Novels2Search

Chapter 4

STATUS:

Number: Eleven.

Rank: Nullform (volitional).

Current status: GBL. (three standard meals per day and standard water ration).

Balance: 0

Debt status: in debt.

Total debt owed: 15 sol.

Game Challenge Complete.

Outcome: Win.

Reward: 3 sol.

Winstreak: 1/3.

Reward Bonus (GC): 0%

GC Selection Chance Bonus: 0%

Extra Prize Chance: 0%

Job: Handle 7. 100 full rotations.

Current time: 08:20.

I WAS IN SOME KIND OF MOOD. A fierce, amped, vicious, doomed, positive mood.

As this complicated mix of emotions ran through me, I stood at the cleared epicenter of an explosion. I realized that as soon as I went through the doorway and walked down the ramp. Everything around me literally screamed: ‘We got blown up!’ It looked like someone had done their best to clean things up, but in the most basic way possible.

I was in a small rectangular room, with the corners rounded off. I had noticed all the architecture here avoided right angles as much as possible. There were two doors on opposite walls, and a buzz of activity in the middle. It was like a highway, a hub used to get from one hallway to another. One wall was solid, silvery metal, but the other... it looked like there had once been a similar wall there, but a bomb had gone off behind it and tore it open, turning it inside out like an ugly flower. The repair crew had been working hard for a while after the explosion, cutting off the twisted, torn metal and getting the wall mostly back to its former state. But they didn’t completely plug up the hole — they left a long gash that let you see part of a complex mechanism behind it, a mechanism that had only been partially destroyed by the explosion. The parts that couldn’t be fixed were removed. Part of the casing was missing, and individual parts of the mechanism were joined with primitive tie-in connections. Apparently, they hadn’t been able to find spare parts, or just didn’t have the skill to fix it.

It seemed to me like they had thrown away all the electronics and mechanical drives, then used the undamaged remnants, gears, metal rods, and cheap labor to build some weird surrogate powered by slaves and extraterrestrial technology. Eight handles spaced unevenly two or three yards apart protruded from the wall. They were sturdy steel, polished to a shine by the workers’ hands. Something behind the undamaged sections of the wall rumbled periodically and a short, demanding signal would sound. Each time it went off, whoever was standing next to the corresponding handle would grab it and turn it one full rotation. From what I could see, it didn’t look like an easy process. Everyone looked far too tense. To make things worse, they all had two arms, and used both hands to turn the handles, putting the weight of their entire body into it.

My handle was second-to-last — the bold number above each one made it easy to tell them apart. I walked up to it, my steps far more confident than they had been yesterday, and glanced at my clock. I had checked the job description that showed up in my interface before I had even woken up that day. It was unusually wordy.

Job: Handle 7. 100 full rotations.

Important additional details: Arrive at the location no later than 8:30. Replace the previous worker after the double signal and double yellow flash. Begin work. Complete the required number of actions. End your shift.

Description: After the short signal and green flash, immediately turn handle 7 in a full clockwise turn until it clicks. Permitted delay: 3 seconds. Required number of actions: 100 full turns.

Job location: Zone 4, Block 1.

Job length: complete full rotations of handle 7 until the required number is met. Do not skip any rotations.

Compensation: 8 sol.

Current time: 08:25.

An explanation for complete morons. Maybe there had been cases where someone didn’t understand a job correctly, or attempted to cheat the system. As I stood there watching, handle 7 was turned twice in a little over three minutes. The intervals varied in length by a few seconds each time. The third interval between rotations confirmed my guess — it was fifteen seconds longer. It made sense, since there was manpower involved in running this mutilated mechanism, and people didn’t have the same level of accuracy as a machine.

“Done,” a strong-looking woman exhaled wearily, releasing her hold on the handle and moving away from the wall. “Your turn. Get to it.”

I nodded at her. “Good morning.”

“For you, maybe. It’s evening for me.”

“Wait... you worked the night shift?”

“What do you think?” She snapped angrily. “Of course I did.”

“Right, yeah.”

I didn’t ask her anything else. She didn’t seem to be in the mood for pleasant conversation.

The signal went off...

Well, let’s see if this body can turn handle 7 a hundred times without falling more than three seconds behind... All right... Let’s go!

I grabbed on, putting my whole weight on the handle and managing to bring it up to shoulder level. Without losing momentum, I pushed it to the highest point, and practically hung on it as it swung down. I heard a click. One rotation. I checked my interface to make sure it counted — ninety-nine left. I exhaled in relief.

What can I say? This is hard! Really hard. If I had two working arms... I put my hand down and leaned against the wall while I waited. I had to conserve my strength. I remembered to look around and listen to everything, but nothing caught my eye. Then my neighbor on handle 8, a young, cheerful guy who wore number 529, started up a conversation. He had just begun his shift, like me.

“You an orc?” He asked.

“Goblin,” I answered, pointing to my left arm. “I didn’t do my job yesterday.”

“Shit happens,” he said, nodding in empathy.

I heard the signal. Turned the handle. His signal beeped, and he did the same. Then he turned to me again.

“I got demoted to goblin once, too. Started spending all the sol I had saved at Rob-Rob’s, then went on a bender in Drainagetown. They don’t like us there, though. I’d never even think of going there if I was sober. Got poisoned in one joint, barely survived. Then I found out I had been buying everyone food and drinks while I was blacked out, even gave away all my stuff. So when I came to... I was so sick I didn’t even want to live... They scammed me like a dumbass goblin. No offense. Smart guys don’t live as goblins.”

“None taken. You’re right.”

“Yeah. I spent the rest of my sol on medicine and spent a week in my capsule just laying there like a sweaty worm. For the first three days, the world just spun constantly. I really thought I was gonna die. Then there was the weakness. My friends carried me on their backs to go get food and water, I don’t even know what I would have done without them. I worked my ass off for a long, long time to get back to being an orc. It’s really the best. Orc life — now that’s living!”

“For sure. Orcs are honest. Hard workers.”

Our conversation was interrupted by another signal. I turned the handle, then turned to my neighbor again.

“Who doesn’t like us?” I asked with interest. “This is only my second day here.”

“Oh, that explains why you’re walking around in nothing but your underwear. First thing you should do is buy some sandals at least. It’s easy to hurt your feet here. Gotta have something on your feet. The sandals they sell have pretty thick soles, and they only cost two sol.”

“Thanks, I’ll get some. So who doesn’t like us?”

“Where?”

“In, uh... Drainagetown. That’s a city, right? So someone there doesn’t like orcs or goblins?”

“Right... I wouldn’t really call it a city. More of an upper district. Plenty of orcs and goblins live there — it’s not your race they don’t like, bro. It’s where you’re from. We’re from the outskirts, and they’re city guys. They like our money, but they don’t like us. Just want to bleed us dry then kick us out. They won’t even let us spend a night there without paying out the ass! The entrances to the capsules are all blocked off. Like some kind of defensive measures. Two sol to get in, another for the capsule itself. Three sol just for one night! So don’t even bother going there. Here’s good enough. And be careful with the booze! Don’t get too drunk at Rob-Rob’s, or someone will take a seat at your table, offer you a drink, and then you’re off on a real bad trip. The next morning you’ll wake up a goblin. A stupid, dirt-poor goblin. No offense, again.”

“Got it. A bad trip... Like what happened to you? A trip to Drainagetown?”

“Yeah. Hey, time to turn! Gotta get those numbers up!” We paused to do our job, then continued our talk.

Time flies when you have something to talk about. I felt like a worker in an old factory with bosses that didn’t care about anything. Chat with the other workers as much as you want. Nobody cares as long as the machinery is still running like it should.

“Drainagetown is just a huge, shitty industrial district. The primary filter is there.”

“Filter of what?”

“All the drains lead there, pass through their grates. Then it all keeps going.”

“Our drains? Like from the plumbing and whatever?”

“Ours, too, yeah. Through the pipes.”

“And whose else drains there?”

“You know, a bunch of them. Turn your handle.”

“Thanks. So, whose drains?”

“Who knows! Ask the elves!”

“Is that some kind of saying?”

“Yeah. Haven’t heard it yet?”

“Nope.”

“You’ll hear a lot about elves. Nobody’s ever seen one, but everybody talks about them.”

“Maybe they don’t really exist? Also, why elves? They couldn’t pick a better race?”

“Tell me, who are they?”

“Who?”

“They’re higher beings! Aren’t they?”

“Yeah, something like that, I guess.” I admitted, grabbing handle 7 again.

“I know it, too. Higher beings, immortal. Not like us, right? We’re mortals.”

“Got it. So Drainagetown is a district? Of a city?”

“Well, it’s the upper district of Murkwaters. But if it was up to me, I’d call their stinking fucking town the Universal Shit Collector! If you only knew how bad it stinks there! Especially in Drainagetown... you can’t walk around without a mask on. The whole city is stupid. Built vertically, like a goddamn skyscraper. The thick sludge runs downwards, but the lower it gets, the more liquid it becomes... And eventually it comes out as clean water. The halflings rule everything there, which isn’t surprising. They’re the hardest workers. And good at it. Hey, Eleven... let’s talk about something else. Like chicks.”

“You mean...”

“Yeah! What kind of girls do you like? I like redheads. They’re so clean. And a little mysterious, and, I mean... have you ever touched their skin? Even once? Were you, goblin, ever lucky enough to touch a natural redhead’s skin... It’s really something! And also...”

To my surprise and even fascination, he just kept going. Singing like a nightingale... And there was no stopping him! I wasn’t the only one listening, either. The guy at handle 6 overheard snatches of my neighbor’s ode to redheaded beauties, so he started coming over to listen. He’d go back to his handle, turn it, then come back and listen more. I could understand him. It wasn’t every day you met someone so passionately in love with natural redheads. And he knew so much about them... Things I had never even thought about. They were Nordic, apparently, and especially affectionate in stormy weather...

I didn’t even notice the time passing. I only managed to shake myself free of this hypnotic stupor when a sad-looking man with a dirty t-shirt over his sunken chest came up to me.

He drew his words out oddly as he spoke. “My... shift...”

I waited for the double yellow flash and signal, and headed out, relieved. I shook hands with the expert on redheads, nodded to the guy on handle 6, and said goodbye. They’d still be working for a while, since they had ORL status. They were orcs, not goblins.

How are my finances? And what’s up with my right arm?

My arm hurt. Lunch was soon. Incidentally, I had found out on my way to work that day... Doesn’t that sound funny! On my way to work... I found out that you wouldn’t miss lunch if you were busy. You’d get your three-meals-a-day-and-water until you became a worm or died. They would feed you as long as you had at least one limb — you’d owe them for it, but still.

I realized that if I took a nap after lunch, then I’d get hit with all the pain from my overworked back, abs, and right arm. My right shoulder hurt, too. Only my useless left hand got off lightly. Damn elbow...

I also found out that there was an ATM, as they called it, in each clux. I had seen one after breakfast and, after asking four other people unsuccessfully, got a brief explanation from the disgruntled fifth person who came by. All you had to do was touch the screen. If you had more than two sol on your balance, so at least three, the screen would light up. All it displayed was two boxes. You’d enter the number of the person you wanted to transfer sol to in the top one, then the amount in the bottom one. Then tap OK. That was it. The system would take the sol from you and add them to the ATM’s balance — not transfer them directly to the recipient. Why not? It wasn’t like that would be a problem for the almighty system. But no. The recipient would have to go to an ATM and pick it up themselves. The ATM would take two sol as a transfer fee in both directions if the transfer was less than a hundred sol. If it was higher, the ATM automatically took ten percent from the person transferring the money, and two sol from the recipient.

Now I just had to find someone who would send me money for something...

Less than a hundred sol... Do people here really have more than that? It sounds crazy... I’m nowhere near that...

Balance: 0

Debt status: in debt.

Total debt owed: 7 sol.

It was lunchtime. Two more sol gone on water and food. After that, I’d have plenty of time to figure out how to earn more money. I didn’t want to live as a poor goblin. I also needed to get a long rag or a bandage to make a sling for my lame left arm. The vending machines sold bandages, and they weren’t that expensive. Just two sol. Just like the diagnostics in the medblock. As soon as I had two sol, though, I wasn’t going to spend them on a bandage. I’d be better off going to an indifferent, but at least professional doctor. My elbow was a real problem — that was obvious. This was some serious damage that wouldn’t heal on its own, maybe bursitis or arthritis. I had no idea. But I needed to find out as soon as possible. Every time I looked at my swollen blue elbow, I had a mental image of the words ‘gas gangrene’. I even tried to sniff it to make sure it didn’t already smell like rotten meat. If there was even the slightest stench, I’d find someone with a machete and ask them to amputate my arm above the elbow.

As I was hobbling along the corridor to my clux, thinking about how much it sucked to be a poor, sick goblin, I was so lost in the haze of my thoughts that I almost missed the number on the lit-up wall screens. Fortunately, someone walking past caught my attention when he grumbled angrily:

“Fucking double ones, I hope he dies! Lucky bastard!”

I stared after him with a stunned gaze. I hadn’t expected to hear anyone say my number. And he had so much anger in his voice! I looked at the screen.

There it was. That was the number on my chest!

I quickly stepped up to the screen and looked around for griefers. My right thumb found the sensor almost on its own, and I was in! I’m in the game!

The system responded to my actions.

Galaxian.

One round.

Select difficulty:

Easy.

Normal.

Hard.

Okay...

“If only someone could tell me what this game is...” I said disappointedly, staring at the odd name. It meant nothing to me.

Galaxian?

Galaxy? Galactic? Something to do with space? Well, it’s definitely not tic-tac-toe...

The timer was counting down. It would have made sense to just pick Easy, but with all my debt, I figured I should at least try Normal.

So I tried.

The screen blinked and started to go dark, and a green animation appeared in my head. A smiling man extended his right hand, palm open, and moved it to the left and right. His left hand was clenched, his thumb rhythmically tapping his fist.

Blinking white dots appeared on the dark screen. Then something colorful popped up at the bottom of the screen. A second passed... And another... and a swarm of multi-colored flies appeared, accompanied by droning beeps and cadences.

What the hell is this? Several combat units split off from the swarm and rushed towards me. I watched, dumbstruck. The three flies moving towards me seemed to strain and relieve themselves, sending their ‘goodies’ in my direction.

Hold in! This is space! Those are starships! And they’re not shitting onto that thing at the bottom — my starship! They’re launching rockets!

I had to do something!

I moved my hand. The starship moved the same direction. I tapped my left thumb to shoot. A few blasts shot out. There was some convulsive chaos... And the space flies killed me.

“Shit!”

Game Challenge Complete.

Outcome: Loss.

I lost.

Why? I hadn’t been expecting a game that required quick reflexes. I was expecting something turn-based, with pauses. I take a turn, then the enemy takes a turn. I unhurriedly assess their ham-handed aggression, weigh the pros and cons, and make a counter-move.

But the system outplayed me with this ancient space shooter.

“Loser!” Came the confident verdict from a passing girl who was about twenty years old, but with fifty-year-old arms.

“A goblin, too!” I called out cheerfully.

“Deadbeat loser!”

“Exactly! GBL is where it’s at.”

“Clumsy smooth-brained goblin!”

“If the shoe fits!” I nodded, thumping my chest. “You’re damn right. It’s a fact!”

“Even a child could win at Galaxian!”

“Comparing me to a child? Are you serious? I’m a clumsy, smooth-brained, deadbeat loser goblin!”

“Not bad,” my heckler sniffed, deigning to stop and turn around. “You don’t lose your cool. Anybody else would have already freaked out and told me to fuck off.”

“Why?” I smiled. “It was my own fault I lost. I wasn’t expecting a game where I’d need fast reflexes.”

“You got a good attitude, goblin!”

“What other kinds of games are there?”

“There’s a zillion of them!” She shouted, moving away at a brisk pace. “The system always has tricks up its sleeve! But if you got Galaxian... Are you new here?”

“Yeah.”

“Tic-tac-toe, Galaxian, Pong, Tetris... You can expect stuff like that.”

“Always?”

“I can’t hear you...”

“Always?!”

“Until you get your first winstreak.”

“Uhh...”

“What?”

“Where can a poor goblin earn a few extra sol around here?”

The girl stopped and peered at me from afar, then shrugged doubtfully.

“You don’t have anything, right?”

“Not exactly,” I said, trying to sound offended, “I have some coffee gum with vitamin C!”

“That won’t help you much. I meant protective equipment. You won’t get a good job without it. Especially with your ugly elbow... But it’s worth a try. Go to intersection 17, next to Zone 3. That’s where guys like you hang out. Hang out and wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“People looking to hire, of course. You’ll figure it out.” The girl walked over to me, rummaged in her belt bag, then held out her hand. “Take this.”

“Thanks. What is it?”

“Lemon gum,” she chuckled and ran off, shouting back to me. “For your collection, goblin!”

“Thanks!” I shouted back, causing a one-armed, one-legged old man sitting on a nearby wall ledge to grunt in annoyance.

A zombie! So that’s what they look like...

“Gimme your gum, goblin,” he hissed, not getting up.

“No way,” I shook my head. “Not today.”

“Got any food?”

“Nope.”

“A sip of water?”

“No.”

“Fucker.”

“Good day to you too,” I nodded. “Does this hallway lead to Zone 3?”

“Fuck you.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“Go die.”

INTERSECTION 17 WAS EASY to spot from afar. It was larger than the others and full of wall ledges, almost all of which were occupied by workers looking to earn extra sol. They sat close to each other like birds on a perch. I wasn’t discouraged by the sight of this crowd — I just had to see how things would go. I asked a group of well-dressed men wearing shirts, shorts, and sandals where the closest food point was, and went to get a nutritional cube and water.

Those cubes were interesting. I had no idea whether they swelled to ten times their original size in your stomach or had some special chemicals in them, but everything was so perfectly calculated that after you ate breakfast, you only got hungry again right when it was time for lunch. And after lunch, you started thinking about food at dinnertime.

Balance: 0

Debt status: in debt.

Total debt owed: 9 sol.

This is bad, goblin, really bad.

Run, goblin, run.

Go find a job, goblin!

If I went without a shower, I’d be spending three sol on dinner, water, and a place to sleep. I could also sleep on a warm bench — Then my debt would only go up by two sol. But tomorrow I’d only be able to earn eight sol since my work load was lower. And the payment was lower, too.

Wait...

I did my job today. Yeah, it was GBL, but I did it. So will I get a normal job tomorrow?

I needed to find out as soon as I could, even if it annoyed other people. Even if they got angry or swore at me. I needed information. Intersection 17 was a great place to get it. I would go join some workers who looked poor. Maybe I’d be lucky enough to find someone like me — some talkative goblins.

After five or six tries, I got what I needed.

Before I got dinner, the system would ask me if I wanted to go back to ORL or stay at GBL for now.

That made sense, and seemed fair. If it gave you a normal job and you physically couldn’t do it, you’d be dead. With my bad elbow, I’d have to think long and hard about whether it was worth moving back up to ORL. I had worked for three hours, turned that handle a hundred times, and my whole body was hurting — I’d feel even worse in the morning. And that was only a goblin’s work load, so ORL would probably be two hundred rotations. It was tough to make the right decision, but I figured I’d be able to make up my mind by evening. A lot would depend on if I could earn any sol this afternoon. To be honest, there was no point in staying at GBL if I couldn’t earn some under-the-table money. That was just the path to bankruptcy and the life of a human worm. If I went without a real bed and a shower, the bare minimum to cover my needs was eight sol a day. I was earning eight sol, too. I couldn’t survive this way, and definitely wouldn’t be able to save any money.

“Being a goblin is damn hard.” I sighed and leaned back against the wall, gently cupping my aching elbow.

“Then what do you think it’s like being a zombie?” A sweaty-smelling man sitting next to me, missing his left arm and right leg, asked. He clung to a makeshift plastic crutch, and his voice was raspy. “Huh?”

“Even harder?”

“Wiseass. Shut up, already.”

I didn’t answer the zombie. What could I say? There was no point in trying to scare him, either. He was a zombie, undead — no self-preservation instinct.

The zombie fell silent too, and straightened up suddenly, sucking in his already-sunken stomach, smiling widely, and staring straight ahead, eyes frozen. What had happened to him? Did he sense blood? Oh. I see...

Six hallways of varying widths and crowdedness converged on intersection 17. The widest entrance had ‘CITY’ and a painted arrow inscribed on it. For the stupidest of us, I guess. Six people emerged from that hallway, strikingly different from the local rabble.

They were wearing clothes!

Normal human clothes. None of these stupid shorts, which were really a bastard combination of standard-issue shorts and homemade boxers. The only advantage of my clothes was that they were easy to wash, and only took a minute to dry.

But their clothes...

They were all wearing pants. Well-made khaki work pants with hip pockets. Their t-shirts and jackets were all different colors, but everyone’s t-shirts and jackets matched. Red on red, black on black, gray on gray. There was clearly a meaning behind the different colors. I decided to take a closer look in a minute, after I finished enviously looking over all their other equipment.

A hungry, naked goblin is staring at you, Bwana! Staring like he wants to steal your stuff!

They were all wearing sturdy shoes. Not sneakers or sandals, but boots with relatively high tops. They all had colorful bandannas on their heads and plastic helmets over those, like motorcycle helmets.

They also had backpacks the same drab khaki shade as their pants. Plus belt bags, vests, elbow pads, and knee pads. Some even wore tactical vests. And weapons... all six had some kind of weapon.

Now let’s take a closer look. Closer, but quick.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

That hungry goblin is still staring at you, Bwana! Hit him so he learns not to stare!

Three of them wore red. Three well-muscled thugs, practically identical. They were dressed identically, too. Vests. Boots. Gloves that looked stiff and thick. Protective pads on their knees, elbows, and shins. On top of their vests, they wore what looked like football pads, massive and sturdy. The visors on their motorcycle helmets were open, and they each had a long club on their belt. Three long, thin steel spikes stuck out of each club. One of the men’s belt bags had a cable poking out of it. I saw each of their belts also held a long, thick awl with a plastic handle. Their jacket sleeves and shoulder pads were covered in carefully-painted yellow flames. They look good... This little goblin, fresh out of the swamp, is impressed, Bwana! Might the goblin touch this beauty with his dirty hands?

The men had the experienced, self-confident air of veterans who had been through a lot.

Two of them were women. Slender... No... not just slender. They were athletic and muscular, clearly tough. I could see it in their behavior, their stance, the way they looked around. This caught my eye — they acted differently from most women I’d seen. They stood out sharply from the brutal men full of grim adrenaline. Both women were wearing blue, but their equipment was much lighter. They had small shoulder pads instead of the bulky football pads the men wore. Plastic helmets covered their heads, and bright yellow scarves were wrapped around their necks. Metal gleamed on the knuckles of the gloves they wore. Some kind of weapons were strapped to their backs. Those look like... rifles? Or are they something else?

I stood straight, trying my hardest not to move.

This worthless goblin has no right to look at orc and halfling weapons, Bwana. The cowardly goblin won’t raise his eyes again...

But the goblins did raise their eyes, and didn’t even try to hide it. Everyone around me was looking at these new arrivals — well, everyone who wasn’t asleep. Although even those were starting to open their eyes and look over, inspecting these people who seemed to have come here from another world. A cleaner and more pleasant world.

“Now that’s what I call a higher stage of evolution,” I muttered mostly to myself. But the weak-looking man to my right overheard me.

“Huh?”

“Nothing...”

“If only I could get my hands on one of those chicks for four hours or so...” The zombie to my left croaked dreamily.

Four hours? Dude. Four minutes would be more than enough for you. His eyes gleamed hungrily, and he was practically drooling as his skinny hips writhed furiously on the bench.

Those weapons...

I could see them clearly — they were right in front of me. But I still couldn’t figure out what they were. There didn’t seem to be a barrel, but I could definitely see the rudimentary stock. The other end of the weapon... Damn... It looked like the girls were armed with plain old wooden boards. Like someone had cut wood into the shape of a rifle, then attached a shoulder strap. Like a toy weapon. There was no way I was going to wrap my head around them right then, so I took a look at the last member of their group. The rest of his squad stood flanking him while he surveyed the goblin and orc rabble gathered at intersection 17 with an air of false benevolence, hands clasped behind his back. Why false? It was obvious by the contemptful scowl twisting his face at the pitiful scene before his eyes. He was their leader, no doubt about it.

“We need twenty strong, brave orcs. Or goblins. But no zombies!” The squad leader said, not bothering to disguise the boredom in his voice.

I kept both eyes on him.

He wore a black t-shirt, khaki military-style pants, thick-soled boots, and a long, muted gray trench coat. That same bright yellow fire decorated his gray baseball hat. He had a belt on, but I couldn’t see if there were any weapons on it, and a backpack was half-hidden behind the hood of his coat. While I was looking him over, the boss in the coat kept talking. His powerful voice easily quieted all the murmurs that had risen up after his first statement.

“First things first: we won’t pay you a single sol! Just items!”

The murmurs instantly died down, replaced by a frustrated hum. Judging by the goblins’ grimaces, this was like being promised cake, but getting thrown a hunk of stale bread instead. I grimaced, too, just in case, but decided I would definitely join them if I could. Items as compensation? Why not. I’m not too proud for that.

“What items?” Someone called out.

The answer came instantly:

“Clothes. A few shoes. Don’t expect anything special.”

“Hey, boss... Clothes won’t buy us a new arm from Mother!”

‘Mother’? Was that what they called the system? Wow. Talk about schizo. But I guess after five years here... Or eighteen, or whatever... That’s probably one of the least weird things they believe in.

“Yeah!” Someone else backed him up.

“Pay us sol!”

“We don’t need clothes! We’ll take food, though!”

“Clothes. A couple shoes.” The leader repeated in his bored tone, pulling at the flaps of his coat. “Anyone? Come up here, one at a time.”

Even despite the dissatisfied grumbling, I was disappointed to see at least thirty people line up as soon as he said that. At this rate, there was probably no way I’d get extra work with my elbow like it was... I looked like a goblin, but I was really more of a one-armed zombie.

“What kind of work?” Someone in line asked. “And where?”

“Easy stuff. No brainpower required.” He was obviously mocking us.

“What’s the job? How much time? Is it far from here?”

“Hauling. Two hours or so. A mile and a half away.”

Half the people in line — maybe even more — immediately sat back down.

Hauling? I wrinkled my forehead. Hauling... For some reason, my cut-off memory conjured up an image of a riverbank, and a group of men in old-fashioned clothes.

I stood up, pinning my left elbow to my side to make it less visible, and stood behind a pair of angrily muttering men. Soon I was in the midst of a slowly, reluctantly forming column of future haulers. Once everyone had decided whether they wanted to work or not, the hirers did a quick headcount.

“Eighteen... Mostly weaklings...” One of the club-wielding thugs reported emotionlessly to his leader.

“Fine,” said the boss, nodding sharply. “Move.”

And we moved, shuffling in an uncoordinated march down the hallway. The workers who had decided not to go swore at us, spitting death threats, and calling us cheap whores who gave it up for nothing.

“So what do haulers do?” I asked a woman tall enough to be a basketball player. She had incredibly long legs, but was taking short enough steps that I could easily keep up with her. She was wearing a tank top, shorts, sneakers, a green bandanna, and battered elbow pads. And this barefoot goblin in ill-fitting shorts trudged along next to her...

She looked me over with an experienced glance and twisted her lips cynically:

“You’ll find out soon enough. It’s gonna be hard for you. Just give up now.”

“Nah,” I smiled. “I gotta try it first. Then I’ll decide. Who knows... What if I like it?”

“Dumbass.”

“Maybe I am,” I sighed, adjusting my shorts. “Maybe you’re right. Anyway, we have a mile and a half ahead of us. What do you say we pass the time with a little conversation?”

“Fuck off.”

“Understood.” I slowed down a little, letting the person behind me catch up. “Hey, how about that weather in the hallways recently, huh? It’s so windy...”

“Shut up and die.”

“Got it.” I sighed, looked at another unhappy soul, and said, “It’s surprising, really. Aren’t you afraid you might get punched in the face for saying that? Hm?”

“What?”

“What would you do without teeth? It’s not like you can just grow new ones, you future lisping fuckwit...”

“Grow new... the elves know, I guess! Why can’t you just walk quietly? And no need to hit me... I’m a goblin, life has already hit me enough. I’m ready to die. But somehow I’m still alive...”

“That’s not an answer.”

“An answer to what?”

“You’re getting off topic, damn goblin,” I frowned in annoyance, but deep inside I was glad I had managed to pull him into a conversation — even though it took threats rather than politeness. “Aren’t you afraid you might get punched in the face?”

“What makes you think that? I am afraid. I need my teeth. And it would hurt. Everyone’s afraid — except maybe worms and the lowest zombies. They have nothing to lose. They’ve seen so much and been through hell...”

“But every other person just tells me to go die.”

“Maybe they’re wishing you well?” My conversation partner smiled timidly. His wasted figure gave me some comfort that I wasn’t the weakest one in our herd. There were people worse off than me.

And that’s really what we were — a herd. A sorry sight, for sure. Almost twenty weaklings trudging along the well-lit hallway with their heads bowed, shuffling, staggering, letting out the occasional moan. We looked like a herd of cows that had been rejected as defective and sent to the dog food factory.

“Well, then, die!” I muttered, smiling. “By which I mean, I wish you the best. How do you like that?”

“I don’t know. Really,” the man sighed. “That’s what everyone says around here, on the outskirts. Die! It’s like ‘get lost and leave me alone.’ I didn’t come up with it. When I first woke up here with someone else’s arms and legs, I asked a bunch of questions to everyone I saw, too. And the only answers I got were ‘Shut up!’, ‘Get lost!’, ‘Die!’, and all that. So I got used to it. That’s just how we live here, Eleven.”

“I have to disagree, seven-oh-nine,” I shook my head, remembering those guarded entrances to certain spines, where sharp-dressed people confident about their future lived. “Not everyone lives in shit here.”

“Some have managed to make it to the top. But not very many. Take me — I’m always going back and forth between ORL and GBL. Some days I’m successful, some days I’m not. Whenever I sleep I have nightmares of being grabbed and dragged to the medblock to have my arm cut off. So, Eleven. Get lost, shut up, and die!” The man’s outburst ended, and he seemed to deflate, immediately falling behind and moving to another part of the herd.

I wasn’t mad. I looked around thoughtfully, trying to find someone potentially interesting to talk to. Why waste time? We still had a mile to go. A familiar silhouette suddenly caught my eye — it was my neglectful waker, walking along about thirty steps ahead of me. Number Ninety-One. The one-armed girl.

I caught up with her and smiled widely:

“Hey, if it isn’t that lazy waker who’s terrible at their job. What did you spend those two sol on, Ninety-and-then-some?”

“Fuck off,” she grunted, not taking her eyes off the floor. “Die, nullbie. I told you stuff. Dragged you to the hallway for inspection. What else do you want?”

“You could have told me more.”

“When they woke me up, they didn’t tell me anything at all! Just grabbed me by the back of the neck, dragged me out to the hallway, and slapped me in the face until I stood up. Then they threw me onto a bench. I came to right there in the street. So you’re a damned lucky bastard in comparison! No need to thank me!”

“Dragged you out to the hallway...” I repeated. “Why do that at all? I got my job first thing in the morning, without even going anywhere.”

“Don’t have to every day. In fact, you don’t need to at all if you know a dome has seen you recently. And if you got your job done. If you’re not sure if the system has seen you in the last forty-eight hours, then you have to show up for inspection. Especially if you woke up and didn’t see a job in your interface for that day. That means you’re off the system’s list.”

“Hmm... But people show up for inspection every day. I saw them myself.”

“Yeah, they do it automatically. Because they’re afraid. I try to make sure a dome sees me more often, just in case. The last thing I need is to lose my job.”

“Okay, I get it...”

“Then get lost! I owe you nothing.”

“Are your words worth so much to you?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“Of course I do! Didn’t you have questions when you got here? Where are we? What is this place? Who are we?”

“We’re nullform. Get it? You’re a fucking nullbie with the arms of an old fart — practically only one arm. You’ll live happily ever after on the outskirts. First you’ll be an orc, then a goblin, then a zombie. Then you’ll live as a worm, but not for long. And then finally you’ll die. Where are we?! Only the elves know! Shut up and walk, orc!”

“I’m already a goblin,” I boasted gleefully.

“Moving boldly down the food chain.” She snorted involuntarily, turning towards me for the first time.

Wow... what a bruise. The entire right side of her swollen face was black with pooled blood. Her lips were cracked from a massive blow, too.

“Who did that to you, Ninety-One?”

“None of your business, goblin. Fuck off!”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck off!” Hearing notes of building hysteria in her voice, I obediently stopped asking.

Ninety-One shrunk away from me and sped up, heading towards the front of our disorderly squad. I looked after her, thoughtfully stroking my hurting left elbow, and kept walking without trying to start any more conversations. I had some new information, and needed time to think it over.

Hallways. Outskirts. That was what they called the maze of hallways and rooms. Inhabited by worms, zombies, orcs, and goblins. Maybe even a few from the higher ranks. But I hadn’t learned to pick them out yet, and it’s not like they’d be showing off their social status. That would just attract unwanted envy, with all the fierce racial and class hatred going on here. It made sense for goblins to try and look like orcs, for fear of becoming zombies. But the richer ones didn’t flaunt their wealth.

Why was I thinking about all this? Because it told me that at least some traditional laws applied here.

Three of the hirers were walking in front of me. The man in the coat, one of the football thugs, and one of the women with a board strapped to her back. Two others brought up the rear.

Once again, why was I thinking about this? Why was I bothering with all these stray thoughts? Just be like all the goblins and zombies around you! Drool and stare at that woman’s juicy ass in front of you, and just keep walking. Don’t even dream of anything else.

That’s what it was...

Not the woman’s ass or the pathetic dreams of a goblin, no. But even this was connected to my simple conclusion that some of humankind’s ancient laws applied as much as they ever did in this odd place.

The people up front clearly had a lot more information. But would I get the chances to approach them for some small talk? No way. The word ‘hello’ wouldn’t even be out of my mouth before they’d start barking at me, putting me in my place. I’d have to retreat, humiliated, bowing and smiling ingratiatingly: ‘Forgive this stupid, arrogant goblin, Bwana!’

Why? Because a poor goblin was all I was. The key word here was ‘goblin’, though, not ‘poor’. I was garbage to them. No one would willingly talk to someone like me.

The promise of clothes as payment had me excited. I really needed to update my wardrobe as soon as I could.

Well? How much longer until we get to wherever we’re going to do this so-called hard work?

This goblin can’t wait to start working for Bwana!

WE REACHED OUR DESTINATION without incident. We would be working in a big, oval-shaped room. Glad to be stopping, I clapped my hands to my ancient legs. They had carried me here without turning to jelly, and I still had plenty of strength left. That was great news.

Another pair of thugs stood chatting, but immediately stopped when they noticed the man in the coat. I watched them with interest. They exchanged a few words, and the main in the coat looked expectantly up towards the ceiling.

Bzzz...

A small dome rushed blindingly fast along a ceiling rail. Nothing like the slow, measured way they moved in our goblin outskirts. This one was a sprinter in comparison.

“Solar Flame Production Brigade! Clean mechanisms 7 and 8, Block 1, Zone 12!”

The sphere stopped abruptly, then continued on its way. Two loud clangs sounded inside the wall, like heavy-duty locks opening.

Then something unexpected started to happen. Four thugs rushed towards the parts of the walls that had started rising upwards and stood still in front of them, resting their hands on their clubs. The women stood a few steps behind them, in a good position to... shoot? I wasn’t sure why else they would stand the way they were standing. I wasn’t sure how I knew it was a shooting position, but I knew. Their ‘boards’ were still strapped to their backs. There was a low hum, and a dark gap appeared under the wall. Then a second... and a third... and dirty water poured out onto the floor, sweeping over the men’s boots. So there was a practical reason for those kind of shoes. But I was barefoot... and even from where I stood, I could see solid particles in the water. I hope I don’t cut my feet. If that disgusting mess got into a wound... I don’t even want to think about what might happen.

The rising sections of the wall rose up about three feet and stopped. A second passed, then another, then another. The thugs relaxed, straightened up, and took their hands off the clubs.

Like a bolt from the blue, something lunged out of the darkness. A swift, blurry shadow covered a distance of six feet in a flash, aiming claws at one thug’s leg. The man reacted with surprising speed, hitting the shadow with one short, powerful blow that pinned it to the floor. The goblins and zombies stepped back, crying out. Behind me I heard someone trying to leave, but a harsh shout stopped him. The creature’s clawed, scaly paws scrabbled for a hold on the flooded floor. Its body was crushed under the club, so I couldn’t get a clear look at it. Nothing else emerged from the black holes in the walls. The second soldier took his awl from his belt, approached the pinned creature, and plunged the blade into its body. The paws scratched at the floor one last time, then trembled... and finally fell still.

“What is that thing?” I asked. No one answered me. They wrenched the club out of the floor and kicked the creature’s corpse off the nails. It fell into a plastic container, which they then sent towards the women with another kick. A trophy?

But what was that creature? It definitely wasn’t a rat. I’d never seen something so aggressive. Its silence was more terrifying than the roar of any beast I’d ever heard. Its body was covered with small, greenish scales, which explained the spiked clubs and awls. A knife would be useless against natural armor like that.

“What is that thing?” I repeated my question, turning my head. And realized why no one had answered... The whole herd stood huddled about ten steps behind me. They slowly, carefully began to move forward again, whispering animatedly. I perked up my ears and caught a frequently repeated word. ‘Plux’.

Plux...

This word meant nothing to me... I looked at the dirty plastic box and the dark green trail it had left. Dirt and... blood? Green blood?

Plux. Scaly. Silent. Fast. Agile. Green-blooded.

That was plenty of reliable information. Use your head, goblin! Remember!

I tried my hardest. I even wrinkled my forehead. But what was the point? I didn’t have a single memory of pluxes, whatever they were. When I thought about scales, I remembered snakes. When I thought of creatures living in walls, I remembered rats. But pluxes...

“Closer!” The man in the coat shouted, interrupting my musings.

There was not much space behind the raised doors, but I could see the filthy edges of some mysterious mechanisms. Those must be what need to be cleaned. Each had a metal ring sticking out of it, and a rope had been attached to each.

Then came a second order.

“Put the loops over your shoulders and chest! Get to it!”

I sighed in relief. Shoulders and chest! I wouldn’t have to use my lame left arm or tired right arm.

We were rudely and unceremoniously split up, like horses being put in teams by experienced drivers that can tell how strong they are at first glance. I was placed somewhere in the middle — another stroke of luck. Being in front was no good, because everyone would be looking at you. And being last was bad, too, because you’d get too much attention. But this skinny goblin slipped unnoticed into the very middle, barely hiding his satisfied grin. And he remembered to listen closely to his orders from the Solar Flame Brigade. Fantastic...

“Don’t pull randomly! Only on the count of three! And don’t turn around — that won’t move this metal bastard any faster! Keep your eyes forward and pull in sync. The faster you drag it here,” the man pointed at his feet with a stately gesture, “The faster you’ll get your reward and get to leave! Don’t panic if it doesn’t move right away. Just focus on getting it started, and then it’ll get easier. When you hear the command, lean into the shoulder strap with all your strength, plant your feet against the floor, and pull! Just don’t stop! If one person stops, it’ll make the whole thing stop! So don’t complicate your own life, goblins!”

The man in the coat had to raise his voice quite a lot for us to hear this explanation, since he was now standing about thirty steps away from us. Was that a lot or a little? It didn’t seem all too far, but I had no idea how heavy the mechanism behind our skinny backs was.

“Goblins! Don’t look at your neighbors, either! Don’t get worked up — it’s not a contest! If you throw your backs out, we won’t pay your medical bills.”

“You wouldn’t even give us a sip of water, stingy son of a bitch,” came a barely-audible, familiar voice behind me.

I couldn’t help looking back. Ninety-One stood strapped in behind me.

“Are they really that stingy?” I asked just as quietly as she had spoken.

“Just wait ‘til you see what they give us for this, nullbie. You’ll get it if you’re not stupid. Now turn around — your ugly face makes me want to puke.”

“Fine.” I nodded and turned my back to her.

I didn’t even think of being offended. Ninety-One was in a bad mood, and would have snapped at anyone who spoke to her. To be fair, if I had such a bruise like that covering my face, I definitely wouldn’t be glowing with happiness either.

“Get ready! On the count of three! Okay... One... Stop! Are you idiots? Hey! Goblin! Yeah, you! I said on the count of three! Again! One... Two... Three!”

We pulled. The strap squeezed my shoulder and ribs in a vice grip, and the breath hissed out of my chest. We barely even moved a quarter step forward. Suddenly, these thirty steps seemed like an unconquerable marathon.

“Three!”

A strained creak behind us was proof that we had moved it. About a third of a step.

“Three!”

We pulled.

“Three...”

He had to shout ‘three’ at least five times before we heard “Pull!” And we pulled. With back-breaking effort, wheezing, stifled moans, and sizzling oaths. We dragged it about five steps, then stalled when several of the weakest of us stopped. I noted gladly to myself that I wasn’t the weakest. I made it about half a step more. The team of barge haulers next to us decided to keep moving, and stopped a couple steps ahead. Damn strongmen...

“Two minutes of rest!”

The two minutes passed far too quickly. And again:

“Three!... Three!... Three!... Pull!”

It took us half an hour to take thirty steps. A minute for each step. By the end, we were resting for three or four minutes at a time, but the last few yards were brutal. I was shaking and covered in sweat. At that moment, trembling, with no strength to even take the fucking strap off my shoulders, I bitterly realized how badly I had been tricked, and why all the smart people had stayed at intersection 17.

I had used up tons of energy and overworked my body, but tomorrow’s job was still ahead of me. Sweat with a sickly chemical smell was literally pouring from me. It didn’t take a genius to realize my body had lost a lot of fluids. I would be thirsty soon, and when my body gave me the signal, I would need to drink water, and badly. But I’d only get water in the evening, and even then just one liter. I’d start smelling bad soon, too, so I would need a shower. Maybe the system wouldn’t react the same way as last time. It wasn’t like sweat was as bad as the gray slime, and it wasn’t really that noticeable if you didn’t sniff too closely. But I would still eventually have to take a shower. If that was allowed when you were in debt. Damn... Hopefully whatever they would give us here would make up for all this a little.

“Over here,” one of the women called out, unslinging a backpack from her shoulder.

Not good. The bag was much too small to hold an appropriate reward for eighteen sweaty goblins.

“One at a time,” the woman said, trying to hide her contempt the same way her boss did. A fish rots from the head. The boss spits in the goblins’ eyes, and his underlings do too.

I was in the middle of the line for rewards again. She threw a neatly-folded piece of fabric, the same quality as my shorts, into my hand. I took a step back and unfolded it to take a look. A t-shirt. A gray t-shirt. I would take a closer look later. I pushed back through the line to the woman, holding out my hand demandingly. She looked up briefly, her contempt undisguised, then turned away:

“Don’t push it, goblin. You got your reward, now fuck off.”

“Shoes,” I said. “I was promised shoes, too.”

“We said ‘or’. You got a t-shirt. Some people got sandals.”

“That’s not what you said,” I disagreed.

“Cortos!” The woman raised her voice. “This one’s complaining.”

One of the thugs stepped towards me menacingly, coming between me and the woman and looming over me like a boulder. But caught up in his power, the boulder didn’t realize that the worm crawling through the dirt wasn’t intimidated — it didn’t even look up. Without even looking at the thug, I kept talking to the woman right through him:

“You owe me a pair of shoes.”

As I said it, the thug pushed me solidly in the chest. I took several small steps back to avoid losing my balance. Then I looked at the thug for the first time, assessing him from head to toe, and asked with a grin:

“Did you push me to show this weak, sick goblin how strong you are? Is that right, you stupid fuck? Decided you wanted to show this weak, sick goblin how strong you are? Huh? You wanted to impress her with what a strong and mighty asshole you are?”

“You motherfucker...” His right shoulder moved back. Slowly — too slowly. When he swung, I easily moved aside, his fist shooting by.

“Stop!”

This sharp shout froze the thug in place. I turned to see the man in the coat striding towards us.

“What’s going on?” The question was sharp, commanding. The man was clearly used to asking questions and getting immediate answers.

“This goblin is being a wiseass,” said the woman.

“This goblin is being a smartass,” said the thug.

“Hey, that was almost in unison!” I smiled admiringly. “This goblin is overjoyed at his masters’ skill! The goblin is especially delighted by this stupid pipsqueak! A talking monkey!”

“You motherfucker...”

The thug’s right shoulder moved back...

This felt familiar...

“Stop! You!” he poked a finger at me. “What do you need?”

“Like you guys said earlier — clothes and shoes. We spent half an hour walking here, then half an hour of hellish work, and now another half an hour to get back. I was promised clothes and footwear. I got a t-shirt. Give me the rest of my reward. It’s only fair.”

The man in the coat stared daggers at me for about five seconds, not speaking. The thug who had moved behind his shoulder was tensed in readiness, showing his boss he could grind this goblin to dust at a moment’s notice. But his red cheeks showed me that the poor guy was embarrassed. He swung so beautifully, so powerfully, but didn’t hit the goblin...

“You insulted him.” The boss nodded slightly at the thug.

“He pushed me, and I almost fell over,” I easily countered. “He shouldn’t be so handsy. If I can’t hit back, I’ll use my words.”

“Give him shoes, too. For his bravery and stubbornness,” the man in the coat ordered briefly. “But only him! Everyone else gets either one or the other.”

I didn’t say thanks, just wordlessly accepted the gray rubber sandals. Then I dropped them onto the floor, shoved my feet into them, and walked away, putting the t-shirt on as I went. I listened carefully to see if any of the goblins who had put in real effort would try and ask for an extra reward, too. As I expected, no one said a word. They all got shoes or t-shirts, then immediately started trading among themselves.

I examined the mechanisms that had been pulled out of the wall — although there was nothing special about them. Gleaming metal cylinders on steel skids with a ring at the end. There were also two rings in the back, fixed to stretched cables leading into the wall. It seemed like the system itself could put the mechanisms back in the wall after the Solar Flame Production Brigade cleaned them.

The man in the coat’s next words confirmed my guess:

“The job is done! You’re all free to go. If anyone wants to work more today, be at intersection 17 in two hours. Same job. Same place.”

Goblins and orcs obediently headed for the exit with smiles on their sweaty faces. They were satisfied at all they had accomplished — not just getting their daily job done, but earning a little on the side, too. I doubted any of them were critically assessing the fruits of their labor. At least they could relax now, lie on a bench and consider themselves hard workers.

A strange muttering sound attracted my attention. “Can’t get it dirty...”

It was Ninety-One. She was crouched on the floor about ten steps from the steel mechanisms we pulled from inside the wall, gazing steadily at the gray t-shirt lying in front of her, muttering over and over:

“Can’t get it dirty... Gotta get it there, can’t get it dirty... Shit...”

I let her be, turning instead to the man in the coat surrounded by his underlings.

“Can I just wait here for two hours if I want to work more later?”

“Fucking goblin. Get lost before I break your arm!”

That’s what happens when you don’t know how to let go of negative emotions! What a tantrum... How didn’t he explode into pieces after a burst of emotions like that? What a sensitive little boy...

“Oh no, the bad goblin hurt your feelings. Why don’t you go cry in the corner?” I asked lazily.

“You’re dead, motherfucker, you’re fucked... I’ll make you a worm right now!”

“Hey!” One shout from the man in the coat immediately put the thug in his place.

The boss pointed a finger at the ceiling, asking in a dangerously smooth voice:

“Do I need to remind you of our motto?”

“No...” The guy cast an angry glance at me, then lowered his eyes.

“Say it.”

“I remember it, I do.”

“Let me hear it!” This command lashed the thug like a red-hot whip.

He started, stood straight, and barked:

“Eyes and ears are everywhere! Be afraid and stay aware!”

“And our second motto.”

“Work hard and work well!”

“Very good.” The man in the coat’s voice softened. “Last question. When did you gain the authority to speak for me, Cortos? You think you’re someone special?”

“No... no, Morris. Not at all!”

“He really didn’t mean anything by it.” This pleading voice was the woman who had called the thug over to deal with the impudent goblin.

Were they more than just co-workers? Did they whisper secrets to each other in the evenings, hold hands, maybe even get up close and personal in a capsule for some sweet, sweaty alone time? It was none of my business. Besides, I had already learned that everyone here was sterile. Male or female, didn’t matter — no one would be making babies. So they were free to have at it as much as they wanted. I noted her interest in the thug’s fate for one very simple reason: She would cover him first if anything happened. And that was no small thing. If there was another plux attack, I would squeal and jump into the thug’s arms, since he was guaranteed protection...

“Stay out of this!” The man in the coat cut in before she could continue. I caught another angry glance, from the woman this time.

“My stupid goblin face is at fault here too,” I repented, raising my right hand above my head. “But it’s all in the past now. So can I stay here and work later?”

“You’re too arrogant and talkative for a goblin.”

“But not when I’m working,” I answered calmly.

“I saw. You pulled well, although I certainly wouldn’t call you a big man.” Morris nodded. “You can stay, Eleven. Just don’t get in our way. We won’t take responsibility for you, but none of us will hurt you.” He pierced the thug with a glare that hit the woman as well. “Or give you any trouble. Our brigade needs people who work hard.”

“Thanks,” I smiled. “We’ll wait over by the wall.”

“We?”

“We,” I looked at Ninety-One, who was still mumbling. “She put in a lot of work too.”

“Fine.”

The conversation was over. Without looking at the thug or the woman, I turned and walked away with a deliberately brisk step. This goblin is full of energy, Bwana! He can’t wait to be useful! I sat down next to Ninety-One, who was still muttering:

“Can’t get it dirty... How do I keep it clean... I don’t even have anything to carry it in... Stupid...”

“Hey.”

“Huh?” she started, looked around, and realized that the goblin herd had long since left, heading back towards the outskirts they called home. “Oh...”

That innocent, girlish exclamation made me take a closer look at her. That bruise covered half her face, but the other half was quite pretty. Needed a good scrub, of course, but she was still beautiful. If you gave her five showers, brushed her knotted hair, and put her in some nice clothes, she wouldn’t even need makeup. But that’s not what I said to her.

“They said we can stay here and haul again in a few hours. Come on, go bow to our kind masters! Thank them for showing such mercy!”

“What? Why the hell are you making decisions for me? I was planning to work again, anyway...”

“This way we won’t have to waste our energy walking back and forth,” I explained.

She winced.

“But we might run into a wayward plux here! Just picture your guts spilled out on the floor! That’ll teach you!”

“Why my guts?” I asked. “I didn’t put in a good word for you for nothing. You’ll thank me by protecting me.”

“Very funny!” She muttered and, still not knowing what to do with the t-shirt, laid down and curled up around it. She didn’t say anything else.

I decided to leave her be. I sat down next to her and took off my hard-earned sandals and t-shirt, examining them carefully. I wanted to figure out what my waker had meant when she said I’d understand how stingy the brigade that hired us was.

I found my answer right away. There were markings on the shoes and shirt — incredible markings.

A vertical arrow with lush feathers and a graceful flat arrowhead, entwined in ivy. Next to that was a column inscribed with: ‘Humanitarian aid from above.’

How interesting.

An arrow entwined in ivy? Aid from above? I involuntarily glanced up at the ceiling. Who was up there? Or was the word ‘above’ just a figure of speech, hinting at divine intervention? Arrows and plants... a short chain of associations brought me to that mythical race everyone here was always mentioning: elves.

But the key word was ‘humanitarian.’ I knew a nice synonym for that word: free. Gifted. Given away. It didn’t take a genius to realize the Solar Flame Brigade most likely got these sandals and t-shirts for free. But we goblins had to practically break our backs just to get these clothes and shoes. We were free labor for the brigade.

I did my best impression of a vile goblin cackle. “Everyone’s cheating us...”

Ninety-One shot me a surprised glance from her black eye. But she didn’t say anything, just stayed where she was, curled up around the t-shirt. It was the time to break down her barrier.

“So who’s the shirt for? Tell me about her,” I said, looking around at the mechanisms in the room and the watchful guards pacing around them.

“Huh?” Ninety-One twitched, then sat up and stared at me. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Don’t play dumb, goblin, or I’ll kick your bad elbow!”

“More threats,” I sighed, scooting a little farther away from her. “Can’t we have a normal conversation?”

“We can.”

“What’s your name?”

“Did you forget how to read numbers?”

“That’s your name?”

“Yorka.”

“Huh?” I asked in surprise. “Yorka?”

“It’s a perfectly fine name.”

“Did you make it up?”

“What, do you think my parents did? What a stupid question.”

“Yorka... so who’s the bitch you’re bringing the shirt to?”

“How did you know?”

“It wasn’t hard to guess. You were practically praying over that t-shirt. Mumbling about delivering it safe and sound. And I doubt you’d be so worried about your own t-shirt, since you can just wash your clothes.”

“But how did you know it was a she, not a he?”

“You were way too worried about getting it dirty. You were afraid to touch it, even. If it was for a man, he’d probably check to make sure it was new and didn’t have holes in it, but he definitely wouldn’t be looking for tiny stains.”

“Because all men are dirty pigs?”

“Why do you say that? Take me, for instance. I’m a goblin, not a pig.”

“A goblin...” Yorka muttered and sat down. “My name is perfectly normal.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I gave myself the name El.”

“What a stupid name! El what? Are you Mexican or something?”

“That’s just what I came up with.”

“Elb. That suits you better,” Yorka shot back.

“Elb,” I tested it out. “Elb. Almost like elf.”

“No. Like Elb.”

“All right, I’m Elb.” I agreed. “So? Who is she? And what do you owe her?”

“What do you care, Elb the goblin? Hm... That sounds even stupider. You’re definitely Elb! Elb the goblin!”

I interrupted her sudden glee. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. How about you stop changing the subject? Who did this to you?”

“What do you care?” She repeated tensely. “Hm? What’re you gonna do? Help me? Yeah, right! Or will the story help you pass the time before the second round of hauling? Find another way! Oh, and about how I woke you up — I’m sorry. I’m bleeding money, trying to catch up. But I can’t. I’m already at GBL. I’m already a goblin! I’m Yorka the fucking goblin, that’s who I am!” She snapped, her voice echoing around the room. “Elb and Yorka, a pair of happy little dirt-poor goblins!”

“Has a nice ring to it,” I shrugged. “Elb and Yorka, two happy little goblins in a happy little party. Elb’s the leader, of course.”

“What do you mean? What party? You need to chill, goblin.”

“We’ll get back to that later. But come on, tell me about your debt, the money you’re losing, that bruise, and who you owe this shirt to. No sarcasm this time. I ask, you give me a straight answer. I ask for more details, you tell me.”

“Fuck off,” she said, but there was no confidence in her voice.

“This is the last time I’m going to offer to help you,” I said evenly. “Think about it. And either start talking, or don’t.”

There was silence. I continued to look around casually.

There were three passages leading into the oval room. Two were across from each other, with the third between them. A large group was fast approaching from the far entrance. Morris, the man in the coat, looked exasperated, like he was tired of waiting for them. He waved them over so furiously that they started running.

“Where the hell have you been?” Morris shouted from afar. “You’re twenty minutes late!”

“We had a slight problem with water,” a middle-aged man started to make their excuses. He was wearing brown overalls with yellow straps, bulging with dirty rags that seemed to stick out of every pocket.

“I don’t give a shit! Get cracking!” Morris shouted again. “We’re behind schedule!”

“We’re on it.”

There were about fifteen people in the group. It was hard to tell exactly what race they were, but they didn’t seem like goblins. Orcs, at least. Maybe even halflings, going by their efficiency. Both men and women, ranging in age from fresh-faced to elderly. It was clear they were cleaners. They grabbed scrapers and rags, then began scrubbing the dirt from the closest mechanism. Morris paced impatiently around them.

I waited for a minute, then approached him and said confidently:

“We’re really good at scrubbing dirt. We can help for a small fee.”

“How about you go...” Morris started. The thug I had argued with earlier overheard, and excitedly came closer. “...Scrub.” The thug wilted as Morris finished his sentence. The impudent goblin had avoided another beating.

Morris hastily went over the terms of the deal.

“No sol! Only clothes. You’ll each get a handkerchief, a baseball cap, and... and one nutrition briquette. That’s all.”

“And a liter of drinking water,” I added, barely hiding my glee. “We still have to work later, remember? Which means we’ll be sweating.”

“And a liter of drinking water,” he waved a hand. “Now go, go!”

“We’re on it.”

I didn’t need to explain anything to Yorka. When she saw me pointing at her, she was smart enough to come closer, so she heard most of our conversation. The two of us grabbed rags and plastic scrapers and got to work, copying the more experienced workers.

“Thanks,” Yorka muttered quietly.

“What was that?” I got closer.

“I said thank you, Elb the fucking goblin!”

“You’re welcome, Yorka the goblin. Anytime.”

I remembered the mottoes the thug had recited, so I put my back into it and didn’t slack off. It was harder work than I expected. Yorka and I were cleaning the thickest layers of the substance, which was like a thick grease with debris mixed in. Pretty soon we got into a rhythm. Several sweeps of our scrapers, then scoop the debris off the floor into a bucket, kick it down further, and repeat. Several sweeps of our scrapers... An hour flew by without me even noticing. I only regained my sense of reality when the job was done. Yorka moved to the side and sank to a sitting position on the floor, exhaling loudly. Then she lay down and went quiet. I looked expectantly at the man in the coat, but he was talking to the leader of the cleaning team, and motioned me to go see the woman I had gotten my rewards from before. Without even looking at me, she handed me a two-liter bottle of water, then a stack of two gray baseball caps with handkerchiefs and nutrition briquettes inside. Right. Goblins didn’t need dishes. And getting food crumbs in your hat? Well, that’s just how it was for goblins. I was too tired to be resentful, though. I took our rewards over to Yorka, sat down next to her, and poked her until she took the water bottle I was offering. She drank lying down, chugging her half incredibly quickly. She picked up the nutrition briquette, but her hand froze before she put it in her mouth.

“Eat,” I said, understanding her hesitation. “We need energy. We’ll be hauling again soon.”

“A nutrition briquette, a baseball cap, a handkerchief, and a t-shirt... They’ll leave me alone for two days now.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled through my full mouth. “And then they’ll make you bring them at least that every time. The more you feed the beast, the hungrier it gets.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Tell me your story first.”

First reluctantly, but growing more and more animated, Yorka started talking. It was pretty straightforward stuff. Midway through, I was already yawning. By the end of her long, trivial story, my thoughts were wandering to anything but her words. Why? It was just so straightforward.

Essentially, she was late to work one day and was running along the hallway when she crashed into another girl standing in front of a screen, yelling and trying to survive in a game challenge. They both fell down. Yorka swore that a defeat message was already on the screen when they collided, which meant it wasn’t her fault, but the girl’s cronies still blamed her. They demanded she pay a thirty-sol fine or they would never let her live in peace. She said no, at first. But after they cornered her in a dark, narrow hallway one night, she decided it would be cheaper to pay it off. By then, the amount had already grown to fifty sol, for her disobedience and unwillingness. She started to pay it off, slowly but surely. And she almost managed it, but then they told her that there was still interest accumulating every day. Five sol per day, or items. She hadn’t brought them anything yesterday, and the girl’s boyfriend hit her in the face. She got the message, and that’s why she was putting in so much effort today, trying to bring them anything she could by evening.

Yorka, you stupid girl...

She may look smart, but she’s so dumb...

When she finished, I nodded automatically and stood up:

“Let’s get to work, goblin.”

“But...”

“We’ll solve your problems once the work is done.”

“You’re pretty bold for a goblin. Trying to intimidate a halfling soldier.”

“Do you hear what you’re saying?”

“Why?”

“Who did I try to intimidate?”

“Him!” Yorka pointed to the thug. “A halfling soldier. Well, almost — he’s more of a security guard. But still! Who would ever risk... listen, I already wish I hadn’t told you. I can deal with it on my own.”

I shook my head. “No you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re used to it now.”

“Used to what?”

“To these gifts they get every day. You get used to good things really quickly, Yorka. And when the good things stop coming, you get angry and do whatever you can to get them back. So you’ll never pay them off.”

“But then... What do we do?”

“First we’ll talk. Politely. And then we’ll see.”

“Do you hear what you’re saying? They’re always together. A whole party! Five orcs! You’re just a goblin!”

“We’ll figure it out after work,” I repeated, pointing at the fresh herd of future barge haulers coming in from the hallway. “Let’s get harnessed, Yorka the goblin!”

She sighed. Decisively, she picked up the new t-shirt, wrapped it in the handkerchief, put that into the baseball cap, then put the cap on her head. “I’m ready to work. But you’re still way too bold, Elb the Goblin...”