MBGSP chpt 159-161

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Chapter 159 - Heightened Gains

I was more than a little peeved that our first orbital launch, despite a solid fuel cook-off on the ground, was still more successful than my doomed NuEarth moon mission, despite several crews being vaporized. On Earth, a rocket disaster with just a couple deaths would have been a national tragedy for years. For tribe Apollo, losing 100 goblins in a flash of rocket flames was just another Tuesday in goblin tech development.

With our current tribal population, their loss would be replaced three times over by  the next morning and goblins always looked ahead to new births more than they let past losses weigh on them. There was a certain sort of strength that came with their ability to completely reject a sense of loss in favor of looking to the future. But I suppose a creature as short-lived as the average goblin would have to evolve that way to not be constantly crushed beneath a mountain of grief.

But the mission wasn’t just about getting a rocket off the ground, it was about using the data we’d collected over the last weeks to deliver a useful payload into orbit. And while we had our target altitude, heading, and speed, we couldn’t know for sure—nor could we be certain how Raphina’s gravity would affect satellites passing between the planet and the oversized moon. I moved from the mission control side of the pyramid to the observatory, which was an enclosed dome now, to protect the light-sensitive Midnighters from the sun.

One of the attendants greeted me, folding at the waste in their unusual insectoid bow. “Apollo, king. Welcome. Priestess awaits.”

Priestess Cla’thn sat at the viewing aperture of her arcane telescope, which was swung to the eastern sky. We’d timed the launch for the 90 minute orbit to circle back during the eclipse, in order to give the Midnighters the best chance of spotting it. As the sun passed behind the moon, the canopy of the observatory was opened, and the dim twilight spilled in. I approached the priestess, who startled when I cleared my throat behind her.

“Apologies, King Apollo.”

“Easy,” I said. “What’s got you riled up?”

Cla’thn rubbed her hairs together, producing a note like a low violin chord. I took it to be a sort of calming ritual. “Raphina’s shadow presses on us. It is… not easy, losing our sense of events. We of the star readers all feel it.”

I circled to the viewfinder. “That’s your culture’s whole edge, yeah? Reflections in the stars and ripples of the future? I suppose it’d by like if my people lost smart phones and internet—not that you have any context for that.” I huffed a laugh. “We always said 3 days without essential services, internet, or plumbing and society would crumble. I suppose you’re doing better than my world’s humans would.”

“That is some small assurance. It is still hard to adjust to the idea that your world also has human, and that you were once one.”

“That’s been bugging me, too,” I said. “We’ve got theories of convergent evolution, where a dominant bipedal, highly mobile, dexterous, tool-using, large brained mammal is almost inevitable. But for your world’s humans and mine to be nearly identical is a bit much of a coincidence.” I hadn’t seen them up super close in the City of Brass, but from what I could tell, they checked all the boxes for humans: tall, 5 fingers, a mix of hair, eye, and beard colors that wouldn’t have been out of place on Earth. No hooves or anything.

I waved it away. “Can you see anything yet?”

Priestess Cla’thn lowered her eye to the aperture. The glass had a film over it to dim the light passing through the scope even further. Apparently, even the eclipses were uncomfortably bright for a species that had spent most of its evolutionary path in underground colonies.

“I see nothing yet,” she admitted.

I sighed. Maybe we hadn’t had enough fuel after the booster snafu. Or maybe Raphina’s gravity had yoinked the payload out of a stable freefall. Heck, maybe it had all exploded as soon as it was over the horizon.

“Wait a moment, King Apollo. I see the shine of a star where there ought not be such.”

“What? Let me see!” I said, moving up to the aperture. “Erm, please,” I added.

The Midnighter priestess moved aside and I removed the filter to peer through the aperture at full brightness.

“That’s it!” I shouted. “It worked!”

The small satellite caught the rays of the sun on its reflective surface as it came up from the horizon. Within a few minutes it should be within radio range—if it was working. I left the observatory and ran back to mission control.

“Anything yet?” I asked my chief satellite traffic controller. The sparker taskmaster, Harris, fiddled with the dials and switches on his console. “Startin’ to get somethin’ boss!”

<Goblin technology unlocked: Space rock’ems>

<Goblin technology unlocked: Satty-lights>

<Goblin technology unlocked: Solar charge-ems>

Ok, so photovoltaic cells were still out of reach. But it turned out the Ifrit had one half of a solution to the problem of how to power our satellites. The defensive crystals they had used to ward off the null devil took in power from sunlight. We combined that with the electricity generating organ from a Thundercleave, and boom: instant solar capacitor.

I watched mission control’s eyes glaze over as the new technology propagated through the room. Meanwhile, I leaned over and checked the responses from the satellite on the ground station. The altitude was decaying slightly, but the limited fuel we had on board could be used to course correct. Most importantly, its speed was good and its flight was stable. The long antenna we’d mounted to it could now be used to extend our radios even further for a limited time by acting as a line-of-sight relay.

As a matter of fact, one of the radio operators was listening intently to a message that was coming down the line.

“Uh, boss?” he asked.

“What is it?”

“You oughta hear this report yerself.”

I made my way over to him and took the ear cups.

“Go for Apollo,” I said.

“Boss? Hey boss! Yeah, we’re uh, everything’s good!” said the wrangler on the other end.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I knew exactly what that meant. “What was your assignment?” I asked.

“Keep an eye on the humans during the launch.”

“And?”

“…keep a safe distance.”

“Where are you now?”

“Uh… circling above one of the boost ‘ems from the launch. The ones you said would fall in the ocean. Looks like its in good shape, too!”

“That’s fantastic!”

“Yeah, yeah… The wizard tower it landed on doesn’t look so great, though.”

I stopped. “The what?”

“Yeah there’s a bunch of the big guys with swords all around it. Lot’s of folks looking around and pointing at us.”

“Are you in Habberport right now?” I asked.

There was a pause. I checked the dial for the satellite signal strength just to make sure we were still receiving.

“Ah, we may have interpreted the ‘safe distance’ bit. It’s definitely safer without a wizard, yeah? So it should be fine!”

It should be fine that we just crushed a wizard’s tower with a giant metal tube that fell 20 kilochooms through the air? I put a palm through my fur. Those boosters were supposed to drop off over water and splash into the sea. The early cook off in the pit had meant they were lower and closer when they detached from the rocket. Enough so that Habberport, a coastal city, had been unlucky enough to be the recipient.

“It’s not just wizards you have to worry about,” I said. “There are also those dragon riders we saw. They could come after you at any time.”

“No worries on that front, boss. The other booster landed on their roost.”

Chapter 160 - Boosted Diplomacy

<Your tribe has increased to 3920 members>

If Habberport wasn’t planning on attacking us directly before, they sure would be now.

It’s difficult to imagine being part of a medieval society and having a giant whistlite pillar come falling out of the sky. The booster had plummeted at terminal velocity like a spear from the heavens. I’d been over every inch of those boosters, and the zealots had scrawled goblin iconography all over them. The sparkers had added nose art, as well.

What I’m trying to say is that they couldn’t have come from anyone but us. This was a diplomatic disaster on what had been an uneasy mounting tension, and it was coming at the least opportune time. Just when we’d gotten some breathing room to push the rocket program higher and further, we’d gone and antagonized the human faction.

We got two more days of solid work on the next set of rockets before the first dragon riders appeared in the sky north of Red Rock Rise. The warning came as I was working with Prometheus on our first manned command capsule.

One of the sparkers ran into the hangar, mouth agape with the frantic radio calls from one of the northern bluffs.

“Big winged lizards just flew over us! They’re spittin’ fire! We need airy-knotic support.”

I dropped my tools. “Scramble fighters!” I shouted. The workshop burst into a panic as goblins began to run every which way. Armstrong, of course, just looked excited for the impending scrap. I turned to my ignis chief. “Promo, we need to get up there.”

“I got things here, hoss. The work don’t stop. Get after ‘em,” he said, hefting his hammer.

I ran from the workshop and caught a lift on a passing buggy to the edge of the bluff, where several of Eileen’s air crews were already pulling out personal gliders to soar down to the hangars. I took a spare and joined them, taking a running leap from the west edge of the bluff and unfurling the glider. Down below, crews of goblins hauled open the hangar doors and utility buggies began pulling the jets to the ramp. A dozen or more Ifrit hovered nearby, eager to jump into the jets for a chance to ride in the turbine engines. I’d made sure to keep the jets in a state of near readiness once the boosters fell on Habberport. I’d expected an attack. I just hoped it wouldn’t come until much later. I also hoped to figure out some way to deescalate this conflict before it turned into an all-out war. But it’s hard to broker peace with someone you just dropped a 20 kilochoom rocket on.

I met Chuck coming in from the livestock pens on his dirt bike along with a dozen other wranglers. They hit the runway and opened up their throttles, screaming down the length of it until they reached the ramp. My wrangler chief ditched the bike and sprinted over to me.

“Got here quick as could be, boss. What’s our play?”

“We need to make sure those dragon riders don’t get to Bluff Apollo or Canaveral. 6 fighters to interdict, and 3 to each bluff in case they sent flankers. Any idea where Sourtooth is?”

“I’m here, little brother,” said the old orc boss, limping out of the hangar behind one of the jets with his bag of smiths tools. Despite never wanting to fly one, he’d taken to wrenching on the aircraft in his spare time, adding his own orcish modifications to my designs. “What yammer is this of dragons a’wing? Has Habbe finally bared tooth and talon?”

“Certainly seems that way,” I said. “Red Rock Rise spotted a group of those dragon riders. What should I expect?”

“Fire and lightning,” said Sourtooth, rubbing his stubbled chin. He scowled. “Mage knight riders, as dangerous they as the beasts they mount.”

“Great. Just what we need near jets full of fuel and radio equipment.”

“Good, then, that my smiths you’ve got. Knowing, they, how to fight humans.”

“I can’t thank you enough for all your help, Sourtooth. I just wish I could get someone with your skills airborn.”

“Curse your tongue for the words it twists, little brother,” said Sourtooth. He spat on the ground. “Haven’t you somewhere to be?”

 I whistled to the assembling air crew. “Mount up!”

The cheer and rush of goblins scrambling to get to their aircraft was always something to see. I had my own personal heavy fighter that I headed to, an orc fighter modified for a goblin pilot. I spotted Taquoho’s vessel hovering nearby, along with my regular flight crew.

One of the wranglers leaned out of their cockpits and whistled. “They just left Red Rock, headed this way,” he shouted.

No time to waste then, I jumped in my cockpit and got it started up as a buggy topped off the fuel. Armstrong dropped down to the turret with another goblin to act as his loader, and I let off the brakes and got us lined up for takeoff.

It stuck me as odd, then, how routine it all felt. After a couple months on Rava, I was pre-flighting my fighter jet to go fight dragon riders, and the thing that worried me most was keeping them away from our rockets so that the next launch went up as scheduled—all so we could eventually wake up an ancient, psychic celestial creature before it accidentally destroyed the moon because giant magic space ticks had made it oversleep.

I guess once you’ve been plucked out of your body and sent to another world as a fictitious creature, the rest just sort of falls in line as plausible. I ought to be glad Rava had no concept of April Fools, because I probably would have fallen for anything, at this point. Things that would have beggared belief back home were as mundane as Monday morning hangovers, here.

I tuned the radio for the air patrol band. The fighters we already had in the air were keeping their distance from the encroaching dragon riders while they waited for backup. I got us lined up with the runway and hit the throttle, launching us into the air so that we could join them.

Three fighters headed west to Canaveral, and three more started to circle the floating rings of Apollo City. The rest of the fighters followed me as I pointed our nose north toward Red Rock Rise, where towering storm clouds had started to gather.

Fire and lightning, Sourtooth had said. When we’d flown over Habberport, a wizard had conjured lightning to strike at us from the top of a tall tower which, if the reports were accurate, was now flattened. True battle magic of epic scale was not something I looked forward to seeing in action. But the best defense was a show of force to make these riders turn home.

Underneath the column of cumulonimbus storm clouds, I soon spotted several specks weaving through the air where our air patrol danced with the dragon mages.

“Tally bandits,” I called over the radio. “Watch your ceiling, don’t fly into clouds or you’re likely to hit a mountain.”

“Aye king,” said Chuck. “I’ve got yer back. I’ll follow you in.”

Ahead, a bar of white-hot flame split the distance between one of the dragons and a goblin jet, and the latter burst into a ball of flaming debris.

<Your tribe has decreased to 3908  members>

I hissed under my breath. 12 goblins up in smoke. The other pilot, who had been holding fire, opened up with his guns, spitting a hail of glowing rockettes through the air. But the dragons were maneuverable, and the pilot was outnumbered 5:1 now that his wingmate had gone down.

The riders finally seemed to notice the backup coming from the southern bluffs, because the dragons wheeled and climbed to the base of the clouds. I put on throttle to build altitude as well, already feeling the static from the storm start to raise my fur as our tail carved the underside of the cloud deck.

Two of the dragons split, pumping their wings and heading southwest toward Canaveral.

“Boss, should we pursue ‘em?” asked one of the wranglers.

“Negative, they’re trying to split us up. Let the rest of the patrol catch them and reinforce with the reserve air wing.”

I kept my nose head on, bringing the closest dragon into my crosshairs. It, likewise, headed right for me. It opened its mouth, and I yanked the stick to the side just as another bar of flame split the distance. It was so close I could feel the heat of it through the fuselage, and its glare left a magenta after-image in my eyes. I don’t know what kind of fire that was, but its temperature must have been close to the inside of one of our kilns. We shot past, with Armstrong taking a shot with the recoilless rifles that the dragon evaded with a single forceful beat of its wings. I dropped throttle and banked in order to bring us around. My tail gunner likewise added his self-cycling gun to the mix as we passed. I heard the roar of the dragon as rounds hit home, and looked over my shoulder to find the creature had wheeled about in the air to pursue us.

The fight was fully joined, now.

Chapter 161 - The Second Battle of Red Rock Rise

I hadn’t been present for the last battle above Red Rock Rise where our first generation jets clashed with night haunts bewitched by elves. Rather than simple flying beasts with a lone rider, we now faced armored dragons, each with a mage-knight just as dangerous as the winged, fanged, fire-breathing mount they commanded.

I hit the merge with the first dragon knight. In a jet battle, once two fighters pass their first run they each bank and it turns into a circular fight of energy management—airspeed, altitude, turning power. Whoever has more has the advantage, and you’d spend them like currency to gain position in the circle and get your enemy into your HUD for a kill shot. Or sacrifice them to avoid the enemy bringing you into his.

Dragons, apparently, are not jets. As we passed, the first dragon tucked its wings and twisted around in its own length before unfurling the powerful limbs and giving chase from near on my six o’clock. It was only Chuck cutting in and forcing the dragon off-kilter that kept it from frying me with its breath. The creatures may not have been faster than us, but they were definitely more maneuverable with those flexible wings. The rider, likewise, summoned a bolt of red lightning from the clouds above that split the sky ahead of me, forking out and kicking up a cloud of dust and debris from the ground.

“I don’t think they’re used to fighting other fast-flying targets,” I said. “Let’s not give them the chance to learn.”

One of the other riders in pursuit of a hobgoblin fighter passed in front of me, and I turned to intercept, careful to stay clear of the tailgun fire. I squeezed the triggers and added my self-cycling rockette launchers to the mix. Ahead of me, the dragon rider raised his weapon, which looked like some sort of long-hafted axe. The blade of it started to glow and a half-shell of blue light appeared around the rider and mount. My rockettes skipped off it, most of them completely deflected. Armstrong followed up with recoilless rifle shots. One of them penetrated the shield and struck the dragon in its flank, sprouting its small drogue chute. But the mage swept his weapon down and severed the bindings before they could slow his dragon.

The dragon continued to give chase to the fighter ahead of us, but the mage turned around in his saddle and spun his axe again. 4 white starbursts appeared in the sky, and I yanked the stick as the magical lances shot toward us. Even though I’d dodged, the beams arced towards us. 3 of them narrowly missed and continued on, but the 4th hit us on the left quarter and the jet jerked as metal shrieked. I smelled the acrid tang of burning metal, and fought to level us out.

“Apollo, Sourtooth’s countermeasures seem to be working, but I would not test their extents.” said Taquoho.

“No kidding,” I said, fighting to level us out. I activated my radio. “Sourtooth, you on the wave?”

“Aye, little brother. How fare you?”

“Your anti-magic armor seems to be working. I hoped we wouldn’t need it, but the mages have seeking spells.”

“Then answer in kind. The hide of the null devil was not all we collected. Twas their very hunting instincts we stole.”

I had to bank again to avoid a lightning strike from the mage chasing us. Chuck was giving him plenty to worry about, but he still found a moment to strike. All around us, rockette trails and lightning split the sky, along with the occasional white-hot bar of flame. Natural lightning began to strike from the gathered storm, as well as heavy rain that pattered against my canopy.

“What do you mean?”

“From the nymphs we harvested an organ, of its own accord it moved toward sources of magic.”

“You found their magic sensors?” I asked, putting us into a barrel roll to avoid a spell that scythed through the sky like a spinning crescent blade. “I don’t know see how that helps, the dragons aren’t exactly hard to see with the mark 1 eyeball.”

“Aye, but those rockets beneath yon wing have not eyes, do they?”

I stiffened in my seat. “Sourtooth. Are you telling me that you equipped my jet with magic-seeking missiles?”

“Tis a way of putting it, yes,” he said.

I grinned and flipped the toggle to arm my rocket racks. “You sour old orc, I could kiss you right now.”

“Keep thine chompers from mine flesh. Know well, I, that goblins kiss with teeth.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the dragon on my flank. I had to get him off me if I wanted a clean shot at any of the riders, and there was only one sure-fire way to do it. I hauled back on the stick and kicked on the afterburners. The cloud deck above rushed to greet me, and moments later, I was enveloped by the grey-white haze of the thunderstorm. I checked my gauges, making sure I maintained a climb and banked until my compass showed I’d turned all the way around.

Typically, it’s considered near suicidal to fly into clouds when you’re flying using visual reference. Our monkey senses didn’t evolve for orientation without a horizon, and our kinematic system that relies on pressure against our bones and skin gets completely twisted in 6-axis flight. Goblins didn’t seem to be any different in that regard. You could be flying completely inverted and your body might tell you you were straight and level. An inexperienced pilot who flies under visual rules into instrument conditions has a life expectency of about 180 seconds.

I cut the throttle to idle and turned us over on our back, relying on my instruments alone to get my orientation, despite what my body was telling me.

“We seem to have lost visual reference, King Apollo,” said Taquoho.

“We’ve also lost the dragon rider,” I said. If he’d followed us into the clouds, he’d be flying on sound alone—unless he had some sort of spell to see through water vapor. But I imagined such a thing would take time to cast, and so I’d bought us a few seconds. I pitched the nose down toward the deck and counted those seconds, tracking the amount of time I’d spent in the climb. I had to react as soon as the haze started to clear.

“Boss, I’m floatin!” said Armstrong over the intercom. I grew light against my own restraints as well as the jet entered a state of free-fall in the cloud. Our altitude dropped, and I kept our bank and pitch as close as I could to perpendicular with the ground just by relying on our attitude gyroscope. Thankfully, the Ifrit had traded us more accurate instrumentation than we could produce on our own.

The haze outside the canopy began to lift, and I jammed the throttle forward.

“Boss, I think that sky might be ground!”

Below us, I was treated to a top-down view of the battle, where the dragons and goblin fighters pursued each other in equal measure. I picked out one of the dragons closing in on the tail of an interceptor and twisted my stick to bring my crude, etched reticle ahead of its flight path.

“Fox 2!” I called out, and jammed my thumb on the rocket button. A pair of magic-seeking missiles separated from my wing pylons and ignited, streaking forward. The rockets had stabilizers, but no active control surfaces. I could barely believe my eyes as it course-corrected on its own and angled toward the dragon and rider combo. The knight was so intent on his quarry that he didn’t look up at all. One missile struck the dragon on its wing and exploded. The other struck the knight directly, and though it failed to detonate, it still knocked the armored rider completely out of his saddle. He plummeted through the air, even as the wounded dragon sank, flapping furiously with ineffective wings. I thought the knight would have been killed or at least knocked out from that impact, but a cusion of light surrounded him and his fall slowed. Of course dragon riding mages would have a way to save themselves.

I hauled back on the stick, trying to get us level again. The aircraft groaned underneath me, and the g-forces crushed me against the seat. I gasped for air, using the breathing techniques I’d learned at NuEarth to stay concious. As soon as I had enough breath, I switched my radio on again. “I want teams on the ground ready to capture those two as soon as they land,” I ordered. “We’re not having a repeat of that elf giving us grief for weeks.”

“The others are breaking off!” said one of the other pilots. “We got ‘em on the run, boss!”

“It ain’t us,” said Chuck. “Incoming from Canaveral, king,”

I looked southeast, where dozens of dark dots in the sky were coming in formation. “Can’t be,” I said. “We don’t have that many jets,”

“It’s Midnighters,” said Chuck. “Queen’s guard on those riding beetles.”

Sure enough, the new arrivals soon resolved into the elite air cavalry of the queen’s guard. And they hadn’t come alone. Several of the priest-caste palanquins being carried by chains strung between four beetles each.

Taquoho spoke up. “Sourtooth did say the queen’s guard would meet the dragon riders in battle, did he not?” he said.

That was true. I watched as a jagged, dark lance of energy flashed from one of the palanquins, narrowly missing a retreating dragon. An orb appeared at the terminus of its path, and the light twisted around it like a black hole. The dragon changed course, flapping desperately to get away as the spell tried to suck it in. The rider cast some sort of counterspell, and the orb disappeared.

“Do we chase?” asked Chuck.

“Negative,” I said, watching the Midnighters pursue. “I think the bugs can handle themselves. Let’s get to that one on the ground and see what they have to say. Maybe we can talk sense into them, and figure out a way to get them off our backs.”