Chapter 91 - The Flock

Unbelievably, we had the run of the camp. Once the armbands (somewhat blood-stained) were passed out, the orcs seemed to take it completely in stride that there were goblins running about their camp. If Sourtooth was to be believed, goblin tribes coexisted alongside orcs in the homeland—though not allowed to grow beyond measure. Goblin kings were killed on sight for the threat they represented—which means their entire tribe was wiped out. Apparently all bets were off in Lanclova, though.

I sent two of the bikes back to link up with Promo at the Big Hoss Rig and have them bring the camp to meet up with the Stampede. Now that we had access to the Flock’s forges and resources, Promethius was going to have a field day. Metal was in no short supply to the orcs, and they had some idea of the basics of material science so I made a note to secure sulfur and charcoal from their stores, as well as iron bar stock and even rubber.

Sourfang accompanied us to the vehicles so that he could see the artifice for himself that his temporary access to the Goblin Tech Tree had given him.

“I believe it not,” he said, clambering awkwardly aboard one of the buggies. “The grandfather spirits must be playing some great jest. They are the true source of this contraption’s power, yes?”

“It’s actually a liquid that burns and creates torque,” I said. “The Ifrit were just as surprised that it works as you are.”

“They would tell you to say that,” he said. He settled in on one of the stations, if a bit tightly. He was maybe a third again as tall as a hobgoblin. We brought the vehicles into the Flock’s dismal corner of the camp, where I saw several riderless mounts tied off, near pack animals that hadn’t yet been unpacked. I surmised most of them belonged to Sourtooth’s decimated hunting team. I directed my goblins to help get supplies and provisions down.

It was close to nightfall when the Big Hoss Rig approached the Stampede camp and set up in the forge yard with the new vehicles that had come from Apollo. I’m sure that’s where promo found himself most at home, among the smog of coal smoke and the ring of hammers. By the time the sun went down, the temporary tower was erected and the thundercleave had been seared.

The ‘scout’s share’ turned about to be about two-hundred chooms of offal and gristle, which was fine by the tribe as it disappeared down the goblins throats almost as fast as the cooks could flip it onto wooden platters. Even then, we still had plenty left over. If we’d brought down the ‘cleave ourselves? Well… we’d probably have been killed for poaching. But now that we were part of a hunting team, we could bring one down. With my tinkering and Sourtooth’s experience, there was no way we could lose. At least, that’s what I thought until Sourtooth told me otherwise.”

“We’re definitely going to lose,” he said over his ‘cleave burger. The orcs had apparently mastered the arts of ground meat, bread-making, and cheese. Despite the surreal sight of an orc chowing down on what was effectively a cheese burger, my mouth watered so bad watching him eat that I had to ask him to repeat himself.

“The season has seen an Idle flock for weeks. Trailing the pack, we. There are few prizes yet unclaimed, and none would see us sit at the winner’s table,” he continued. I noticed that he chewed entirely on one side of his mouth, avoiding the inflamed tooth. “But hunting rights require not a place of glory, only one of standing. If to feed your tribe you seek, then we yet have merit. But we must focus efforts on prey not easily conquered. What is the greatest beast you’ve bested? A level 30? 35?”

If I had a collar, I’d have been tugging it. “We killed a stone-sloth alpha and a crock-knocker in their 20’s. Oh, but we defeated and entire javeline army.”

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“Mention of the porkbellies makes a rumble in my stomach to rival a giant’s tracks. Hunting big game is like fighting a war not at all, little brother.”

“Well,” I said. “I’m hoping my technology ideas will help close the gap, some. Tomorrow, we’ll get to work getting the Flock back in the game.”

* * *

Huh. Sally still hard at work on the home front, I guessed.

The orcs were slow to wake, and in fact it wasn’t until mid-morning that a growing buzz overhead drew their attention. I shaded my eyes and scanned the horizon until I saw a dot that started to grow larger. The pilot banked, and I could make out the profile of a pusher-prop bi-plane soaring under power. The pilot made a circuit of the orc camp as the Stampede shook off hangovers or dragged blankets over their heads against the noise.

Finding a flat enough stretch, the plane bled off altitude and leveled out, flaring off for a landing on what appeared to be a set of two-wheeled landing gear—at the front and back like a motorcycle. I briefly wondered how they would keep the paper wings from being shredded on landing until a pair of goblins scrambled out and hung beneath the wings, pumping their legs as if they were running through the air. The rear wheel touched down and the craft lurched, but the goblins’ feet touched the ground and the aircraft trundled about as the pace goblins struggled to keep up. The whole ensemble finally came to a stop and a handful more goblins piled out of the vehicle, including Sally, who began immediately fussing over the aircraft and squawking at the wrangler climbing down from the control station.

I approached, looking at our first powered airplane. Sally had built a leather fuselage over a frame of wood and bone, with paper-covered wings and a multi-rotor engine at the back. The wings, stacked as they were, were each of slightly differing lengths, but it didn’t seem to affect the performance much.

Armstrong ran past me and plucked my lead engineer right off the side of the plane to wrap her in a bear hug until she squawked and bit him, at which point he dropped her on her head. She responded by clamping her jaws around his ankle, and he shook his leg frantically trying to dislodge her. I caught up a few moments later, after I finished laughing, and took some time to admire the quick work she’d made of rigging up the aircraft and applying composite technological theories. But I was a little concerned. Sally was simply much too valuable to be risking out in the field. Of course, she was a free goblin and I couldn’t keep her cooped up on a bluff—even if it was where she chose to spend most of her time anyway.

Maybe she just missed Armstrong.

Armstrong finally managed to shift my lead engineer off long enough to report.

“Food situation eased up some, what with us out ‘ere keeping our own bellies full. But still more out than in—or maybe in than out, innit?”

“We’re still running a deficit, is what you’re trying to say.” I said.

“Yeah, that. Anyway, Sal’ figured you’d want to peep the latest in airy-knotics. Din’ even crash it once!”

“That’s a good start,” I said.

Armstrong leaned down for Sally to whisper in his ear. He nodded. “Two more buggies and a trike headed our way,” he said. “Another ignis, s’well.”

I rubbed the top of my head. “Good. We’ll need all the smiths we can get if we’re riding for Sourtooth and what’s left of the Flock.”

Speaking of the foul old orc, the leader of the Flock himself was stumbling out of the camp with a blanket clutched tight around his waist, staring at the biplane.

“Goblins on wings! Tremble the skies, once free from shackle. In all the tribes in mine eyes seen, I knew not that little brothers could make such… racket! Damned if the cry of its coming didn’t echoe a thousand-fold in my head.”

I grinned up at the hungover old orc. “Still think we’ve got no shot?”

Sourtooth slumped down to his haunches, and his eyes took a glazed over look as they scanned back and forth. I realized he was reading through System menus. “No simple spears and stubby legs, this. How came you by such discoveries? I have knowledge passing of the goblin artifice, but have never seen one progressed in this manner. Nearly half the tree, you’ve jumped, and rarely from such narrow path tread. Infernal combust’em? Rock’ems? I know not these artifice, but I know well enough the path from whence they spring. What need have you of such singular purpose?”

I slapped the orc on the shoulder. The orc might have been old and withered, but it still felt like slapping rock. “It’s a long story, Sourtooth. And a long road ahead to get where I’m going.

“What, prithee, are boom tubes?”

I whistled and sent one of my bodyguards to bring over his rifle and a handful of rockettes. I worked the action and loaded in a few shells. “Well, they’re not going to help your hangover any. But I think you’ll like them.”