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—at 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.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“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—now 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.