MBGSP Chpt 83-85

Ahoy, goblin fans! Hopefully you're as excited as I am to get this ridiculous show on the road and see some road goblins get ready to take the badlands by storm.

Chapter 83 - Flame Out

<Your tribe has increased to 369 very hungry members>

I didn’t want to try attacking the night haunts where they lived without at least 3 more airships and enough guns to take them on. If the night haunts followed suit with the other creatures in the jungle we’d tangled with, then they had an alpha variant somewhere.

Since I didn’t have 3 more airships in my back pocket, I added that to our long, long list of shortfalls that fell in the materials column. The biggest thing limiting our growth and expansion from Village Apollo was just a lack of pretty much everything. And the answer to solving it was, as ever, get more goblins to throw at the problem. But with reproduction feeling the squeeze with the food being tight, more goblins required more calories.

The pulp-slurp (what the hobbies had taken to calling paper pulp mash) helped as a stop-gap, but it ran the problem of putting food in direct competition with paper production and lumber for housing. Pulping the wood itself was time, resource, and labor-intensive as well, so it just wasn’t efficient for it to drain down goblin gullets in the long-term. Not with paper being so useful mechanically. Besides the comic books, lighter gliders, and propellers, Buzz now had all the tools he needed to reverse the principle of the direct-drive propellers to make windmills. And rather than making the bluff start to resemble a Dutch impressionist painting, I had the benefit of 500 years of engineering development principles to take some wild conceptual designs and turn them into space-saving realities.

I spend most of the next morning helping Buzz design a clutch system with the help of Taquoho while the construction team slathered paper sheets over helical windmill frames. Since almost all our iron and engines were ear-marked for aircraft and ground vehicles, except for the few that were powering lathes and other rotary tools for Sally, Buzz needed another source of mechanical power for his construction teams. Wind was the obvious answer, as there was no shortage of it at the top of the bluff. There was, however, becoming a shortage of space—and water.

Currently we were bringing up water by hand and bucket, which was incredibly inefficient. But I’d devised a wooden trough aqueduct with a screw—a design dating back to ancient Greece, really, but just as effective as a motor-driven pump at moving water uphill.

“What we need,” I told Buzz, “Are airborne windmills on kites or balloons.”

“Lot o’ lines to get tangled,” said Buzz. He slid a ceramic gear into place and closed up the gearbox. Working the clutch lever, he was able to marry up the drive shaft of a with a test spire being manually spun by a handful of goblins. It made a protesting shriek for a moment as the teeth found each other, and then a thunk as it slid into place and the output shaft began to spin.

“This one’s ready,” he said.

“Let’s get the helix mounted.” I raised my voice. “Clear the airspace, please!”

The windmill designs caught the attention of the Ifrit, as well, and not just Taquoho. Those who had managed to make friends with igni hovered nearby on variations of Taquoho’s coaxial copter, while others watched from a distance with their human guardians in tow. Only about half their number were currently in proxy bodies, however. The other half had apparently gone somewhat native and were spending most of their time inhabiting various gadgets and devices around the bluff—including one that had taken a buggy for a driverless joy ride in the middle of the night.

The more brass we used in our construction, the more likely the Ifrit were to hitch rides. Rather than being a nuisance, it was a boon. Engines carrying Ifrit ran smoother and were less prone to stall. Gearing with an Ifrit in the cogs was less likely to jam or break, and any moving parts were more resistant to wear or breakage when one of the fire spirts were on board. Gliders flew more accurately and more efficiently. The kilns even heated faster and used less fuel with an Ifrit relaxing in the oven, which I took to understand was something like a sauna for them. Across the board, the presence of the Ifrit had improved the Goblin technology out of little more than curiosity and boredom.

But it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Taquoho set his copter down nearby and watched as the paper-bladed helical wind turbine was fitted to the shaft. I glanced down at him.

“Your friends still planning on leaving?”

“I hesitate to name them as such. But yes, Apollo, they are soon leaving.”

“Can’t say I’ll miss ‘em,” I said, hauling back on the clutch so it didn’t spin the output shaft as the helix started to rotate. The former de facto leader of the delegation (whose name I won’t even try to pronounce) had kept his distance since I’d snubbed him in favor of promoting cultural crossover with his contemporaries—an endeavor which had been quite successful. But the recalcitrant faction was preparing to return to the City of Brass with a shipment of ceramic parts. “Stuffy bunch. No offense.”

“I’ll be going with them,” said Taquoho.

I dropped the clutch lever in surprise, eliciting squawks as several goblins were smacked by the ensemble they were trying to assemble.

“What? Why? I thought you liked it here!”

“Simplifying my feelings as ‘like’ is a crude and reductive description for a very complex platter of emotions that strike me, especially when faced with the prospect of departing both the village and your company,” said Taquoho.

“I’ll miss you too, buddy,” I said. The pale flame flickered with surprise. “So, why leave?”

“I am certain Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do will report negatively about his time here, and how little we stand to gain from anything beyond a distant trade agreement. I must present the King of the Ifrit with an alternate perspective to extoll the virtues in continued… friendship. I do not know if I shall be allowed to return.”

I could see that over-stoked Ifrit bad-mouthing(flaming?) us to their King. Beside me, a trickle of water began to fall into the waiting basin as the screw carried it up from a collector halfway down the bluff. We’d need another ensemble to reach from the staging point to the base of the bluff, but even eliminating the need for dedicated vertical transport would free up a hundred or more labor hours per day spent on goblins simply hauling water up the side of the cliff. Those were goblins Buzz could dedicate to making more windmills that ran things lumber saws. Scale early, scale often. That’s how to maximize efficiency. Looking all the way back to my first days on Rava, it had been my guiding philosophy for growing the tribe. And it seemed it was working almost a little too well, with the food shortage now looming.

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Screw pump’ems>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Parched pole pump’ems>

<Goblin Component Technology Unlocked: Aqua-move’ems>

<Goblin Component Technology Unlocked: Sticky-spinny press’em shafts>

Thanks, System.

Now that we were reaching the pre-industrial phase of our society, the more tasks we could automate through captured power—be it steam, wind, or combustion, the faster we could expand as the productivity of a single goblin went further. Instead of having 12 goblins hacking at a log, we could have 6 goblins feed it through a wind-powered saw. Instead of 20 working a gravity hammer and mixing sticks at the paper presses, we could have 10… you get the idea.

Taquoho’s pale flame dimmed slightly. “I would have liked to witness your infernal engines traverse the badlands,” he said.

I leaned back and ran a hand under the outflow, bringing the water to my mouth. Establishing wind power was thirsty work. “Maybe you’ll be able to come back. You’re my unofficial ambassador, you know. Whoever was most senior in this delegation doesn’t matter to me.” I looked out over the edge of the cliff. “You crossed the desert and the badlands to get to us. What should I expect out there?”

“Little that would think twice of making a meal of a goblin, I’m afraid. Predators, territorial beasts, great herds, furtive shaman, and even orcs riding hoglords and oryx.”

“How did you cross them?”

“The Ifrit know many ways through the land. Some are safer than others. But we have the Paladin. And the orcs fear and respect us as demons and spirits of their slain rivals come to haunt them. We go where beasts dare not.”

“The orcs think you’re also orcs? Do you ever use that to your advantage?”

“I can assure you that we are not so devious.”

I sighed. “Part of me wishes I could go with you. See the City of Brass.”

“It would be our honor if you were to do so.”

I shook my head. “Can’t leave the tribe. Armstrong would probably lock me in a box if I tried. And he’d be right to do so. If I got separated from the rest of the tribe, it would be easy to—”

“To what?”

“To… to… get lost and not find my way back.”

Taquoho flashed a myriad of colors, the living flame equivalent of a belly laugh. “King Apollo, surely you must know we would provide a guide for your return.”

I’d almost let slip the Head of the Snake skill. Even though I trusted Taquoho, the Ifrit as an organization were still an unknown agent in the grand scheme of things. No one outside the tribe needed to know about that all they had to do to eliminate the entire tribe was stab me a couple hundred times. Hell, I didn’t even like that Ringo knew about it. And he had the skill, too!

I straightened and whistled for a goblin.

“If I can’t go with you, maybe I can still at least send someone to speak for Tribe Apollo.”

A few minutes later, Luther came waddling up with one of his fellow canoneers in tow.

“Just the noblin I wanted to see,” I said.

“I wish to support my King’s plans,” said Luther. Both noblins made the sign of the moon over their chests.

I reciprocated, which seemed to make them happy. “Taquoho is leaving the bluff. I want one of the canoneers to be my voice in the City of Brass.”

The canoneer in the rear began to speak up, but Luther smacked him with a meaty palm before turning back to me.

“Highness, this is a task I ought handle myself. I shall bring the canon to the Ifrit personally.”

“Uh huh. And it has nothing to do with the fact that it means you won’t have to ride the airship north to look for other potentially hostile tribes,” I suggested.

The noblin chief sputtered. “Highness, there is no one in the tribe better with the pen than me. No one more versed with the histry of your—”

“Relax,” I said, patting him on the side of the arm. “You’ve got the job.”

I looked down at the lazily spinning blades on Taquoho’s vessel.

“Take care of him,” I added softly. “I don’t trust the others.”

Luther nodded. “I shall guard him with my life.”

Chapter 84 - Divided Ideas

<Your tribe has increased to 375 members>

<Blue goblins need food badly>

The day had finally come. Big Hoss Rig was ready in all her eight wheeled glory.

Before we could put the pedal to the metal, I squared away the canoneer airship mission. All told, the expedition to the northern bluffs consisted of two canoneers, four scrappers to guard them, an ignis to keep the engine running, sixteen forest goblins, and Eileen.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” I asked.

“Gotta see it done right, boss! Means I gotta see it.”

Far from afraid, my intrepid air delivery chief was champing at the bit to take the aircraft to unknown reaches—further than any Apollan goblin had ventured from the bluff on the back of a craft the likes of which this world had never conceived—at least not without the help of magic. I had to imagine there was some wizard out there somewhere with a floating ship, or, hell, maybe even a castle.

“I’m trusting you to get them there and back again,” I told her, clapping her shoulder.”

She grinned back. “And I’m trusting you on making certain something’s here to eat what when we’re home.” She held up a hand to the side of her mouth. “Else-wise, we’re eatin’ noblin.”

I eyed one of the portly canoneers struggling aboard the airship with an armful of drawing supplies. He wiggled his chubby legs as he tried to navigate himself over the gunwale with his arms full. I got the impression Eileen was only half joking. Quarter-joking, at worst.

I stepped back, and Armstrong swooped forward and scooped up the new captain of my airship into a hug. “Take care, little sis!” he said.

Eileen giggled and pushed his face away, kicking the scrapper until he dropped her on to the ground, where she proceeded to sink her teeth into his leg. Armstrong howled and shook his leg until Eileen dislodged.

“Alright, alright. We’ve got somewhere to be, Armstrong,” I reminded him.

The scrapper grinned and mocked spinning a steering wheel and stomping on a gas pedal. “Vrumm vrumm, boss! Let’s get at it.”

I left the airship dock with my bodyguards in tow and headed over to the motorpool, where something of a scene was occurring. Taquoho hovered near a fuming Promo, who was arguing with a flickering, flashing Ifrit that I soon made out to be the delegation’s senior member. Two paladins were nearby, hands on sword hilts, which sent a chill down my little goblin spine.

“Hey, hey!” I said, jogging up. “What’s the ruckus?”

“Finally!” said Promo, throwing up his hands. “Boss-man, yeh gotta tell ‘im!”

“Tell him what?” I asked. I looked up at the hovering Ifrit. “Taquoho?”

Taquoho flitted nervously. “Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do is insisting the rest of the Ifrit accompany him from the village—many of the unions who move the land-walkers are refusing.”

“What? Why? Where are they?”

Promo leveled his hammer at the motorpool. I looked closely, and began to see a host of pale, colored flames glowing in engine air intakes and exhaust ports. And a lot of discarded brass bottles and slumped over flying brass vessels nearby.

“Oh…” I said. “But we’re leaving the bluff today. We’re taking the fleet out into the badlands.”

“Yes. That is why they are wishing to stay.”

Haut von whatever shifted hues and made a series of dissonant tones.

“Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do demands that you force the recalcitrants from these ceramic and steel vessels so that they can perform their duties.”

“I…” I cocked my head and looked over at my chief smith. “Promo?”

“What am I to do!?” he shouted. “I told this crawler I ain’t exactly able to evict ‘em. What should I do? Bang on the engines til they get headaches? They got no heads, boss!”

I ran a hand through my fur, groaning. “Is the senior delegation member planning on taking all of the land-walkers?”

“All of the landwalkers, all of the Ifrit, and all of the paladin,” said Taquoho.

Jesus. He was trying to pull everything and everyone out of the partnership with Tribe Apollo. No more Ifrit, no more hybrid goblin tech, no more blows to his ego as he watched other Ifrit make friendships and gain flying bodies. No wonder his decision was unpopular. He’d lost a lot of clout. I knuckled my eyes and thought.

“We’ve been firing parts day and night, but you don’t have enough ceramic parts to fill all the landwalkers,” I said. “1 or 2 at most. Does he have enough unions to support 2 landwalkers?”

“He does,” said Taquoho.

“How about this. Take the two landwalkers. When Rufus gets here we’ll have enough parts for another shipment, we’ll it them along with him.”

I didn’t need a translator to tell how well that suggestions went over.

Taquoho interpreted anyway. “Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do says any Ifrit remaining here are removed from the protection of The City. He will not leave paladins here, and he will not be responsible for those who decide to stay.”

“Well, they’re grown Ifrit, and they can make their own decision,” I said. I stopped short of adding that it was probably a coincidence I’d had Promo coat the throttle levers and steering columns in powdered zinc.

Haut von Behen smoldered. And let me tell you, no one smolders like a fire elemental. But eventually, he turned and stomped off on four ornate legs. I shook my head. “Taquoho, you sure you don’t want to stay, as well?”

“Would that I were able,” said the airborne Ifrit. “In my absence, there is another union who knows some of the spoken mortal tongues. I believe he is in the four-wheeled infernal engine Prometheus test drove late last night.”

I shot my chief smith a dirty look. He broke eye contact. “Just breakin ‘er in, boss. Trust.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, unimpressed. “Alright. So we’re going to have Ifrit with us. Taquoho, I can’t guarantee their safety, either. We’re going out into the wilds and it’s going to be dangerous.”

“My friend, they have watched the great inland sea dry and drain through cracks, leaving only brush, grass, and sharp stone behind. Countless blinks of Raphina’s watchful eye. But in all that time, they have never crossed it at speed nor witnessed such artifice as your engines. They know the risks of which they assume—better than you, I dare suggest—and consider themselves the most fortunate of all Ifrit.”

I huffed. “Hell of a speech. You come up with that on the spot?”

Taquoho’s flame flickered. “I may have bade my mind be elsewhere whilst Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do spoke at length. Alas, I must join him presently.”

“Unfortunate. Stay safe,” I said.

Taquoho dipped his props to me in acknowledgment and hovered away. “Keep watch over my kin, please.”

I watched the Ifrit go. Even if he didn’t want to leave, I understood the sense of duty that compelled him southward. I couldn’t imagine the king would be too happy about a mutiny at what amounted to the manual laborers in his delegation, porters and drivers meant to move freight and turn their eyes down. Well, Tribe Apollo wasn’t exactly a bastion of worker’s rights, but every goblin was equa—no, that wasn’t true either. A caste hierarchy was practically a design feature of the goblin social structure. I just wanted to believe our way was better. And I’d been doing it for weeks. The City of Brass had been kicking for what sounded like centuries, if not millennia.

You didn’t get that kind of cultural longevity without being clever. How many countries on Earth could claim an uninterrupted heritage stretching back a thousand years? Egypt, maybe? I’m not an anthropologist and I’m no longer dating one, so I can’t really answer that one.

With daylight burning in the sky, still low enough for Raphina to at least give us a side-eyed glare, I headed into the motor pool to muster up some road warriors.

Chapter 85 - Madness Maximum

This may come as a shock, but supporting the troops was not my only reason for leading the badlands expedition.

Some might say I have an impulsive streak, or that I’m prone to unnecessary risks. I got a lot of flak whenever I rode motorcycles or flew planes, and more when I joined the NuEarth astronaut program. I think there’s just a unique type of clarity only achieved with speed. A way the world seems smaller and more interconnected when you’re cruising across it at 150kph, through the air at 250kph, or out of the atmosphere at 15 miles per second. Ask anyone who does it, and they’ll tell you.

Rava, above all else, seemed like a very large world. Vast distances separated even close points—at least to a tiny goblin. A distance traveled in an hour on a highway might be a week or more’s journey through Lanclova. And that was discounting the myriad dangers you might encounter. Anything I could do to bring the points of the world a little closer together, I was going to do. And I was going to do it myself.

Plus, I loved me the heck out of speed freak movies. And I wasn’t going to pass up the chance to cross the badlands as part of a motor-punk convoy of hooting, hollering, back-firing hooligans. Let’s be real, here. Going to space was living my dreams. But tearing across the desert with the boys? That was living my fantasy. What’s the point of living a second life if I didn’t get to live it? Hide behind some wall like Ringo and I might as well still be dead.

But I was still taking a page out of Ringo’s book. There were no less than 150 goblins in the motorcade, all of them carrying weapons, tools, armor, and whatever else they thought might be useful from canoneer comics, to spanners, to baskets of spare rockettes. If goblins had moms, they would have packed them lunches. Have fun storming the castle.

As they say on Earth, the hype was very real. Neil, Chuck, and Prometheus were all there. And since Armstrong went where I went, that made four taskmasters and a king. The most tippest toppest brass assigned to any one task, and it left only a handful of leaders actually at Village Apollo. This expedition was rolling deep, and we were coming back with enough to feed the tribe, or there was little point coming back at all.

I walked through the motorpool, looking at the assembled goblins, and noticed something of a… trend. Some of them had plate carriers with the thin ceramic tiles. Others had on gear that offered less… coverage.

“Armstrong,” I said. “Why do some of these goblins look like they’re going to a bondage party?”

“Oh, that? That’s just yer S&M club, boss!”

My words caught in my throat. “The, uh, the what?”

“The Shafts and Motors club! Resident gearbox fanatics.”

“I see. And the leather straps?”

Armstrong scratched his chin. “Less weight? Airy-dynamics?” He snapped his claws.  “Airflow! It’s hot down on the badlands.”

“I see. Carry on.”

The Shafts and Motors club hooted and cheered as wranglers started to mount up on the 13 working vehicles we’d managed to cobble together. We had 6 buggies, 2 trikes, a trio of motorcycles, a single monocycle, for some reason (which is like a single big wheel that the driver sits in the center of), and the Big Hoss Rig on 8 wheels with Promo sitting at the sticks. The fleet swarmed with goblins. Each vehicle had been built to carry far more than its recommended amount might have been on earth, and at least 12 goblins were on each buggy. Each motorcycle had goblins front and back, as well as a side car with a rifle mount, and the BHR alone carried almost 30. The trikes carried a half-dozen each, and the monocycle? I’m surprised any of the goblins were brave enough to go near that thing, but a single member of the S&M hung from the ape grips.

“Gentlemen!” I yelled.

A resounding cheer drowned me out for a moment. I held my hands up for quiet. “I’m not one for speeches. So… start… your… engines!

As one, the entire expedition started making Brrrum-brrrrum noises as the drivers fed rockettes into the starters and the fleet rumbled to life. The sound of all the rotary engines going was incredible. Visible flames shot out of many as drivers maxed out the RPMs, but the Ifrit stowaways kept them cycling smooth. I could feel the thump of the fleet in my chest and in the soles of my feet, translating through the bluff like a living thing. I couldn’t help but grin.

I made my way over to the buggy Taquoho had mentioned and climbed aboard. The hobgoblin in the driver’s station scrambled out of the way, deferring pilotage of the craft to me and booting another goblin off the back to make room. Armstrong muscled his way into the sponson and checked the action of the rifle mounted there. I revved the engine, pressing a prosthetic down against the spring-loaded throttle pedal.

I raised my hands above my head and made the sign for the Church of the Right Angle.

“Ad Luna!”

Those capable of speech repeated the mantra. The rest just chittered and cheered. I kicked the trike into gear and pulled out of the motorpool, the convoy behind me. Chuck pulled up alongside, popping a wheelie on his motorcycle as his gunners held on for dear life. He saluted, grinning so wide I thought the top of his head would flop off. He slammed the front wheel back down and sped out ahead.

I leaned down. “Taquoho said you can speak,” I shouted over the engine, “You with us? What’s your union’s name?”

“Please, o’ king, Tabun Quo’Horal has acquainted us with the mortal custom of familiar brevity. It would honor us for you to call upon this union as Girmaks, and we shall call you Ap. We have also been informed of the practice of ‘hunting’ and wish for it to be successful, though we take no sustenance from the practice.”

I laughed. “Apollo doesn’t really need to be shortened, but if you like, I suppose Ap works. You going to earn your keep on this trip?”

“I shall endeavor to make this the best vehicle in the fleet,” said Girmaks.

I slapped the top of the engine. “That’s what I like to hear!”

“Would you like me to assume the steering and rotational combustion control?”

I didn’t know what stars aligned or when they’d give me an opportunity like this again. “No thanks Girmaks, I’d like to keep it on manual for a little while.”

“As you wish, King Ap!”

At some point I’d have to introduce the concept of theater to the tribe so I could teach them to recreate some of the movies I’ve seen. I pressed down on the throttle, feeling the RPMs surge in the rotary engine. Sure enough, the presence of the Ifrit made the engine transitions smoother, the steering tighter, and even the suspension less brutal on my backside.

At the south end of the bluff we’d expanded the freight elevators to make a pair of extra wide platforms. As much as I wanted to fit the whole fleet on one, a single platform simply wasn’t strong enough. I watched as the first half of the vehicles went down, and then the platforms were hauled back up for the second set. More wranglers waited at the bottom with cliffords trained to run without riders.

By the time the process was complete, the departing Ifrit and the paladins were already descending the cliff face. I saw Taquoho hovering down alongside the brass vessels of the delegation members. Halfway down, they were joined by Luther and his retainers, who beat them to the bottom, shrieking as they fell.

I hopped off the trike and went over to help Luther back to his feet. He’d donned some robes that looked like they were made of leftover canvas scraps and shiny lizard frills—now hopelessly dusty. I took his hand and leaned back, hauling the portly noblin back to his feet.

“Thank you, o’ king. Truly, your magnanimous nature knows no limit.”

“Any time,” I said. “We’ll take the Ifrit to the border of the grasslands, then we’re headed east. You’ll have to take them from there.”

Luther nodded and dusted himself off. He made a quick circle over his heart and I left him to wait for the Ifrit.

Climbing back up onto the trike, I glanced over at Armstrong. “How do you think he’ll do?” I asked.

“Yer too hard on ‘im, boss. He’s still a tasky and a noblin. He’ll do us proud. Trust.”

I curled my lip. “We’ll see.”

The Ifrit delegation joined us, and I revved the motor and started down the eclectic, winding road south that would lead us to the edge of the jungle and to the scraggly plain beyond. Trees rushed by as the faster of the vehicles shot ahead, trikes and bikes and ol’ one-wheel all kicking up dust from iron-banded wheels. I pushed the RPMs up and shoved the buggy into high gear. With the Ifrit smoothing the gearbox transmission, I barely felt like the whole thing was going to explode underneath my seat. I whooped and hollered along with the rest of the tribe as the convoy of gas junkers thundered through the forest, eager members of the Shaft and Motor Club hanging off the side with spears, cleavers, slingers, and the odd rifle.

The badlands weren’t going to know what hit them.