Chapter 111 - Working Remote

The sound of motors reached us before the silhouette resolved into an airship—not 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—including 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—until 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.”

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“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—nearly 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—though 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.