Chapter 11 - Steal their Iron
Proxis 3 - Before Integration:
I stood atop my vanquished foe, hammering the final piece of the chassis back into place just as the engine finished its self-check and turned over with a soft, trilling, hum. The soothing vibrations of the machine humming to life massaged my bare feet and gave me a tingle of satisfaction at a job well done.
The housings on this model of puller were laser cut for an exact fit and always needed a little convincing, and that convincing was particularly challenging for a guy working with only one hand. In fact, the entire thing was a nightmare to take apart and put together, but my moment of victory just as I buttoned the whole thing up, made the frustration worth it.
The shifting walls of the hab contracted suddenly as a gust of wind hit it from the west, issuing forth a loud bang as the segmented pieces came together to reinforce each other and then relaxed as the pressure equalized again. On the floor, a glowing data plate with fluid levels beeped satisfactorily as they interfaced with the machine’s internal computers and spit out data well within their green zones.
Jumping down and landing with a roll to save my knees some strain, I scooped up the data plate and made sure what I was seeing tracked with the sound of the engine. The belts squeaked slightly but otherwise, I noticed no anomalies that would indicate another problem.
The door to the shop popped its clamps and rolled up along the roof, folding together to accommodate the domed shape of the building, and a lone figure illuminated by my harsh shop lights stood out in stark relief against the night.
When did it turn night?
Dad strode in, his head tilted to one side as he inspected my work and listened to this beautiful resurrected cat purr. His wide shoulders, deep chest, and powerful legs reminded me of a machine as well, one that never broke, could not be broken.
“You got it working. Just in time too,” he said in a powerful baritone, the kind that commanded respect from the entire clan and sent me scurrying for cover back when I was small.
For my part, I just beamed at him, letting my work speak for itself. This stupid farm tool was dead when it was brought to me, and I fixed it, despite it not being designed to be fixed in the Outers. The whole thing was put together like a maze of crappy decisions only navigable by people specifically trained for that kind of thing, but I had done it.
After a while, I couldn’t contain myself. I had to brag. “You might want to tell Wayne that the insides don’t look like they used to, but they’ll probably break down less. He’s also missing a few parts that were just there to give it a shorter shelf life, and it should run for a long long time now,” I said, raising my chin with pride and tossing my wrench aside to clatter into the pile under the workbench.
Dad laughed as he approached, putting his hands on my shoulders and giving them a squeeze. “I’ll tell him. I don’t think he’ll shed any tears for any missing parts, but am I right in assuming they’ve gone into your collection? No. No. Don’t bother denying it. It won’t affect the fee.”
The parts had, indeed, been stowed away in my little stash. I didn’t know what I would use them for other than scrap, unless I wanted to add a substandard part to someone else’s vehicle. I didn’t have many enemies that deserved something like that, though.
Nodding to me then slipping past, dad mounted the puller and engaged the gears, getting ready to drive it out.
I made to join him, stepping into one of the mounting stirrups and pulling myself up, but dad held out a hand to stop me.
Confused, I frowned up at him, my moment of elation crashing down around me. Apparently, my subconscious knew what was happening before the rest of my mind did.
“It’s probably best you stay here, Ryan,” Dad said, pretending to look down at the dials that I knew were in the green. “I’ll take it out to Wayne.”
My heart sank, and, with it, my demeanor. “I thought- I dunno- Maybe he would want to ask me questions,” I mumbled. I already knew Dad wouldn’t hear or, more accurately, wouldn’t listen.
“No, son, I think it’s best to stay inside. You’ve done your part. I’ll take it to him. You clean up the shop and get ready for dinner.” He tried not to meet my eyes, but I could see it there. The shame. And worse: the pity.
Wayne would be uncomfortable with the amputee kid touching his machine, priceless as it was this far from the Colony. I was good enough to fix their tools. They’d even pay me so long as I stayed out of sight and away from more respectable people.
“I’m sorry, Ryan. I really am. Some people aren’t-”
“I know, Dad. Just- Just tell him to listen for ticks when it’s in third gear,” I said, forcing a grin up at the big man and slapping the side of the chassis before I turned away.
Having nothing else to say, Dad released the brake and rolled out of the shop, into the night.
I pulled up a stool and had a good sit, wiping a tear from my eye. A night like tonight deserved a good sit.
—---------------------------------
Now:
Sweat poured down my face and dripped down onto the cave floor as I finished hollowing out the bottom of my twelfth spearhead of the day. My hand, inserted through the bars to my cell, held onto the dull end of the weapon, rolling it over in my fingers as my mana shifted the molecules out to create the hollow where a wooden shaft would eventually be inserted. My mind was taxed to the limit, and the constant pounding in my head promised a long, uncomfortable recovery period, not because my mana was down to 7 of 43, but because of my “side project,” the tiny snake of iron, no thicker than a pin, slowly slithering up my arm and into my sleeve.
Arrowheads, spears, and knives I could do easily now, especially with iron. The structure of my weapons were efficient, my edges were magnificently sharp, probably down to the molecular level, and my work was made even more efficient and swift after I reached level 4 in Shape.
What taxed me greatly, however, was skimming from the materials the goblins fed me. At first, I would simply snap off an edge or pinch off a little ball of metal I hoped no one noticed, but that proved to be too risky. Hunty had sharp ears, and he would generally hear the little bits of metal falling to the cave floor, helpfully bending down to pick it up before I could grab it with my other hand.
So, I was forced to do it differently. I kept contact with my ill gotten gains, keeping the mana flowing inside the stolen piece through constant contact with my skin then having it locomote away from its parent, up my arm, and through the bars.
It wasn’t so simple, though. My stolen metal had to move on its own and in such a way my captors would not see. So far, I’d come up with a set of rudimentary scales as one might find on the belly of a snake, except these covered the entire surface area of the construct, giving it a segmented appearance more like an insect. I would then flex and contract these scales to create a jerky, halting sort of climb through the hairs of my arm. The little construct wasn’t great at holding on though, requiring me to hold very still and pretend to work very very hard on my latest spearhead, sweating as I split my attention between both pieces.
Even through the strain, a little smile slid onto my face as I got the message I’d been looking for.
Split Mind is now level 3
+15% increased cognitive efficiency when using multiple abilities at once or using one ability in multiple places.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Apparently, the System recognized what I was doing as a skill, and since that revelation, I’d been practicing with it as often as I could. The bonuses the skill gave me so far already proved immensely helpful, since, as of right now, stretching my perspective like this made me wonder if you could tear brain tissue like you could tear muscle.
My little snake made its way up, past the crook of my arm and slithered over my bicep, nearly past the wooden bars now and out of Hunty’s view. Then it reached some kind of tipping point, falling into an uncontrolled death roll toward the outside of my arm. I jerked my arm back, transferring some of that momentum to the metal snake so that it would fall inside the cell instead of on the floor outside. It fell, uncontrolled, now out of contact with my skin and unanimated.
Panicking, I dropped the spearhead outside the cell and shifted to bring my metal hand over to catch my prize. I didn’t get there in time, instead merely covering the construct up with my prosthetic hand instead of actually catching it.
Hunty was there in a flash, but he didn’t look in the cell. He picked up my finished spearhead and examined it before tossing it into the pile of today’s finished goods.
I pretended to stretch, bringing my natural arm down to hold onto my stolen iron so that the prompt could appear:
Transfer to Spatial Storage? Y/N
There was a brief pulse of magic and light, then the iron was gone, tucked away in the magical storage dimension only I could access. I could feel it there with all the others, maybe a half pound of stolen metal so far. Constance, was having secret magical storage handy, especially as a prisoner.
Hunty crouched down and looked me in the eye, a sympathetic look on his face.
“You look tired, human. You make lots of things today. Rest now,” he said, patting the bars as if he were patting me on the shoulder. “I make sure the next guard lets you sleep.”
“Thanks, Hunty. That will help a lot,” I replied, meaning every word but not in the slightest planning on sleeping.
As Hunty scooped the pile of spearheads into a wooden box and shouted for a runner to come pick them up, I reached down to the bottom corner of my cell’s bars and wrapped my metal fingers around one of the thinnest parts.
7 mana should be enough.
I activated Devouring Grasp, feeling the hand close like a vice, pressing through the thick roots like sticks of softened butter. Muffled, wet, crunching noises filled the cell as I ripped the wood apart until I was holding a good sized chunk of them. The noise got Hunty’s attention, but he didn’t do more than cast a glance my way. I did this every day, and he knew I couldn’t get out of here. Even as my core Consumed the wood in a flash of yellow sparks, the injured roots swiftly grew anew to fill in the gap.
You gain knowledge of material: Mendau Wood [19/50]
Status gained: Engine [+1 MP/sec for 30 min]
Having an F grade affinity for the Mendau Wood now helped me keep the Engine buff going longer, which was good because I was going to need it.
Hunty wasn’t the overly curious sort, but he did take his job seriously. After the goblin runner came and picked up the box of spearheads, Hunty bent down and ran a hand over the root section I’d just torn away, making sure they grew back properly. He finished up his check with a little shake of the bars. They held fast as they always did.
“Why do you do that, human?” he asked as he went back to sitting on his wooden stool, positioned in such a way that he could see my entire cell.
“Toilet paper,” was my reply, but Hunty just sat there with his spear on his lap, staring at me. The silence stretched out between us, but he was the first to break it.
“I don’t know either of those words,” he said with a shrug. Then he smiled apologetically as something had just occurred to him. “But I do know your special cage is very small. If I’m a slave, I hate it too. I try to break the cage. Kuul’s magic is strong, though. He asks the Mendau to grow there, and they do.”
I sat down against the far wall to rest my tired body, sighing as I found a semi-comfortable position where my back was semi-relaxed. “The guy is so paranoid, I’m surprised he doesn’t have roots growing over the entire cell, my little hole included,” I said as I closed my eyes.
“He doesn’t do this because the hole leads to the underriver, and he wants you to drink when you need. Also, big magic like growing Mendau is too important to waste like that,” Hunty replied, a little awe in his voice at the mention of Kuul’s little trick. If I was being truly honest with myself, I was a little jealous of the fire-and-forget nature of the magic. If I had something like that, I’d spend much less time with a headache.
“Has Kuul considered that I also defecate in this hole?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. It was a harrowing experience for sure, having to hover over a fifty foot drop to do my business. To then be asked to fish up water from the same place triggered some hard wired no-no zone in my psyche that I still hadn’t gotten over. My little clay cup on a string had seen some things down there, I’m sure.
Hunty made a rude sound with his mouth. “The underriver is fast and fresh. No matter how big you are, you, alone, can’t foul it.”
“I’ve done my best, so far,” I said with a tired laugh.
Hunty leaned forward, a mischievous little smile on his face. “We all do.”
A terrible thought popped into my head, and my eyes widened with realization. “Hunty, you guys use the underriver for that kind of thing too?”
“Uh huh,” he replied, an evil little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Downstream, right Hunty?” I asked. I felt a twitch in my stomach. “Tell me it’s downstream where you guys… use the river.”
“It is downstream where we use the river.”
I didn’t like how he phrased that. We stared at each other then, for a long, pregnant moment, all the while Hunty’s face steadily contorted with barely contained laughter.
“You’re a cruel goblin, Hunty.”
“Hunty is cruel to our human friend?” Tiba's voice came faintly from somewhere I couldn’t see.
Hunty shot to his feet like a soldier called to attention, whirling around and practically leaping out of my view.
When he came back, he was at Tiba’s side, carrying a heavy steaming pot by the handle, his spear in his teeth. Tiba, for her part, held a bundle under her arm that smelled of herbs and significant spice.
“If Hunty is being cruel, then I can give you half of his meal, yes?” She asked me as she approached the bars. As always, she gestured for me to come closer, so she could give me a once over for my health. I complied, though I probably didn’t have to worry overly much about my health now that I was an Exotic, one being fed a constant stream of experience and skill-ups to boot.
Hunty struggled to set the pot down on the floor without sloshing the contents, and his spear kept him from giving an intelligible answer, only allowing for little grunts and muffled groans. “Mmmf murrfff fmemfer,” he said.
Tiba reached through the bars and took my arm, running her fingers over the contours and pinching the flesh now and again. “You are bigger still than when you first come to us. Soon, you look like Mogrog if I give you Hunty’s food.”
“Bah! Mogrog is fat,” Hunty sputtered as he ripped the spear out of his mouth. “He can barely climb, he’s so big. What use is that? Pretend muscles is what that is.”
Tiba’s examination led her down to my chest and stomach, allowing me to shoot a meaningful look to Hunty. I widened my eyes and gestured at the little healer with my head, miming the word “Now” with my mouth.
Hunty, swallowed, straightened his shirt, and cleared his throat before he spoke up. “So, uh, Tiba?”
“Mm?” She scratched at a red mark on my ribs, visible now that my shirt was in tatters.
“Uh. I want to ask if you- If when it is time, we can-” Hunty’s plan probably hadn’t made it this far. He could barely get a sentence out. I caught his eye again and took a deep exaggerated breath, prompting him to mimic me.
Hunty tried again. “Do- uh- Do you like stuff… like food?” Even as the words left his mouth, a horrified look crawled onto his face.
I cringed on his behalf.
“Yes, Hunty. I like food,” she replied absently, still poking at me.
“Do you- uh-” Hunty floundered. I could visibly see his courage leaving him, air leaving a balloon. “You make the best food, Tiba.”
“Aw. Thanks, Hunty. I am worried my stew is under seasoned now that we can’t gather much.”
“No! No! It’s great.” Hunty assured her, bending down to smell the pot. “Mmmm. Perfect.”
She straightened up and smiled at the both of us. “That is so nice to hear. I hope it makes you both happy, even if you are stuck down here. Now, I have to get back. I have wounded to tend, and Fimi gets nervous if I leave her to tend the house for too long. See you soon.” With a wave, she was gone.
Once she was out of earshot, and I’d unwrapped my dried meat from the bundle Tiba had given me, I tried to offer some words of encouragement. “You’re getting better at that. You used words and everything.”
Hunty handed me a clay bowl of stew through the bars. He didn’t say anything. He just looked defeated.
I continued. “Seriously, you are. You were really close.”
Hunty’s knee bounced up and down and his stare seemed an impossible distance away as he robotically spooned the hot stew into his mouth, frowning sourly as he did. “Do you like food?” he mumbled, wincing at the memory. His mood darkened further the more time passed until he was practically brooding.
“Hunty?”
The warrior goblin put his spoon back into his bowl and turned to face me again. All the mirth he’d displayed earlier was gone, replaced by a hard, dark stare..
“Is everything alright?”
He stared at me in silence, a storm brewing behind his eyes. He spoke in a whisper now. “She can’t go out to gather her herbs.”
I quietly contemplated his words, what they meant. I could tell by his tone and body language he was saying something significant, but I just couldn’t get there. Something was missing in my knowledge, maybe culturally.
“Why can’t Tiba gather herbs?” I asked.
“Not safe anymore up there,” he said, pointing upward, supposedly toward the surface, with his spear. “And I am down here with you.” His eyes flashed, and his claws dug into the bottom of the bowl.
“Caged,” he whispered to himself.
Then he was gone again, somewhere dark and full of hurt.
We spent the rest of the evening in silence.