“Very funny! See if I invite you onto my new space yacht for snacks.”
“Ya have snacks?” Kordeun blurted eagerly, all levity forgotten now that he had been presented with the opportunity for more food.
“And a spaceship to store them in.” I didn’t really have snacks, just a food generator and some supplies, but Kordeun didn’t have to know that. “I’ll have even more snacks if I get a good offer on those tickets.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Kordeun replied seriously, all business.
Yocto and I smiled in tandem.
“So, who’re ya pickin’ ta win it all?” Kordeun asked, shifting gears to the upcoming Wizarding tournament.
“That’s tough. Even narrowed down to the final sixty-four teams, there are so many unknowns and surprises.”
“Tellanon always fields a good team,” Kordeun grunted in agreement. “Ilaeria consistently puts together a solid group. I really don’t know. Yer guess is as good as mine. I just want ta see some excitin’ matches. There’s so much talent floatin’ around in tha macroverse, ya never know how it’ll all come together.”
Yoctoerg nodded. “It’s shame the tournament doesn’t allow modifications, enhancements, or technologies. Then the Paratechnologists would really shine.”
Kordeun snorted. “Ya do alright anyway. Tellanon has won more championships than just about anyone. There’re still more Paratechnologists there ’n anywhere else even after tha Diaspora, but tha wizards there do just fine once they set aside all their gadgets and gizmos.”
“Those who are able to,” Yoctoerg admitted.
Kordeun snorted. “There’s gotta be a sportin’ chance fer everyone, hasn’t there? Otherwise, we’d just ask divinity ta come down from tha empyrean planes ta thrash us or have Paratechnological superintelligences wipe tha field o’ combat clean.
“Wizardin’ does need some limits.”
“Even if wizardry doesn’t,” amended Yoctoerg.
“If ya wanna start some ultimate league, ya should. Could be thrillin’ ta watch, but ya’d need worlds or dimensions ta sacrifice, and tha common folk wouldn’t have it near their homes.”
Yoctoerg’s interest was piqued. “Such a tournament would not have to be actual. It could be virtual…”
“Aye, and ya could pretend whatever ya wanted. Why?”
“Because then we could have ultimate leagues where anything goes without destroying worlds to do it!”
“Have ya ever left yer cave, Yocto? Or gotten yer head outta yer lab? We have that already! They’re called simulations. People play ’em all tha time!”
“And Wizarding has been done?”
“It’s one o’ tha most common ones, played every which way ya can imagine!”
“But people won’t have the same vested interest as they do in Wizarding.”
Kordeun laughed long and loud. “I’m havin’ ta explain this t’ya? Yer people are tha ones who invented it! There’re leagues o’ people playin’ simulations all over tha macroverse. They have tournaments as well.
“How’d ya miss that, Yocto?”
Yoctoerg shrugged. “I was never really into games. Figuring out how to make new things is how I have always had fun. I don’t need to escape what I’m doing to enjoy my work.”
“Well, neither do tha players in these simulations. Unless they’re professionals, it’s just what they do outside o’ work. Like a hobby. Ya do have those, don’t ya?”
“Inventing is my job and my hobby,” Yoctoerg replied simply.
“And I have an herb garden,” he added after a significant pause.
Kordeun smacked his head. “Ya need ta get out more, Yocto. Outta yer head.”
Yoctoerg smiled. “But it’s nice in here.”
“Bah! Get outside yerself and yer routine. Maybe tha new perspective’ll let ya see what ya’re already doin’ in a new way. Look at Grak. If not fer him, ya never would’ve helped map and neutralize tha transmutagen ANGST was usin’.
“Gettin’ outta yer routine helped ya learn more, do more, and make more o’ a difference.”
Yoctoerg leaned back and examined the ceiling thoughtfully for a time. Finally, he directed his gaze to Kordeun and replied, “That actually sounds quite a bit more exciting than Wizarding.”
“Hah! There’s yer mistake! Nothin’s more excitin’ than Wizardin’!”
“Not even dessert?” I asked.
Both Yocto and Kordeun looked at me like I had just emerged from under a rock.
A particularly old, mossy, and undisturbed one.
Undeterred, I added, “If you two have gotten far enough into your meals to argue about imaginary Wizarding, maybe it’s time to consider what to get for dessert.”
The Hell Broth was certainly boiling in my bowels, and I was looking for something to cool it off.
28
After saying my goodbyes, I strolled out into the evening air with loose ends mostly tied, refueled and ready to begin my journey.
Amidst a pastel swath of color over a black backdrop, the stars overhead formed a lazy river of luminescence, flowing deeply and more strongly toward the galaxy’s heart.
I felt good. The fires from the Hell Broth were burning in my veins, the night was clear, and all thoughts of injury and death on my next case were to be faced in the days ahead.
I was content.
Leaving the Witches’ Britches behind, I walked leisurely toward the dark mass of shadows that was the ridgeline of the Dwimmer Mounts, where the Undercity nestled beneath their folds.
What more could an orc ask for?
I had a full belly, a fine selection of weapons, and a reason to smash faces in the near future.
Life was good and was only going to get better.
I took a deep inhale of the cool nighttime air, savoring the layers of scent drifting through the evening gloaming: the smell of moist, springy loam, the fragrance of flowering plants, and the smell of circling goblin…
Circling goblin!
I threw myself to the ground immediately.
How had he found me?
Cretus was circling above on his undead bat, waiting to strike.
I needed to find cover quickly. The trail toward the mountains was far too open here, and the shelter of trees bordering the field that afforded the wonderful views of the night sky was too far away.
I had to make a run for it.
Or did I?
If I walked casually toward the forest, would Cretus know I’d sniffed him out?
I tried, hoping my deception would hold.
It didn’t.
Silhouetted against the spume of luminous starshine, Cretus fell into a death-defying, taxi-driving plummet.
I was doomed.
All pretense of subterfuge and subtlety abandoned, I sprinted toward the forest like a belch out of Kordeun’s gullet—hot and heavy. Perhaps too late, I thought to activate the ALOHA’s camouflage system to blend in with the path as I careened toward the woods.
I was too late.
I felt Cretus’s net fall around me even as I thought I might make the shelter of trees.
Bound up in the ropes, I fell hard face-down into the dirt a moment before Cretus hauled me skyward.
“Where’re ya off to tonight, Grak?” Cretus asked as though he had not just ambushed me and taken me against my will for a ride.
I really should have let that mob beat him senseless when I had the chance.
Why had I saved him?
Was it because I was the only orc in the known macroverse with a heart?
Probably.
Getting unwanted rides across the city from Cretus was my punishment for good deeds.
“Home, Cretus!” I yelled as I thought through how destiny had once again brought me to this cruel circumstance.
“Ya got it, boss!” Cretus hollered in reply, whipping his bat around to swing us toward the mountains and home.
As we rode heavenward, I realized that I no longer had to suffer Cretus’s confineme
nt. I could cut myself loose anytime with the powersaw. A fall from height certainly was not going to be worse than however Cretus dropped or smashed me off once we got to the Undercity.
However, I would wait to cut myself free until we got closer to home.
At least that way, I would have a bit less walking, and falling, to do.
How did Cretus always find me?
Almost every time I was out of the Undercity, he swooped from the sky to offer me a ride.
How did he know?
Then it hit me.
If I hadn’t been bound in a net, I would have smacked my forehead.
The Construct!
“Construct,” I said civilly, as though talking to an old friend, not the archenemy it was, “have you been alerting Cretus to my whereabouts?”
The Construct did not delay long in replying. “As part of his efforts to repay you for saving his life, and as an expression of his undying gratitude, Cretus asked me to let him know whenever you appear outside the Undercity so that he may give you free rides wherever you wish.”
“Did you ever think that his ‘undying gratitude’ might lead to me dying?” I barked. “I have been beaten up worse receiving Cretus’s ‘help’ than by thwarting ANGST’s plans to destroy the city!
“Please do not share my whereabouts with Cretus anymore, or anyone else, for that matter, unless you have my permission. I will consider Cretus’s debt to me repaid if I can walk the city freely without being stalked by a deranged goblin and his undead bat!”
“Understood, Grak.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Just one more crash landing,” I replied glumly.
29
I refused to crash into the mountain again.
Or, rather, I refused to let Cretus crash me into the mountain again.
I would crash on my own terms.
The black bulk of home loomed closer in the gloom, the dark irregular mass of the mountain swaying before us as the great undead bat flapped into the night.
“Almost there, Grak!”
Cretus’s announcement was my cue. If I waited much longer, he would probably fling me into the mountain, crash me into a cliff, or cut me loose unceremoniously before I knew what was happening.
I could do that just as easily myself.
Placing my hand on my right hip, where the powersaw hung suspended from a carabiner on my chain belt, I unlatched the hasp and released the powersaw from the latch.
Gripping the powersaw in hand, angling it away from my body, I squeezed the handle.
Flashing shards of darkness, translucent black planes of glassy force, tore through the ropes soundlessly, quiet as the void between the stars and far more deadly.
While the silent powersaw lacked the fearful drama and menacing threat of a chainsaw—it did not have the lethal purr of spinning metal teeth and the noxious smoke of furious combustion—the powersaw cut like nothing else.
This time, I fell from Cretus’s net with grim pride, satisfied that my plummet was on my own terms, thrilled by the easy fury of the powersaw flickering nigh invisible in my hand.
Rushing air roaring in my ears, I squeezed, stilling the rotating fragments of annihilation, and clipped the powersaw’s handle back onto the most convenient carabiner on my chainbelt.
Impact was close, and unconsciousness with it.
I smashed into the earth hard enough to shatter stone.
Except, instead of smashing rock and my skull with it, I bounced!
My ALOHA shirt had inflated in anticipation of the impact, and I bounded down the mountainside while my collar held my head safely in place.
The sky and stars twisted and twirled as I careened down the slope, jouncing off trees and boulders alike.
When I finally stopped smashing into things, I found myself resting against the rough trunk of an old tree. Cretus was nowhere to be seen. More miraculous than Cretus’s disappearance—he probably thought I was still in his net—I was awake and relatively intact.
The ALOHA shirt and pants deflated as I settled in place. Giddy, flushed with happy excitement, I dusted myself off and looked for the nearest entrance to the Undercity. “George, would you please direct me to the closest entrance to the Undercity from my current position?”
“Certainly, sir! Head up the slope angling toward two o’clock. You will hit a lane that will lead you home in short order.”
“Thank you, George!” I chirped, still buoyed by joyous surprise.
“You are most welcome, sir!”
Following up on my conversation with the Construct, I added, “And, George?”
“Sir?”
“Never give my location to Cretus.”
“I wouldn’t think of it, sir!”
“Thank you, and don’t. I have been tossed from the sky for the last time! I will be home shortly, and we can catch up.”
“Until then!”
I left George to his subroutines and began scrambling up the incline largely on all fours, using roots, rocks, and tree trunks to help haul myself upward. Although pulling my bulk anywhere could be something of a challenge, I enjoyed the exertion, for it meant I was not injured, buried in stone, or waiting for my body to heal itself after yet another trauma.
ALOHA shirts were awesome!
Finding the pathway leading to the Undercity was easier than I had anticipated.
Not only was the trail glowing a soft cerulean green, but a gigantic snailoid trailed a thick glaze of phosphorescent mucus along the smooth path, making travel all the easier.
While this ooze made finding the trail easy, walking on it was another matter. I found that the easiest way to make headway without slipping was to pretend that I was skating on ice and slide along the path toward the cave mouth that loomed some distance ahead.
Thankfully, the pulsating snail was going in the opposite direction, even if its slime was not.
Surrounded by a waterfall of thick roots descending from overhead, two Home Guard awaited me at the entrance to the Undercity. Their crystalline armor shone in the starlight, serving as both a beacon and a warning to travelers.
The larger of the two Guards was an ogre. She stood about as wide as I was tall and was holding a mace in her hand with a head as wide as my chest. She probably used her mace to crush boulders for fun.
The other Home Guard was tiny, standing no taller than my knees. I had no idea what it was, other than small, furry, and adorable. It looked like the living embodiment of children’s ideal stuffed animals. Given its cuteness, and the fact that it still survived despite its universal attraction, I reckoned it to be one of the deadliest creatures in existence…maybe just after children. Otherwise, every member of its species would have been stuffed and displayed long ago.
I gave this Home Guard a wide, respectful berth.
“Welcome home, Grak!” the ogress boomed, her voice doing avalanches proud.
“Glad to be here!” I replied. While the Construct might prompt Home Guard about visitors, scanning them as needed, I had the feeling this Home Guard knew me for my exploits and reputation rather than from advice. “Keep up the good work!”
She smiled in reply, showing blocky teeth that could chew bone and rock just as facilely.
I nearly jumped off the trail as I glanced at the other Guard. It was smiling proudly as well, revealing a set of chompers that dragon trappers would envy. If the ogress could chew stone, the hirsute ball of cuteness could chew steel.
Yowch!
I hurried past with a nod and a smile lest I run afoul of Shredder Chewer of Worlds.
My bed beckoned, and I listened to its tune.
30
“Welcome home, sir!”
George’s enthusiasm knew no bounds, at least none defined by common sense. Though we had just spoken, my coming home signified a new, exciting start that had to be acted upon accordingly.
“Glad to be back,” I replied, keeping the sentence’s proper ending ‘in one piec
e’ silent.
“Evenin’, Dray.” I offered a warm greeting to Draypheus, who acknowledged my return home with a zealous lack of response.
Like the sun, Draypheus was always there but seldom changed visibly.
“Unless you have anything for me, George, I’m going to hit the sack. It’s been a long day, what with all the catapulting and near-crashing.”
“Understood, sir.”
George was using ‘sir’ an awful lot lately, probably as penance for almost killing me on Noenun’s rocket sled.
“You’re free to call me Grak again, George.”
“Thank you, sir.
“There are a couple of items to discuss before bed, if you can spare a moment.”
I yawned, my oversized canines on full display to no one in particular. “If it’s worth staying up, I’ll stay up.
“We can discuss them over tooth brushing.”
I walked across my lavish combination living, dining, kitchen, and bedroom into my utilitarian multi-purpose shower and bathroom. I took my sonicating toothbrush from its hanger on the shower wall and began to brush.
“We have received several interesting offers on the tickets.”
“How interesting?”
“Interesting enough for you to give them serious consideration,” answered George.
I liked the sound of that.
“Shoot,” I slurred around a fizzing bubbly mouthful of Morlac’s Monster Scrub toothpaste, which was advertised to ‘Keep your teeth strong all day long.’
“Thane Einvalder Doomhammer has offered Kondus, the Black Axe, won by his kin from Anchyros, the Ravager of Souls, on the field of strife in the nether realms of the Abyss.
“The Black Axe drinks its enemies’ essences and returns this power to its bearer.”
Mmm…tasty.
“Any known curses or foibles with the blade?”
“Other than drawing an inordinate amount of attention, the wielders appear to bear no ill-effects.”
“What do Anchyros and his minions think of Einvalder having his axe?”
“Anchyros and his minions think nothing of it, sir. They are no more, having been destroyed. No infernals from the lower realms have sought to reclaim it since.”
Grak_Orc on Vacation Page 11
