Grak_Orc on Vacation

by Joseph J. Bailey

  “You’ll also want this.” Fluxcoil held out a couple of small, silvery pellets.

  “What’s this?” I asked, unsure if I needed to take vitamins before I set out on the journey.

  “This is regenerating nanoshrapnel for your teeth. After your last capture by ANGST, we thought you could use a bit more hidden, backup firepower if you ever found yourself in a sticky situation. It takes some time, but the nanoflachette will restore itself after being fired.”

  I was getting a lifetime of gifts, presents nicer than any I would have thought to ask for, all in a few glorious, adrenaline-packing adolescent moments.

  This demon must really suck.

  “We have some more things for you to explore on the ship—grenades, guns, and the like—but first, you need to see your ride.”

  Waving away the shield and my chair, Fluxcoil turned and said, “Shall we?”

  “We shall indeed!” I purred, happier than a troll presented with a cafeteria full of slop.

  24

  We exited the Customs House, stepping from standing in the sky to looking across the docks onto it. Between us and the ships tethered to the docks beyond, people strolled, floated, and flew. Carts, buggies, vehicles, robots, and contraptions I had no name for rolled, drifted, lumbered, contorted, flew, and surged by on the ground and in the air. Paratechnologists bedecked in their wildest fancies assisted aliens, machines, and monsters from across the macroverse.

  The docks are always a scene of beautifully orchestrated chaos, one cohering to a common theme of trade, communication, and growth.

  Even Alyon’s docks are alive.

  And dizzying to behold.

  I felt like one grain of sand on a vast beach surrounded by the rolling tide of life’s expression.

  A grain of sand that could easily be washed away in the currents.

  Now, I just needed to see which grain of sand would take me away from this shore to another, where I would be living, and what I would be living on, in the days ahead.

  “This way, Grak.” Fluxcoil headed down the docks at an easy casual pace, giving me plenty of time to look around.

  I noticed that Flux received a nice, respectful berth as he walked.

  Being shrouded by an exploding star commands a bit of respect.

  And caution.

  I followed in Fluxcoil’s swath as the crowd opened for him naturally, parting and reforming as we passed, the mob acting with a mind of its own.

  The next time I come to Alyon, I thought, I need to ask for a supernova shirt. It certainly made getting around a lot easier.

  I looked down at the bundle I was still holding in my hands, struck by an idea. “Flux, can my ALOHA shirt go nova like you?”

  “Nova? Or supernova?” he queried with a smile.

  “Any nova’s super,” I countered, also smiling.

  Fluxcoil laughed. “While it may help protect you from a star going nova, your ALOHA shirt will not turn into one. Its print can, however, look like one if you so choose.”

  While this was something of a disappointment, it gave me another idea. “If the ALOHA shirt can change its print, can it actively camouflage me while I move?”

  Fluxcoil clapped his hands excitedly. “That is an interesting application, Grak! And, yes, it can actively help you blend in with your surroundings. It cannot make you invisible, at least not currently, however.

  “We might consider that for a future upgrade.

  “You are, after all, supposed to be visible on this trip. Visibly enticing.”

  I pursed my lips in thought. Having the option to be invisible could always prove handy. “Wouldn’t that be a good option to have in case I need to remain unseen after I come out of the demon’s maw?

  “What if I’m surrounded by hungry, Grak-loving demons?”

  “Then you use the teleportation band and get the flyin’ frack outta there!”

  I would have no qualms about doing that.

  “Here we are!” Fluxcoil stopped at the docks’ edge and puffed his chest out proudly.

  I looked around excitedly.

  I began to drool.

  Immediately.

  Almost directly in front of us floated the epitome of style, grace, and badassery.

  I was cooler just standing next to it.

  I bathed in the glow of awesome.

  I closed my mouth lest my drool get on my new clothes.

  The ship before me looked to be lovingly molded from a single block of shimmering starshine. It was all sleek curves and powerful angles.

  If I showed up at the Macroversal Wizarding Championships flying this beauty, the tournament winners might just give me their trophies for a chance to ride in it.

  Or stand by it.

  For pictures with me.

  “Sweet!” I hummed.

  Noting my attention, Fluxcoil’s smile dropped. “Not that ship, Grak! This one!”

  He indicated a ship slightly past and to the outside of the adrenaline-coursing dream machine I had been drooling over.

  “That?” I squeaked questioningly.

  This ship appeared to be made from the raw tailings left over after the creation of the ship I had been appreciating.

  “That!” Fluxcoil agreed emphatically.

  My heart sank as my dreams of a grand reception and a regal entourage at the Wizarding tournament burnt to ash.

  “Do not be disappointed, Grak. That other ship is not half yours.”

  “The good half?”

  “No. Not the good half!”

  Fluxcoil was starting to become frustrated.

  Getting him frustrated was fun.

  “Half the weight?”

  “Stop your accursed silliness, Grak. Your ship is twice as effective as that one and far less conspicuous. Your ship can outmaneuver, outgun, outfly, outthink, and outjump that ship.

  “Not all attention drawn to you is good.”

  Fluxcoil did make a good point, or a few.

  I took another look at the ship. My ship.

  The vessel looked ungainly when it was just floating.

  No. Ungainly wasn’t quite the right word.

  I considered the ship a bit more.

  It looked orcish.

  A rough orb of destruction, full of menace, my ship looked like the head of a mace, ready to smash into something.

  It was full of implied threat and dangerous points.

  If I saw that thing coming, I would get out of its way.

  It was just like me.

  And it was perfect.

  25

  “Let me take you inside.” Fluxcoil snapped his fingers, and the ship drifted over to us, nestling up to the edge of the docks. One of the giant exterior spikes rotated on a hidden hinge, and a hatchway opened for us as the coarse metal settled down on the docks. Rough steps were shorn into the interior side of the spike.

  “After you,” said Fluxcoil.

  Seeing no alternative, I went in first.

  I only made it to the top of the steps before I halted, my breath caught in my throat with surprise.

  I looked around outside the ship to confirm its dimensions, then looked back in.

  My eyes were not deceiving me.

  A large, comfortable room extended away from the hatch. The chamber was full of cozy, body-encapsulating furniture and cushions, decorative art, and a relaxation alcove.

  Off this first chamber, another was visible to the left that appeared to be an exercise center. This second chamber was filled with inexplicable torture devices that could only be intended to keep occupants in good physical condition by trying to kill them.

  Also off the first chamber, directly across from the entry, a room filled with various holographic readouts and associated projections was visible. That must be the command center.

  A third chamber was visible off to the right. It housed an enticing, sleep-inducing bed. The bedroom would be where I spent most of the journey.

  Actively sleeping.

  Outside the bedroom in
the main chamber, a stairway led up and down to additional rooms.

  Either the interior space-time region had been expanded considerably, or the inside was a pocket dimension connected to the ship.

  “As you can see, the ship is most commodious and should meet your every need. The rooms and their contents are actually modular. Although everything is arranged this way right now, most ship functions can be performed anywhere within the vessel, and the room arrangements can be changed.

  “We just set things up like this to give you a starting point.

  “Let George know how you would like the ship to be laid out, and it will adjust to your request.

  “George will pilot and maintain the ship, so, until the demon eats you, you will be free to relax and enjoy yourself however you so choose.”

  Relaxing until I got eaten had such a nice ring to it. Fluxcoil really was selling the place.

  “She will be ready for departure when you are. George can go over her features in more detail, or you can review them yourself through the ship’s interface. But, in anticipation of your questions, she is armed to the teeth, has a full medical bay, an armory, a small garden, includes a full-service entertainment and edification system, can teleport home like your band, can repair and restore herself, and can cross the void between stars faster than you can cross your room.”

  I nodded. “Looks like she’s just about everything I could ask for.”

  “And then some,” added Fluxcoil.

  “I think I could just stay here until it’s time to go. This place is a dream compared to my flat.”

  My whole apartment could fit inside one of the main chamber’s closets.

  And it would still be less comfortable.

  As we walked back toward the Customs House, I asked, “What kind of drive does the ship have?”

  I really was not much of a pilot, but I thought asking a few questions might show Fluxcoil how interested I was in the ship and how eager I was for the journey.

  “FTL,” Fluxcoil said succinctly.

  I was excited. “Faster than light?”

  “No. Faster than logic.”

  “How fast is that?”

  “Faster than it makes sense to go, according to the nonstandard models of physics.”

  I nodded simply, keeping my face unreadable. Typical gnomish metamagical blabbery. The ship would go at ridiculous speeds, so fast as to be almost incomprehensible, avoiding general unsophisticated conceptions of natural laws like the plague.

  “So, how long will it take me to reach the region where most of the demonic attacks have occurred?”

  “As long as you want. But don’t take too long, or you’ll miss the tournament.”

  I supposed that answered my question.

  “And I will be able to communicate with you in real-time as well?”

  “Most certainly. Your ship is equipped with FTP.”

  “FTP?”

  Furious talk protocol?

  Funny talkative people?

  I avoided shaking my head in dismissal with an act of will.

  “Faster than physics, again of the nonstandard kind.”

  As if I had a clue as to what he was talking about.

  When in doubt, stay silent.

  “The FTP communications system is the natural complement to the FTL drive.”

  At least that made sense. “Of course,” I said.

  Fluxcoil followed my questions with one of his own. “So, how many will you be taking with you to the tournament?”

  I dropped my shoulders in disappointment. “None. The opportunity to get eaten by an extradimensional horror is not enough enticement to get anyone to come along to watch Wizarding.”

  “Their loss is your gain!”

  “How so?”

  “We managed to get you three tickets. So, you can either use all three yourself, sitting in the stands with enough room to put your feet up and recline, sell them for enough currency to buy a small kingdom, or give them away.

  “The choice is yours. I will leave the decision with you and the tickets in your ship. That way, if one of your friends decides to change their mind, you will have the option to give them tickets.”

  “Great!” I blurted, as excited to get the tickets as I was to receive all the booty that had thus far been bestowed so graciously upon me.

  In all honesty, given their generosity, the Paratechnologists probably believed that everything they had given me was a very short, very temporary loan and would soon be recovered.

  I intended otherwise.

  I was going to survive.

  And I was going to keep all these treasures for myself.

  And visiting the next Wizarding tournament would not require my being eaten by a demon.

  After leaving the ship, we stopped in front of the Customs House. People—and I use that term in the broadest sense—churned around us. We were two rocks about which the stream of sentience flowed.

  “If there is anything else you decide may help you succeed in your task, let me know, and I will do my best to see that you have it.

  “I believe you have all the tools you need to thwart the demon’s continued assaults on our spaceways.”

  I glanced back over my shoulder significantly. “There is one thing. Do you think you could give me an airfoil to let me travel around the city easily?”

  If I had bothered to leave the Undercity more, I would have thought of this earlier.

  I could easily buy a pair of airfoils now with the hospital income.

  Sadly, laziness and poor planning are often their own reward.

  “You do know that your ship is equipped with flight suits?”

  I did now.

  I suppose I could just jump over the lip and fall down. The drones or Alyon’s safety systems would be sure to catch me before I hit. If not, I would make quite the impression when I struck the ground below.

  On second thought, if I jumped, I would probably just be returned to the docks.

  I would need to convince the Construct to let me fall.

  Being lazy was too much work.

  I would just take the public transport and hope Cretus had the day off.

  “Thanks, Flux. I have a few things to get in order.” Really, I didn’t, but I didn’t want Fluxcoil to know that. “And then I will be ready to go.”

  About all I wanted to do was have one last drink with Kordeun and Yoctoerg before I left Unea. After that, the stars would tremble in my wake!

  “Sounds fair enough.” Fluxcoil gave a solemn bow. Thankfully, no superheated plasma or star ejecta spilled out with the motion. “Thank you, Grak, for your bravery and sacrifices to come.”

  “No sacrifices needed.” I hoped. “I am glad to be on the job.”

  I waved and left, ready to get groundside to say my goodbyes.

  26

  While I waited in line for my turn on the pedestrian lift that would take me back down to the city below, I figured now was as good a time as any to apologize to George.

  Not that I really thought he deserved an apology for what he and the Construct had done to get me to Alyon to see Fluxcoil, but he probably needed one. I reckoned that, being such a new Abstract, he might need a bit of reassurance.

  Also, a nice conversation might keep him off-balance, thinking everything was okay between us. Then I would be able to reap my revenge when he least expected it, laziness permitting.

  The lines to the lifts were especially long today, perhaps because all the people who had gathered to watch me barrel through the air were now dispersing to go home.

  Whatever the reason, I had a solid wait ahead and wanted something to fill the time.

  “George, are you there?”

  “I am here, sir!”

  “You haven’t been booking me any more flights, have you?” A little jibe might start the conversation off lightly.

  “No, sir, I have not.” George sounded a bit dejected. “The Construct informed me that my actions were ill-advised.”

 
Had it?

  Maybe revenge would not be needed. If George’s role model and creator had reprimanded him, that was probably about as bad as things could get for a disembodied intelligence.

  But that would not stop me from adding a bit of salt to the wound.

  “I agree with the Construct. Your actions were poorly considered. You would do well to consult the Construct or me in the future if you have questions of etiquette or consideration.

  “I have enough trouble getting around the city with Cretus harassing me after I saved him. His ‘help’ is bad enough.

  “I don’t need yours to be just as insufferable.”

  “I will do my best not to fail you again, sir.”

  “I am counting on you, George. We are about to embark upon an important mission that will take us across the multiverse. I am going to be the midnight snack for an interdimensional terror. I don’t need you playing games, with my life on the line.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Good. Then, let’s put this behind us.”

  “Gladly, sir!”

  “Before we go, I’d like to meet with Kordeun and Yocto for a drink. If they are still not interested in going with us, then I’d like to see about selling two tickets to the Transmacrocosmic Wizarding Championships.”

  “Whoa, sir! That will fetch quite the pretty coin!”

  “Any suggestions on what I should ask for ’em?”

  “I don’t think you should ask anything, sir. I think we should post that you have two tickets available and see what you’re offered.”

  “Good thinking, George! I knew there was a reason I didn’t have you deactivated.”

  There was a pregnant pause before I heard George’s hesitant reply. “Deactivated?”

  “Well, if you are Abyss-bent on seeing me killed, I figure we could trade in kind. But that’s all behind us now. Isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.” If a synthetic intelligence could be said to gulp in fear, I believed I had just heard the sound of significant swallowing.

  “Happy to hear it. Why don’t you go ahead and post that those tickets are available? If Yocto or Kordeun change their minds, we can pull the offer. Details are on our new ship. Warn prospective buyers that the seats will be next to me. I can get rather…excited during a match.”