of light pink. Taquoho straightened and observed, shifting his own hue from a pale blue to a shade of orange, violet, and then back to blue. He turned to me (though I couldn¡¯t tell his vessel¡¯s front from its back if you held an RPP to my head). This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°Basha Delton Rathraha Ithius Fayad wishes to know, what is the purpose of the angular shaft with the rounded triangular plate?¡± ¡°Ah,¡± I said, moving over to inspect it. ¡°Promo, you should have told me it was ready,¡± I said. ¡°Din¡¯ want to be rude, King,¡± said Prometheus. ¡°Do yeh like it?¡± I picked up the rotor for the prototype engine with the small offset shaft that would make up the core of the engine. It was¡­ surprisingly accurate, for goblin work. I glanced down at the desk, where Luther¡¯s first canon build manual for the Church of the Right Angle showed the ordained dimensions for the prototype rotor. I turned to the Ifrit who had asked the colorful question. ¡°This, erm,¡± I thought hard for a moment. ¡°Baderaithifa,¡± The Ifrit in question, and several others, flared at the mention of its shortened name. I didn¡¯t understand, as I¡¯d made a mental note to make sure I caught all the first syllables. Taquoho waved his forelegs frantically. ¡°Please do not shorten Basha Delton Rathraha Ithius Fayad¡¯s name! You are not yet familiar enough with them, nor are several others in our company. This is offensive to their union.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I said. ¡°Isn¡¯t that your custom?¡± ¡°It is my custom,¡± said Taquoho, ¡°Based on this union¡¯s dealings with outsiders and their needs for brevity.¡± I bowed. ¡°My apologies.¡± The Ifrit seemed placated for the moment, so I continued. ¡°This is the next step in our technological progression: an internal combustion engine.¡± I looked at the rotor. ¡°Well, technically this is just part of the engine. My chief engineer, Sally, has the outer shell. It still needs work, but we¡¯ll be firing up the first prototype here in the next couple days once I¡¯m convinced it won¡¯t explode.¡± ¡°Your desire for caution is laudable,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°May we see the ceramic kilns? And this prototype engine powered by internal flames?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I said. I slung the rotor over my shoulder. ¡°Promo, I¡¯m taking this with me.¡± ¡°Give the engineers my best,¡± said the noblin chief. I waved and led the party to the northeast corner, past the air traffic control tower and the landing strip. The strip had been cleared, with all the aircraft returned to Canaveral with enough goblins to fend off the lizards. We passed the paper press next, where fresh sheets were being pressed under flat stones and cut into sheets. Javier stood waiting nearby with the tribe¡¯s only pair of metal shears, waiting to cut it. ¡°You have developed a paper process?¡± asked Taquoho. ¡°We have,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯re not exactly hurting for timber, so the cast-offs can be pulped and pressed.¡± I pulled a fresh sheet off the stack. ¡°I imagine you don¡¯t get enough trees in the desert to make paper on the regular. If it¡¯s something you¡¯d be interested in trading for, we already have plans to set up another cask.¡± Taquoho waved his leg dismissively. ¡°The Ifrit keep no written records. Paper is for rich newcomers to fan themselves in the late summer.¡± Hmm¡­ ¡°I bet I could give you a reason to want paper,¡± I said. ¡°Give me two days.¡± We moved on to the ceramics work spaces. Sally was overseeing one of the kilns being fired up, with a pair of noblins stoking the charcoal flames beneath the blower. I waved to her, and she caught sight of the rotor in my hand and began to chitter. ¡°You want to see how this fits in the outer case?¡± I asked. She jumped up and down. I held out the triangular rotor. My chief engineer snatched it out of my hands and ran to compare it to the crank case. By divine providence, the two looked compatible. ¡°I¡¯ll be damned,¡± I said, looking at the canoneer drawings on the bench nearby. I suppose divine providence wasn¡¯t too far off. The new noblin variants were doing what I couldn¡¯t: establishing and maintaining manufacturing standards. The would-be religious nuts might end up being more useful than I¡¯d thought after all. ¡°My new friends, you¡¯re looking at the first prototype engine case and rotor. All it¡¯s missing now is some spark plugs." Taquoho approached the engine. A small lid on a reservoir concealed within his vessel slid open, and the formless fire slipped from the tiny spider-bot into my prototype engine. ¡°Fascinating!¡± his voice echoed from inside. ¡°You say this will produce angular torque?¡± ¡°For the gliders, boats, tools, and other purposes.¡± I pressed my hands against one side of the case. ¡°Hold the case together!¡± I called out. A few of the goblins dropped what they were working on and ran over, putting their weight into the two ceramic pieces to help me hold them together with the rotor in place. I knocked on the ceramic. ¡°Taquoho, see if you can spin that rotor. It should have very little clearance." The metal scratched as it began to rotate, but it didn¡¯t take long for it to slow again. Taquoho slid out of the exhaust port in the crank case and back into his walking vessel. ¡°I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s too heavy,¡± he said. ¡°As I said, steel is difficult for us to move. Perhaps if it were zinc.¡± I shook my head. ¡°With the abuse this thing is going to take, I don¡¯t think zinc is going to cut it. That¡¯s alright. We have a liquid fuel we¡¯re going to try.¡± I turned to Sally. ¡°Seal it up. The Ifrit brought bolts to lock everything down. By tomorrow night, we should be ready for the first test-fire." One of the other Ifrits flashed and chirped a series of musical notes. Taquoho stretched his limbs out. ¡°Behern Galt Muya pays you a compliment, and reminds me that it is time for our prayer. I look forward to seeing more of your artifice and beginning to incorporate your ceramic parts.¡± he sighed. ¡°Would that I could look upon The City from one of your gliders, but alas the creatures in the deep desert would be quick to attack anything with wings.¡± ¡°The Ifrit observe a deity?¡± Taquoho raised his leg in warning. ¡°You should not ask about it. It is taboo for many unions to discuss it with anyone from outside The City.¡± I nodded. ¡°See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil,¡± ¡°Just so,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°Wise words. But it is missing the most crucial command of all.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± I asked. ¡°Practice no evil.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± I said, running a hand through my fur. ¡°I¡¯ll have to consider adopting that one.¡± Chapter 72 - Trinkets Chapter 72 - Trinkets The next day I was awoken by frantic squawking and another hail of notifications. I brushed them aside and raced out to see that Ifrit had taken over one of the cranes and pulleys and were working the mechanisms. Others had settled into the gearing for the drop hammers, and yet another was roasting in the test balloon over the scat pile. Others were spinning augers, pottery wheels, or stoking forge bellows. The whole village looked to be possessed by pale blue sprites. I relaxed. Armstrong ran up, rifle at the ready, fur matted from where he¡¯d been sleeping. Becoming my body-guard had given him the benefit of being able to sleep and wake when I did, instead of being beholden to the typical hobgoblin hours. I waved him down. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Armstrong.¡± Some of the tribe didn¡¯t think so, but mostly they were amazed at tools suddenly moving by themselves. Most of them hadn¡¯t been onboard the heavy glider when Taquoho took over controls from Eileen. I had to imagine she was sitting smug watching other goblins have their devices coopted. The small spider bot I recognized as belonging to Taquoho scurried up. ¡°I apologize for this,¡± he said. ¡°My kin can be quite incorrigible.¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright. I was hoping this would happen,¡± I said, laughing. ¡°I wanted your Ifrit to integrate into the tribe, feel at home, and learn how to work with my tribe to get the most out of our engineering.¡± I watched a pair of goblins getting pulled along by the paper-pulper jig lines. Taquoho worried the ground with his front two legs. ¡°I suppose with your leave, it¡¯s alright,¡± he said. Then he flared a moment, which I had to assume was the Ifrit version of clearing his throat. ¡°We have unpacked much of the trade brought for you.¡± ¡°Lead the way!¡± I said. Armstrong whistled for a few more bodyguards as we trotted to the Ifrit/human quarter of the bluff. Buzz had erected a few buildings that looked more accommodating to the human proportions, though it seemed like the paladins weren¡¯t quite ready to trust my chief builder¡¯s efforts just yet. They¡¯d erected their own tent pavilions and cooking stations. It also seemed that not all my goblins held onto their innate fear of humans, because at least two cuddle puddles had made their way into the tents, settling onto the sleeping humans for warmth. The paladins seemed at a loss for how to deal with them. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. A few Ifrit were present, as well. Some of them had abandoned their vessels for the light wraps Taquoho had used last time¡ªthe equivalent of using a pair of camp sandals after a long hike in boots, I suppose. I spotted at least one human thumbing through what looked like a blue-tinted paper brochure with hand-drawn art along side a pair of Ifrit in their light gauze getups and narrowed my eyes. Friggen canoneers. The strange walking wagons had been unloaded. I spotted stacks of brass piping, crates of threaded bolts and associated tools (clearly meant to fit on Ifrit vessel connections), two brass casks, three barrels of coal, rods of copper, brass, and zinc, various rings and gears, their own versions of bearings. I also spotted spools of copper wiring, springs, more lodestones, and a variety of powder compounds I couldn¡¯t identify at a glance. And some stacked canvas¡ªwhich I realized had been the canvas covering the supplies on the wagons. Ironically, the simple canvas covers used to weatherproof and secure the cargo were perhaps the most important thing the Ifrit had brought. I went and lifted the canvas, testing the weight and thickness. It was light and had a little bit of give, perfect for our needs. Then I moved on and took a look at the metal fixtures. There were a variety of arms, ball joints, sockets, connectors, hinges, flanges, brackets, and a lot of what would amount to cast-off in most workshops but was a goldmine here. Plenty of pipe-sections and joints filled one barrel, and I was sure I¡¯d be able to find a use for them. ¡°Our friend Rufus is acquiring more sailcloth and other items from the coast for you, but I hope this offering demonstrates our good faith and interest in incorporating ceramics into our culture.¡± It was the richest treasure trove I¡¯d seen since coming to Rava. All the scraping and scrapping we¡¯d had to do for a little metal, some sulfur, and some magnets and these guys had dumped a crate of it into my lap. I could have jumped for joy. I could have wept. And yet¡­ something about their phrasing bothered me. Incorporating ceramics into our culture. Nothing about friendship, or alliance, or a relationship to tribe Apollo. Despite their presence here, they weren¡¯t here for a goblin king or his enterprising tribe. They were here to further their own material sciences. ¡°Taquoho, you honor me,¡± I said. The Ifrit vessel bowed. ¡°The honor is mine, King Apollo.¡± I whistled for the goblins in the human tents, and they came to wakefulness like a slow tide, if the water were furry and groaned and scratched its butt. ¡°Let¡¯s go! We¡¯ve got goods to distribute.¡± I pointed at the piles. My goblins¡¯ ears perked up when they realized it was their king giving instructions. ¡°Canvas to Javier, metals to Promo. Nuts, bolts, cogs, and springs to Sally. Nails and piping to Buzz. Let¡¯s go, go, go!¡± The goblins gained their energy back and swooped in on the goods like a pack of ravenous vultures. I¡¯m surprised half the goods didn¡¯t get destroyed before they made it out of eyesight. I watched them go. ¡°Quite industrious creatures. I never imagined¡­¡± said Taquoho. ¡°Well, they take after their king, I suppose.¡± I turned and faced the Ifrit. ¡°The seals on the engine won¡¯t be strong enough today so I¡¯ve got some free time for an old idea I toyed around with for a design contest once. Why don¡¯t you come find me after the eclipse. Until then, your people can get with Sally or Promo with designs for any ceramic parts you want.¡± ¡°As you say, King Apollo,¡± said Taquoho, bowing. He waved a foreleg goodbye I trotted off, trying not to let my shock and glee show. The treasure he¡¯d just dropped at my feet, all for a few chooms of crude industrial ceramics. And for the first time in what felt like weeks, the Sword of Damocles that was the javeline wasn¡¯t hovering inches above the back of my neck. Though how long had I been here? The moon on Rava was tidally locked, so I had no way of knowing whether a month had passed without counting individual days, and the thought hadn¡¯t even occurred to me while flitting from one crisis to another. Did Rava even observe a custom of discrete months? Never mind that. Today, I had time to tinker. I looked up at the skyline of the village and the self-moving artifice that scraped the rooftops. I knew why the Ifrit had chosen the cranes, the drop hammers, and the balloons. Their squat walkers were stuck close to the earth. They wanted a better view. Well, I had the means to give them one they¡¯d never want to give up. Chapter 73 - Coaxial Motivation Chapter 73 - Coaxial Motivation They say idle hands are the devil¡¯s playthings, so I put mine to work in the engineering quarter on the northeast side of the village. I¡¯d confiscated more of the noblin comics this morning¡ªones that appeared to depict me designing a divine rocket to smite the javeline¡ªa very different sequence of events than I remembered. The nice thing about paper is that it¡¯s light, even if it¡¯s not very strong. But I didn¡¯t need it to be. The brass parts from the Ifrit had included several globular and cylindrical vessels I had to imagine were originally designed to hold Ifrit. Looking close, every piece of metal had been inlaid with geometric patterns or designs, all of it possessing some form of radial symmetry. I surmised that must have been what passed for fashion among the fire elementals. I selected a light bottle, and then took some copper rings, a handful of brass gears and rods, and went to work. Drones had been the new hotness back on Earth. Devices with four or eight motors dominated college robotics labs and flying fields¡ªand with good reason. They were cheap, had easily replaceable parts, and lithium batteries came in all shapes and sizes. But what they weren¡¯t, was efficient. Aerodynamically, they were about as wasteful as a design could get¡ªfour motors, four small props working double-time to make up for a lack of surface area and wingtip vortices, and no swashplate like a helicopter for directional control meant motors had to accelerate or decelerate to change pitch or heading. A swashplate is what makes a helicopter a helicopter¡ªIE: an abomination unto aviation, unlike a much more reasonable fixed wing aircraft. In a nutshell, the swashplate converts stationary control inputs into outputs on a rotating plane. It¡¯s a way to have the helicopter blades pitch up when they¡¯re at the back of the aircraft for more lift and flatten out by the time they get to the front of the aircraft. That simple transition tilts the whole thing forward, and the helicopter is able to accelerate. Granted, there¡¯s a whole lot more advanced physics involved, like gyroscopic procession, blade flap, and yada yada boring helicopter stuff. Yawn. But the basic principle is, mechanically, not all that complex. A few push-pull rods, a pair of matched discs that move up and down, and some bearings to make it all smooth. I¡¯d often wondered what you could accomplish with having a main rotor without a helicopter attached. You¡¯d need a pretty advanced autopilot to be able to stabilize it. Or, alternatively, a pilot able to intimately feel and understand the aircraft itself. I went to work sketching designs and laying out parts. Then I started to tinker. The rings formed a central hub, from which the brass bottle hung. Above that, push-pull rods connected to a stationary plate, and a spinning plate above connected to a short rotor mast. The Ifrit had given me all the brass tubing I needed, and a four-way connector made the base of the rotor head. Gearing let me create an assembly and bearings let me mount it with almost zero friction in the whole system. I had the frame nearly done and started folding paper over the rotor blade sections. I looked up as the sun passed behind Raphina¡¯s closed eye. The daily eclipse, already. I blinked and looked around. An audience of both goblins and Ifrit had gathered, watching me work with interest. Even one of the canoneers madly scribbled something on a bit of paper. The only one not interested was Armstrong, who dozed in the corner, finding my inventions about as interesting as white bread when they didn¡¯t go boom. The Ifrit were here for ceramics. I had no illusions about that. Taquoho might personally have a passing curiosity as someone who found newcomers and their trinkets a novelty, but the other Ifrit weren¡¯t interested in Apollo, goblin king and inventor. I had to give them something they couldn¡¯t ignore. Clay and kilns would only take this relationship so far. Taquoho was in a group of several larger Ifrit vessels, likely discussing what it was I was building¡ªand I doubt it went missed that I was using primarily parts they had brought. It meant I was designing a device they could almost reproduce. But human know-how and goblin tech insanity was the missing puzzle piece. The Ifrit refused to speak to any goblins, choosing (or capable only) of communication through a mediator who I was beginning to realize did not actually have much pull within the greater Ifrit social structure by the way he bowed and supplicated to several of the others. Time to elevate his standing. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Taquoho, I¡¯ve got a gift for you,¡± I said. Several of the Ifrit around the fiery translator flared various shades. The little spiderbot vessel skittered forward. ¡°You should refrain from interrupting conversations between unions. Many among my kin find such things offensive.¡± ¡°So you don¡¯t want what I¡¯ve got to give you?¡± tippy taps. ¡°I did not say that, King Apollo! I only wish to help you navigate the complex social norms of my culture so that you don¡¯t unintentionally offer insult. I¡¯m very curious to see the artifice you¡¯ve wrought. But¡­¡± One of the larger proxies strode forward. It had master-work geometric patterns inlaid on the bronze parts, along with detailed jewel inlays at intervals that represented, as best I could tell, the fibonacci sequence. It flared a series of colors. ¡°Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do is the ranking member of the delegation, here. Gifts should be offered to his union, and he may distribute them among the Ifrit if he sees fit to do so.¡± I looked at the gaudy vessel. Clearly any gifts offered to the ¡®ranking member¡¯ would stay squarely in his¡­ claws? Spikes? Never mind. He didn¡¯t even know what it was, and yet he¡¯d take it away from Taquoho just to swing his weight around. The Ifrit in question stepped forward, ready to receive the gift. Wasn¡¯t happening. ¡°Ah. Well, please inform Mr. Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do that this isn¡¯t a gift for the Ifrit delegation. It¡¯s a gift for my friend, Taquoho, with whom I share familiar brevity. I find attempts to diminish that distinction crude and reductive.¡± ¡°King Apollo!¡± So be it. I continued. ¡°Now, Taquoho, where I come from it¡¯s considered rude to keep a host waiting when they offer a ride to their guest.¡± ¡°A ride?¡± asked Taquoho. He inched closer. ¡°This is some sort of new vessel? The legs don¡¯t look to be articulate.¡± ¡°They don¡¯t need to be. It doesn¡¯t walk. Take it for a spin.¡± The lid on the reservoir in Taquoho¡¯s vessel slid open, and a small cyclone of flames streamed from one vessel to another. The pale blue fire tucked itself into the brass bottle build into my newest device, and then spread over the assembly above. ¡°Zinc paddles and reciprocators. Married plates on bearings moving on three axis. This part¡­ freely rotating. This is like the device you were testing when last I arrived. Yet¡­ it is designed for one of my kind.¡± ¡°Is this one too heavy for you?¡± By way of answer, the blades began to spin. I¡¯d designed a stacked set of coaxial, counter-rotating blades to eliminate the counter-torque problem. Without an engine to speak of, the only noise it made on the smooth greased bearings was the air being displaced. Taquoho raised the swashplate a hair and the individual blades took an angle. The vessel tipped to one side, but the Ifrit caught it and tilted the rotor the opposite way until it leveled out. Then it raised the pitch higher and slowly lifted into the air off only the power of the Ifrit itself. The device was so light that the blades didn¡¯t really need to move incredibly fast to leave the ground. The paper-covered wings offered very little durability for harsh aerodynamic conditions or crashes but were very efficient in their thrust-to-weight ratios at small scale, which was something a device like this needed. Taquoho lifted himself above head level, and then clear of the structures. He got the hang of it quickly, thanks to his innate feeling for devices Ifrit possessed. I¡¯ve been told that hovering is the hardest part of flying a helicopter, sometimes taking a week or more for a new pilot to manage. But Taquoho acted like he was born in the cockpit when he drifted around in a lazy circle, seeing the village from the air. He dropped back down, arresting his fall with a quick pull of pitch on his rotors, which scattered a half-dozen sheets of paper from my workbench that a few of the Ifrit were quick to chase after. Probably hoping to glimpse the designs for this new flying vessel. Good luck with that, since those sheets were just the leftover comics that I¡¯d used to paper the rotor blades. Taquoho didn¡¯t land, but instead hovered just out of reach. ¡°King Apollo, I thank you for this gift and opportunity. I¡¯m sure other members of the delegation would also appreciate gifts such as these, if such is your inclination.¡± Unsurprisingly, Haughty Vocal Bear Mirror Do, or whatever his name actually was, stepped forward. He spoke in a voice, much more scratchy and crackling than Taquoho¡¯s, and clearly less practiced in conversing with non-Ifrit. ¡°Give gift vessel.¡± I looked across at the Ifrit. ¡°If other members of the delegation are interested in receiving such gifts, then I suggest they consider forming friendships with other goblins capable of offering them,¡± I replied, offering a grin. ¡°This was, after all, a gesture of just that. Friendship.¡± With no ulterior motive whatsoever. Chapter 74 - Turned Over Chapter 74 - Turned Over Once Taquoho descended low enough to actually translate my words, I¡¯m sure it wasn¡¯t lost on the Ifrit that, if they wanted similar treatment, they would have to learn to communicate with words, befriend goblins, and earn their favor. After all, every hobgoblin and noblin understood the fundamentals of flight thanks to the quasi-gestalt nature of the Goblin Tech Tree. With one swoop, I¡¯d turned them from obstacles to goals in their own right and given more Ifrit a reason to leave their xenophobia at the door. Sustained flight is a powerful motivator. Sure, an Ifrit could copy the design, and probably even improve on it. But I¡¯m betting it would lack that Goblin Tech Tree special sauce that greased the applied sciences on Rava. Gliders and coaxial Ifrit vessels were, for the moment, a monopoly of Tribe Apollo. And soon, we¡¯d have another. I checked on the engine seals for our first rotary engine and found that they had cured enough for a test, and that the single rotor design with pinion gear translating torque properly to the eccentric shaft, which serves a similar function to the cam shaft in a piston-driven engine. Normally an engine would have multiple rotors applying energy to the eccentric shaft (called so because it¡¯s got offset lobes to make up for the way the rotors spin slightly off-center in the housing). But iron was short around here, so our first engine would only have one rotor, fed by a bladder of natural kerosene from the bog springs. There¡¯s a lot of advantages to rotary engines that made them ideal for material-starved goblins. They could be built small and light, they had only a handful of moving parts, and they could burn the gnarliest, filthiest crud-laden bunker fuel mixes. Which meant a rotary engine should gobble up the impure raw bog sludge and come back for seconds. If they¡¯re so great, why aren¡¯t they more popular, you might ask. Well, just like my first roommate in undergrad, they¡¯re weird and a bit gross. It¡¯s tough to get their output clean enough to pass emissions standards without reducing the output below a useful level or making the engine prohibitively expensive. Luckily, I¡¯d not yet encountered Rava¡¯s version of the EPA. It was time to get our rotary on. I watched Sally get the engine bolted to the test block with brass bolts the Ifrit had supplied, while two wranglers came up with the custom spark plugs held at arms length as they cracked and popped. What they really were, was small ceramic jars with a pair of tesla wasps inside, ornery and sparking. The bog had supplied everything we really needed to create an engine. Ringo didn¡¯t know the goldmine upon which he sat. He had been using the slick-sheen oil to grease down his hair when I¡¯d met him. He was lucky he hadn¡¯t gone up like a chimney when I pulled my escape. The engineers took the plugs from the wranglers and fitted them to the side of the engine casing. The pops and snaps grew muted. With the business end of the tesla plugs pointed toward something inert, Sally herself brought up the bladder of fuel. And, fun fact, it was an actual bladder from some poor creature. I fitted it to the valve on the fuel intake and gave a little squirt to make sure the flow was good. ¡°Promo!¡± I called. The burly noblin trundled up with a leather band that he wrapped around the shaft of the motor. Our throttle was just a simple brass wrench the Ifrit had given us, connected to another valve. I pulled on it to open it up. ¡°Ready, boss,¡± said Promo. ¡°Pull it!¡± The noblin chief yanked on the leather band, spinning the shaft, and with it, the rotor. Pop. A tiny puff of smoke came out the exhaust port and the engine went still. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Prometheus leaned down and looked at it. ¡°What went wrong?¡± he asked. ¡°Nothing,¡± I said, practically giddy. ¡°It turned over first try!¡± I flipped the fuel valve choke to on and had Promo repeat the process until it popped again to clear the fuel left in the system. Then I gave it slightly less fuel. I learned a lot about small engines when I¡¯d gotten my motorcycle¡ªa hunk-of-junk old Triumph that had been neglected by the first owner. It wasn¡¯t a rotary engine, of course, but most of the principles were the same. The hardest part is getting the fuel-air mix right. Too much fuel meant not enough air. I needed to lean the mixture. Unless you want to give it to me based on theory, I suggested. It did turn over, after all. Stingy system. I gave the nod to Promo, who took the belt again. This time, when he yanked it, nothing happened. I frowned. ¡°Hmm. Armstrong?¡± ¡°Yeah boss?¡± my bodyguard asked. ¡°Help him out, put those muscles to use.¡± Armstrong flexed his arms and cracked his knuckles, strutting over to the eccentric shaft and taking the belt. Despite noblins being bigger, hobgoblins were still stronger. It seemed like noblins were more suited to cerebral pursuits while hobgoblins tended to be more physically skilled variants. He let out a grunt and yanked on it, and I heard the wood of the stump strain under the mounting bolts. Pop, pop. Closer. But we needed more torque on the shaft. At the flying field I¡¯d seen more than a few old timers hand-start their planes, be it via strap, hand-held starter, or just grabbing the tip and whipping the thing down. Seen a few broken fingers, too. I had a second belt brought up, and this time Promo and Armstrong stood on opposite sides of the engine and yanked at the same time. Unfortunately, I¡¯d been fiddling with the engine and didn¡¯t realize they¡¯d wrapped in opposed directions, so all that happened was they both slipped and bonked their skulls on the shaft. Once the two knuckleheads got that issue sorted out, and I doublechecked to make sure they were spinning the rotor in the right direction, I had them try again. Pop pop pop POP POP pop pop¡­ pop. I moved the throttle, trying to give it enough fuel, but it still just didn¡¯t have the initial gusto with only goblin muscle. I could tie a longer band around it and have a few goblins take a swan dive off the bluff, but we weren¡¯t going to be able to rely on blue fuzzy counterweights every time we wanted to crank an engine up to idle. A decent chunk of the crowd started to disperse, interest waning. But Taquoho hovered nearby in his new ultralight helicopter vessel. He¡¯d been flying around in it almost since I¡¯d given it to him, with only brief breaks to rest. He¡¯d been a right menace with the thing, flying all around the bluff. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what the issue is from out here. Would you like me to investigate from within?¡± he asked. I cocked my head. ¡°Would that be alright? I don¡¯t want to put you at any risk.¡± By way of answer, Taquoho touched down and slid from one device to the other, infusing the rotary engine with a pale blue flame. We went through the startup procedure again, getting a handful of pops. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m not an expert at this manner of artifice,¡± said Taquoho. His voice came out the exhaust port. ¡°But it seems that the angular piece is struggling to gain enough speed from the expansion of hot gasses to sufficiently sustain the cycle.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I sighed. ¡°That¡¯s what I figured.¡± Armstrong and Promo were huffing and puffing after their multiple attempts. Even with two strong variants working together, it was looking just like with the early attempts at a pedal-powered glider, goblin muscle just wasn¡¯t up to the task. Even Armstrong was probably only matched in strength to maybe a 12-year old boy, and he was the strongest goblin in the entire tribe. And when I was 12, I¡¯d had a hell of a time trying to pull-start our old, battered lawn mower. This rotary getup wasn¡¯t nearly as well refined as a gas mower engine. I kicked the stump in frustration. What I wouldn¡¯t give for a battery-powered starter. But turning our raw materials into a battery and brushed motor was, if anything, a more time-consuming task than just figuring out the solution. Taquoho streamed out from the exhaust port and back into his little aircraft, as though worried one of his kin might steal it if he left it idle too long. The blades began to spin, and after a moment to gain momentum, he was off the ground again. I watched him climb into the air. At least something had worked today. I had worried that the static friction of his rotors would be too much to overcome. I¡¯d considered co-opting an old mid-1900¡¯s design from before they really got helicopters figured out and most people thought auto-gyros were the future of rotary aviation. There¡¯d been one design in my history of aviation class that was really ridiculous. Instead of power from a central hub, the static friction had been overcome by¡­ Huh¡­ It had been overcome by rockets. Chapter 75 - Spun Up Chapter 75 - Spun Up ¡°Sally! Sally!¡± I yelled. The chief engineer had left the boys to their toys and gone back to work on her own projects about the time Armstrong and Promo decided to put their heads together with an eccentric shaft between them. She looked up from her workstation and shuffled the mix of bark scratching and paper, not-so-conspicuously shifting a cartoon-covered page to the bottom. At least she had the decency to look guilty. I narrowed my eyes. ¡°What¡¯s that one about.¡± Reluctantly, she pulled it out and handed it over, looking down and away as she did. I took the canoneer comic and turned it right-way up, perusing the panels. ¡°This is about me and Chuck,¡± I said. Sally nodded. ¡°Scouting the bog.¡± She nodded again. ¡°We¡¯re sitting awful close together on this clifford.¡± Nod. I handed the page back. ¡°There sure are a lot of these featuring me and Chuck.¡± Emphatic nod. If I was still able, I¡¯m sure my face would be turning red. The canoneers were just the worst. I cleared my throat. ¡°I need some of those spare rockettes that came out too wonky to fit in the guns.¡± Sally went to her stores and fished around until she pulled out a small case containing mis-matched rockette shells that had been deemed worthless for ammunition. They were just hollow shells, so I had to fill and pack them myself. While I did that, I explained to Sally what I needed, and she got to work with a brass fixture the Ifrit had brought with them and a couple of our ceramic bearings. When Sally was done, we had a free-spinning arm with two handles on the back. We had to carry it between us back over to the test area. Promo had gone back to baste some javeline chops with bomb fruit juice, so I sent Armstrong to bring him back. The potbellied noblin lumbered up with his mask raised and saw what we were holding. He waddled over to take it from us, lifting easily what had taken both Sally and I to carry. I envied the noblin for being able to level, a fact which the System handily reminded me with the 5 superimposed above his head. ¡°What¡¯s this gubbin do?¡± he asked, tilting it this way and that, and giving the spinning arm a smack. ¡°Making more of those spinners for the hot-heads?¡± ¡°Nope, it¡¯s a rocket-powered engine starter,¡± I said. I pulled a pair of the rockettes from my pouch and stuffed one of them into the sleeve on the spinning arm. ¡°That socket on the face should marry up to engine shaft and the rockettes should give us a few seconds of high speed rotation, if you can hold on.¡± Prometheus grinned. ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll hold on, hoss. What¡¯s to stop the engine from turning me once it comes alive?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a free-spinning flywheel,¡± I said, giving the arm a tap. ¡°The grips are just so you can push it against the engine. When it comes on, make sure you pull back and get clear.¡± Prometheus nodded, hefting the starter and fitting it to the shaft on the engine. ¡°Ready,¡± Armstrong scratched his chin. ¡°How are you going to start the rockette?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± I stopped. ¡°Good question.¡± ¡°Gotcha covered, boss,¡± said Promo. He whistled another goblin over. ¡°Go get the unfinished blast¡¯em on my workbench. Go on!¡± he gave the goblin a little backside boost with the top of his foot. The goblin ran off, rubbing its backside, and returned with what looked like a mostly disassembled rifle receiver without a breech, barrel, or stock. Just the grip, trigger, and striker. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Armstrong took it and held it up. ¡°No stock? No lever?¡± ¡°Ah, was working on a smaller one, what for close-in fighting,¡± said Promo. ¡°Some of the lads complained about the long guns being unwieldy when the porkbellies got within arm¡¯s reach. But bring it over, yeah?¡± Lord help, Promo had already figured out pistols. Armstrong brought it over, manually pulling back the tab on the striker to cock it, then lined up the striker with the rockette in the starter. ¡°Perfect!¡± said Promo. Shaddup! If you¡¯re not going to unlock the engine ¡®til it starts, you don¡¯t get to claim you¡¯re helping. Dammit, System! Armstrong pulled the trigger and a shower of sparks and smoke exploded, followed by the freewheeling arm taking off like, well, like a rocket. I opened the throttle and turned off the choke as the rotor spun, rockette tracing a circle of flame in the air. Pop pop pop POP POP POP pop pop POP POP pop pop pop. The flame on the rockette flared out. Promo spat on the ground. ¡°Not enough fuel?¡± I hemmed and hawed for a moment, and ran my finger on the inside of the exhaust. It came away black and wet. ¡°Too much fuel,¡± I said. ¡°Not enough air.¡± Drawn air through the intake manifold wasn¡¯t going to be enough, and the fuel was too thick. I needed to aerosolize it, and to do that I needed a carburetor. * * * I won¡¯t bore you with the details of how we rigged up the main shaft to power an impeller which would draw fuel and air into the engine intake. It involved a few gears, bearings, a chain we¡¯d taken from the javeline, and a lot of swearing on my part. I¡¯d even rigged up a clever little release valve so the intake system wouldn¡¯t over-pressurize. When it was done, it looked even more impressive, with the impeller strapped to the case and tubing made of cured gut feeding air and fuel in. But dammit, I¡¯d built an engine, and I was going to run it. Well, technically Sally and Promo had done most of the building. All of it, really. But I told them what to build! A shadow passed overhead and I looked up at Taquoho, hovering nearby. ¡°Another attempt, King Apollo?¡± ¡°Hopefully not an attempt,¡± I said. ¡°Don¡¯t jinx it.¡± The color of Taquoho¡¯s flame flickered slightly. ¡°The superstition of believing a thing will come to pass by speaking of it is an imagined curiosity.¡± ¡°Next you¡¯ll tell me the power of positive thinking is a myth.¡± I fed another rocket into the sleeve and took my place by the throttle, turning the choke on and having Armstrong spin the rotor until the remaining fuel inside burned off. Then I opened up the choke and the throttle, and gave the signal. Sally had the starter pistol now, and she angled it up in order to reach the rockette in the starter and held her other hand in front of her face as pulled the trigger. The miniature rocket flared to life and the freewheel started cranking the engine. Pop pop pop pop pop I opened up the throttle a little more, letting more fuel into the mix. Pop pop POP POP POP I hauled back on the lever. Over the sputtering engine I could hear the impeller whistling as it worked overtime drawing fresh air into the narrow intake throat. Blue smoke began to billow out of the exhaust. I eased up just a little. The starter kept spinning, but I knew the rocket would fizzle in seconds. POP POP POP BRRT BRRRT BRRRRRRR ¡°It¡¯s working!¡± said Taquoho, excitement creeping into his voice. ¡°Now, Promo!¡± I shouted. I cranked the throttle all the way open as the noblin yanked away the starter and dove for cover. The engine rattled and vibrated, and at least one of the brass mounting bolts popped out, sheared from the vibration. I eased down on the throttle, and the noise subsided to a dull rumble. The thing bucked underneath me like a mechanical bull, but I held on and kept adjusting, trying not to lose it. It was going to destroy itself at this rate. Taquoho¡¯s vessel landed so hard it nearly bent one of the brass struts it used as landing gear. The Ifrit streamed out of the brass bottle and into my engine, and I felt the throttle move under my hand. ¡°Hey!¡± I said, but ceded control to the Ifrit. If anyone on the bluff knew fire¡­ The throttle adjusted itself under the touch of the Ifrit until the elemental being found the idle, and then the engine started to purr. Taquoho fled the engine for his bottle, but didn¡¯t immediately spin up and take flight. ¡°That,¡± he said, ¡°was a very dizzying experience.¡± ¡°You did it!¡± I said, laughing. ¡°It¡¯s working!¡± In the grand scheme of things, this thing wouldn¡¯t be winning any F-1 races. It was putting out a couple horsepower at max and was probably just one loose counterweight shy of flying apart and flinging the rotor into the stratosphere. But it was running. An internal combustion engine was running, on Rava, in my village! I started to think something was wrong as a whine began to mount, until I realized that it was the collective cheer of almost 200 goblins. But there was one voice conspicuously absent from the celebration. System? Chapter 76 - Backfire Chapter 76 - Backfire I shut the throttle. The rotary engine died, and I looked between Sally, Armstrong, and Promo, confused. ¡°Do any of you know how to build or operate one of these yet?¡± Promo cocked his head at me. ¡°Reckon I could maybe run it but ye lost me in the build.¡± ¡°Boss, I don¡¯t even know what it¡¯s supposed to be,¡± admitted Armstrong. ¡°I just know it¡¯s loud and it spins and I want one.¡± Sally shrugged and pointed to the build guide she¡¯d followed. I ran both hands through my fur. Somehow, the technology hadn¡¯t unlocked yet. System! What gives? It ran! It¡¯s a working engine. Where¡¯s the unlock?¡± Why?! I buried my face in my hands. I didn¡¯t understand it. The engine worked. And not just goblin worked. This thing was running on pure physics¡ªwould run on Earth, for maybe five minutes before seizing up. It should have been enough to unlock the node in the Goblin Tech Tree. Was it because Taquoho jumped into it? Then why didn¡¯t internal combustion unlock? I pulled the lever off the throttle control and hucked it, screaming out my anger. All the goblins immediately screamed and made throwing motions, many of them throwing whatever was close to hand¡ªincluding mud, bones, a few rocks, and at least one tesla bomb with a half-dozen angry wasps inside. That did a fine job dispersing the crowd as everyone ran to get away from the shocking, hissing wasps. I sat down and thumped the back of my head against the stump. ¡°Boss?¡± asked Armstrong. ¡°Just go,¡± I said. I waved a hand. ¡°All of you!¡± ¡°Even us?¡± said a voice to the side. I looked over at a noblin canoneer hunched over a piece of paper on the ground. ¡°Especially you!¡± The portly, oversized goblin scurried off, papers wrapped up in his arms. I groaned. Luther¡¯s canoneers chronicled everything I did, at all times. I didn¡¯t need comics made of my failures. I just didn¡¯t understand it. Based on everything I¡¯d experienced so far, it should have worked. The engine had working fuel intake, a properly counter-balanced rotor, a heat sink, throttle controls, good seals, and the wasps were alive and popping if the sounds from the spark-plug jars were any indication. Our fuel was clean-burning, had more than enough power, and smooth flow. We¡¯d had combustion. It had been internal. As far as I was concerned, we had internal combustion. How was this even an issue? The System wasn¡¯t volunteering anything, either. It was being its usual recalcitrant self, probably sitting back and laughing at me. I was just glad Tribe Apollo didn¡¯t have a pool, because whoever was on the other side of those admin privileges seemed the sort to delete the ladder while I was swimming. The sun dropped low, and Chuck brought by a bark tray full of kilned pork. Apparently wallowing made me ravenous, because I tucked in and didn¡¯t realize I¡¯d finished until I was licking the grease off the bark. I handed the tray back to Chuck. ¡°Take it you heard?¡± ¡°Problems you can¡¯t punch or ride. Not my forte, boss,¡± he replied, taking the bark and spinning it off into the night. ¡°But you¡¯ll figure it out. You always figure somethin¡¯ out.¡± If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. I sighed. ¡°I just don¡¯t get it. If engines aren¡¯t a part of the Goblin Tech Tree¡­ well, we¡¯re dead in the water. Does the tree end at the preindustrial age? Was this whole moon thing a pipe dream?¡± Chuck lifted his hand and put in front of Raphina. ¡°She¡¯s so close I feel like we could get her with a good thermal, boss.¡± ¡°Orbital dynamics are a bit more complicated than that,¡± I said. ¡°Do they gotta be?¡± he asked, climbing to his feet and shrugging. I laughed, drawing my legs up so I could rest my chin on them. ¡°Would make my job easier if they weren¡¯t.¡± ¡°Maybe you just think too much,¡± he countered. Chuck loped off into the night. Nothing seemed to deter Chuck, or the rest of the goblins for that matter. I was their king, and I would get them to the moon. They had absolute confidence in me¡ªalbeit, as long as I stood behind them. But if I couldn¡¯t even get internal combustion engines off the ground, how would I ever reach Raphina? System, why do goblins follow kings? No, I want to know why goblins show undying loyalty in the first place? There was a pause. System? And what happens if I don¡¯t? What happens if I never reach the moon? A longer pause. Is this a simulation? No answer. Does anything I do here matter? Nothing. * * * I had fallen asleep at the stump and woke up at the very bottom of a sleeping mound with goblins pressing in on all sides. I pulled myself out and showered off at one of the casks. In the distance I could hear the crack crack of rifle fire already, and the deeper whump of a bomb-fruit going off. Some of Neil¡¯s hunters must have been getting some target practice in before going out in search of game. It was surprisingly easy to tune out the explosions, crashes, shouting, and general mayhem of the bluff village sometimes. Amazing how fast you get used to the strangest of circumstances. Even working for a rocket company, I¡¯d never expected explosions to be a daily part of my life. Of course, the first one I¡¯d encountered had been the rocket with me riding it. I took a look at my engine, still silent from the night before, and sighed. Maybe I hadn¡¯t refined the fuel enough. I could run it through another filter to maybe increase the purity. Maybe I needed another wasp in the spark chamber. Maybe the throat of the carburetor was lowering the temperature too much. And maybe goblins were just meant to ride cliffords forever. There was no way to know. Armstrong was still sleeping at the top of the pile, so I took two of my other bodyguards and went looking for Taquoho. The Ifrit had come to begin integrating ceramics into their workflow, and I wanted to see how he was doing. It wasn¡¯t hard to spot the Ifrit, since he was hovering¡ªor rather, wobbling¡ªin the unstable air above the kilns. I worried the paper on his rotors would catch fire with the smoke and cinders starting to rise from the massive ovens. I waved him down, and he descended. Surprisingly, he¡¯d already modified the design with articulated legs from his old vessel and hinges along the blades that allowed them to fold up to save room. The Ifrit dropped onto the ground and scuttled over. ¡°Ah, King Apollo! I noticed that the sheets you chose to paper my airfoils with has small sequential renderings of your tribal history. I wanted to ask about them.¡± I put a palm to my face. ¡°The comics. I¡¯m sorry, Taquoho. It¡¯s what I had handy while I was working. I¡¯m sure you find it crude and reductive.¡± Taquoho raised a placating leg. ¡°On the contrary, o¡¯ king! The Ifrit are formless fire and do not practice representational art, and the format is so intuitive to follow. Truly, I am grateful for these drawings, and some of my kin have taken notice of more art circulating in the village. I wondered if we could perhaps see more of it.¡± ¡°You want more comics?¡± I asked, incredulous. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this, but I¡¯ll talk to the canoneers. Taquoho dipped his vessel. ¡°Thank you, Apollo.¡± I stepped around him to a tray of fired parts from the night before. I didn¡¯t recognize some of them, which I assumed meant they belonged to the Ifrit. ¡°The first orders are going well?¡± ¡°Indeed!¡± said the flame spirit. ¡°The material has all the properties that our friend Rufus promised, and then some. While we cannot manipulate it as easily brass, it is proving to be a most robust material, well suited for complex gearing and artifice. The only problem is, well¡­¡± I got the impression of his gaze shifting and followed that impression over to the row of kilns. ¡°Huh,¡± I said, counting. ¡°I thought we had at least one more,¡± ¡°You did. Until last night.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± I said. And laughed. ¡°You get used to it. Ifrit tech doesn¡¯t blow up in your faces sometimes?¡± ¡°We do not have faces in which to blow up. But I believe I understand the crude and reductive metaphor you are using to convey the normalcy of the situation you describe. In fact, Ifrit artifice is known for its meticulous attention to detail and precision. You would be reasoned and wise to say that it is the defining characteristic of what makes a piece of artifice Ifrit, as compared to say¡­¡± ¡°Goblin artifice,¡± I said. ¡°Which is the opposite. Ramshackle, loose, and¡­¡± I looked at the remains of the kiln, and the ceramic parts that had been imbedded halfway into the neighboring kiln. ¡°One bad kick shy of exploding.¡± ¡°I daresay, yes,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°A philosopher might describe it thus: if it is not about to explode, is it truly goblin artifice?¡± I looked at the Ifrit. I looked at the kiln. I looked at the Ifrit. ¡°Taquoho,¡± I said, backing away and looking around for my taskmasters, ¡°I¡¯m going to get you all the comics you can read, you absolute genius!¡± I grabbed the nearest engineer and told him to find Sally and Promo and have them meet me at the stump. Chapter 77 - Safety Not Guaranteed Chapter 77 - Safety Not Guaranteed ¡°Give me that prybar,¡± I said. Prometheus handed me his new favorite tool¡ªa metal pry-bar that he¡¯d fashioned out of a ruined section of rifle barrel. ¡°Thanks.¡± I smashed the clay jar of Tesla wasps off the connector, ducking as the ornery insects flew out, so disoriented and eager for freedom that they didn¡¯t even bother to sting anyone on their way out. Promo laughed. ¡°Giving up on your combust¡¯em project already, Boss?¡± ¡°The opposite,¡± I grunted. I dug the pry-bar into the mount for the counterweight and managed to work the small plate off the back of the engine. Sally watched in horror as I smashed the relief valve. There would be no relief. ¡°I don¡¯t get it,¡± said Promo, scratching his head. ¡°You said we needed the wasps. And the relief valve. And that doo-dad in the back.¡± ¡°I did say that,¡± I said. ¡°They were very practical and very foolish.¡± The noblin chief cocked his head at me. ¡°Too practical. I built a working engine. A fully-functional prototype engine. Something like I might have built back on Earth if given a few weeks and access to a forge. Just to prove I could, if for no other reason.¡± ¡°And it would¡¯a worked?¡± ¡°Yup,¡± I said. I disconnected the fuel bladder and opened the throat, pulling a popper from my pouch, along with a small ceramic auger. I drilled two small holes through the outer layer and then tipped the small globe so that the bomb fruit juice mixed in could drain out. through the hole. It didn¡¯t take long as the dribble of red juice began to empty into the fuel bladder. ¡°Is that what I think it is?¡± asked Prometheus. ¡°You sure you don¡¯t want me to do that?¡± ¡°Does your fire-crafting skill extend to contact explosives?¡± I asked. Then said, ¡°Forget it, don¡¯t answer that. If this blows up in my face, that¡¯s a random goblin dead. If it blows up in your face, that¡¯s my ignis chief gone. I¡¯m not risking that.¡± Promo dropped his ceramic mask in place. Whether it was to keep me from seeing his expression or because he thought the concoction might explode inside the bladder? Makes no difference, really. Not in the end. In fact, if even the goblins were worried, then I was on the right track. The dribble petered off, and I tossed the damaged popper over my shoulder where a bunch of squawks alerted me that it probably wasn¡¯t the best place to have done that. A small pop and a few angry chitters later, the System didn¡¯t alert me to any lost goblins, so we were still in good shape. I began to cackle. ¡°What¡¯s got into him?¡± asked Armstrong, backing up a bit. ¡°This whole time, I was trying to design the wrong type of engine,¡± I said. I banged on the case to loosen the seals a bit. ¡°Armstrong, get the starter.¡± The scrapper looked to Promo, who shrugged. Eager for a chance to make scarce, Armstrong retreated to a safe distance in order to retrieve the rockette-powered starter. I fished out a round for it and passed it over, then busied myself with hooking up the fuel bladder. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Sally, how¡¯s it look?¡± She made the goblin gesture for explodey. ¡°Perfect. Armstrong, you¡¯re up!¡± Armstrong reluctantly approached with the starter, and Promo pulled out the starter pistol beside him. I climbed atop the engine and squeezed the choke shut. ¡°Promo, give it a few spins,¡± I said. The noblin twisted the shaft a few times, until with a BANG, it nearly jerked out of his hands. He backed off to a safe distance. Or, at least, what he probably thought was a safe distance. I opened the choke and moved the throttle to the half-way mark, then motioned Armstrong forward. ¡°Let ¡®er rip, my friends.¡± Armstrong fitted the starter to the shaft and had Promo hit the rockette with the pistol. The tiny rocket booster ignited and started to swing the ensemble around. The Engine rattled and shook underneath me, popping and hissing. Great gouts of angry, black smoke puffed out of the exhaust and a few weak spots in the seals. Pop pop pop clank pop clang pop pop. I yanked the throttle all the way open. The engine barked and bucked so hard underneath me I worried that it had already come apart. Metal shrieked and protested, and a small plume of smoke pushed its way out of what was once our relief valve. ¡°Sally, plug that!¡± I shouted. My chief engineer ran up with a hammer and pounded the opening flatter until the leakage dropped to a small puff. The starter began to fizzle out and Armstrong pulled it away. Underneath me, the engine bucked, growing hotter and harder to hold onto, struggling to stay clamped around the throttle. One of the mounting bolts snapped, and the thing began twisting on the stump. It was like trying to ride a full-size mechanical bull as a toddler, but I held onto the throttle lever for dear life. The shaft was a blur. My ass was numb from the vibration. POP POP BRRRRT POP BRRRRRR¡­. ¡°Come on, baby!¡± I shouted over the racket. A huge gout of black smoke and orange flame erupted out of the exhaust, thumping in time to the shaking of the motor BRUM BRUM BRUMMMM¡­ ¡°Come on!¡± POP POP BRRRRUUUUMMMM¡­ ¡°YES!¡± I cleared away the notifications to focus on what I was doing. The heatsink on the very, very goblin engine was glowing red hot and a heat haze had started to shimmer on the metal. I tried to push the throttle closed, but the abused lever snapped off in my hand. ¡°Uh oh!¡± I yelled. ¡°Oh no!¡± ¡°Apollo, get out of there!¡± shouted Promo. Sally just screamed and dove for the deck, wrapping her hands over her head. Now that she understood the motor, she definitely understood that it was about to blow sky-high. And I was sitting on top of the damn thing! Worse, I couldn¡¯t bring myself to let go! ¡°Help!¡± I yelled. I felt a big, furry body tackle me off the top of the top of the engine, and we tumbled across the dirt. I ended up face-down and tried to raise my head, but Armstrong shoved my face back into the dirt. ¡°Get down, your highness!¡± he yelled over the screaming, whine of the engine. The whole ensemble finally gave out with an earth-shaking clap of thunder that left my ears ringing and caused at least one building in the village to collapse. Armstrong finally moved, and I pulled myself out from under him, looking around. Every goblin in the square was on the floor, ducked and covering, and most were stacked behind hard cover where it existed. On the stump was a warped piece of glowing metal with a gaping wound where the internals tore their way out of the housing. ¡°Where¡¯d the rotor go?¡± I asked, looking at the sizzling hole. A heavy object crashed through the roof of the air traffic control tower a hundred or more meters away, scattering goblins from the rise. The entire thing collapsed inward in a plume of adobe brick dust and wood splinters. ¡°Found it,¡± said Promo. ¡°Boss! Booooossss!¡± ¡°Hey boss!¡± I looked over. Eileen and Neil were practically coming to blows over who would be the one to reach me first. They tripped each other up and started rolling in a tangle of blue limbs and plausibly deniable sucker punches. When they finally stopped and untangled themselves, both of them jumped to their feet. ¡°HeybossIhadacrazyideawhatifweputthatonnagliiiiider?!¡± Neil just spread his hands apart. ¡°Combust¡¯em boats.¡± I looked up at Promo and grinned. ¡°Ready to build the next one?¡± Promo made the moon-sign of the Church of the Right Angle over his chest and grinned back. ¡°Forges are already fired up, boss!¡± Chapter 78 - Independent Suspension of Disbelief Chapter 78 - Independent Suspension of Disbelief The week or so following the reinvention of the internal combustion engine passed in a frenzy of activity that saw renewed vigor in the bog iron collection and the first pumps pulling swamp kerosene out of the wells. The first powered vehicle had come in the form of boats to scout and collect more ore and fuel. Wheeled vehicles weren¡¯t far behind, and powered flight was still the second priority behind food security. But it¡¯s tough to worry when you¡¯re got an engine to redline. Village Apollo starting to sound more like a rat-rod car show than a medieval village. Internal combustion had been leveraged to power not just our first generation of gas-powered vehicles, but various tools and processes as well. Lathes were turning to mill out rounded parts, a motor-driven blower with brass piping had taken over for the crank teams on every forced-air kiln, and the friggen canoneers were busy enforcing quality standards under threat of branding deviants as heretics. But a food shortage meant we couldn¡¯t afford to rest on our laurels. And while the first generation of gas vehicles had been nautical, the second generation was meant to broaden our range and let us navigate the savannah to the south. I watched Sally and her team assemble the frame for a five-goblin buggy. Other frames lined the yard, swarmed by goblins with hammers, wrenches, knives, and saws. We were making everything from 2 wheeled motorcycles for a pair of partners, to big 6 and 8-wheeled monsters that carried 15 or more goblins. I wished we had some rubber for tire-making, but you can¡¯t have everything. After struggling with the rotary engine, the rest just kind of fell into place. Basic automobiles weren¡¯t exactly complex machines, when you think about it. Rotational energy goes back to the gearbox, which sends power through the drive shaft, and a simple rack and pinion gear set allows for steering. These vehicles didn¡¯t even have batteries, airbags, or windscreens. They were the kind of bare bones rigs you¡¯d see in a post-apocalyptic flick, complete with hooligans hanging off at odd angles. Every type of resource we had was being utilized, from the metal frames and wheel banding to wood paneling and rims, to bone armor and suspension, to ceramic gearing. The scent of exhaust fumes and the rumble of fresh engines reverberated through the ground. My hunters and wranglers, especially, had been suffering the wait for our first push out from the bluff on wheels ever since we stuck a prototype engine into something with four wheels. Can¡¯t say I blamed them. I had my eye on one of the trikes, myself. Admittedly, after the accident I somewhat lost my taste for riding motorcycles. Plus these rough riders had little in the way of creature comforts, and sitting on the motorcycles felt a little bit too much like sitting on top of the kiln, for my tastes. The resident Ifrit showed great interest in our work¡ªif not for attempts to reproduce gas engines. They flitted around, many having convinced my igni to make them versions of Taquoho¡¯s coaxial vessel. Some of them remained distant and aloof, but a dozen or more had come around to Taquoho¡¯s way of thinking and began ingratiating themselves into the tribe. Besides, they got better ceramic parts from goblins who liked them than from goblins who were indifferent. They continued to possess and try out every new piece of tech we developed. ¡°King Apollo,¡± said a voice behind me. I turned to see one an ignis, somewhat smaller and wider than Promo¡ªthough, a few of the igni were looking a bit slimmer with the food shortage. ¡°We have a buggy ready for a test drive. Would your majesty care to do the honors?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I said. ¡°In fact, I insist on it.¡± I followed the igni over to the forge yard, where a group of noblins and their non-variant assistants were securing the last bolts on a 3-wheeled buggy. Secure is a bit of a strong term, since the vibrations on goblin engines were so bad that almost all bolts eventually either sheared or worked themselves loose. Luckily, loose bolts didn¡¯t seem to adversely affect the vehicles much. The Goblin Tech Tree was built on loose tolerances. As with the rest of our technology, as soon as the tribe unlocked it, every goblin in it gained an innate understanding of how to use it. But building them was still too much for the average goblin to wrap their soft heads around, so the Igni led the charge on that front. They were hammering out variations on engines from steel and ceramic in different shapes and sizes to fit the vehicles. But they were all variations on the Wankel engine we¡¯d started with. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. I climbed up in the saddle of the trike buggy, which had been designed for a wrangler, so it was a bit big. Three other goblins climbed aboard, including Armstrong manning the rear rifle position. A double-barreled lever gun had already been mounted to a pintle, and Armstrong swung it around, sighting down the bore. I reached into the ammo hopper behind the seat and pulled out one of the rockettes. The igni had made a modification to the starter that was rather genius, in that they¡¯d affixed a permanent flywheel. Simply dropping a rockette into a slot on the engine and stabbing down with a tamping rod would start the engine up. I stuffed the rockette down the hole and one of the other goblins was ready with the tamping rod. I manipulated the throttle pedal as it went down, giving it enough gas to get the ignition going. The trike rumbled to life underneath me, and I revved the engine to get it warmed up. Promo leaned in. ¡°You got enough fuel for a couple laps. Break ¡®er in good, boss.¡± I gave him a quick salute and threw the trike into gear. The buggy lurched forward, nearly tossing two of the goblins off as torque hit the wheels. The whole thing tilted back as it shot forward, and I worried it would immediately tip over backwards. But the front wheel crashed down and we were off, churning dust and adobe gravel under the wheels. I peeled out of the forge area and navigated my way through the narrow lanes toward the edge of the bluff. Goblins dodged out of our way squawking as we roared past, and then chased and cheered. They loved the engines and had all taken to making Vroom vroom noises as they stomped invisible gas pedals. The bikes and trikes were almost as popular as the good ol¡¯ classic of throwing themselves off the edge of the bluff. Speaking of the edge, it started coming up fast, so I cranked hard on the handlebars and brought us around to skirt the perimeter instead of careening off the side¡ªwhich had happened more than once to test drivers already. The trikes didn¡¯t have brakes. Oh, I¡¯d invented them, and the System acknowledged that they had entered the Goblin Tech Tree. But every goblin in the tribe had staunchly refused to admit they understood the concept. So, either there was a dedicated brake-tech variant of goblin that I¡¯d yet to unlock, or we had the tribe¡¯s first conspiracy¡ªwhich was much more plausible now knowing that the goblins followed my orders voluntarily out of a sense of collective ambition, rather than as a biological imperative. I swore I¡¯d give them a reason to follow me. Well this trike was about 4 horsepower worth of reasons. Not much by Earth power standards, I know. But on Rava, it was bleeding edge stuff. And goblins didn¡¯t weigh much. Riding north until we hit the perimeter wall, I glanced over at the newest extension on the northwest corner of the bluff. Javier¡¯s tailors were hard at work stitching the Ifrit cargo canvas sheets together to prepare for the launch of our first powered aircraft. I swung us around, riding in the shadow of the wall as the sentries atop it hooted and hollered down. A bit further down, one of them kicked over a pole fixed to the top of the wall, on which a wooden target dangled. ¡°Armstrong!¡± I called out. I heard the scrapper load the gun and close the action. The barrels thundered, and two rockettes zipped out on thin trails, punching two new holes in the target. My side goblins angled spears down toward a pair of low targets and one cheered as the tip smacked into the target. The other¡¯s pole dipped too low, hitting the ground instead, and then launching the goblin out of his seat with an EEEeeeeee when the side of the trike turned the spear into a flex-a-pult. I had to turn the trike so hard to avoid squashing my spearman that it rode up on two wheels and another goblin toppled out of the side saddle. Armstrong roared with laughter, barely able to hold on himself. We passed the pond and the kilns and turned south toward the airstrip. The goblins had gotten one of the launch ramps turned around, because of course they had. I got us lined up and jammed the throttle as high as my little prosthetics could push it. We hit the ramp at probably 40kph if I had to take a guess. Faster than a clifford could run, but not as fast as some of the revved up bikes could go. I let up on the gas to shift the trike¡¯s weight forward just as we hit the ramp, then stomped down hard. The iron-banded wheels shrieked for a moment on the wooden ramp, and we hit air, suspended for just a moment at the apex of our parabolic trajectory. Then we crashed back down and fishtailed. It was all I could do to hold on, let alone steer us. ¡°Boss!¡± shouted Armstrong. ¡°I see it!¡± I said, as we drifted perilously close to the edge of the cliff. I hauled right on the bars and applied more throttle to get some positive steering. The back of the trike swung out over the edge of the bluff, but momentum carried it round and the wheels bit into dirt and gravel again. Armstrong whooped and pumped his fist in the air as I angled us back through the engineer workshop and toward the motorpool. God, I loved that we had a motorpool! Even if it only had a half-dozen wheeled vehicles in it so far, and they were so basic and bare boned as to barely qualify as such. I pulled the trike into a cleared spot and cranked it back to neutral, then choked the motor. I had to work some feeling back into my hands and my butt from the vibration. Goblin transportation did not make for a smooth ride. Promo came up and gave me a hand down. ¡°How¡¯s she handle?¡± he asked. I grinned. ¡°Like a feral hog in heat.¡± Promo laughed, and then hem-hawed. ¡°What is it?¡± I asked. ¡°Speaking of hogs,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re running real low on meat. Can¡¯t run on pulp-slurp forever, boss.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I said, looking at the assortment of vehicles. ¡°Once Big Hoss Rig is up and running, we¡¯ll make a run at the badlands. How soon?¡± ¡°Tomorrow, earliest,¡± the ignis said. ¡°Day beyond more like.¡± ¡°Guess we¡¯ll be cinching up belts another two days, then,¡± I said. Chapter 79 - Sequential Distribution Chapter 79 - Sequential Distribution Armstrong nudged me as we walked out of the motorpool. ¡°There¡¯s always the¡­¡± ¡°No,¡± I said. Armstrong groaned. ¡°Aww, boss, I ain¡¯t had nothing but bird bones and pulp-slurp for three days. I can¡¯t believe yer savin¡¯ all that good lizard meat for them scrawly nobbers.¡± ¡°Those scrawly nobblers need food for their mission,¡± I said. I walked to the northwest side of the village where the platform extended over the edge of the cliff. ¡°Besides, the longer their mission, the less they¡¯re here making those awful comics about me and Chuck.¡± Armstrong guffawed. ¡°Haw! You seen that one wot with¡¯ him and you and the big fish, yet?¡± ¡°A long, long, mission,¡± I grounded out between clenched teeth. ¡°It¡¯s histry, boss! It¡¯s important.¡± As cool as the bikes, trikes, and buggies were, this part of the bluff had been dedicated to the new pride and joy of Village Apollo: a powered wood and canvas airship. It would be kept aloft with canvas envelopes filled with air heated by burning scat, and we¡¯d tested it with 12 goblins. On the back, it had two gas engines with paper-covered props. Two heavy slingers on each side and an armory of rifles would protect it from night haunts. Soon it would be loaded with food and crew and sent northeast, to scout bluffs and see if any goblins were left after the javeline raids. I would have liked to hop on and join the expedition. But I¡¯d already needed to be taught too many times that a goblin king¡¯s place is surrounded by his people. I¡¯d go to the savannah and the badlands, instead, with Neil and Chuck and Armstrong all able to watch out for me along with as many other goblins as the rigs could carry and still move. And I wouldn¡¯t be climbing any signal balloons by my lonesome this time, either. If I¡¯d learned one thing from King Ringo, it was that a goblin king doesn¡¯t fly solo. I approached the first prototype airship (Well, air boat, really), already floating against its restraints as some of Eileen¡¯s pilots carefully managed the scat burners under the envelope. What would have taken a thousand lizard skins was being done with canvas the Ifrit had been using to cover their wagons. It really struck me again just how starved we were for ordinary composite materials like textiles. At the back of the ship, the first engine was being fitted with its propeller shaft. The airship was getting the lightest engines we had¡ªlighter even than the ones going on the two-wheeled bikes. It still had to be able to fly, which meant every ounce counted. Why couldn¡¯t the canoneers have at least been regular goblins? I watched as my portly noblin chief, Luther, argued with the engineers. I came close enough to catch the tail end of the conversation¡ªwhich involved Luther shouting, while the nonverbal engineer chittering away and making rude gestures. ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡± I asked. ¡°Ah, King Apollo,¡± said Luther, turning my way and making the circle sign over his head. Despite their argument, the engineer made it too. And yes, if you¡¯re wondering, the irony of the Church of the Right Angle¡¯s holy sign being a circle was not lost on me. ¡°I¡¯m trying to make sure there is space allotted for icons of your highness.¡± ¡°Icons?¡± I said. Luther gestured behind him, where two more of his canoneers worked at what appeared to be a clay statue of, erm, epic proportions. I approached it, looking up at the crown. ¡°Is that supposed to be me?¡± I asked. ¡°It¡¯s how the tribe sees you!¡± said one of the canoneers. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. ¡°It¡¯s got more muscles than the Masters of the Universe.¡± Stop helping! I ran my hands through the fur on my head. At least it was a statue of just me. This was probably the kind of thing someone like King Ringo would go mad over, the narcisist. ¡°Obviously you can¡¯t take it with you. It probably weighs as much as both of you combined. And talk about a waste of clay. How many engine cases do you think we could make with that much ceramic?¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s the best part,¡± said one of the noblins, spinning the whole thing around to reveal a cavity in the backside. ¡°It is an engine case!¡± I stared. That explained the hole in the front side where the, erm, shaft would protrude. And the exhaust outlet? Well, I¡¯ll leave that up to your imagination. I covered my face. ¡°Absolutely not. Take the comics. Take the tools. Leave this¡­monstrosity. Break it down, use it to make shovels, and then bury any ideas like it.¡± Luther tapped a hand against his chin. ¡°His majesty, King Apollo, has decreed that his image be destroyed that the common goblin might know the spade. There¡¯s probably a metaphor in there.¡± ¡°I can assure you, there¡¯s not,¡± I said. I turned to one of the igni working on the platform. ¡°How soon til she¡¯s ready to fly?¡± He glanced up at the ship straining against its anchors. ¡°Uh¡­¡± ¡°How long until she¡¯s ready to make the voyage,¡± I corrected. The ignis brightened. ¡°Oh! That¡¯s easy! Soon as the glue on the prop dries.¡± ¡°Perfect.¡± I turned and clapped Luther on the shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m counting on your boys to hit every goblin village from here to the mountains, Luther. ¡°Your will, highness,¡± said Luther, bowing deep. I turned my attention to the goblins crawling on top of the envelope, stitching patches over leaks. Armstrong came up beside me. ¡°It really is an important mission,¡± I said. ¡°I know ye want to be on it,¡± said Armstrong, patting my shoulder. System, tell me about the Big-mouthed skill again. They¡¯d certainly spread their antics through Village Apollo like wildfire. Even the Ifrit were getting in on the comic book action. If they could act as emissaries to persuade other goblins to come join the tribe, that could go a long way toward unifying all the goblins in the area. Maybe even let me assimilate new variants. Feeding them once they got here was my problem to solve in the interim. But so long as the canoneers didn¡¯t put a foot wrong and get themselves Captain Cooked¡­ well, even if they did¡­ The only thing that worried me was the possibility of running into another society with a goblin king. I had thought I was an isolated case until I met Ringo. Rufus and Taquoho had said they were extremely rare, but maybe there was another one hiding up on one of those distant bluffs. If there was, and he was hostile, I had to hope his tribe wasn¡¯t bigger than mine. And if it was bigger than mine, I had to hope they had no way of getting to this forest. It was a literal application of the Dark Forest theory. I suppose it didn¡¯t help that we kept lighting it up with rockets. I looked up at the sky and tugged on the anchor rope. ¡°Alright. We¡¯ve got enough daylight for a test run to Canaveral and back. But I want clifford support on the ground and two gliders in the air.¡± ¡°Yer goin on this test run, then?¡± said Armstrong. I nodded. ¡°With you and a half-dozen other scrappers.¡± Armstrong tried counting to twelve on his fingers, and failing that included two toes and then worked backwards until he only had six. He nodded decisively. ¡°More¡¯n a handful is enough. Ok, boss. I¡¯ll round up the lads.¡± ¡°Grab Eileen while you¡¯re at it. She¡¯s piloting this shindig.¡± ¡°Truly momentous,¡± said Luther. I stabbed a finger at him. ¡°You¡¯re coming too. Gotta make sure the blimp can even lift your fat arse.¡± ¡°As you say, my king,¡± he said, deflating. Clearly he didn''t share the smaller version''s love of heights. It took a few minutes to get the crew assembled and climbing aboard. Besides Armstrong, we had Eileen as captain, an ignis for engineer, 2 of the canoneers, maybe 8 other goblins as crewmates, and the half-dozen scrapper bodyguards. I could hear the barks from below the bluff as Chuck took off toward the hotsprings. The gliders would launch to monitor as well. Each of the crewmembers also had a personal glider to help get them as close to home as possible if we had to bail out. Not taking any chances¡ªor at least trying to mitigate the risk of the chances I was taking. That¡¯s all aviation is, really. It¡¯s an inherently risky business, and if I was going to stay on the ground just to be completely safe, I may as well have not been reincarnated at all. But the key to aviation safety is acknowledging those risks, not avoiding them. You spot them, you plot them, and then you come up with mitigations to make sure that whatever happens, you have a plan B, C, D, and enough backups that scrappers need to start using toes to track them. And if all goes well, one of those plans keeps you safe when the scat hits the fan. Chapter 80 - Gertrude Chapter 80 - Gertrude There¡¯s certain imagery I¡¯ve always associated with certain names. Part of it is the meaning behind the name itself. Diana, for instance. It just screams poise, class, and wisdom. Likewise, Cooper sounds like someone who can sling a couple of barrels around the farm and then fall into a black hole. Then there¡¯s names like Melvin. You just know Melvin is going to play Dungeons and Dragons. Just like you know Chad is going to get a visit from campus police after pledge week. And then, at the prow of the unfortunate name boat, is Gertrude. It¡¯s a weighty cudgel of a name. It¡¯s the name of someone whose ankles look like salamis. It¡¯s the name of someone that no amount of caked-on makeup can disguise their bloodhound jowls and cigarette-stained teeth. It¡¯s the name of our first and currently only airship. I don¡¯t make the rules. It¡¯s just what her name was. It¡¯s a fundamental law of the universe. And if you don¡¯t believe me, you can ask System. Ignore System. It doesn¡¯t know everything. The point is, when Gertrude belched to life, she was fat, she was slow, and she was damned ugly. I¡¯d still have married her, though. No prenup. The engine sputtered to life with a dangerous-sounding BANG, before settling into an unsteady rhythm. With the throttle at idle, the paper-covered prop created very little thrust. But once we cast off the anchor lines and started to rise, Eileen turned up the RPMs and I felt the airship tug against the hot-air balloons keeping it aloft. Eileen turned the engine mount to change the thrust vector, and we pivoted as we climbed. It seemed like half the goblins on the ground raced us to the eastern edge of the bluff, whooping and cheering. More than half of them followed us right off it, plummeting to the ground below. ¡°Gertrude¡¯s maiden voyage,¡± I said to no one in particular as we gained altitude. Several of the crew were in the rigging below the envelope openings, managing the scat fires that kept the conjoined balloons aloft. There were three of them, lashed together like a snow pea, so that if one failed, the airship would land instead of crash. I wasn¡¯t worried about the goblins, of course. They could fall from space so far as I knew and be completely fine thanks to their System-given fall damage immunity (though they¡¯d probably burn up on reentry). But the airship was a tremendous investment of resources and goblin power. Plus, it was just so darn cool. Admittedly, even if we were calling this an airship, it was more of an air canoe. It didn¡¯t have niceties like cabins or a galley, just floorboards that could be lifted up in order to access stores in what would be the bilges if this were a water vessel. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. For the next hour, goblins scrambled all over the rigging and the tops of the envelope, checking for leaks with a complete and total lack of fear. Several swung off the side of the gunwales for little more than a lark. Even a few of the scrappers were arm-wrestling. Despite the hungry goblins, spirits soared high whenever new technology was on the docket. Wasn¡¯t too long ago the bleeding edge was a blunt rock for this tribe. Now they were conquering Rava¡¯s skies. Or, at least contesting them. ¡°Sighting, boss!¡± shouted Eileen from the helm. I followed her pointing to where one of the gliders had burst a popper of colored powder. The scrappers all rushed to the side and leaned so far over the rail I thought they might tip the whole thing over. ¡°I don¡¯t see anything,¡± I said, shading my hand. ¡°Must be a wrangler in that glider. They¡¯ve got better eyes on the wing." We¡¯d been in an uneasy truce with the night haunts ever since we got pretty good at trapping and killing them and spawned enough wranglers to keep watch through the night for their attempts. But they were still out there, and we competed with them for food. That made us a threat in more ways than one. Not to mention that when we did trap one, we turned it into a glider. And they knew it, too. Most of the monsters on Rava, it seemed, possessed at least rudimentary intelligence. You could see it when they looked at you. The croc-knockers held grudges. Night haunts could work out traps and sneak into even the most well-defended shelters. Even the stone sloths and the swamp turtles were more than just base beasts. I wondered if that was a result of the System or if Ravan creatures simply evolved better brains naturally. After a few minutes with no excitement, my crew lost interest and returned to what they were doing. I, myself, dropped my hand from where it rested at the new pouch at my hip. It took another two hours before we made it to Canaveral. One thing Gertrude was not, was expedient. The eclipse was underway, and what light did emerge reflected off the photosensitive lizard frills as they swarmed up the cliff. At the top, they¡¯d rebuilt much of the defenses, but they had upgraded weaponry to make up for the abused fortifications. The pop and flash of shock spears rippled up and down the cliff. ¡°Eileen, bring us in for the assist!¡± Last time we¡¯d come by with a meager handful of poppers haphazardly thrown from a glider on the wing. This time, the scrappers broke out rifles and loaded up the port-side heavy slinger with a clay ball. Eileen bled off some hot air from the envelopes in order to drop us into a controlled descent, until we were level with the face of the bluff. ¡°Grease ¡®em,¡± I said. The hobgoblin on the slinger tilted it up and fired. The ball flew out on a lazy arc and shattered against the cliff face, where it spread a stain of oily grease on the cliff face. Lizards who tried to cross it scrabbled for purchase and fell back. On either side of the slinger, rifle barrels erupted with flame and smoke and tiny trails of exhaust. Goblins aren¡¯t accurate marksmen. Even if our rifles were capable of reliably keeping shots within a 45 degree arc of the shooter, goblins would still have a tendency to shoot directly behind themselves, somehow. But with a half dozen scrappers under Armstrong¡¯s direct supervision, and about a dozen other goblins working in teams of two, we knocked twenty or more off the wall in a matter of seconds. But that wasn¡¯t the only surprise we had in store. Our ignis came forward. His mask was down, and he had a brass cask on his back, which a smaller goblin stood on top of, furiously working a pump. The ignis had an apparatus in his hand with a pump and a nozzle, and he held it up to the airship burners to ignite the tiny ball of scat near the tip of it. Then he leveled the pipe and opened a valve. A jet of flaming fuel shot out, splashing against the side of the cliff and igniting the oil patch already there. The flaming oil spread and created a barrier that funneled the lizards up a narrow corridor where the ignis proceeded to roast them. I could smell the cooking meat from where I stood, but even ten or twenty meters away, the heat was intense. The brass cask couldn¡¯t maintain pressure, though, and the goblin pumping on it began to get tired. Eileen brought us around, trying to hold our position in the air. But the sun peeked out from behind Raphina and the lizards abruptly changed their course before the natural light could harm their skin. We¡¯d only caught the tail end of the daily battle. Gertrude¡¯s maiden flight was a success. Chapter 81 - Camp Canaveral Chapter 81 - Camp Canaveral Canaveral was more organized than Apollo, to be sure. Part of that was the resident taskmaster, John, who had the unusual skills of organization, motivational speaking, and battle tactics. Unusual for a goblin, anyway. He greeted us as we brought Gertrude in for docking by running up and offering a stiff salute beneath the brim of his tortoise-shell helmet. ¡°The men¡¯r ready fer inspection, sir!¡± ¡°At ease, general,¡± I said, returning the salute. I hopped down from the side of the airship and clapped my commander on the shoulders. ¡°Good to see you well.¡± John grinned. ¡°Aye, got the camp up and running right enough. Piggies left it a right mess.¡± ¡°Well, we did the same to them,¡± I reminded him. John beamed. Wood creaked behind me. ¡°Oy! Is that who I think it is?¡± Armstrong shouted down. John grinned and shaded his eyes. ¡°Armstrong!¡± Armstrong jumped down, laughing, and pulled John into a hug. Tight as brothers, those two. They¡¯d defended Canaveral together, and then stood shoulder to shoulder against the maulers when Rotte and Hrott attacked Apollo. ¡°Now he¡¯s just a couple hours by airship,¡± I said. ¡°Should be able to get over here more often.¡± Armstrong looked at me, a question in his eyes. I sighed. ¡°Fine, let¡¯s go see the new defenses.¡± The two goblins whooped and ran off. I looked back up to Eileen. ¡°Keep the engine warmed up. We want to be back before nightfall.¡± ¡°Aye, boss!¡± The noblin canoneers struggled down¡ªmainly due to the fact that their arms were filled with sheafs of papers. I eyed them warily. ¡°Just what¡¯s in those?¡± I demanded. Luther had the decency to look chagrinned. ¡°Erm, tech manuals, majesty?¡± ¡°They¡¯re comics, aren¡¯t they?¡± I asked. The smaller noblin piped up and squeaked ¡°Important histry!¡± before Luther could clamp a hand over his acolyte¡¯s mouth, somehow managing to keep from dropping his load of papers. ¡°King Apollo,¡± he said. ¡°The goblins of Canaveral don¡¯t get to see your daily deeds, or see the marvelous machines of the Church of the Right Angle. It¡¯s only fair they receive record to help inspire them in their fight. You cannot always be here, after all. And where you are not¡­¡± I sighed. Goblin loyalty could falter, especially during combat¡ªwhich was a daily occurrence at Canaveral. ¡°That¡¯s those persuasive skills at work, I suppose.¡± I looked around. ¡°Still, I wish I knew why the lizards were so persistent here. They were winning before, but they must know they can¡¯t make headway against our improved defenses.¡± The smaller canoneer managed to free its mouth from Luther¡¯s hand. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s one¡¯s easy, boss!¡± he said. He shuffled through his papers and pulled one out, handing it over. Sure enough, it was a comic. And it depicted a group of goblins venturing into the plains, finding a nest, and taking some eggs back to the bluff. Apparently, the lizards had never stopped trying to get them back. Ok, so maybe recorded history in comic book form wasn¡¯t so bad. But they could have at least drawn the lizards with the right number of limbs and not ten times the size of the goblins. ¡°I guess that explains it,¡± I said, handing the comic back. ¡°Fine, spread the good word. Tech manuals first. Then ¡®histry¡¯, ok?¡± Both goblins made the circular icon over their chests and trundled off (since it¡¯s quite impossible for noblins to scamper). I was left to my own devices with a handful of bodyguards. I spend some time just wandering around Canaveral, looking at how these goblins had managed their shelters. We¡¯d reinforced and mixed the tribes, but here and there I still spotted one of the Canaveral originals with their green-tinged fur from before they¡¯d hitched their wagons to Tribe Apollo. The history of Canaveral was the history of tribe Apollo. And as much as I didn¡¯t care for comics, the canoneers were making sure that our tribe didn¡¯t stay prehistoric as it advanced into the industrial age Armstrong, likewise, had colored striations on his arms and back that matched his original tribe before the piggies had reduced them to 3 members. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. It was also much, much quieter here. Village Apollo was now constantly humming with the low roar of engines and the crackle of gunfire. Nor did it have the baying of cliffords or the ringing of steel hammers. Canaveral still sounded like a jungle, filled with bugs and birdsong and, yeah, some light construction. At the airship, a couple dozen goblins worked to unload the supplies we¡¯d brought on the test run. Rifles, raw materials, and even the pump-action flamethrower was staying along with the ignis to wield it and work a local forge. The piggies may have been gone, but Canaveral was still the central hub of our martial might, where goblins were turned into warriors. Having the lizards back and basically throwing themselves into our larders helped with the food supply problem, but it didn¡¯t abate it completely. In the distance, I could see more bluffs to the north and east. That¡¯s where this airship was really meant to go, and I wondered what the noblins would find there. Wayward tribes looking for direction? More goblin kings? Or just smoking ashes of the goblins we were too slow to save from the porkbellies. Was there something I could have done differently to get there faster? I¡¯d already run the first few thousand years of human history in a little over a month. Progress would slow in the preindustrial age as development became more reliant on complicated tools and processes and might become a trickle when it came time to make things that required computers. The basic principles of organizing a computer weren¡¯t actually that arcane. Turning binary into useful logic is primarily a function of yes/no/maybe/sort-of questions filtered into an output. Granted, that¡¯s an extremely simple explanation of a very nuanced discipline. But it had only taken 40 years for humans to turn that concept from punchcard machines to personal computers and a huge amount of that time was spent refining and miniaturizing those gates and switches to something that could fit on a microchip instead of a small bus. I stared down from the edge of the bluff for more than a few minutes and tried to imagine the forest cleared into a great field, whereupon hundreds of thousands, or maybe even millions of goblins stood with flags, simulating the various why, and, and for gates that would comprise a basic program. Each individual gate doesn¡¯t need to understand the whole process, just its individual part. God, could you imagine trying to build a computer out of goblins? It would somehow manage to overheat and explode, I¡¯m sure. It would be more bugs than features, and half the goblins would probably eat their own flags. And somehow, it would still spit out useful data thanks to the Goblin Tech Tree. But I digress. The point is that now we¡¯d unlocked gas engines, we¡¯d likely be moving into a period of refinement and expansion as we moved towards laying the groundwork for the infrastructure a space program would require. Metalworking, assembly lines, and tools to make processes more efficient and effective. More tools to make the acquisition of resources more efficient. Tools to make tools more practical and useful. And all without OSHA anywhere in sight to gum up the works. Workplace safety was heretical to the Church of the Right Angle, after all. Safety inspectors were likely to be burned at the stake. And eventually, it would all lead back here. How could it not? Village Apollo was becoming a sprawling town, and eventually if the goblins continued to reproduce, it would develop into something of a cliff-side metropolis. So, this would be where the rockets would launch. Oddly prescient and prophetic that I¡¯d named it Canaveral. I whistled for attention and spun my finger in the air in a round-up gesture. Armstrong reluctantly parted ways from John with another bear hug. The canoneers finished handing out the rest of their religious literature and rejoined us at the airship. Eileen had her crews stoke the burners and get the engine ready to spin up again, checking the various lines and simple pipes that supplied the primitive engine with fuel. We climbed aboard, and my air delivery captain started up the props with a Bang and a gout of angry, black smog. I patted the side of a rumbling engine as it whumped and thumped, spinning the paper-covered prop and pushing the airship against its anchor lines. Within a few minutes, we had enough lift and the engine was warmed up enough to start pushing us back east towards Village Apollo. One of the Canaveral gliders took off to escort us back, rocketing up to high-altitude for a view of the land. Most of the Canaveral goblins came and waved at us as we began our slow ascent, though much faster than our takeoff from Apollo now that the cargo holds had been emptied of supplies. Though, not entirely empty, as the goblins who had stowed away below decks were only mostly managing to stifle their giggles and only occasionally bumped their heads on the floorboards beneath my feet. The golden hour approached as we rode west, with the sun slipping low enough to start opening Raphina¡¯s eye. I watched the pink surface and verdant forests of the moon begin to sparkle, and narrowed my eyes at its surface. Hadn¡¯t it had more water before? It seemed like desert lined with long, narrow fissures had claimed some of its landmass. Maybe I was just seeing a side I wasn¡¯t used to looking at as the moon rotated on its axis. The crack of a popper directed my attention lower, where our escort had detonated one of the warning signals. Night haunts had been spotted on the wing, and this time I caught the silhouette below us. The early evening flights had spurred at least one of them out of their nest. And it was drawing closer. Chapter 82 - Active Defenses Chapter 82 - Active Defenses ¡°Battle stations!¡± I called out. I stomped on the floorboards as well, signal our stowaways to come out and be useful. Goblins started crawling out of every hole, nook, and cranny on the airship until we had about two-dozen strong. Not so long ago, this would have comprised the majority of the tribe. ¡°Rifles and slingers at the ready,¡± I said, marching up and down the deck. ¡°Spears at the gunwales. Be ready to repel night haunts.¡± Most of the goblins listened, breaking out the weapon and armor stores on the airship and beginning to pass out arms and ammo. Someone handed me a plate carrier and I pulled it on. Other goblins ran to the sides, looking for any sign of the dreaded silhouettes of the natural goblin predators that prowled the Lanclovan nights. Over the sound of the engine puttering, I could barely make out the distant baying of cliffords in the forest below. Armstrong stood next to me, leaning over the rail, fists tightened around his rifle as he scanned for threats. ¡°Anything?¡± I asked him. The hobgoblin squinted. Now that it was getting towards sunset, he¡¯d have much better eyes than the rest of the goblins. ¡°Nuffink yet, boss.¡± I scanned as well, but the sky was completely clear. But it shouldn¡¯t have been. ¡°Can you see the other glider?¡± I asked. ¡°Can anyone see the other glider?¡± Nervous chitters went up and down the line. This was early in the evening, even for night haunts. The creatures relied on stealth and the cover of darkness to do their hunting. In the grand scheme of things, they weren¡¯t that tough¡ªexcept compared to goblins. But the sky was still their domain, and we¡¯d been pressuring them like they¡¯d pressured us. I heard a soft beating that at first I dismissed for the snap of wind against the canvas, but it stopped. ¡°Steady!¡± I called. ¡°Spread out, don¡¯t strain the rigging. Watch both sides. Eileen, lower the throttle.¡± My air delivery captain hauled back on the throttle and the engine dropped to a low rumble. Luther approached from behind, wringing his hands. ¡°King Apollo, should we not make all haste to the village before we¡¯re noticed?¡± I shushed him. ¡°You¡¯ll face worse than this on your mission,¡± I said. ¡°Besides, we¡¯ve already been haunted.¡± The noblin canoneer gasped. ¡°How do you know?¡± ¡°Because,¡± I said, eyeing the numbers ticking down in a small display window, ¡°We¡¯re losing altitude.¡± The night haunts, while not especially heavy, still weighed as much as a half-dozen goblins or more. That was apparently a few too many extra for Gertrude to hold aloft. We weren¡¯t in danger of crashing, but if we dropped four thousand feet, we were still in for a bad night. I grabbed one of the goblins and pointed up the rigging. ¡°Check up top,¡± I whispered. ¡°Be careful you don¡¯t damage the balloons.¡± He swallowed and moved to clamp his flint knife between his teeth. Once secure, he swung out on the webbing and began to scramble up the lines. I watched him disappear around the swell of the canvas as he scrabbled up to the top of the envelopes. All around me, goblins looked out, nervously clutching weapons. I steadied some of them, offering reassurances I only half-believed myself. But I was their king, and my presence now carried tangible buffs to their combat that were as good as any totem. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Since the goblin on top of the airship didn¡¯t get immediately eaten, there was only one other option. ¡°It¡¯s on the bottom!¡± I called out. ¡°Eyes over the side, it¡¯ll come from below!¡± Goblins rushed to the sides again, angling spears and gun barrels down. A goblin next to me squawked and stabbed down, drawing my attention. But just as it did, the aircraft lurched hard to port, sending two goblins careening over the side and out into the air. The night haunt clawed its way up, raking claws against the bottom of the wooden craft for purchase. Its lantern-yellow eyes glared up, it snapped its jaws, snapping off the forward third of the spear of the goblin on that side. ¡°Hold fast!¡± I yelled. ¡°Keep the ship balanced! Spears and rifles!¡± Rockettes thundered behind me as goblins with rifles took aim and started to pepper the creatures with shots. Thick smoke began to choke the deck of the airship, but I saw the gunners score several hits. Still, night haunts were tough, and not prone to giving up easy. Rather than retreat, this one hissed in rage went berserk, pulling itself through the hail of fire and sweeping several goblins aside in an effort to get at the gunners. I was surprised it knew what was hurting it, but then night haunts were unusually intelligent, even for Ravan monsters. Other goblins charged out in front with spears with ceramic or shock tips, giving the gunners a chance to reload as they thrust forward with weapons that the haunt couldn¡¯t simply ignore. Armstrong was in the middle of the line, deadly spear pushed up and blocking off a wide section of the ship. He stabbed his spear forward, shouting a battle cry. I hoped he would score a killing blow. Instead, the night haunt snapped his spear¡¯s haft, tackled the hobgoblin holding it, and drove its beak down into Armstrong¡¯s chest¡ªonly to recoil with a pained howl as the sharp beak cracked into a ceramic plate. ¡°Armstrong!¡± I yelled, pulling my new toy from my belt and rushing forward. The hobgoblin gasped in pain, but the fact he wasn¡¯t eviscerated thanks to his armored vest gave me hope. He raised his arms in defense as the night haunt started to rake with its claws. In such close quarters, the riflemen were hesitant to fire. Now that the creature was aboard and in the melee, they stood as much a chance of hitting their own friends as they did the raging beast attacking them. I raised the new prototype pistol Prometheus had given me and pulled back the hammer. Holding it in both hands, I centered the barrel on the bulk of the night haunt before it could drive down and hit Armstrong in the head. I pulled the trigger, and the gun bucked in my hands. The night haunt jerked, whipped around, and smashed me with its tail. I went tumbling across the deck of the airship and nearly toppled over the side, but one of the scrappers managed to grab me and haul me back. ¡°Thanks!¡± I said. ¡°Don¡¯t mention it. We almost got ¡®im, boss!¡± said the scrapper, grinning. The night haunt seemed to realize it was on the backfoot. These weren¡¯t the same helpless goblins they¡¯d preyed on a month ago. We had armor, we had weapons, and we had a fighting spirit hot off victory against the piggies. Hurt, confused, and suddenly frightened for its life, the night haunt pivoted and leapt from the side of the airship, spreading its wings into a glide. Several of the goblins raced to the side in order to take shots at the fleeing creature. I ran up to them, slapping the backs of heads to get attention. ¡°No, no! The slingers! Tag it!¡± Armstrong was the one to take up position at the heavy slinger and angle it down at the fleeing night haunt. He launched a dart with a smoldering pot of scat, and it managed to strike the night haunt on the flank with the glowing, smoking marker. It bucked in mid-air, and flew harder. ¡°Eileen, full throttle!¡± My pilot kicked the engine up to full power, and the airship shot forward. She heaved the rudder and turned us after the fleeing night haunt. The smoke from the smoldering tag gave us a trail to follow, even when the night haunt pulled away. ¡°Come on, come on,¡± I said as we pushed the airship north after the creature. We followed it for ten, maybe twelve minutes before I lost it among the foothills north of Village Apollo. ¡°There!¡± said Armstrong, pointing at a bare cliffside. Eileen followed his direction and dropped our altitude, and I caught the hint of smoke coming out from a cave about two-thirds of the way up. Unless someone in there was cooking s¡¯mores, this had to be our night haunt hideout. ¡°Not too close,¡± I warned Eileen. I suspected the night haunts kept sizable communities, like bats. I¡¯d seen them circling in numbers, after all. And occasionally they attacked the village in pairs. We¡¯d fended off one, but two or three would overwhelm the airship¡¯s defenses, not to mention make it too heavy to maintain flight. Sure enough, I spotted two forms crawling on the rock face, and the flash of yellow eyes in the waning light. Neither were the one we¡¯d fought. ¡°Alright, Eileen. Get us out of here,¡± I said. Armstrong leaned on the gunwale and looked at the hole in the side of the hill as the bulky airship turned. ¡°What do you want to do, boss?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve got bigger worries for now. But They¡¯ve been harassing the village for ages,¡± I said. ¡°Let¡¯s see how they like having that favor returned, yeah?¡± Chapter 83 - Flame Out Chapter 83 - Flame Out I didn¡¯t want to try attacking the night haunts where they lived without at least 3 more airships and enough guns and flamethrowers to take them on. If the night haunts followed suit with the other creatures in the jungle we¡¯d tangled with, then they had an alpha variant somewhere in that cave. Fighting on top of the bluff where we could swarm them was an entirely different beast than going into their caves after them where they could swarm us, and we¡¯d be limited in numbers and stumbling around in the dark. Since I didn¡¯t have 3 more airships in my back pocket, I added that to our long, long list of shortfalls that fell in the materials column. The biggest thing limiting our growth and expansion from Village Apollo was just a lack of pretty much everything. And the answer to solving it was, as ever, get more goblins to throw at the problem. But with reproduction feeling the squeeze with the food being tight, more goblins required more calories. The pulp-slurp (what the hobbies had taken to calling the slightly alcoholic paper pulp mash) helped as a stop-gap, but it ran the problem of putting food in direct competition with paper production and lumber for housing. Pulping the wood itself was time, resource, and labor-intensive as well, so it just wasn¡¯t efficient for it to drain down goblin gullets in the long-term. Not with paper being so useful mechanically. Besides the comic books, lighter gliders, and propellers, Buzz now had all the tools he needed to reverse the principle of the direct-drive propellers to make windmills. And rather than making the bluff start to resemble a Dutch impressionist painting, I had the benefit of 500 years of engineering development principles to take some wild conceptual designs and turn them into space-saving realities. I spend most of the next morning helping Buzz design a clutch system with the help of Taquoho while the construction team slathered paper sheets over helical windmill frames. Since almost all our iron and engines were ear-marked for aircraft and ground vehicles except for the few that were powering lathes and other rotary tools for Sally, Buzz needed another source of mechanical power for his construction teams. Wind was the obvious answer, as there was no shortage of it at the top of the bluff. There was, however, becoming a shortage of space¡ªand water. Currently we were bringing up water by hand and bucket, which was incredibly inefficient. But I¡¯d devised a wooden trough aqueduct with a rotating screw¡ªa design dating back to ancient Greece, really, but just as effective as a motor-driven pump at moving water uphill. It would also be good at pulling the oil out of the springs in the swamp, which would ensure we had a steady supply of Kerosene out on the badlands to power our limited motorpool. ¡°What we need,¡± I told Buzz, ¡°Are airborne windmills on kites or balloons.¡± ¡°Lot of lines to get tangled,¡± said Buzz. He slid a ceramic gear into place and closed up the gearbox. Working the clutch lever, he was able to marry up the drive gear of a new device with a test spire being manually spun by a handful of goblins. It made a protesting shriek for a moment as the teeth found each other, and then a thunk as it slid into place and the output shaft began to spin. ¡°This¡¯un is ready,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s get the helix mounted.¡± I raised my voice. ¡°Clear the airspace, please!¡± The windmill designs caught the attention of the Ifrit, as well, and not just Taquoho. Those who had managed to make friends with igni hovered nearby on variations of Taquoho¡¯s coaxial copter, while others watched from a distance with their silent human guardians in tow. Only about half their number were currently in proxy bodies, however. The other half had apparently gone somewhat native and were spending most of their time inhabiting various gadgets and devices around the bluff¡ªincluding one that had taken a buggy for a driverless joy ride. The more brass we used in our construction, the more likely the Ifrit were to hitch rides. Rather than being a nuisance, it was a boon. Engines carrying Ifrit ran smoother and were less prone to stall. Gearing with an Ifrit was less likely to jam or break, and any moving parts were more resistant to wear or breakage when one of the fire spirits were on board. Gliders flew more accurately and more efficiently. The kilns even heated faster and used less fuel with an Ifrit relaxing in the oven, which I took to understand was something like a sauna for them. Across the board, the presence of the Ifrit had improved the Goblin technology out of little more than curiosity and boredom on their part. But it wasn¡¯t all sunshine and roses. Taquoho set his copter down nearby and watched as the paper-bladed helical wind turbine was fitted to the shaft. I glanced down at him. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°Your friends still planning on leaving?¡± ¡°I hesitate to name them as such. But yes, Apollo, they are soon leaving.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t say I¡¯ll miss ¡®em,¡± I said, hauling back on the clutch so it didn¡¯t spin the output shaft as the helix started to rotate. The former de facto leader of the delegation (whose name I won¡¯t even try to pronounce) had kept his distance since I¡¯d snubbed him in favor of promoting cultural crossover with his contemporaries¡ªan endeavor which had been quite successful. But the recalcitrant faction was preparing to return to the City of Brass with a shipment of ceramic parts. ¡°Stuffy bunch. No offense.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be going with them,¡± said Taquoho. I dropped the clutch lever in surprise, eliciting squawks as several goblins were smacked by the ensemble they were trying to assemble. ¡°What? Why? I thought you liked it here!¡± ¡°Simplifying my feelings as ¡®like¡¯ is a crude and reductive description for a very complex platter of emotions that strike me, especially when faced with the prospect of departing both the village and your company,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°I¡¯ll miss you too, buddy,¡± I said. The pale flame flickered with surprise. ¡°So, why leave?¡± ¡°I am certain Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do will report negatively about his time here, and how little we stand to gain from anything beyond a distant trade agreement. I must present the King of the Ifrit with an alternate perspective to extoll the virtues in continued¡­ friendship. I do not know if I shall be allowed to return.¡± I could see that over-stoked Ifrit bad-mouthing(flaming?) us to their King. Beside me, a trickle of water began to fall into the waiting basin as the screw carried it up from a collector halfway down the bluff. We¡¯d need another ensemble to reach from the staging point to the base of the bluff, but even eliminating the need for dedicated vertical transport would free up dozens of labor hours per day spent on goblins simply hauling water up the side of the cliff. Those were goblins Buzz could dedicate to making more windmills that ran things like lumber saws. Thanks, System. Now that we were reaching the near-industrial phase of our society, the more tasks we could automate through captured power¡ªbe it steam, wind, or combustion, the faster we could expand as the productivity of a single goblin went further. Instead of having 12 goblins hacking at a log, we could have 6 goblins feed it through a wind-powered saw. Instead of 20 working a gravity hammer and mixing sticks at the paper presses, we could have 10¡­ you get the idea. Taquoho¡¯s pale flame dimmed slightly. ¡°I would have liked to witness your infernal engines traverse the badlands,¡± he said. I leaned back and ran a hand under the outflow, bringing the water to my mouth. Establishing wind power was thirsty work. ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll be able to come back. You¡¯re my unofficial ambassador, you know. Whoever was most senior in this delegation doesn¡¯t matter to me.¡± I looked out over the edge of the cliff. ¡°You crossed the desert and the badlands to get to us. What should I expect out there?¡± ¡°Little that would think twice of making a meal of a goblin, I¡¯m afraid. Predators, territorial beasts, great herds, furtive shaman, and even orcs have come deeper into Lanclova than ever before.¡± ¡°How did you cross them?¡± ¡°The Ifrit know many ways through the land. Some are safer than others. But we have the Paladin. And the orcs fear us as demons and spirits of their slain kin come to haunt them and play tricks. We go where beasts dare not.¡± I sighed. ¡°Part of me wishes I could go with you. See the City of Brass.¡± ¡°It would be our honor if you were to do so.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Can¡¯t leave the tribe. Armstrong would probably lock me in a box if I tried. And he¡¯d be right to do so. If I got separated from the rest of the tribe, it would be easy to¡ª¡± ¡°To what?¡± ¡°To get lost and not find my way back.¡± Taquoho flashed a myriad of colors, the living flame equivalent of a belly laugh. ¡°King Apollo, surely you must know we would provide a guide for your return.¡± I¡¯d almost let slip the Head of the Snake skill. Even though I trusted Taquoho, the Ifrit as an organization were still an unknown agent in the grand scheme of things. No one outside the tribe needed to know that all they had to do to eliminate the entire tribe was stab me a couple hundred times. Hell, I didn¡¯t even like that Ringo knew about it. And he had the skill, too! I straightened and whistled for a goblin runner, sending him with a quick order. ¡°If I can¡¯t go with you, maybe I can still at least send someone to speak for Tribe Apollo.¡± A few minutes later, Luther came waddling up with one of his fellow canoneers in tow. ¡°Just the noblin I wanted to see,¡± I said. ¡°I wish to support my King¡¯s plans,¡± said Luther. Both noblins made the sign of the moon over their chests. I reciprocated, which seemed to make them happy. ¡°Taquoho is leaving the bluff. I want one of the canoneers to be my voice in the City of Brass." The canoneer in the rear began to speak up, but Luther smacked him with a meaty palm before turning back to me. ¡°Highness, this is a task I ought handle myself. I shall bring the canon to the Ifrit personally.¡± ¡°Uh huh. And it has nothing to do with the fact that it means you won¡¯t have to ride the airship north to look for other potentially hostile tribes,¡± I suggested. The noblin chief sputtered. ¡°Highness, there is no one in the tribe better with the pen than me. No one more versed with the histry of your¡ª¡± ¡°Relax,¡± I said, patting him on the side of the arm. ¡°You¡¯ve got the job.¡± I nodded down at the lazily spinning blades on Taquoho¡¯s vessel. ¡°Take care of him,¡± I added softly. ¡°I don¡¯t trust the others.¡± Luther nodded. ¡°I shall guard him with my life.¡± Chapter 84 - Divided Ideas Chapter 84 - Divided Ideas The day had finally come. Big Hoss Rig was ready in all her eight wheeled glory. Before we could put the pedal to the metal, I squared away the canoneer airship mission. All told, the expedition to the northern bluffs consisted of two canoneers, four scrappers to guard them, an ignis to keep the engine running, sixteen forest goblins, and Eileen. ¡°You¡¯re sure you want to do this?¡± I asked. ¡°Gotta see it done right, boss! Means I gotta see it.¡± Far from afraid, my intrepid air delivery chief was champing at the bit to take the aircraft to unknown reaches¡ªfurther than any Apollan goblin had ventured from the bluff on the back of a craft the likes of which this world had never conceived¡ªat least not without the help of magic. I had to imagine there was some wizard out there somewhere with a floating ship, or, hell, maybe even a castle. ¡°I¡¯m trusting you to get them there and back again,¡± I told her, clapping her shoulder. She grinned back. ¡°And I¡¯m trusting you on making certain something¡¯s here to eat what when we¡¯re home.¡± She held up a hand to the side of her mouth. ¡°Else-wise, we¡¯re eatin¡¯ noblin.¡± I eyed one of the portly canoneers struggling aboard the airship with an armful of drawing supplies. He wiggled his chubby legs as he tried to navigate himself over the gunwale with his arms full. I got the impression Eileen was only half joking. Quarter-joking, at worst. I stepped back, and Armstrong swooped forward and scooped up the new captain of my airship into a hug. ¡°Take care, little sis!¡± he said. Eileen giggled and pushed his face away, kicking the scrapper until he dropped her on to the ground, where she proceeded to sink her teeth into his leg. Armstrong howled and shook his leg until Eileen dislodged. ¡°Alright, alright. We¡¯ve got somewhere to be, Armstrong,¡± I reminded him. The scrapper grinned and mocked spinning a steering wheel and stomping on a gas pedal. ¡°Vrumm vrumm, boss! Let¡¯s get at it.¡± I left the airship dock with my bodyguards in tow and headed over to the motorpool, where something of a scene was occurring. Taquoho hovered near a fuming Promo, who was arguing with a flickering, flashing Ifrit that I soon made out to be the delegation¡¯s senior member. Two paladins were nearby, hands on sword hilts, which sent a chill down my little goblin spine. ¡°Hey, hey!¡± I said, jogging up. ¡°What¡¯s the ruckus?¡± ¡°Finally!¡± said Promo, throwing up his hands. ¡°Boss-man, yeh gotta tell ¡®im!¡± ¡°Tell him what?¡± I asked. I looked up at the hovering Ifrit. ¡°Taquoho?¡± Taquoho flitted nervously. ¡°Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do is insisting the rest of the Ifrit accompany him from the village¡ªmany of the unions who move the land-walkers are refusing.¡± If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°What? Why? Where are they?¡± Promo leveled his hammer at the motorpool. I looked closely, and began to see a host of pale, colored flames glowing in engine air intakes and exhaust ports. And a lot of discarded brass bottles and slumped over flying brass vessels nearby. ¡°Oh¡­¡± I said. ¡°But we¡¯re leaving the bluff today. We¡¯re taking the fleet out into the badlands.¡± ¡°Yes. That is why they are wishing to stay.¡± Haut von whatever shifted hues and made a series of dissonant tones. ¡°Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do demands that you force the recalcitrants from these ceramic and steel vessels so that they can perform their duties.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± I cocked my head and looked over at my chief smith. ¡°Promo?¡± ¡°What am I to do!?¡± he shouted. ¡°I told this crawler I ain¡¯t exactly able to evict ¡®em. What should I do? Bang on the engines til they get headaches? They got no heads, boss!¡± I ran a hand through my fur, groaning. ¡°Is the senior delegation member planning on taking all of the land-walkers?¡± ¡°All of the landwalkers, all of the Ifrit, and all of the paladin,¡± said Taquoho. Jesus. He was trying to pull everything and everyone out of the partnership with Tribe Apollo. No more Ifrit, no more hybrid goblin tech, no more blows to his ego as he watched other Ifrit make friendships and gain flying bodies. No wonder his decision was unpopular. He¡¯d lost a lot of clout. I knuckled my eyes and thought. ¡°We¡¯ve been firing parts day and night, but you don¡¯t have enough ceramic parts to fill all the landwalkers,¡± I said. ¡°1 or 2 at most. Does he have enough unions to support 2 landwalkers?¡± ¡°He does,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°How about this. Take the two landwalkers. When Rufus gets here we¡¯ll have enough parts for another shipment, we¡¯ll send them along with him.¡± I didn¡¯t need a translator to tell how well that suggestions went over. Taquoho interpreted anyway. ¡°Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do says any Ifrit remaining here are removed from the protection of The City. He will not leave paladins here, and he will not be responsible for those who decide to stay.¡± ¡°Well, they¡¯re grown Ifrit, and they can make their own decision,¡± I said. I stopped short of adding that it was probably a coincidence I¡¯d had Promo coat the throttle levers and steering columns in powdered zinc. Haut von Behen smoldered. And let me tell you, no one smolders like a fire elemental. But eventually, he turned and stomped off on four ornate legs. I shook my head. ¡°Taquoho, you sure you don¡¯t want to stay, as well?¡± ¡°Would that I were able,¡± said the airborne Ifrit. ¡°In my absence, there is another union who knows some of the spoken mortal tongues. I believe he is in the four-wheeled infernal engine Prometheus test drove late last night.¡± I shot my chief smith a dirty look. He broke eye contact. ¡°Just breakin ¡®er in, boss. Trust.¡± ¡°Uh-huh,¡± I said, unimpressed. ¡°Alright. So we¡¯re going to have Ifrit with us. Taquoho, I can¡¯t guarantee their safety, either. We¡¯re going out into the wilds and it¡¯s going to be dangerous.¡± ¡°My friend, they have watched the great inland sea dry and drain through cracks, leaving only brush, grass, and sharp stone behind. Countless blinks of Raphina¡¯s watchful eye. But in all that time, they have never crossed it at speed nor witnessed such artifice as your engines. They know the risks of which they assume¡ªbetter than you, I dare suggest¡ªand consider themselves the most fortunate of all Ifrit.¡± I huffed. ¡°Hell of a speech. You come up with that on the spot?¡± Taquoho¡¯s flame flickered. ¡°I may have bade my mind be elsewhere whilst Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do spoke at length. Alas, I must join him presently.¡± ¡°Unfortunate. Stay safe,¡± I said. Taquoho dipped his props to me in acknowledgment and hovered away. ¡°Keep watch over my kin, please.¡± I watched the Ifrit go. Even if he didn¡¯t want to leave, I understood the sense of duty that compelled him southward. I couldn¡¯t imagine the king would be too happy about a mutiny at what amounted to the manual laborers in his delegation, porters and drivers meant to move freight and turn their eyes down. Well, Tribe Apollo wasn¡¯t exactly a bastion of worker¡¯s rights, but every goblin was equa¡ªno, that wasn¡¯t true either. A caste hierarchy was practically a design feature of the goblin social structure. I just wanted to believe our way was better. And I¡¯d been doing it for weeks. The City of Brass had been kicking for what sounded like centuries, if not millennia. You didn¡¯t get that kind of cultural longevity without being clever. How many countries on Earth could claim an uninterrupted heritage stretching back a thousand years? Egypt, maybe? I¡¯m not an anthropologist and I¡¯m no longer dating one, so I can¡¯t really answer that one. With daylight burning in the sky, still low enough for Raphina to at least give us a side-eyed glare, I headed into the motor pool to muster up some road warriors. Chapter 85 - Madness Maximum Chapter 85 - Madness Maximum This may come as a shock, but supporting the troops was not my only reason for leading the badlands expedition. Some might say I have an impulsive streak, or that I¡¯m prone to unnecessary risks. I got a lot of flak whenever I rode motorcycles or flew planes, and more when I joined the NuEarth astronaut program. I think there¡¯s just a unique type of clarity only achieved with speed. A way the world seems smaller and more interconnected when you¡¯re cruising across it at 150kph, through the air at 250kph, or out of the atmosphere at 15 miles per second. Ask anyone who does it, and they¡¯ll tell you. Rava, above all else, seemed like a very large world. Vast distances separated even close points¡ªat least to a tiny goblin. A distance traveled in an hour on a highway might be a week or more¡¯s journey through Lanclova. And that was discounting the myriad dangers you might encounter. Anything I could do to bring the points of the world a little closer together, I was going to do. And I was going to do it myself. Plus, I loved me the heck out of speed freak movies. And I wasn¡¯t going to pass up the chance to cross the badlands as part of a motor-punk convoy of hooting, hollering, back-firing hooligans. Let¡¯s be real, here. Going to space was living my dreams. But tearing across the desert with the boys? That was living my fantasy. What¡¯s the point of living a second life if I didn¡¯t get to live it? Hide behind some wall like Ringo and I might as well still be dead. But I was still taking a page out of Ringo¡¯s book. There were no less than 150 goblins in the motorcade, all of them carrying weapons, tools, armor, and whatever else they thought might be useful from canoneer comics, to spanners, to baskets of spare rockettes. If goblins had moms, they would have packed them lunches. Have fun storming the castle. As they say on Earth, the hype was very real. Neil, Chuck, and Prometheus were all there. And since Armstrong went where I went, that made four taskmasters and a king. The most tippest toppest brass assigned to any one task, and it left only a handful of leaders actually at Village Apollo. This expedition was rolling deep, and we were coming back with enough to feed the tribe, or there was little point coming back at all. I walked through the motorpool, looking at the assembled goblins, and noticed something of a¡­ trend. Some of them had plate carriers with the thin ceramic tiles. Others had on gear that offered less¡­ coverage. ¡°Armstrong,¡± I said. ¡°Why do some of these goblins look like they¡¯re going to a bondage party?¡± ¡°Oh, that? That¡¯s just yer S&M club, boss!¡± My words caught in my throat. ¡°The, uh, the what?¡± ¡°The Shafts and Motors club! Resident gearbox fanatics.¡± ¡°I see. And the leather straps?¡± Armstrong scratched his chin. ¡°Less weight? Airy-dynamics?¡± He snapped his claws. ¡°Airflow! It¡¯s hot down on the badlands.¡± ¡°I see. Carry on.¡± The Shafts and Motors club hooted and cheered as wranglers started to mount up on the 13 working vehicles we¡¯d managed to cobble together. We had 6 buggies, 2 trikes, a trio of motorcycles, a single monocycle, for some reason (which is like a single big wheel that the driver sits in the center of), and the Big Hoss Rig on 8 wheels with Promo sitting at the sticks. The fleet swarmed with goblins. Each vehicle had been built to carry far more than its recommended amount might have been on earth, and at least 12 goblins were on each buggy. Each motorcycle had goblins front and back, as well as a side car with a rifle mount, and the BHR alone carried almost 30. The trikes carried a half-dozen each, and the monocycle? I¡¯m surprised any of the goblins were brave enough to go near that thing, but a single member of the S&M hung from the ape grips. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Gentlemen!¡± I yelled. A resounding cheer drowned me out for a moment. I held my hands up for quiet. ¡°I¡¯m not one for speeches. So¡­ start¡­ your¡­ engines!" As one, the entire expedition started making Brrrum-brrrrum noises as the drivers fed rockettes into the starters and the fleet rumbled to life. The sound of all the rotary engines going was incredible. Visible flames shot out of many as drivers maxed out the RPMs, but the Ifrit stowaways kept them cycling smooth. I could feel the thump of the fleet in my chest and vibrating through my blades, translating through the bluff like a living thing. I couldn¡¯t help but grin. I made my way over to the buggy Taquoho had mentioned and climbed aboard. The hobgoblin in the driver¡¯s station scrambled out of the way, deferring pilotage of the craft to me and booting another goblin off the back to make room. Armstrong muscled his way into the sponson and checked the action of the rifle mounted there. I revved the engine, pressing a prosthetic down against the spring-loaded throttle pedal. I raised my hands above my head and made the sign for the Church of the Right Angle. ¡°Ad Luna!¡± Those capable of speech repeated the mantra. The rest just chittered and cheered. I kicked the trike into gear and pulled out of the motorpool, the convoy behind me. Chuck pulled up alongside, popping a wheelie on his motorcycle as his gunners held on for dear life. He saluted, grinning so wide I thought the top of his head would flop off. He slammed the front wheel back down and sped out ahead. I leaned down. ¡°Taquoho said you can speak,¡± I shouted over the engine, ¡°You with us? What¡¯s your union¡¯s name?¡± ¡°Please, o¡¯ king, Tabun Quo¡¯Horal has acquainted us with the mortal custom of familiar brevity. It would honor us for you to call upon this union as Girmaks, and we shall call you Ap. We have also been informed of the practice of ¡®hunting¡¯ and wish for it to be successful, though we take no sustenance from the practice.¡± I laughed. ¡°Apollo doesn¡¯t really need to be shortened, but if you like, I suppose Ap works. You going to earn your keep on this trip?¡± ¡°I shall endeavor to make this the best vehicle in the fleet,¡± said Girmaks. I slapped the top of the engine. ¡°That¡¯s what I like to hear!¡± ¡°Would you like me to assume the steering and rotational combustion control?¡± I didn¡¯t know what stars aligned or when they¡¯d give me an opportunity like this again. ¡°No thanks Girmaks, I¡¯d like to keep it on manual for a little while.¡± ¡°As you wish, King Ap!¡± At some point I¡¯d have to introduce the concept of theater to the tribe so I could teach them to recreate some of the movies I¡¯ve seen. I pressed down on the throttle, feeling the RPMs surge in the rotary engine. Sure enough, the presence of the Ifrit made the engine transitions smoother, the steering tighter, and even the suspension less brutal on my backside. At the south end of the bluff we¡¯d expanded the freight elevators to make a pair of extra wide platforms. As much as I wanted to fit the whole fleet on one, a single platform simply wasn¡¯t strong enough. I watched as the first half of the vehicles went down, and then the platforms were hauled back up for the second set. More wranglers waited at the bottom with cliffords trained to run without riders. By the time the process was complete, the departing Ifrit and the paladins were already descending the cliff face. I saw Taquoho hovering down alongside the brass vessels of the delegation members. Halfway down, they were joined by Luther and his retainers, who beat them to the bottom, shrieking as they fell. I hopped off the trike and went over to help Luther back to his feet. He¡¯d donned some robes that looked like they were made of leftover canvas scraps and shiny lizard frills¡ªnow hopelessly dusty. I took his hand and leaned back, hauling the portly noblin back to his feet. ¡°Thank you, o¡¯ king. Truly, your magnanimous nature knows no limit.¡± ¡°Any time,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯ll take the Ifrit to the border of the grasslands, then we¡¯re headed east. You¡¯ll have to take them from there.¡± Luther nodded and dusted himself off. He made a quick circle over his heart and I left him to wait for the Ifrit. Climbing back up onto the trike, I glanced over at Armstrong. ¡°How do you think he¡¯ll do?¡± I asked. ¡°Yer too hard on ¡®im, boss. He¡¯s still a tasky and a noblin. He¡¯ll do us proud. Trust.¡± I curled my lip. ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡± The Ifrit delegation joined us, and I revved the motor and started down the eclectic, winding road south that would lead us to the edge of the jungle and to the scraggly plain beyond. Trees rushed by as the faster of the vehicles shot ahead, trikes and bikes and ol¡¯ one-wheel all kicking up dust from iron-banded wheels. I pushed the RPMs up and shoved the buggy into high gear. With the Ifrit smoothing the gearbox transmission, I barely felt like the whole thing was going to explode underneath my seat. I whooped and hollered along with the rest of the tribe as the convoy of gas junkers thundered through the forest, eager members of the Shaft and Motor Club hanging off the side with spears, cleavers, slingers, and the odd rifle. The badlands weren¡¯t going to know what hit them. Chapter 86 - On the Prowl Chapter 86 - On the Prowl Splitting from Taquoho¡¯s group with a final wave, we pulled out onto the open plain. We cruised across piebald grassland and bare, rocky turf while the sun beat down overhead. Armstrong was right about one thing: It was hot without the canopy cover of the forest. Of course, we were also riding unstable internal combustion motors burning explosively enhanced kerosene. Not having to bear multiple riders, the cliffords were easily able to keep pace with the convoy, even ranging out ahead in some cases. They¡¯d adapted well to the dense clutter of the jungle, but this was their natural habitat and they dove through the grass stands as if they were olympic swimmers, barking their heads off and circling back for more. Wranglers rode alongside on bikes to give them some semblance of order. We set a northeasterly course toward the rising sun, leaving a trail of dust behind us that climbed into the sky. I stood in the stirrups and leaned over the handlebars, enjoying as the terrain rushed by. This was almost as good as flying. Almost. Speaking of flying, I spotted the flash of reflective lizard skin in the air, and Chuck pulled alongside. ¡°It¡¯s a glider,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯ve spotted something,¡± ¡°Let¡¯s check it out,¡± I said. ¡°Lead the way!" Chuck took his bike back ahead, raising his shock spear overhead and spinning it, before pointing in the direction the glider was facing. The convoy whooped and cheered as they turned north-northeast, cutting across a small stream and bounding up the other side through a stand of scraggly trees. We rode for a couple hours, keeping the circling glider in flight as it rode thermals and pointed the way to our destination. The eclipse came and went. As it receded, far in the distance, I could see the flash of sunlight on water. And near it, a small herd of white creatures. Pay dirt. I didn¡¯t know what they were, but I¡¯m sure they were delicious. Chuck caught sight of them, too. And then the cliffords caught the scent. At the wrangler¡¯s whistle, they broke out to the right, bounding into the grass and vanishing from sight. One of the other bikes pulled up alongside. ¡°Pass word to Promo, take Big Hoss Rig and the fueler and set up near the water.¡± The bike dropped back to pass the word. Behind me on the trike, the goblins readied various weapons and tools, including lengths of rope with nets, slingers, tesla prods, and more than a couple premature sets of eating utensils that they had to have filched from the paladins. Armstrong opened up the magazine on his rifle and stuffed a handful of rockettes in, but I held a hand out to him. ¡°Hold off if you can. We want herd animals if we can get them. Herds can be driven and bred. Carcasses have to be hauled and butchered.¡± ¡°Aye, boss! Just in case, then, yeah?¡± Sounded prudent. Herbivores drew carnivores, and we didn¡¯t yet know what kinds of beasts stalked the plains. ¡°Just in case,¡± I agreed. Rufus¡¯ bestiary had described large cats, bipedal lizards, diurnal birds at least as big as a night haunt, and some manner of burrowing predator. But most of it was folklore, rumors, or just plain fabrication. The fact was, the interior of Lanclova was inhospitable to the ¡®newcomers¡¯ as the Ifrit dubbed them. Which was fortunate for goblins, even though the powers that be had already sent agents like the javelines. I scanned the grassland for any sign of predators, but the trike was a little too low to penetrate the tall grass stands. Still, I didn¡¯t see any immediate threats. Behind me, one of the buggies was extending a line attached to a kite with a goblin strapped to it to get eyes in the air. That should give us vision for miles in every direction. Unfortunately, the herd spotted the paper wings on the glider, and decided they¡¯d had enough to drink. The creatures, maybe 30-40 strong, wheeled and started bounding in the opposite direction. All around me, engines roared as wranglers opened their throttles all the way up. Not one to be left in the dust, I did the same. About that time, the cliffords broke out of the brush much further up, startling the herd and forcing them to shift directions. No longer running directly away, they cut an angle that would let us close the distance. The goblins on the trike chittered and whooped as we closed the distance, smacking the side of the vehicle with the butts of spears and the sides of cleavers as if to spur the iron steeds on. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. As we got closer, I was able to make out more details of our prey. They were some type of large bipedal creature with broad, twisted horns¡ªnot all that dissimilar from the shape and sweep of my trike¡¯s handlebars. They were half again as tall as a goblin, and they had four eyes set wide, able to track us as we pursued with long arms that they used for turning by slapping the ground. They also had thick haunches, and they moved in a bounding leap that carried them probably close to five or six meters per bounce as their long, floppy tails waved in the wind like streamers. Strange creatures. Put me in the the mind of a kangaroo crossed with an antelope. But those haunches were thick, and one of these things could probably feed 10, maybe 15 goblins for a day. My brain was vibrating too much to do the mental math, but if we got even a few of these creatures, it would be a huge boon for the village. The creatures wheeled again, toward a grassy area where they must have hoped they could lose us. One by one, they started hopping through the wall of grass, vanishing as though they had turned into smoke. And it was true that these vehicles wouldn¡¯t do as good in thick grass as they would on bare earth. But we weren¡¯t helpless and we weren¡¯t afraid to get dirty. The bikes split up and headed in either direction, and I fell back behind a four-wheeled buggy with a wide, ceramic cutter on the front. ¡°Armstrong, get ¡®em in line,¡± I said, securing a scrap of canvas over my nose and mouth. Armstrong stood up in his station and cupped his hands. ¡°You lot queue up! Single rank, onna double!¡± he shouted. The vehicles pulled in, and then the front buggy hit the grass stand. His cutter flayed the grass, sending clippings through the air as he carved a path ahead of himself. He necessarily slowed, and I eased off the throttle so as not to hit him from behind. The walls of grass rose on either side of it, taller even than the goblins atop the buggy who hadn¡¯t bothered to mask up, currently spitting out and coughing up grass clippings. One of the goblins on my trike got snagged by a scraggly branch from a tree in the grass field, and I heard his cry of EEEEeee as we kept moving, but I couldn¡¯t afford to stop. Hopefully he would find us before nightfall. The front truck burst out the other side of the grass stand, back onto hard turf, and opened his throttle back up. I pushed mine to the max, as well, and spotted the motorcycles on one flank, moving ahead to make sure the herd couldn¡¯t deviate again, while the cliffords sprinted up another. The herd itself started to tire. Their break-neck pace slowly dropped, and individual animals started to lag behind. With the motorcycles and cliffords penning them in, the main convoy gained ground. The lead buggy drew close enough that the goblins on board started throwing nets and lassos¡ªwhich immediately got tangled in the buggy¡¯s axle and caused it to spin out. ¡°Look out!¡± I shouted. I jerked my steering to the right, aided by Girmaks, and narrowly dodged the grass-cleaving blade from making my leg remnants even shorter. Several of my passengers were not holding on especially tightly and flew off the sides of the buggy. The monocycle had been following me too close to react when I swerved, and they ramped off the front of the cleaving buggy, steel suspension acting like a springboard to launch the unfortunate, screaming pilot in his one-wheeled abomination at least fifty meters into the air. The accident caused a chain reaction behind me, as more vehicles were forced to slow or swerve to avoid wrecking against the buggy. Dust from all the wheels skidding across the ground rose up in a choking cloud that confused all four directions for a minute before the wind blew it clear. We got it sorted, but the bulk of the herd used the distraction to build distance again. All that lagged behind were the old, the injured, and a few juveniles who couldn¡¯t keep up with their older generations. I got us back on track and the trike began to catch up to the stragglers who fell behind the herd. Three vehicles, including the monocycle, the cleaver buggy, and one tipped over trike did not rejoin the pursuit. We¡¯d make do. ¡°No ropes!¡± I shouted over my shoulder. I didn¡¯t need a repeat of the buggy¡¯s blunder. I reached down to a holster by my knees and pulled out one of the tesla prods with a snapping, buzzing wasp pinched between its tines. As we drew even with one of the exhausted creatures, I thrust out my rod and was rewarded with the snap of electricity. The creature locked up mid-hop and toppled over. the goblins on the trike cheered, and I grinned myself. I¡¯d never been a hunter on Earth. My old man had told me only bakers and thieves woke up early enough for that sort of thing, and he didn¡¯t have the belly for an apron or the face for a mask. Just one of those weird things dads say, I guess. But the point is that it didn¡¯t run in my family. Now that I was riding the plain on a trike, zapping animals into submission with my tribe. And it felt good, to both the human and goblin sides of my brains. There was something primally satisfying to it. We pulled further ahead, and two of my gunners with reed dart guns shot another pair of wasps at another horn hopper. It bleated as the insects struck it, and it tumbled ass over teakettle with the angry bugs buzzing for freedom in its flank. All around, vehicles veered off and chased down onesie-twosie hoppers as they broke and ran different directions. But the main herd was still making good its escape with renewed vigor. ¡°Armstrong, what¡¯s our fuel look like? Armstrong opened up the brass tank. ¡°Gettin¡¯ low, boss. Just below that line you scratched.¡± The bulk of the herd was still ahead. But we were also getting further away from our support vehicles, and I didn¡¯t want to spend the evening trudging back to the lake we¡¯d passed with bladders to fill and carry back just because I got greedy. ¡°Alright, load up the ones we stunned. Let¡¯s rendezvous with Promo and celebrate our first hunt with a proper fry-up.¡± That got the loudest cheer of the day. Chapter 87 - The Hard Things Chapter 87 - The Hard Things We drove slower back to the pond where Promo had set up the BHR. We took advantage of the stunned state of our newest livestock to feed iron pins through the septum of each animal and attach it to a line. Some of them surrendered to their fate as soon as they woke up, trotting alongside the convoy with heads lowered and tongues lolling. Other resisted, painfully, and the wranglers had to box a few snouts to bring them around. One of the motorcycles pulled up, and I looked over to see my wrangler boss handing off the controls before making the jump over to my buggy. The goblins on the bike squawked as their center of gravity shifted, falling back with a bad case of the wobbles. ¡°How¡¯d we do, Chuck?¡± ¡°Way better¡¯n on cliffords, boss. Seen these hoppers before, but never caught the jump on ¡®em. 16 tied up. 10 of those can feed the hunt, and the rest we can send along tomorrow.¡± I nodded along. ¡°Imagine if we¡¯d gotten more of the herd. Our food problems would be sorted. We were so close.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll get ¡®em, boss. We¡¯ll fuel up and track ¡®em again tomorrow.¡± I patted the engine beneath the trike. ¡°You did great today, too. Nice job on keeping this engine running smooth.¡± ¡°Thank you, King Ap. This union experienced much excitement and thrill.¡± It took us about an hour to get back to the watering hole where we¡¯d first spotted the herd. Promo had already unpacked the BHR, which was the next iteration of the portable goblin tower¡ªon wheels, this time. Since a forest canopy didn¡¯t exist out on the badland plains, we had the equivalent of a dump truck¡¯s rotating payload, only this one rotated a telescoping square tower onto the ground. Hollow inside except for a series of nets, it could sleep over a hundred goblins, with room for more at the top. Not as tall as the one we built in Huntsville, but hopefully just as secure. Especially with hobbies on choppers running night patrols. We detatched it from the rig and staked it down. Promo had 2 other igni and about 20 non-variant goblins with him, just there to back him up when setting up the rig and with whatever else Promo needed around the camp. More than a few of our rides were dinged up needing maintenance. Luckily, he already had a forge fire and a cookfire going. I pulled the trike up near the tower and hopped down, shaking the dust from my fur. The wind sweeping across the badlands carried a lot of dust and debris. Promo eyed the hopping creatures we¡¯d brought back, barely managing to keep his drool from dripping. ¡°I, uh, see it was a success,¡± he said. ¡°Not nearly successful enough,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯ve already had one total loss, and we¡¯ll need another vehicle tomorrow to take back whatever we don¡¯t eat tonight.¡± Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°You planned for attrition,¡± said Promo. He rubbed his chin. ¡°Want to start setting up here? Get a couple structures going, spare parts, some basic resources¡­¡± I looked around. ¡°It¡¯s got mud, grass, and fresh-ish water.¡± I eyed the brackish, brown pond. ¡°That¡¯s bricks and something to drink, at least. Be good to have a solid base of operations, and it¡¯s only a few hours southeast of Canaveral. Alright, let¡¯s do it.¡± Promo nodded and poked at his fire. The goblins made quick work of the animals set aside for dinner. I didn¡¯t know if I¡¯d ever get used to them tearing through prey like a school of land piranhas, but they had 10 animals skinned and quartered as fast as you can blink, and the various bits spitted and turning over the cookfires while others went to work turning bones and gristle into tools. Soon the camp was settled into an evening of repairs and crackling fat starting to render. We kept the remaining hoppers in the lowest level of the BHR tower, which would hopefully keep them safe from predators. Or, failing that, alert the goblins sleeping above before the predators got to us. Our first day on the plains had been fortunate in how few goblins we¡¯d lost. I knew there were still a few stragglers out in the brush that might get picked off before finding their way to camp. But hopefully they¡¯d find some way to survive the night on the ground. Goblins weren¡¯t designed to be on the open plain. Maybe there was another variant suited to it already out here, like King Ringo¡¯s boglins. But without the trees and the bluffs, it seemed to me like isolated goblins were a snack waiting to happen. Still, in terms of our losses, we were doing well. Downed crewmembers were below my replacement reproduction projections for the sleeping arrangements in the tower, which were too large per-pile for optimal spawning efficiency, but made good use of the available space inside. I worked on the vehicles with Promo until dinner was ready. Lord knows I¡¯ve been elbow deep in an engine or two on Earth. Personally, I preferred rocket motors to Wankels, but I¡¯d take what I could get on this new world. Finding problems with my designs wasn¡¯t hard from this perspective. The badlands weren¡¯t gentle on the primitive vehicles with their iron-banded wooden wheels. Replacement parts were the most jury-rigged contraptions this world had likely ever seen. By the time we were done with the repairs, I¡¯d replaced the dust in my fur with grit and grime from the engines, and I smelled vaguely of the thicker lubricant oil from fish livers that we¡¯d mixed in with the spring kerosene. No one ever said this was going to be glamorous. But at least I was going to bed with a full belly for the first time in what felt like a week. And in the morning I¡¯d see to it that tomorrow was an even more successful day for the desert warriors of Tribe Apollo. I looked up at the stars above while I ate, and at the big shadow that was Raphina¡¯s closed eye marking a wide circle in the sky. It didn¡¯t have rings or a bullseye, but it was a target none the less. We¡¯d come so far in such a short time, but there were still so many steps along the way. Every thought I had, every decision I made, every goal I set; it was all meant to take us closer to Raphina. But none of it would matter if the tribe starved. And I didn¡¯t need to feed hundreds of goblins in order to reach the moon. I¡¯d need to feed thousands, maybe tens of thousands of goblins by the time we were through. An entire nation working together toward a single goal of space exploration. We choose to do these things not because they are easy, but because they are hard. I yawned, and the stars began to blur in my vision. I dropped the bones in my hand and stumbled my way over to the BHR tower, climbing past the livestock into one of the nets stretched across the interior where several other goblins already lay snoring. I tossed myself on top of the nice, warm pile. And before long, I was out. Chapter 88 – Accidental Animal Husbandry Chapter 88 ¨C Accidental Animal Husbandry I blearily selected yes. The new screen flashed in front of my eyes with a set of sliders underneath labels for all my unlocked variants. I played around for a minute, watching as dragging one slider up or down influenced the rest. Not all variants were equal, it seemed. The igni and the canoneers required more of the total variant capacity, while taskmasters required more, still. I dragged the slider for canoneers down to the lowest it would go, closed the window, and went back to sleep. I woke up some time later, still sleepy and contented from the meal the night before. Starlight filled the opening in the top of the tower, with the barest glow of dawn gilding the eastern horizon. The tower swayed back and forth, pushed by wind. I think the motion was what had woken me up. I wasn¡¯t worried about it tipping over since we¡¯d secured it with cords staked down at each of the four corners. I mumbled to myself and rolled over on the top of the pile. I could get at least another hour¡¯s worth of sleep in before we got the convoy on the move. Wha¡­? A particularly stiff gust hit the side of the tower, and I heard the lines part with a snap. The whole thing tipped dangerously, becoming a tunnel of squawking, startled goblins as sleeping mounds all shifted to one side. That, of course, accelerated our rotation. I shouted in surprise as I went zero-g for half a heartbeat before the tower collapsed. Panicked, screeching goblins worked to extricate themselves from the nets and iron and wood that had quickly turned from fortress to prison. I tried to free myself from the sleeping net, and eventually resorted to simply biting through the cordage to get free from the tangle and out into the early morning light. Goblins poured out of the collapsed BHR tower like ants scurrying out of a compromised hill, confused and disoriented in the dark. The hoppers we¡¯d sequestered in the bottom of the tower all bolted, seeing their chance at freedom. They raced into the darkness, collectively shrieked in alarm, and then they came racing back through the camp, knocking goblins aside as they decided we were better than whatever they¡¯d found waiting. Slowly, a lumbering shadow resolved, pawing at the downed tower. I squinted to get a closer look, and then held my hands up agains the sudden glare as an arc of electricity split the night between two massive tusks from a white, shaggy creature. It was like someone had taken a mammoth, then taken away the trunk and squished it down shorter and wider and bleached its fur. It hunched down on wide paws with stubby toes. It caught sight of us for the first time as well, flinching back in confusion. Numbers resolved over its head. 36. The bio-electric arc cut off, and the creature faded back into shadow. One of the goblins got ahold of a rifle, and I heard the crack of a shot splitting the early morning. The¡ªwhat had the System called it, a Thunder-cleave?¡ªshied back, growling. Another crack followed, and the beast growled in response. A small silhouette ran out in front of the beast with its hand raised. It tossed what it held, and the flash of a popper exploded against the animal¡¯s tusk in a brief, bright flash. The thunder-cleave took a half-jump back, planted its feet, and lowered its head. ¡°Uh oh,¡± I said. The bioelectricity snapped again, igniting an arc of what must have been extremely high voltage between the tips of the two tusks. Its front paws flexed, digging up earth, and its massive shoulders hauled the thing forward as it charged through the camp. Most of the goblins got out of the way. The few that didn¡¯t scramble out of its path in time were caught in the bolt between its tusks. I saw a brief flash of big-headed skeletons, and then all that remained were rapidly expanding clouds of blue fur. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. ¡°Move, move!¡± I shouted. The thunder-cleave tore past, swinging its head in a wide arc, and I managed to dive down and avoid being trampled under its wide front paws and rear hooves. I bounced on the ground with the impact of its massive footfalls, covering my head as it bounded over me. Not interested in sticking around, apparently, the gigantic beast plowed through one of the trikes, smashing the vehicle into a cartwheel that shredded it from the force of the spin. The thunder-cleave shadow receded into the night as its footfalls continued to resonate through the hard-pack ground. I climbed to my feet, knees shaking, and stared after the retreating shadow. I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders, steadying me. ¡°Boss! Boss, you alright?¡± ¡°Armstrong?¡± I asked, staring up at the hobgoblin. I shook my head to clear it, then shook his hands off my shoulders. ¡°To the vehicles!¡± I shouted. ¡°Everything we¡¯ve got, move, move!¡± The disoriented goblins snapped to attention like my voice had jolted them as bad as a tesla wasp. It was close enough to morning that we hadn¡¯t been put into a sleepless stupor, and they were hungry. The crowd of disheveled, rudely awakened goblins piled into the buggies and the roar of engines started to split the night. I hauled myself up onto one of the four-wheeled buggies and looked around. ¡°Where are the wranglers?¡± I asked. ¡°No good to anyone, woken up like they was,¡± said Armstrong, swinging into the driver¡¯s station. Much to my dismay, a canoneer seemed to have been born overnight before I could de-prioritize them, and he scrambled into the seat to my left with a handful of crumpled paper and a charcoal stick. Armstrong dropped a rockette in the starter. ¡°Lucky my boys went down early, so at least we got scrappers.¡± ¡°It¡¯ll have to do,¡± I said. ¡°You don¡¯t mean to chase that fing, do ya?¡± he shouted over the roar of the starter. ¡°Heck yeah, I do. System let me see its level. Which means we should be able to take it down.¡± Armstrong threw the buggy in gear and we peeled out, chasing the receding shadow of the thundercleave. We may have lost the extra hoppers we¡¯d kept in the base of the tower, but this thing was big game. I bet it could feed the whole tribe for a month. Maybe longer. Not to mention it had more bioelectricity, like the wasps. Only this wasn¡¯t enough to just shock a goblin, it was enough to vaporize one. Millions of volts. Which meant that electricity had to be stored, channeled, insulated from the rest of the creature, and eventually released. That meant natural capacitors. And if I could figure out a way to release it gradually, instead of all at once? Well, that would make a fine battery. The sun crept over the horizon ahead of us as we pursued the thundercleave. It looked back at the wedge of vehicles behind us and howled, before lowering its head and charging away. ¡°Keep after it!¡± I shouted. Armstrong floored the accelerator. Luckily we¡¯d fueled up the vehicles the night before¡ªthe ones that didn¡¯t need critical fixing. Surprisingly, the mono-cycle had survived its encounter with the bladed buggy, and rolled along right next to me, piloted by one of the leather-bound S&M club goblins. On my other side, a half-dozen bikes, trikes, and buggies made up the bulk of the fleet. Slowly, we started gaining on the thundercleave. It must have realized it wasn¡¯t going to outrun us, so it spun around, claws dragging deep furrows in the ground. ¡°Slingers ready!¡± I yelled. ¡°Here it comes!¡± I worked the crank on my own buggy¡¯s heavy slinger along with 3 other goblins, and we got the payload in place as the thundercleave dug its paws in and lurched toward us. ¡°On my signal!¡± I shouted as I cranked. The other vehicles must have thought that was the signal, because most of them launched their payloads. Cast nets shot skyward from several vehicles, while others launched rocket-propelled poppers. Any goblin with a gun fired it, and even the mono-cycle goblin leaned out with a pistol and took a pot shot. Most of the nets fell short, but as the thundercleave began to charge, one managed to get tangled between its paw and right tusk, and it stumbled. Armstrong jerked his wheel to the side as the bulk of the thing tipped mid-charge and it rolled over, right where we¡¯d have been in another second. Three goblins shouted war cries and leapt from the buggy, catching the thundercleave by locks of its thick, shaggy fur. They climbed it, trying to keep their balance, and attacked it with spears, cleavers, and knives. Its fur was, unsurprisingly, an absolute deterrent to the close quarters weaponry. We weren¡¯t going to take this thing down by stabbing it. The thing pushed to its feet, shaking to try and dislodge the goblins on top. 2 of them flew free, while the other managed to stick his spear deep enough to lodge it, and held on for dear life as he whipped like a flagpole. The thundercleave growled, and the lightning began to arc between its tusks again. It reared up on its back legs, and then dropped into a charge at the circling vehicles. The goblins in its path scattered in a dusty scramble as wheels spun out. One trike wasn¡¯t so lucky, and the ¡®cleave managed to plant a heavy paw on the back quarter of it as it ran past, flipping the trike and crushing a few of its riders. The rest of the goblins bailed out as the thundercleave wheeled around, digging its tusks down and tossing the wreckage into the air, where it spun before crashing back down. All the while, gunfire rang and poppers popped against its hide, to little avail. I cursed to myself. This thing was flesh and blood. We could kill it, but not with what we had here. We needed heavier ordnance. Cannons might do the trick, maybe heavier rockets. But varmint rifle rounds? Might as well have been BB guns and slingshots. ¡°Pull back!¡± I said. ¡°Make sure we get the Ifrit out of that wreck,¡± ¡°Boss! Dust cloud! Something¡¯s coming!¡± shouted Armstrong as he swung us around close enough for the stunned fire spirit to jump from the destroyed truck into our own engine. I stood up at the gunner¡¯s station, watching as a wedge of large, horned creatures barreled towards us on four hooves, with larger creatures interspersed with the pack. They looked like muscular antelope. But that wasn¡¯t what worried me. They had riders. Chapter 89 - Healthy Competition Chapter 89 - Healthy Competition ¡°Regroup!¡± I said. Keep distance!¡± I didn¡¯t know what I was dealing with here, but we were not ready to be facing cavalry in the middle of a fight we were already losing. Armstrong pulled us out about the time the thundercleave noticed the new arrivals. It bellowed out a warning, before turning and running again. ¡°Ready all guns and slingers!¡± I shouted as the badlands cavalry came on. But rather than angling for us, they shifted toward the thundercleave. As they did, I got a better look at the riders in profile. They weren¡¯t human, that I could tell. They were shorter¡ªmaybe halfway between a hobgoblin and a human. They were lean and lanky, with long arms, and they each wore wraps around their heads to keep out the dust. Their saddles were minimal on the antelope, but still ornate and worked with beads and charms. Their weapons, likewise, were decorated with feathers, beads, and sported black metal blades. One of the riders broke off, coming close enough to us get a look of his own. I saw the puzzled tilt of a head. Clearly not sure what he¡¯d found, he yanked his reins around and kicked the sides of his mount back to rejoin the chase. At least he wasn¡¯t immediately hostile ¡°Who are they?¡± I shouted down. ¡°Dunno, boss. Wot we doing?¡± I considered, watching them spread out to flank the thundercleave and keep it from heading for a thicket of tall grass. They clearly knew their way around the plains. ¡°Follow them,¡± I said. ¡°But keep your distance. Maybe we¡¯ll learn something. They obviously think they can take down the thundercleave.¡± Armstrong kicked the buggy back into gear and we shot off, with the other goblins following behind us. We maintained a respectful distance as the hunting troupe ahead of us got riders out ahead of the beast, casting back some sort of dust that made the thundercleave flinch and slow. It slowed enough for the larger of the hunting animals to draw close, and much to my surprise, hunters leapt from the tops of the bunkers onto the back of the thundercleave. These ones had thick, sharpened poles, and they wedged them down around the head and tusks of beast to arrest its head movement. The beast, caught, tried to work its head loose. But couldn¡¯t manage it. It tried to arc electricity between its tusks, but the poles must have had grounding wire, because the voltage just sparked off one tusk, and nothing else happened. ¡°Look at ¡®em go,¡± said Armstrong, standing up in his station. I climbed down closer to the engine. ¡°Girmaks, you with us?¡± ¡°Indeed we have that privilege,¡± ¡°What are we looking at here? Elves?¡± ¡°No, King Ap. These are orcs. But it is rare to see them this deep in the interior.¡± Orcs. Rufus had all but warned me about them, with their name for Rava translating to something like ¡°To be trampled beneath our feet.¡± Judging by how neat they¡¯d trussed up the thundercleave, I wondered if they might not actually be capable of such a thing. ¡°Based on what Rufus said, I¡¯m surprised they didn¡¯t attack us,¡± I thought aloud. ¡°The orcs believe the Ifrit are spirits of their ancestors. They will not readily attack if they see blue flame in your company.¡± I looked down at the pale blue glow. ¡°Seriously? Do the Ifrit maintain this fiction?¡± Girmaks flared with indignation. ¡°Of course not, King Ap. The Ifrit have told them many times this is not truthful. But they do not believe.¡± I looked out across the plain. The orcs had finished off the thundercleave and were beginning to process it. We held positions over the next hour as a large train of pack animals caught up with the hunting party and began to unpack. An impromptu camp was already starting to spring up around the carcass. Maybe they¡¯d leave something for us¡ªbone marrow or offal, or something. I wasn¡¯t above scavenging like hyenas if it meant keeping the tribe fed. ¡°Why don¡¯t the orcs believe you aren¡¯t orc ghosts?¡± I asked. ¡°Orcs are cunning, and they believe the older the orc, the more cunning they become. Therefor, the spirits of elders must be the most cunning of all and would never admit to being who they were. Staunch refusals only stoke their conviction. A most vexing situation.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°It¡¯s a classic catch-22,¡± I said, running a hand over the top of my fur. ¡°So they won¡¯t attack us?¡± ¡°Not readily,¡± said Girmaks. That wasn¡¯t an absolute negative. But we had guns and buggies and almost a hundred goblins. We might not have had the proper tools to take down a thundercleave, but we¡¯d been fighting javeline and I had to imagine weapons that had worked on the piggies would work well enough on an orc. ¡°Let¡¯s go meet the new neighbors,¡± I said. ¡°Maybe there¡¯s parts of the ¡®cleave they won¡¯t want.¡± Armstrong coughed. ¡°Boss, is this is one ¡®o them times I ought warn you it¡¯s a bad idea?¡± I looked up at the scrapper in charge of my Secretive Service. ¡°We¡¯ll split if it turns ugly. But I want to know who we¡¯re sharing the plains with.¡± ¡°I shall join you, if I may,¡± said Girmaks. ¡°It may aid your entreaty to be perceived as under the demesne of a grandfather spirit.¡± ¡°I thought the Ifrit didn¡¯t play to superstitions,¡± I said. ¡°They also did not fly or drive infernal engines. Yet, here we are.¡± I got Girmaks¡¯ bottle out of the saddlebag and held it up so the Ifrit could move from the engine to the brass vessel. Armstrong and several scrapper bodyguards came along, as well as the canonneer. As we approached the orc camp being broken out, I noticed that the patrolling orcs regarded us not as threats, but as curiosities. They noted us, but didn¡¯t challenge us. Honestly, after the reception of the javeline and the boglins, this was something of an unexpected change. I also saw that they each had a band tied high on their right arm. Many wore yellow and blue, others had red on black, and a few had more had various other color combinations. I didn¡¯t know what it represented. Maybe rank or standing within the group? Many of them offered two fingers pressed to the side of their nose when they noticed the brass bottle. I took it to be a sign of respect. ¡°Strange they¡¯re just letting us walk in here,¡± I said, looking around. The orcs were breaking out tents and tables and pulling freight down from the back of their larger mounts. ¡°Looks like they¡¯re staying a while.¡± ¡°A night, at least, little brother!¡± said a surprisingly feminine voice behind me. It was so unexpected that it almost startled me, like turning on the TV and having the volume suddenly way too loud might do. I turned to the speaker, who had dropped her face wraps to reveal a slate-colored face with yellow war paint marked beneath bright, copper eyes. A mane of jet-black hair covered her head. She had two spearmen behind her, both of whom had similar face paint. ¡°Lura Sunskin, am I, hunt-chief of the Dawn¡¯s Light team. Be welcome to my table, little brothers, but touch not, take not. A thing curious, is a goblin on the plains. More still when he talks and carries an elder spirit.¡± ¡°King Apollo. Charmed,¡± I said. ¡°Gracious of you to welcome us. I have to admit, I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re so welcoming.¡± The orc huntress rolled her head back and laughed. ¡°What threat pose you, to we who stride the world? A time for honor and rivalry, this. We may not have seen the thundercleave if you had not its ire roused by strange, rolling artifice. I know not what tricks our elders play, but they have conspired such that I owe you the scout¡¯s share. Come.¡± Lura turned and walked back into the camp. Tents and pavilions of hide or cloth were already being raised against the sun. With the heat of the day beginning to bear down, it offered the hunters some shade to work in as they processed the ¡®cleave. They were efficient in skinning and butchering the beast, with tanning frames ready and cookfires already starting to smolder. But the strangest thing, to me, was hearing them talk. From Rufus description, and their toad-like faces, I would have expected guttural, gravely voices and simple, brutish sentences capped with snarls. But Lura talked more like she was reading a classic play¡ªor at least a high school drama club¡¯s interpretation of a classic play. ¡°Few songs sing yet of goblin kings, and deeds done by they,¡± said Lura. ¡°Tell me true, how many are you numbered?¡± ¡°We have over 100 on the plains,¡± I said, not wanting to give her an exact count. ¡°And more in the jungle. But food is getting scarce. We came out here to hunt for livestock.¡± Lura rubbed her protruding chin. ¡°You come at ill time, little brother.¡± ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± I asked. ¡°Because in the midst of the Stampede, are we. The great hunt. All beasts upon the plains of Lanclova are hunt chief property claimed.¡± She nodded to the brass bottle. ¡°We compete for the right to hunt them the year round.¡± I bit my lip. ¡°So you¡¯re saying we can¡¯t hunt the badlands because of this¡­ Stampede event?¡± ¡°To do so, poaching it would be, little brother,¡± said Lura. She looked back at the thundercleave being strung up to have the blood drained into barrels. ¡°Be glad twas my team which prevailed and not your kin. For the punishment would make you envious of our departed quarry. I give you the scout¡¯s share in part so that you and I need not come to quarrel, for I do not wish the ire of the elder spirits, nor is there sport in the slaying of little brothers and sisters.¡± My heart dropped. ¡°So what you¡¯re saying is, we¡¯re screwed,¡± I said. ¡°If we hunt while you¡¯re hunting, other orcs will attack us.¡± ¡°Not all my kin are as magnanimous as I. Had it been the Sunless Shrine or the Hawk¡¯s Due, you might have found yourselves ¡®a cookpot lining, tiny king.¡± There was silence for a moment. If you were listening closely, I¡¯m sure you could have heard my heart break to learn that any attempt to feed my tribe would me met with outright hostility. ¡°There¡¯s no way we could come to some agreement? Trade artifice for meat, maybe?¡± I asked. The hunters with Lura laughed, but she merely shook her head. ¡°You know not of orcs, I see. We do not trade. We take what we wish, have we the strength to do so. If your artifice we wanted, it would be ours.¡± ¡°So there¡¯s nothing we can offer you?¡± ¡°As I said, you come at ill time.¡± We stood, looking at one another for several seconds as I wracked my brain, looking for a solution. The orcs weren¡¯t hostile, but they would quickly turn so if we persisted in hunting the badlands. Lura seemed about to leave, when a small, brassy voice from between my hands split the silence. ¡°King Ap wishes to join the Stampede.¡± Chapter 90 - A Hunter Past Prime Chapter 90 - A Hunter Past Prime I looked down at the brass jar in my hands with the tiny blue flame licking out of the open throat. I like to think I recovered quickly. Lura pursed her lips. ¡°Impossible. Goblins have no standing to join the Stampede.¡± ¡°It is my standing as a grandfather spirit which grants claim.¡± Lura Sunskin looked uncomfortable. ¡°Elders are, of course, able to join the Stampede¡ªbut not so late in the season. The bones whence cast dictate the counting of the hunt chiefs. They will not brook more¡ªlest discord grow within the cadence of the spirits and the Stampede. Such a thing is taboo. You know this.¡± She shook her head. ¡°It is too late in the season for a new team to be founding.¡± ¡°Is it his right or not?¡± I asked. Lura chewed her lip. ¡°It is,¡± she admitted. ¡°You carry the elders with you and honor the hunt¡ªeven if your methods of artifice are strange. Eligible, if ill-favored, this makes you. A conundrum.¡± She considered, working through the idea in her head. ¡°But another team so grows the competition, thus stacks my glory ever higher when I the victor am named. Perhaps there is yet another way. Come with me.¡± We followed Lura deeper into the camp. Most of the orcs weren¡¯t strong individually. Lura herself was only level 12, and most of the orcs ranged from 7-15. But they worked together with a level of coordination and diligence that put goblins to shame. It seemed they operated off pure muscle memory, as most of their time was spent in raucous laughter after telling each other jokes or anecdotes. Some worked with weapons, practiced riding in formation, and I could already make out the ring of a hammer on iron. I also spotted several totems lining the camp, and stopped to examine one with the skull of a creature I didn¡¯t recognize cresting it. System, can you tell me what this is? Do the orcs have their own tech tree? Is it compatible with ours? Interesting. ¡°Dawdle not, Apollo,¡± warned Lura I double-timed it to keep up. We crossed over to what seemed to be the workman¡¯s portion of the camp, already choked with coal-fire smoke and the smell of oils and lye. It was here I saw the metalworkers forging and mending equipment, as well as other artisans making arrows, saddles, clothing, dyes, and various other sundries. Off in the corner, a shaded table sat beneath a stretched hide, where a half-dozen orcs hunched over mugs spread across a low field table between them. Some of them had armbands of grey and white, others no armbands at all. Most had the lopsided muscle of smiths, clearly stronger on their hammer-hand side with corded muscle and faces framed by forge soot. One of them, larger and higher leveled than the rest, looked up and scowled at Lura¡¯s approach, then looked at us and scowled. Then looked back into his mug and scowled even deeper. One of his teeth was cracked and blackened, and his lips were drawn back over that side as though it pained him. His hair had gone mostly grey, with only a few black patches remaining in the bundle of locks bound behind his shoulders. ¡°Lo there, dawn huntress,¡± said one of the other orcs, whose cheeks and nose had gone red. ¡°This is a Flock table, and your own ought you find.¡± Lura leaned in. ¡°And gone ought you get, little Wormwood spawn, for Sourtooth¡¯s ears my words are. Difficult you¡¯ll find it to jest through tusks clipped and nose awry.¡± Jesus. I had expected a grunting, guttural exchange of limited vocabulary. Did all orcs talk like a drama club who just discovered Shakespeare? Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°Be off with you, Lura,¡± said the older orc, hunching lower over his cup. ¡°Poor enough the season cut short, without your come to gloat of fresh killing.¡± ¡°Sour words from a sour orc spill forth, proven lies before reaching the ground. These little brothers wish to join the Flock¡ªunless a stubborn old orc prefers continuing to turn out nails, rings, and oryx shodding to the wind through his locks.¡± The orcs leered over the table at us, as though noticing us for the first time. Then they all burst into laughter. The only one not laughing was Sourtooth as he glared daggers up at the huntress. Lura waited for them to finish. The old orc reached under the low table and dragged out his stump of a leg, thumping the remnant and a crude, peg prosthetic, on the top of the table, overturning two drinks in the process. ¡°It seems the morning star of the dawn hunt has forgotten. Numbered are my hunting days. One who cannot ride, cannot run, and cannot leap? Cannot stride the world, he. And now goblins, you bring to replace my hunters lost? This jest is salt rubbed deep in fresh wounds, Lura, and insult so easily offered may not be as easy forgiven.¡± I looked at the remnant of his leg, severed raggedly just above the ankle. His peg leg wasn¡¯t much better. It was poorly balanced, and slightly too short for him. Likely he¡¯d walked with a terrible limp ever since he¡¯d gotten it, which based on the bruising under the strap, had been fairly recently. Of my own initiative, I bounded up onto the table, knocking a few more drinks over and putting my own prosthetic blades on full display. A couple of the orcs shied back, startled. But Sourtooth stared. Even without lower legs, I¡¯d jumped up the half-meter or so to the field table¡ªfully half my own height¡ªand landed without a stumble. ¡°Clear off, lads,¡± Sourtooth finally said. He scowled at Lura. ¡°And back to your skinners, you. Think you not that I see your ambitions?¡± Lura Sunskin bowed out with a grin. ¡°My work here is done, then. I shall set eyes on you afield, elder.¡± The old orc waved her off and then craned his neck to make sure she¡¯d gone before gesturing me closer. ¡°Far too clever, she, for an orc so young.¡± He leaned in and squinted at my prosthetics. This is no orc artifice,¡± he said, peering at the spring-steel blades. ¡°From where came these feet of steel?¡± ¡°My Igni made them,¡± I said. ¡°And I can make you one, as well.¡± Sourtooth massaged his thigh, digging long, lean fingers deep into the knobby muscle. ¡°Would be a waste of fine steel to do so. But Igni¡­ and scrappers aside, unless my mark be untrue. And¡­¡± he narrowed his eyes at the canoneer. ¡°whatever that one be. your tribe numbers higher than the gaggle what suns south of the Stampede.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I said. ¡°And they¡¯re hungry. They¡¯re hunting and fishing, but they haven¡¯t taken to farming. I need to hunt the plains, and I can¡¯t hunt the plains because I¡¯m not part of your Stampede. If you quit because of your injury¡­¡± Sourtooth huffed. ¡°Not the injury you can see, little brother. I retired when the whistler that took my leg cleft the souls from the bodies of my hunters¡¯ mounts numbering 20 and 9. Near 3-dozen oryx to the spirits gone, and half again as many riders, leaving a hollow shell of a once-proud team.¡± ¡°Rough accident,¡± I said. ¡°Twern¡¯t such.¡± The orc spat on the ground. ¡°Braced between the hammer and Lura¡¯s hunters, my team under foot was forced.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± I said. ¡°That¡¯ll do it.¡± Explained why the orc hated Lura, at least. I had to imagine orc hunters were a bit like corporate lawyers¡ªcut throat and quick to blame the victims of their cruelty. ¡°I don¡¯t expect a goblin to understand loss.¡± I thought of Dave Sanders and Sandy Davis. I thought of my dad, who never got to see me be an astronaut (though maybe it¡¯s best he didn¡¯t see his son explode). I thought of after the accident, when people I¡¯d long thought were my friends never even tried to reach me in the hospital, or in physical therapy. And I thought of how my dreams had been dashed until NuEarth headhunters came along. ¡°I understand it,¡± I said. ¡°I can¡¯t give you back everything you¡¯ve lost. But I¡¯ve got a hundred hungry goblins atop self-propelled chariots and they all want to eat. And I can give you a new leg. Like mine. We can scout, we can chase, we can even fly.¡± Sourtooth shrugged. ¡°Plus, with my craftsmen and your forges, I can build you a motorcycle,¡± I said. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± I revved my hands. ¡°It¡¯s got two wheels, it¡¯s loud, and its fast.¡± ¡°Is it safe?¡± ¡°Absolutely not,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re likely to kill yourself learning to ride it. But¡­¡± I pointed to his peg leg. ¡°¡­ you¡¯ll only need one foot.¡± ¡°Welcome to the Flock,¡± said Sourtooth. He looked up into the air. ¡°Grandfather spirit?¡± ¡®Advanced¡¯ goblin devices. There was an oxymoron. My tribemates behind me slipped into a stupor for a moment as their little goblin brains absorbed the new changes.¡± Sourfang shivered and pushed to his feet. ¡°Always sends my flesh a shiver to see that happen¡ªthe goblin king skill transfer.¡± I looked at the old orc. ¡°You¡¯ve seen goblin kings before?¡± I asked. ¡°Of course. The humans and elves as a nuisance see your kind to be stamped out on sight. But Kelem has many tribes, and on occasion does a king emerge from within their ranks. Of course, we do the sensible thing and kill them ¡®fore they get strong enough to threaten.¡± He slapped me on the shoulder and grinned, broken tooth looming in his smile. ¡°Fortune favors you, we are not in Kelem, little brother.¡± I swallowed. I suddenly didn¡¯t feel very fortunate. Chapter 91 - The Flock Chapter 91 - The Flock Unbelievably, we had the run of the camp. Once the armbands (somewhat blood-stained) were passed out, the orcs seemed to take it completely in stride that there were goblins running about their camp. If Sourtooth was to be believed, goblin tribes coexisted alongside orcs in the homeland¡ªthough not allowed to grow beyond measure. Goblin kings were killed on sight for the threat they represented¡ªwhich means their entire tribe was wiped out. Apparently all bets were off in Lanclova, though. I sent two of the bikes back to link up with Promo at the Big Hoss Rig and have them bring the camp to meet up with the Stampede. Now that we had access to the Flock¡¯s forges and resources, Promethius was going to have a field day. Metal was in no short supply to the orcs, and they had some idea of the basics of material science so I made a note to secure sulfur and charcoal from their stores, as well as iron bar stock and even rubber. Sourfang accompanied us to the vehicles so that he could see the artifice for himself that his temporary access to the Goblin Tech Tree had given him. ¡°I believe it not,¡± he said, clambering awkwardly aboard one of the buggies. ¡°The grandfather spirits must be playing some great jest. They are the true source of this contraption¡¯s power, yes?¡± ¡°It¡¯s actually a liquid that burns and creates torque,¡± I said. ¡°The Ifrit were just as surprised that it works as you are.¡± ¡°They would tell you to say that,¡± he said. He settled in on one of the stations, if a bit tightly. He was maybe a third again as tall as a hobgoblin. We brought the vehicles into the Flock¡¯s dismal corner of the camp, where I saw several riderless mounts tied off, near pack animals that hadn¡¯t yet been unpacked. I surmised most of them belonged to Sourtooth¡¯s decimated hunting team. I directed my goblins to help get supplies and provisions down. It was close to nightfall when the Big Hoss Rig approached the Stampede camp and set up in the forge yard with the new vehicles that had come from Apollo. I¡¯m sure that¡¯s where promo found himself most at home, among the smog of coal smoke and the ring of hammers. By the time the sun went down, the temporary tower was erected and the thundercleave had been seared. The ¡®scout¡¯s share¡¯ turned about to be about two-hundred chooms of offal and gristle, which was fine by the tribe as it disappeared down the goblins throats almost as fast as the cooks could flip it onto wooden platters. Even then, we still had plenty left over. If we¡¯d brought down the ¡®cleave ourselves? Well¡­ we¡¯d probably have been killed for poaching. But now that we were part of a hunting team, we could bring one down. With my tinkering and Sourtooth¡¯s experience, there was no way we could lose. At least, that¡¯s what I thought until Sourtooth told me otherwise.¡± ¡°We¡¯re definitely going to lose,¡± he said over his ¡®cleave burger. The orcs had apparently mastered the arts of ground meat, bread-making, and cheese. Despite the surreal sight of an orc chowing down on what was effectively a cheese burger, my mouth watered so bad watching him eat that I had to ask him to repeat himself. ¡°The season has seen an Idle flock for weeks. Trailing the pack, we. There are few prizes yet unclaimed, and none would see us sit at the winner¡¯s table,¡± he continued. I noticed that he chewed entirely on one side of his mouth, avoiding the inflamed tooth. ¡°But hunting rights require not a place of glory, only one of standing. If to feed your tribe you seek, then we yet have merit. But we must focus efforts on prey not easily conquered. What is the greatest beast you¡¯ve bested? A level 30? 35?¡± If I had a collar, I¡¯d have been tugging it. ¡°We killed a stone-sloth alpha and a crock-knocker in their 20¡¯s. Oh, but we defeated and entire javeline army.¡± If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Mention of the porkbellies makes a rumble in my stomach to rival a giant¡¯s tracks. Hunting big game is like fighting a war not at all, little brother.¡± ¡°Well,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m hoping my technology ideas will help close the gap, some. Tomorrow, we¡¯ll get to work getting the Flock back in the game.¡± * * * Huh. Sally still hard at work on the home front, I guessed. The orcs were slow to wake, and in fact it wasn¡¯t until mid-morning that a growing buzz overhead drew their attention. I shaded my eyes and scanned the horizon until I saw a dot that started to grow larger. The pilot banked, and I could make out the profile of a pusher-prop bi-plane soaring under power. The pilot made a circuit of the orc camp as the Stampede shook off hangovers or dragged blankets over their heads against the noise. Finding a flat enough stretch, the plane bled off altitude and leveled out, flaring off for a landing on what appeared to be a set of two-wheeled landing gear¡ªat the front and back like a motorcycle. I briefly wondered how they would keep the paper wings from being shredded on landing until a pair of goblins scrambled out and hung beneath the wings, pumping their legs as if they were running through the air. The rear wheel touched down and the craft lurched, but the goblins¡¯ feet touched the ground and the aircraft trundled about as the pace goblins struggled to keep up. The whole ensemble finally came to a stop and a handful more goblins piled out of the vehicle, including Sally, who began immediately fussing over the aircraft and squawking at the wrangler climbing down from the control station. I approached, looking at our first powered airplane. Sally had built a leather fuselage over a frame of wood and bone, with paper-covered wings and a multi-rotor engine at the back. The wings, stacked as they were, were each of slightly differing lengths, but it didn¡¯t seem to affect the performance much. Armstrong ran past me and plucked my lead engineer right off the side of the plane to wrap her in a bear hug until she squawked and bit him, at which point he dropped her on her head. She responded by clamping her jaws around his ankle, and he shook his leg frantically trying to dislodge her. I caught up a few moments later, after I finished laughing, and took some time to admire the quick work she¡¯d made of rigging up the aircraft and applying composite technological theories. But I was a little concerned. Sally was simply much too valuable to be risking out in the field. Of course, she was a free goblin and I couldn¡¯t keep her cooped up on a bluff¡ªeven if it was where she chose to spend most of her time anyway. Maybe she just missed Armstrong. Armstrong finally managed to shift my lead engineer off long enough to report. ¡°Food situation eased up some, what with us out ¡®ere keeping our own bellies full. But still more out than in¡ªor maybe in than out, innit?¡± ¡°We¡¯re still running a deficit, is what you¡¯re trying to say.¡± I said. ¡°Yeah, that. Anyway, Sal¡¯ figured you¡¯d want to peep the latest in airy-knotics. Din¡¯ even crash it once!¡± ¡°That¡¯s a good start,¡± I said. Armstrong leaned down for Sally to whisper in his ear. He nodded. ¡°Two more buggies and a trike headed our way,¡± he said. ¡°Another ignis, s¡¯well.¡± I rubbed the top of my head. ¡°Good. We¡¯ll need all the smiths we can get if we¡¯re riding for Sourtooth and what¡¯s left of the Flock.¡± Speaking of the foul old orc, the leader of the Flock himself was stumbling out of the camp with a blanket clutched tight around his waist, staring at the biplane. ¡°Goblins on wings! Tremble the skies, once free from shackle. In all the tribes in mine eyes seen, I knew not that little brothers could make such¡­ racket! Damned if the cry of its coming didn¡¯t echoe a thousand-fold in my head.¡± I grinned up at the hungover old orc. ¡°Still think we¡¯ve got no shot?¡± Sourtooth slumped down to his haunches, and his eyes took a glazed over look as they scanned back and forth. I realized he was reading through System menus. ¡°No simple spears and stubby legs, this. How came you by such discoveries? I have knowledge passing of the goblin artifice, but have never seen one progressed in this manner. Nearly half the tree, you¡¯ve jumped, and rarely from such narrow path tread. Infernal combust¡¯em? Rock¡¯ems? I know not these artifice, but I know well enough the path from whence they spring. What need have you of such singular purpose?¡± I slapped the orc on the shoulder. The orc might have been old and withered, but it still felt like slapping rock. ¡°It¡¯s a long story, Sourtooth. And a long road ahead to get where I¡¯m going. ¡°What, prithee, are boom tubes?¡± I whistled and sent one of my bodyguards to bring over his rifle and a handful of rockettes. I worked the action and loaded in a few shells. ¡°Well, they¡¯re not going to help your hangover any. But I think you¡¯ll like them.¡± Chapter 92 - Forging Friends Chapter 92 - Forging Friends ¡°Make hot the coals and put backs to bellows, my lads!¡± shouted Sourtooth. The old orc had swapped his blanket for a thick leather apron and a pair of hide gloves. ¡°These metals mine must be shaped with haste, should we wish to be ready whence the Stampede begins to march.¡± The old orc strutted through the forge yard, still a bit uncertain on his new spring-steel prosthetic¡ªa larger mirror to my own. But beneath the hangover he¡¯d found his fire. His renewed zeal had trickled down to his smiths. All across the yard, bar stock and billets were heating up, and goblins were beginning to assemble bricks for kilns to tap the clay supplies of the Flock. Not only that, but heated vats belched forth black, acrid fumes. The orcs had rubber from trees in the badlands. We were going to have actual tires for the second-generation orc buggies. All throughout the yard, Promo worked with his smiths, blending the principles of orc and goblin technology to make our buggies larger and tougher, adding panels and platforms. Our canonneer scrambled back and forth, transcribing sanctified engineering diagrams onto paper. As for me? Well, I couldn¡¯t lose sight of my end goal. Simple small-caliber guns weren¡¯t going to cut the mustard when it came to big game. With access to the orcs¡¯ ample stores, I was going to make something that a thundercleave couldn¡¯t shrug off. The orcs had sulfur and charcoal, of course. But they also had impure bauxite powder, magnesium, grain alcohol, and plenty of old iron parts, rusted beyond use. Trash to them, because they didn¡¯t have an Earth scientist¡¯s understanding on how to properly combine them into something amazing. Since Sally had come in person, I coopted her and the canonneer in order to codify a new set of devices into the Church of the Right Angle, in hopes that would tighten tolerances enough for the igni to produce working designs. I began sketching out designs for armaments on the new buggies. By the time the wranglers and scrappers started waking up, I had the basic schematics figured out. I found Sourfang once I was ready to start forging components. I showed him what I was working on, and then explained how it would work. Then I pantomimed it. When he still didn¡¯t understand, I appealed to System. Very funny. But I got the message: it was something we¡¯d have to unlock in order for the tree to translate it to orcish tech through the auxiliary system. Sourtooth just shrugged. ¡°What more have I to lose? To the forgemasters, get ye.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the spirit,¡± I said. I made my way over to Promo where he worked with the orc smiths at the forges. An ignis was a new novelty for the orcs of the Flock, and his cooking had ingratiated him with our new hunting team. It didn¡¯t hurt that the orc smiths got a bonus to heat-based crafting through the auxiliary system when he was around. I ignored System and presented the designs for the new parts to my forgemaster. ¡°You think we can rig these up?¡± He took the vellum (the orcs had no shortage of hides) and turned the drawing about, taking in the drawing. ¡°This will kill goblins.¡± ¡°Only if they don¡¯t let go. Think I¡¯ll have a shortage of volunteers?¡± Promo emphatically shook his head. ¡°The S&M club¡¯ll be over the moon. Like to try one myself, truth told. How big we talking at this end, boss?¡± I made a circle of my finger and thumb. Promo grinned. ¡°No problem. The orc iron isn¡¯t as good as our boom furnace steel, but it will do in a pinch. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. I reached up and slapped him on the side of the arm. We worked well into the evening, the entire contingent of goblins that I¡¯d brought with me into the desert, as well as Sally and the small flight crew she¡¯d brought. I sent her home after lunch, watching as the strange pusher-plane took off in much the same way it had landed. I had intended to keep working through the evening, as well. But three horn blasts sounded. I looked up from my work as the Stampede camp suddenly buzzed with frenetic activity. Orcs ran this way and that, carrying equipment or bundling up supplies. ¡°Sourtooth?¡± He limped by, stuffing effects into a bag. ¡°The Dawn just signaled their intent to put hoof to turf and the hunt resume.¡± I chased after him. ¡°You said the party from a thundercleave would last 3 days.¡± ¡°Could last, little brother. Advanced the game, has Lura. She presses us, and answer we must this challenge given.¡± ¡°But they¡¯re not ready! We haven¡¯t even tested the new modifications!¡± ¡°He shaded his eyes against the sun. ¡°Time not to dally and dither upon doubts. We must beseech Grandfather Spirit for his blessing, and hope to find his mood not coy. You have until the sun dips a hand¡¯s span from the horizon. As much as I can offer, this.¡± ¡°Your hand or mine?¡± The sour old orc glared down at me. ¡°Right. Stop wasting time. We¡¯re going to wing it,¡± I translated. At the end of the day, this was still Sourtooth¡¯s show, his culture, and his traditions and rules that we had to follow in order to be allowed to participate in the Stampede and feed the tribe. Hunting rights were on the line. Prototype, test, rapid iteration. Combining quick and dirty engineering with monstrous beasts capable of killing dozens of goblins? What could ever go wrong? I delivered the news to Promo, who offered much the same complaint I did, before supervising the teardown of the forges and the BHR. Once things were packed up, I climbed up onto my newly-enhanced buggy and dropped a rockette into the starter slot. I pulled out the bestiary as the engine warmed up, trying to get a clue as to what we might be in for. I thumbed through the pages of the plains beasts, but the weight shifted as Sourtooth pulled himself up to the rear position. He eased down into the seat and dropped his bag of forge tools by his feet. He looked over my shoulder. ¡°What have you there?¡± he demanded. I handed the bestiary back, and he flipped through it, scowling. He tossed it over his shoulder in contempt. ¡°Hey!¡± I said. ¡°Why did you do that?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t read,¡± he said. ¡°But a book which with four spines a rockscraper presents is worth not the vellum of its pages.¡± He tapped the side of his head. ¡°Trust that I know the beasts of the land, little brother.¡± He reached down and rubbed the connection with his new prosthetic. ¡°All too well, some.¡± He slapped the side of the buggy. The gears shifted under my hand and the throttle pedal pulled away from my foot as Girmaks revved up the engine. The buggy lurched forward, churning turf on its new rubber tires. While not exactly performance rallycross tires, the hard rubber was still leaps and bounds better than the metal-banded wheels as they bit into the badlands ground. Engines across the forge yard roared as the rest of the Flock scrambled to find places on vehicles of their own as my goblins hooted and hollered and waved spears and guns. I couldn¡¯t help but grin. I lifted my feet entirely and left the controls to the Ifrit, who pulled us out into the mass of orc hunting teams scrambling to quit the camp. The Stampede had sounded like a rolling thunderstorm when we¡¯d been watching from the outside. But now, in its midst? The cacophony of hundreds of mounted orcs pounding across the badlands riding baying beasts of a dozen different sizes was intense. It was infectious. The orcs were trampling, and we were trampling with them. We were part of this dangerous, deadly festival of speed and skill. Maybe it¡¯s the competitor in me talking, but aside from launching the first glider, this was the most excited I¡¯d been since coming to Rava. And I wasn¡¯t the only one. I felt another subtle pressure mounting, the tell-tale weight of the System¡¯s increased attention on me. Well, we¡¯d give it a show. I stood up in my chair and looked back at the dozen goblin vehicles arrayed behind me, with goblins in questionable leather garments hanging on by their dozens. Scrappers had their rifles in the air, while wranglers at the controls of the buggies and bikes expertly maneuvered the vehicles. Even the canoneer was furiously scribbling on a piece of paper that flapped so hard in the wind I¡¯m surprised the fibers didn¡¯t come apart. I put my fingers at the corners of my mouth and whistled. The trill rose above the clamor of the Stampede, soon joined by other goblins who had mastered the trick of whistling. Those who hadn¡¯t simply screamed, and then the orcs of the Flock joined in, and I even caught a half-smile creeping onto Sourtooth¡¯s twisted face. That clarion pierced the wall of sound that was the Stampede, and I saw other hunting teams looking over at us. I raised my hands above my head, making the circle in the air. ¡°Ad Luna!¡± I shouted. The tribe cheered, mirroring the sign. ¡°Maybe we won¡¯t all die!¡± Sourtooth shouted over the cheering. ¡°Who¡¯s Adluna?¡± Chapter 93 - Persuasive Unit Conversion Chapter 93 - Persuasive Unit Conversion We rode for an hour before Sourtooth whistled and pointed north. Girmaks pulled the buggy left, leading the convoy away from the main pack of the Stampede. I stood up in my seat and looked out at the main body of orcs as we distanced ourselves from them. The thunder of hooves fell away, leaving only the sound of rough-burning engines on bare rock and scrub. ¡°We¡¯re not joining them?¡± Sourtooth held his hand up to the sun. ¡°We need not follow the Dawn for we aim not to unseat them. Lura possesses skill unmatched, and many would claim glory by knocking down her standing at the fore. We seek only to place. Leave glory to youth, little brother.¡± A smaller pack of riders also broke off from the main group, keeping their distance but also clearly following in our trail. I turned to face the old orc. ¡°We¡¯ve got company,¡± He nodded. ¡°Aye, the Blood Gorgers, should my eyes favor me. A complicated dance is the Stampede, with steps aplenty. They will interfere, should it look as though we may bring down a halting totem. Make no mistake, there will be blood on the steppe.¡± Yikes. ¡°Is that what happened to you?¡± ¡°Aye. Was ruled fair by the keepers, though just. And if tides favor, they may lend aid, instead.¡± I wished I had a pair of binoculars so I could get a better look at our pursuers. ¡°Orc games sure are cutthroat,¡± I said. ¡°What are keepers?¡± Sourtooth pointed a couple vehicles back, to where a hooded orc crouched atop a buggy, working beads between her fingers. I hadn¡¯t noticed before that she didn¡¯t have an armband to link her with the Flock. Instead, she had coal-black markings around her eyes and nose, and under her cheeks¡ªgiving her a bit of a skull-like appearance. Her eyes being closed only added to the effect. ¡°The keeper job lets they who have it speak to each other through the elder spirits. They see the Stampede and make rulings, and call halts when confirmed is a kill.¡± The old orc held up 3 fingers. ¡°But they also tell us the progress of the other teams. There are 21 foes chosen. The festival will end when once more totem beasts are killed¡ªmonsters of scale and fang, legend they. With the thundercleave claimed, fallen have 12. A third their number to Lura¡¯s spears, and some fewer to our other rivals. But numbers matter little, as weighted points are applied¡ªby level, rarity, ferocity, and size factored. All you need know is that should 1 more kill the dawn huntress claim, no one may overtake her. Should it look as though she¡¯ll claim it with haste, our company may lend aid to clip her wings and force a stop.¡± ¡°I see.¡± I said, thoroughly confused by the internal orc tournament politics. ¡°So, 3 unique monsters left. I take it one of them is that whistler thing?¡± ¡°Aye. But, too strong for we. A dart-wing, I think, we should pursue¡ªa day east of us, its hunting grounds. With these mounts of iron and flame, she could outrun us not long, and she is much less a foe than a horn-beast if we need only place.¡± ¡°Why doesn¡¯t Lura just kill one to end the hunt right away?¡± Sourtooth laughed. ¡°Glory, little brother. The reason of her sending you to my side. She seeks to break a standing long-held by my grandfather in points. And she may well do.¡± Sourtooth spit off the side of the buggy. ¡°Curse his spirit, the foul old orc.¡± A bit ironic, coming from him, I thought. ¡°Asides, tis not a thing so simply done,¡± said Sourtooth. ¡°Finding the beast is part of the challenge, and so is safeguarding it. Lura¡¯s Dawn Light are numbered only second to the Blood Gorgers, who will at nothing stop to claim her kills. They follow her just as they stalk our footprints." We came across a herd of the hoppers, and Sourtooth sent two of our bikes and one trike to wrangle them while we continued on. We rode until the sun slipped behind the horizon and then made camp. The flock had animals of their own that needed to be fed and watered, even as we topped off fuel bladders for buggies and bikes. I took a walk around the perimeter of the camp with Armstrong. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Huh? I shared a glance with Armstrong. ¡°Nice!¡± said Armstrong. ¡°Eileen musta got ¡®em to a new village.¡± I narrowed my eyes. How exactly is this ¡®persuasive conversion¡¯ performed? Great. There was only one thing this could be: Luther reaching another bluff and spreading the doctrine of the Church of the Right Angle had resulted in a significant scuffle, which wouldn¡¯t have lasted long against even superior numbers due to our technology that I had to assume was more advanced than any other tribe in the area. Did the assimilated tribe even have any variants? Volatile goblin flatulators¡­ that sounded like a mixed blessing, if I¡¯m being honest. Tell me about zealots and templar. Get down Mr. President, huh? Alright, let me think. As much as I liked the idea of extra-life goblins, zealots seemed to have a lot of potential as well. Zealots receiving a bonus for fighting and crafting with other zealots nearby had the potential for limitless scaling. The only problem was, I didn¡¯t know if this bonus scaled with the number of zealots or if it was a binary thing. Yeah, that¡¯s why I didn¡¯t ask. I sighed, already wondering if I was going to regret this. Give me the zealots. Yes please. <12 of the newly acquired tribe members have converted to goblin zealots> <66 other goblins in your tribe have converted to goblin zealots> Woah, woah! That¡¯s nearly a fifth of the non-variants! You said occasionally! I ground my teeth. Friggen System. Give me the deets on the Fervor skill. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was cumulative scaling, not binary. With some reluctance, I opened up the spawning menu and increased the canoneer priority. Slightly. Confident I¡¯d chosen the right variant, I turned and headed back to camp. Already, several of the non-variant goblins had switched jobs to Zealots, and they had removed their skull masks in order to carve or draw various religious iconography onto the dry bones. I saw sketches of eccentric shafts, propellers, kilns, starter pistols, regular pistols, and a variety of other technologies we¡¯d canonized as part of the Church of the Right Angle. The most common was simply the circle of Raphina on the forehead. Because festooning one¡¯s self with arcane symbols was a sign of a stable, rational adherent of science. But at least it was a religious devotion to progress and the scientific process, and not to an invisible man in the sky¡ª ¡ªno offense to present company. Sourtooth limped up, watching the goblins who had so suddenly abandoned their tasks. ¡°I know not what my eyes do see,¡± he said. ¡°Ah,¡± I said. ¡°My tribe just unlocked another variant,¡± I said. ¡°Zealots.¡± ¡°And what are they?¡± I tilted my head. ¡°Goblins, except even more manic than usual.¡± Sourtooth shook his head. ¡°This truly is a land of madness, to have you visited upon its shores.¡± ¡°Not going to cull us like you would in Kelem, are you?¡± I asked cautiously. ¡°We are on Kelem not, little brother,¡± said Sourtooth. He glanced at the vehicles and the Ifrit flitting about the camp in their personal vessels. The old orc rubbed at the white stubble on his chin. ¡°The elder spirits are playing at some mischief, mark me. I know not where their twisted plan ends, but be it not upon my spear, little brother. Not when life breathed once more into the Flock.¡± He looked back down at me. ¡°Tarry not long. There is work to be done before the fall of night. And we rise with the dawn. Tomorrow we will find a dart-wing, and we will drive it to the ground before Lura takes her next kill, or your people will starve.¡± I waved as the old orc trotted off, started to get the hang of his new prosthetic. There was indeed work to be done. The S&M Club had taken to hammering and wrenching on the vehicles to keep them in good working order, so I worked with Promo on the buggies and continued on the modifications until dinner. As the sun dropped and the day cooled, I munched on a hot hopper burger and thought about what Sourtooth said. We are on Kelem not. Lanclova was a land of monsters and goblins, fire spirits, and more. The rest; the orcs and humans and elves were strangers to these lands. I was technically the native, even if I¡¯d come from earth. Like it or not, I was responsible for what happened here, and I was making big waves. I just hoped they didn¡¯t end up drowning me. Chapter 94 - Scaling New Heights Chapter 94 - Scaling New Heights ¡°I have something for you, Sourtooth,¡± I said. The old orc followed me to the temporary motorpool where we had our newest functioning vehicle¡ªmostly cobbled together from the remains of vehicles that had met their untimely end. As the sun crept over the horizon, the red rays lit the ape-bars of a brand new chopper-style bike, built with the lanky proportions of an orc in mind. Sourtooth circled the machine, eying it suspiciously before climbing up into the seat and wrapping his hairy knuckles around the grips. ¡°What is the purpose of having so far extended these?¡± he asked. ¡°Style, comfort,¡± I said. I pointed to one of the wrangler bikes, where one of my secretive service hobbies was hunched over. ¡°See how he has to lean forward? Yours is designed to let you lean back, instead. Kick that first pedal.¡± Sourtooth obliged, and the engine rumbled to life. Much stronger than a goblin, it seemed an orc would have no need for the starter rockettes in order to get a goblin engine to turn over. Figures. Sourtooth¡¯s back straightened as the vibration mounted below him. ¡°Little brother¡­¡± Other orcs took notice of Sourtooth on his new chopper and wandered over, talking amongst themselves and pointing. One came forward with a brace of spears and stuck them into the open holders on the side, then hopped up on the back of the bike, ready to ride. ¡°Kick that second pedal,¡± I said. Sourtooth obliged, and the bike started forward. Unfortunately, without hydraulic oils, I couldn¡¯t do a grip throttle, but the leader of the Flock figured things out quickly enough, making a circuit of the camp. As he came back, I began to worry, assuming the orc was in some sort of pain¡ªuntil I realized the withered expression on his face was probably the closest he ever got to a smile. ¡°Truly the elders have outdone their artifice. Much more practical, these, than brass bodies that walk on points.¡± Other than supplying some brass and zinc parts, the Ifrit had very little to do with the creation of the vehicles¡ªthat was Earth knowhow and goblin tech tree chicanery. But I didn¡¯t see the benefit in revealing that fact to Sourtooth. ¡°So, we should find that dart-wing today, right?¡± ¡°If luck rides with us, yes, little brother. Tell me truth, have flying beasts you fought before?¡± I nodded. ¡°Night haunts, er, skyenas I think they¡¯re actually called. They try and steal goblins at night on the regular.¡± I spread my arms wide. ¡°Leathery wings, beaks, claws. We¡¯re getting pretty good at it.¡± Soutooth rolled his head back and laughed. ¡°I said beasts, not pests. Tis like boasting of skill in killing rats, little brother.¡± I¡¯m sure under the blue fuzz on my cheeks, I was blushing furiously. Sure, the night haunts might not be much of an obstacle for a party of leveled-up orc hunters, but the memory of being a tribe only 10th the size was still fresh on my mind, and I don¡¯t know if I¡¯d ever forget the terror of seeing one for the first time. Still, we¡¯d managed that with little more than sharp sticks and flint cleavers. And since then, we¡¯d only gotten stronger. Sourtooth claimed the dart-wing was easier than a whistler or a thundercleave. In fact, we were going after it specifically because it was weak. How difficult could it be? The orcs began to ride out, and we followed on our buggies with our lone monocycle rider weaving dangerously between. Once we got up to speed, I ordered the kites deployed, and goblins on tethered gliders caught the wind and ascended to altitude for scouting. Behind us, the band of rival hunters keeping tabs on our progress mobilized as well. I could see the dust trails rising in the air.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. The riding oryx our pursuing orcs favored were strong, sturdy animals with good endurance and long legs. They had no trouble keeping pace with us as we rode towards noon. When the rest of the wranglers and scrappers began to wake up from where they dozed in the back of the BHR, we drove close enough for Chuck to climb over. He took my spot at the controls¡ªnot that we needed a driver, as Girmaks was proving to be more than deft as a pilot. The Ifrit seemed to have very little learning curve when it came to transitioning from the multi-legged clockwork proxies to internal combustion-driven vehicles with wheels. The buggies had become more than mere extensions of their fiery bodies. The kite goblins began to squawk a short while after that, and following their direction, we changed course and came up on a dead creature laying on the gravel flat. Sourtooth hopped down from his chopper and probed the beast. I climbed down with Chuck and Armstrong and took a look as well. The creature on the ground was pretty big¡ªat least twice the size of a stone-sloth. It had been disemboweled so that whatever killed it could get at the soft innards, but there were curious yellow spikes sticking out of it. I waved away the cloud of flies and took hold of a spike. It took both hands to yank it out. It looked like a crossbow bolt, but close inspection revealed it was a feather¡ªalbeit one with a barbed quill and symmetrical fringe. I handed it up to Chuck. He grunted. ¡°Well, they are called dart-wings.¡± ¡°I thought that just meant they were fast,¡± I said. ¡°Make sure everyone¡¯s wearing armor before we start up again, yeah?¡± ¡°Good as done,¡± said Chuck. He left to wrangle the rest of the goblins to start putting on their vests. Sourtooth examined the carcass. ¡°Definitely our girl,¡± he said. ¡°Good color to these quills, and no maggots. The guts still hold heat. Not yet an hour¡¯s past this feast. Sluggish and heavy, she. Headed to the deep desert to sleep off her dinner. We yet stand to catch her before she makes the dunes.¡± Armstrong tapped me on the shoulder and pointed at the carcass. ¡°Yes?¡± I asked. ¡°Lotta good eating on there still,¡± he said. Admittedly, I was trying to ignore my own mouth watering at the smell of the kill. Funny how quickly I was leaving the old trappings of humanity behind and looking at fly-covered roadkill with hungry eyes, now. As a human the sight would have turned my stomach. I glanced at Sourtooth. He shrugged. ¡°Haste behooves a hunter, tarry not long.¡± I turned back to Armstrong. ¡°Not so much that they get lethargic,¡± Armstrong grinned and whistled, and a collective cheer raised from the convoy. The goblins swarmed the remains, and after a few minutes of what sounded like electric saws whining, they were loading cleaned bones onto the back of the buggies for later use. Sourtooth, again, shook his head. We got on the move again, but this time I climbed up onto the buggy with the Stampede rule-keeper and sat in front of the orc, facing back. If Sourtooth was old, this orc was ancient, looking more like a gnarled old willow trunk than a hunter. She had deep-lined folds of skin on her face, with closed eyes that sat deep under a ridged brow, which itself rested in the shadows of a deep hooded robe. She¡¯d shrunk in age, little bigger than a hobgoblin now I got close. As she sat cross-legged on the top of the buggy, she worked several sets of beads in her hands made from bones, stones, colored clay, carved wood, and twists of leather or string. ¡°I¡¯m Apollo,¡± I said. ¡°Is that so?¡± she asked. ¡°Strange thing, a goblin named. A king of the little brothers yet more. Why the elders have blessed you, I know not.¡± I waited to see if the orc would say more, but he didn¡¯t. I bit my lip. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I asked. ¡°Keepers have no names in the Stampede, little brother. To remain neutral, we. Call upon each of us as such, and by nothing other.¡± ¡°Alright, Keeper. So, you¡¯re in contact with all the other Keepers, right? Is it a type of magic?¡± ¡°A simple spell,¡± said Keeper. She held up the beads. ¡°Each of these twinned, responds in kind.¡± For the first time I noticed several of the beads on the string were spinning on their own. I reached out to touch the beads, but Keeper slapped my hand away. There was no malice in it, and she didn¡¯t even scold me, just kept the same impassive, closed-eyed expression. ¡°Sorry,¡± I said, shaking the sting out of my fingers. ¡°Other than the Ifrit, I haven¡¯t seen anything especially magical. I¡¯m just curious. Is this communication spell instant? Or does it have some sort of delay, like a radio transmission? Not that you¡¯d know what that is, I suppose.¡± I scratched my head. ¡°For that matter, does it go through rock or water as easily as air? If I had a radio tuner, do you think I could I somehow tap into it? What was the bit-rate of information sent through the beads, and could it be optimized with a compression algorithm?¡± Keeper opened one eye and regarded me, then closed it again without response. ¡°Fine,¡± I said, annoyed. ¡°How are the other teams doing?¡± ¡°The Dawn Light have caught the trail of a Spinesnake and pursue it with all haste. The Blood Gorger scouts have just located the same creature from a different angle. Talon¡¯s Talons have just lost the trail of a Gaiwyrm, and must circle back. The Hallowed Spears have just been rebuffed by a Vindleclaw and are licking their wounds before a second attempt they make.¡± ¡°Got all that just from twirling some beads?¡± I asked. Keeper sighed deeply. I decided to leave well enough alone¡ªand none too soon, as one of the glider goblins raised the alarm, and I shaded my eyes in order to spot a black splotch surging up into the sky. We¡¯d found the dart-wing, and we were gaining on it. Chapter 95 - Dartwing Chapter 95 - Dartwing The dartwing must have spotted us as well, because it suddenly cut at a right angle, heading south. Far in the distance, I could see heat shimmering off great dunes that our buggies would never be able to handle. The dartwing¡¯s enormous, bat-like wings cast a silhouette against the sky as it turned, and its long body undulated like a sky banner. Sourtooth was right, this wouldn¡¯t be like trapping night haunts. This thing was massive. Maybe not as heavy as the thundercleave, but long and sinuous, despite the presence of feathers. It looked more like a winged serpent than a bird, and I started to wonder if the ¡®dart¡¯ in its name referred more to the shape of its body than its weaponized quills. Maybe it was both. I cast a look over at the sour old orc. Between their name for the world, the names they had for creatures, and the name of our team captain in his esteemed self, I got the feeling that orcs were very literal namers. Sourtooth leaned his bike into a turn to match the dartwing¡¯s new trajectory and the rest of our convoy followed him. I did a check around the buggy to make sure all the goblins had their armor on. I wasn¡¯t sure if one of those quills could pierce the bone of a skull-mask, but I¡¯d issued the drivers all ceramic versions. The goblins hooted and hollered as we began to close the distance. The dartwing didn¡¯t flap its wings as it flew. Rather, it used them to glide, and then dive down to the ground in a huge plume of dust before somehow shooting back up into the sky to glide again. I directed our Girmaks to pull the buggy close to Sourtooth¡¯s bike. ¡°That¡¯s sluggish?¡± I demanded. The orc looked over. ¡°Oh, aye. Heavy of wing and scale with her belly full, she. Hungry, we¡¯d never catch her, nor likely, the coming of her see!¡± ¡°Splendid,¡± I yelled over the motors. Behind us, the Blood Gorgers had closed the distance some, ready to interfere with the chase on their oryx. They were leaned far forward in the saddle, and I saw them using a horn on the side of their mount to draw and nock crossbows with one hand while they gripped the manes of their mounts in their other fist. Well, lets see how their crossbows fared against our rifles. I raised my hands above my head in the circle and whistled for attention. All the goblins turned my way, and echoed the hand signal as they cheered, including ones that ought to have been driving¡ªnearly causing two trikes to collide and the monocycle to wobble alarmingly. I held out my hands and mimed working the action of a lever-gun, complete with chck-chck sound effects. My tribe echoed the onomatopoeia, and then echoed it with the real thing. The mechanical slam of dozens of rifle actions dropping into place filled me with an electric anticipation. Ahead less than a kilometer now, the dartwing slammed into the ground in a plume of dust and folded its wings. Through the haze, I could see the form coiling like a spring and then launching itself into the air before unfolding those wings again. Dust cascaded off the trailing edges. Its feathered head twisted back and hissed at us, and I could see its distended belly dragging against the wind and slowing it down. A creature like that could feed a tribe twice our size for a week. More, even. And I could make a half-dozen prop planes from the membrane of its wings. Maybe a larger airship. There was only one problem I could see: the large XX superimposed over its head by the System, where its level ought to be. I grit my teeth. No choice. All hope now lay in trusting that Sourtooth knew his business. ¡°Ready the launchers!¡± I called. Across the convoy, bits of canvas and leather dust-covers came off the new additions to our buggies¡ªcourtesy of material from the Flock¡¯s stockpiles. Armstrong climbed up to the gunner¡¯s mount himself and pulled the cover from a hollow metal tube. I joined him and slid open the action on my newest rendition of Earth¡¯s ballistics science converted to Rava goblin blastics.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. The black iron shells for these looked like up-sized rockettes, but they weren¡¯t rockets per se. Though, looking at the long, hollow tube of the launcher, you might think that. I slid the cover back into place and latched it while Armstrong got his shoulder under the controls and locked the firing mechanism back. He pressed his eye to the targeting ring and started to angle the muzzle up, waiting for us to get in range. The dartwing, however, must have realized it wasn¡¯t going to outrun us. It wheeled with frightening speed, twisting back on itself and folding its massive wings tight against its body. The shriek from the wind through its quills reached us, sounding like a stuka siren from a WWII flick. The dartwing impacted a couple hundred meters ahead of us, shaking the ground with its impact as a wave of dust erupted. A low whistling was my only warning to throw myself to the floor of the buggy before a staccato of dull thuds peppered the front of the vehicle. The other goblins onboard squawked, and at least one fell off the back. A blue flame tendril emerged from the gearbox underneath me. ¡°King Ap! The Dawi appears to have impressive defensive capabilities at distance,¡± said Girmaks. Something Rufus had said came back to me. ¡°You could take a thousand goblins into the desert and you¡¯d lose a thousand goblins.¡± ¡°No kidding,¡± I muttered, lifting my head. Several quills had buried themselves in the sloping front side of the buggy, fletching blowing in the wind. If this was the type of creature that existed in the deep dunes of the desert, the interior of Lanclova never being settled or conquered made a lot of sense. I looked back. Armstrong had two quills standing up on the front of his armor, but was otherwise fine. He yanked them out of the plate carrier and threw them behind him. ¡°How exciting! I shall have to tell Taquoho of the Dawi¡± Right. Exciting. Dawi, huh? Even monsters weren¡¯t spared Girmaks¡¯ unique brand of familiar brevity. Ahead, one of the trikes surged forward, occupants cheering. I spotted the canoneer on the back, and a bunch of goblins on board who had supplemented their skimpy leather with religious iconography. The driver opened the throttle so wide the trike bucked up on its rear wheels, surging forward. So many zealots had crammed on board that the spears made the vehicle look a bit like a wedge-shaped hedgehog. Armstrong reached down and pulled me back to my feet. ¡°C¡¯mon, boss! Can¡¯t let the nutters ¡®ave all the fun!¡± He stomped on the deck, and the engine began to roar as Girmaks opened the throttle up all the way to match the zealots. A massive shadow slithered in the dust cloud, coiling in layers like a set of gears. It stilled and compressed for a moment before the body of the thing shot from the cloud, directly overhead of us. The massive head twisted down and hissed as it flew over, mane of feathers rattling. Its head was big enough to swallow a goblin whole. Its wings spread and cast a shadow over the entire group. Girmaks swerved to the right to avoid the drooping tail that dragged a rake of spikes across the badlands terrain. As I held on, I could hear the screech of crude rubber tires, and then the crunch of at least one vehicle that hadn¡¯t managed to get out of the way in time and the collective squawks as a dozen goblins were sent flying. ¡°Bring us around qui¡ªwoooah!¡± I shouted. We might not have had brakes on the vehicles, but that apparently didn¡¯t matter to an Ifrit who could simply jam the gearbox. The buggy slid sideways, and the engine screamed. We bucked forward. The zealots who had been leading the pack were now bringing up the rear, which they were not fans of, from their angry shouting. Their vehicle ramped up on two wheels as it pivoted nearly in-place. Goblins swung from the frame like pennants, doing whatever they could to hold on. ¡°Nice going, Girmaks!¡± I shouted. Then, back to Armstrong, ¡°Ready!¡± ¡°Ready, boss!¡± I glanced over at Sourtooth, who had brought his chopper around and had his pistol raised straight up in the air. ¡°On my order!¡± he shouted. ¡°Prepare to fire!¡± I called out. In our path, the Blood Gorger detachment was now directly in the path of the dartwing, which they seemed to notice only just before the big snake folded its wings and that air-raid alarm noise grew. A wave of dust and quills spread out from the impact, peppering more of the colorful feathers against the front of our buggy. One of them hit me in the chest hard enough to knock the wind out of me, but Armstrong caught me before I could tumble off the back of the buggy. One of the Blood Gorger mounts tumbled over, sending a pair of riders flying, but the rest managed to dodge the worst of it. I looked down to see Sourtooth pluck one quill from the meat of his shoulder with his teeth and spit it out behind behind him. He held his pistol up. Once more, the dartwing rocketed into the air. But as it spread its wings to catch the air, Sourtooth fired his signal gun, sending a rockette with a colorful trail through the air where it burst in a puff of green smoke. As one, the gunners on the buggies fired. Chapter 96 - Reckless Rifles Chapter 96 - Reckless Rifles Swoosh-whump! A shell went flying out the front of Armstrong¡¯s cannon as a blast of exhaust sprayed out behind. Fire rippled up and down the line of buggies, and only one of them burst into flame. I¡¯d consider that a huge success for untested designs. Most of the shells went wide, bursting harmlessly in the air. A few struck home in the leathery wings of our target, and small chutes deployed. The weapons we¡¯d mounted to the buggies were an old anti-tank technology that I¡¯d co-opted for big game hunting. Recoilless rifles look and function a lot like rocket launchers¡ªa big shell comes out the front and a jet of exhaust comes out the port in the back. But, as their name would suggest, they have more in common with traditional firearms. In this case, the payload wasn¡¯t a rocket, but a self-contained iron shell with a hook in the front and a secondary charge in the back that deployed a small braking parachute. Individually they wouldn¡¯t slow the dartwing much. But as they started to increase in number¡­ I heaved the action on the recoilless rifle open and pulled out the steaming expended primer case before dropping another one in place. Additional shots whooshed out from other buggies as well. Armstrong adjusted his aim and fired again, this time striking home. The dartwing¡¯s glide began to falter with the additional drag pulling at its lithe, otherwise aerodynamic body. ¡°We¡¯re in it now, boss!¡± shouted Armstrong. ¡°Get after ¡®er!¡± The dartwing hissed back at us, now flapping its wings in frustration to maintain altitude instead of gliding. It reared back and ripped two of the chutes out, snapping the lines. But for each one it pulled, two more goblins landed hits. The beast began to lose lift and entered its dive. But the chutes worked to blunt its impact, and the wave of dust and quills was noticeably blunted. Not entirely blunted, of course. The bark of lever guns sounded somewhere to my left, and a crossbow bolt whistled in front of my face. I looked over to see the orcs of the Blood Gorgers closing in on our flank. ¡°Sourtooth!¡± I shouted. The old orc glanced over and his face twisted into a laugh. He yanked his handlebars and moved to intercept, and two buggies with his orcs aboard followed suit. ¡°They move to intercede! The Gorgers must draw close to their own kill. They fear we might actually have a chance this beast to bring down first! At them!¡± Girmaks swerved us left to avoid the dust cloud and brought us over to shore up the flank. I shouted over at Neil, who was commanding a special new vehicle, not unlike the Big Hoss Rig in size but of very different purpose. ¡°Keep the rig safe, Neil! And keep hitting the dartwing!¡± I shouted, before Girmaks carried us into the melee. The orcs had reached our line on the left, close enough to see their face paint. The Blood Gorgers all had a red splatter painted across the lower half of their faces, with blood-red stained cloths tied around their arms. One of them threw a spear at Sourtooth, but the old orc steered back away and returned fire with his new rockette pistol. The shell took the gorger in the shoulder and knocked him out of his saddle. He rolled through the dirt, before coming to a stop and beginning to laugh. But there were more ready to replace him.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Armstrong picked up his double-barreled lever gun, detached from the original stone-sloth mount we¡¯d ridden against the javeline. He fired on the orcs as they closed in, The first of the orcs began to leap atop the buggies. Guns were dropped in favor of cleavers and spears, but the orcs were terrific infighters, nimble, coordinated, and quick. They struck with daggers in close while those still riding oryx probed with spears from the backs of their mounts. The buggy shifted, and I whipped my head around to find one of the Blood Gorgers had managed to get onto our buggy. He kicked the rear gunner off the back of the buggy and pulled a dagger out from between his teeth. I had expected him to snarl in rage, but instead, his eyes lit upon me and he grinned. ¡°Ah, little brother king! How find you the Stampede? A lark most bracing, yes?¡± I was so stumped for words that I just looked at the orc. Behind us, I heard the whump of the dartwing attacking again somewhere in front of the buggy, and then three feather quills appeared in the Blood Gorger¡¯s chest. He looked down at them curiously, ran his fingers over the fletching, and then tipped off the back of the buggy. But more were charging in on oryx, ready to board for close combat¡ªuntil the zealots hit them. And when I say hit them, I mean hit them. The Buggy plowed into the line of oryx, engine and occupants screaming. What goblins didn¡¯t go flying into the desert were quick to swarm onto the backs of the oryx, weapons raised as the cumulative combat bonus from their fervor skill let them fight toe-to-toe with the much stronger orcs¡ªat least with a significant numbers advantage. Armstrong fired his rifle, and I threw several of the poppers we had onboard. It sounded like being caught in the middle of a Midwest thunderstorm. I spotted one of their members further back, speaking to a keeper on the back of an oryx. That orc raised a horn to his lips and blew a low blast. The Blood Gorgers, whose main goal had been to distract and delay, withdrew from the melee. But was that because they were badly outnumbered? Or because their own team elsewhere was close to securing their own quarry? Sourtooth seemed to share my concerns. He pulled back to speak with our own keeper, and then moved up to the side of my buggy. ¡°Tis now or never at all, little brother mine. When it launches again, we strike!¡± ¡°Right,¡± I said. I whistled to get Neil¡¯s attention. My taskmaster looked over at me from the back of his vehicle and nodded. His driver came close enough for me to make the transition. Ideally we¡¯d have slowed the dartwing with more of the small chutes, but the Blood Gorgers simply didn¡¯t give us the opportunity. Together, Neil and I pulled the dust cover off the second part of the plan. The weapon on the back of the buggy crewed by Neil¡¯s most fanatical hunters wasn¡¯t a recoilless rifle. We finished removing the dust cover and threw it into the wind to reveal a rack of two large rockets with a terrifying new addition: cockpits. While I hadn¡¯t expected a shortage of volunteers, I hadn¡¯t expected a practical civil war to erupt over who got to be the ones to strap in. The S&M club smacked and bit and pulled at each other, until two finally managed to get to the top of the pile and tumble into the small seats, laughing maniacally. I locked eyes with Neil. ¡°No time for speeches,¡± I said. ¡°They know what¡¯s to be done?¡± Neil nodded and opened a small tinderbox to reveal two glowing coals. I reached in and grabbed one, thankful for the heavy hide gloves I¡¯d donned to act as loader for Armstrong¡¯s recoilless rifle. The material hissed and I could feel the heat through it. I moved back to the rear of the rockets as the hunters made a hole. Neil and I nodded to each other, and we touched the coals to the igniters at the back of the rockets. They fizzled for a moment, and for a few terrifying seconds, I worried that I¡¯d gotten the liquid mixtures wrong. The sputtering sparks turned into a roaring jet of flame. I held a hand against the heat, and the two rockets and their unfortunate pilots shot off the racks and toward the dartwing, just as it launched back into the air. The goblins still aboard the buggy all held their hands above their heads, whistling and making the sign of the moon above their heads. This was it. Chapter 97 - Stage 2 Chapter 97 - Stage 2 The plan to bring down the dartwing wasn¡¯t the only thing with 2 stages. As the rockets climbed up and away toward the flying serpent, they carried with them two lines on reels locked to the front of the rig. I could just make out the tiny figures in the cockpits maneuvering the missiles as best they could, considering the circumstances. The liquid fuel began to sputter out, and then the back half of the missiles fell away. With the first stage successfully separated, the second stage motors kicked on, and the icky-putty power pumped the smaller delivery vehicles with the needed energy to climb up above the dartwing¡¯s altitude. The serpent hissed, eyes up, tracking the new threat. It wheeled to the left, trying to evade, but the drogue chutes slowed it down, and one of the two rocket pilots course corrected. The other struggled to bring his craft in line. ¡°Come on, come on!¡± I shouted. The reels on the rig shrieked as they played out the cord. Overhead, the two rockets caught up with the dartwing. The first pilot bailed out, deploying a personal glider that carried him up and away from the rocket, just before its payload exploded. A wide net, courtesy of the Flock, spread out, and just missed the dartwing. It dropped, and Neil slashed the line coming out of the reel that had been connected to it before it could tangle in the vehicle¡¯s axles. The second rocketeer got his craft back on track¡ªbut didn¡¯t bail out. He screamed toward the dartwing on a column of sickly-brown exhaust smoke. The two converged in the air, and then another explosion¡­ and no glider. The dartwing flailed in the air as the second net wrapped about its wings, tangling and driving the creature to the ground. This time it fell, rather than diving. It hissed and shrieked as it came down, twisting in the air, until it landed on the badlands with a whump. By this time, the goblins had learned to duck, and we didn¡¯t lose any more to the quill barrage. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± I shouted, pointing at the downed creature. ¡°Finish it!¡± It was down, but not out. My mouth was already salivating at the thought of how much meat was on that thing. We¡¯re talking snake fillets, we¡¯re talking wing meat, we¡¯re talking shoulder roasts. A horn blast sounded from one of the vehicles at the back of the convoy. I looked back, and the blood drained out of me as I saw the orc keeper with a ram¡¯s horn in one hand and her beads raised high in the other. Sourtooth brought his bike nearby, and I didn¡¯t need to hear the words that passed between them to know we were too late. Sourtooth¡¯s dark glower said it all. The Blood Gorgers¡¯ interference had delayed us just long enough from bringing the dartwing down, and someone else had managed their kill first. If it was Lura, then that would mean the Stampede was effectively over, as she¡¯d have more points than anyone would be capable of overtaking. Unbelievably, I had to root for the jerks who had just attacked us. I had Neil drop our buggy back alongside the orc leader. ¡°Sourtooth, who got it? Are we still in this thing?¡± The old orc looked at me. ¡°The Blood Gorgers claimed a kill. Onward the Stampede marches, little brother.¡±If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then glanced at the dust plume from where the dartwing had fallen. ¡°At least my tribe won¡¯t go hungry for a while,¡± I muttered. ¡°We must free her of those binding ropes,¡± said Sourtooth. I snapped my head around. ¡°What?! But we have her!¡± Sourtooth shook his head. ¡°Forbidden to claim a totem outside given time. To do so is to rob another team of hunting. This law is ironclad, and violated would see us thrust from the Stampede.¡± I threw my hands in the air. ¡°So all that work, the goblins I lost, and the resources we spent, and it¡¯s all for nothing?¡± ¡°Tis the way of things, little brother. The strong prevail and whine not. Come, we must free her and join the slayer¡¯s camp.¡± The rest of the Blood Gorgers were already headed south. I had the convoy stop up while a few of us went on to where the dartwing had landed. Trapped on the ground, it didn¡¯t look like such a monstrous threat, coiled and caught. System had let me see its level, finally, and a luminous 43 hovered over it. This was one of the winged creatures the bestiary had only alluded to, and there were much stronger threats further into the desert. But it was the toughest thing we¡¯d brought down to date, and we weren¡¯t even going to get to eat it. It glared at us, even as we cut the binding lines off the nets and allowed it to slither free. It didn¡¯t attack us as we did so. Some part of it must have known that we no longer intended to kill it. With a final hiss and ruffling of feathers, it sprung back into the air and headed towards the dunes on the horizon. Sourtooth sighed, shaking his head. ¡°There¡¯s no catching her in the desert, little brother. We must regroup and plan anew. Come. We shall see if the Gorgers quarry is of their name worthy.¡± It was with some reluctance that I piled on the scattered bits of the vehicles we¡¯d lost onto the backs of the buggies and headed south after the detachment of Blood Gorgers. It wasn¡¯t until the sun had dropped nearly to the horizon that we came in sight of the Stampede camp, centered around a massive carcass. The celebration was already in full swing, with the red-faced Blood Gorgers getting a head start on the merriment. I left Chuck in charge of getting our corner of the camp set up and followed Sourtooth into the encampment. ¡°Little brothers!¡± I heard one of them shout, and the rest pointed and cheered. One of them sauntered over, grinning. I recognized him as the leader from the detachment that had hounded us. ¡°Well fought, ¡®neath the spreading of the dartwing¡¯s shadow. Had we dallied but a few heartbeats more, we might have been feasting on snake tonight, instead! Taste in our victory.¡± He handed down a handful of dripping meat wrapped in a flatbread like a gyro, the smell of which made my mouth fill with saliva. I reached out, half expecting him to rip it away in a cruel jest. But I took it, and glanced at Sourtooth, who already had one of his own, which he chewed on the good side of his mouth. The Gorgers had more ready for my secretive service that accompanied us, and even a platter to bring back to the rest of the goblins. The sandwich itself was fresh and hot and greasy, packed with seasoned meat that reminded me of a kebab joint near my university. The orcs liked things spicy, and my eyes began to water along with my mouth as I dug in. The Gorgers moved on, clearly half-drunk already and shooting for full. Once they left, I shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t understand orc customs,¡± I admitted to Sourtooth. ¡°They refuse to trade, but Lura and the Gorgers both offered us food from their kill.¡± Sourtooth stuffed the last of his gyro into his mouth and swallowed it. ¡°For a goblin, you think oddly like a human, little brother. I know not from where this backwards reason comes. Men and elves show wealth by hoarding it, by wearing trinkets of soft, useless metals and stone houses to anchor them. But an orc¡¯s wealth, only by what they can spare is it displayed. All can see the quality of a feast spread amongst respected rivals and know an orc to also be of quality. That is the way of things.¡± I pressed my hands to my forehead, trying to understand. ¡°So, you take what you want, because the strong taking from the weak is the way of things. But you share as much as possible with anyone who doesn¡¯t have as much, because that shows off how rich you are?¡± Sourtooth clapped a hand on my back. ¡°Now you¡¯re getting it!¡± I really didn¡¯t. It was some weird inverse Robinhood custom. Steal from the poor and give to the poor. It was as backwards as their high school drama club speech. But if it resulted in gracious winners and me not going hungry tonight, who was I to judge? Chapter 98 - Vertical Thinking Chapter 98 - Vertical Thinking Finding out we had to let the dartwing go dampened some spirits, but finding out we got to eat anyway lifted most of the goblins¡¯ moods back up again. Still, I had a taste for competition and I wanted to get the Flock a placement that would see hunting rights secured for the tribe. Since the Blood Gorgers had secured the latest totem beast, that meant they were the ones who decided when the Stampede would resume. And they weren¡¯t in quite as great a hurry as the upstart Lura. Which suited me since it gave me a full 2 days to do some much-needed repairs and modifications using Sourtooth¡¯s stockpile of supplies as we regrouped and planned. Chuck helped me out when he wasn¡¯t busy with the dogs and the captured herd stock, and I couldn¡¯t help noticing the resident canoneers eyeing us closely as we worked on engines together. ¡°With the dartwing out, what¡¯s our next best option?¡± I asked Sourtooth. I hammered at an engine that had developed a warp, trying to get it back to spec¡ªer, goblin spec, at any rate. Reinforcements from Village Apollo had brought more vehicles, including one small biplane with a crew of only three goblins. The orcs found flying goblins to be a novelty, rather than a threat, fortunately¡ªand still attributed the artifice to the ifrit. The only ones who knew it was actually goblin tech were members of the Flock ¡°We find ourselves trapped twixt anvil and hammer, little brother,¡± said Sourtooth. He rested, crouched, on a flat rock in the middle of the forge yard. ¡°What totems remain play cruel tricks upon us, either elusive or deadly.¡± ¡°And the dartwing wasn¡¯t?¡± Sourtooth ignored the jab and sucked at his namesake a moment as he thought. ¡°The Dawn will seek the red trapper totem, having been denied the rasker by the Blood Gorgers. Lura gained insight fair on the location of one. Never beat her to it, we. A lesser drake perhaps, should one hunger enough to leave the mountains¡ªalas, likely not this time of year. A long shot. A vine-grabber perhaps. How fare your artifice in swamps?¡± ¡°Not well,¡± I admitted. ¡°But we¡¯ve got boats and cliffords¡ªer, the red badlands dogs.¡± Sourtooth shook his head. ¡°They would cower and flee before the thing.¡± I pursed my furry lips. ¡°What about trying to muscle out one of the smaller teams? You¡¯ve seen what our guns and rockets can do. We defeated the javeline with them and only gotten stronger, since.¡± The old orc huffed a laugh. ¡°Brag at bagging bacon, you. Orcs are no rutter mob. Keen hunters, we, even of temper and steady of hand on spear and pommel. Prone to anger not, and not so easily goaded as a pork-brained buffoon. No, the weakest of the teams would not for you a victim be, but might, of you, a victim make. Skirmishes are good sport, but best not raise their ire.¡± I put down my hammer and examined my handywork. With an arm in front of my face in case the ensemble exploded, I dropped a starter rockette into the chute and let the engine turn over. It rumbled to life, rattling, shaking, and generally raising an unholy ruckus. In other words, perfect working order for GTT tech. I cocked my head. ¡°What about¡­ the whistler? Is that what you called it?¡± Sourtooth stilled. This was a very touchy subject for him, I expected. I pressed on with caution. ¡°It had to be released, right? Since Lura beat you to a kill? That means it¡¯s still out there, right?¡± ¡°You¡¯d feed it my spare leg, little brother,¡± growled Sourtooth. ¡°Your tribe¡¯s not ready for a beast of that caliber.¡± ¡°But you know where it is?¡± Sourfang held still a moment. ¡°Aye. It¡¯s gone to ground in the canyons to lick the wounds given by the Flock, grandfather spirits rest them.¡± I cut the throttle on the engine and leaned against the crank case. ¡°And no one else has it in their sights?¡± Sourtooth straightened. ¡°No other team is damn fool enough to follow it into a canyon tight where its charge can be evaded not.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. ¡°How tight¡¯s the canyon?¡± asked Chuck. <12 of your tribe members have assumed the zealot job> Eileen and the canoneers must have converted another village. That was the third so far. No new variants? I tsked. Bad luck. I¡¯d hoped each tribe would introduce a new needed skill or specialization into the tribe. So far we¡¯d narrowly missed something called flatulators and gotten a duplicate variant. I turned back to the problem at hand. ¡°That¡¯s a problem. We won¡¯t have room to maneuver in the canyon. Maybe we could build a big missile and launch it into the canyon? We¡¯ve got two-stage guided rockets. We just need one with a big enough warhead to send this horn-beast to the next simulation.¡± But even as I spoke it, I knew it wasn¡¯t feasible, yet. Guided rockets with enough payload to function as long-range artillery were going to take time and trials to develop. We¡¯d gotten lucky with the net missiles working as planned, but precision short-range ballistic missiles were another beast all together. We weren¡¯t exactly working with HIMARS, here. Still. We had manpower, we had materials. That meant this was an engineering problem. A canyon might not have enough space to maneuver on the ground, but they had plenty of verticality. Maybe we needed to attack this problem from a different direction. Literally. ¡°Let¡¯s go talk to Promo. I have an idea.¡± I choked out the engine and wandered over to the forge-yard. Several of the Blood Gorgers were still sleeping off hangovers, dozing in the heat given off by the forges. The ringing of hammers on anvils seemed to bother them not at all, and I had to step over one of them in order to reach the head of my smiths. ¡°How long would it take to dismount the engines from, let¡¯s say, half the buggies?¡± I asked. Promo cocked his head at me. ¡°Rest o¡¯ the day, reckon. What you gettin¡¯ at, boss?¡± I nodded to the Ifrit floating around the camp in their coaxial vessels. One of them floated by a pair of orcs, who offered the two-fingers-to-the-nose gesture I had learned was a sign of respect/warding to/from ancestors. ¡°We can¡¯t get at this next monster from the ground. The next option is the air. Do you understand the principles enough to make a version big enough to carry a crew?¡± Promo scratched at his jowls and a glaze passed over his eyes, typical of a Ravan looking at System menus. A grin spread across his face. ¡°Reckon I can at that, boss. Why only half the buggies?¡± I huffed. ¡°Because the abomination unto aerodynamics that are helicopters are very fuel inefficient. We¡¯re going to drive them to the canyon and launch them from there to maximize flight time.¡± Sourtooth grunted. ¡°I¡¯ve seen your skyborne artifice, little brother. If you hold notion that I¡¯ll ride the winds on a wreck in the making, absolve yourself of it. For my lads that goes, as well. We tolerated your wheeled contraptions, but good faith and daring takes an orc only so far. An oryx twixt our legs is the only sure thing in terrain like that.¡± I shrugged. ¡°You¡¯d be too heavy anyway. We need to minimize weight. Besides, someone¡¯s going to have to be the bait.¡± ¡°The what?¡± asked Sourtooth, having very clearly heard me. ¡°I know the rate at which goblins breed, but an orc life is not easily cast before the charge.¡± ¡°Figured you¡¯d want to be as close as possible when you get your revenge. The canyons might not have the terrain for buggies to maneuver, but what if I could make you a shield capable of taking a hit from the whistler?¡± Sourtooth closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath. I caught Lura, blight, and womb and a few other terms best not repeated in polite company. And of course it wasn¡¯t Lura he was upset with. It was me. ¡°Alright, little brother mine,¡± said Sourtooth. ¡°But once we commit, there will be no turning back. The whistler will not keen be to grant us a third audience. It is like a meteor made flesh, and it will finish what I started.¡± ¡°The whistler, then.¡± Sourtooth absently rubbed the remnant of the leg he¡¯d lost to the beast. ¡°The whistler. More than those peashooters, we¡¯ll need. What more artifice have you a will to unlock in your tech tree?¡± I thought about the advancements we¡¯d made so far. I hadn¡¯t followed the linear path of human technological development. I¡¯d skipped around, cut corners, jumped entire fields of research by already knowing the terminus those innovative-yet-obsolete stepping stones had led. We had internal combustion engines and I hadn¡¯t even gotten around to making a telegraph, a radio, a light bulb, or a transistor, yet. In some regards, we were up to the early 1900¡¯s. Hell, we were getting ready to make helicopters. But in many other regards, we were still in the BC era. We didn¡¯t have running water or sewage, our government was a pure monarchy¡ªor rather some sort of gestalt colony with a king at its heart. We didn¡¯t even have agriculture, despite my best efforts. On the other hand, we had heavier-than-air flight, we had rifles with internal magazines, and we had multi-stage rockets. Military technology was certainly progressing. But, then, a large amount of innovation and development had been spurred on by conflict on Earth. Well, if we were doing it by hunting wild animals instead of killing humans, I certainly didn¡¯t have a problem with it. Bonus points if it kept my tribe sufficiently fed. But they also needed to be protected. Sourtooth didn¡¯t think the buggies would cut it, and I had a feeling the oryx weren¡¯t going to get the job done, either. The majority of our military technology was about at a pre-WWI level. Well, the first world war introduced more than just biplanes and trenches. There was one area of technology that we were still behind on. ¡°Promo. Bring the rocket rig around. We¡¯ve got work to do.¡± Chapter 99 - Keeper Secrets Chapter 99 - Keeper Secrets The morning of the third day, the Blood Gorgers finally signaled their intent to continue the hunt. And believe me when I say, we didn¡¯t waste a single minute. We wasted many, many minutes. Goblins aren¡¯t exactly the most attentive of workers, prone to getting distracted if there¡¯s not a taskmaster hovering over them¡ªand even then, the taskmasters were prone to get curious about whatever shiny object had gotten the original goblin¡¯s attention. So when we rolled out behind our scout bi-plane, we didn¡¯t have as many vehicles as ready to go as I¡¯d hoped. But we had more than I¡¯d expected. We had more company than I¡¯d expected, too. Word from the Blood Gorgers must have gotten around that we weren¡¯t just a gaggle of hopeless goblins, but a competent team capable of bringing down totem beasts. It wasn¡¯t just a contingent of Blood Gorger scouts that set off after us. A party with black and white bands followed us, as did one of viridian green, and even a set of Lura¡¯s colors were present. What surprised me most was our keeper climbing up on the lead vehicle and leaning down to our engine to give the sign of respect to elders. ¡°Elder, you honor us,¡± she said before settling back to ply her beads. I glanced at the engine that glowed with a soft blue, distinctively ifrit flame, and then to the elder orc I couldn¡¯t help it. I sidled back. ¡°If orc grandfather spirits are so cunning and devious, why would they help us?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯m sure they have their reasons,¡± said Keeper. ¡°Perhaps you should ask them.¡± ¡°But the Ifrit deny that they are orcs,¡± I said. ¡°So¡­?¡± ¡°So¡­ they couldn¡¯t possibly answer the question.¡± ¡°How convenient.¡± Keeper tapped the side of her nose with her finger. It was such an Earth gesture that it made me miss my old life, which made me realize how little time I¡¯d spent missing my old life since coming to Rava. Was that a biological aspect of my new body? Goblins didn¡¯t tend to show regret, even after an action that would inevitably lead to their death. A series of beads spun in Keeper¡¯s hand, and I eyed them, considering. ¡°I think I¡¯ve figured those out,¡± I said, pointing to the beads. Keeper raised a solitary eyebrow. ¡°At first I thought it was like a serial connection. Some beads for sending, others for receiving. Certain faces of certain beads represent syllables to exchange messages. I figured there must have been some central keeper operating a switchboard to keep message traffic flowing. I had thought I could optimize the whole system with a few days to iron out inefficiencies. Pass more data with less fluff, you know?¡± ¡°Clearly you no longer believe this to be the case.¡± Around us, the vehicles had begun to start up. ¡°I think all the teams are represented on each string,¡± I said. ¡°That¡¯s why we couldn¡¯t join late as a new team. Each one of those multicolor beads represents one of the team¡¯s colors, and the beads that follow give very basic information on direction, intent, proximity, and status. The rest you infer and pass it off as having more knowledge than you actually do.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. The corner of the hooded orc¡¯s mouth twitched upwards. ¡°I bet I could still improve it for you¡ªby making it what I originally thought it was. Bidirectional communication based on simple syllabic syntax and short phrases, maybe encoded in hexadecimal with a central operator sending mass notifications. One side of the beads would be out and one side would be in. I¡¯d be happy to help you figure out a basic communications manual,¡± I rubbed my hands together. ¡°If I could get a couple sets of those beads for my tribe.¡± Keeper considered for a moment, and then reached out and offered the beads to me. I grinned and reached out, wrapping my fist around the links. As soon as my skin touched them, my vision flashed white and a lance of pain shot through my temples. In my head I heard a cacophony of voices, some shouting some whispered, but all trying to burrow into the folds of my brain. Dawntreaders15milessouthof PIN VALE headingeast Flatbottoms HUNT by dust storm sullied¡ª ¡ªFRIGHTENED bycarelessscouttingcost finding tracks led to carcass killed by GARGA¡ª returningtoStAgInGcampWeStNoRtHwEsTofrookery ¡°Jesus!¡± I let go of the bracelet as if I¡¯d been stung¡ªand it felt like I had. My fingers steamed, and I shook them out and put them in my mouth to sooth. My hair stood on end, something the other buggy occupants had taken notice of, and humor from. ¡°Yer culda trld me thr were just margic warlky trlkys¡± I muttered around my fingers. ¡°And dash hopes of yours for syntax and short phrases?¡± Keeper leaned over. ¡°I may not a grandfather spirit be, little brother. But I am a stranger not to mischief.¡± ¡°Clearly,¡± I said. Boy, orcs must pull some serious pranks on each other. So. Orc magic. The first I¡¯d seen of magic, really, outside of the Ifrit¡ªthough they were beings of magic, apparently, they didn¡¯t practice sorcery. I had so many questions. Unfortunately, I didn¡¯t think I was going to get them out of the recalcitrant keeper. I had Girmaks take us alongside Sourtooth¡¯s bike and made the transition over. As a human, I never would have considered jumping from a moving buggy onto a moving motorcycle, but as a goblin it was as easy as walking down the sidewalk. I¡¯d made a gunner¡¯s mount on the back of the chopper, and I busied myself doing a quick once-over until Sourtooth stopped glaring at me. ¡°You been on lots of these Stampedes?¡± I asked. ¡°Across the burning sands and the shimmering salt, ¡®neath sun and moon in years remembered only by song.¡± ¡°Ah, so yes¡­ I think. Who¡¯s the toughest? After the orcs, of course.¡± Sourtooth laughed. ¡°Pad the ego not, little brother. Flattery gains not amongst my kind.¡± He scratched at his chin. ¡°The Noll are the best fighters, man-to-man. Strong and swift, fierce and cunning. They melt into the forest as though wrought from subtle breeze. When the Stampede reached their shores, a wide berth we offered their fortress monasteries¡ªand a Noll team was offered a place at the hunting table. However, they eat but fish and greens.¡± ¡°How about Habberport?¡± ¡°A splinter of the Duchy of Habb. Sealed within their loathsome castles, they, when my kin come to hunt. If strayed a totem to the coast, we would chase it through their market square with not a fear. Yet given time and space to muster legions from the dutchy, they are not easily turned.¡± ¡°Their prince wanted to capture me. Sent the javeline to do it.¡± Sourtooth barked a laugh. ¡°He will stop not, then. Men of the Duchy know well the portent of a goblin king grown strong. Long have they coveted this land, and long has it rebuffed them. But never has it threatened them as you do.¡± ¡°What about the strongest magic practitioners?¡± I asked. Again, Sourtooth considered. ¡°Elves are quite skilled in natural magics, but physically not so imposing. Outside of the elves, perhaps the Midnight Queendom. They read fortunes in the stars. They are impossible to ambush, on land or at sea, and through trade they have amassed great riches. They can see your movements and intents reflected in the night sky.¡± ¡°Astrology?¡± I scoffed. ¡°Fortunes are best left in cookies where they belong.¡± ¡°Mock them at your peril, little brother. But they have swept greater foes than you aside as you might brush dirt from your tunic.¡± He pursed his lips. ¡°Greater foes than I, as well. Numbers amount to naught, for they count them. Plans counts for not, for they see them. There is only one thing that blinds their eyes and one place they dare not tread.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± I asked, admittedly now a little worried. On Earth, Astrology was junk mysticism. But I had to lend credence to the idea that maybe in this world, it might be a job that came with serious skills of tactical and strategic benefit. I¡¯d been bitten by underestimating Rava¡¯s version of Earth analogues before, and I needed more information about everything outside of my local sphere. Sourtooth pointed up at the moon, nearing its eclipse. ¡°Raphina shadows this land from the stars. It is the one place the queen is blind.¡± Chapter 100 - Canyon Model Chapter 100 - Canyon Model The number of goblins we¡¯d amassed in the convoy of gear-headed speed freaks had grown noticeably. Even though we¡¯d added new vehicles, the fact that the convoy was self-sustaining in terms of food meant that the spawning penalties had been rescinded¡ªat least for the time being. One extra benefit I found from the spawning submenu was that I could restrict new goblin births if I so needed, to maintain the tribe at a certain level with only enough growth to account for daily attrition¡ªwhich had been markedly higher after inventing multi-stage missiles and internal combustion engines. Our fleet was now over 20 strong, with each new replacement vehicle hauling bladders of fuel pumped from the swamps of Huntsville and framed from the steel refined from its iron. Damaged vehicles were sent back with captured herd animals, scrap parts, and cast-off materials from the orcs. And that figure was after accounting for the bi-plane that was attacked by a four-winged bird and the bike that was taken by a dire trapdoor spider creature while we were setting up camp for the night¡ªtaking 6 goblins with it. But having split the fleet into a mix of ground vehicles and choppers made it slow going as the buggies struggled to haul their heavy loads across the badlands. Our rival teams kept pace easily and kept a safe distance whenever we camped for the night. Spirits in the tribe were high, but Sourtooth kept mostly to himself the closer we got to the beast¡¯s lair. The terrain grew rockier and more mountainous, turning into sharp stone and pink gravel that crunched underfoot. At a maintenance stop, a glint caught my eye, and I reached down and picked up a piece of the gravel, turning it in the sun. It shined with a greyish luster in a couple spots, and I held it up to my eye. I could see metallic flecks in it. Some sort of surface ore. Worth collecting, maybe. Studying it would have to wait. For now, we were on a time crunch to make sure we hit that whistler before Lura tracked down her own quarry. I returned to the convoy, where the igni were overseeing the unloading and reassembly of the new aircraft. When I say aircraft, I mean it in the barest sense of the word. Helicopters are aerodynamic freaks of nature, flying primarily by rattling and shaking so hard that the ground rejects them. In fact, I wouldn¡¯t even have to dumb them down or make them more dangerous for them to fit in the Goblin Tech Tree. If a Blackhawk had followed me to Rava, it would have immediately triggered a GTT unlock prompt. Still, it was another step toward the terminus of orbital space travel and landing a spacecraft on the surface of Raphina, whose watchful eye hung fat and heavy in the sky above. It must have been getting close to summer on this continent as well, because the days were getting hot and I was grateful for the shade that offered brief reprieve from the rays baking the dusty hardpack. I¡¯d been to the salt flats Utah a few summers to watch races and a rocket test fire, but I hadn¡¯t been blue and furry at the time. It wasn¡¯t quite to the point where I considered the limited coverage favored by the Shafts and Motors club. But it wasn¡¯t far off, either. Clutching the gravel in my tiny fist, I stashed it in a pack I kept on the back of the buggy and then helped Promo get one of the choppers sorted. None of them had a standardized layout¡ªhaving been cobbled from disparate parts meant they had unusual setups in terms of number or rotor blades, tail configurations, and payloads. Each one would fly completely differently from the next, so the canoneers had their work cut out for them trying to canonize them. Hell, it¡¯d be a miracle if the pilots didn¡¯t crash them on takeoff, even with the Ifrit smoothing out controls and flight. So far, we¡¯d only tested them with tethers, and never multiple together. It was time to change that. ¡°Fuel ¡®em up!¡± I called. ¡°We¡¯re going on a dry run.¡± The tribe cheered and ran to the back of the new and improved Big Hoss Rig for bladders of kerosene to power the choppers. The wranglers, meanwhile, were fighting with the goblins possessing abnormally high mechanical aptitude for who would get to be at the controls, and it somehow managed to work out that every wrangler pilot seemed to be squeezed into a craft built for a nonvariant, while each of Eileen¡¯s air deliverymen were stuck between reaching the foot pedals and the flight stick (called a ¡®cyclic¡¯ on helicopters). As for me, I had my vehicle already marked out, and Armstrong was already in the gunner¡¯s station waiting for me. ¡°Ready, boss!¡± he said, offering a salute. His skull mask had been painted with ash-grey streaks¡ªmatching the grey and white of the Flock¡¯s colors. I climbed into the pilot¡¯s station above and behind Armstrong while a half-dozen other goblins clambered onto the various stations, or just kind of held onto the bare-bones frame. Even with them aboard, the heaviest weight by far was the engine and fuel bladders. But around the engine, I could see Girmaks¡¯ pale, blue shimmer. I dropped a charge in the engine compartment and started it up. The engine roared to life, and I cranked the clutch belt to engage the main rotor as it warmed up. Overhead, the coaxial blades started to turn, but I kept the pitch flat while the rest of the fleet got their vehicles up and running. In total, we had eight choppers of various sizes. Three of them didn¡¯t have controls at all, being controlled entirely via Ifrit while the goblins aboard were simply along for the ride¡ªa fact that dissuaded them not at all. The thing about helicopters is that they¡¯re loud. You not only have the engine noise, but the noise of the main rotors and tail rotors cutting through the air essentially gives you sound at three different frequencies that drowns out nearly everything. Voice communication is nearly impossible over the racket, and goblin helicopter blades had none of the modern aerodynamic creature comforts that reduced the sound profile of Earth helicopters from deafening all the way to nearly deafening. Necessity being the mother of invention, and being a fantastic engineer with 2,500 hours in the cockpit, I had foreseen this¡ªand built the tribe¡¯s first electrical device: a simple sound-powered intercom.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. A crucial first-step on the way to radios, I slipped a pair of leather ear-cups over my head and pulled a hand-set closer to my mouth. ¡°Check, check,¡± Inside the handset, my voice caused a diaphragm to vibrate, inducing a charge across a pair of lodestones connected to a wire in what amounted to the world¡¯s dirtiest transducer, and the Goblin Tech Tree did the rest of the heavy lifting. In my ear cups, the process reversed, and the faint electrical signal repeated my own voice, sounding hollow and tinny¡ªbut understandable. ¡°HEY BOSS IT WORKS!¡± shouted Armstrong. I pulled one of the ear cups away from my head as he shouted, wincing. The scrapper tossed me a grin and a thumbs up over his shoulder. ¡°NOT SO LOUD!¡± I yelled back. He flinched in his seat. Tribe Apollo had the means to build one of these ever since Rufus¡¯ second visit to the bluff, but they hadn¡¯t ever been a priority, what with the tribe suffering crisis after crisis. Electrical devices had simply fallen to the wayside in favor of weapons and vehicles to hunt with. But now we were starting to unite the tribes of the region, work out a way to keep them fed, and we were going to need communication more reliable than glider messengers to get it. Sound-powered phones were a step on the road to radio¡ªand the jump wasn¡¯t as big as you might think. A power source, a modulator, an amplifier, an antenna, and a receiver to demodulate and reverse the process. Hell, there were radios even simpler than that that just worked on induced AC current across a coil. But that would still take time and focus to develop the electrical components, so right now comms were limited to per-aircraft, while red-tinted smoke swirled from two flares at the back of our craft to let the other pilots know to follow our lead. I twisted the throttle and checked the response on the anti-torque pedals before lifting the collective pitch control lever. The chopper started getting light on its wheels, and I tilted the cyclic control forward. Our engines still weren¡¯t amazing. Don¡¯t get me wrong, it was amazing that they worked, at all. But they were heavy, being made primarily from cast iron, steel, or ceramic, which meant a strength-to-weight ratio less than ideal for heavier-than-air flight. Combined with the inbuilt inefficiencies in the aerodynamics of helicopters, and we had a fleet of whales that struggled to get off the ground with a full belly. Luckily, helicopters become more efficient at around 15-20 knots. It¡¯s where you stop getting recycled air killing your performance as vortexes form at the edges of your rotor disk. I pressed forward, letting our ground speed climb, and I felt the aircraft shudder as we passed through that boundary into clean, efficient air. I hauled back on the cyclic, and we lifted into the air to cheers and the loss of one goblin who got so excited she forgot she still had to hang on. I craned my neck to see most of the rest of the fleet had gotten off the ground, with the exception of one aircraft that tilted too far back, shearing off its own tail in the process. I winced as the crew bailed out before the still-spinning main rotor could turn them into furry, blue clouds. Flying the choppers was strange, being used to fixed wing aircraft as I was¡ªand yet again, I felt the telltale pressure of System¡¯s increased attention on me, as I often did when I was flying. I focused on maintaining the controls and checking the simple gauges I¡¯d built to monitor the remaining fuel weight and rotor RPMs. It all seemed to be working as I climbed. The whole aircraft vibrated, but the feeling of peace that flying always gave me still settled into my core. Every problem I¡¯ve ever had was on the ground¡ªand lifting off left them all behind. I was part of the sky while I was in the cockpit. I banked to the right, towards a formation of stone pillars that created a small channel. With the whistler licking its wounds in a canyon, rocky, tight terrain was going to be our battlefield. Dumping collective, I brought us low and then flared back. I lined up on a spindle formation down the center of the lane. Geological forces had conspired to give the formation an hourglass shape, heavy on top and bottom with a narrow bit in the middle. ¡°Armstrong, hit the skinny part.¡± My scrapper lined up the two recoilless rifles built into the nose of the chopper and let ¡®em rip. Acrid, smoky back-blast blew through the open cockpit, stinging my eyes. But through the haze, two small explosions burst against the pillar, near the narrow section. Around us, a half-dozen other sets of rifles fired, and contrails raced ahead. Some of them missed, but most of them hit. A handful of cheers came over the sound-powered headset from the goblins on board. I tilted us to the right and traversed us while endeavoring to keep the nose pointed at the spindle. It wasn¡¯t easy. I wasn¡¯t used to flying sideways. But several goblins took the opportunity to fire rifles and pistols at it. I straightened us back out and circled behind our target pillar, weaving through the forest of stone formations. The engine and the main rotor thumped, stressed by the hard maneuvers. I pulled the stick back and raised the collective to bring the chopper up and slow us before banking around for another pass. I grabbed the sound-powered handset. ¡°Tally ho!¡± One of the goblins squawked and climbed down to the compartment underneath the cockpit. Once we were lined up, I cranked hard on a plunger built into the front dash, and I felt a mechanical clunk from underneath. The chopper got significantly lighter as our primary payload dropped away. I banked us and looked below, where a rocket had detached with a single goblin holding on. The rocket motor kicked on, and I swear I could hear the EEEEeeeee as it sped towards the spindle on a plume of dirty smoke. To my left and right, two other teams released their payloads as well, goblin guidance systems steering the rockets to the pillar. Just before impact, three gliders unfurled and the goblins detached from their rockets, turning velocity into altitude as they caught the air and soared high above the choppers. They¡¯d find their way back to the convoy, having completed their task. Below them, a trio of explosions kicked up a cloud of dust and smoke against the spindle. A thunderous CRACK echoed throughout the confines of the canyon. Uh oh. Chapter 101 - Turnabout Chapter 101 - Turnabout The top of the massive rock formation shifted, dust and debris falling off it. Then it tilted. Toward us. My mind raced. This wasn¡¯t part of plan A, B, C, or D. No time to climb, no space to turn. There was only one thing to do. ¡°King Ap, we appear to be in some danger.¡± shouted Girmaks from the engine. ¡°Hold on!¡± I shouted as I dumped the collective and jammed the cyclic stick forward. ¡°I have no arms with which to hold!¡± A feeling of weightlessness overcame the craft, and I could feel myself floating up against the simple restraints as we fell. We tilted forward, just as the spindle began to topple at the narrowest point. With our altitude dropping, fast, I yanked up on the collective. It didn¡¯t do much for our descent rate, but it pulled us forward, underneath the toppling rock formation. Rubble fell around us, and a shadow not unlike the eclipse enveloped us as the bulk of the formation passed overhead. ¡°Wooooooo!¡± shouted Armstrong from the gunner¡¯s seat. He had both his arms raised high in the air as if he was on the world¡¯s best roller coaster. The other goblins just hung on for dear life and squealed. Shadow turned into sunlight as we shot out from under the collapsing spire, and I craned my neck around to see most of the formation had followed my maneuver¡ªalbeit, two a touch too late. A falling boulder smashed through the main rotor of one chopper, pulverizing the aircraft in an instant. The fuel caught, and the whole ensemble exploded. The occupants of the other aircraft saw what had happened. To a goblin, they all bailed out, some unfurling personal gliders, others just tumbling through the air, screaming at the top of their lungs. I saw one of them holding onto a small brass jar that glinted in the sun, which hopefully meant the Ifrit had bailed out as well. The now unmanned chopper spun out of control, spiraling in place until the bulk of the spire hit the thing, and it disappeared from view. The pillar crashed down with the noise of an entire thunderstorm compressed into a few seconds, and I watched, awestruck, as the whole thing collapsed into a billion pieces. I brought the chopper around, lowering us down. A layer of dust had risen, but I still spotted the wreckage from the first chopper. Hauling back on the cyclic, I slowed us up and dipped us down, low enough to make sure that there was no ifrit still in the wreckage. Another chopper followed and picked up the goblins who had bailed out. Several crews had dismounted to run and kick the rocks broken off the main pillar and cheer at our victory. I even spotted a canoneer scribbling furiously to document the event. Even though, effectively, we¡¯d shot a rock. Still. Who am I to rain on their parade? Truth be told, I was feeling pretty euphoric myself. The tribe was beginning to master powered flight. How long before we had turbine engines? Scramjets? reusable rocket boosters? Space shuttles? I whistled for their attention and formed a circle over my head with my thumbs and forefingers. A cheer swept through the assembled air crews, and I raised my voice to be heard over the clamor. ¡°Target practice is over! Time for the real thing!¡± The goblins scrambled to get back to their vehicles, and the whine of engines rose again. The aircraft, now lighter having burned up fuel and shot ammunition, were now light enough to take off in a hover. The birds rose unsteadily into the air and waited for me to climb back into the cockpit of my own. ¡°We going after the whistler now, boss?¡± asked Armstrong. ¡°Not exactly,¡± I said. I hauled up on the collective and took my place at the front of the formation. The remaining aircraft fell in behind me, some smoking from the stress they¡¯d put on their engines or malfunctioning recoilless rifles. ¡°We¡¯ve still got some unwanted company. Time to show them the door.¡± I tilted the stick back and began to climb out of the valley, cresting the ridge of the spire field and angling back toward the camps. The goblins with Sourtooth and the rest of our convoy were watching and cheering, having seen the spire collapse. But they weren¡¯t the only ones observing the spectacle. Four orc tribes had set out from the Blood Gorger kill camp in order to keep an eye on us, and most of them had already started to set up camp while some watched our antics. A few of them waved and whistled when we emerged from the valley. This was all fun and games and glory, for them. Well, for me, it was survival. If we were to have any chance at actually killing the whistler, I could have four separate tribes harrying our flanks. They¡¯d already cost us the dartwing. I angled the column of aircraft toward the orc camps as though I intended to make a circle. The orcs on the ground ran along with our circuit, pointing and laughing amongst themselves. I made a full circle, making a note of the layout of the camps. ¡°Armstrong, you loaded up?¡± ¡°Loaded ¡®n ready, boss!¡± I dipped the cyclic forward and hauled up on the collective, dropping our altitude but increasing our speed as I spun the nose towards the orc camp. The engine whined at the extra strain, but Girmaks kept it running smooth-ish as I drew more power. The orcs faltered, unsure of what was happening. They saw the choppers coming, of course. But in their heads, we were still just goblins. You could see the cognitive dissonance on their faces as their eyes saw harmless pests, but something in the back of their brains screamed this isn¡¯t right. ¡°Hit their mounts,¡± I said. The recoilless rifle belched out black smoke, and down in the camp, the hitching post securing the oryx and pack hogs for the Blood Gorgers exploded into splinters, freeing and startling all of the Blood Gorger mounts and beasts of burden. They shrieked and scattered, bolting in every direction¡ªincluding through the camp, shaking off harness, tack, and supplies as they trampled tents. The other choppers opened up as well, hitting their foodstuffs, tents, water barrels, and other prime targets. We had more than just the explosive launchers. The individual goblins aboard the craft hauled back and hurled poppers by the bushel at the orcs below, as well as taking potshots with rifles and pistols as we passed. Small explosions began to pepper the ground between the orc hunters, who ducked or ran for cover, having been caught completely flat-footed. A few flinched as they were hit by stray shots or shrapnel, but it was impossible to tell at speed how badly we were actually hurting them. The orcs were tough as old leather, and I expected the ordnance would sting their pride more than cause them real harm.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. In just a few seconds, we were clear or their camp, and I angled toward the next one as the goblin loader slammed new rounds home in Armstrong¡¯s guns. These ones sported green and black armbands and had seen what had happened to the Blood Gorgers. Several hunters were already at their hitching post trying to untangle mounts now scared and skittish from the sounds of chaos in the first camp. Others had gone for weapons of their own, and crossbow bolts began whistling past us, and took at least one of my goblins right off the aircraft. I kept us low and fast to minimize our exposure. Several of them thumped against the underside, and a couple clanged off the back of the engine as we passed the perimeter of the camp. Armstrong angled his recoilless rifles down and smashed the second camp¡¯s hitching post, sending orcs diving to the ground. More explosions popped off in the orc camp from the column, but the orcs were fighting back. A spear sailed past us, and several thick arrows punched up through the hide and thin wood planking. One arrowhead jutted up out of the floor, right between my left and right knee, causing me to almost jump out of my seat. But a few seconds later, and we were done with the second camp. The third had managed to get a few of their mounts free and were riding them away from the unexpected attack. The goblin choppers weren¡¯t exactly fast, but they were faster than a buggy and could keep pace with an oryx. I got us lined up with their retreat path, swooping down. Crossbow bolts thudded into the pole on my left side, and one bounced off my chestplate. It felt like getting hit by a hammer, and it knocked the wind out of me. But Armstrong responded with the launchers and it blew the oryx right out from under the orcs. We sailed past the scattered pursuers, banking to the right. I leveled us out to gain altitude, but the engine draw seemed sluggish. ¡°Come on, come on!¡± I called, glancing back. My heart dropped when I saw a feathered shaft sticking out of my fuel bladder, and a decent amount of the liquid dribbling out around it while the engine belched out dark, black smoke. The goblins on board noticed it too, and one squawked, panicking, and started climbing towards it. ¡°Stop!¡± I shouted, but it was too late. The goblin plucked the crossbow shaft out, and held it triumphantly above his head just as a deluge of kerosene blasted him full in the face from the now unplugged hole in the bladder. I built what altitude I could, but it wasn¡¯t long before the engine sputtered and died completely. An odd quiet enveloped the aircraft in the wake of losing the engine. All I could hear was the swoosh of the coaxial rotors as air started to rush up through them. System¡¯s helpful altitude reading began to drop again. Most people think a helicopter without power glides about as well as a paperweight, but they¡¯re actually just almost as bad as a paperweight. I¡¯d never performed an autorotation, but I have heard of them and understood the principle. I dropped the collective all the way to the deck and watched as the main rotors began to spin faster and faster, whistling as the air passing through sped them up. We dropped even faster, but we were going to need rotor RPMs to get through this, and that was the only way to get them. The spinning blades still gave us some lift, and pulled us closer to the improvised landing zone. In the meantime, I angled us back toward the goblin camp, where the goblins had already seen me start to drop and were now shouting and panicking. As we dropped closer to the ground, I hauled back on the stick and lifted the collective just a little. The whistle in the rotors became a strained creak and the whole aircraft shuddered. I heard the snap and pop of fasteners bursting. But our downward velocity halted and we shot ahead, trading those rotor rpms for a little altitude control. We actually climbed maybe a dozen meters, which I hadn¡¯t intended, and I lowered the stick again. The ground shot up to meet us, and I hauled up as hard as I could on the collective to soften our impact. The chopper hit the ground like a sack of dirt, bouncing and rolling on its gear as the main rotor blades overhead spun out the last of their energy. We rolled to a stop. Shrugging out of the restraints, I jumped out of the smoking chopper to assess the damage. It looked¡­ well, it had looked battered and barely functional to begin with. Now it looked very much the same state, just with dents, crossbow bolts, and a few less goblins aboard. ¡°Promo!¡± I shouted, looking for my chief engineer. The noblin waddled up, hammer at the ready. Sourtooth wasn¡¯t far behind. ¡°Emergency repairs. Let¡¯s get these patched up and get on the move.¡± ¡°We can fix some of ¡®em on the move,¡± he said. ¡°Even better. Sourtooth, your plan worked. But I didn¡¯t see Lura¡¯s Dawn hunters.¡± The gnarled old orc spat on the ground. ¡°Aye, too clever by half, she, for one so few of years. Broke camp as soon as flight yon choppers took, lest she be caught flat of foot like the others. Still, a good showing. Sent afield the Gorgers and the others.¡± I helped a handful of goblins shift the chopper onto the back of one of the buggies we¡¯d converted to flatbeds in order to transport the aircraft. The rest of the choppers who hadn¡¯t had punctured fuel tanks were already landing. ¡°Will it be enough time to take down the whistler?¡± ¡°Supposing we can take the whistler¡­¡± Sourtooth rubbed his scarred chin. ¡°Perhaps.¡± Perhaps was better than no chance. But if Lura decided to interfere, those odds would not be in our favor. We needed insurance. I left the chopper and went looking for Keeper. The hooded figure was working her beads, getting and giving updates¡ªno doubt informing the rest of the Stampede about our little maneuver and our new toys. ¡°Keeper, can I send a message through those?¡± I asked, pointing. ¡°A message, I believe you have just sent, little brother.¡± I huffed a laugh. That was true, after a fashion. But it wasn¡¯t what I had in mind. ¡°How are the Dawn Hunters and the Blood Gorgers doing?¡± ¡°Both close in on quarry. Both are confident they can stave off challengers, but neither are sure which of them will be first to bring low their beast.¡± ¡°I¡¯m confident,¡± I said. ¡°Because I sending three choppers to the Blood Gorgers.¡± Keeper raised an eyebrow. ¡°You think to succeed in thwarting them where others dare not?¡± he asked. ¡°Bad enemies to make, the Blood Gorgers,¡± warned Sourtooth. ¡°On the contrary,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m going to help them take down their monster. And I want Lura to know that if she does anything to prevent us taking down the whistler, she can kiss her glory goodbye.¡± Keeper spun her beads. ¡°Unorthodox, is this. It strides grey trail in the spirit of the Stampede¡­ yet breaks no covenant. Very well. Relayed to both chiefs, your words have been. The Gorgers welcome your aid.¡± ¡°Thanks Keeper,¡± I said. Most of the choppers had been loaded up. I climbed aboard our buggy, followed by Armstrong. Sourtooth strode up, as well. ¡°Bold plan, little brother. But what should happen, should your ruse she see through?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not a ruse,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m sending Chuck with two choppers to help the Gorgers. Armstrong, see to it.¡± ¡°Aye, boss!¡± Sourtooth sputtered as he watched the hobgoblin dash off. ¡°What?! Not a¡ªwe need every chopper we have! And likely a few more, in order to take down that whistler. I can¡¯t spare any to help the Blood Gorgers. Need remind you, I, that the Blood Gorgers themselves are but a totem away from claiming the mantle of champions, just as the Dawn is?¡± I nodded. ¡°Like I said, it¡¯s not a bluff. It¡¯s an extortion. Lura knows I¡¯m desperate to get the Flock a kill. She also knows that set in motion, whatever arrangement might be made, my chopper pilots will never hear of it because they won¡¯t ever be given access to the Gorgers¡¯ keeper. It¡¯s in her best interest now for us to take down the whistler before the Blood Gorgers take down their totem with our help.¡± A voice piped up from the engine. ¡°I believe this plan will work.¡± Sourtooth grumbled. ¡°A devious plan. Very orcish, little brother. But it ride¡¯s the knife¡¯s edge. Gamble your tribe¡¯s empty bellies on out-priding a very prideful woman.¡± It was a gamble. I was gambling with the lives of the entire tribe. But attempts to introduce agriculture weren¡¯t working with goblins eating all the roots and seeds, except for the ones they forgot where they planted. Farming would never keep up with the pace the tribe expanded¡ªThey¡¯d help, but by the time crops grew, there¡¯d be twice as many goblins to feed. I doubted anyone would be willing to send shipments of food or grain deep into the Lanclovan interior, either, so trade was out. The orcs were the only ones that didn¡¯t hate us, but their version of trade was more along the lines of If you have something I want, I¡¯ll trade it for you keeping your life. Livestock was the only calorie-dense food capable of supporting us in the short term until I got the tribe big enough to take a shot at the moon. And Lura had to know why I was forcing her hand. Chapter 102 - Air Raid Chapter 102 - Air Raid ¡°Where¡¯s Lura?¡± I asked Keeper. She spun her beads before answering. ¡°She has left her hunt to her lieutenant. With all speed, she makes her way to the narrows to find us.¡± I grit my teeth. ¡°Very well.¡± I looked over at the ramshackle choppers being pulled down off the backs of the buggies and fueled up. ¡°With Chuck already on his way to the Gorgers, I don¡¯t think we have time to wait for her.¡± ¡°And at whose feet lay that fault, little brother?¡± scoffed Sourtooth. ¡°Never mind. The tinder is set ablaze and we must outpace its flame or be scorched upon it.¡± The old orc certainly had a way with words. With a final hawk of phlegm on the gravely floor of the canyon floor, he reached up and dropped the lid on the re-worked Big Hoss Rig. The heavy vehicle rumbled to life, spitting black smog from a pair of smokestacks at the back. Promo stuck his head out the side as it trundled past, giving me a salute and the sign of the right angle. ¡°Don¡¯t worry boss! We¡¯ll do you proud!¡± I waved him off as he and the other buggies, along with the half-dozen orc hunters still aboard Flock oryx and a gaggle of yapping cliffords, set off into the narrows to poke the bear. Sourtooth had told me he wouldn¡¯t face the whistler in a light buggy. So I¡¯d built him something new out of the bones of Big Hoss Rig. I¡¯d wanted a tank, but tanks require things like treads and drive sprockets and tensioners¡ªthings we simply didn¡¯t have time to fabricate during the hunt. So BHR had been turned into something closer to an early armored car, 6-wheeled and up-armored, with a turret and sally ports for the goblins within to fire from behind steel plates. 2 separate engines kept the whole thing running. And I was reasonably sure it could survive a hit from what we were about to throw it against. Meanwhile, we¡¯d fixed the choppers that had failed to take off during the test flight, and built another besides. The Flock¡¯s supplies of raw materials on-hand were dwindling, but the daily resupplies from Village Apollo helped keep us afloat. ¡°Ready, Armstrong?¡± I asked. ¡°Always, boss!¡± he said, pulling down his skull mask and swinging into the gunner¡¯s station. A half-dozen other goblins climbed aboard, including our semaphore signaler zealot who strapped himself in at the rear. Over the past day, I¡¯d canonized a set of signal flags and our signalman relished his role with religious dedication. I patted the engine block. ¡°Girmaks?¡± ¡°With you, King Ap. I will keep this vessel running smoothly.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I like to hear,¡± I said with more confidence than I felt. By sending my best pilot to help our rivals, I¡¯d put a guillotine hanging over our own heads. I had to make sure we were out from under it before it fell. We¡¯d come so far, and simulation or not, I didn¡¯t want it to end here. A couple months ago we¡¯d struggled to fight a low-level stone-sloth using a dozen goblins with makeshift spears. Now we were mounting up in attack helicopters and taking on kaiju. Well, small kaiju. The very monsters that kept most nations on Rava out of the Lanclovan interior (but apparently drew the orcs like a magnet), and we were butting heads with them. And even though the vast majority of our goblins were still stuck at level 1, we were venturing forth in our hundreds. Once I established food security, it would be in our thousands. And the orcs, the Prince of Habberport, the Ifrit, and the other races? They could keep the ground. I was claiming the sky. Ok, confidence restored. I dropped a rockette into the starter slot and cranked the engine, bringing the aircraft to life. My chopper started to rumble, and around us, the rest of the fleet started to spin up. The rest of the goblins began to climb aboard, armed with poppers and slingers, pistols, and boundless enthusiasm. To my right, I spotted a portly canoneer tumbling into a gunship scrawled with designs of gears, crank cases, and tools. The zealots piled in with him, and the aircraft almost drowned out their fanatical screams. On my left, Neil, with his favored hunters¡ªlooking primed and ready for big game. How he managed to work the throttle and collective with his hook hand, I couldn¡¯t say. But he¡¯d proven just as deft a pilot as any of the wranglers who helmed the other craft. ¡°Light the flares,¡± I shouted. At the aft of our aircraft, a pair of smoldering scat flares were lit by our semaphore goblin, hopefully giving the rest of the fleet some semblance of a way to keep in formation and coordinate our fire. I pulled pitch and turned us on the ground, lining up with a flat stretch for a rolling takeoff before opening the throttle. We bumped and ground down the gravel stretch, building speed, and then with a shudder, bounced into the air. I looked over my shoulder at the rest of the fleet, who were all lifting off one by one in their loose, meandering formation.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. I spotted the dust trail of the buggies and BHR on the ground and angled toward them. They were heading into a narrow canyon with dozens of slender spire formations dotting the floor. Sparkling water coursed through in a selection of narrow streams, glinting in the sunlight. Long ago, a wide river must have carved these arches and pillars, but now it was little more than a trickle. To the west, the shadow of the eclipse marched toward the hunting ground. Sourtooth had mentioned that the whistler was like the pale lizards, most active and dangerous during the eclipse¡ªbut most vulnerable an hour before it woke. ¡°Seems quiet down there, boss,¡± said Armstrong. He leaned forward over the nose of the aircraft, far enough that I had to tilt the controls back to counteract the shift in the aircraft¡¯s CG. ¡°Feels weird, gettin¡¯ the drop in broad daylight.¡± I could understand that. But if this thing could sleep through the racket of a dozen buggies and choppers besides coming into its den, it probably needed a bomb to wake it up anyway. I craned my neck, though Sourtooth had been cagey when I¡¯d asked for details on the beast. They¡¯ll do little good, and you¡¯ll know it when you see it. Stay clear of its path, was all he said. I banked us around for a better look, avoiding the spires that crowded the airspace. The ground itself looked¡­ fairly clear. I didn¡¯t spot anything huge and horned, though a few small herd animals scattered before the buggies. Scrub brushes dotted the gravel near the streams and along the walls of the canyons. I banked again, angling us through the maze of spires and dropped us low enough to clear a natural bridge connecting two adjacent columns, curious at the spiral ridge on the closest spire. Sourtooth had arrayed the buggies in a wide wedge formation, and had his turret raised and turned toward us. ¡°Wot¡¯s he watchin¡¯ us for?¡± asked Armstrong. ¡°He should be lookin¡¯ for ¡®is whistler.¡± Despite the heat of the day and the boiling engine block behind my seat, a cold feeling crept down my spine. A shadow passed over us, and I looked up at the underside of the rock bridge spanning the two spires on either side of us. Dozens of dangling vines waved in the breeze. Not vines. Legs. Dozens of legs. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. The ridges spiraling the spires to the left and right were undulating, curling themselves around the rock formations. They weren¡¯t rock as I¡¯d first thought, but bone, lined with thousands of small holes. The whistler was apparently a giant segmented insect¡ªlike a millipede. Gross. I¡¯ve never liked creepy-crawlies. Especially the ones with too many legs. I swallowed my disgust and pressed on. I pushed the nose down and got clear, looking around frantically for the head. A dozen of the pillars were now alive and undulating, and several of what I¡¯d taken for natural arches and land bridges were actually parts of the monster spanning the gaps. ¡°Where¡¯s the front?¡± asked Armstrong. ¡°What am I s¡¯posed to¡ª¡± His sentence was cut off by a noise like a freight train¡¯s steam whistle passing directly in front of us in a blur of clacking jaw parts and milling legs. The noise was immense, and the rush of the thing blasted us with a concussive force that knocked us completely off course. I struggled to control the chopper, maneuvering it away from the new airborne obstacle. The head of the creature reached another pillar, and started to spiral down, before doubling back and launching itself across the gap at yet another column. The noise was incredible, and I think it came from all the little holes on its carapace making a sort of natural whistle as it passed through the air. On the ground, the BHR fired up at the whistler. An explosion struck it on the side. It immediately changed course, jumping towards a low pillar near the canyon floor. But its tail still hadn¡¯t cleared the pillars in front of the fleet. This thing had to be hundreds of meters long! Armstrong leveled the front guns and put two recoilless rifle rounds into its carapace, as did several other choppers. The explosions rippled across its hide, drowned out completely by the shrieking of its natural airhorns. I spotted a few cracks in the bony plate as it blurred by, but nothing substantial. This was a tough nut to crack, and we could hammer it until we were bingo ammo and blue in the face (well, blue-er), and not make a scratch. ¡°After the head!¡± I shouted. Not that any of the other choppers could hear me. But they could follow our flares just fine. I dipped the stick and dropped collective, chasing after the head as it zig-zagged across the canyon towards the Big Hoss Rig. The whistler was faster than the choppers, but it seemed to only move in straight lines. Of course, the more it doubled back on itself, the more obstacles in our flight path. It reminded me of playing Snake on my old man¡¯s cell phone back when I was a kid, the way you had to dodge your own tail as it kept getting longer and longer. Only this wasn¡¯t a game. The whistler doubled back again, cutting directly in front of my flight path, and I yanked us over almost 90 degrees to avoid getting chomped. One of the choppers with us was not so lucky, and it caught the bony ridges and flew apart as though it had been hit by a full speed train. ¡°It¡¯s really got it out for us, boss!¡± shouted Armstrong. No kidding! Still, I could see the head as it spiraled down the pillar, and I got us lined up. Armstrong had managed to catch his loader and keep the goblin from being flung out of the aircraft by my maneuver. He yanked the goblin back in place and the two started hammering rounds home as fast as the tiny hands could open the hatch and slam fresh rounds in and Armstrong could get the barrels lined up. Bursts of flame and dust erupted on the face of the pillar, and the whistler roared, even louder than its natural shriek. It hit the canyon floor, zig-zagging towards BHR and I led the choppers in close behind it. Now that I¡¯d identified it, System helpfully stuck an XX over its head. And, of course, we all know what that meant it thought our odds of success were. Maybe it was right. But maybe we were going to kick this thing¡¯s carapace-covered butt. Chapter 103 - Pain Train Chapter 103 - Pain Train On the ground, the whistler barreled its way across the floor of the canyon, churning gravel and dust underneath hundreds of legs. Directly in its path, Big Hoss Rig stopped, and its wheels started to spin backwards. The turret on top swung, tracking the head of the whistler, and fired. It had the biggest gun we¡¯d built yet and I could feel the explosion as it kicked up dirt and debris in advance of the whistler¡¯s rush. The monster flinched to the side but kept on coming. The Flock hunters still on oryx bounded out of its way, hurling spears and firing crossbows at its eyes¡ªand there were a lot of them on the thing¡¯s face. At least 20 eyes covered the front of its face below an armor mantle. While the majority of them were fixed on the BHR, others scanned in every direction. There was no sneaking up on this thing while it was awake. Another shot from the BHR exploded against the whistler¡¯s back, twisting the creature just enough that it only caught the front corner of the BHR on its attack run. The armored rig spun out, tires shrieking almost as loud as the whistler¡¯s natural airhorns. Almost immediately, the head diverted right, spiraling up and around a pillar before shooting the gap to another¡ªdirectly at us. My eyes went wide, and I hauled back on the controls and yanked up on the collective. The maneuver shot us almost straight up, though I could hear the main rotors shuddering as the engine struggled to put out enough power to meet the demands of the steep climb. I fully believe that the engine would have exploded then and there without Girmaks inside it. If this little chopper had a safety envelope, I was flying well outside it. And worse yet, through the flicker of the rotor disc, I could see an arch directly overhead. I slammed the stick full forward, and we lurched forward, tail over teakettle with our semaphore signaler squawking and waving his flags helplessly in the air. Some of our choppers followed high, a couple followed low, but at least one of them failed to maneuver in time and I felt the heat of the explosion on the back of my neck. ¡°King Ap, I must advise against pulling such a maneuver again.¡± ¡°It might not be up to me!¡± I shouted back. With our increased altitude, I spotted a glint of metal in the sunlight at the top of the canyon¡¯s ridge. Spearpoints from Lura¡¯s Hunters, if my mark was right. But they were just waiting and watching. Why? They had to know the Gorgers were closing in on their own kill. But they did nothing. The whistler shot the gap again, this time aiming straight for us. I was treated to a close-up of its gaping mouth and dozens of eyes all fixed on my aircraft before the whistle of a rocket-motor and an explosion knocked its head off course. The head narrowly missed me, and I hauled on the collective. The passing of the creature created a low-pressure zone that threatened to suck us right into it, where we¡¯d be ground to fine powder against its carapace. I just managed to get us free and climb up. The whistler changed targets again, spiraling down a pillar and snaking across the ground to snap at oryx riders that dared leave the shadow of the pillars and cross the open ground. I tried to calm my heart. It kept prioritizing my chopper. Did it know I was the leader? Why was it focused so heavily on my aircraft? I didn¡¯t know what would happen if I were swallowed whole. Would the tribe simply count down while I slowly dissolved in the dark? Would the whole of us croak at once? Could I somehow escape, given enough goblins dying in my place? Looking down at the massive creature, I could see the tell-tale damage we¡¯d inflicted in the form of shattered shell and pock-marked carapace. Even a pair of direct hits from the BHR had only served to break armor¡ªand the thing seemed to be mostly armor. It was like fighting a cast-iron freight train with an appetite and a grudge. Nothing this big had a right to move so quickly and change direction on a dime. But then, it didn¡¯t exactly act like a single cohesive creature. Segments followed other segments, and no brain or neuron system in the universe could control that many independent limbs in a creature of such scale. It was Rava¡¯s greatest game of follow-the-leader, no different from the goblins in choppers following my flares and signal flags.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. I could exploit that, somehow. But I couldn¡¯t do it alone. Even with rockets and recoilless rifles, we just didn¡¯t have the firepower to strike a decisive blow against this thing. On the ground, two buggies tried to hit it with a net launcher, and the whistler tore the net to shreds without even noticing the effort. Maybe if we had some mines we could set underneath it they might flip the beast and expose weaker underbelly. But against an outer hide that seemed to be, at least in part, metal plating? I hadn¡¯t designed any kind of munition to get through that. What would it take, a steel dart? Tungsten? Once again I¡¯d come to a fight unprepared, and found myself in an untenable position. I grabbed the handset. ¡°Signal the squadron to continue the fight,¡± I barked. I looked over my shoulder as the semaphore zealot clasped a hand to his ear-cups and then gave me a salute. His flags began to work, and I peeled out of the formation towards the ridge line to find the Dawn Light chieftess, Lura Sunskin. As I climbed, my stomach just about jumped into my throat. Keeper had said she¡¯d left the hunt to her lieutenant. What she hadn¡¯t said was that Lura had taken the vast majority of hunters south with her. Hundreds of orcs on boars and oryx, and even one thundercleave, spread out across the top of the ridge, all waiting and watching, unafraid, as I approached. This wasn¡¯t a force meant to hunt a whistler. It was a force meant to finish off what was left of the Flock. The threat was immediate and obvious. Well, I¡¯d certainly caught the woman¡¯s attention. The fact she hadn¡¯t wiped us out already told me there was still a way out of this. I wheeled the chopper around and brought us down on a clear patch near the head of the column where Lura waited, cross-legged atop her oryx with a small ladder and a highchair with a small seat. It was obvious who that was for. Armstrong hopped out of the chopper with me, as though he could protect us from 50 times our number in orc hunters. But I was grateful for his company. I moved over to Lura and scrabbled my way up the ladder. The flock huntress looked at me with a mix of emotions¡ªanger, barely concealed, but also curiosity and no shortage of chagrin. ¡°I have naught other than my pride, for blame, I suppose,¡± she said. ¡°Pressed to my throat, is this dagger, yet its blade would cut us both¡ªand it will slide ¡®cross skin at any moment with the aid you lent the Gorgers, unless I aid your elsewise lost cause. Your intent, ¡®tis clear.¡± ¡°Where I¡¯m from, we call it a Sword of Damocles,¡± I said. Lura grinned. ¡°It¡¯s become all too clear, o little brother king, that where you¡¯re from is not the Land of Shaded Skies.¡± She gestured with an open palm to the roughshod chopper behind me. ¡°And despite your artifice so clever, you will break upon the whistler without my aid.¡± ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± I said. ¡°And without your aid, the Blood Gorgers win the Stampede. So, will you help me?¡± The sound of another explosion reached us, and Lura made a show of cupping a hand to her ear and waiting until the last echos had died off. Every moment she dallied cost the Flock. ¡°There is a price, little brother. I know now why the grandfather spirits led you to my doorstep.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± Lura grinned a wicked little smile. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you not, lest you balk and query, and we¡¯ve not the time for that. I want your word as king of goblins that this pact you¡¯ll honor.¡± ¡°And if I don¡¯t want to give it to you?¡± I asked. Lura Sunskin laughed. ¡°Then we watch you crash upon the beast, and we crush what¡¯s left. This dagger may against both our throats press, yet it¡¯s still I who directs its course. Shall it cut us both?¡± I opened my mouth to respond, but Lura cut me off. ¡°Before you answer, know that should your words you renege upon, I will carve your tribe from the jungle and the name Apollo will become a word meaning only death upon the plains and forests and sands of Lanclova.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got me between a rock and a hard place, here,¡± I said. I raised two fingers. ¡°There¡¯s two things I won¡¯t do: I won¡¯t wage war on another sentient species for you, and I won¡¯t betray the Ifrit.¡± ¡°Then an accord, have we?¡± ¡°You have my word.¡± Lura laughed and raised her spear. As one, the troop surged forward, hooves pounding as the orcs streamed to either side of us, disappearing over the ridge and dropping into the valley. Lura angled her spear down at me as she heeled her mount to action. ¡°A whistler is meteor given flesh, little brother. It cannot be slowed. But when they grow as this one has, its own length can be used against it. Take heart and take aim. Do not miss.¡± Chapter 104 - A Meteor Made Flesh Chapter 104 - A Meteor Made Flesh I ran back to the chopper with its engine still hot and running. ¡°What did she demand?¡± asked Girmaks. ¡°She wouldn¡¯t say,¡± I said. As soon as all the goblins were aboard, I pulled us into a rolling takeoff. We still had our trump card: the two-stage rocket mounted in the belly compartment. I¡¯d already seen the whistler take a direct hit on the armor from one of them and keep trucking. A headshot would probably do for it, but with the erratic way it moved, we¡¯d never nail its head with a rocket¡ªeven if the goblin guidance pilot rode the warhead all the way in. I lifted us up off the deck and soared over the ranks of Dawn¡¯s Light hunters on their oryx, spilling over the side of the canyon and bounding down its walls on the sure-footed beasts towards the battle below. ¡°How did you know she would demand something?¡± I asked. ¡°She is an orc. She is devious and exacting¡ªalways ulterior motives and plans within plans. But I believe I know her mind. I believe I know, King Ap, what she will ask.¡± ¡°Care to enlighten me?¡± ¡°It is not my scheme to expose. To do so would be¡ª¡± ¡°Crude and reductive?¡± I guessed. ¡°¡ªdishonoring her culture.¡± Considering her culture was currently, in large part, the extortion of Tribe Apollo, I couldn¡¯t find myself to be too sympathetic. But we had bigger fish to fry and a freight-train millipede monster that sounded like it was tearing through the Flock. I angled down into the valley, flying almost low enough to brush the tops of the Dawn hunter spears as I built speed. Ahead, I could see the wreckage of another chopper and at least two buggies on the floor of the canyon. The narrow spires were crisscrossed with the body of the whistler. It continued making passes at the fleet of choppers and ground vehicles. The first wave of the dawn hunters hit the canyon floor and thundered toward the whistler. Before they reached it, they split into several groups and circled, shouting and waving spears. The whistler, which had been making another run at the BHR, instead shifted. Its eyes tracked the bright light reflecting off the spears, and it zig-zagged towards the closest contingent of Lura¡¯s hunters. I tilted my stick to the side, following along as they wrapped around the back of a pillar, then changed course abruptly. The whistler rammed through dirt and gravel where they would have been and kicked up a gale with its passing. I pulled up, watching as another group of hunters angled small, polished shields to catch the sun¡¯s light and reflect it into the whistler¡¯s eyes. It diverted for them, mouth open wide. Not all of them were fast enough to get out of its way, and an orc and mount both disappeared down its gullet without it slowing. What were they doing? Not striking any decisive blows, that was for sure. Hell, they hadn¡¯t even attacked it at all. I climbed in altitude for a better view but had to angle quickly out of the crisscrossed segments of the whistler. Again, I marveled at its length, easily hundreds of meters of stampeding legs headed by what looked like a cast-iron dome of a skull plate that could crush through a bunker door. And even as I watched, it smashed a boulder to gravel with barely any notice. Again, a group of Lura¡¯s hunters flashed light into its eyes and distracted once more it split from the group it chased in favor of, quite literally, the new shiny thing. This time it had to maneuver over one of its own segments in order to reach the target. The thing was so damn big it was doubling back over itself and¡­ Oh. Oh¡­ Lura was a devious one. She¡¯d seen what these aircraft could do and put it together even better than I had. She wasn¡¯t going to make things easy for me, because it suited her pride to rub my little goblin nose in it that I¡¯d bought into a bargain I hadn¡¯t even needed. Damned orc. Use its length against it. And she knew we could do it because I¡¯d already shown her. I looked back at the smoldering sunbursts at the stern of my chopper. The whole time, I¡¯d wondered why it was so focused on us. I grabbed the handset. ¡°Flares!¡± I barked. ¡°Pass the word! Every chopper, scatter and ignite flares!¡± ¡°I believe I understand what she is trying to show us, King Ap.¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. ¡°Way ahead of you!¡± I shouted. My little semaphore zealot worked his flags while another of our crewmen ignited another smoldering torch and slotted it into the back of the chopper. None too soon, as Raphina¡¯s shadow passed over us, and the Dawn hunters lost their method of distracting the beast. That¡¯s why it was more dangerous during the eclipse, because it was easier to distract the whistler with bright, shiny things. Now the only source of light was the flares igniting on the backs of the choppers. I wasn¡¯t low enough to see its eyes fix on us, but I did see it suddenly snake towards the nearest pillar, spiraling up. Wait for it¡­ It lunged, gaping maw coming within a few lengths of our aircraft as I dumped us into a temporary autorotation. I quickly maneuvered behind its skull-plate, and it fixated on another chopper¡¯s glowing flare. It hit another pillar, swung around it, and shot right back. Unfortunately, this chopper pilot wasn¡¯t as quick on the sticks as me, and barely had time to bail out along with most of his crew as the hardened skull of the whistler obliterated the aircraft. ¡°Ready the missile!¡± I shouted into my handset, looking at the central spire the creature had wrapped several times. The crew of my ship squawked and fought to be the first down into the belly compartment. One of them got situated, and I brought the craft around. The rest of the fleet, cast out of formation, were now flying as erratically as any goblins¡ªwhich was perfect. The whistler simply had too many bright lights to chase. It had doubled back on itself so many times that it had coiled around the same pillar in three different places. For the first time since we¡¯d stirred the beast, I actually saw the end of its tail snaking towards the spire. I pointed the nose of the chopper between two of the sets of coils, at what looked like the narrowest part of the spindle formation. ¡°There!¡± I shouted. ¡°At the skinny part, just like the practice run! Tally ho!¡± I yanked down on the plunger and felt the mechanism beneath me give way. The squawk of the goblin riding the missile fell away, and a moment later I heard the rocket motor ignite. Our payload shot out, erratic and barely under control. But its pilot managed to get it on track. Even the whistler took notice, and it screamed after the rocket, mouth open and ready for the kill. The goblin pilot bailed out at the last second, and the warhead hit the pillar and exploded. The crack echoed off the canyon walls, but it was nothing compared to the thump of the whistler skull-bashing the impact. A spiderweb of cracks spread out from the impact site, and you could feel the impact in the air. It quickly reeled back and circled the spire, shooting off in another direction. But when the dust cleared, I could see a fissure had been opened in the rock face. What¡¯s more, so could the rest of the fleet, and the BHR on the ground. Two more chopper missiles followed, and then the cannon of the new and improved Big Hoss Rig. And it had a secret of its own. The back of the armored vehicle split open, and a pair of the largest rockets we¡¯d made yet raised on geared platforms. Cased in steel and tipped with several chooms of explosives, these were multi-staged monsters built with a single purpose: to kill a whistler. The two motors ignited on the platform, and even in the chopper I could hear the distant rumble over the shriek of the whistler¡¯s perforated carapace. I held a hand up to the glare of their ignition as they roared to life. The two rockets shot off their launcher¡ªone of which immediately exploded, knocking three buggies and BHR completely over. The second rocket struggled to right itself, pilot desperately wrestling with the controls. But the first stage fell away, the booster kicked on, and the second stage shot up toward the gap, sun-bright flame of the burning accelerant illuminating the eclipsed canyon. ¡°Come on baby!¡± I shouted, pumping my fist in the air. Armstrong was leaned so far forward watching that I thought he would tip right out of his seat. ¡°Woooo!¡± The goblins on board were all cheering and whooping at the sight of the full-fire rocket riding a plume of hot exhaust. But a sound was mounting over both their shouts and the sound of the rocket: the shrill freight-train horn of the whistler. It¡¯s iron-plated head shot up into the sky, mouth wide, every eye fixed on the brightest source of light in the canyon. And it swallowed the rocket whole, rider and all. The noise of the rocket motor cut off with the clamp of powerful iron jaws, and my own mouth dropped open. The goblins on the chopper froze mid-cheer, and the whistler barreled right past us, deafeningly loud. ¡°Boss?¡± asked Armstrong, looking back at me. ¡°Did¡­ did that really just happen?¡± I asked. BOOM A wave of hot air and steaming viscera hit us from behind. Some of it hit the rotor, which showered us even further with finely mulched whistler meat. I had to fight to keep control as the shockwave threatened to slam us against the standing spindles of rock in the canyon. Several of our crew were thrown completely free of the craft. Finally, I got the aircraft under control and leveled out, and looped us around a pillar as I wiped viscera off my face. The enormous millipede monster, now headless, slumped to the canyon floor. The weight of its body hitting the ground made the whole canyon quake, and for a moment I thought the damaged spire would come down. But it held, and I brought the chopper in for a landing near the capsized Big Hoss Rig. I jumped out and ran to the tank, and over the ringing in my ears I could hear a clanging from inside. The side hatch on the rig opened, and a very discombobulated Sourtooth pulled his wiry frame on top of the wreck. He looked around, finally seeing the decapitated whistler. He looked at me, looked at the whistler, looked back at me. ¡°Pray tell, o¡¯ king,¡± he roared, pointing at the decapitated beast, ¡°Why was this not our opening gambit?!¡± Chapter 105 - Finish Line Chapter 105 - Finish Line ¡°Perhaps not the path I laid before you, yet a king haunts not the steps of those who walk before,¡± said Lura. She climbed down from her oryx and surveyed the carnage. ¡°Still, a bargain struck, honored it must be. Will you keep faith?¡± I looked up at the huntress. ¡°I¡¯m a goblin of my word. Now, what¡¯s this favor you want?¡± Lura looked southeast toward the high desert. ¡°This land has a great creature that devours magic. A sky devil of unimaginable power. But it never touches the ground, except to feed¡ªso no orc could hunt it. Not even with a shaman of immense skill and cunning. But you fly without magics. This, you will give to me, that we may hunt the greatest of quarry.¡± Sourtooth¡¯s sharp intake of breath quickly turned into a cough. Clearly this creature had some major significance. ¡°I¡­¡± I considered. The bestiary had mentioned a creature from the desert that was at least in the 90¡¯s level range, well above anything we¡¯d fought before. Even the whistler now had a 52 superimposed over its head. ¡°You¡¯re asking me to build you a fleet of aircraft to hunt a magic-eating dragon.¡± ¡°It is strong and swift, and these ramshackle vessels will avail us not. I want a sky chariot that can keep pace with a thunderstorm and climb just as high.¡± ¡°Oh¡­ oh no¡­¡± I said. This was the favor she wanted? That she¡¯d been so afraid that I¡¯d balk at she¡¯d been unwilling to give it voice? She wanted me to build aircraft the flew higher, faster, and further? The horror. It was tough to keep the grin off my face. ¡°Lura, I don¡¯t have the materials for a project like that. I don¡¯t think I could make you anything fast enough for you to win the Stampede.¡± ¡°Put the Stampede from your mind. My ambition has elevated, and I will for you secure an materials you require.¡± ¡°Clearly,¡± scoffed Sourtooth. He scratched his head. Then he shook it, then he groaned. ¡°Argh, I suppose someone had to be fool enough to try it again.¡± He looked at me. ¡°You¡¯ve ensured the Flock¡¯s placement in the Stampede¡ªand with it, your rights to hunt the plains. Without the rudder of vengeance, I now find myself without path. I should like to see this folly to its end, if you¡¯ll have it.¡± ¡°Sourtooth, I have a feeling this folly is just getting started. Having your smithing skills and knowledge of Rava is something I¡¯d welcome with open arms,¡± I said. And then, to Lura, ¡°Like you said. We have an accord. I can¡¯t promise you the sky, but I can promise that I¡¯ll do whatever I can to get you flying as high and as fast as this sky devil.¡± Lura nodded. ¡°Good.¡± She leaned back as one of her orcs riding next to her team¡¯s Keeper whispered in her ear. ¡°The other teams are on their way. The day is yours, Apollo. Orc tradition dictates your kill you ought share. Will you honor our ways?¡± I looked at the massive length of the whistler. There was enough meat on it to feed the whole tribe for months. And if the meat was as nutrient packed as a smaller scale grub, then as far as I was concerned, our food shortage was at an end. ¡°When in Rome,¡± I said. And then added quickly, ¡°Er, that means yes. I¡¯ll share.¡± Many of my goblins had already started to tuck in, and my mouth already watered at the scent of the flash-barbecued whistler meat. Still, there was something else that caught my eye. The ridged armor on the whistler had seemed more like rock than bone. But as I approached it, I could see a dull, metallic luster where we¡¯d cracked the surface of it, and in the cross-section of its decapitation. Sourtooth followed me, eyeing me curiously as I broke off a piece with a small hammer I kept in my pouch. I looked at the material. It didn¡¯t look like iron or zinc. ¡°Sourtooth, how does this thing get so much metal build-up on its carapace?¡± The old orc pointed up at the spires. ¡°During storms, thunder calls the dust up from the earth, and when the bolt strikes the whistler¡¯s tail, holds fast the metal to its hide. This whistler has been growing for centuries, getting tougher all the while.¡± I hummed to myself. Strange. This world¡¯s version of electro-plating? Galvanized carapace? I¡¯d seen plenty of broken steel parts since unlocking the boom furnaces, and this didn¡¯t have the right grain. Plus, it was too lightweight. Despite the whistler¡¯s size and strength, it still had to be able to move fast and strike hard. But there were other metals that you refined with electricity. I knelt down, picking up a few more pieces of the pinkish gravel that covered the floor of the canyon.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. I whistled, getting the attention of every goblin in the canyon. ¡°Collect as much of this shell ore as you can!¡± I shouted. ¡°And find me the tail!¡± Sourfang scratched his head. ¡°Pointless,¡± he muttered, kicking his prosthetic against the hide. ¡°This ore is too light and brittle, far too-so for weapons and armor. It serves only to lend to the whistler¡¯s strike.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± I said. ¡°And maybe, we just found ourselves a goldmine.¡± ¡°A metal of equal worthlesness,¡± said Lura, approaching. I brought my head around. ¡°You don¡¯t use gold for coinage or¡­?¡± I looked back at my work. ¡°Right. Orcs. I suppose central monetary systems aren¡¯t your forte.¡± Several goblins ran up, chittering. I followed them, and they led the three of us up a small slope and through several pillars to where the end of the creature dangled from where it had wound around a pillar Some of the legs back here were still clawing at air, not yet having received the signal that the front of the monster was dead, I suppose. The end of the tail had a pair of prongs that were a slightly different luster than the rest of the carapace. They were massive, too. Big enough that a dozen goblins would struggle to heft one of the tail prongs between them. I took a handful of iron nails from my pouch and tossed them up in the air. The couriers squawked and covered their heads, waiting for the rain of sharp iron to fall on them. But it didn¡¯t come. Instead, the nails shot up, holding fast to the surface of the whistler¡¯s tail. Natural permanent magnets¡ªpowerful ones, too. Neodymium equivalents? Probably not quite that strong but loads better than lodestones or raw magnetite ore. If I couldn¡¯t mine or manufacture magnets, could I pull them off the various creatures of Rava that used lightning on their own, like the thundercleaves and the whistlers? That, of course, meant hunting more of them. Did I really want to think about there being more whistlers that I had to kill for magnets? No, not especially. Not yet, anyway. Within a few hours, the other teams began to arrive. Their convoys of oryx and pack beasts made camp in the canyon, and the echos of tent-stakes being pounded and processing knives being sharpened rang off the rock walls. Chuck returned towards the evening; fuel-empty chopper being towed behind a Blood Gorger pack-boar. He grinned when he saw me and Armstrong sitting near Promo¡¯s forge grilling whistler meat. I offered the wrangler a strip of dripping meat fresh from the forge. ¡°How was hunting with the Gorgers?¡± I asked. ¡°Boss, you should¡¯a seen it,¡± he said between bites. ¡°This thing they hunted, it was fast, fast. Could barely keep up with the choppers. But They¡¯d have got it. Mark me, these orcs know their trade when it comes to bringing down beasties.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s hope so,¡± I said. ¡°Because we¡¯re on the hook to take down the baddest one in the skies above Lanclova with Lura.¡± I tried to poke at the coals in the forge with a stick, but Promo swatted me away. ¡°How you plan to do that?¡± asked Chuck. ¡°The choppers don¡¯t go that high before they start winging and sputtering. He tilted his head up to where a pair of biplanes circled above the camp. ¡°More of those?¡± ¡°Something like those,¡± I said, watching their lazy loops in the sky. But one of the planes diverted east, and the other wheeled around soon after to follow it. I tapped Armstrong, who followed the action. A moment later, the crack of a signal popper echoed through the canyon, and I scrambled. ¡°Get to the buggies!¡± I said, running. I reached my customary trike, looking between the brass bottle and the engine for the pale blue glow. But I saw nothing. ¡°Girmaks?¡± I called out. No response. I grit my teeth. The Ifrit must be elsewhere. I¡¯d drive it myself. I dropped a rockette into the starter and kicked the trike into gear, almost before Armstrong and my other secretive service had time to get aboard. Overhead, the green puff of smoke that marked the signal popper was drifting on the breeze. I angled the front wheel toward it and opened up the throttle. Vehicles flanked me, and I wasn¡¯t sure what I expected to find. But the orcs were taking note as well, and a few of their scouts had spotted something. A few mounted up on oryx. Lura joined me, and a moment later, and Sourtooth on his motorcycle. ¡°What comes, little brother?¡± demanded Lura. ¡°Does something challenge the Stampede?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure, yet,¡± I shouted over the sound of the engine. In the distance on the hard pack, beyond the edge of the canyon, something approached across the ground¡ªsomething small, scrabbling toward the camp. I shaded my eyes with a hand, but couldn¡¯t quite make it out, until it started waving its arms, and then tripped and tumbled across the hardpack, stubby legs waving in the air. ¡°Is that a noblin?¡± asked Armstrong. ¡°I think so,¡± I said, trying to think. ¡°Did we lose a noblin today?¡± My scrapper chief shook his head. ¡°Maybe he fell out o¡¯ the glider?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll know soon enough.¡± We pulled up closer, and I could see the noblin was dressed in frayed and tattered robes and covered in myriad scratches. Even the tip of one of his ears had been docked. But through all that, I still recognized my canoneer chief. ¡°Luther!¡± I shouted. I pulled up the trike and jumped down as the canoneer collapsed on the ground outside the canyon. He had a small brass jar wrapped in his hands, and the portly noblin huffed and puffed as though he¡¯d run a marathon¡ªwhich he might well have done, since we were miles from the edge of the desert. ¡°What the heck happened to you?¡± I asked. But it wasn¡¯t my canoneer who answered, seeing as he mostly just heaved for breath he didn¡¯t have to spare, and sat back on the ground. ¡°King Apollo! We were betrayed!¡± ¡°Taquoho?¡± Chapter 106 - Punch line Chapter 106 - Punch line ¡°Slow down,¡± I said. Even though Taquoho wasn¡¯t even speaking fast. My head swam. ¡°Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do turned on us once we reached the desert and intends to turn the King of the Ifrit against Tribe Apollo,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°He plans to tell them you have taken our kin captive.¡± I looked at Luther, who nodded and explained further between gasping breaths. ¡°They smashed up all the ceramics, then tried to have the Paladins kill me, but they refused. So they tried to do it themselves, and that¡¯s when I took Taquoho and fled.¡± Sourtooth growled. ¡°Honorless curs. Bent words from twisting tongues of flame. ¡°And you made it here on foot?¡± Luther groaned. ¡°Little more than stumps, now!¡± he complained. I eyed the perfectly-functioning feet at the ends of his legs and raised an eyebrow, feeling my sympathy diminish. Luther quickly realized his mistake. ¡°Your pardon, o¡¯ king! It has been a trial, these last days. We have been hunted and nipped and bitten and harried every step of the way.¡± I looked to Taquoho. ¡°There were minor vermin¡ªthreatening to a goblin¡¯s ankles, perhaps. But we were fortunate to escape my kin.¡± I sighed. ¡°I¡¯m just glad he got you both out safe. Thanks, Luther.¡± I straightened. ¡°Still. This is a huge problem. The King of the Ifrit thinks we reneged on our deal and kidnapped half of the Ifrit who came to the village.¡± I rubbed my hand over my face. ¡°I guess that means we can¡¯t expect any more help and material from the Ifrit until we get the truth sorted out. Well, if it¡¯s not one crisis, it¡¯s another. At least food is settled for the moment. We have your friend Girmaks to thank for that,¡± I said. ¡°Please elaborate, o¡¯ king,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°Well, once we got onto the badlands, we found out there¡¯s this orc hunting festival going on. Girmaks got us into it so that we could get hunting rights for the tribe. So, we joined up, hunted with the orcs for a bit, and long story short, we¡¯ve got attack helicopters and tanks now and we¡¯ve got to help them kill this magic-eating monster.¡± ¡°I am familiar with the concept of the Stampede, King Apollo,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°As well as the devouring sky-devil. But who is this Girmaks you reference?¡± I waved my hand. ¡°Right, familiar brevity. Giral mal ksch. The union you said had taken a shine to the buggies.¡± I looked back at the trike. ¡°Normally he¡¯s hanging out at the motor-pool. I¡¯m actually going to ask if you could borrow his coaxial vessel since he¡¯s in an engine most of the time, anyway.¡± Beside me, Sourtooth stiffened. Lura tilted her head. ¡°King Apollo,¡± said Taquoho, carefully, ¡°The union I referred you to was named Odo Fortu Val. I know of no union called Giral Mal Ksch, or Girmaks, as you have named him. Those words are not of the Ifrit.¡± Sourtooth stalked off, muttering to himself. Lura held her hands over her mouth.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. I furrowed my eyes. ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡± I looked at Lura. ¡°You spoke with him.¡± The Dawn¡¯s Light chieftess tilted her head back and howled with laughter. ¡°I spoke with him, yes, little brother. But he gave not his name¡ªfor I¡¯d have known it. Giral Mal Ksch is an old orc phrase, you see,¡± she gazed after Sourtooth and slapped her thigh, laughing. ¡°One favored by an elder orc of the Flock. Last laughter be mine, it means.¡± ¡°I¡­ what?¡± I stammered. ¡°Are you sure?¡± Lura straightened. ¡°Quite sure, little brother. They were the words he spoke as I threw him down the gullet of the whistler. I suppose the last laugh is his in having, after all, no? I¡¯m sure a great jest indeed, was binding we three together: to see me kill the beast and yet receive credit not at all. To see you press me to aid, and to see Sourtooth stirred out of his cups. A fool, I¡¯ve been¡ªfor thinking myself so clever. Devil of an old orc. I''ve lessons yet to learn, tis sure.¡± She chuckled to herself and made her way back into the camp after Sourtooth as if it were the funniest joke she¡¯d ever heard. I looked between Taquoho, Armstrong, Luther, and Chuck for a time, before Taquoho¡¯s voice broke the silence. ¡°No Ifrit would ever impersonate an orc grandfather spirit,¡± he said. Then hesitated. ¡°Perhaps the reverse is not also true¡­¡± he trailed off. ¡°Got ¡®is revenge on the beastie wot ate him, though,¡± said Armstrong. He grinned. ¡°That¡¯s my kind of sneaky! I like orcs.¡± ¡°Hold on, now,¡± I said, raising my hands. ¡°Let¡¯s not jump to conclusions. Luther, what do you¡­?¡± I glanced over. Somehow the noblin had already managed to produce paper and a charcoal nub, and was hunched over the floor of the desert, filling in squares. I sighed. I guess it was histry now. The annals of Tribe Apollo¡ªStampede hunters and great artificers, and the apparent butts of a dead orc¡¯s joke. But we¡¯d be going to bed with full bellies and the immediate future of the tribe secure from the worry of food scarcity. So it wasn¡¯t Girmaks having the last laugh. And if he had impersonated an Ifrit once, I had no doubt he was still somewhere in the motorpool, laughing it up and planning his next prank. The orcs loved speed almost as much as the wranglers did¡ªand there was plenty of it to be had on the hardpack and dusty badland plains. An orc ghost that could apparently work an engine as well as any Ifrit would certainly find use in tribe Apollo. I helped Luther up and onto one of the buggies, and we headed back to the orc camp/party. We¡¯d killed the whistler. This was a night for the Flock, who it seemed would be with us for the foreseeable future, just like our contingent of Ifrit. At least until we took out this sky devil. I held Taquoho¡¯s vessel up to the engine block, and his pale flame slid from one vessel to the other. ¡°You have made improvements, I can see.¡± ¡°Prototype, test, iterate,¡± I said, climbing to the controls and kicking the trike into gear. ¡°Ever forward. Ad Luna. You should see the choppers.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure I shall,¡± said Taquoho. But there was an edge of bitterness in his voice. I pursed my lips. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about what happened with haughty-von-haughty. We may not be able to manage the desert yet, but I will get you home, Taquoho. I promise it.¡± ¡°I believe you, King Apollo. But if the king¡¯s mind has been poisoned against you¡­¡± ¡°There is that,¡± I said. I clicked my tongue. ¡°So how would we convince him?¡± ¡°Defeating the null-devil would certainly lend credence. But I fear it is beyond even you.¡± I glanced back at the engine block. ¡°I would think calling a desert-dwelling beast a devil would be crude and reductive, for you, Taquoho. What did this thing do that was so bad?¡± ¡°It introduced the concept of mortality to the Ifrit. It did so by devouring the natural magics of our essence and starving our ancestors of all their wellsprings save one. It is the reason the City of Brass has walls.¡± The hair on my neck stood up on end. ¡°Good thing there¡¯s only one.¡± ¡°Hundreds fell from the stars in a time that reshaped the world, thousands of years before the Great Spirit would whisper its first words. It is the last of its kind here. It has hunted and devoured all of its kin.¡± ¡°Lovely.¡± So. On the to-do list: Conquer the sky for the orcs so they didn¡¯t hunt us down, kill an un-killable magic-devouring super-predator, free the City of Brass from its millennia-old oppressor before they sent their paladins to assassinate us for another Ifrit¡¯s lies, and, oh yeah, land on the moon. Neil Armstrong never had to deal with this crap. Chapter 107 - Birds of a Feather Chapter 107 - Birds of a Feather So, what do you do when you successfully hunt a whistler near the end of the Stampede? You party. For the five days it took to process and carve the bulk of the whistler, the orcs drank and celebrated and cheered both the Flock¡¯s kill and their withdrawal from the Stampede. Sourtooth strutted on his new prosthetic blade, wearing a necklace of whistler teeth across his bare chest. His skin was marked with the grey and white bands of his hunting team. I thought he would be eager to put both my tribe and the Stampede behind him, given the state I¡¯d found him in. But learned this was not the case. Now that Tribe Apollo was officially part of the Flock, the reverse was apparently also true. The temporary partnership between Sourtooth and myself seemed to become permanent. ¡°Or does this road of kinship but one way travel?¡± he asked, eyebrow raised. ¡°Of course not!¡± I said, waving my hands ahead of me. ¡°I¡¯m just surprised. I¡¯m ecstatic that you want to see the village and help me with Lura¡¯s task.¡± ¡°For the Flock, was the task,¡± Sourtooth reminded me. ¡°The Flock could complete it not, were we not of a mind. Besides, I wish to see more of your artifice.¡± ¡°And I¡¯ll be glad to have your smiths working with my igni. Orc metalworking and composite materials are going to be invaluable in our next generation of tech. Two days by over-land travel will see us back at the village. I have tests to run and lots of new materials to work with. It¡¯ll take weeks, if not months, to haul everything the Whistler had to offer back to the bluff.¡± Plus, if there was one way to get back in the good graces of the King of the Ifrit, it was to uncork their city by helping Lura take down the magic devourer. I wondered if the desert would turn back into a verdant area once it was gone. In the meantime, we would send a batch of ceramics as a peace offering, along with an explanation. But Taquoho said the method for arbitrating conflicting information within The City was long, arduous, and resulted in the splitting and reforming of various unions along political lines¡ªa process that often created more problems than it solved. Haughty-Von-Haughty had really done us dirty by lying about what he found at the village. Between the orcs and the Ifrit, we were building a monstrous menagerie of our own. The irony wasn¡¯t lost on me that if this were Earth, we¡¯d clearly be the heels of the villainous faction. But then, Sauron was never interested in space flight. So, we at least had that going for us. The morning of the fifth day, the Stampede resumed. The various teams went their separate ways, and Lura with them. She still had a tournament to win before she went after the biggest trophy of them all. Tribe Apollo, the ifrit outcasts, and the remnants of the Flock headed west toward the lake-side waystation¡ªwhich was already started to become a fuel depot and rest stop for goblins hunting plains creatures and harvesting edible plant-life that grew in the grasslands. The taskmasters of Tribe Apollo were proving deft hands at keeping the logistics lines moving. An innate understanding of the technology itself apparently came with a keen sense of where raw materials needed to go to be processed, and where refined materials and devices needed to go to be utilized. I had shored up a few of those processes myself, but largely the logistics engine was self-sustaining. A perimeter fence of wood backed by mud bricks was going up to protect the central tower that anchored the site. I spotted a platform jutting out the side of the tower that was definitely an airship dock, though it was currently empty. Just outside the fence, a stretch of relatively flat land had been cleared of brush and small debris to serve as an airstrip, and two small biplanes were fastened down with weighted lines.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Sourtooth looked up at the structure as we stopped for water and shade in the daily eclipse. ¡°Underestimate the size of your tribe, we. Believed it numbered some 200 or more, did Lura. And perhaps that is true¡ªhere on the open steppe. But such a number you could feed in the jungle, if just. Pray, what is the true counting?¡± ¡°After 5 consecutive days of no catastrophes and full bellies, we¡¯ve replenished what we lost in the Stampede and then some. We may break 1,000 goblins soon, if we don¡¯t suffer any huge losses,¡± I said. I pulled up my population window and looked at the various assigned goblins and their tasking. ¡°I can use the System to track them and manage everything from spawn rates to productivity.¡± Sourtooth looked at the goblins scrambling about the fuel depot at their various tasks. ¡°1,000 goblins,¡± he said. ¡°That is a tribe of troubling size, yet still easily quelled. Err caution, little brother. Goblin kings are feared even upon Kelembog. Even one such as you that seeks peace, others will yet see as a pestilence.¡± I took a drink of water. ¡°Are goblin kings typically war-like?¡± I asked. I didn¡¯t want to mention that I only knew of one other. My knowledge of Ravan history was still murky, at best¡ªand neither ifrit nor orcs kept written records that I could reference. Ironically, my canoneers were making the closest thing to a history book on Lanclova, as far as I knew. Sourtooth rubbed his chin. ¡°A goblin uprising swept across the Duchy of Habbe¡ªthough of when, the songs are not clear. Before my grandfather¡¯s time. Some 30,000 ravenous maws descended like locusts, having scraped bare every rock in the mountain of lichen, grass, or bug. Not each on their own dangerous, you see. But in aggregate¡­ and starving¡­ it left a devastated duchy for some time.¡± I sighed. ¡°I at least have plans for that. Hunting secures us in the short-term. Gives us enough time to maybe start seeding crops and planting orchards for when the tribe grows as big as I need it to be to reach my goal. But the tribe hasn¡¯t taken to agriculture. It¡¯s like it doesn¡¯t even exist in the tree.¡± Sourtooth laughed. ¡°Pray, little brother, from where will you gather seed to plant? The humans will not trade it to you. Ifrit have no such thing. Even the Lanclovan soil taints and twists whatever is planted in it. You¡¯ve seen burst-fruit, I assume?¡± I took a pause in my drink and raised an eyebrow at the orc. ¡°Those aren¡¯t typical elsewhere?¡± The old orc shook his head. ¡°Not meant to grow in the shade of the moon, were the beasts and birds and trees of Kelembog. ¡®Tis a cunning eye that warps all it watches. Look no further than the creatures of the steppe.¡± ¡°I see,¡± I said, frowning. Maybe my goblins weren¡¯t to blame for the failures of our early farming attempts after all. We continued on, hoping to reach the village before nightfall. I saw it before we even entered the jungle¡ªor rather, the several globular balloons lofted above the village and the various wooden structures suspended between their lines. Buzz and Javier had been busy at work. Rufus must have arrived with the canvas for my taskmasters to make so many of them, and I spotted glider launch rails, flex-a-pults, windmills, houses, and countless other goblin devices in the towering complex that Buzz had begun to erect. It looked like little more than the floors of a skyscraper under construction without the benefit of the supporting structure. What¡¯s more is that a cloud of orbiting shapes I¡¯d originally taken for birds were in fact goblins on personal gliders transitioning from level to level or dispatching to tasks in the forest below. ¡°By foul elders,¡± muttered Sourtooth. ¡°Such a sight, eyes never beheld.¡± It was a village no longer. That much was for sure. ¡°Welcome to City Apollo,¡± I said, a bit stunned myself. We continued through the widened roads, passing traffic the other way who stopped to mob the king and see if the new orcs were A) edible or B) good anchors for sleeping mounds. Other goblins took advantage of the opportunity to ditch the buggies and run into the woods to look for grubs or streams to fish in. By the time we got to the base of the bluff, fully half the goblins who had been riding with us had cycled out for entirely new goblins. But such was their way. The freight elevators had been upgraded. Rather than suspended by cordage and goblin counterweights, they¡¯d been adapted to the wind-powered screws. While the platforms struggled and creaked against the weight of the buggies and their added cargo, the wind-powered lifts began to climb with slow, cyclical noises. Overhead, two biplanes flew between discrete levels of construction, before passing east on their way to (presumably) Camp Canaveral. I¡¯d worried that the village would stagnate in my absence. But under my taskmasters, it had flourished. That was perfect, because we had work to do. 30,000 goblins like the ravenous blue plague that had swept Habbe? I didn¡¯t know that I would need that many. 10,000? Perhaps 10,000 could do the job. Either way, we still had a long road to the stars. Chapter 108 - Building Up Chapter 108 - Building Up ¡°We have some larger scale structures that we built for the Ifrit paladins. Your people should be comfortable there,¡± I told Sourtooth, pointing out the area. The old orc looked around the base of the bluff at the tangle of squat, misshapen buildings lining the southeast corner of the bluff. Large anchors tethered the floating platforms above, which themselves were suspended by balloons crafted from canvas¡ªwhich meant that Rufus had returned in the interim. I wanted to find him. ¡°Make yourselves at home,¡± I said. ¡°Hope the smell of the humans has joined them on their southward trek,¡± he said. He shouldered his gear. ¡°Come on, lads. Working doors we¡¯ll need, lest any of you should want to wake at the bottom of a goblin breeding mound.¡± he shuddered. Hmph. At least the paladins had let goblins snuggle them. The orcs hurried after him, and I headed to the central square. It was hard to believe how much and how quickly the bluff had changed. Village Apollo was turning into a proper town. And my goblins were everywhere. They worked at hammering together wooden structures, linking up gear assemblages to wind power, working gas-powered lathes to turn raw materials into usable parts, and assembled buggies, bikes, choppers, and gliders in the motorpool powered by gas engines. So much smoke rose from the foundries and furnaces on the north end of the bluff that I thought something must be burning. But the blaze was in the hearts of all the goblins working to make Tribe Apollo great. Buzz greeted me with a wave, pulling up in a small flat-bed buggy with a plethora of loose construction equipment in the back that threatened to become a projectile hazard as he screeched to a stop. ¡°Welcome back, boss!¡± he shouted over the roar of the engine. He slapped the side of the vehicle. ¡°Hop in!¡± ¡°Good to see you, Buzz!¡± I said. I waved to Armstrong and Chuck. Armstrong jumped into the back, threatening to crush the primitive suspension, but Chuck waved me off. ¡°Gonna check on the animals,¡± he said. ¡°See how the paddocks are shaped up.¡± ¡°Suit yourself,¡± I said. I slapped him on the shoulder and watched him jog off to the west end of the bluff before I slid into the buggy beside Buzz. ¡°You¡¯ve been busy,¡± I said. ¡°Been crowded. Only way to go is up, innit? Wotcha think?¡± I looked overhead at the concentric ringed platforms staged haphazardly on canvas balloons. Such a feat of engineering would have given architects ulcers and physicists strokes. But it looked perfectly goblin-sane, and the blue furry side of me wanted nothing more than to climb up it. Buzz shifted into gear and we sped off. ¡°Is Eileen back yet?¡± I asked. ¡°Still up north,¡± said Buzz. He had to shout because his foot seemed weighted down with lead on the throttle pedal. ¡°We had some converts come in. Once they¡¯re in the tribe they make gliders and some head ¡®ere. Most stay put, start buildin¡¯ up their own bluffs with the new tech they learn. I send builders out to help. It don¡¯t take long to get ¡®em flyin¡¯ but most of ¡®em don¡¯t have a source of metal to make engines. We got more sulfur, rubber, clay, whatever anyone needs. Takes time to send word back and forth of who needs what where, though.¡± ¡°So I¡¯ve seen,¡± I said. I¡¯d been using the System menus to keep track of resources in and out, monitoring trends and shortfalls. Being able to draw resources to central hubs like the bluffs from multiple areas meant a smoother curve of extraction from the forests. One of Eileen¡¯s bluffs near the mountains had even come with a source of copper, which was as least as valuable as a new variant.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. ¡°Radios are on my to-do list,¡± I said. ¡°Now we¡¯ve got strong magnets and copper wire, generators will be straight-forward. From there we¡¯ll build extra equipment to send and receive signals.¡± ¡°If you say so,¡± said Buzz. More content to wait until I got the tech unlocked than try to work through it in his head, my lead builder put his focus into navigating the bluff at a breakneck pace. He stopped short near one of the lines leading up to the next platform, swerving into a halt that threatened to tip us straight over. ¡°I sent along the second airship with rotors and other hard-to-make parts, help some of the new lads find their feet and get engines going. Got one of the noblins onboard to spread the canon. Should be back in a day.¡± ¡°Good thinking.¡± Buzz hopped down and went over to what looked like a knotted rope loop strung between a small windmill on the second platform and a bearing on the ground. At the top, I could see several aircraft staged and ready to launch. Buzz grabbed the rope and let it pull him up. I jumped on behind him, with Armstrong and a few other bodyguards close in tow. At the top, I spotted a goblin that was slightly bigger than the others¡ªa taskmaster I didn¡¯t recognize, in charge of the air hangars. His jaw dropped when he saw me, and he dashed over. ¡°Sir, sir! It¡¯s an honor!¡± he squeaked. I grinned and looked at the air fleet, which had a mix of powered and unpowered gliders staged in lopsided rows. ¡°You in charge with Eileen gone?¡± ¡°Yessir!¡± ¡°Suppose you¡¯ll need a name,¡± I said, racking my brain for an astronaut or pilot name.¡± ¡°They call me Footsmash, my king!¡± Or¡­ he could be called Footsmash. I looked down at one of his feet, which looked to have been mangled at some point in the three weeks or so since he¡¯d been born. ¡°Footsmash it is,¡± I said. I suppose now Taskmasters were going to be popping up all around as the tribe grew, and I wasn¡¯t going to be there to name every single one of them. Tribe Apollo was becoming bigger than Apollo. Which it needed to do if this logistics engine was going to grow big enough to support the thousands of goblins I¡¯d need to start processing, refining, and manufacturing complex aerospace components. ¡°Got a bi-glider ready?¡± asked Buzz. Footsmash led us to one of the larger models with a big, cast-iron engine block. I rubbed my hands together. While helicopters might be cool (they¡¯re not), airplanes were my jam. And I¡¯d wanted to get my hands on the sticks ever since Eileen flew the first one over the Stampede camp. I climbed up into the cockpit and familiarized myself with the controls¡ªwhich had been upgraded from the days of the first heavy gliders having individual goblins work control surfaces. These ones used push-pull rods to manipulate actual three-axis controls built into the wings and the tail so that one pilot could steer. ¡°Strap in, boss!¡± said Buzz, indicating a harness. I pulled the straps tight and cinched them down, marveling at the fact goblins had actually integrated a safety feature into a vehicle. Armstrong stuck a rockette into the starter, and the engine rumbled to life. We started to roll, even at idle power, and I realized the aircraft wasn¡¯t secured or chocked in any way. ¡°Where¡¯s the runway?¡± I asked, looking around for a place to turn. ¡°More like a drop-way,¡± said Buzz, tugging his own belt tight. My stomach sank. Oh. That was the reason they¡¯d installed the belts. I swallowed, looked at the quickly-approaching edge of the platform, and jammed the throttle wide open. The noise mounted behind me, and I pulled on the pair of ear-cups in the cockpit. Black smoke belched out the back of the bi-plane, and we built up what speed we could before we shot straight off the edge of the platform. I grit my teeth and shoved the stick forward, angling the nose down toward the ground. We weren¡¯t going fast enough for takeoff, so trying to stay level would just stall us out. We needed airspeed, and this was the only way to get it. We fell past the edge of the platform, then quickly passed the top of the bluff. The cliff face blurred past us, and the ground rushed up. System¡¯s little altitude and airspeed window popped up, one climbing while the other rapidly depleted. ¡°Uh¡­ boss!?¡± shouted Armstrong. The wings started to shake, and I hauled back on the controls, pulling us out of the dive as the engine screamed. I thought the plane might come apart from the sheer forces, and then I thought it might come apart from smashing into the tops of the trees south of the bluff. But it managed to claw back into a climb, and we cleared the tallest branches by a few meters. I felt Armstrong relax behind me, and I eased my white-knuckle grip on the controls and banked us to the left. ¡°That¡¯s a proper takeoff, boss!¡± said Buzz. ¡°Welcome home.¡± Chapter 109 - Just a Swamp Thing Chapter 109 - Just a Swamp Thing I circled the bluff, joining the pattern of gliders already filling the airspace. We¡¯d been gone a few weeks, and I wanted to see the extent of the changes. As we climbed, I got a look at the upper suspended platforms where goblins worked at workshops, turned lathes, tuned engines, slept, or crafted. The top-most layer had stockpiles of raw materials and workshops for clothing and armor. The balloons keeping the whole thing suspended were thick canvas, and looked like they had once been a ship¡¯s sails. Braziers of scat fed them with hot air. I suppose several-hundred goblins created more than enough fuel to keep them lofted but I wasn¡¯t sure what we¡¯d ever do if they needed to come down. Buzz pointed out various facilities and workshops as we passed. ¡°There¡¯s the paparium where the canoneers oversee their paper and charcoal production together¡ªit¡¯s burnt down twice already. Over there¡¯s where we make clifford saddles and plate carriers. That hut there is where we keep jars of bomb-fruit juice. Next door is one of the rockette stores.¡± Good to see things hadn¡¯t changed. I pushed the stick forward and took us low. The forest had been pushed back even more, now at least half a kilometer from the edge of the bluff in most directions and even more to the west, where the paddocks held dozens of herd animals captured and brought in from the planes. A clutch of 20-30 captured hoppers bounded away from our low pass, and near them a dozen oryx drank from a trough. Small packs of cliffords ran freely across the grass, keeping the herds together. Wranglers rode alongside on dirt-bikes with prods and clubs. There was one form I didn¡¯t recognize right away, until it raised its head and I saw the large, pronged tusks jutting from the wide, flat face. ¡°You captured a thundercleave? Alive?¡± I asked, dumbfounded. ¡°They come on their own to the scratchy towers. Got a taste for the pulp-slurp. Wranglers say they ain¡¯t so bad if you don¡¯t startle ¡®em. More beasts come back every day from the badlands, and we send the vehicles back out with more go-juice and ammo to stage at the lake camp.¡± Having placed in the Stampede, we now had a right by the orcs to hunt game in the plains, and that meant being able to build up our herd animals. But that wasn¡¯t the only food project. I angled us north, where we¡¯d cleared all the way to the river for farm-land. Though, looking at what were supposed to be tilled fields, it looked more like the zen-garden of a dyslexic dog than the ordered rows of an industrial farm. Here and there, an odd plant poked through the surface and the occasional large hole pocked the area. ¡°The lads still don¡¯t get the point of sticking food back in the ground,¡± said Buzz, ¡°But we¡¯ve been stuffing seeds, berries, rocks, eggs, anything we can find on the off-chance it grows like you said it would.¡± I grimaced. ¡°It¡¯s looking more and more like agriculture might not be in the Goblin Tech Tree at all. But it still works, it¡¯s just regular old science. We¡¯ll figure it out,¡± I said. As I flew over, a fountain of dirt shot into the sky, leaving a new smoking hole in the field. The BOOM reached us a moment later. ¡°I take it you¡¯ve been planting bombfuits?¡± I asked. Buzz nodded. Our one successful agricultural venture thus far had been the bomb-fruit orchard created primarily by accident when trying to create safe storage for the volatile fruits during my first days on Rava. Whatever else they were, bomb-fruits were extremely efficient at scattering their seeds. Back then I¡¯d only had a couple dozen goblins in the tribe, and the loss of even a single one was devastating. Now, System didn¡¯t even alert me unless there was a significant drop in a short time. I angled the plane north toward the river, where an extensive network of docks jutted out into the water. Small boats floated up and down, powered mostly by manual impellers and the rare gas outboard engine. The fishermen were using anything from small, 3-goblin canoes to the big 10+ goblin pontoon barges. Upstream, I could see several wooden towers dotting the banks, poking up above the tree-line.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. I made a low pass by one of the towers. The goblins at the top had fish smoking on racks, and they jumped and chittered and waved as we flew past. I pulled up and around, angling us southwest. The road to Huntsville had been widened and further cobbled, but I stuck over top of the river, following its winding path until I started to see the towers and furnaces of Huntsville. The river spread, slowed, and then we reached the edge of the marshlands where I saw boats traversing the brackish water in between peat mounds and goblins wading in the water with prilling knives. Low to the right, a splash and hiss indicated the emergence of a croc-knocker, who immediately struck a goblin with his tongue prill. A nearby boat swiveled its mounted weapon, and the kra-ka-kow of multiple rifles preceded a gout of black, oily smoke from the deck. The croc-knocker rolled belly-up, and several goblins jumped into the water to retrieve the carcass. Flying further in, we passed a screw-pump that looked remarkably like an Earth-style oil derrick¡ªif miniaturized and swarming with little blue goblins. It was also on fire, but that didn¡¯t seem to be hurting productivity as goblins cycled in with bladders to collect the fuel being pumped up out of the ground. I spotted a larger taskmaster overseeing the process and offering encouragement in the form of shouting and kicks to goblins who weren¡¯t moving as fast as she thought they ought be. How many taskmasters are we up to? I asked System. Huh. I suppose that shouldn¡¯t surprise me. That meant I was on a first-name basis with less than half of them. And that ratio was only likely to get worse as our layers of middle managers kept growing. My first variant was my rarest, but also my most critical to the massive logistics engine this tribe was already starting to become. Still think I should have gone with the Hobgoblin Sentinels? System was a damn liar. I chuckled. Off to the northwest, I spotted another smoke trail and shaded my eyes. ¡°Buzz, that¡¯s an awfully big fire. What do we have in that direction?¡± Buzz followed my gaze. ¡°Nothin¡¯ boss. That¡¯s King Ringo¡¯s island. We don¡¯t go there on your orders.¡± I frowned, looking at it. Had the wayward king of Daytona managed to burn down his own castle? Somehow, I doubted it. I dipped the wings and angled the glider towards the swamp king¡¯s domain. As we got closer, I could see that there was definite damage to the outer walls and huts of the island. A shredded, untethered hide balloon draped across the tree-tops, and several primitive boats were smashed on the shore. The keep¡¯s perimeter wall was damaged and smoldering in several places¡ªabsolutely not by accident. Someone had attacked Ringo. Of the boglins, there was no sign. ¡°I don¡¯ like this, boss,¡± said Armstrong, leaning so far out of the plane he threatened to throw off our CG. ¡°Me either,¡± I said. I circled around for a lower pass and spotted a group of croc-knockers watching us as we flew by. Which struck me as odd, for some reason. As I passed over, they opened their mouths¡ªdespite the fact we were clearly out of range of their prills. Rather than iron, a cloud of red mist streamed up from their nostrils and mouths, taking the form of a narrow lance that shot up towards us. ¡°Oh hell!¡± I shouted. I jammed the throttle wide open as Armstrong scrambled for the rifle under his seat. He fired several shots back at the thing, which seemed to have no effect. But we built speed, and the thing apparently reached the end of whatever tethered it to the crocks, because it doubled back and shot towards the pack of reptiles once more. My stomach just about lurched into my throat, and my heart thumped in my chest. That was the same type of creature or spirit or something I¡¯d seen take over the cliffords we brought to Huntsville and wreck up our first camp. We hadn¡¯t had any problems with them since, but clearly something had changed. I angled us back toward Huntsville. ¡°Buzz, can you fly this thing home?¡± ¡°Sure, boss!¡± ¡°Good. Tell Sally to get to work on the electric generator project. Tell her to strap bits of the whistler tail to an engine and spin them around wrapped copper wire until a goblin tech unlocks.¡± ¡°Sure thing, boss! I didn¡¯t want to delay electric motors and generators any longer, but this situation couldn¡¯t be ignored. Ringo was my canary in the coal mine, and he had clearly stopped singing. I wanted to know what he saw, which meant I had to find him. ¡°Armstrong?¡± I needn¡¯t have asked. The burly scrapper was already uncinching his safety harness and slinging the rifle over his shoulder. He shot me a quick salute, and I nodded. Buzz and I awkwardly switched places with my lead builder assuming the controls. He wasn¡¯t a great pilot¡ªin fact he was kind of terrible and terrifying¡ªwhich was why he was in charge of building things instead of running the air wing. But he got us relatively over-top Huntsville. I grabbed an emergency glider from the cockpit and scrambled out onto the wing. When I was sure I was clear of the prop, I leapt off the wing and opened the glider, catching the air and starting to circle over the bustling village Huntsville had become in my absence. A few seconds later, several blue, furry forms plummeted past me. Armstrong and his secretive service hadn¡¯t bothered with the gliders. Chapter 110 - The Missing Beatle Chapter 110 - The Missing Beatle The first thing Armstrong did on landing was press-gang several Huntsville goblins into the secretive service to make sure I had ample protection. The swamp had long-since proven to be a hostile environment¡ªmaybe even more-so than the badlands. We hadn¡¯t conquered it so much as mitigated it, and we¡¯d still only explored a small part of the waterways and islands that made up the big crescent-shaped bog. But we¡¯d also come a long way since first braving its waters with ceramic-tipped spears, slingers, and small hot-air balloons. We had gas-powered engines, steel, guns, and soon we¡¯d have electricity. From what I¡¯d seen, the croc-knockers were now an annoyance at best, rather than a monolithic obstacle that could only be avoided or deterred. But the red mist spirits we¡¯d only run across once before. Which made me have to ask: what changed? Ringo had existed in the swamp for years, and apparently not fallen afoul of them. And the answer was pretty obvious. I¡¯d come. I¡¯d spent the last few months disrupting the balance of power on Lanclova. It was only natural that things begin to respond. I found Hadfield on top of the tower on the north end of Camp Huntsville, directing the flow of iron and oil coming in from the bog through a new canal that had been dug from the camp straight to the waterway, sealed off by a portcullis in the water. The process of extraction and refining at Huntsville was best described as barely-controlled chaos backed by the occasional detonation of a boom furnace producing a piece of workable iron. Totems erected throughout the camp boosted the productivity of the labor pool, and production here had to be diligent to keep the growing need for motor vehicles supplied at the bluff and on the plains. I told Hadfield about the situation on Ringo¡¯s Island, and he considered the problem. ¡°We¡¯ve steered clear of the place, most-like, as you said. Built a pump for their spring. Leave supplies out for ¡®em on occasion, and they leave us little stacks of smooth stones and shells, for some reason. But they stopped taking them 2 days ago.¡± ¡°So whatever happened, happened very recently,¡± I said, nodding. ¡°Then there¡¯s a good chance he and some of his tribe are still out there. We need to find them and figure out what¡¯s coming.¡± With boglins most active at dawn and dusk, that would be the best time to perform our search without disrupting iron and kerosene production to a degree that stunted food collection efforts and tribe defense. We still had Lura¡¯s task to accomplish as well, and the huntress didn¡¯t seem the sort to rest on her laurels. ¡°We got plenty of boats and crews, boss. But they get stuck in some of the thicker peat. Boglins could be gone to ground in areas wot we can¡¯t reach.¡± ¡°I might have something for that,¡± I said. ¡°Come with me.¡± Navigation in the bog so far had been primarily for the purpose of collecting the iron found near the loose river runoffs where rafts tough enough to withstand a croc-knocker attack could maneuver between the peat mounds. Getting up some of the smaller waterways choked with vegetation meant we needed something different. We went down to the forges where the local igni were working with their crafting teams to make impeller craft. Most of them were still goblin-powered via pedal crank, since motors had been reserved for ground and air vehicles¡ªand in fact, the swamp had a pair of helicopters that they¡¯d built because there was no area clear enough for a runway. Taking a small engine with a spare prop from one of the choppers, I had the igni mount them sideways to a pair of canoes strapped together. The result was a shallow-draft pontoon boat with an air fan, and no underwater impeller to get choked by debris. Once the first one was done, the craftsmen got sorted out on making a few more. The choppers would also be useful in the effort, being able to scout through the bog¡ªbut I doubted you¡¯d spot boglins from the air, especially if they didn¡¯t want to be spotted.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. ¡°Armstrong, I want scrappers leading the charge on this. Your boys are natural trackers.¡± ¡°Onnit, boss. Trust,¡± said Armstrong. He scratched his chin. ¡°But¡­ why do you care wot happens to Ringo? Didn¡¯t he stab you? An¡¯ didn¡¯t you torch him?¡± I didn¡¯t want to explain that Ringo was the only other person I¡¯d met who might be from my home world and therefore my only link to it. The fact he was a paranoid Florida swamp-man just meant he fit in better with the goblins than I did. But it was a legitimate question. Other goblins had actually stopped working to wait for my answer. I looked around for a canonneer and whistled him over. I pointed a finger in the air. ¡°What¡¯s the first commandment?¡± The canonneer reached into his bag and fumbled for a folded scrap of paper. ¡°Be excellent to each other,¡± he said. I looked at Armstrong. ¡°Goblins help goblins. Ringo got paranoid and scared because for years, he thought he was alone in a world where no one gives a goblin anything, they only take. Well, he¡¯s not alone, and neither are we. We¡¯ve got orcs, we¡¯ve got the Ifrit, and we¡¯ve got the boglins. Maybe they¡¯re not all entirely on our side, but we¡¯re getting there. And we¡¯re not giving up any of them. And we¡¯re definitely not giving up on any of them.¡± A wave of straighter backs and puffed up chests passed through the crowd. The canonneer scribbled furiously on a corner of his pamphlet, and even Armstrong nodded. ¡°Guess we gotta stick together, even with a goblin that tried to stick us,¡± he said. ¡°Right. I¡¯ll gather the lads.¡± By nightfall, we had a handful of boats and two-dozen scrappers and their non-variant crews. Hobgoblins were pretty common as far as variants went, making up about a fifth or sixth of the entire tribe. 20 of them would be a force to be reckoned with. I started to climb onto the lead boat, but felt strong hands pin my arms to my sides and lift me off the gangplank. I kicked the air helplessly. ¡°Sorry, boss,¡± said Armstrong. ¡°As your secretive service, we¡¯re stayin behind walls ¡®til we know wot we¡¯s dealing with. Leave it to the scrappers. They¡¯re good lads.¡± I relaxed, deflated. ¡°You¡¯re right, of course,¡± I said. Armstrong put me down, and with a longing look at the airboats, I wished the scrappers luck and headed back to the safety of Huntsville¡¯s walls. The scrappper search and rescue teams set off so they could search into the night. But I still had the diurnal limitations of a non-variant forest goblin, and not long after that, a hot meal put me down for the count. * * * I woke up to a hell of a shock, losing nearly 40 goblins overnight. I checked the roster menu and found that fully 15 of them had been scrappers I¡¯d assigned to the search party. That was most of the search party. What was even worse, though, was that a taskmaster had vanished¡ªone responsible for pumping and transporting kerosene from the springs in the swamp. Without task-masters managing the minutiae of logistics, the downstream effects would start to stunt efforts of everything that required fuel¡ªwhich now heavily influenced food production and aircraft manufacturing. I struggled out from the bottom of the cuddle puddle and went up to the north wall, where several goblins were already pointing out smoke trails from further north where the pumping station had been. I grit my teeth. If I¡¯d just been there¡­ it probably would have made no difference. As much as I hated to admit it, even more goblins would have died from the Head of the Snake skill, if they really did meet with such a catastrophic result. But the search parties hadn¡¯t returned yet, there was no way to know what had happened. Hell, it could have been the red spirits, or it could have just been some other form of particularly nasty endemic life. It was a couple hours before two of the scrapper boats limped their way back to Huntsville with dead-tired skeleton crews. ¡°We never even saw wot was attacking us,¡± one of them said. ¡°It got real dark. Then 4 crocs jumped out all at once, right onto the boat! And these even bigger things. We lost sight of the other lads with us, and when we¡¯d made it out of the fight, they weren¡¯t nowhere.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t you have torches?¡± I asked. ¡°Somfink snuffed ¡®em,¡± said the scrapper. He looked over his shoulder back at the bog. ¡°I could feel ¡®em watchin¡¯ me.¡± That wasn¡¯t good. Something was definitely in the swamp, and it was making a concerted effort to attack goblins. It knew to hit at night, it knew to separate groups of goblins to negate their numbers advantage. Scrappers were great ambush fighters and surprise attackers. What could get the jump on them? I opened the variant spawn control submenu and slid the slider for Scrappers all the way to the right, prioritizing their reproduction above other variants. The goblins started squawking and running to the eastern rampart. I closed the menu and followed them and was greeted by a dark shadow in the sky to the east. A shadow that was drawing closer. Chapter 111 - Working Remote Chapter 111 - Working Remote The sound of motors reached us before the silhouette resolved into an airship¡ªnot Gertrude, but one of the others built in the weeks we¡¯d been on the badlands. Like all of the tech that was iterated on after unlocking, this was more refined than our first powered balloon, yet somehow more ramshackle. Two canvas envelopes kept the thing aloft, one fore and one aft, with scat burners beneath. A rampart of wooden planks circled the envelope with patrolling goblins. The rigid structure suspended in a tangle of cords was longer and thinner, and sported sponsons with the barrels of recoilless rifles poking out. I also spotted a belly-mounted missile ready for a rider. No doubt there were at least two-dozen goblins aboard with spears and rifles close to hand. Someone whistled from one of the other towers, and I saw a goblin frantically waving semaphore flags. The airship came in, scraping the edge of the tower before the goblins atop could hook it and tie it down. Most of the crew, not needing to wait for the gangplank, simply disembarked at altitude¡ªincluding a taskmaster I definitely recognized. ¡°Sally!¡± I shouted, dropping off the rampart. I jogged over, where she proceeded to glare at me and then kick me, and flail tiny, angry fists¡ªuntil Armstrong appeared and lifted her away from me. ¡°Hey, hey!¡± I said, trying to fend her off. ¡°That¡¯s your king you¡¯re kicking.¡± Glare. I ran a hand through my fur. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t come to see you when we got back. We just meant to take a tour, and¡­ well, excuses won¡¯t cut it. I¡¯m sorry, Sally. Can you forgive me?¡± She crossed her arms and turned her head, but her posture and expression had softened. Armstrong set her back down. She whipped around and sank her teeth into his leg. ¡°Argh! Wot¡¯d I do?¡± he demanded, shaking her off. The diminutive blue ball of chomp rolled away and jumped back to her feet. ¡°What are you doing here, anyway?¡± I asked. Sally pointed up at the airship, where goblins were busy unloading flat, dull-grey plates and the tail section we¡¯d taken off the whistler. My eyes widened. ¡°Sally, that¡¯s amazing!¡± I said. With magnets and wire, we could start converting the mechanical energy of the motors into electric energy through simple alternators. Electricity might seem like a big jump, but at its core, if you have angular momentum, and you have magnets and wire, you have electricity. What happens next is the complicated bit, as it¡¯s fed through rectifiers, filters, diodes, or regulators to make it safe and practical to apply. But I¡¯m betting regulator wasn¡¯t even a word in the Goblin Tech Tree. If struggling with the internal combustion motor had taught me anything, the KISS principle applied to goblin tech. Keep it stupidly suicidal. The more ways it had to blow up, the more likely it was to unlock the tech. Sourtooth was struggling to disembark as well with the cross-wise flow of goblins competing to unload equipment or rush aboard for something to carry down to the ground, and Taquoho hovered behind him along with a few other ifrit and Promo. The old orc scrabbled down the ladder on the docking tower, making good time despite his leg, followed by the ignis taskmaster. ¡°Thinking to dump me off while adventures you seek, hmm?¡± he demanded. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re here, actually.¡± Sourtooth looked around at the totems lining the camp. ¡°Not the freshest smelling of the lands I¡¯ve trampled. Yet neither is it the most foul. I would join in the work, little brother mine.¡± Truth be told, I was glad to have him. Sourtooth was well-traveled. Maybe even as well as Rufus, if in different circles. The old orc might be able to offer insight into the threats currently plaguing the boglins. Of course, we had to find them first. I turned to my chief ignis and rubbed my hands together. ¡°Promo, let¡¯s set up a workspace. I¡¯m going to need wire, engines, cross-sections of the whistler tail, and tools.¡± I considered. ¡°We¡¯re also going to need sand and metal pipes. We¡¯ve got a day to work before the next wave of scrappers is born and I want to make the most of it.¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°Trust, boss,¡± said Promo. He waddled off, already barking orders like he owned the place. The rest of the goblins snapped-to and started dashing about, rearranging the place in a strangely efficient manner. While individual goblins sometimes worked at odds or stepped on each others feet, the weird semi-gestalt nature of the goblin tribal structure ensured the needle moved consistently toward the task complete end of the spectrum. Sally and I set to work, using a gas-powered table saw ordinarily used to cut wood in order to cut narrow slices of the whistler tail prongs. As I had suspected, they were powerful, permanent magnets¡ªnearly on a level with rare earth magnets back home. They¡¯d be ideal for applications at all levels of electrical equipment, from portable power generators to walkie-talkies. The material chewed through sawblades, and not for the first time, I really missed the diamond-coated tools common on Earth. We made up for efficiency with volume, but individual work was still somewhat arduous. Its tail wasn¡¯t the only gift the whistler had given us. Arguably just as valuable was its hide. The stone-hard carapace of the meteor-made-flesh was actually a form of natural metallic chitin, and if my guess was correct, it used the magnetic prongs of its tail to electro-plate itself using the ore from the pink gravel of its canyon. The result was a light-weight, bonded composite metal natural to Rava that, if not actual aluminum, was the next best thing. It was clear the Ravan periodic table was more overlap than difference, but I doubted you¡¯d find this ore anywhere on Earth. While I spent the afternoon eclipse with Promo figuring out how to heat and shape the whistler carapace into thin panels for general use, a small motorcade arrived with yet another surprise. The goblins hauled open the gate on the east side of the settlement to allow the vehicles in, and I saw the squat form of Rufus with his black-and-white badger snout sniffing the air. ¡°Well, now the gang¡¯s really all here!¡± I said. The wild-marked merchant spotted me and hopped down from his buggy, fishing in his trouser pocket for a coin, which he flipped to the driver. The driver caught it, looking at it curiously, before popping it in his mouth and swallowing it whole. Rufus spotted me and trotted over, grim expression on his face. He cast a side-long look at Sourtooth working at one of the forges, who was quick to return a lop-sided sneer. ¡°I¡¯ve just returned from the City of Brass,¡± he said. ¡°The Ifrit delegation reported to the king that you took many of their number captive and reneged on your agreement to produce ceramic parts.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not true,¡± I said. I gestured to the Ifrit present in the camp, flying in their coaxial vessels. ¡°They¡¯re free to come and go as they please. They¡¯ve chosen to stay, and the delegation leader destroyed the first shipment and tried to kill both Taquoho and one of my taskmasters. You can ask Taquoho about it. He¡¯ll tell you.¡± I raised my voice and called for the Ifrit, who floated down. Rufus repeated what he¡¯d told me. ¡°Ah, it pleases us to see you, Rufus¡ªthough I wish it bore brighter tidings. I assure you, everything King Apollo has said is the truth.¡± Rufus raised his hands. ¡°I believe you. I saw the Ifrit at the bluff. They¡¯re clearly not prisoners of any kind or under any duress or threat. However, the king of the Ifrit does not share that view, and because I brokered this exchange, the delegation¡¯s lies have damaged my reputation, Apollo. Nothing is more serious to the Ifrit than their own being taken captive. That¡¯s why they so rarely leave the City of Brass.¡± I sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Rufus. I didn¡¯t mean for any of this to backfire on you. We need to get the record straight with the king. We¡¯ve remade the ceramic parts and I¡¯m ready to send them along with envoys to make clear what actually happened. I¡¯m going to make this right.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not so simple a thing,¡± he said. He fished in his pack for his flask of liquor and took a sip. ¡°Some may argue that if all the Ifrit do not return, then threat against those remaining may influence the words of whoever you sent back. Disputes among Ifrit aren¡¯t just a matter of evidence and opinion. They get very¡­¡± ¡°Political?¡± I asked. Rufus nodded. ¡°And Ifrit political debates have a lot in common with civil wars. They¡¯re incredibly nuanced and complicated.¡± ¡°Taquoho suggested as much,¡± I said, grimacing. I hated politics. ¡°Still, we can¡¯t do nothing. Especially not with your reputation on the line when you¡¯ve done so much for my tribe. Will you accompany the shipment? It might help to have you deliver them personally, along with your account of what you witnessed.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure they¡¯ll let me back into the city,¡± he admitted. ¡°But I¡¯ll try. I¡¯ve invested too much in this deal and have too much to lose if it falls through.¡± ¡°There¡¯s also the cooperation of two nations and the progress that comes from mutual exchange and understanding,¡± I added. Rufus shrugged. ¡°Mutual understanding and progress won¡¯t buy me an estate in Umberbarrow. Trade will.¡± ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t want Umberbarrow to go un-estated. We¡¯ll fix this, Rufus. I promise.¡± Somewhere deeper in the camp, someone fired up an engine. The rumble of the engine was quickly followed by a loud Snap and then a brief shriek. I looked over to see an expanding cloud of smoke and smoldering, blue fur. ¡°What under the stars was that?¡± asked Rufus. ¡°Progress,¡± I said, rubbing my hands together. It was time to shock this tribe into the next age. Ad Luna. Chapter 112 – Blowing It Chapter 112 ¨C Blowing It Ever since I was a kid, the raw buzzes and snaps of loosely-harnessed electricity fascinated me. The love affair was kindled the first time I watched Frankenstein with my dad at the dollar theater and I realized what I wanted to be when I grew up. Of course, six weeks later I nearly burned our house down with an electrical short, and I was banned from watching movies about mad scientists. Sally had an honest-to-god generator going, and had wired it up to a primitive electric motor. Unfortunately, lacking solder, she had used goblins to hold the wires to the contacts with very, very predictable results to anyone except, apparently, the goblins holding the wires. ¡°We¡¯re going to need a commandment for this¡­¡± I muttered, looking around at the carnage. Sally at least had the decency to look embarrassed at having vaporized three of her tribe mates. She quickly choked off the engine, but I could already see the new technology propagating through the tribe as they took on glazed expressions. Still, electricity generation was something I¡¯d wanted to get going weeks ago¡ªalmost as soon as I¡¯d realized I had an electrolytic solution in spitting distance of Village Apollo. But it turns out being a leader is mostly putting out fire after fire after fire. Better late than never. And as far as I knew, no one else on Rava had working lights or gas motors, so we¡¯d already outstripped the locals on both fronts. ¡°No more electricity for you,¡± I said. ¡°Have your engineers start coating wire with rubber for insulation and then help Promo with the glass-making.¡± Sally saluted and ran off. Glass-making had a lot in in common with ceramic-making, and like ceramics, most of my knowledge of the process was second-hand from a girl in college dragging me to a glass-blowing class, fallaciously believing I had an artistic bone hiding somewhere amongst the 206 actual bones in my body. Never in a million years had I thought I would have to reinvent the incandescent bulb, but here we were. Not only that, but glass was critical to a bevy of space-age technology as well as being more scratch-resistant than mild steel (though less resistant than ceramic). Plus, it was transparent. And I was getting tired of the dry eyes from flying. I wasn¡¯t the only one, either. I¡¯d seen other pilots rubbing red eyes after long flight sessions. As far as the ingredients go, glass is actually one of the least material-constrained to acquire. Sand with high silica content lined small beaches along the river north of the village, and sand with high quartz content lived in the badlands. It was just a matter of sifting them together, firing molten glass, and shaping it. Syrians had been blowing glass into jars and vases since the days of the Roman Empire. While sheet glass was a tougher process, it wasn¡¯t out of reach. But blown glass was what we needed now. I explained the process to Promo and Sally, who looked at me as though I was crazy. But Promo set a few of his igni to the task. The good news was that we could use the kilns we already had to process the silica sand, so by early evening we had dozens of goblins with metal pipes ready to dip into the molten glass. I took the first one and dipped the tip into the glowing solution inside the kiln, pulling it out and putting the end of the metal rod to my lips. I puffed, forcing air down the tube and into the glass to give it shape, spinning the pole as I did. The glass cooled quickly. More quickly than I¡¯d have thought. And I realized I didn¡¯t know how to actually detach the glass from the end of the pole. They¡¯d done that for me in the class. No worries. I let it cool still attached. I had hoped for a clear bulb shape, but it ended up looking closer to a diseased eggplant of a dusty yellowish color.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. I beheld my creation at the end of my pole, lamenting the imprecise nature of the Goblin Tech Tree. This would make a terrible light bulb. Though, in retrospect, this wasn¡¯t too dissimilar to the product of the ill-fated aforementioned glass-blowing class. Shut it, System! Still, the technology propagated through the tribe, and the goblins around me fought to be first to dip their hollow poles into the molten solution¡ªnear to the point of shoving me into the kiln. I managed to get back through the press, admittedly applying the pole in my hand to some effect in the effort. Breaking free, I looked at the end of the pole. Promo waddled over, his own tube in hand waiting for a turn at the forge. His bonus to heat crafting would make him and the other igni skilled at glass blowing, I had no doubt. ¡°Don¡¯t think it¡¯s supposed to stay on the pole, boss,¡± he said. ¡°Yeah?¡± I asked. ¡°Well, you just got the technology. How would you get it off the pole?¡± Promo held out his hand, and I gave him my eggplant bulb. He waddled over to a workstation for a couple minutes, and came back with the bulb¡ªstill with a bit of the pole attached, but it had been sawed off a couple inches below the point of the glass. ¡°Huh.¡± I said. Actually a somewhat elegant solution that made it look even more like a light bulb. At least it made a natural place to connect a ground lead. Maybe we had a chance of this. A squawk of alarm drew my attention, and I turned around to see a flaming goblin running toward the water tanks, arms wind-milling above his head. He was still holding his pole, and his flailing flung droplets of molten glass every which way, inciting a near riot at the kilns. The smell of smoldering fur burnt in the air. Maybe a chance was generous. Toward the evening, we had everything we needed to put it all together. Sourtooth had made a trio of shallow draft boats using the whistler carapace metal (which I¡¯d taken to calling whistlite) with fans and pylons to mount the new lights. The bulbs themselves used a simple circuit, feeding current through a teased filament of the whistlite between two copper wires. We arranged the bulbs in a cluster, inside a polished, copper-lined cone. ¡°Fire it up!¡± I shouted. Sally dropped a rockette into the new generator, and a shower of sparks shot out of the wiring terminal. One side of the generator pumped current into the incandescent bulbs, several of which flared white-hot and then burst immediately. The rest glowed with a fiery orange light that, at first, I worried was fire. But it was just the flicker of a cluster of unevenly burning bulbs in a copper mirror. On the other end of the boat, the electric motor connected to a lightweight fan blade kicked on, spinning the propeller and kicking up a storm. It continued to spin faster and faster as the motor whined and sparked. With no electronic speed controller, the motor¡¯s speed was simply a factor of the current being pumped through the terminals. Although, it shouldn¡¯t have worked at all. The generator was putting out AC power at an inconsistent frequency and the motor wasn¡¯t tuned at all. Yet, it was still spinning. That¡¯s the Goblin Tech Tree for you. Spinning too fast, if anything, now that I thought about it. Faster than it would be if hooked up to the engine shaft directly. The boat began to rock, and then tipped forward, digging its nose into the ground. Mud began to fly, churned up by the fan and flung out in a dirty, brown spray that coated several of the Huntsville structures. ¡°Shut it down!¡± I yelled, but no one was willing to approach the vessel. I watched as the fan motor shook itself loose from the housing, warping the whistlalloy hull from the torque. It cleaved through the housing and whipped through the air a few meters overhead. Most of the goblins watching dove for cover. The fan blade whirred a tight circled, pinged off a brick tower, and shot out into the swamp. The sounds of its spinning away lasted long after it had left sight. The boat, meanwhile, had tipped completely over, smashing the bulbs. Loose wires whipped and sparked, and at least one of them sliced across the fuel bladder for the engine. The whole ensemble burst into a roiling inferno of intense heat. But the engine finally gave out, and the thing turned from a rattling, vibrating deathtrap to just a burning one. I pushed myself up off the ground and surveyed the remains of our first patrol boat. ¡°Alright,¡± I said. ¡°That design had issues. But we¡¯ve still got some daylight left. Let¡¯s iterate.¡± Chapter 113 - Research and Rescue Chapter 113 - Research and Rescue Once again, we sent scrappers out. Once again, they took a mauling¡ªbut not near as bad. And they found dead boglins¡ªnot killed by us¡ªwho were missing the tips of their ears. Another kerosene derrick went dark, as well. In the morning, with the scrapper priority pushed to max, we now had more scrappers than we¡¯d started with. The search lights on the boats seemed to ward off the ambushers, but I worried they might also be scaring the boglins. We were still a way off from night vision and thermal imaging, so they¡¯d have to do. As the scrappers made their way to Huntsville throughout the afternoon by wagon, buggy, foot, or even airdrop, we continued iterating and improving on the lights and electric motors. The swamp village was filled with the electric zaps and ozone smell of poorly insulated wiring shorting out. Electric motors whirred and buzzed as they were fit to fan boats and lights flickered atop pylons. Occasionally, something sheared or exploded. But that was business as usual for the tribe. Armstrong had exercised his secretive service skills to make it clear again in no uncertain terms that I would not be riding a patrol boat, or one of the choppers retrofit with lights instead of guns. I threatened to fire him, but the scrapper chief wouldn¡¯t budge. So, we¡¯d reached a compromise. The airship was a much more secure platform, more easily defended, and we could supplement the patrol boats by putting search lights on the bottom¡ªwhich I worked with Sally to do as the rest of the tribe worked glass and wrapped wiring. Once lighting was set up, I started in on a second project. Since we were already making copper cones and simple transducers, it was a natural leap to integrate a sound-powered phone hand-set to the deck and rig it up to an electrically amplified horn on the bottom. The effect was about as incomprehensible as you¡¯d expect, sounding somewhere between a tornado warning siren and an outdated high-school PA system manned by a two-pack-a-day vice principle. It also sparked whenever I spoke through it. But it would at least let me bark orders at the boats from altitude. As the light began to fade, we fired up the engines on the airship and cut loose from the dock, hovering overhead as the scrappers and their teams carried the river patrol boats¡ªnow outfit with search lights and recoilless rifles¡ªdown to the waters of the swamp. I stood on the deck with Armstrong while Promo worked the engines and one of Eileen¡¯s pilots steered. The airship itself had also been augmented with the latest generation of goblin weaponry. It still sported a pair of slingers with net launchers, but the main armaments were now the three recoilless rifles and a nozzle and hose hooked up to a bladder of kerosene with a dedicated pump goblin. ¡°Take us to where they found the boglins last night,¡± I ordered the pilot. She saluted and cranked the rudder. By no means fast, the airship still made good time and could fly over islands that the patrol boats had to navigate around. The bog was fed from several tributary streams and rivers from the mountainous terrain to the northeast, and it was there that I wanted to focus the search. My stomach growled, but it was necessary to be hungry in order to stay awake into the night.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Armstrong looked back at me from the bow. ¡°She needs a name, boss!¡± ¡°What?¡± I shouted back. ¡°Like Gerty.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I said, considering. This was the tribe¡¯s second airship¡ªand unless we could secure access to more canvas, these two twin sisters would be it for the foreseeable future. Hmm¡­ Twins¡­ ¡°Gemini!¡± I shouted up to the front. ¡°Her name is Gemini.¡± The sun dipped below the horizon. At the bow of the airship, I flipped the switch for the search-lights, and the engines sputtered for a moment as the generator added to their load. Two brilliant columns of amber light from two new sponsons split the air ahead of the ship. Twin circles of illuminated swamp tracked back and forth as the operators swung the lighting arrays around. I leaned over the side of the airship, watching the loose canopy below for signs of activity. The problem, if anything, was too much activity. Lanclova¡¯s nights were more active than its days¡ªwhich is probably why most goblins are diurnal, being perpetually level 1 at all. Large, shifting shapes moved throughout the bog¡ªlarger than the croc-knockers. Still, it all seemed endemic, and I saw none of the strange behavior I associated with the red spirits. For two hours, we moved from one tributary to the next, watching from overhead as the patrol boats maneuvered up the narrow waterways looking for signs of the boglins or their mysterious attackers. I began to wonder if we¡¯d find anything at all, when one of the search-light operators began squawking from his station. ¡°Armstrong, with me,¡± I said, dashing to the port gunwale and looking over the side. Below us, the amber light had lit on the wreckage of a patrol boat¡ªnot one of the new ones, but one of the missing scrapper teams. ¡°Good work,¡± I told the operator, who puffed out his chest with pride. If there was wreckage, maybe there were survivors holed up somewhere. ¡°Armstrong, get on the big voice and let the boats know to search that area.¡± I looked at the operator. ¡°Bring us down a bit lower for a better look.¡± Our pilot tilted us down and let some of the hot air out of the envelopes to sink us closer to the canopy where the search lights were a bit better at dispelling some of the gloom. The boat was in bad shape. It had been warped as though struck with immense force, and the engine had torn completely off. I moved to the bow with Armstrong, getting a closer view while he barked orders into the big voice. It was a bit surreal, hearing a goblin voice amplified and broadcast over the air. The swamp muted any echo it might have had, but I still saw the lights on several boats slow as they lowered their throttles to better hear the updates. Several of the lights turned and began heading in new directions. Not all of them were going the right way, and Armstrong struggled to call out specific boats to get them on track. We need radios, I thought to myself, and not for the first time. If each of the boats had a callsign and a radio operator, we could more easily coordinate the search from the airship. Hell, that might be the next priority. The badlands had crystal. I¡¯d seen quartz and other types in the rock formations of the whistler canyon and in the pylon we¡¯d knocked down. Crystal radio receivers and simple frequency modulation transmitters are simple electronic devices, and it would be a trivial matter to integrate the speaker tech we¡¯d already solved to¡ª- ¡°Boss, look there!¡± I shook myself out of the musings and followed where Armstrong pointed. A flicker of bright flashes, partially hidden by canopy, had broken out somewhere north of the wreckage site on one of the bigger islands. A few moments later, the sounds of rockettes and poppers reached us. There was fighting in the forest, and it was using goblin weapon tech. ¡°Have any of our boat teams gone ashore?¡± I asked. Armstrong shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t think so.¡± ¡°Lights!¡± I shouted. the two searchlights panned across the terrain, and I caught a flash of movement through the foliage, something small and blue being chased by something big and green. Survivors from the wreckage, being pursued by something. ¡°Armstrong, do we have any boats close enough to help?¡± I asked. Armstrong shook his head. I muttered to myself. ¡°Battle stations! Break out everything we¡¯ve got. Armstrong, have the boats converge. Pilot, take us down!¡± Chapter 114 - Extraction Chapter 114 - Extraction Air hissed out of the envelopes again as we descended. The deck became a riot of activity as goblins ran about, pulling out guns and squeezing into armored vests. Others began loading the recoilless rifles and priming the slingers. Armstrong handed me one of the plate carriers, and I pulled it on and tapped a fist against the ceramic tile in its front pocket. Since coming to Rava I¡¯d been stabbed, arrowed, bitten, and beaked. Multiple times, those would have activated the head of the snake skill and killed other goblins in my place, had I not been wearing the armor. I¡¯d seen many goblins likewise saved by (and many still killed despite) the ceramic armor. We dropped low enough that the tallest trees began to scrape across the underside of the airship¡¯s thin hull. Prometheus had the engines full-bore to get us closer to the fight that had broken out below while the searchlight operators tried to get a fix on whatever was chasing our people. Someone handed me a rifle, and I braced it on the gunwale and peered down through the sights. The rest of the goblins lined up next to me, and the airship tilted. I caught a dark silhouette, framed by the flash of a popper, and fired toward it. All the goblins to my left and right squeezed off shots as well. The treetops erupted in shredded leaves and thrown sticks as the rockettes tore through, and the thump swoosh of the recoilless rifle on the bow sent a plume of earth skyward. Something down there roared, low and terrifically loud. I cranked the lever of my rifle and fire again, pointing my muzzle as close as I could to the source of the sound. The scanning lights centered on several blue figures dashing toward the ship. They were hauling butt through the trees of the island, and it looked like they were carrying something. A half-dozen scrappers and twice their number in non-variants, running as fast as their short legs could pump. ¡°Oy, it¡¯s our lads!¡± said Armstrong beside me. ¡°Armstrong, the ladder!¡± I shouted. My scrapper chief dropped his rifle to Gemini¡¯s deck and ran to the aft of the airship, kicking a bundled rope ladder over the side. It unfurled, swinging down into the trees. The scrappers below pointed to it and redoubled their sprint. But a massive shape crashed through the trees behind them. A six-legged, four-eyed reptile that moved more like a gorilla than a lizard bounded across the floor on its knuckles, sauropod mouth open wide and tiny rear legs scurrying to keep up. It was maned in bright feathers, like the dartwing. Idly, I wondered if it was a muscular evolutionary offshoot. Either way, it had its sights set on my boys, and I wasn¡¯t keen to let it catch up. I whistled for attention and pointed down. ¡°Recoilless rifles! Poppers! Anything we¡¯ve got!¡± The goblins shouted and began throwing the small grenades over the side at the beast, and several landed beside it, showering it with shrapnel. It came on anyway¡ªuntil the recoilless rifle rounds smashed it into the dirt. However, it wasn¡¯t alone. Two more of them came out of the woods¡ªstrangely in sync in their movements and pace. They even roared in harmony. It was almost uncanny to watch them, as if a single mind worked behind both brains. ¡°Reload!¡± I said. The recoilless rifle teams worked to open the breeches on the smoking guns, but the beasts were moving fast. Ahead of them, the scrappers and their goblins reached the rope ladder and began to climb up with the speed possessed only by those with sharp teeth snapping at their heels. The airship sagged again and I waved to Promo and the pilot. ¡°Take us up! Quick!¡±The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The pilot signaled to the burner teams to increase the heat, but it¡¯s a lot faster to let hot air escape than it is to make more of it. And we had the added weight of the survivors. Promo at least kicked the throttle up, and the fans began to spin faster and faster. We at least moved forward, back toward the water, as our rescues scrambled up toward the ship. Then the airship lurched, and I fell against the gunwale. At least two goblins went over completely, and even Promo nearly lost his balance. He caught himself on the throttle lever, which resisted for a moment before snapping off completely. Through the slats on the gunwale, I looked down at the end of the rope ladder to see one of the lumbering lizards had leapt up and caught the bottom rung even as we lifted away from the ground. It reached overhead and began to pull itself up with hungry eyes and salivating jaws. And, with two of my scrappers trying to navigate the climb with loads slung over their shoulders, it was catching up. Pushing myself back up, I shoved my gun through the slats and fired down at it, careful to avoid the goblins climbing above it. It jerked as a shot hit its shoulder, and then more goblins on the deck followed my example. Two zealots leapt past me with spears, screaming their heads off with fury¡ªand then panic, as our forward air speed meant their attack was going nowhere near their target. Still, the barrage of rockette fire was slowing it down and letting the scrappers make up the distance. Armstrong was there to begin pulling them onto the deck. Despite our fire, the lumbering lizard kept coming. It had a thick, bony crest that seemed hard enough to deflect the rockettes, with four small eyes set deep into it. And on the ladder, it was out of the firing arc of our recoilless rifles. ¡°Cut the ropes!¡± I shouted. Goblins started looking around, squawking in confusion as they pulled out knives and cleavers, and a few of them started sawing on the ropes that held the fuselage to the hot air envelopes. ¡°No! The ladder ropes!¡± Squawks of understanding passed back and forth between the crew, and they went to work sawing at the thick cords of the ladder as the last of our survivors were pulled aboard. The monster on the ladder must have realized what was happening, because it climbed even faster. My secretive service were at the top with spears, thrusting down at the beast and barely keeping it at bay. Armstrong jumped in with his cleaver held high and brought it down so hard it severed the line and stuck fast in the gunwale. The ladder swayed and spun, held on by only a single cord. But half-shredded in its own right and struggling under its doubled load, it snapped as well. The creature fell away, windmilling its arms and roaring up at us. The crew of the airship cheered and fired off their rifles into the air (and more than a few into the balloon itself, I¡¯m sure). I began to relax, but something raised the hackles on the back of my neck. The roar of the creature choked off, and then started buzzing. A cloud of red mist poured from its mouth and shot up towards us. My eyes widened. ¡°It¡¯s not over!¡± I shouted. The rifles came back down, shooting at the mist. But you can¡¯t shoot fog. I looked around, and my eyes centered on the flamethrower. I ran over and grabbed the nozzle, making sure the primer ember was secure at the tip. In an extraordinary display of diligence, the pump goblin had never stopped pumping throughout the whole debacle, and when I tested the pressure on the weapon, the backwards force of the spray knocked me on my butt. A jet of flame shot out into the evening sky, brighter even than the searchlights. Hands wrapped around my shoulder and hauled me to my feet, and I looked back at Promo, with his smithing mask down. He picked up the back half of the hose, and suddenly the assembly felt lighter and more comfortable in my own hands. Bonus to heat-based weaponry. Running to the extent of where the hose reached, I shoved the nozzle down, angled it at the approaching cloud of red mist, and squeezed the nozzle lever. Flaming kerosene gushed out, dropping into the swamp below. I swept the flame back and forth, bisecting the lance of red mist several times. The heat rising back up was immense, like shoving my face into a kiln. But it was nothing compared to the havoc it wreaked below. The flaming liquid clung to trees and smoldered brush, turning the forest into a flash fire. The red mist faltered, scattered, and then reformed. Though we¡¯d diminished it, it kept coming, zig-zagging with purpose to avoid the jet of flame. It hit the side of the airship and began to force its way through the gunwale. I closed my eyes and felt the beat of thousands of tiny wings against my eyelids as I flailed my hands. The air filled with angry buzzing. It wasn¡¯t a spirit. It was a swarm. And it was on my ship! Chapter 115 – Snap, Crackle, Pop Chapter 115 ¨C Snap, Crackle, Pop The goblins panicked, shooting rifles in all directions, frantically waving away the biting, stinging bugs. One of them hit a cable attaching the deck to the airship¡¯s envelope, and the front right quarter of the boat lurched down, spilling several goblins off the side. Still others abandoned ship of their own volition, hurling themselves off the boat¡ªonly to be reminded by a deafening roar that there was still a monster on the island below us. Bugs crawled through my fur, looking for flesh to sink their stingers into. I resisted the very goblin urge to turn the flamethrower nozzle around and sweep myself with its flames, along with the whole deck. I¡¯d always joked that a loose spider in the house meant we¡¯d have to burn down the whole thing, but a goblin actively would do something that crazy. I opened my mouth to shout, and several of the red bugs forced themselves inside. I chomped down, crushing them between my teeth, in what should have been a revolting mix of grit, carapace, and guts. But, again, goblins. I hated how delicious my brain interpreted them as being. Nearby, I spotted Armstrong trying to punch the air around him. The air was filled with a glistening sea of red malevolence, with the luminescent glitter of thousands of diaphanous wings sparkling in the deck lights. The whole swarm moved as if guided by a single mind. Was there some sort of queen we could kill? How could we even find her? My only consolation is that goblins seemed to be immune to whatever let these swarms take over cliffords and other swamp creatures. Probably because they were devouring any bugs that tried to work their way inside. Small favors. I dropped to the deck and began rolling, hoping to crush the bugs. My frantic desperation brought me over to Promo, and thank God I was already on the ground, because he¡¯d have crushed my skull with his hammer otherwise. Promo swung his favorite hammer around in wide, wild arcs. It¡¯s head was coated in a red paste and blue fur, but it wasn¡¯t exactly efficient. He needed a flyswatter, really. As I watched, claws digging at my own fur, he clipped one of the deck lights with his hammer. The bulb burst in a shower of sparks, and a tendril of electricity zapped a handful of the bugs. The entire swarm flinched back. I felt the pressure of bites and stingers ease up for a moment. ¡°Promo!¡± I gasped up. The noblin chief looked down at me, realizing for the first time that I was beside him. I pointed up at the sparking tines of the bulb. Luckily, my ignis chief was no fool. He dropped his hammer to the deck and wrenched free the pylon from its housing, sweeping the bare contacts through the swarm. The hissing snap of that familiar bug-zapper melody was music to my ears. Again, the swarm flinched and pulled back. I heard another smash of glass, and looked over to see that Armstrong had followed suit, pulling down a pair of the deck lights and smashing them together to wield electricity in each hand. This time when he punched the air, the swarm reacted, getting fried by the hundred. All across the darkening deck, goblins turned lamps into weapons wielded against the encroaching swarm. It was like a tiny summer storm, with the warm orange light almost entirely replaced with the harsh blue flicker of arcing electrical leads. I felt the swarm flow off my fur as one, and I lay gasping and sore from the bites across my skin and face. The red bugs flowed through and over the gunwales, and back down to the jungle below. The deck was a carpet of red carapace. But we¡¯d won. The goblins, so recently brushed with imminent death, began to sweep up the bug remains and drop them into their mouths. I turned away. The human part of my brain still wanted to hurl. ¡°Pilot, get us back to Huntsville, pronto.¡± Luckily, if the insects had been envenomed, the goblin immunity to toxins and poisons seemed to be completely resistant to it, so the only lingering pain was that of the tiny punctures that actually managed to break skin under my fur. Instead of watching the smorgasbord, I turned my attention to the scrappers we¡¯d pulled onboard. I made my way aft, to where they had collapsed from exhaustion, too drained even to join the fight against the bugs. But in the heat of the moment, I hadn¡¯t even noticed that not all of them were forest goblins. They had 3 boglins with them, one of which was Ringo¡¯s closest advisor, George.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. ¡°King Apollo,¡± said George, eyeing me warily. ¡°Am I to assume we¡¯re your prisoners, now?¡± I gestured to the side of the deck. ¡°You¡¯re free to try your luck on the ground,¡± I said. As if to punctuate my point, something large howled on the island below. George¡¯s eyes shifted left and right. ¡°Ah, well, we¡¯ll accept your hospitality. For now¡­¡± I rolled my eyes. I¡¯d just saved him, and he was already planning his inevitable betrayal and escape. Still, it was good fortune that we¡¯d gotten one of the rare talking boglins¡ªthough Ringo had grown his tribe enough that he¡¯d unlocked a hob-boglin variant. And while I didn¡¯t want to take full credit for that, it certainly hadn¡¯t happened before we¡¯d started trading with them and slowly introducing more tech into their society.. ¡°What were you doing out here, anyway?¡± The royal advisor perked up. ¡°Ah, my king sent me to find you. We captured one of the invaders!¡± So there was a guiding force behind the attacks. ¡°You did? Where are they?¡± One of the other boglins approached with a leather cover over something the size and shape of a fishbowl. He pulled it away to reveal a small, wicker cage¡ªwhich contained a creature that, if I¡¯m being honest, I had no idea what to make of it. It was smeared with dirt and grass, making it look like little more than a piece of peat with strangely muscular arms and legs. It held up a hand against the sudden light, and I heard a high-pitched cavalcade of what could only be dog-cussing in its native tongue. ¡°I have no idea what this is,¡± I said. ¡°But I know someone who should.¡± George snatched the cage away, which rattled the creature inside and renewed the string of foreign expletives. ¡°Then we should make all haste! Take me to them, at once. My king¡¯s life depends on it.¡± His king¡¯s life, and therefore, his own. But I left that bit unsaid. It took us an hour or so to limp back to the swamp village and dock at the tower. We were down two more boats, but the scrappers with their new gear and lights had managed to rebuff a few attacks by more crazed swamp creatures. I found Sourtooth working with Promo and Taquoho on a helicopter and had George show him the prisoner. The sour old orc sniffed down at the cage and laughed. The creature inside was just as peeved at the orc as it had been at us, and began making what I can only assume were rude gestures involving splayed fingers and vigorous up-and-down motions. ¡°Tis elves,¡± said Sourtooth. ¡°Burn down to cinders the swamp, you may wish, as the only way to be sure you¡¯ve got them all out.¡± ¡°No way,¡± I said. ¡°He speaks true,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°They have, on occasion, visited The City. And they are very difficult to persuade to leave once within the walls.¡± ¡°Elves?¡± I asked, raising an eyebrow. I looked down through the tiny bars of the cage. I must have got too close, because the little bastard put a fist in my eye. I recoiled, putting a hand over it. Sourtooth held out his hand for the cage, and then carried it over to one of the cisterns where he treated the creature to a deluge of water. When he was finished, he offered the cage back. With all the grime and moss and sticks washed away, sure as death and taxes, there was a six-inch tall pointy-eared man who was very wet and very cross. ¡°Naught seen one a¡¯fore, have you? Worry not, harmless once parted from their staves.¡± He laughed down as I rubbed my stinging eye. ¡°Well, mostly harmless.¡± ¡°Not in person,¡± I admitted. I ran a hand through my fur. ¡°I was just expecting¡­¡± I don¡¯t know what I was expecting, more Lord of the Rings and less Fudge Stripes, certainly. Though, that didn¡¯t fit the bill either. This looked more like a micronized dude-bro that would have been right at home in a scaled down version of a jungle commando movie from the 80¡¯s¡ªor at least the action-figure aisle at the toy store. The elf even had a little red bandana and close-cropped hair above his pointy ears. Now robbed of his camouflage, the System populated the level above his head at 32. 32. For this one little elf. He was at least as strong as an ifrit paladin, and the only things stronger that we¡¯d come across had been badlands beasts that required a whole convoy of war buggies and heavy weapons to best. The fact this tiny cage contained him was astounding. ¡°Lines up it does,¡± said Sourtooth. He scratched at his stubble. ¡°The attacks from stealth, strange behaviors of local beast and bug, and even your scrappers getting ambushed. Natural sneaks, are elves¡ªfor obvious reason, they seek not to fight on fair term. I wager their team numbers 6 strong, perhaps. Tis a number of significance to elves. 5 mages and a leader.¡± Only 6? I suppose that was a blessing, but it was hard to believe just 6 of these things had disrupted operations so much. ¡°Yeah, but why are they here?¡± I asked. Though, it did explain why the boglins had been attacked so viciously, if the other elves were trying to recover their comrade. The little elf gave me an answer I¡¯m sure would have been inappropriate if I¡¯d understood it. ¡°Wiped out the javeline, did you. When disrupted the trade of goblin ear, the elves took note, I¡¯d say.¡± He raised his eyebrows suggestively. ¡°Know you, what they do with it?¡± As if I could forget the rutter¡¯s words that had been burned into my brain whether I liked it or not. ¡°Ear to elf for make potent.¡± Make potent. We were their rhino horn. I shuddered, looking down at the little wretch. ¡°Came to get your fix from the source, yeah?¡± I leaned in. ¡°Or maybe came to find out what happened to your javeline?¡± The tiny creature lashed out through the thin bars of its cage, attempting to punch me. But this time, I was ready. ¡°Armstrong. Show this jerk what happened to the last people who came to my neck of the woods looking for goblin ears.¡± Armstrong licked his lips. ¡°My pleasure, boss!¡± They were consuming us. Turnabout was fair play, after all. Chapter 116 - Huntsville Hunters Chapter 116 - Huntsville Hunters After George calmed down about Armstrong eating his prisoner (mostly because George himself had wanted to eat him), he left to coordinate with the scrappers on the rescue mission for his king. I sat with Sourfang and Rufus to figure out our next move. I had tried to make peace with the javeline, perhaps naively, in an appeal to my better nature and make allies rather than enemies on Rava. I was less inclined to offer the elves that courtesy now that they¡¯d also greeted us with aggression. Once bitten, twice shy, after all. They and the humans that used goblin tongues for herbal stomach pain remedies could get stuffed as far as I cared. Especially if they never even bothered to try calcium bicarbonate as a first resort and went straight to the body parts of a sentient creature. Rufus, the Ifrit, and the orcs had proved that there were allies to be found and friendships to be forged on Rava. But none of them, it seemed, would come from the northwest coast where the men of Habberport sent pigs and elves to hunt us down. Even Rufus seemed reluctant to revisit the city. ¡°They may not have figured out exactly what I¡¯m up to out here,¡± he said. ¡°But they know the ceramics didn¡¯t come from the Ifrit. A goblin king has the prince worried, no doubt about it. I know you for a creature driven by knowledge and not of greed or hunger. But they will not see it this way. If the elves are here in force, it bodes ill. If they learn you¡¯re consorting with, well¡­¡± Rufus glanced at Sourtooth, who scowled. ¡°They have to be dealt with,¡± I agreed, heading off the potential for insult. I knew Rufus didn¡¯t have a positive impression of the orcs. Which made sense. He was a trader and a merchant, and they were a society of moneyless raiders. The old orc grumbled under his breath before speaking up. ¡°My lads you¡¯ll need, should you wish a good show against this menace,¡± said Sourtooth. The now empty cage lay discarded and forgotten. I looked up at the old orc. ¡°Because you¡¯re good at hunting elves?¡± ¡°Because we¡¯re good at hunting beasts. What you described is elf magic. A controlling swarm whose venom addles mind and tugs nerve. They will command the beasts of the bog to multiply their strength. I¡¯ll send word to the Dawn as well. Lura Sunstrider may spare hunters to vouchsafe your promise.¡± I nodded. ¡°First things first, Rufus. I don¡¯t want you caught up in this. I don¡¯t know exactly how their swarms work, but I do know goblins are immune to their venom. What about orcs?¡± I turned to Sourtooth. ¡°Immune to mind-magic. Too headstrong, we, to be swayed by wiggled fingers and fancy words¡ªbe they magic or manners.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. I turned back to Rufus. ¡°Can you say the same?¡± Rufus looked askance. ¡°I have some natural resistance skills to venom. Badger.¡± ¡°But not outright immunity?¡± He shook his head. ¡°Then you¡¯re better off at Village Apollo¡ªor, better yet, would you take a canoneer and some ifrit back to the City of Brass with a shipment of ceramics? We have to plead our case, and we can¡¯t do that if it looks like we¡¯re holding the exiles hostage. The longer we delay, the longer the idea that we¡¯re kidnappers has to cement in their head. Er¡­¡± They didn¡¯t have heads. Smolder in their thoughts, maybe? Too many human colloquialisms referenced body parts that didn¡¯t apply to the ifrit.. ¡°I can do that,¡± said Rufus. ¡°But I can¡¯t promise you the king will listen. I¡¯ll catch the next supply run back to the bluff.¡± The wild-marked dwarf pushed to his feet and swung his oversized bag up onto his back. ¡°Fare well, and good luck, o¡¯ king. I hope to return with good news and potential profits.¡± I leaned back. ¡°There¡¯s still the elves. What¡¯s their end-state, here?¡± ¡°That¡¯s easy, boss,¡± said Armstrong. ¡°They want you.¡± I raised an eyebrow, but Sourtooth nodded. ¡°Right your scrapper is. They seek the renewed trade of goblin ear¡ªa practice which will return only with your capture. Alive, at that, since killing you means killing too, their source of what they seek.¡± ¡°I¡¯m the proverbial golden goose,¡± I said. ¡°So they want to keep the population in check, and me off in a cage somewhere I can¡¯t influence things. Attacking our infrastructure draws us out, forces us to waste time, material, and goblin lives. They¡¯re trying to spread us thin.¡± ¡°Divide and conquer,¡± said Sourtooth. ¡°We have a similar strategy where I¡¯m from. But we need a strong foothold.¡± I thought for a moment. ¡°Does that mean I should stay here?¡± Sourtooth shook his head. ¡°Staying still lets them figure out where you are and mount a mission to take you¡ªplaying to their strengths. Best stay mobile. Your airships and choppers they are equipped to deal with not. They will have somewhere secure out of which to sortie.¡± ¡°Ringo¡¯s island, Daytona,¡± I said, thinking of the beast defenders on the beaches and the swarm that rose from the fort to attack us. ¡°It still has walls and infrastructure. It can be defended, and if we take it, it gives us a staging point for aircraft and watercraft to defend against Habberport¡¯s next push. We¡¯ll hit that and put Ringo back in his hall. We need to take the fight to the elves before they penetrate the forest. It¡¯s bad enough that they¡¯re hampering the harvest of kerosene and iron. If they made it on top of the bluff, they could do real damage.¡± ¡°Wings, they¡¯d need,¡± said Sourtooth. ¡°Both for the bluff and your flying fortresses. Great hawks and glide-paws in the bog will get them over your walls and onto the deck. But suited to fighting your weapons of smoke and iron bullets, are neither. They will need something more.¡± ¡°Ok, so we start clearing out airborne predators around Huntsville,¡± I said. ¡°The scrapper patrol boats can handle that. Especially now that we¡¯ve got bug zappers. With some extra orc muscle along, the bewitched elf animals will have a blunted impact.¡± Which still left the problem of the elves themselves. Sending out swarms and familiars left the little creatures out of the firing lane. I needed to drive the little buggers into the light where they could be stomped. But we had our next step. I looked up at the docked airship, where I¡¯d be coordinating the searches and offensives. It did offer a solid logistical platform¡ªan eagle-eyed view of the swamp from which to direct efforts. But two-way communication still hampered us. I whistled for a runner. A goblin trotted up. ¡°Have Sally join me on the airship, tell her to bring magnets and wires.¡± Chapter 117 - Spark of Ingenuity Chapter 117 - Spark of Ingenuity I sat up in the cuddle puddle. A new variant? What was the milestone? Why 942? Why not 1,000? Fair point. What are the choices? Are you serious! Now you¡¯re offering me agriculture? After I traipsed up and down the badlands?! Literally days after I¡¯ve already solved the food crisis? Now I know you¡¯re doing this on purpose. I groaned and rubbed my face. This was typical of System. Though, agriculture was still useful even with hunting rights, even if it didn¡¯t pay off for months. Just how many variants are in this pool? Ok. Rephrasing the question, then. I knew there were variant triggers based on both tribe size and accomplishments. The choice for canoneers or partizans had come from beating the javeline, and the choice for zealots had come from forcefully assimilating a tribe using a lieutenant instead of my natural goblin king mojo. What triggered the taskmaster option? And the wranglers? The Igni were obviously from the furnaces. What about Scrappers? We¡¯ve seen them in other tribes as well. What if tribes don¡¯t have a king to choose? Interesting. Explained why scrappers were so common. I bet the other tribes got them from brushing up against the javeline. There were definitely rutters and maulers above level 10. What¡¯s my other choice?Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! I straightened. Friggen radio goblins? You enjoy making these choices as difficult as possible, don¡¯t you? Ugh. This was agonizing. But at least System hadn¡¯t sprung the choice on me while I was drunk again. Mushrooms as a staple food source made a lot of sense¡ªthey could grow vertically, thrived in forests, and didn¡¯t need tilled land. All the timber near the village would potentially turn into food-producing resource. But that was also timber we were chopping as fast as Buzz¡¯ axe and saw teams could cut and strip. Still, nearly every aspect of equipment in the industrial revolution and beyond required electrical components. The ifrit could fill some shortfalls where computing power would have bridged gaps on earth, but the ifrit couldn¡¯t make a transistor. The goblins could blow glass for bulbs, but only a select few of Sally¡¯s engineers actually understood that the wires hooked to a generator were making them glow. The tech tree was simply becoming beyond the grasp of non-variants. At the end of the day, we¡¯ve solved (or at least deferred) our food problem. What we suffered from right now was a communication gap to communicate between both long and short distances. A variant specialized in electricity with some built-in radio functionality would help us cover that and be critical when it came to actually putting together the compressors needed for jet and rocket aircraft¡ªplus everything else that relied on electricity. I rubbed my eyes. Give me the sparkers. <21 goblin sparkers have been added to your tribe> I pulled myself from the sleeping mound and made my way out to the main courtyard at Huntsville. The airship, Gemini, gently swayed in the tower mooring. The yard was otherwise quiet, except the scrappers and wranglers on the night watch, making sure bog creatures, or now elves, didn¡¯t come over or through the walls. I thought about what Sourtooth said¡ªthat they¡¯d be looking for flying creatures. Hawks and bats and such. I was just glad the night haunts hadn¡¯t followed us west. Slowly, the tribe came awake, stumbling out of the sleeping towers and flopping onto the ground, where they picked themselves up and wandered to a scat pile to relieve themselves of what remained of dinner. It wasn¡¯t long before I saw my first sparker make an appearance. They were wide-eyed, with tufts of long white fur at the tops of their heads and a thicket of whiskers on their cheeks. With those tufts, they looked a little as though they¡¯d been struck by lightning, themselves. I called one over, and her eyes lit up as she recognized me. ¡°Welcome to the tribe,¡± I said. ¡°Are you ready to get to work?¡± She chittered excitedly in place. ¡°Do you understand the relationships behind electromagnets and current generation?¡± The sparker thought for a moment, then opened her mouth. She ran her claws across her whiskers, and a sound like an electric guitar riff issued out. ¡°I¡­¡± I just stopped and stared. ¡°That¡¯s amazing. But can you speak?¡± The sparker tilted her head at me, uncomprehending. Uh oh. System! You said this variant was speech-capable!¡± What good is a radio goblin that can¡¯t relay messages? Is there even a taskmaster chief for these guys? I knew what I¡¯d find there. Damn, damn, damn. System was definitely doing this on purpose. And enjoying every second of it. I ran my hands over my face and stalked over to the cistern to stand under the cold water for a minute. Behind me, I could hear more strumming, with a few answering calls here and there. I¡¯d created metal-head goblins that brought their own instruments. And I¡¯d given up agriculture to do it. Shut it, System! Still, it wasn¡¯t a complete disaster. They were skilled at working with electricity and that was a critical ability for the future of the tribe. I walked back to the base of the sleeping tower, where several of the sparkers had joined an impromptu concert of sorts. They swayed back and forth as they strummed whiskers at each other. Other goblins were starting to gather around and make their best impression, though it sounded more like a bunch of cats in heat. The wave of understanding swept quickly through the crowd. I saw several glistening eyes. Natural metal-heads. Even the orcs were nodding and stomping along to the beat. ¡°Listen up,¡± I said, cutting off the musicians. ¡°We¡¯ve still got boglins to find, and elves to fight. And a day¡¯s worth of light to work by. Let¡¯s get cracking.¡± A cheer went up in the camp, backed by a wicked guitar riff. Chapter 118 - Apocalypse Drow Chapter 118 - Apocalypse Drow George was hesitant at first to reveal the location of King Ringo. He trusted us about as much as I trusted him, after all. But ultimately, we were an uncertainty in our loyalties, while he knew exactly where the elves stood. Tribe Apollo was the lesser of two evils. As a boglin, he slept mostly during the day and was most active at dusk and dawn. By the time he woke back up, I¡¯d had more choppers brought over from the main bluff to supplement the fan boats and was in the process of retrofitting them to fight the elves. Recoilless rifles weren¡¯t going to do us much good against anything smaller than a thundercleave, so I pulled them off and replaced them. I¡¯d also put a series of live wires around the outside of the frame to make a sort of anti-bug cage to help deter the red swarms the elves commanded. The forges and furnaces went full-blast (sometimes literally) all day, pumping out glass, iron, and ceramic. The goblins were a manic workforce the likes of which existed nowhere on Earth, and Sally had brought over dozens more of her engineers to make use of the new materials. Huntsville was so packed that we began to run out of space. The sparkers, like the canoneers, it seemed, were natural artists. It wasn¡¯t long before all the choppers were festooned with tribal tech tree imagery and nose art of various forest and badlands beast jaws, of which I thoroughly approved. When it came to actually working with electricity, they were about the best wire rats I could have asked for, wriggling through the tightest spaces to route cabling and their saliva worked as a natural conductive adhesive so they didn¡¯t even need solder. I wish I¡¯d had about a dozen of them back home on Earth. I¡¯d set Sally to task, as well, building a basic functioning radio transmitter using diagrams rigged up by a canoneer, but she hadn¡¯t unlocked anything by the time we were ready to push out with the boats and helicopters. We¡¯d have to go one more night without them. Buzz¡¯ assigned sparkers had already rigged Huntsville with inner and outer lighting, including several search-light batteries¡ªwhich is how we caught the attack on our north wall coming. A cry of alarm went out as I was securing fast one of the final connections on a chopper, with a goblin sentry banging on an iron bell, and then the boom of a wall-mounted gun going off. A few moments later, something big crashed into the gate on that side. Half the tribe flinched and looked at me. I spun my finger in the air. ¡°Mount up!¡± I shouted. The goblins hooted and hollered, running to boats at the canal and climbing aboard choppers. Engines revved to life. I myself mounted up in the chopper I¡¯d been working on, and for once, Armstrong didn¡¯t complain. I guess the new anti-elf countermeasures were enough that he thought I¡¯d be as safe in a chopper as I was on Gemini. Or maybe he just wanted to man the new guns. Either way, I pulled on the ear cups, and we lifted off. Without the multi-stage missile and the recoilless rifle magazines, these choppers were significantly lighter. Our engines were getting more efficient as well¡ªeven if they did vibrate twice as violently in lockstep with their increased horsepower. An ifrit in the engine kept it running smooth and clean¡ªfor goblin tech, anyway, so I was reasonably sure it wouldn¡¯t explode. We rose above the walls and I dipped forward at the same time the portcullis hauled up and boats began to speed out of the waterway. Armstrong trained the new weapons down, and their linked spotlights illuminated the hulking form of a croc-knocker alpha and several of its smaller kin, striking the gate with coordinated shots from their bulbous tongues¡ªtoo coordinated to be the natural instinct of the beasts, and they¡¯d come further up out of the water than I¡¯d ever seen them before. The elves¡¯ magic was at play, here. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Defenders at the top of the wall fired down at them with rifles and tesla wasp blowguns, as well as slingers loaded with nets. The crocs started returning fire with their knockers. I saw multiple goblins struck as the alpha hit the battlements with a tongue that must have had a 50-kilo lump of iron in it. The fortifications literally shattered under its assault, sending goblins flying. Sourtooth appeared on the rampart, barking orders and rallying the defenders. His orcs were experienced beast hunters, and they started throwing javelins and heavy poppers down at the attackers. But it seemed like the croc-knockers were focused more on keeping the defenders¡¯ heads down than breaking the gate. What¡¯s more, I saw other beasts behind. Two of the heavy lizard primates towed ballistas behind them, dragging the wooden weapons through the mud, with bolts that would punch right through the wooden gates. The implication that the elves could have their mind-controlled minions use devices was troubling, at best. Where¡¯s the elf? I wondered, scanning. The stealthy invaders wouldn¡¯t readily show themselves¡ªit was only by providence that the boglins had managed to capture one. Still, our primary concern was those siege weapons. I tilted us down. ¡°Light ¡®em up, Armstrong!¡± I shouted into the sound-powered handset. My scrapper chief revved up the generator tied to his weapon. A pair of compression pumps began to spin, forcing air through a set of nozzles on the front. As we dipped low on our attack run, He kicked on a secondary pump which began to feed fuel into the compressors. They kicked on, pulling in even more air and fuel. The stream of aerosolized fuel met with a set of sparking live wires and ignited, sending a helical jet of flaming gas spiraling down to the swamp floor. It is now, System! If using laminar flow principles to turn a primitive turbine engine into a goblin flamethrower wasn¡¯t maximizing the potential of the Goblin Tech Tree, I don¡¯t know what was. The first ballista burst into flame, along with the lizard who towed it. The other choppers opened up as well, spraying fire down in a flare of flame that turned night to day. ¡°Boss, we got ¡®em!¡± We sailed past the ballista. I tossed a glance over my shoulder at the wreckage and saw a red wedge climbing skyward from the lizards. ¡°Heads up!¡± I shouted. I banked us around, pulling up on the collective pitch to tighten the turn, and then hauled back on the cyclic so that we flew in reverse. I had to trust that we were above the treeline, but it gave Armstrong a clear shot at the swarm giving chase. He swept his beam through the swarm, which actively tried to dodge with some success. Roasted, flaming bugs fell by the thousands, but it kept coming on. As it got close, I yanked down a toggle on my dash, and an electric buzz and snap started to fill the air, along with the smell of ozone overpowering even the smoldering fuel fire. I pulled down my new goggles as the bugs hit us, sparking against the live wiring on the outside of the chopper. More still splashed against my goggles, and I had to wipe away red goo. One of the sparkers climbed onto the outside of the chopper and shorted himself between two live wires. He went stock-rigid, and electric arcs started climbing between the tines of his whiskers like a Jacob¡¯s ladder. Every bug near him popped with a tiny flash, like hitting a humanoid (goblinoid?) bug zapper. Armstrong cheered and then coughed as he inhaled a dozen red bugs. I jammed the stick full forward and reversed our course, now plowing through the swarm like an icebreaker through a frozen fjord with our electrified sparker prow. The swarm parted around us, sizzling and popping. More still were chewed up by the rotor blades, which started to struggle as carapace and bug juice crunched through their moving parts. We bifurcated the swarm and exited out the other side of the decimated magic bugs, craft filthy and dripping. The sparker turned around and climbed back into the craft, white grin the only spot on him that wasn¡¯t covered in blackened, sizzling husks. He opened his mouth and strummed his fingers over his whiskers. Take that, tiny bastards! I thought. They were going to need more than bugs and lizards to get the best of Tribe Apollo. ¡°Boss! The village!¡± called Armstrong. I wheeled us around, bringing Huntsville into my field of view¡ªand my stomach dropped. Chapter 119 – Like a Bat out of Hell Chapter 119 ¨C Like a Bat out of Hell Fire at Huntsville wasn¡¯t unusual. In an outpost dedicated to fuel production and iron refining, it was really a mainstay of the settlement. But the airship dock had been built to be isolated from the worst of it. Well, that didn¡¯t seem to matter, as the deck of Gemini was burning, and so was the rigging, even as the scat braziers went full-blast, pumping her envelope with hot air to strain her against the stressed and smoldering mooring. I dipped the cyclic forward. Not really sure what I¡¯d do when I got there, I still pushed us forward. The airships were too important¡ªnot only for transportation and exploration, but for power projection. We had to do something. But even as I watched, a series of small explosions rippled across the deck, illuminating the trio of tiny silhouettes onboard. Elves. I grit my teeth. ¡°Armstrong. Target the deck.¡± A burst of flame twisted from the front of the chopper as my scrapper chief checked the nozzles clear on his burn¡¯em. The three elven commandos, having done their sabotage, leapt from the deck and were caught by flock of swamp bats, who carried them out into the night. I turned the chopper after them, giving chase. The goblins aboard took potshots at the bats, but their erratic flight and fluttering wings made them evasive. The elves themselves weren¡¯t helpless either. Encased in their moss disguises, I couldn¡¯t see what level they were. But even as the bats flew, the elves waved small wooden staffs at us, and emerald light began to shoot across the distance. One of them struck the front of the chopper, and a mass of thorned vines and creepers burst from the site of impact, strong enough to warp the metal of the frame and jam up the mount for the burn¡¯em. Armstrong shouted as he pulled back but grabbed his cleaver and began hacking away at the growth. Magic. Combat magic. The first I¡¯d seen. Sourtooth had warned me that the elves were skilled mages. Beside us, another emerald ray hit the the rotor mast of another helicopter, and the rotor tore itself apart in mid-air. Some of the goblins bailed, but not all of them managed to make it out before the helicopter hit the ground. Yikes. If we took a hit like that, we¡¯d be down, too. I pulled the throttle wide open, pushing the engine RPMs to dangerous limits as the aircraft tried to shake itself apart. ¡°Armstrong, roast ¡®em!¡± Armstrong finished pulling the last of the creepers out of the gun mount and stuffed them into his mouth. He chewed the thorny vines as he angled the flamethrower up. The jet of flame shot out, scorching a jet of fuel that forced the bats out of cohesion. Half the flock carried one elf north, the other split east with the other pair. I yanked my stick to the right, following the bats that had flown east. Several choppers followed me, but at least 3 went after the northward bats. The elves we chased still had more tricks up their sleeves. He waved his stick, and a thick cloud of bubbling green mist unfolded between us. Every goblin instinct in me screamed, and I banked us hard. Armstrong hit the cloud with his flames, and they diffused and sputtered within it. Passing by, I got a whiff of some cold gas that made my nose go numb, and I shuddered. We¡¯d closed the difference, somewhat, despite the elves¡¯ tricks. One of my riflemen managed to wing the bat the creature rode on, and the elf tumbled off, to then be swooped up by a replacement. I grit my teeth. They were experts at controlling these animals. I didn¡¯t know what limitations (if any) their magic had, either. But I knew the limits of our machines. The engine behind me rattled and shook, belching back, pungent smoke out over the swamp. Peat bog began to give way to the tops of the thick trees as we pursued the elves east. I didn¡¯t dare let up on the throttle, but I also didn¡¯t know how much longer the engine would hold out. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. More rockettes lanced out from the goblins poking their weapons through the frame of the chopper. I saw several more of the large bog bats taken out. The elves continued bounding from back-to-back, launching green rays at us that I made every effort to dodge. One of my other choppers closed in from the left, boxing them in. Either the engines would give out or the elves would run out of bats. A shadow passed over us, and I glanced up at the broad wings silhouetted against the moon and grinned. With a glider from the bluff come to intercept, the elves were cooked. I grabbed the handset. ¡°Signal the planes to cut off their escape route. Armstrong! Lay it on ¡®em, keep their focus on us!¡± Armstrong kept the fire on, but the weapon sputtered and spat flaming droplets. ¡°We¡¯re outta juice, boss!¡± ¡°We¡¯ve still got rifles.¡± My scrapper chief let go of the burn¡¯em and pulled his rifle from where he¡¯d jammed it He lined it up, and the crack of the double barrels sent a pair of rockettes spiraling towards his target. Another bat went down, and they were running out of animals. One of the emerald rays hit the chopper on our right, square in the cockpit. It veered off, spiraling as the goblins inside were assaulted with the thorny vines. On the left, our other wingmate ran out of juice for his turbine pump burn¡¯em, as well. And then one of our goblins finally managed an impossible feat of goblin marksmanship. They hit one of the elves square center mass, and the tiny form was jerked completely off the bat, tumbling through the air. The other shouted, sounding like a pitched-down TV chipmunk, and reached out his hand to his companion. One down, one to go. Behind me, the engine struggled, sputtering. I could feel the heat of it through the firewall. ¡°Finish him off!¡± I shouted. Armstrong took aim at the last of the elves and started to line up his shot. Before he could, a shadow swept over us and something crashed into the waning flock of bats. I was confused for a moment, but my crew started to panic immediately. Then I realized the wings didn¡¯t belong to a glider after all. We¡¯d flown back into the forest. At night. ¡°Night haunts!¡± shouted Armstrong. Ahead of us, the flying predator shredded what was left of the bats. I saw the tiny form of the elf in free-fall toward the forest. At first I thought he was dead, and then I saw a tiny, olive-colored canopy open up and swore. The little jerk had a parachute! I yanked back on the controls, but the night haunt was already banking around toward us. Shots from the rifles only made it mad, and it latched onto the side of the chopper. Its weight threatened to pull us over, and it screamed as the shock wires bit into it. Quick as lightning, it snapped up one of the rifle-toting goblins and flung it out into the night, before launching itself off. I tried to track it, but it was so fast, and hard to see in the failing light. It hit us again from the left side, and then rockettes started to impact the chopper from our wingmate trying to intercede. Several struck the night haunt, but not before it speared two goblins with its sword-like beak. On the ground we could swarm and overwhelm night haunts, but the night sky was their domain, and we¡¯d chased the elf into it. I spotted two more shadows overhead against Raphina¡¯s reflected light and grit my teeth. The creatures were too swift and too nimble for the helicopters to handle, and the crews were too small to deal with the higher-level predator. One of them stooped and struck the other helicopter in a surge of sparks and squawking goblins. I saw the flash of tesla spears as they tried to force it off the dangerously unbalanced aircraft. Hauling on the cyclic, I wheeled us around. ¡°Retreat!¡± I called. ¡°Signal the retreat!¡± The night haunts continued to harry us as we fled back to Huntsville. We tried to respond, but all in all, by the time we reached the bog, we¡¯d lost a dozen more goblins to hit and run attacks, being completely outmaneuvered. The creatures broke off their pursuit, heading back into the woodlands. No matter how big the tribe grew, no matter the advances we made, the vast majority of the tribe was still level 1 creatures that were little more than snacks to the predators of Rava, and the slow, bumbling helicopters might as well have been a dinner platter. We owned the sky during the day, but it was still a night haunt¡¯s world when the sun was down. We couldn¡¯t fight them like this¡ªespecially not multiples. Silver linings, we¡¯d at least taken out another of the elves. Sourtooth had said they¡¯d have come in a team of 6, which meant there were only four left¡ªone of which was now isolated somewhere in the woods between Huntsville and Village Apollo. Maybe the other chopper team had gotten lucky with their pursuit of the other elf, but I wasn¡¯t counting on it. Chapter 120 – Radio Free Sparker Chapter 120 ¨C Radio Free Sparker Limping our way back to Huntsville, we were treated to an aerial view of the smoldering husk of our once-great and short-lived airship, Gemini. Her canvas envelope was still mostly in one piece¡ªif burnt. Possibly we might be able to salvage it, or at least enough of the sailcloth to make a smaller version. But just from this attack, we were down an airship, several helicopters, and dozens of goblins. But we¡¯d taken out another elf. And we still had work to do. I circled the town and brought the struggling, beaten helicopter down in the southeast corner of the yard near the forges. I got out and tried to wiped the splatter out of my fur before giving up and taking a dunk under the cistern. Armstrong simply pulled out bug guts and fur in seemingly equal measures and it all went into his mouth. Sourtooth found us there, brace of ball-tipped javelins close to hand. I nodded to them. ¡°What are those?¡± ¡°Elf blunts,¡± he said. ¡°An elf would make a fine gift, if alive, one I can take. That your boglin friends managed it, a wonder it is. A king have they, said the one called George. True?¡± I nodded. ¡°True.¡± ¡°And you suffer this wretched creature to live?¡± I shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s mostly harmless.¡± ¡°Captured King Apollo once, he did,¡± said Armstrong. ¡°Sort of,¡± I admitted. Sourtooth raised an eyebrow. ¡°They hadn¡¯t invented locks or even proper cages. I could have left¡ªbut the swamp was too dangerous on my own. Ringo even gave us a few secrets to help manage it.¡± Armstrong continued, mouth full, ¡°The boss sort¡¯a set ¡®im aflame and scarpered.¡± ¡°You did what?¡± I shrugged. ¡°Relations actually improved somewhat after that. We¡¯ve helped them out from time to time.¡± ¡°A strange kinship, have you,¡± said Sourtooth, shaking his head. ¡°Tis typical not, for a goblin king such a way to act. But then, so too is it queer to ride the wind on strange artifice.¡± I grinned. ¡°Regretting your decision to come with us?¡± I asked. Sourtooth spat on the ground. ¡°I regret every crooked decision that marked my twisted path through life, o¡¯ king. I am architect and mason both of mine own tower of follies, ever mounting may it be.¡± Well, at least the tart old orc took responsibility for his sourness. The air group that had gone north came in for a landing, so overgrown with vines and creepers that they looked as though they¡¯d donned the elf camouflage themselves. After they reported, I sent them back to start repairing their craft. The other chopper hadn¡¯t managed to take out the third elf. He¡¯d gone to ground in the swamp, evading the burn¡¯em crews and the search lights. The stealth suits they wore made them effectively invisible in natural environments, while able to strike back against both the boats and the choppers from range. Still, if Sourtooth¡¯s guess was right, there were at least 3 elves still at large in the swamp and now 1 in the forest. They¡¯d shown their hands, and we could put up a fair fight. The only issue was the elves were clearly not the type to fight fair. I probably wouldn¡¯t if I was their size, either. Though, as a goblin, I wasn¡¯t exactly physically imposing myself. I shook my head. ¡°Shame about Gemini. I wonder why they wanted it gone so badly.¡± ¡°Like, they thought, to find you aboard, I¡¯d say,¡± said Sourtooth. ¡°Saw you aboard through their familiars and assumed it to be your personal vessel.¡± Armstrong nodded in agreement. ¡°Right,¡± I said, shaking the last of the cistern water out of my fur. ¡°They¡¯re hunting me. Can¡¯t stay in one place for too long, then.¡± I considered. ¡°And we can¡¯t have them air-dropping in. That¡¯s our thing. Send your boat boys to collect Ringo. And tell the scrapper crews to start destroying any bat or hawk nest they find in the swamp. I want to clip the elves¡¯ wings. Anything large enough to carry an elf over the walls, I want it on a cook spit.¡± Armstrong saluted and ran off. ¡°What will you do now?¡± asked Sourtooth. ¡°We can¡¯t keep communicating with lights and flags and flares,¡± I said. ¡°I want to build a version of the keeper beads.¡± The old orc tilted his head. ¡°Shaman magic, are the beads. Goblins can use them not.¡± ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°But there¡¯s other ways to pass messages.¡± Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. I left Sourtooth and went to find Sally with her engineers. Luckily, she hadn¡¯t been aboard the airship when the elves sabotaged it, but she wasn¡¯t happy about being stranded in Huntsville¡ªnot that she¡¯d tell you outright. But she had a grumpy aura about her, and she squawked and chittered at her engineers as they went through iterations of the simple radio designs I¡¯d given them. She, herself, had several scorch-marks on her fur from working with the electric motors and basic transducers. I started poking through the projects, seeing what looked close and what went on a completely wild goose chase. The audio diaphragms from the sound-powered phones were the hardest part, mechanically speaking. And that was done already. But the engineers still struggled with anything to do with electricity¡ªand the sparkers were more like Frankensteins than Einsteins. Electricity had a tendency to arc through their whiskers and onto the nearest unfortunate goblin, which would invariably start a fight, which the rest would stop to either watch, cheer on, or pile into. Eventually I ran out of energy watching the antics, stuffed some whistler jerky down my gullet, and passed out in the tower. * * * Shut it, System. Chapter 121 - Daytona Beachhead Chapter 121 - Daytona Beachhead The airship dock certainly looked empty without Gemini docked there. I watched the goblins break down what was left of her for firewood while the canvas was folded and hauled away on the back of a flatbed buggy. The elves were still out there, and I accompanied the scrappers on the daytime water patrol to Daytona Island. Sourtooth came along as well, with his blunted spears, hoping to bag himself an elf to send home¡ªthough the logistics of transporting it remained something of a mystery to me. Ringo came along, uncertain on the prosthetics I¡¯d gifted him. But there simply wasn¡¯t room on one of the boats for several goblins to manage his high chair¡ªwhich he¡¯d lost anyway. He wobbled around the deck, uncertain and unhappy¡ªdespite the fact we were racing to liberate his island fortress. ¡°Hold up!¡± I called. The ifrit managing the engine pulled up and cut the throttle. I pointed up to a low-hanging tree. ¡°There.¡± Armstrong stepped up to the gunwale with a nozzle in his hand. He pointed it up to the bottom of the tree and squeezed the lever. A gout of flame burst out the tip and engulfed the bat nest in the tree. Several goblins leapt onto the shore, running around the small island with their mouths open waiting to catch the pre-barbequed creatures as they fell from the branches. No sense letting the meat go to waste. I didn¡¯t like having to burn the nests. The bats and birds hadn¡¯t done anything to me, but left as they were, each one was potentially a weapon for the remaining elves. And that wasn¡¯t something we could contend with. Beside me, one of the sparkers went rigid and opened his mouth. ¡°King Apollo, boat 3, here. Coming up on the beach now.¡± I grabbed the handset and cranked a lever to raise up a shortwave antenna. ¡°Copy, boat 3. Any sign of the elves?¡± ¡°Crocs and big-jaws, none of ¡®em fightin¡¯. But they seen us.¡± Big-jaws were what we¡¯d taken to calling the lizards that were closer in form and function to primates than they were to the crocs. They were strong, fast, and vicious¡ªwhich was why the elves had taken them. ¡°Tell them to get off my island!¡± shrieked Ringo from behind me. ¡°I made it, they can¡¯t have it!¡± I shot him a look and turned back to the handset. ¡°Alright, be careful. Maintain a perimeter until we get there.¡± I hung up the transmitter and stowed the antenna. The elves had attacked Daytona and forced Ringo out. They had attacked Huntsville, too, but found it a much tougher nut to crack. I don¡¯t know what they had been expecting, but it definitely hadn¡¯t been goblins in helicopters with flamethrowers and rifles. Not after fighting Ringo¡¯s boglins with simple boats and tesla-wasp spears. Now, we had the initiative. The elves had taken Daytona because it represented an important staging ground in the swamp. Now I wanted it for the same reason. Somewhere to our west, I heard the squawk of birds and saw a column of smoke rising. One of our other boats had taken out a nest. I waved to the ifrit, who pushes us away from the island as the goblins ashore scrambled to get back on board. We rejoined two other boats on our way to meet up with the rest of the force headed toward Daytona. It wasn¡¯t long before we spotted it. The dilapidated fortress rose out of the swamp as we approached, singed wall and platform rose out of the swap on stilts. The screw-pump on Ringo¡¯s personal icky-slicky extractor still spun¡ªa product of the slightly-shredded windmill at the apex powering the device he¡¯d learned to make from us. A sheen of oil spread across the surface of the water from where it overflowed from the collector. Wasted. Sure enough, crocs dipped below the surface as we approached, and I saw several sets of eyes on the platform itself, as well as inside the keep. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. I pulled out the radio transmitter. ¡°Remember,¡± I said. ¡°No fire, no sparks on the lowest level of the platform or in the water. We don¡¯t want to lose the derrick, and we don¡¯t want it setting fire to the keep.¡± ¡°Boss, incoming,¡± said Armstrong. ¡°I see ¡®em,¡± I said, eyeing the shadows underneath the surface of the water. ¡°Keep us out of the sheen. Prepare to repel!¡± Around me, goblins prepped rifles and tesla prods. We were as prepared as we could be when the coordinated croc-knockers came out of the water from all directions, attempting to get aboard as they struck with their prills. My goblins struck back weapons buzzing as they shocked the thick skin of the swamp monsters. The creatures roared, but the shock sticks were more of a deterrent than a lethal weapon, and monsters under the effects of the red swarms couldn¡¯t be deterred. But they could be slowed long enough for the big guns to draw a bead. BOOM! One of the recoilless rifles went off and a croc fell back off the boat, sizzling hole where its middle ought to be. More shots followed, even as the melee intensified. Orc iron tips in the hands of totem-empowered hunters were able to penetrate the croc hide, and another went down looking like a pincushion. Meanwhile, two of the boats surged forward and dropped front ramps onto the derrick. As soon as we were free, our ifrit put on a burst of speed and butted us up against the derrick. ¡°No fire from here on out!¡± I reminded them. The scrappers stormed aboard the derrick, shouting and cheering. Most of them had upgraded their cleavers to orc metal or steel variants that fared much better against the thickened hide and scales of swamp creatures than did brittle ceramic tips. Sourtooth swapped his own blunted spears for ones tipped in iron and limped into the fray with other members of The Flock. On the derrick, two of the big-jaws dropped down into the mix, swinging and slashing and snapping. I saw a big-jaw go down beneath the blades of two large scrappers, and then Sourtooth drove his spear completely through another before punching it over the edge of the platform. My scrappers began to push their way up, fighting for possession of the platform. Even hampered by the limitation of not being able to use poppers or firearms, they gained ground. Sourtooth, experienced in fighting, coordinated their movement as if they were a crack hunting team. And the two other members of the Flock that he¡¯d brought with him warded the sides of the platform with spears, keeping additional crocs from pulling themselves aboard. I made to push along with them, but one look at my secretive service told me I was close enough to the action. Armstrong made a point of putting one hand on the back of my plate vest, just to make sure I didn¡¯t get any heroic ideas. Fine. I could man the radio, at least. I picked up the handset. ¡°Team 2, you¡¯re up!¡± The other team of boats kicked their engines, but instead of heading for the island where several creatures waited, they formed a line in the water between the derrick and the beaches. Not a moment too soon, either, as emerald light began to shine under the water, and grasping creepers snapped out from beneath the surface at where the boats would have been. On the top of the Daytona wall, I spotted the silhouette of the elves moving¡ªbut it was hard to stay focused on them, as though enchanted in such a way that my eyes refused to focus. But they weren¡¯t in a natural environment. ¡°Team 3! The elves have shown themselves!¡± The drone of helicopter blades mounted. A handful of choppers crested the tree-line, flying low and fast. Emerald lances started to shoot out of the island fortress at the attackers, who shot back with underslung rifles as their occupants threw poppers inside the fort. Fortifications started to burst, and the elves were forced to put their heads down. A few poppers landed on the beach between us and the keep. ¡°Watch those poppers!¡± I shouted. ¡°Not too close to the kerosene!¡± A screech brought my attention around, and I spotted a flock of birds too coordinated to be natural angling toward the fleet of helicopters, intent on bringing down the fleet. A big one. We¡¯d destroyed what we could, but apparently the bite-sized bastards had come prepared. A swarm of wings flapped toward us¡ªbats and birds of all sizes and breed. The elves had already shown they didn¡¯t have to destroy choppers outright to bring them down. They just had to distract or delay them long enough to choke out motors or rotors with creeping vines. They¡¯d been hiding this fleet in reserve, waiting for us, apparently. Well, when it came to airspace superiority, I had a little surprise in store for the elves, as well. Chapter 122 - Invasion Chapter 122 - Invasion A heavier, wider boat came up behind us, and two of the boats moved off the derrick to make room. Even though we were still actively fighting aboard the extractor, a group of igni hauled equipment off the flat-bottom¡ªeach with the heavy barrel of a modified reckless rifle cradled in their arms. They climbed up to the top level, avoiding the thickest of the fighting, and got the top of the platform where they began to set up. Rather than pointing their rifles over at the island, they pointed them up and began firing off charges that burst mid-air after a short delay, taking chunks out of the swarm, and only occasionally hitting one of our own aircraft. Meanwhile, a wider boat came up from behind us. The heavy, twin-motor barge bumped up against the derrick, and the top hatch opened. Over 100 goblins shrieked out war cries as they began to flow up the outside of the derrick. As they reached the top, they pulled gliders out, unfurled them, and leapt off the top of the platform to catch the wind. What was left of the elf-controlled swarm of flyers harried them, tearing hide and paper wings and dumping goblins into the water by the handful where they were grabbed by the magic traps the elves had laid and dragged under, or snapped up by croc-knockers. But the majority made the beach, and many of those made it over the perimeter wall and into the keep itself, dropping poppers and firing off rifle shots as they weaved between emerald bursts and swarms of red bugs. A second heavy barge came up, bumping into the stern of the first, and another wave of goblins surged up and mounted the kerosene platform¡ªreserves brought in from Apollo, Canaveral, and the bluffs north of our first two settlements. Builders, engineers, craftsmen, gunners, hunters, and mechanics all joined the attack. We were a goblin tribe nearly a thousand strong. Well, nearly 900 strong. The elves had seen Daytona and Huntsville. As far as they knew, that was it. And for that, maybe 5 elves would have been enough if we¡¯d stuck to small night-time raids and search parties. But guerrilla forces don¡¯t hold ground, and they fold when pressured directly by a larger force. Tribe Apollo now stretched from the swamp to the badlands, and included not just the land, but the air above it. Every location had sleeping mounds producing new goblins daily, and wherever possible I¡¯d optimized conditions for maximum spawning. Individual elves might be powerful spellcasters and able to defeat a few-dozen goblins at a time. But we didn¡¯t have a few dozen goblins. We had hundreds. And each day we could have a hundred more. And it was time the would-be invaders got better acquainted with them. Beside me, I could tell that my secretive service were itching to join the fight. On the derrick, Armstrong and his scrappers finished off the last of the bewitched creatures and raised a skull-capped banner with a red pennant atop a pole. ¡°Let¡¯s get a little closer,¡± I said. My secretive service practically hauled me over to the kerosene platform. We climbed to the top. The hands and feet of the swarming goblins scrambling up the scaffolding to assault the fortress sounded like a thunderstorm, accompanied by the occasional crack of an airburst mortar from the igni. I found Armstrong, taking a well-earned break with a haunch of croc meat between his teeth, and he grinned around the tough hide. All around him, the scrappers who had stormed the platform were gorging themselves on the elves¡¯ defeated minions. He handed a hunk of greasy meat over. ¡°I didn¡¯t do much but watch,¡± I said. Armstrong swallowed his mouthful and proffered further. ¡°Yer too humble, boss. All this came outta that brain o¡¯ yours. The king ain¡¯t s¡¯posed to do everything hisself, s¡¯why you got us!¡± The battle raged on around us, but the elves¡¯ defenses were completely overwhelmed. It was only a matter of time, now. Time and goblins. I looked around. ¡°Where¡¯s Sourtooth?¡± This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°Went on ahead,¡± said Armstrong, slurping up a length of entrails. ¡°Had to make sure the lads didn¡¯t eat all the elves. Twix you¡¯n me, boss,¡± Armstrung stuck out his tongue. ¡°They don¡¯ taste good at all.¡± ¡°No?¡± I asked. If true, it would be the first thing that hadn¡¯t tasted good to goblin taste buds as far as I could tell. ¡°Like old mud,¡± he said. ¡°And bitter greens.¡± I huffed and shrugged. Maybe some sort of deterrent they actively used to avoid being eaten. ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it. Come on, we¡¯ve got a swamp king to reinstate.¡± * * * The elves weren¡¯t the only ones shocked by the number of goblins tribe Apollo brought to bear. Nearly a third of the tribe had turned out to retake the swamp fortress, and Ringo was now keenly aware that the forest goblins outnumbered his own boglins by at least 10:1. I¡¯d purposefully obfuscated my true tribe¡¯s size from him, letting him think the bulk were at Huntsville in order to make sure he saw me as a rival and not an existential threat. But as his subjects carried him on a freshly-rebuilt chair through the sea of blue fur blanketing his island and the cacophony of victorious goblins cheering for me, he looked a bit in shock. His eyes were bugged out even more than usual, and for once he stopped barking orders. I walked on the muddy ground of Daytona Island next to his throne-bearers. The last time I¡¯d been here, it had been as a quasi-prisoner. It had been myself, a captured scrapper, and a few dozen boglins kowtowing to a legless king not even willing to make himself a set of legs to walk on. He didn¡¯t have fire, gliders, balloons, ceramic, or metals. Likely, if not for us, he still wouldn¡¯t. The differences between our two tribes could not be more stark. I¡¯d spent a lot of time pondering why. It wasn¡¯t just the difference in available materials. Ringo might not have had access to clay or dry wood, but he should have still been able to develop fire and bricks. He should have known the physics principles behind hot air rising, raft-making, fishing, and a dozen other simple technologies. We went up to the keep, where I found a smug Sourtooth holding a small chain connected to a dour-looking elf with a substantial lump on its forehead in the corner, and Ringo struggling back up into his chair. I nodded to the old orc and his prize and then looked back up at Ringo. ¡°Ringo, when did you come to Rava?¡± The boglin king looked down at me, wary. His advisor, George, peered at me around the legs of the chair. ¡°I have always been king, here,¡± he said. I nodded. ¡°Ringo is quite a kingly name. You know, there was another Ringo where I¡¯m from.¡± ¡°And where is that, King Apollo?¡± ¡°Ohio.¡± He tried to hide his surprise, but his eyes widened just a touch too much at the mention of my home state. ¡°He was from this really old band. I think they had this song called I¡¯m a Believer.¡± ¡°No! That was The Mon¡ª¡± Ringo slapped his hands over his mouth. ¡°You tricked me!¡± he hissed. I nodded. He looked around at the sea of forest goblins. ¡°Please don¡¯t be mad,¡± he whispered through his fingers. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Ringo. Just tell me the truth.¡± ¡°That song was by The Monkees¡­¡± he admitted. His eyes looked down and away. ¡°My dad really liked them. But I always liked The Beatles best. I¡¯m sorry I lied.¡± ¡°It¡¯s ok, you¡¯re not in trouble. How old are you?¡± Ringo shifted uneasily in his chair. ¡°I was 10 when I came here. It was my birthday. We were going to pizza and another car didn¡¯t stop when we stopped, and it pushed us in the road. There was a truck¡­ I don¡¯t know how long it¡¯s been since. I tried to count the days, but I kept forgetting. It¡¯s been forever.¡± He looked up. ¡°Are you really from Ohio?¡± ¡°I was. It must have been hard for you, when you got here.¡± Ringo nodded. ¡°Things tried to eat me. I found an animal that could talk, like on TV. He said he¡¯d help me, but he tried to trick me. I got away and the boglins saved me and made me their king. They helped me build this fort.¡± ¡°You must have been pretty brave to survive,¡± I said. I patted the side of his chair and sighed. ¡°It was tough when I came here. But I was lucky. I found a talking animal too, but he was friendly and helped me. I knew a lot before I came, and I was able to use that to help the goblins who decided to follow me. If you¡¯re okay with it, I¡¯d like to help you, too.¡± I held my hand up. ¡°Would you like to team up?¡± Ringo reached his hand down but drew it back. ¡°How do I know you¡¯re not mean? You tried to burn me.¡± I shrugged. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you then. And I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m an astronaut, though. Are astronauts usually mean?¡± Ringo¡¯s eyes bugged. ¡°No way! You¡¯ve been to space?¡± I couldn¡¯t help grinning. ¡°I have. I¡¯ve orbited the Earth 32 times. And I was headed to the Moon when I ended up here.¡± I extended my hand a little more. ¡°We¡¯re going to build rockets at my village to go to this world¡¯s moon. Want to see?¡± I reeled back as a barrage of unlocks and notifications and new skills from the job change assaulted my vision. Holy cow! Chapter 123 - Much Ado about Elves Chapter 123 - Much Ado about Elves The first thing I did was open up the vassal submenu. It gave me the option to determine which variants and technologies passed both directions. I quickly zeroed out advisors for myself and canoneers for Ringo. No sense allowing competing ideologies to pop up. I also restricted his access to guns, obviously. No vassal uprisings, either¡ªand I still didn¡¯t quite trust the kid to not stab me in the back. I patted Ringo on the shoulder and went to talk to Sourtooth and his new (pet?) elf. ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you understand him,¡± I said, peering at the unfortunate elf at the end of Sourtooth¡¯s lead. The old orc himself sat on a low stool on the side of Ringo¡¯s throne room, puffing pipe in one hand while the other kept the elf on a yard¡¯s worth of slack. The others had been killed in the fighting, unable to escape the fortress they¡¯d lain with traps and pitfalls¡ªsome of which were still claiming goblins as they swept the place for bewitched beasts and hidden mechanisms. ¡°A word, here or there, may brush between tongues learned long-past,¡± said Sourtooth. ¡°But a crass and unsubtle people, they, for all their slink and creeping.¡± ¡°So what¡¯s he saying?¡± ¡°Harsh Indictments, utter shall I not, concerning my brood¡¯s mother and your lack of one.¡± I sat cross-legged and looked at the little fellow on more of a level¡ªthough speaking of levels, once cleaned, this one was level 29. Like the other, he had the physique of a 9-inch action star and spoke in the rapid-fire barrage of down-pitched cartoon chipmunks. ¡°And you¡¯re sure he¡¯s not dangerous?¡± I said, eyeing the number superimposed over his head. ¡°Only to your ankles. Nay, absent his druid-bough, no charms can he work. Withered is his power less focus or tool.¡± The elf lunged for me, but Sourtooth hissed and yanked back on the chain, swinging the elf overhead, where he spun the chain for a dozen or so seconds like a helicopter blade(and the elf made much the same sound). When he set the elf back down, the creature stumbled drunkenly and then collapsed on its haunches. ¡°A nuisance, still,¡± he admitted. He changed the pitch and camber of his own voice, slipping into a rapid-fire falsetto. The elf responded with a kata of gestures that were undoubtedly obscene to someone, even if they were lost on me. ¡°He¡¯ll make a fine gift, indeed, once properly tracted.¡± Part of me had reservations about letting Sourtooth ship off the creature to be someones¡­ slave? Servant? Pet? But then, the elves were snorting goblin ears, so all bets were off. ¡°Have you learned anything from him?¡± I demanded. A quick exchange passed between the two before Sourtooth looked back up at me. ¡°Mercenaries from Habbe. Expected a sprinkle, did they, and found a deluge. The prince awaits their return with good news¡ªabsence shall be with action met.¡± ¡°A further escalation,¡± I sighed. But it would take time, and more time still for the port city to muster troops from the mainland. I hoped. I had no illusions about how well my goblins would fare against seasoned human fighters. Even with the benefit of the Goblin Tech Tree, magic seemed like a force multiplier that couldn¡¯t simply be countered with technology. At least, not with what we had now. Numbers, as well, were an issue. The tribe grew swiftly, but we were talking about an entire pre-established city of humans, here. Thousands of them¡ªand that just a splinter of their mainland population across the sea. We already had so much to contend with. Lanclova was at least harsh to human forces trying to penetrate the interior, but that was a deterrent, not a barrier. Off in the south, the Ifrit were simmering with whispered lies, and I didn¡¯t know how well Rufus¡¯ attempts at quelling them would go. Somewhere in the forest, an elf still roamed, and I¡¯m sure it was going to play merry hob with our operations until we could suss it out. All the while, we¡¯d be working toward¡¯s Lura¡¯s task and the inevitable moon missions that would require a monumental effort and procession of steps. Orbital dynamics aren¡¯t exactly high school algebra, and I doubted there was some sort of math variant goblin. I was going to have to start from scratch there, too. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Is there no way I can send an envoy to Habberport? Work out some sort of peace accord?¡± Sourtooth rolled his head back and laughed, hands over his belly. And to my supreme shock, the elf mirrored his humor, gesture for gesture. ¡°Sooner you¡¯d walk upon the watchful eye, little brother mine, than convince humans to treat with goblin kin.¡± The elf tilted his head up at Sourtooth and slapped the old orcs shin as they giggled. I didn¡¯t need a translator to understand the intent behind the words that passed up. What is he, stupid? Sourtooth chuckled under his breath. It wasn¡¯t lost on me that, being Ravan natives, both these creatures, these mortal enemies, still had more in common with each other than I had with either one. He cleared his throat and spat a thick wad of phlegm on the ground. ¡°Nay, little king. Take it from this sun-dried and wind-blown old orc. I have seen many things in many lands, yet not once have I seen a man treat a goblin as anything but vermin to be stamped out. There is no treating with Habbe¡ªthough perhaps your envoy¡¯s tongue may find some use in soothing the prince¡¯s irritated bowels.¡± The elf fell over laughing, kicking his legs in the air. I grumbled to myself. I really did not like elves. I turned my back on the foul little creature and ground the heels of my hands against my temples. ¡°Let¡¯s get back to the bluff. One problem at a time.¡± One problem at a time¡­ as if they ever lined up single file instead of hitting all at once. I needed to know where we stood with the Ifrit before I could decide what to do about Habberport. I collected my secretive service and left the keep. I offered Ringo a chance to come with me, but surprisingly, he decided to stay in the swamp. The boglins were his friends, after all. And even though George still regarded me with suspicion, I knew he¡¯d act in Ringo¡¯s best interest the same way Armstrong and Chuck and all the rest of my taskmasters acted in mine. Outside the keep, I boarded one of the boats, and the ifrit in the engine glowed with a pale blue flame and a familiar flicker. Don¡¯t ask me how, but I was starting to be able to tell the Ifrit apart, and this wasn¡¯t Taquoho. I narrowed my eyes at it but stopped short of asking if it was Girmaks. Either way, the spirit would deny it. We pulled the boat around and pointed it back toward the towers of Huntsville, which were just visible over the tree line¡ªhelped somewhat by a great deal of the treetops having been scorched to clear the bog of flying fauna. We were certainly leaving our mark wherever we went. And we were starting to go a lot of places. Idly, I brought one of the sparkers over and had them tune in to whatever signals were being broadcast on the long-waves¡ªthe radios connecting together the various bluffs and outstations. Mostly taskmasters manned the radios, with names like Bootworm, Chokey, Tailbone, and other decidedly non-astronaut monikers, coordinating the dispersement and transport of raw materials and refined goods. Sand and copper from the north bluffs to Apollo, where it would be turned to glass and wire. Sulfur from mountain hot springs to Canaveral to be combined into icky-sticky powder. Lamps and guns from Apollo to outstations on flat-bed buggies. Who was going where, when, and with how much. But word about my change in status had spread fast, too. Emperor Apollo is returning home. Goblin Emperor. Even if in name only. As we rode, I opened up my job screen and took a look. It hadn¡¯t even come with any new abilities, just access to the vassal sub-menu. Probably the only ones who would even care were the canoneers. And the System, I thought. Once we reached Huntsville, I commandeered one of the choppers. Sourtooth refused to fly in one, so we left him to hop a buggy back to the main base while I slid behind the controls. Two more lifted off as escort and entered the formation behind me. We lifted off and passed over the bog on our way back east, over the convoy of boats returning from Daytona, and over the newly reclaimed platforms pumping the hydrocarbons out of the depths. Just a handful of elves had managed to disrupt our operations in Huntsville to a degree that would have far reaching effects. The logistics infrastructure of the tribe was tight and efficient, but vulnerable. It needed more redundancies. Flying over the forest, we passed low-level bi-gliders sweeping the area where the last elf had gone down, and there were parties on the ground as well. Not the most methodical searchers, goblins. Even with scrappers to coordinate, their patterns were hap-hazard, semi-random, and often intersected or doubled back on their own routes. In essence, their sweep had more holes than Swiss cheese. Still, it was one elf, and it was isolated and on the run. How much harm could it realistically do? Chapter 124 - Twin Turbids Chapter 124 - Twin Turbids ¡°No, it needs to be here for the center of gravity,¡± I said. Luther examined the sketch while I wiped workshop soot from my fur. We were going to need ventilation. I looked up at the other side of the factory floor, where a crucible of heated copper was extruding thin wire to be cooled and coated with melted rubber. Other goblins worked on glass, floating panes of it or teasing it into bulbs or bowls or other shapes. More still worked the whistlite into panels according to my design. I picked up a ceramic compressor blade and showed it to the canoneer. ¡°These aren¡¯t exactly light weight. We can¡¯t have them on the front tip of the aircraft. It would never be able to take off and it definitely wouldn¡¯t be able to land.¡± Luther adjusted his scratchpad and turned it over for me to see. I looked at the basic schematic. ¡°Closer. Put it in the book.¡± The book simply referred to the repository of canonized schematics and device illustrations and covered everything from simple cog-wheels to complex impellers. Luther passed the design off to one of his canoneers and looked at me. ¡°What¡¯s next, my king?¡± I rubbed my eyes. ¡°Next? Next we start putting together the prototype.¡± I¡¯d spent five days in what would become the new propulsion assembly plant as Buzz and his builders threw the thing up practically around us. All the necessary materials for the next generation of powered goblin gliders were being refined here¡ªincluding the most critical part themselves: the turbine engines. I pulled over a broad overview draft of my plans¡ªa single-engine fighter aircraft crewed by 6 goblins. The heavy rotory engine favored by the bi-gliders and helicopters was being swapped out for a more efficient turbine engine using aluminum housing and ceramic internal parts, rather than the heavy cast-iron and solid ceramic housing of our first generation combust¡¯ems. Before we¡¯d used the turbines to throw burning fuel on elven defenses. Now they were being put to their actual purpose: generating thrust. A lot of thrust. When it comes to which powerplant is better, there¡¯s no real question that a turbine will outperform a rotary or a reciprocating engine every time. But they¡¯re many times more mechanically complex, and that meant, more prone to failure under stressful conditions. Overhead, several goblins maneuvered one of the turbines on a system of chain pulleys, moving it from the assembly pad to the test platform. This version was nearly 10 times bigger than the smaller helicopter-mounted flame projectors. And if it were made out of iron or steel, it would, on its own, be as heavy as any two of those aircraft combined. But access to the lightweight natural alloy had given us a critical boost in a material with excellent strength-to-weight properties, which meant we could start to scale up into more modern aircraft. I climbed my way up to the test platform, fishing in my bag for a set of goggles¡ªwhich I pulled on. While flight goggles had taken the bluffs by storm and become something of a fashion icon among the forest goblins, very few others used them for any kind of eye protection in the workshops¡ªand efforts to institute a hardhat policy had utterly failed. In this time of relative peace, the biggest source of attrition now was simply workplace accidents. A lot of workplace accidents. An inconceivable amount of workplace accidents. Even before I could gain the platform, the goblin fueler got a little too excited and doused one of the testers with kerosene, who then sputtered and stumbled too close to the sparks coming off a radio being tested. He went up like a firework. I held up a hand to the heat. ¡°Get that fuel capped!¡± I shouted. The fueler squawked and actuated his flow valve, stemming the flow and pushing the bladder cart away from the test platform. Most of the engineers were so focused on the engine they didn¡¯t even notice their fellow¡¯s incineration. To them, the only remarkable thing about it was that it had happened before they¡¯d turned it on. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. I swung around to the test control panel and began hooking up connectors. The other big problem with turbine engines is that starting them isn¡¯t as simple as flipping a switch. At least, on Earth that¡¯s how it works. Human turbine aircraft have complicated startup sequences involving a battery, an auxiliary power unit, sometimes compressed nitrogen cylinders, and carefully bringing an engine up to the proper RPMs without melting it down or over-torquing it. Our turbines still had mostly the same principles, but evaded all efforts to keep them from guzzling fuel as fast as they could burn it. Goblin turbines, conversely, seemed to have hair triggers. Add in fuel, give it a good spin, and off she goes. The hardest part was keeping them steady and stable. After all the trouble it took to get our first internal combustion rotary started, all the trials and pitfalls and tearing my fur out, I was a little peeved that the much more complicated turbines had been as simple as bolting one together, fitting the stage fans, pumping in the fuel, and making sure it was strapped down. ¡°Clear the rear!¡± I called. The goblins scrambled out of the way of the backblast area, which had probably killed as many goblins as the whistler whose metallic hide had gone into its housing. I pulled the lever for fuel, and then turned on the priming motor. A small electric motor hooked to one of our new sulfur batteries started spinning the front fan and compressors and drawing air through the shroud. The turbine started to whine as the compressors worked. Hot compressed air met injected fuel, and the engine roared to life with a flame at least 2 meters long. It singed a few hairs, but no fatalities this time, it seemed like. Several of the goblins were visibly disappointed by that. Integrating Ringo¡¯s Technology Tree had introduced gambling to the tribe, but not the concept of money, surprisingly¡ªa product of Ringo and his father betting inconsequential things like rocks or beads on the outcome of races and football games. What the goblins seemed to enjoy betting on most, was which of them were most likely to die. As far as I could tell, there were half as many betting pools on the subject as goblins, and everything from knives, to antlers, to ammunition changed hands on the regular. So much material changed hands that System unlocked a technology for it: the GDP, or goblin domestic product. That didn¡¯t sound right, but having never dated an Econ major, I wasn¡¯t confident enough to call System on its shenanigans. I cut the priming motor, and listened to the climbing pitch of the mounting RPMs as the engine self-sustained the combustion cycle. A turbine has the same stages as a reciprocating or rotary engine: intake, compression, ignition, and exhaust. The difference is that they¡¯re all happening constantly, flowing smoothly from one to the other. And on a turbine engine, the main output isn¡¯t torque (though you can configure them for that), it¡¯s good, old-fashioned Newton¡¯s Third Law. An equal and opposite reaction. Thrust. On the test bed, the engine roared, pushing against its chains and tie-downs. A squawk of alarm alerted me before the first belt snapped, and the whole ensemble rocked up. I grit my teeth. Looked like some of them might win bets after all. ¡°Hold it down!¡± I shouted. The back of the engine began to fishtail, and this time a pair of goblins did get caught in the blast¡ªthough far enough away that they were simply thrown across the room from the thrust. The rest of the goblins leapt at the testing platform, tightening ropes and chains in a vain effort to keep it steady. It wasn¡¯t until a floating ifrit vessel hovered in, and a pale green flame transferred into the turbine, that it began to settle down. I relaxed, and fed more fuel in. The engine whined, and the roar of wind increased. I gave it full-throttle, and then added afterburn to boost it even more. The goblins who had secured the engine by leaping on top of it screamed almost as loud as the engine itself as they held on, in danger of being either sucked against the screen in the front(a lesson that had only taken two broken motors to integrate), or shot away from the back. Once satisfied that the turbine was good, I eased off the fuel and let the engine flame out, whine decreasing in pitch and volume as the compressors and thrust wound down. Promo waddled up, pulling his fingers out of his ears. ¡°Sounds good, boss. Reckon we get this one over to station 4, yeah?¡± ¡°Sounds good,¡± I said. ¡°Let¡¯s see how things are shaping up over in the factory.¡± I looked over at one of the discombobulated goblins, currently dropping a pile of small, smooth stones into the cupped hands of one of his grinning companions, and shook my head. Between religion, guns, and gambling, it was clear I was a terrible influence on this tribe. Oh well, soon I¡¯d have a jet aircraft underneath me, and all problems on the ground seem insignificant at 15,000 chooms. Chapter 125 - Assemble’em Lines Chapter 125 - Assemble¡¯em Lines The turbine plant was on the second floating ring above Village Apollo, directly across from the aircraft factory. A series of rickety bridges spanned the gap in between, and a flatbed buggy bounced its way across one with the engine rattling in the back. I half expected it to spill out and tumble down to the ground below, flattening some goblin relaxing in the central square. Or maybe take out one of Buzz¡¯ budding towers. The chief of my builders had been building higher and higher in order to make use of the limited space atop the bluff. Soon the floating rings would be supported from below, rather than lofted from above, if he kept up his pace. Not exactly skyscrapers, but certainly higher than goblins were used to being. We took the engine to a wide building with an open bay. Inside, I could see hundreds of goblins scrambling, and the spark of welders. The addition of compressors to the GTT had unlocked both pneumatic rotary tools and the ability to capture and compress the flammable fumes put off by scat piles¡ªresulting in possibly the most foul-smelling torch welding to ever exist. The sparkers had figured out arc welding as well, using metal from the whistler¡¯s dense magnetic tail. But since they had no mechanism or inclination to stop from shocking other goblins (or themselves) in the process, most of the workers had stuck to gas torches. Inside, we had a dozen stations where I¡¯d set the process of building Lura¡¯s jet prototypes up like a traditional aircraft plant¡ªalbeit with a goblin¡¯s disorder and disregard for safety, efficiency, thoroughness, or attention to detail. The first three stations were putting together basic aircraft frames out of steel and wood. The next two involved fitting fuel bladders and landing gear, and the ones after that were routing electrical power to the flight control surfaces. Then came fitting the engines, weapons, and generators, bolting on the whistlite panels, and the glass canopies. As for the aircraft themselves, I wanted to keep them as simple as possible. For the basic design, I¡¯d essentially built each plane around a single turbine engine¡ªand I do mean around. They looked a bit like a goblin version the old F-86 Sabre jet fighters from just after WWII, albeit with about half the length and twice the girth. Rather than the long, slender blades of their inspiration¡¯s namesake, I¡¯d taken to calling this model the Gladius. The Goblin Gladius. If I¡¯m being honest, they looked more like someone had strapped wings to a single passenger airline engine and decided, contrary to their best interests, to try and fly it. Would they be fast compared to their Earth counterparts? Not even a little. They¡¯d be lucky to break 150 knots, 200 with afterburner. But they¡¯d fly higher and faster than our rotary-powered bi-gliders. We were skipping a few generations in aircraft design by jumping straight from biplanes to jet fighters. But that was hardly unusual for Tribe Apollo. In just a few months, we¡¯d sped from the stone age to the age of the jet engine. Almost every industrial process on the bluff was now feeding materials into the jet factory. Aerospace manufacturing is such a complex and varied industry that it takes a mammoth workforce to produce pretty much anything¡ªand nearly every technology or material we¡¯d unlocked was being utilized in some way by the new prototypes. Tech tree component unlocks were coming nearly hourly, without any direct input from me, as Sally¡¯s engineers and sparkers fiddled with things and put them together in new ways in the course of assembling Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. ¡°Let¡¯s get this motor to station 6,¡± said Promo. He slid down from the back of the buggy and grabbed some of the overhead chains to start securing the engine. The other goblins started to crank, and the buggy began getting lighter on its primitive suspension as the weight of the turbine was lifted off of it. A few other igni stopped to help, adding their noblin muscle (or at least heft) to the task of pushing the chain cradle along the rails overhead in order to move the engine to the mounting station. ¡°Easy!¡± I called, as the engine started swinging on its chains. At station 6, several of the goblins started to panic, realizing that they had no way to get the engine in place. They scrambled to steal a cart from a neighboring station, which started a minor scuffle that didn¡¯t go well for the station 6 goblins, as station 5 involved torch work. Station 7 came to our rescue, running one of their carts directly underneath the motor, just as one of the chains slipped and the tail end of the engine thumped on the top of the wheeled cart. Everyone froze, and I was able to regain some semblance of order. Even led by a king and managed by taskmasters, these were still chaotic creatures not used to all pulling in the same direction. The fact we were currently building advanced aircraft was nothing short of miraculous. Then again, so was the fact that I¡¯d been granted a second life in which to do it. We unclasped the rest of the chains and got the engine safely down to the mounting cart without any visible damage, despite the partial drop. Goblin technology was nothing if not robust. It had to be, to survive being used by goblins. ¡°Looks good, boss,¡± said Promo, wiping a hand through his damp fur. ¡°Just glad I don¡¯t got to saddle up in one.¡± ¡°Aww, come on, Promo,¡± I said. I climbed up into the canopy and dropped into the pilot¡¯s seat. This was one of the ones built for an orc or wrangler pilot, so it was slightly too large for me. Still, I wrapped my hands around the flight stick and moved it from side to side. Without the electric assist active, it took all the strength I had in order to shift the flight control surfaces. I ran a hand over the basic gauges in the cockpit, and flipped the toggle for the basic battery-powered HUD to project onto a glass panel just inside the canopy¡ªjust a crosshair, really. Without computers, I couldn¡¯t put things like digital instrumentation. ¡°There¡¯s nothing like flying a turbine aircraft. When I was training for the moon mission for NuEarth, I put 50 hours on one of NASA¡¯s turbine trainers.¡± ¡°You can keep them 50 hours,¡± said Promo. ¡°I¡¯ll keep the ground ¡®neath my feet.¡± One of his igni buddies wheeled a torch-welding setup over. But instead of aircraft parts, he was passing the flame over strips of dripping meat. ¡°Reckon that effort warrants repose, eh boss?¡± ¡°Reckon you¡¯re right,¡± I said, hopping over the side of the aircraft. The rest of the goblins who had helped move the engine swarmed the grill until the igni threatened to start singing fingers with his torch. He doled out strips, handing me an especially juicy one with a wink. I stuffed it into my mouth, savoring the seasoned meat. The orcs had given us spices when we took down the whistler, and the igni were putting them to great use. Over the clamor of the factory, I began hearing a taskmaster chittering on the new big voice¡ªsome unknown group was approaching Canaveral and had been spotted by the scouts. Promo cocked his head and listened along with me. ¡°What d¡¯ya suppose that¡¯s about?¡± he asked. I pursed my lips and wiped the grease from my face with the back of my hand. ¡°Let¡¯s go find out.¡± Chapter 126 - Damnable Midnighters Chapter 126 - Damnable Midnighters With glass came grinding and lens-making. As our bi-glider flew over Canaveral, I peered down the length of what the System had called a ¡®brass scope ¡®em out¡¯. The simple telescope made from a series of lenses and leftover brass tubing from the Ifrit was a simple spyglass with a fixed magnification and a focusing ring, mishandled to the point it had a visible elbow in the metal sleeve. Yet, unsurprisingly given the Goblin Tech Tree, it still functioned. I pulled my eyes back from the telescope, blinked, and looked again. Then, I turned to the pilot. ¡°Get Sourtooth on the radio,¡± I said. The goblin pilot chittered and grabbed his plane¡¯s radio handset, chittering into the device as he angled us toward the bluff, and Promo held his hand out for the tube. He looked himself as I sat back, considering. ¡°Are those¡­?¡± ¡°Humans,¡± I said. I ran a hand through the fur on the top of my head. ¡°Looks like.¡± ¡°What¡¯re they doing here?¡± Nothing good, that was for sure. They weren¡¯t paladins from the City of Brass, but I still saw the flash of steel weaponry among strange cavalry. A lot of weaponry. And strange horses, beside. Must have been Habberport troops¡ªexcept they¡¯d come from the east¡ªwhich meant they must have either crossed the badlands or skirted the edge, and I couldn¡¯t imagine the orcs would let such a band pass uncontested through their hunting grounds. All around me, goblins lined the edge of the bluff and looked down at the procession. While they were too far to make out individual levels, I had no doubt each one was more than any goblin could handle. I¡¯d ordered the lifts frozen, and sent radio to outstations to be on guard as well. The sparker behind me stiffened and opened his mouth. ¡°Hail? Blast this contraption! Hands to thyself, keep you, I know how it works! Is this artifice powered?¡± I took the handset from the front of the aircraft. ¡°Sourtooth. I thought you said the humans wouldn¡¯t send an envoy to treat with goblins.¡± ¡°I know the button I must press, little brother! Cease twisting yon dial, whiskered menace, you. I¡¯ll show you tuned when stretched are your guts across the bowl of a lyre.¡± I groaned and pressed the heel of my hand into my temple. It was like trying to teach Grandpa to use a smart phone. ¡°Sourtooth!¡± I shouted. The squabble on the radio ceased, and the old orc came on. ¡°Apollo! What found, you?¡± ¡°Habberport sent an envoy to Canaveral,¡± I said. ¡°You told me they wouldn¡¯t treat with goblins.¡± ¡°They wouldn¡¯t, little brother. Are you sure that it¡¯s humans your eyes glean?¡± I looked down at the conical helmets and palanquin hefted by four kneeling men in some sort of dark blue hooded supplicant robe that left their carrying shoulders bare, and their skin was so dark it glistened in the sun almost as brightly as their weapons. ¡°Pretty sure.¡± ¡°Have they a standard?¡± ¡°Hold on,¡± I took the brass spyglass back from Promo and angled it down again. At the head of the procession, I could indeed see a pair of dark banners. ¡°Yeah, they¡¯ve got some.¡± ¡°Describe to me what heraldry marks them,¡± ¡°Hard to tell,¡± I said. ¡°Black field, white dots, and a football-looking¡­ eye! It¡¯s an eye!¡± A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. The radio was silent for several seconds. ¡°Sourtooth?¡± I looked at the pilot. ¡°Did we loose line of sight?¡± I pointed to the sky. ¡°Climb back up so we can get him back¡± The pilot squawked angrily at his controls, clearly unhappy about being told to descend, only to be told to climb back up, and then inevitably descend again. ¡°I am here, little brother mine.¡± Sourtooth¡¯s voice was hesitant. ¡°Tis the standard of the Midnight Queen.¡± I cocked my head. ¡°The astrologer people? That makes no sense. They have no reason to be at our doorstep.¡± ¡°Yet it is so. Wary be you, little brother. I am on my way if I can convince one of these blasted aviators to cart me.¡± Promo and I looked at each other. While motorcycles and buggies were all well and good, they were grounded, and the sour old orc had made it clear in no uncertain terms that we were likely to see him fly only after all the lands and seas froze over. But humans had also come knocking at our doors, which he also said would never happen. I signaled the pilot to land us, which made him sigh and grumble. But he brought us around and got us lined up with Canaveral¡¯s main airstrip. This bluff had certainly undergone changes, as well. It was the most defensible of all the villages on account of the daily lizard fight. The buildings were mostly reinforced, and the perimeter wall had a lot of down-angled spikes and spears to deter climbers. The recoilless rifle positions were a new addition, and right now they were all pointed down at the procession. Once we landed, I swung out of the cockpit in time to see John jogging up to me with a pair of canoneers huffing and puffing beside him. ¡°King Apollo!¡± he said. ¡°Radios are going mad! Blokes down below, they¡¯re not the only ones.¡± ¡°There are more of them?¡± I asked. ¡°At least 3 other groups we spotted¡ªone heading into the deep desert went by the depot, one passing the north bluff got seen by a balloon, and another was moving up the rivers by boat, headed toward the coast.¡± One of the canoneers spoke up. ¡°What should we do, o¡¯ king? Shall I speak to them?¡± ¡°Absolutely not,¡± I said. I scratched at the ground with the tip of my prosthetic while I considered. I wished Rufus was here. I just didn¡¯t know enough about the people of Rava outside Lanclova. But I did know Sourtooth said the Midnight Queen didn¡¯t maintain a presence on Lanclova because the moon blocked their ability to read signs and portents in the stars¡ªand they were rich enough to not care about its bounties. ¡°Do nothing yet. Wait for Sourtooth.¡± It didn¡¯t take long for the plane carrying the leader of the Flock to appear in the sky to the west. The aircraft landed and the old orc stumbled out of the cabin and onto the ground with shaky legs, leaning against the fuselage for support. Apparently, he liked flying about as much as Rufus did. ¡°Damned machine!¡± he cried. He spotted me and straightened. ¡°Let me look upon this envoy for myself, little brother.¡± He grumbled and mumbled the whole way up to the rampart where John handed him a spyglass. The old orc scratched his stubble as he squinted down the length of it. He handed it back to the lookout. ¡°It is they. Damnable midnighters. What seek they here? Raphina blinds them upon the land of shaded skies. Hmm.¡± ¡°Are they dangerous?¡± I asked. The old orc looked down at me. ¡°As a viper. Yet, no invading army, this. You could capture them, should you wish it¡ªthough, not without cost.¡± he pointed down at the cavalry. ¡°Templar guard, they. Deadly as a paladin of the Ifrit. Even seasoned orc hunters would give pause. That cradle of fancy? A priestess¡ªsorcesses, they. Devious creatures who read the stars.¡± John leaned forward. ¡°Give the order, King Apollo. I¡¯ll have ¡®em trussed for you.¡± ¡°Hold on that,¡± I said. ¡°They haven¡¯t attacked us yet. They¡¯re waiting¡ªin plain sight.¡± ¡°And in light of day, at their weakest,¡± said Sourtooth. ¡°Armed,¡± John reminded me. ¡°Only does a fool walk absent arms in Lanclova,¡± said Sourtooth. He spat on the ground. ¡°Tis your call, o brother king.¡± It¡¯s not always easy, being the one expected to make all the decisions. Rava was getting bigger for me. When I first arrived here, it was me, a dozen other goblins, and a half-badger. Our biggest worry was making fire and dealing with forest beasts. Now, things were starting to get complicated. I ran a hand through my fur and looked down at the convoy. They had maybe 50 or so members¡ªand only half of that was fighters. Plus whatever magics the sorceress could wield in addition to her star-reading. Ultimately, though, they¡¯d shown no sign of hostility and had left out badlands depot unmolested¡ªdespite having the forces to overrun it easily. And they were approaching other factions on Lanclova, as well. Maybe that meant they saw us on equal terms as the orcs, the Ifrit, or Habberport? There was really only one way to learn more. Going down was out of the question. Even if Armstrong would have allowed such a thing, there was no way I could put myself in the position to be taken and spirited away on the backs of one of those strange horses. But it was time to see just how far out on a limb these visitors were willing to go. ¡°The eclipse will be here soon. Let¡¯s at least let them up before the lizards make a meal of them. Then we can decide what to do with them.¡± I raised my voice. ¡°Lower the lift!¡± Chapter 127 - Servants of the Midnight Sea Chapter 127 - Servants of the Midnight Sea In building out roads to connect the various disparate bluffs and outstations that made up our budding society, it had also given other interests a smooth approach to our front door¡ªone I found I didn¡¯t appreciate. That¡¯s not to say I wouldn¡¯t prefer to be neighborly, but a few of the neighbors had already proven to be raucous and violent. Sort of like the unhinged guy down the road from my house as a kid who shouted while mowing his lawn. Not at anyone, just in general at the world. Some neighbors made you want fences, instead. I¡¯d adopted an unofficial policy of extending an olive branch first, but making sure it was big enough to swing. At heart, I still considered myself an explorer and a scientist. Not a warrior. Many, many astronauts come from the military, especially from Army and Air Force aviation programs. John Glenn was a marine and Buzz Aldrin flew fighters in Korea. My own mission commander, Dave Sanders, was an F35 pilot with a dozen combat missions (most of which he couldn¡¯t talk about). I hadn¡¯t understood their experiences when I was at NuEarth. Now I had flown into combat too, and I felt more in tune with what they¡¯d seen and done¡ªeven if my missions were against orcs and elves and monsters. The difference was, they volunteered. I wasn¡¯t given a choice when the javeline went bluff to bluff exterminating and the elves attacked Ringo on his island. When we encountered the stampede, if an orc ghost hadn¡¯t conspired to get us to join it, the orcs would have run us off the plains to keep us from hunting on them unless we¡¯d fought. And at the time, we¡¯d have lost. The Stampede was an entire culture of sport hunters, and it would have been a stretch to say we¡¯d even offer them a satisfying target. Right now, it seemed like the fortune tellers down below were offering me at least simple choices. Talk with us. Or don¡¯t. Attack us. Or don¡¯t. It was more than I¡¯d gotten in the past. When given a choice, I would still choose to be the explorer. Granted, this wasn¡¯t Starfleet, and my mandate wasn¡¯t to boldly seek out new life and new civilizations. I had no obligation to the ¡®damnable Midnighters¡¯ as Sourtooth called them. But the old orc sounded more perplexed than worried. ¡°Get that lift down!¡± shouted John. Like his real life counterpart, he had his crew snapping to him with almost (for goblins, anyway) military precision. At the eastern edge of the bluff, a pair of clutches were engaged that allowed wind-powered winches to start lowering the wide freight lift. To the sides, many goblins peered over the edge at the newcomers, curious but wary. My own Ravan instincts for danger were kicking in as well. Goblins were hardwired to fear anything both larger than themselves and stronger than themselves. Since goblins were perpetually stuck at level 1 that listed included, essentially, everything in the world. Except some birds and bugs and most plant life. But Rufus¡¯ book had described a few floral monsters that would make a quick snack and a long digestion of goblins, so even there we weren¡¯t safe. At the base of the bluff, the procession took notice immediately. Warriors who had been lounging rose to their feet and shrugged back into their packs or smacked the ground with the butts of spears to wake their buddies. Animals rustled at the activity. The bearers for the palanquin rose from their meditation and placed cloths on their shoulders as a buffer for what must have been a sacred vehicle. The freight lift lowered onto the dust of the ground. The party stopped short. They realized pretty quickly that not all of their party would fit on the lift¡ªdesigned as it was for goblins and goblin-sized vehicles. An exchange passed between what must have been the officer in charge of the templar (from his feathered helmet) and the occupant of the palanquin. A few moments later, the cavalry dismounted and handed off their reigns to a group of attendants before stepping up onto the lift. One of the mounts stretched, and I caught a flutter of something on its back. ¡°Is that¡­?¡± ¡°Wings, aye,¡± said Sourtooth, leaning against the rampart. ¡°Armored air cavalry. Elite shock soldiers. Clash upon occasion, they, with the dragon knights of Habbe.¡± Dragon knights of Habbe? File that away under yikes. The palanquin bearers stepped up onto the lift as well and were followed by a dozen unarmed attendants. When it seemed the rest of their party would remain on the low ground, the lift operators threw the clutch and the platform began to rise. I hoped it wasn¡¯t a mistake. Within a few minutes, they passed out of view beneath the lift platform, so I quit the ramparts with Armstrong and Sourtooth. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Have the boys armed and armored-front plates in, rifles unloaded. I don¡¯t want a stray shot causing a diplomatic incident.¡± ¡°Aye, king,¡± said John. ¡°Same for the secretive service,¡± I told Armstrong. He nodded and whistled for a pair of his scrappers to round up the rest of the lads on Canaveral. He also deputized a half-dozen other goblins, just to be safe. The freight lift finished its climb as I reached the platform with my own entourage¡ªwhich now also included a pair of canoneers brandishing pages with pre-drawn panels, the portly noblins ecstatic at the chance to capture live events and make it ¡®fficial goblin histry. The midnighters stepped off the lift, carrying the palanquin carefully onto the loading platform, and then on to the bluff, where we waited. System began assigning levels as they drew close enough. Sure enough, the elite guards were similar in strength to the Ifrit paladins. But what was most curious to me, was that the sorceress and her attendants were all clumped together into one level 40 ensemble. She was at least twice as strong as the ones protecting her. Her guardians were dressed in silks draped and wrapped around smooth, shiny armor that didn¡¯t look metallic, but more like lacquered wood or polymer. As they moved closer, something itched at the back of my human mind, giving me the ick, if you will. But it wasn¡¯t until the head of their guard dropped his veil that I realized Sourtooth hadn¡¯t been wrong after all. No human would treat with a goblin. But the midnighters weren¡¯t human at all. They were bipedal insects. What I¡¯d taken for a lacquered carapace armor, was in fact, just carapace. The smooth, exposed skin of the palanquin bearers was also chitin¡ªthough not as thick, I presumed. The leader¡¯s mandibles clicked and clacked. His eyes scanned the collected goblins¡ªeyes that were complex and emotive, not the sterile facetted eyes of a fly. Close enough to a human¡¯s that I noticed the spark of surprise, quickly covered, when he spotted an orc among our ranks. ¡°Priestess Cla¡¯thn. Voice of the night. Reader of stars. Watcher of midnight tides. Seek your leader,¡± he said in our general direction. His mandibles moved in a way that I couldn¡¯t tell how he produced the low, buzzing voice. But it was stilted and halting, like an early computerized voice with too low a bit-rate. It looked like his mouth parts were punching syllables into a typewriter, rather than shaping sounds. ¡°Is one among you who can speak?¡± Every goblin present¡ªeven the other speech¡ªcapable ones, pointed straight at me. I looked around. I was going to have to have a word with them about opsec in the near future. Especially now that we were sending traffic over the airwaves. Nothing for it, then. I stepped forward. ¡°I¡¯m Apollo, the leader here. I¡¯d like to know your intentions, but that can wait. The rest of your¡­ people¡­ are in danger. The eclipse will be here soon, and with it, the forest floor will be swarmed with carnivorous reptiles. I¡¯d advise bringing the rest of your contingent up onto the bluff if they don¡¯t want to be lunch.¡± If the captain was surprised to hear a goblin speak, he did a good job of covering it. ¡°Ap-pol-low,¡± he buzzed, sounding his way around the word. He leaned back toward the palanquin. An exchange passed with the occupant that caused the captain to stiffen before turning. My guess was that he wasn¡¯t too happy being surrounded by, and at the mercy of, a group of goblins. The silk curtain in the window moved and I saw a white claw for just a moment. The captain turned back. ¡°Very well.¡± ¡°Does the priestess intend to speak to me, herself?¡± I asked. The guard captain slammed the butt of his spear into the dirt, but I got the impression it was a ceremonial gesture, not a rebuke. ¡°Priestess Cla¡¯thn. Voice of queen. She treat with you. By shade. Eclipse or light of stars only,¡± he said. I shrugged. Suit herself. I gave the signal and the lift began lowering again to bring the rest of the attendants and the mounts back up. The captain eyed me the whole time, clearly curious, but unwilling to give voice to the questions he obviously had. Maybe it wasn¡¯t his place? between the colorful, decorative silks and the overly-ornate workings on his spear, plus the palanquin and the bearers and the deference to the priestess, I got the impression this was a very, very structured culture with discrete castes and heavily enforced etiquette and decorum. Maybe I was just associating them too much with an Earth beehive since they looked like insects. Hell, for all I knew, these guys were actually mammals that gave live birth and nursed infants. The captain and his fellows stood, unmoving, as the sun drew closer to Raphina. ¡°Can I, uh, offer you anything?¡± I asked. ¡°Water, food, a place to sit?¡± Sourfang nodded his approval, but the captain simply stood stiff and rigid. ¡°We bring provisions,¡± he said. We waited as the lift brought up the remaining attendants, mounts, and their baggage¡ªlots of ornate wooden trunks on decorative carts¡ªhauled by pack beetles. What I¡¯d taken for horses were taller, slender insects with vicious, elongated mandibles and faceted eyes. I wondered if these were all similar species bred for different purpose, or a collective of different insectile races. I¡¯d have to ask later, if I could figure out a circumspect way of doing so. John tapped my arm. I turned to look at the leader of Canaveral. ¡°Ought to make ready, boss,¡± he said. ¡°Go ahead,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯ll be fine here.¡± I hoped. Chapter 128 - The Voice of the Queen Chapter 128 - The Voice of the Queen The midnighter captain watched the goings on with some interest as the majority of the armed goblins moved to the southern edge of the bluff to man their positions. ¡°You are under attack?¡± he asked. ¡°Every day, like clockwork,¡± I said. ¡°Light-sensitive reptiles from the badlands.¡± ¡°Clok-kwork.¡± he sounded out. The palanquin curtain fluttered again, and the captain leaned back. I couldn¡¯t hear the exchange that passed between them, but the captain straightened and trilled out a series of high-frequency notes. Several of his soldiers stepped up in a rank. ¡°My warriors. Spend them.¡± I looked up at Sourtooth. He shrugged down at me. ¡°A spear is a spear, and only a fool turns down one to be at his foes pointed. Especially one so skilled as the midnighter elites,¡± he said. ¡°At your own peril, turn up at gifts offered by the Queen and her servants.¡± ¡°Fair enough. Armstrong, get ¡®em sorted on the wall,¡± I said. When the scrapper chief hesitated, I patted him on the arm. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. They¡¯re here to talk, not fight.¡± I considered. ¡°Except for the ones who want to get stuck in with the lizards.¡± ¡°Arms¡¯strong,¡± the captain sounded out. ¡°A good name. Power name.¡± He gestured to his warriors. ¡°Take them. The priestess gives.¡± ¡°C¡¯mon, lads, I¡¯ll get you sorted,¡± said the scrapper chief, all trepidation gone. More than anything else, he loved a good fight, so it wasn¡¯t a whole lot of arm twisting to jump into one with new hands at his side. The handful of warriors trotted off with the scrapper chief and the rest of the defenders as the sun crept slowly toward Raphina¡¯s horizon and I waited to get my first look at this priestess. As the sun slipped behind the moon, the attendants carefully lowered the palanquin. One of them removed the cloth from his shoulder and laid it on the ground while another opened the door and dropped to his knees. The priestess didn¡¯t so much stand up as she unfolded from the palanquin. She was at least half again as tall as a person, spindly carapace wrapped in hanging silks of teal and orange, with a veil that matched. What I could see above the veil was¡­ almost human¡ªthough not so much so that I¡¯d ever mistake the priestess for one. Cheekbones too wide, skin too hard, she was smack dab in the middle of the uncanny valley, and the human side of me had to suppress a shudder. She held out her arms¡ªtwo of them, that is, of the four I could see, and a pair of her attendants carefully folded back her sleeves to reveal alabaster chitinous limbs fringed with delicate white hairs. When she rubbed them together, it created a polytonal facsimile of a woman¡¯s voice, closer to human than even the orc women. When I heard it, I really did shudder. ¡°I greet you, chieftain. I am Priestess Clathn, voice of the Midnight Queen, reader of stars, blessed under the sea, and seeker of hidden truths.¡± ¡°King Apollo. Charmed,¡± I said. ¡°I heard your folks don¡¯t come around here much. What brings you to my little stretch of Lanclova?¡± If she was surprised at my title, she didn¡¯t show it. Instead, the priestess made a sign with two of her fingers, like two peace signs touching tips. Below that, her second set of hands made a circle, then brought them together in the shape of an eye. ¡°The watchful eye is changing. We wish to study it from close afield. You have noticed this, yes?¡± I glanced up. ¡°I have. It¡¯s got less ocean than it did a couple months ago. Deeper canyons. You came for a closer look?¡± Stolen story; please report. ¡°An observatory, upon high ground. We should like to construct one. You know the high ground in Lanclova. Perhaps you know a place like this that you are not using. Heard, have you, of the art of star-tracking?¡± She waved for one of her attendants, who brought forth a wooden case, and withdrew a silk band around it so that it could be opened. Inside, a beautifully worked brass telescope. This wasn¡¯t the bent brass tube with crudely ground lenses that I used to peer out of the bi-glider. This was the real deal, handmade, ornate, inlaid with geometric patterns and marked with strange constellations. It sat on a navy-blue cushion, secured with a silk band. ¡°I¡­¡± I stammered. ¡°I may have heard of it.¡± Another of the priestess¡¯ supplicants produced a tripod, and the first gently placed the telescope upon it. ¡°We use artifice of curved glass to make a thing appear to be many times closer. Details are revealed, and stars that one could not see with eyes alone shine brightly. These we track. These we measure¡ªand in them, find truths.¡± When Sourtooth had described the Midnight Queen to me, he had called them astrologers. But they were also astronomers. I approached the telescope carefully. The tubes were sectioned off, and I could clearly see both a zoom ring and a focal ring. I ran my hands over the length. ¡°If you¡¯d like, King Apollo, I can show you the¡­. oh.¡± I gently positioned the aperture towards Raphina. Though the side facing us was in shadow, it still received some bounced light from the parts of Rava not under eclipse, and there was plenty to see. I carefully adjusted the focus until I brought sweeping pink plains into view, and deep, amber canyons spotted with vegetation. I won¡¯t lie. I gasped. This was my first look, real look, at Raphina¡¯s surface. This was the next best thing to walking on it myself. And as much as I hate to say it, Raphina was a lot more interesting, geographically, than our own moon¡ªwhich I¡¯d spent a lot of summer nights looking up at. This wasn¡¯t just a moon worth going to. This was a moon worth staying on. And it was waiting for me. I stepped away from the viewport, eyes beginning to well. The priestess took my place and peered through the aperture, then tilted her head at me, but said nothing. ¡°Your star tracking doesn¡¯t do much good here, I imagine. Too much light reflected off Raphina washes out the sky.¡± ¡°Our skills are diminished, yes. This is why I have my captain.¡± Toward the south end of the bluff I began to hear the staccato of rifle fire as the lizards swarmed the canyon wall. I could see the Priestess¡¯ guards, as well, standing side by side with my goblins, thrusting their heavy spears downward. Several Ifrit hovered nearby, watching, while yet others possessed trap mechanisms or recoilless rifles. Goblins, orcs, fire spirits. Heck, why not add bug people to the mix? Especially ones that produced fine metalwork and lenses? So what if I had to endure a little fortune telling? I didn¡¯t want this telescope to ever leave. At least, not until I could build my own. ¡°Whatever you need,¡± I said. ¡°Anything. High ground, materials, builders. Put your observatory here.¡± ¡°Truly?¡± asked the priestess. ¡°You would permit such an installation?¡± ¡°I welcome it with open arms,¡± I said honestly. ¡°Just promise me that I¡¯ll be able to use whatever you build to look at the sky.¡± The priestess dipped at the waist, bowing low. Her supplicants straight up prostrated themselves on the dust of the bluff. Even her captain, after a brief moment of shock, got down on one knee and lowered his head. ¡°I shall send word to my queen that I have perhaps found what she seeks,¡± said Clathn. ¡°But there are other locations to survey. Other priestesses with whom I must confer. For now, allow me to meditate and rest. I have journeyed long.¡± The priestess bowed again and I watched jealously as the telescope was broken down and returned to its protective case. Priestess Clathn once again returned to her palanquin¡ªthough I have no idea how the thing could be comfortable for her since it was about a third as tall as she was. The elite captain moved against the door and took position. I looked up at the captain. ¡°Do you have a name?¡± The captain tilted his head. ¡°Instrument. Drone. Protector. No name. Tool. Useful.¡± ¡°That¡¯s depressing,¡± I said. I could hear Taquoho¡¯s voice in the back of my head as I said it. Crude and reductive. I wished the Ifrit was here so that I could get his perspective on the midnighters. ¡°Well, nice chat. Talk later.¡± I waved to the captain, and he tilted his head the other direction before looking at his own palm and replicating the gesture. I turned and headed for the airstrip. Sourfang hobbled after me. ¡°Hope, I, that this little brother knows of what he is doing. The Midnighters are not lightly to be taken.¡± He spat. ¡°Nor would you, I thought, to be won over by trinkets and baubles.¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t the trinket, Sourtooth. Heck, a few more weeks refinement in lens-grinding and I¡¯ll be able to make a telescope just as powerful.¡± I shook my head. ¡°No. It was the fact that the first friggen people I¡¯ve met that were interested in any kind of space science just knocked on my door and asked to crash on the couch.¡± I over at the guards and attendants beginning to unpack their freight from the bug-drawn wagons, and at the high-level soldiers now manning the wall. ¡°I¡¯m not inclined to send them away.¡± Chapter 129 - Fire by Wire Chapter 129 - Fire by Wire ¡°Wise, is caution, all I say,¡± said Sourtooth. ¡°And caution I¡¯m taking,¡± I said. I moved back toward the other end of the bluff where the long range radio antenna had been erected. ¡°It¡¯s not like I gave them the keys to the kingdom. Canaveral is a tertiary bluff now. At one point it was critical to keeping the tribe fed, but now its importance is based on its location. An observatory to track and measure celestial objects is a requirement once we start putting spacecraft into orbit. If they¡¯re willing to front the bill for that, then so be it.¡± Sourtooth scowled and rubbed his stubble. ¡°Tis queer, little brother mine. They seek more than they say. Long have the Midnighters sailed clear of these shores. They are devious.¡± ¡°As devious as orcs?¡± I asked. The sour old hunter barked a laugh. ¡°Few are. Nay, none are. Though many try. An honor most singular, have we.¡± I chuckled. ¡°It also makes you see plans within plans. Come on, I want a second opinion with a little less paranoia.¡± I dipped into the radio hut where a trio of sparkers were tinkering with the equipment¡ªby which I mean they were hopelessly tangled in a nest of sparking wires and crude electrical components. They snapped to attention when they saw me, though I¡¯m pretty sure one of them was only rigid because of the current arcing between his whiskers. A taskmaster sat at the vox transmitter, looking absolutely exhausted and more than a little singed. ¡°Call up bluff Apollo. I want to talk to Taquoho.¡± ¡°Aye, boss,¡± said the taskmaster. He nodded to his charges. The operators saluted and began throwing switches and twisting dials as they tuned the frequency in to contact the home base radio room. He squawked his request into the mic an the response came by way of sparker voicebox. ¡°I shall bring him here, o¡¯ emperor,¡± I waited for a minute, watching the sparkers continue to fiddle, until a bright flash of blue lightning and a buff of smoke sent them scattering. I held up my hand for protection as blue flames licked out of the radio set. ¡°Jesus!¡± ¡°King Apollo?!¡± asked a familiar rasp. ¡°Taquoho?¡± I said. I lowered my hand. The faint blue flames I was seeing on the vox unit were not, in fact, the result of an electrical fire. ¡°Did you just¡­ transmit through the radio?¡± ¡°We are not entirely sure. This is¡­. a disorienting experience. I feel as though I have been stretched quite thin.¡± ¡°I bet,¡± I said. Another series of pops and flashes startled the sparkers further, though their taskmaster just seemed too resigned to even care¡ªeven when his fur began to smolder. More colorful fires spread through the equipment. I waved my hands. ¡°Vessels!¡± I ducked out of the hut and shouted to goblins nearby. ¡°We need Ifrit vessels! Now!¡± The goblins scrambled to obey, and within a few minutes, we had a half-dozen jars and brass bottles suitable for Ifrit to relieve the stress on the overloaded radio while I tried to wrap my head around what had just happened. Taquoho and his kin had piggybacked on a radio signal and effectively teleported from one bluff to another. There was no earth-science precedent for that kind of thing except maybe quantum entanglement. But there wasn¡¯t really an earth-science precedent for the Ifrit themselves, either¡ªunless you counted genies and other mythological creatures. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Still, it had me wondering yet again at the true nature of Ifrit. As far as I could tell, they had no mass themselves¡ªunless it existed in higher dimensions. Yet they did somehow exert force against brass and zinc. They were magical fire spirits, but they had mountains of information stored somewhere. And the entirety of their being could apparently hijack a radio wave. How long would it take to transmit the entire neuro-network of a human brain? Petabytes of information were mapped across neurons in the squishy grey matter inside our skulls that would take minutes, if not hours to transmit across optimized Earth connections. But several Ifrit had jumped over the crudest connection possible in less than a minute. Was there a distance limit? Heck, could we use a radio to send them home? Many of them were disoriented. Their vessels wobbled drunkenly. I had to imagine traveling through a goblin radio was akin to their version of a tilt-a-whirl, or maybe a very rickety roller coaster. Still, it opened up a world of possibilities if I could transport a living, thinking being through a radio. Armstrong had returned from the fight and wrangled up a spare flying vessel for Taquoho, but the ifrit struggled to get it airborne after his experience on the radio. ¡°This union is quite disoriented, King Apollo,¡± he said. His rotors spun, but he kept tilting in one direction or the other. ¡°I must offer apology, this is an unseemly sight, I am sure.¡± I waved my hand. ¡°Just looks like you¡¯re a little tipsy is all. I¡¯ve seen worse.¡± ¡°You refer to the corporeal state of inebriation, to which I am not susceptible.¡± I shrugged. ¡°First time for everything.¡± Sourtooth shook his head beside me. ¡°Tis a mad, cursed land, this. Had not you a query for the asking?¡± I snapped my claws. ¡°Right! Taquoho, what¡¯s your take on the Midnight Queendom? They want to build an observatory here.¡± ¡°Here?¡± ¡°Bluff Canaveral.¡± ¡°Ah. We thought this looked different.¡± The blue flame flickered, and I got the impression of someone shaking their head to clear it. ¡°The Ifrit have little contact with these newcomers. They avoid the desert and the territory of the null devil. Presumably it interferes with their magic¡ªbut they also show little care for clockwork outside their star-measuring devices.¡± I sighed. ¡°So, nothing you can tell me about them?¡± A blue tendril of soft flame rose and waved. ¡°Oh no, King Apollo. We can tell you many things. Tabun has made diligent study of the Servants of the Midnight Sea. Firstly, they are not to be trifled with.¡± Sourtooth snorted beside me. ¡°Secondly, they are a furtive people. Plans within plans, always.¡± Sourtooth snorted again. I shot the sour old orc a glare, but that just widened his leering grin. ¡°So, wanting to build an observatory? That was a lie?¡± ¡°We doubt they would risk blinding themselves by Raphina¡¯s shadow for a mere observatory. They may wish to build one, but do not mistake it for their only purpose here.¡± I ran a finger across my chin. ¡°Most important of all is this: In reading the future, they believe themselves its keepers. Therefore, any action they take, for good or seeming ill, they will see as justified¡ªeven if they would strike another down for taking the same action.¡± ¡°All evil they commit is necessary to stop the evils others commit,¡± I said, sighing. I held a hand up to Sourtooth. ¡°Don¡¯t say it. Where I¡¯m from we have a saying: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Until we know what the Midnighters are really after out here, better to have them where we can keep an eye on them.¡± ¡°Aha! Lo there are those in your homeland having a drop of wit and tactic, after all,¡± said Sourfang. ¡°Not all of your world¡¯s wisdom comes in form of contraption flying or engines bursting.¡± I put my hands on my hips. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know, my world has a long and storied military history of great leaders being cruel to each other in the most clever ways. Sun Tzu, Alexander of Macedonia, Caesar, Napoleon, the list goes on and on and on. Libraries are full of their exploits, and people make entire studies of their lives. We just also had great scientists and explorers. Nikola Tesla, Einstein, Magellan, Neil Armstrong. People who changed my world with the mark of a pen and the first brave step into new unknowns. And of the two sets, I know which I¡¯d prefer to embody.¡± Armstrong perked up at the mention of his namesake. ¡°Wot did your Armstrong do?¡± he asked. I pointed upward. ¡°He was the first man to walk on my world¡¯s moon. And he did it without a lick of magic or fortune telling. Just a team of brilliant scientists and mathematicians, a slide rule, and a computer less powerful than the ones most people carry in their pockets.¡± Sourtooth looked askance. ¡°Alright, o¡¯ little brother, mine. No offense did I mean to give.¡± I left out the part where Neil Armstrong, myself, and everyone who had worked together to put him into space had been human. Somehow, I didn¡¯t think that would endear the old orc to me. ¡°I, eh, noticed my name wasn¡¯t on that list, boss,¡± said Promo, looking a little perturbed. ¡°Your name comes from mythology,¡± I said. ¡°Prometheus stole fire from the gods.¡± ¡°How¡¯d they take that?¡± he asked. ¡°Look, that part of the story¡¯s not important. Let¡¯s get back home before nightfall.¡± Chapter 130 - Sky Kings Chapter 130 - Sky Kings I was a little surprised when Taquoho elected to take the radio back to Bluff Apollo, considering how disorienting his first trip had been. But then, trying to keep an Ifrit from possessing a piece of technology that had caught their interest was nigh-impossible. And in all honesty, I wanted them to continue exploring the possibilities of transmission by radio frequency. I had long worried about the prospect of taking Ifrit up into space. Goblins could survive falls from any distance. And if something killed them on the ground it was, as awful as it sounds to say it, not a dire issue. The loss of an Ifrit in orbit was something entirely different. But if they could escape emergencies by using a radio like a parachute? Well, there wasn¡¯t much to limit them. By the time those of us limited by corporeal bodies landed back at the bluff along with the returning searchers still scouring the forest for the remaining elf, nightfall was approaching and our maiden airship, Gertrude, was also pulling into port. Pretty much the whole bluff turned out to welcome our intrepid Eileen back, whereby goblins with a plethora of new stripes and fur patterns jumped down to greet their new tribemates from the main branch. The canoneers stumbled off the ship with armloads of new comics that they immediately began distributing before I could attempt to stop the spread of their propaganda, but that concern was only secondary. ¡°Boss!¡± Shouted Eileen, waving down at me. She¡¯d acquired a flight cap with crystal lenses at some point in her journey, rounding out her classic aviator look. Everywhere they¡¯d gone, they¡¯d taken the tech tree of Tribe Apollo, and now we had a network of bluffs making iron, glass, radios, copper wire, and more. Gerty¡¯s hold was full of goodies. ¡°Welcome home!¡± I shouted over the cheering. ¡°How does it feel to be a hero?¡± ¡°Amazing! We¡¯ve got so many new friends and stories and stuff! Is this how it feels to be you all the time?¡± I tried to avoid wincing. If only she knew. Eileen vaulted down, summersaulting gracefully and then landing flat on her head, whereby she rolled to her feet. Several of her fellow air corps goblins mobbed her and lifted her on their shoulders. She was grinning so wide I thought the top of her head might flop back. ¡°Boss, I can¡¯t believe you sent me on this pig and then made those chopper things to fly without me! I want to try one right now!¡± I laughed. ¡°I¡¯ve got something even better for you. Come see what we¡¯re working on.¡± She dropped down from her underlings and scrambled over, climbing up Armstrong like a ladder to straddle his shoulders. ¡°Onward!¡± she declared. I led Eileen and several of her aviators up to the factory level of Bluff Apollo and into the hangar where we¡¯d stored the first prototypes of the turbine test planes. Her eyes bugged so wide I thought they might break the lenses on her goggles from the inside. She stared at the first-generation models, jaw slack and hands on her cheeks. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen these in the tech tree! Boss, you shouldn¡¯t have!¡± ¡°We haven¡¯t officially unlocked them, yet,¡± I said. I moved over and ran my hands on the sleek, metal fuselage made from whistler hide alloy. ¡°But we¡¯ve got them sized for goblins, hobgoblins, and orcs. Chuck has been champing at the bit to fly one, but¡­¡± The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Eileen grinned. ¡°You can say it, boss, everyone already knows.¡± I shrugged. ¡°Your mechanical aptitude skill is higher.¡± Armstrong moved alongside the primitive jet aircraft and Eileen hopped over to the top of the wing. She got into the cockpit and started fiddling with different controls, actuating the sticks and watching as the control surfaces warped at the tips of her wings and tail. ¡°Of all the stuff to come from your brain, boss, this is the best yet.¡± I climbed up onto the wing myself and swung into the back seat in the cockpit, pointing out various controls and their functions along with the primitive instrumentation. Eileen listened raptly. ¡°How fast will they go?¡± ¡°About 7 times as fast as the prop-driven bi-gliders,¡± I said. ¡°7 times!? How is that possible?¡± ¡°Turbine engines,¡± I said. ¡°A compressor rotor draws in air, squeezes it tight, mixes it with fuel, blows it up, and then shoots it out the back.¡± Eileen cocked her head. ¡°In¡¯t that how the combust¡¯em engines work?¡± I nodded. ¡°Yep. Except a combustion engine works in discreet cycles. In a turbine, it¡¯s happening constantly, all at once.¡± Eileen grinned and worked the flight stick back and forth. ¡°Sounds proper goblin, this. When do I get to try it out?¡± ¡°We¡¯re putting the finishing touches on the airstrip at the base of the bluff. These need a bit of run to takeoff and land so we can¡¯t just drop them off the second ring like they¡¯ve started doing with the gliders. Rest and relax for a day or two, yeah? Then you and Chuck can fly formation in the first prototypes.¡± Eileen groaned and draped herself dramatically over the edge of the cockpit. ¡°That¡¯s forever, boss! I¡¯m ready to fly now!¡± A woman after my own heart, truly. And if my secretive service would have entertained the idea, I¡¯d already be up in the air in the first prototype. But historically, bad things tend to happen when I went into the air alone and so I needed goblins like Eileen and Chuck watching my back. ¡°You¡¯ll get your chance,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯re going to need these. If Lura wants to take on the sky-devil oppressing the Ifrit, jet fighters are going to be the key to beating it. It¡¯s not just about helping her with her hunt and getting Taquoho home, either. These get us one step closer to high atmospheric flight and then space flight. I¡¯m asking a lot of you, Eileen.¡± ¡°That¡¯s cause you know I can do it,¡± she said. She dropped down into the nose turret and oggled at the guns. ¡°Wow, what are these?¡± ¡°Well,¡± I said, ¡°Can¡¯t take to the skies in jet engines with lever-action rifles, can we?¡± Eileen made gunshot noises as she angled the turret guns around. She slapped at the glass. ¡°Armstrong!¡± she shouted. ¡°Are you going to run these for me?¡± Armstrong looked up at me, eyes starry as he pressed his index fingers together. ¡°Can I, boss?¡± I sighed and shook my head. ¡°Who am I to refuse?¡± I slid out of the cockpit as my two taskmasters celebrated their impending adventure. I ran a hand along the underside of the fat-bodied jet. In other parts of the hangar, goblins scrambled, working on putting together more of the jet prototypes. Right now we had two ready and waiting for pilots. By the time the runway was ready, we¡¯d have another. Every day, we were advancing. I had expected technology development to slow once we hit the industrial age and things became infinitely more complex. But, if anything, it was accelerating. Ifrit, orcs, and goblins seemed to be the perfect storm for lightning-quick iteration and design. Now, with Midnighters in the mix, if all went well it wouldn¡¯t be long until space was within reach. Tomorrow, jet engines. A month from now? High altitude rockets. Satellites, maybe. I already had almost a thousand goblins turning food into fuel in anticipation of our need for high-volume boosters. Every choom of scat was being saved and moved to Canaveral. At the same time, their labor turned raw resources into refined products. And the workforce just kept growing. It wouldn¡¯t be long before we truly ruled the skies of Rava. Maybe they¡¯d need a new word to describe us, once the sky was filled with goblins. We were long past being pests or vermin. In fact, Tribe Apollo was beginning to feel unstoppable. Chapter 131 - Stoppable Chapter 131 - Stoppable North of us, a great column of smoke rose from what, just yesterday, had been one of our newly assimilated bluffs. Granted, smoke now rose from almost all the bluffs as they built fires and forges and kilns. But this was the dark smoke of an unchecked fire burning things that weren¡¯t supposed to burn. And it didn¡¯t seem like there was anyone left to put it out. Goblins that had joined under my leadership were now as toast as their home. I watched from atop the guard tower on the north edge of City Apollo with Armstrong, still wiping the sleep from my eyes. The reality of the situation was that as the tribe grew, so too would the losses. Technically, we were still at replacement levels even with the loss of over 60 goblins in one day. But it¡¯s hard having those numbers shoved in your face first thing in the morning. Goblins I¡¯d never seen, never met, but who were part of my tribe all the same. Taskmasters, scrappers, igni, wranglers, sparkers, and maybe even a canoneer. ¡°Armstrong,¡± I said. ¡°Already onnit, boss,¡± he said. ¡°Choppers are fuelin¡¯ up.¡± ¡°Good,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m going.¡± My scrapper chief mulled something over in his head and nodded. ¡°Reckon that¡¯s proper. We¡¯ll have the lads wiv us.¡± ¡°Do you¡­ think anyone survived?¡± I asked. He hesitated. ¡°Been nuffin¡¯ on the radio. But the lads are sneaky. There¡¯ll be someone gone to ground. That¡¯s what we done ¡®fore you found us.¡± I hoped so. I went down to the rotary pads, where over a dozen aircraft were being rolled out under the totem-ized skull of the whistler that gave speed and durability to vehicles. Some part of me had expected the helicopter designs to become more standardized as we iterated, to start converging on a homogenized design that took inspiration from the best parts of previous models. If anything, the opposite was true. The 100% goblin-built helicopters were a mishmash of design philosophies that intersected at obtuse angles. Some aircraft had coaxial blades, like the ifrit vessels. Some had as many as 3 or 4 rotors of various sizes and mounting angles. A few sported larger cabins or cargo slings, which armed and armored goblins were piling into in anticipation of going to check out the commotion. Dozens of rifle-toting goblins and goblins armed with popper slingers would be my escort, and Armstrong jogged off to make sure my secretive service was kitted out with the best of the gear. The fuel trucks pulled out of the yard, and I climbed into the cockpit of one of the choppers. Eileen scrambled up beside me and pulled a headset on over her goggles. I narrowed my eyes. ¡°Am I going to have to fight you for the sticks?¡± ¡°You¡¯d lose,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m your king, I could just order you to let me fly.¡± ¡°You¡¯d still lose,¡± she said, sticking out her tongue. ¡°I¡¯m your pilot, sire, ain¡¯t none better the whole tribe round.¡± I crossed my arms. ¡°Except for me.¡± She grinned, dropping a rockette into the starter. ¡°Remains to be seen, don¡¯t it?¡± The helicopter shuddered, not only from the rotor coming to life, but also from the dozen scrappers wrestling their way onto the back or just clinging on to the sides. Armstrong squeezed past us to his customary seat in the nose gun. Around us, several other aircraft were already lifting off, so Eileen hauled up on her collective pitch and we got light on the skids. The engine began to rumble under the increased load, and then the ground dropped away. I pulled on my own headset and listened to the sparker relaying what passed for air traffic control. Considering the sheer volume of traffic around the bluff, it was a chaotic spiral of stepped-on calls and angry, chittering controllers arguing with disagreeable pilots intent on their own plans. So, not too unlike traffic control back home. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. On the ground, several air delivery goblins with smoldering flares signaled us directing us out west over the livestock paddocks. Eileen followed their signaling until we were over the cleared grazing land and then banked us toward the north. We climbed up over the forest as we transited. I looked down, marveling at the size of the area we¡¯d cleared to the west and north. Roads of flat stones curved out from the bluff, often looping back on themselves or crossing each other nonsensically. Watchtowers dotted the flatland, and I spotted a group of wranglers on dirt bikes herding a flock of the kangaroo-like horned lopers. ¡°Won¡¯t be long til we¡¯ve cleared all the way to the stream,¡± I commented. The livestock in the paddocks looked up at us, incurious as we passed. They were used to the flying machines by now. The wranglers cheered, raising their zap-rods and lever guns. Cleared land gave way to treetops, and then we crossed the sparkling river and headed back into the northern jungle. I realized I hadn¡¯t spent much time on this side of the river. Bluff Apollo was on the southeastern edge of the jungle, close to the badlands where I¡¯d been reborn. But the forest was a deep, vast thing that covered a good portion of northern Lanclova. Bluffs poked out of the canopy, here and there. We even passed close by one on our trek north. Word went out on the radio that we were coming, and it seemed like every converted goblin in the village turned out to see their new king¡ªat least 100 of them, wearing leather clothes and standing on fortified perimeter walls. The bluff had several multi-story wooden structures, with more going up with the help of windmill-powered cranes. My tech tree unlocks were helping these goblins thrive. So what had happened at the bluff to our north? It wasn¡¯t the furthest north bluff, so I doubted it was the inevitable incursion from Habberport. What made this one special? Something made this area feel familiar, though I hadn¡¯t ever visited this bluff before. It was another half hour of flight, as we moved at the speed of our slowest aircraft. But we finally approached the bluff that had been attacked during the night, a pinnacle set into the rocky foothills of the mountains to the northeast. ¡°Circle us around. Armstrong, guns ready.¡± My scrapper chief racked the priming lever for his two nose guns and tilted them down at the bluff, as though ready for something to leap up at us. Eileen eased us into a bank. She was a natural at handling the bulky helicopter. ¡°This is one of the places you converted, yeah?¡± I asked. ¡°Early on,¡± she said. ¡°They make that copper wire you¡¯re so obsessed with. We called it Red-Rock Rise.¡± Hmm. If this was one of the few sources of copper ore that I had, this had to be marked as a critical bluff and restaffed as soon as possible. Copper was one of the most important resources to advancing electronics and power generation. But it wouldn¡¯t do to just have another group of goblins slaughtered. We needed to figure out why it had happened. A few structures still burned down below but the majority had been snuffed out by the nightly rain. We circled, looking for activity. But the smoke seemed to be the only thing moving. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s set her down,¡± I said. Eileen dropped the collective and brought us in on a low approach to the bluff, nearly scraping the top of what remained of the perimeter wall and bringing us into the main square. The back ramp dropped, and we disgorged our cargo of angry, war-crying scrappers, who rushed out only to find no enemy to face. I dropped out of the cockpit myself and felt a crunch underfoot. I looked down and lifted my foot, picking bits of red insect carapace off my soles. Elves. Or rather, elf, singular. The missing member of the diminutive dude-bro druid commandos. We¡¯d been looking for the one that had fallen in the forest. Our searches had been concentrated around the area to the southwest in which he¡¯d fallen. I¡¯d expected him to either make a beeline back to the coast, or to make his way toward Bluff Apollo to cause more trouble. But it seemed he¡¯d made his way northeast instead, bypassing Bluff Apollo entirely. Curious. ¡°Boss!¡± shouted one of the scrappers. ¡°Come look ¡®ere!¡± I followed the voice around the corner of a caved-in building, where I started at the gaping jaws of a night haunt¡ªdead but still locked in a snarling expression. A few of the red insects still crawled around its mouth, and it had the red buttons of a dozen rockette wounds in its side. Armstrong whistled. ¡°At least they put up a proper fight. Big job, this.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right, it is big. But not big enough to take out the entire village.¡± A goblin squawked in alarm from further in. The scrappers charged their rifles and dashed after the cry. I followed at a safer distance, wary. But all we found were more carcasses. At least a half-dozen of the flying predators had been taken out around the bluff by various means¡ªmostly lever-action rifles and spears. It reminded me of the early nights before we were able to repulse the attacks, when goblins would be taken and we were powerless to stop it. Well, these goblins hadn¡¯t been powerless, but they still hadn¡¯t stopped it. ¡°Hard to believe they did all this,¡± said Armstrong. ¡°It wasn¡¯t just them,¡± I said. ¡°These are just the ones they managed to kill.¡± Chapter 132 - Queries Chapter 132 - Queries I went over to yet another carcass and crouched down, lifting its jaw. It was definitely bigger than the one that had tried to skewer me, and the downy hair of its shoulders had gone silver. Like the others, it had traces of the red insects around its mouth. ¡°The elf found the nest. He might have every night haunt in the foothills bewitched by now.¡± Even Armstrong looked concerned at that. The normally unflappable hobgoblin shifted his eyes back and forth, as though one of the nocturnal predators might leap out of the shadows. Something in the goblin brain was especially wired to be frightened of the flying predators. Maybe they had been the primary goblin predator in Lanclova even before whatever strange force here twisted the beasts into true monsters. ¡°Boss. Croc-knockers and big-jaws is one thing. But night haunts workin¡¯ together?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like it either,¡± I said. I snapped my claws to call a sparker over. ¡°See if their radio is still intact. Warn every bluff to have sparky weapons and be ready for concerted attacks by multiple night haunts. Check with Sourtooth and see if he knows how many of these things an individual elf can conceivably control at once.¡± The sparker saluted and dashed off. I straightened and dusted my hands off, considering. ¡°Boss, ain¡¯t you worried?¡± asked Armstrong. ¡°Of course I¡¯m worried,¡± I said. ¡°But the elf may have played itself.¡± ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± Eileen perked up. ¡°Ooh! Ooh! We know where the nest is!¡± she said. I pointed a claw at her. ¡°Got it in one. He has no way of knowing we already found the night haunt roost in the cliffside. And unless I miss my mark, this is the closest bluff to it.¡± ¡°It is,¡± added Eileen. She pointed out to the east. ¡°Out that way.¡± Armstrong whooped. ¡°Then what¡¯re we waiting for? Let¡¯s go get the big guns and take out that nest while it¡¯s still daylight. We can make it there and back, yeah?¡± ¡°Easily,¡± said Eileen. ¡°Not likely,¡± I said. I dusted off my hands. ¡°The normal rules for night haunts probably don¡¯t apply when there¡¯s an elf at the wheel. Daytime, night-time, I doubt it makes a difference.¡± Armstrong¡¯s expression fell. ¡°Well, then, we need to at least get you out of here. Back to the choppers.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Have your boys start pulling together barricades and figuring out which buildings can withstand a second attack.¡± ¡°Boss?¡± ¡°This attack did exactly what it was probably intended to do.¡± ¡°It drew you here¡­¡± Armstrong finished, then started kicking dirt. ¡°Dirty elf¡¯s probably waitin¡¯ fer us to take back off again to send the haunts at us! They can out-fly the choppers no problem, we seen ¡®em do it.¡± He whistled and made a circle in the air with his claws. ¡°Dig in, lads! We¡¯re having night haunt for dinner. Best make ready.¡± ¡°Salvage wire, get the exterior hulls of the choppers electrified and take the guns off the ones we can¡¯t rig up,¡± I added. One of the goblins came back, chittering. Armstrong listened for a moment and then relayed. ¡°Radio room is functional,¡± he reported. ¡°They¡¯ve raised Bluff Apollo.¡± ¡°Good, take me there.¡± I did a quick mental head count on the goblins scrambling to scrape together some cover while we walked. We had maybe 20 scrappers, 10 wranglers, and 100-120 other forest goblins with us¡ªall armed and armored. It was a sizable force and heavy on variants. We had rifles, pistols, spears, and poppers¡ªplus a few heavier guns we could dismount from the chopper noses. I estimated it would take at least 10-12 night haunts to have any chance at winning. How many were packed into that cliffside cave? Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Dozens, at least. I grit my teeth. You already know the answer to that, System. And how many night haunts there are, down to the youngest cub. You could just tell me. No answer. No surprise, either. Whoever, whatever the System was, it was clear that one of its governing rules was that it couldn¡¯t play favorites. Even though I¡¯d managed to crack its shell a little, even though it was obvious there was some sort of sentient intelligence behind the seemingly cold, rules-driven mask, be it an alien sys-admin or AI or grandfather spirit or whatever, it wouldn¡¯t lift a finger to help me over, say, an elf. Huh. System actually sounded a little hurt at that. Not this time, though. Not when we were walking into a trap. I paused, causing Eileen to bump into me with a startled squawk. System had a point there. Hell, I would go so far as to say it had been one of my defining qualities throughout my life. Where others saw signs warning of danger or limits not to be exceeded, I saw opportunities to challenge myself. Heck, it was part of how I ended up in this new world. The accident that ferried me to Rava was part of the biggest challenge there was. The only bigger challenge was surviving once I got here. And that, yes. Bootstrapping the Apollo program from the stone age. But what did System care about my goals? What did anyone care? Who? This time I didn¡¯t just pause. I stopped dead in my tracks. My fur became damp with sweat. ¡°What do you mean?¡± I asked. ¡°Who brought me here?¡± ¡°Boss?¡± said Eileen, unsure. ¡°Uh, I did. On the chopper.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Not you, System! Someone picked me specifically? Why me? Why not Sanders or Davis?¡± No answer. ¡°Hell, they brought Ringo, too! Why Ringo? Why bring a kid from Florida?¡± Nothing. I growled. ¡°Nothing to say, now? Figures. You should¡¯a been a government database with all the queries you fail to return.¡± ¡°Boss!¡± I looked over at one of the scrappers shouting from the eastern side of the bluff. He ran up, gasping for breath. ¡°I think they figured out we don¡¯t plan on takin¡¯ back off. There¡¯s a bunch of haunts, headed right for us.¡± This isn¡¯t over, System. I looked at Eileen. ¡°Let¡¯s get to the radio room. And, I¡¯m sorry,¡± ¡°For what?¡± she asked, confused. ¡°We need reinforcements. Looks like Chuck is going to get first dibs after all.¡± Eileen swallowed, pointing east where a handful of black dots had appeared in the eastern sky. ¡°Well the faster he gets here, the better.¡± We ducked into the radio room, which had been partially collapsed¡ªbut miraculously, the low-frequency antenna was in-tact and the sparkers had managed to finagle a channel with Bluff Apollo. I took the handset and barked instructions through until I heard Sourtooth¡¯s voice on the other end. ¡°Little brother! A mad scramble, you¡¯ve got here. Pray, what troubles found you ¡®ere northern village?¡± ¡°Our missing elf. He¡¯s found the night haunt nest. I know you think night haunts are pests, but they¡¯re dangerous enough to exposed goblins.¡± ¡°Night haunts by 1¡¯s and 2¡¯s, are pests. A nest inflamed by the bough of an elven infiltrator is a pestilence. You must retreat.¡± ¡°We can¡¯t retreat,¡± I said. ¡°We can already see them coming.¡± ¡°Then fortune favor you, little brother king, for luck has not.¡± Weren¡¯t those just the same things? A commotion outside drew me away from the radio, where several goblins I didn¡¯t recognize were coming up over the bluff¡¯s edge. They had longer, lankier arms than the goblins from my bluff¡ªan adaptation to the higher cliff faces, I assumed. There were concentric circles on their fur, and their little skull masks were mostly of birds and fowl. ¡°Locals?¡± I asked. They chittered and nodded. Another dozen goblins that had managed to survive. ¡°You escaped the attack?¡± Nods. ¡°How many night haunts?¡± I asked. The group looked between each other. 2 of them held up both hands and all their fingers, and another held up only his left hand. I flinched. Two-dozen night haunts heading our way. And reinforcements from Bluff Apollo were at least an hour away. We needed some edge. ¡°Come with me.¡± I brought the survivors to one of the slain night haunts with the silver fur. They immediately began shouting as they punched and kicked it, and I had to shout to get them under control. ¡°Hey, HEY! Stop that. Bring tools and a beam. We¡¯ve got to get this thing mounted up, yeah?¡± The mountain goblins seemed to understand what I was telling them to do, and several rushed off and started pulling rope or intact bits of wood from the flattened structures. In the main clearing of the bluff, several of the helicopters started to spin up again, what ones the sparkers had managed to rig-up with improvised anti-elven defenses. Engaging the night haunts in close-air support would be incredibly dangerous. But then, so was engaging them on the ground. Nothing about the situation was ideal. Nothing new for us, really. I just had to keep reminding them, like everyone else, that Tribe Apollo were not goblins to be underestimated. Chapter 133 - The Siege of Red-Rock Rise Chapter 133 - The Siege of Red-Rock Rise It was surreal seeing the bat-winged silhouette of night haunts against the blue afternoon sky. The creatures that hunted forest goblins asleep on their bluffs were night-time terrors, Rava boogeymen. The stuff a mother goblin would whisper to her child to keep them straying too far, if goblins had discrete mother/child relationships. ¡°Steady!¡± I shouted. Beside me, non-variant goblins quaked behind hastily erected barricades made primarily from the remains of structures that had already failed to stop the elf¡¯s bewitched night haunts once. I didn¡¯t imagine the second time would be the charm¡ªand I doubted there would be a third. Above, the rapid whump-whump-whump of circling choppers echoed the pace of every goblin¡¯s heartbeat as they looked upon the coming storm. I didn¡¯t take much comfort in the helicopters. Helicopters are an air support tool for when you have air superiority. They¡¯re not dog-fighting vehicles (because they¡¯re dumb). You need planes for that. The night haunts were closer to fighter planes themselves, fast and nimble with the ability to turn tightly and out-climb a rotor-wing aircraft. I counted the silhouettes in the sky, but it was difficult to accurately gauge their numbers because their formation twisted and folded in on itself as they approached, flying with that strange coordination the elf magic gave them. But I put their number at somewhere between 18 and 24. Half of the formation split, climbing up to gain an altitude advantage on the helicopters, while the others came straight on. I grit my teeth. The elves actually knew some fundamentals of aerial combat. Our choppers moved forward to meet them, and the pop of gunfire and the whoosh of flame-throwers came down. The night haunts smashed into the air support like battering rams, sending several choppers spinning out as the weight of the predators sent the light aircraft careening out of control. One of them, still spraying flame, looked like a fiery pinwheel in the sky as it dropped. The night haunt separated to look for a new target while the ruined chopper continued down to the forest floor. ¡°Here they come!¡± I shouted. I chambered a rockette in my lever gun. They were close enough now that I could see the glint of silver in several of their manes. The night haunts that had been harassing us practically since I¡¯d arrived on Rava must have been juveniles, while the silvermanes must have been the adults. The first few came within range of the barricade, and a few over-excited goblins let loose shots that fell woefully short. ¡°Hoist the colors!¡± I yelled. Behind the line, the Red-Rock natives shouted and heaved at ropes. A pole went up, carved with Tribe Apollo iconography, and sporting the head of one of the silvermanes killed in the initial attack. A strange calm came over me. My hands steadied and a pressure I hadn¡¯t even felt mounting vanished. My chest felt lighter, and I took a deep, gasping breath¡ªnot even realizing that I¡¯d been taking half-breaths. So, the all-encompassing fear goblins felt wasn¡¯t just an in-baked prey response. It was a skill inherent to night haunts. And now, we had an answer. A cheer went up, and it quickly turned into a war-cry. ¡°Fire!¡± Rockettes blasted out of every gun on the line, tiny contrails criss-crossing the air on their chaotic gyro-jet trajectories. What we lacked in individual accuracy, we made up for in sheer volume as dozens of shots turned into hundreds, which turned into thousands. The night haunts began to juke and dodge, but it seemed like the air was becoming more bullet than not. To either side of me, noblins with recoilless rifles fired. The shots arced out, and one of them struck a night-haunt and erupted into a drogue chute that stalled the flying predator out. It fell behind the pack, fighting helplessly against the drag. Two others fell to the rifle fire. But the rest of the night haunts came on. The better part of a dozen silvermane haunts smashed into the barricade, sending up gouts of dust and splintered wood. The war cry turned to squawks of fear and alarm. I dove for cover as one of the enormous predators impacted directly in front of me, and rolled through the chaos, tossing goblins through the air. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. It straightened, lifting its head and scanning left and right across the line with eyes possessed of unnatural intelligence. Red bugs buzzed around its snarling beak-like muzzle. I grinned underneath the ceramic skull-mask I¡¯d traded my bone crown for. It was looking for me. But right now, I looked like any other goblin¡ªexcept for my legs. But lots of veteran goblins were missing appendages now that had been replaced with prosthetics. My fellow barricade goblins turned and continued firing, or dropped empty rifles to charge with cleavers or spears. The wranglers had net launchers and hooked poles, and they moved up to menace the night haunts. I charged along with them, shouting and thrusting my ceramic bayonet at the underside of a thrashing silvermane. The haunts lunged forward eagerly, unafraid of the goblins on the line. The silvermanes were at least half again as big as their juvenile counterparts, and bowled through the non-variant goblins like a set of 10-pins. Claws and jaws flashed, sending blue fur flying through the air. A heavy tail whipped just over my head, and a back claw shattered my bayonet and sent me spinning down to my back. One of my secretive service hobgoblins pulled me back. The scrappers, who had stayed hidden up to this point, burst from the ruins to join the fight¡ªadding their surprise attack bonus as they hit the night haunts from a new angle. Two of the night haunts went down under their spears and cleavers. More scrappers opened up with guns taken off the choppers. Recoilless rifles fired heavy projectiles down and the new self-cycling guns I¡¯d designed fired with a slow c¡¯thunk-c¡¯thunk rhythm. Two helicopters, held in reserve at the back of the bluff, lifted off and flew low over the village. The goblins aboard added their fire to the mix, and more night haunts fell, thrashing and howling. The night haunts reacted by spinning toward the new angle of attack. One of them launched itself up at the improvised machine gun nest, collapsing half the damaged tower as it clawed its way in to the scrapper. Two of the night haunts still in the air dropped and hit the choppers from above¡ªone of which was killed instantly by the chopping blades of the main rotor, but the other of which shattered the rotor assembly. Both the reserve choppers went down. I got back to my feet. Not exactly eager to rejoin the melee, I grabbed a discarded rifle and checked it. Predictably, its owner had been all too eager to rush into cleaver range. I knelt down to line up the sights and scanned across the night haunts, looking for a green, mossy bundle atop one of them. ¡°There he is!¡± I shouted, swinging my barrel toward a spot of green amongst the silver of one of the larger haunts¡¯ manes. I fired. The shot, of course, spiralled off at a strange angle. But my secretive service was keen enough to spot it as well. They added rifle and pistol fire of their own, and the night-haunt flinched back as a rockette nearly took out the last of the elf invaders. ¡°Pour it on him!¡± I yelled. The goblins still on the barricade began to concentrate their fire. In response, the night haunt vaulted over the melee, and smashed into the back of the barricade, claws reaching through and beak snapping. It was close enough that I could see the evil little glimmer of the elf¡¯s eyes through his mossy disguise, and he waved a floral bough at us. ¡°Look out!¡± I dived to the side as an emerald ray split the barricade, cutting down through the loose pile of junk like a knife through a cake. Where it hit, the edges of the material sizzled as though melted by strong acid. With an opening, the night haunt squeezed into the narrow space within the barricade and snapped at me with its jaws. I pulled out one of my spare poppers and threw it. It burst against the side of the haunt¡¯s beak, and it recoiled in pain. My secretive service rushed in with spears and cleavers, but thorny vines sprouted from the ground and trapped several of them. The night haunt kept coming. I pulled the revolver from my belt and fired all five shots at the oncoming beast. A shout mounted, and the familiar form of Armstrong barreled through a gap in the barricade, smacking the night haunt with the butt of the gun he¡¯d pulled out of the chopper. He brought the muzzle around and started firing the self-cycling gun at point blank, filling the tunnel with rockette trails. The night haunt recoiled from the larger, rapid fire shots that peppered its thick hide, back pushing up against the top of the barricade. But it lashed out with a claw and sent Armstrong tumbling towards me. ¡°Armstrong!¡± I dashed forward to try and arrest the larger scrapper, but that went about as well as you¡¯d expect. We both went down in a tangle. Armstrong got to his feet first, and hauled me along as the silvermane clawed after us. Ahead, down the improvised tunnel, another night haunt was pulling its way inside. It snapped at us with its beak, and we stopped. ¡°Out, out!¡± shouted Armstrong, pushing me toward a gap in the barricade. I squeezed through, and then pulled the larger scrapper out, just before the elf splattered the gap with a ball of green goo that sprouted a tangling moss. We kept moving. The haunt who had been forcing its way in to cut us off, pulled out of the tunnel and bounded down after us, but a dozen goblins charged it with zap-sticks and spears, giving Armstrong and I time to retreat. ¡°It¡¯s not looking good, boss,¡± said Armstrong, surveying the battlefield. We¡¯d taken some of the night haunts down, but there were lots of goblins down as well. Worse yet, only a small number of helicopters remained overhead, while close to a dozen more night haunts still circled and harried them. But I noticed a sound¡ªdistant, but growing. A rushing, low rumble that I¡¯d first heard at an air-show when I was 6 years old that ignited a life-long fever. I¡¯d felt it then as I did now, deep and resonating in my chest as it mounted. My ears and eyes swiveled to the south. ¡°We did what we had to, Armstrong,¡± I said. ¡°We held out. Now it¡¯s our turn.¡± Chapter 134 - Turbid Terrors Chapter 134 - Turbid Terrors The night haunts realized pretty quick that something in the air had changed. Maybe the elf felt that deep rumble in their gut, same as I did, and knew it was some new toy come to vex them further. If so, it was good intuition. High in the sky, riding a plume of white vapor, three fast-flying aircraft cut across the moon, and then dove down toward the bluff. I felt a small jolt as the aircraft flew close enough for the pilots to pass the new technology to me and recovered in time to watch the knowledge spread across the bluff, informing every goblin that the tide was about to turn. It was just the second wind they needed as they pressed back with a confident cry of premature triumph. Small rockets detached from the wings, streaking down and exploding all around the bluff. In true goblin fashion, the unguided rockets did more damage to our own tribe than to the night haunts, but at least one of the haunts took a direct hit. The rest roared and lifted off into the air. Wranglers with nets and pole hooks kept two of them from getting airborne, dragging them back down where the forest goblins could finish them with cleavers, spears, and rifles. The silvermane sporting the elf clawed its way out of the barricade and launched into the air. He joined the night haunts still flying and climbed to address the new threat. Overhead, the trio of our first functioning jets wheeled around to engage the haunts on their own terms. The fat aircraft were sluggish and slow to turn compared to the nimble night haunts. As far as performance went, they were far below even the earliest Earth analogues. They were outnumbered, too. At least 8 or 9 night haunts remained. But the jets were faster and had nose guns. And they had one more advantage. ¡°Guns up!¡± I shouted. ¡°Lever guns and recoiless rifles on those haunts. Flares, too, and airbursts. Anything we¡¯ve got!¡± The goblins on the bluff cut their cheering short and scrambled to find anything that could shoot up. The cracks of gunfire and the whumps of recoilless rifles began to sound across the bluffs, and dozens of little contrails began to shoot skyward. I didn¡¯t know much about military strategy, but I did know that you never wanted to be in an air-to-air fight above the enemy¡¯s air defenses. Every goblin on the ground shot gleefully into the air, heedless of whether or not their rockettes could even reach. The fighters themselves corkscrewed and barrel rolled and looped, making runs at the night haunt cluster. Surprisingly, the night haunts made a good show of it. The fast, sleek silvermanes were able to keep up with the aircraft in a dogfight, and I saw one of them shred the tail of a fighter that turned a little too tight¡ªright before that silvermane took a direct hit from a recoiless rifle that knocked it right out of the air. The fighter, likewise, spiraled down into the forest and exploded. The self-cycling nose guns on the fighters clipped two more night haunts before the elf decided he¡¯d had enough and turned the pack to the east to beat a hasty retreat. With two fighters left, they didn¡¯t give chase, but instead circled in the air above the bluff, above the crowd of cheering goblins and discouraging the night haunts from trying for a second rounds. Armstrong had two goblins up on his shoulders cheering even as he cupped his hands around his mouth to whistle at the planes. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Still. This had been too close. The elf had found the most dangerous predators in the forest and weaponized them. Then he¡¯d set a trap, which we¡¯d only narrowly avoided¡ªthanks to technology we hadn¡¯t had a week prior. Without radios, without turbine engines¡­ well, this encounter might have had a very different conclusion that ended with every goblin abandoning the bluff and scrambling in a different direction, in hopes the elf didn¡¯t get lucky in nabbing me out of the chaos to take back home. The missing elf had graduated from a nuisance to an emergency. But Eileen had been right. We knew where he was hiding out. We¡¯d scouted the night haunt nest before the elves had made their play in the swamp, and avoided it because we hadn¡¯t had the tools to deal with it. Well, we had the tools now¡ªor at least the ability to make them. And that elf was in for a rude awakening if he thought we wouldn¡¯t go spelunking to excise his pointy-eared behind. It wasn¡¯t long before the jet fighters had to return to Apollo. Turbine engines burn through fuel like no one¡¯s business and they¡¯d no-doubt been in too much of a hurry to fully fuel them up, anyway. But not long after the jets departed, I spotted the silhouette of Gerty, flanked by a handful of spare choppers to bring additional personnel and supplies to Red-Rock Bluff. Apparently I wasn¡¯t the only one with an idea of how important this location was. It took about 20 minutes for the airship to touch down with relief. The gangplank dropped, and Buzz disembarked with two-dozen of his builders hauling tools and planks. He waved at me and looked around. ¡°This place could use some shorin¡¯ up, eh boss?¡± ¡°A bit,¡± I said, clapping him on the shoulder. All of the Red Rock natives elected to stay, along with about half the survivors of the goblins who had come with me initially. They were already busy hauling supplies to build new, improved fortifications to keep another night haunt incursion out. Others had started butchering the night haunts killed in the fight, so that was dinner sorted. Rifles were collected, ammo was collected, counted, and redistributed. Within an hour, the bluff already had better defenses and more defenders than when the elf had hit it originally. It would be a much harder target now. But it wasn¡¯t the only bluff in the area. At least four more integrated villages were within range of the night haunt cave¡ªincluding Canaveral, where the Midnighters were camped out. Part of me hoped the elf would be stupid enough to attack, whereby he would probably be very surprised to find the elite flying cavalry of the sorceress¡¯ personal guard, along with whatever nasty tricks the insectoid priest herself possessed. But better not to find out. ¡°Time to go, Armstrong,¡± I said. My scrapper chief, who had been helping Buzz prop up the side of a building so the builders could hammer it back together, nodded. He left the work to Buzz¡¯ lads and whistled to round up his own. Together, with Eileen and Buzz, we boarded Gerty and headed back to Bluff Apollo. ¡°Good work today,¡± I said to Armstrong. ¡°Weren¡¯t nuffin¡¯ boss,¡± my scrapper chief replied. He ground a fist into his palm. ¡°I just want to give that elf the boot, yeah? Get him out of our turf, then turn the moon into our turf, too!¡± ¡°You¡¯ll get your chance,¡± I said. ¡°I want you leading the assault into the nest.¡± ¡°Sounds great!¡± said Armstrong. ¡°Only¡­¡± ¡°What?¡± I asked. Armstrong tapped the last knuckles of his index fingers together. ¡°Only it¡¯s real dark in caves, yeah?¡± I laughed. I couldn¡¯t believe it. My big, tough, hobgoblin taskmaster was afraid of the dark. In fairness, with the moon the size it was in the sky, it never really got that dark on Lanclova. Heck, even the daily new moon phase only lasted about 20 minutes, and other than that the darkest time was the eclipse totality. ¡°You don¡¯t need to worry about that, my friend,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯re going to bring a little something for you to brighten it up.¡± Chapter 135 - Good Enough for Goblin Work Chapter 135 - Good Enough for Goblin Work I didn¡¯t want to give the elf time to plan and lick his wounds. But those silvermane night haunts had changed the game a bit. I couldn¡¯t risk stumbling in blindly when there was a magic caster, and possibly something even worse than the silvermanes. Two more days of prep had cut it close, but with our noses to the grindstone, we prioritized rounding out our earliest iteration of the jets, and I prepared to mount up along with Chuck and handful of his best wranglers in the heavy hobgoblin fighters, and Eileen with a half-dozen of her best air delivery pilots in the lighter goblin interceptors. Both had a small gaggle lined up behind them, ready to serve as flight crews/stowaways. Over the last two days, we¡¯d pumped every choom of icky-slicky oil out of Huntsville that we could and moved it over to Bluff Apollo. Now, it was going into a dozen stunted, fat-bodied jets that were every bit as uniform in build and design as our fleet of choppers had been. IE: Not even a little bit. Some of the jets had back-swept wings, others forward-swept wings. One had canards. Some had one vertical stabilizer, some had two (parallel and V-tail were both represented). But they all flew. Except the one that exploded on takeoff. But you can¡¯t expect goblin tech to work every time when even Earth experimental aircraft were unpredictable. We were entering the realm of high science and advanced aeronautics. On Earth, this was technology that had been developed side-by-side with the early rockets that had put the first satellites into orbit. ¡°Alright,¡± I said, marching back and forth in front of my flight crews. They weren¡¯t exactly standing at attention. Some of them were slouching, others sitting, two were scuffling amongst themselves, and one had a finger up his nose. ¡°I don¡¯t have to tell you what¡¯s at stake, here.¡± Behind me, the crews finished fueling the jets and pulled the bladder buggies back to what they hoped was a safe distance. ¡°The night haunts have been a menace since the tribe was double-digits. But now, with an elf at the sticks, they¡¯re a real threat. And we¡¯re going to deal with them now. Chuck?¡± ¡°Yeah boss?¡± ¡°I want your fighters taking on any silvermanes that come out.¡± ¡°What about us, boss?¡± asked Eileen, eliciting chirps and squawks from her crews. ¡°Our job is to protect: The Package.¡± The assembled pilots oohed and ah¡¯d appropriately. ¡°Alright,¡± I said. ¡°To your aircraft!¡± The wrangler and air-delivery pilots scrambled, pushing each other out of the way in a mad dash to mount up¡ªluckily most of them heading for the correct aircraft (even if it was probably luck). I did see one hobgoblin struggling to squeeze into an interceptor, and one air delivery goblin jumping to try and reach the ladder on a heavy fighter. I moved to my own interceptor, feeling oddly naked without Armstrong¡¯s shadow. But he¡¯d picked 2 of his lightest-weight and mostly reliable forest goblins to serve as flight crew. I climbed aboard and was unsurprised to see the sparker flight engineer already fiddling with the radio, but was quite surprised to see a boglin squeezed into the back of the cabin with the banded markings of Tribe Apollo on his arms. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± I asked. The boglin shrugged. ¡°Must have rode in on the fuel trucks,¡± I guessed. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you rather be back in the swamp?¡± The boglin shook his head and made little flapping motions with his hands as he mimicked the sound of a jet engine. I opened my menu and looked at his stats. ¡°Well, you¡¯re good enough at mechanics to be a flight technician, I suppose. Welcome aboard.¡± Goblins only being about 3 feet tall, the jets had enough room to crawl around in, despite being half the size of an Earth fighter. I¡¯d never been aboard a WWII bomber, but I¡¯d seen plenty of movies, and the interior of the plane reminded me more of that than the cramped double-seater fighter jets of something like Top Gun. We needed the space inside because the plane was basically built around the engine so that the engine could be worked on in-flight. It was a delicate act, according to Chuck, to keep the propulsion system from exploding pretty much all the time, even with an ifrit inside. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it The rest of my crew scrambled aboard. The two secretive service goblins headed below the cockpit to the nose gun, while the other wriggled back and introduced himself to his new goblin partner. While they got situated, I strapped into the pilot chair and eyed the control console. ¡°Taquoho?¡± ¡°Greetings, King Apollo. My kin are eager to experience this new vessel.¡± ¡°How many of you are in here?¡± ¡°There are currently 2 unions aboard, and each other of your craft has at least 1. I should say, the debate over which of us would would fly and who must stay behind on the bluff grew quite contentious.¡± ¡°Oh yeah?¡± ¡°Several unions split and reformed over the decisions.¡± ¡°Yikes,¡± I said. I flipped the toggle for the battery and the auxiliary power unit. The sparker went rigid behind me as his console sparked. ¡°Glad to have you with us,¡± I said. ¡°There is nowhere this union would rather be.¡± ¡°Just remember, if we go down, take your radio parachute back to the bluff. I don¡¯t want any ifrit getting stranded.¡± There was a bright flash and a shwoosh noise outside the cockpit. I looked over the edge to see a rocket climbing skyward on a pillar of smoke that clearly originated in the cockpit of one of the interceptors. ¡°It appears your ¡®wingman¡¯ has located his ejection seat controls,¡± commented Taquoho. ¡°No kidding,¡± I said, reexamining the levers and toggles before switching any more of them. ¡°I have already disabled ours,¡± ¡°Good plan. Go ahead and cycle up the primer.¡± I reached overhead and tugged the canopy closed and latched it. Behind me, the electric motor began pre-spinning the turbine. I could hear a whine mount as the electric fans started to draw air through the compressor. I reached up and pulled down the lever for the fuel pumps and set the throttle to start. The fuel pumps began drawing kerosene from the bladders, and one of the lines immediately sprang a leak. The boglin crawled up with his tool bag and applied an adhesive goo. Deep in the belly of the aircraft, a rumble began to mount as the air-fuel mix compressed enough to ignite, and I watched the RPMs grow on the primitive tachometer gauge. I played the throttle up, bringing the turbine to life until it started producing enough power to self-sustain. ¡°Alright, Taquoho, we are hot. Generators on, main power on, auxilary power off.¡± Switches on my console started to flick themselves to the proper position. The engine RPMs dipped a moment as the generator started drawing power for the jet¡¯s electrical systems. A shower of sparks erupted out of the sparker¡¯s console like the Enterprise had taken a Klingon torpedo, but the eclectic variant simply waved them out of his face and started tuning. A small fire broke out at the back of the engine, but my second technician started slapping it with a canvas cloth to smother the blaze. The cabin took on the distinct smell of hot metal and burning oil. ¡°Maduri-Massa-Morez would like you to know the engine is functioning within established parameters,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°Flight control surfaces all function with at least 80% intended range of motion.¡± I sighed, shaking my head. This aircraft would give an Earth pilot heart palpitations. ¡°Alright. Everything looks good, I suppose.¡± Good enough for Goblin work, anyway. I tugged on my radio headset. ¡°Bandit one to air delivery, taking the runway for departure to the northwest.¡± The sparker opened his mouth and radio-garbled squawks came out. I assumed they were giving the go-ahead. And if they weren¡¯t? I was the king, so too bad. I waved to the goblin ground crew, who pulled the chocks from in front of my wheels. I released the brakes, and got us rolling from the ramp to the runway. A semaphore goblin ran alongside, waving his flag to give us instructions. The runway itself wasn¡¯t perfect¡ªnot just because we hadn¡¯t invented asphalt or concrete yet. It had a visible curve off to the left, since goblins don¡¯t really get the whole straight line idea. And it was basically dirt and grass that had been hacked at with hoes and stamped smoothish. A canvas windsock flapped at the top of a wooden pole, uncertain where the wind was coming from or where it was going. That was fine. These aircraft had a little help for taking off. Once we got lined up, I pushed the throttle to max, and then reached up and pulled a lever overhead. I was immediately pushed back into my chair as the rocket booster under the aircraft ignited, shooting us forward across the runway so quickly I worried the landing gear would snap off. But System¡¯s little flight status window popped up, and I watched the speed meter steadily climb until we got light on the ground. I pulled back on the stick and the ground vibrations vanished. Below me, I could see the ground rushing by through the open landing gear well. ¡°Gear up!¡± I yelled. My techs scrambled to each be the one to start cranking the manual controls to lift the gear, with the forest goblin eventually winning out while the boglin sulked and nursed the engine. The gear wells closed, and I pushed the takeoff assist lever back flush, dropping the expended rocket booster back to the ground to be picked up later. We climbed up, drawing level with the bluff. I opened up the throttle, squeezing more power out of the turbine. We kept climbing at a steep ascent rate. Turbine jets, compared to the performance of our powered gliders, were like the difference between a Ferarri and an Amish horse buggy. This was amazing. And it hadn¡¯t even exploded on takeoff. Great for goblin work. I pulled us into the pattern of traffic seemingly constantly surrounding the suspended bluff platforms and eased off the throttle. I could already see The Package pushing off from the dock. All that was left was for the escort to finish getting off the ground, and then we were taking the fight to the elf. The little bastard wasn¡¯t going to know what hit him. Chapter 136 - Apollo Rising Chapter 136 - Apollo Rising It wasn¡¯t the first time I¡¯d flown over Lanclova, but it was the first time I¡¯d done it straddling 30,000 RPMs of turbine power. Twisting in the seat, I could see the rest of the fleet getting into what passed for a formation for goblins. After the whistler had nearly taken us out of the sky, I decided to trust to goblin instincts for chaotic maneuvering. En masse, goblins moved almost more like a fluid. I¡¯d seen it my first day on Rava when their eclectic pathfinding flowed through the forest, leaving a trail of semi-cleared greenery in their wake. Likewise, the pilots of the aircraft twisting around each other in the sky, corkscrewing and barrel rolling, coming within a few chooms of each other¡¯s hulls in passing, but somehow coordinated in a way the scientist in me couldn¡¯t quantify. Maybe it was a product of the goblin pseudo-gestalt that powered the tech tree. It certainly wasn¡¯t goblin air traffic control, because they were entirely comprised of forest goblins, and therefore non-verbal¡ªjust like most of the pilots circling the bluff. The general traffic frequency sounded like a howler monkey acapella sing-a-long to a thrash metal song. I honestly don¡¯t even know why they had a radio in their tower. The Package separated from the general traffic and headed northwest, and I flew down close to the abomination of an aircraft (even more-so than a helicopter). Gemini had been resurrected. But now, instead of a hanging gondola, it was an oblong framework built around the hot air envelopes giving it lift. But the hot air wouldn¡¯t be enough to haul around all the metal we¡¯d added to it. That was the job of the four tilting turbine motors at each corner. At the front, the goblins had carved a prow to look like one of their skull masks. All together, it gave it a top-down silhouette a bit like a sea turtle, except that it trailed black, oily smoke. I had to throttle down almost to minimum flight speed to not outpace Gemini-II. Our first ¡®dread-naughty¡¯ as the System deemed it, was faster than any hot-air aircraft had a right to be, but still not exactly a speed demon. The sparker crackled. ¡°Oy, King, which one o¡¯ them¡¯s you?¡± came Armstrong¡¯s voice. I dropped down close to the aircraft, to the side where I could see dozens of goblins scurrying through the lattice structure behind the improvised armor panels. The whole thing wasn¡¯t unlike one of the floating rings above the bluff, except that it surrounded a balloon strung with electrified wire. ¡°On your right,¡± I said, tipping my wings.¡± Enough goblins on Gemini-II dashed to the starboard side that the engines had to tilt the opposite way to compensate for the shift in gravity. At least 2 that I could see fell off from the weight shift before the course could correct itself, but personal gliders unfurled in the sky below. ¡°I see ya, boss! Oy!¡± I could see a large hobgoblin in the back with a transmitter jumping and waving. I waved back. The other interceptors fell in around The Package. I keyed my radio again. ¡°Just have the pilot follow me in, Armstrong. Chuck, we¡¯ll stay with Gemini. Go on ahead, and report back.¡± ¡°Aye boss,¡± The heavy fighter engines rumbled overhead as Chuck and his wranglers opened up the throttles and pushed forward in the sky. I pulled slightly ahead, and the massive canvas envelopes of the dread-naughty were like a second full moon off my tail. The other members of the fighter escort wove in and out as we flew¡ªsometimes keeping formation, other times ranging out on the flanks. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. The distance that had taken the helicopter fleet an hour to cover was maybe a third of that by jet. It was only a few minutes later when Chuck came back on the radio. ¡°Boss, haunts are already out. Looks like daytime patrols around the cliff. A few of ¡®em climbin¡¯ to engage us.¡± ¡°Good copy, Chuck. Time to earn your namesake.¡± Eileen came on the channel. ¡°Psh, the hobbies get all the fun.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯ll definitely get your chance. Just remember, stick close to Gemini-II. ¡°You don¡¯t gotta worry about me or my pilots, boss. Trust.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not you I¡¯m worried about,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s that elf.¡± ¡°Ah, yeah, him. Don¡¯t sweat it, boss!¡± Easy for her to say. Heavy is the giant pumpkin head that wears the crown, and all that. I climbed us up over a ridge, and the terrain got substantially more hilly. Up ahead, the start of the mountains reached out of the jungle, dotted with white streaks of cliff face. A few twisted contrails already curled through the distant air where Chuck and his team had engaged the patrolling night haunts. I hoped that attacking during the morning would give us the best chance at catching the nocturnal creatures unawares, making the rest of the creatures slow to rise even with the elf¡¯s prodding. Hell, best case scenario they¡¯d be hit with the same no-sleep penalty that afflicted goblins who didn¡¯t get their 7 hours down. But when had I gotten the best-case scenario yet since coming to Rava? We flew low over the ridgeline. Gemini-II banked slow, avoiding the high spots. The flying fortress didn¡¯t exactly turn on a dime. It was low enough that some of the highest trees brushed its underbelly. Every pilot instinct in me would have told them to climb. But it was important that the elf not see them coming, so map-of-the-Earth it was. My old flight instructor would have called it scud running. But the nice thing about Rava is that there aren¡¯t any power wires or radio towers to reach up and snatch your aircraft out of the sky. I took an odd sort of satisfaction from flying low over the hills and ridges, low enough to see the individual trees flash just below me. I hugged the depressions and valleys. Some of my pre-astronaut training was riding trainee in old Navy trainer jets¡ªbut even those instructor pilots had minimum altitudes. I was lower than any of those guys had flown probably since the Gulf War. ¡°Just up ahead, we¡¯ll swing around that hilltop and it should be a straight shot to the nest,¡± I called over the radio. Then, into the intercom, ¡°Ready all weapons.¡± My gunners made ready, loading leather belts of ammunition into the self-cycling gun and taking out the clamps that held the turret in-place. In true goblin fashion, the whole nose-ball itself rotated, so the gun wasn¡¯t limited to simply firing directly forward. One goblin controlled the guns, the other pushed against the glass like a hamster in a ball to swing the whole ensemble around. Ahead, we moved abeam to the hill, and I pulled us into a bank to swing us around for our final push north. The cliff face with the yawning maw came in sight. Already, I was seeing night haunts climb out and scale up the cliffs by ones and twos, until they were high enough to jump free of the wall and fly furiously to reach the fight overhead. ¡°Rockets!¡± I called. I bumped up the throttle and lined up with the cliff mouth with the reticle etched into the canopy. ¡°Just like shooting womprats back home,¡± I muttered. ¡°King Apollo, we are unfamiliar with this creature,¡± said Taquoho. ¡°Are they native to your bluff?¡± I grinned. ¡°Nah, they¡¯re from a galaxy far, far away,¡± I replied. I squeezed the trigger on my flight stick, firing our entire salvo of rockets. The unguided rockets shot forward, roughly straight (except for one that corkscrewed off to God-knows-where). They impacted against the cliff in a ripple of explosions, knocking several night haunts free as they attempted to climb. The creatures plummeted down into the canopy, spinning helplessly. The other interceptors followed suit, sending salvos of the munitions at the nest. Dozens of rockets exploded, most of them with more flash than substance, but it made the night haunts wary of pushing back out. One of the pilots managed to get a rocket in the cliffside opening, and my flight crew started cheering as an explosion roiled back out of the cave. If only it were that easy. Unfortunately, caves don¡¯t have main reactors, so one perfect shot wouldn¡¯t blow the whole thing. We were going to have to exterminate this nest the old-fashioned way. I pulled back on the stick, making way for Gemini-II.