by Guy Haley
Frikk ducked down behind the welding mask. ‘Okay! You should be fine to do it now!’ he said. He watched through its smoked glass visor as the reactor’s service door was flicked open. He flinched.
A blast of terrible heat seared the room. Flathead burst into flames. Gulgul and Jakar reeled back screaming, hands flung up to protect their faces.
An alarm bell on the wall clamoured out a warning. There was a rumble from the reactor, and a burning arc of white heat, with the form and effect of a miniature solar flare, licked out and cut Jakar in half. Gulgul threw up a hand and lost it. He keened horribly, eyes wide and staring at the cauterised stump. The flare continued on, growing longer and wider as it travelled. It connected with the inner hull in a spitting shower of molten metal, slashing a burning hole right through Fat Mork.
‘What the zog is going on here?’
Frikk’s eyes were a mess of after images, and watered something awful, but he recognised that voice: Urdgrub.
‘Shut the door! Shut the door! What the zog are you doing? Idiots! Zogging idiots!’
The flare ran its course.
Squealing in pain, Gulgul slammed the door shut with his stump. The light and heat ceased immediately. Urdgrub dropped down the ladder and ran up to his lieutenant. Gulgul was a terrible sight. All the right side of his body had been burned charcoal-black. One eye was blind, the ear on that side burned away entirely. Gulgul staggered towards Urdgrub, who stepped back in horror.
‘Sorry, boss,’ said Gulgul, and died.
Urdgrub stared madly around the room. ‘You!’ he roared over the bell’s din. ‘Frikk! You little git! Gizkor, Gizkor is that you? What you standing there for, Gizkor? Kill him!’
Gizkor stumbled round to face Frikk. From the back, he looked fine, but the front was another matter. His skin was peeling away from his face in red strips like squig rashers. His eyes were cooked white, moist and blind as soft poached eggs. Frikk blinked the afterimages of the sun away, grabbed at the smoking tool bag and pulled out a screwdriver. He whimpered as the hot metal singed his hand. Gizkor swiped for Frikk, only to find the screwdriver buried up to the handle in his heart.
The ringing went on deafeningly. A commotion came from outside. Ork voices. Ork fists hammering on the door. Urdgrub turned this way and that.
‘I’m going to kill you slowly, grot,’ he snarled. He flung himself out of the gash in the wall and was gone.
Frikk limped over to where Gulgul’s smoking hand lay. Next to it, the links of its chain fused together, was the blackened tooth. Frikk held it up in front of his eyes, fascinated. A dull whoosh came from outside. Seconds later, the blue knife of a burna turned to cutting flame slid through the door and the bar locking it. Molten steel dribbled onto the floor, spitting as it fell.
Frikk pocketed the tooth as the door clanged open.
‘What the zog is going on here?’ bellowed another voice, this one much deeper, orkier, far angrier. It belonged to Snikgob, who was leaping through the door with a murderous look on his face. Frikk whimpered. The ork came over the deck in two great strides, dropped his burna, grabbed the gretchin by the throat and hauled him into the air.
The other two meks were close behind. Bozgat clapped his hands to his head. ‘What’ve you done? What have you done to me Stompa?’ he said.
Uggrim’s eyes followed the still glowing crack from the floor all the way up the wall and into the ceiling. The darkening sky was visible through it. He examined the damage silently, tutting and humming and hawing. Frikk dreaded the moment he’d face him, which he duly did. ‘What’s all this about, Frikk? Don’t make me bake you. Ye’re me favourite grot, you are. But I am perishin’ hungry. That humie was very thin.’ Uggrim seemed calm. Frikk quailed – that was when his boss was at his most dangerous.
‘Thanks, boss,’ choked out Frikk, dangling from Snikgob’s claw. ‘It wasn’t me, I swear.’
Snikgob shook him.
‘All right! I mean, it was me, but… Look, boss, it was Urdgrub. I had to get rid of him.’
‘Urdwho?’
‘That sneaky blue-face git we got to nick the gubbins out of Grabskab’s battlewagon back on Garbax World. Do you remember, boss, do you?’
Uggrim smiled fondly at the memory. ‘Hur. Yeah. What’s ’e still doing about?’
‘Never went away, boss. Most of his lot went off to Bluefinga, but not him. He’s been skulking about in the ship’s drops, making all sorts of new troubles for us grots with his gang! He’s a menace, he is. I, er, I owed him some teeth…’
Uggrim looked at him admonishingly. ‘Don’t tell me you been gambling again, Frikk.’
Frikk nodded miserably.
‘Oh, Frikk, I am so disappointed.’
‘Oh, yeah, sorry, boss. I was. Hard habit to break. But look! He said he’d let me off if I told him how Fat Mork’s little sun works…’
This admission prompted another bout of furious shaking from Snikgob. Frikk’s collection of pencils spilled out of his shirt pocket, and his cap came off again.
‘Another one? Another one after our stuff? What’d ya tell him, you little runt?’
Frikk made a series of horrible noises in his throat and clawed feebly at Snikgob’s hand.
‘Er, you know, I don’t mean to butt in and all, but I don’t think he can answer, Snikgob,’ said Bozgat. ‘He’s gone blue.’
‘Well he won’t mind that will he?’ snarled Snikgob, shaking Frikk harder. ‘’Cause it’s a lucky colour!’
‘Stop a mo, Snik,’ said Uggrim. He laid a hand on Snikgob’s arm. Snikgob bared his teeth and growled at his boss, but stopped and loosened his hand.
Frikk could barely speak. His nails still scraped at Snikgob’s fingers, desperate to relieve the pressure, but Snikgob’s hand was as immovable as a vice – he never used one, he had no need. ‘Thanks, boss,’ gasped Frikk. ‘I told him nothing. I don’t know, do I? I’m just a grot.’
‘True that,’ said Uggrim.
‘And he says he has a new boss. And I think I knows who it is!’
‘Mogrok,’ said Uggrim with dead certainty.
Frikk tried to shake his head, but he couldn’t. Spots wheeled in front of his eyes. His view of the room was growing an unattractive and terrifying black border. Then he remembered the tooth.
Still scrabbling at Snikgob’s fingers with one hand, he flailed at his pocket with the other.
‘Here, what’s he doing now?’ said Bozgat.
‘Why don’t you put him down and we can find out?’ said Uggrim.
Snikgob pursed his lips. ‘Nah.’
Frikk pulled the token from his overall’s pocket. ‘Here, boss. Here!’ His voice was a croak. His world had become a dim circle containing three very angry orks and a large measure of pain. With the last of his strength he held up a gleaming white object, long as a finger, capped with gold bearing a cleverly worked leering moon.
Uggrim snatched it and examined it.
‘It’s a tooth,’ said Bozgat, who although he had the most orky know-wots of any of them was somewhat prone to stating the obvious.
‘Course it’s a tooth!’ said Uggrim.
‘Whose though?’ said Snikgob.
‘Grimgutz. It’s Grimgutz!’ croaked Frikk. Then he went back to grabbing at the hand around his throat and kicking feebly.
‘Zoggin’ heck,’ said Bozgat.
‘Grimgutz?’ said Uggrim. ‘Oh yeah. Look here. That moon, same as his clan badge. Cheeky zogger! See?’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Bozgat. ‘Nice design. Bit fancy.’
‘Bad Moon, ain’t he?’ said Uggrim.
‘Could we get back to the important stuff, like who’s trying to kill us?’ snapped Snikgob. ‘Sounds like you know what’s going on, Uggs.’
‘What is going on?’ said Bozgat.
‘Don’t know if I do. Thought I did, but…’ Uggrim stroked his wide jaw. ‘Trouble,’ said Uggrim. ‘You can put him down now, Sniks.’
‘Oh yeah. Sorry,’ said Snikgob, in a manner that
could only be described as highly sarcastic. He dropped the gretchin. Frikk landed in a little heap. He stayed there coughing and retching and making funny little hitching sounds in his throat, like he was finding it hard to breathe or something. Pathetic.
‘I thought Grimgutz thought his Stompa was best?’ said Bozgat. ‘Squig oil, all that?’
Uggrim gave a massive grin. ‘Yeah, he did say that, didn’t he? Obviously he’s a liar. He reckons Fat Mork is better than Big Mouth! That’s why we got sabotaged! Ain’t that nice, lads? He wants our secrets.’ Uggrim made a proud face. ‘He wants our secrets! Ha!’ He slapped Snikgob on the back. Snikgob glowered.
‘So what about Mogrok?’ said Snikgob. ‘Tell Bozgat what he did, Uggs.’
Uggrim’s face fell. ‘Oh. Yeah. Grimgutz ain’t the only one. He, er… Well, Mogrok wants to know how the little sun works an’ all,’ said Uggrim.
‘Why? Don’t he know?’ said Bozgat.
‘Maybe he does. Maybe he’s just Morking on us, see what we got. A sneaky one that Mogrok,’ said Uggrim. ‘And stinky.’
Snikgob shook his head and spat on the floor. ‘This ain’t good. Rumour has it lots of them what displeases him go missing,’ said Snikgob.
‘I heard that too,’ said Bozgat.
‘Last thing we need is that git getting uppity with us. Gah. Why can’t a Waaagh! be simple, like it was in the good old days?’ said Snikgob.
‘Like I said, politics,’ said Uggrim.
‘You going to tell him how it works then, or what?’ said Snikgob.
‘Why, do you know how it works, Snikgob?’ said Uggrim.
‘Well, er, not exactly… But I could sketch out the general… Er, no. No I don’t,’ he said limply. Admitting so soured his temper further.
‘Do you, Bozgat? You wanted it. You did most of the work.’
‘Um, I… I reckon I could do it again, but…’ He threw up his hands. ‘You finished it! Not me. You knew which gubbins to lift from the blue boyz.’
Uggrim nodded. ‘That’s right. Truth is, it was all three of us. Mork working through our orky know-wots.’ He tapped his sloping forehead. ‘Bozgat, you did the most…’
‘You didn’t tell Mogrok that, did you?’ Bozgat said, a little alarmed.
‘Gork’s right arse cheek, Bozgat! Ye’re as snivelly as a grot! No, I did not tell him. And don’t interrupt.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Apology accepted. Nah, to make this again, we’d all have to do it. It’s a rare piece of technorkology, this.’ He flung his arms around his compatriots. ‘Red Sunz Mob. We can’t give him the secret alone, only together. And even if we could, I don’t reckon we should, just in case any of youse lot is thinking on that.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Snikgob with a scowl. He shucked off Uggrim’s arm. ‘But now he’ll probably want to kill us.’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Uggrim. ‘But he won’t. Come on boyz, he’s only a Bad Moon! More teeth than sense, that lot. We’re Evil Sunz! We’re the Red Sunz! We have a little sun!’
‘What’s that mean?’ said Bozgat.
‘Beats me,’ said Uggrim. ‘But it’s got to mean something. We aren’t going to let him kill us! And if he does try to go all sneaky-sneak on us, we’ll be ready.’
‘Fine, fine,’ said Bozgat, shrugging off Uggrim too. ‘But what about Grimgutz?’
‘Oh, him we’ll have to kill,’ said Uggrim. ‘Right, Snikgob?’
‘Right, Uggs.’
‘So!’ exclaimed Uggrim, clapping his hands together. ‘First order of the day. Check out the damage.’
The orks thumped around the room, checking out the damage.
‘Oi! You got blood on my best screwdriver, you runt,’ shouted Snikgob.
‘Sorry, boss,’ Frikk said. It wouldn’t have mattered which screwdriver he’d chosen. As far as Snikgob was concerned, they were all his best. The gretchin was so beaten up now his bruises had bruises. The feeling had left his ribs some time ago. He idly wondered if they were still there or had all been kicked to flinders. He curled into a tight little ball and waited.
‘Well?’ said Snikgob. ‘What you lying round for? I’m too busy to beat you. Punch yerself in the face!’
Frikk sighed and sat up. He began smacking himself as instructed.
‘Oi, you little runt,’ growled Bozgat. ‘Harder!’
Uggrim stayed staring at the hole. Snikgob came up to Bozgat with a finger to his lips. ‘You know what that means, don’t you?’ he whispered, nodding towards Uggrim.
‘He’s not? Not again.’
‘He is,’ said Snikgob. ‘He’s thinkin’.’
Uggrim had that glazed look on his face an oddboy gets sometimes. He was talking to himself, low in his throat, a rumbling stream of words the others couldn’t quite make out.
‘We is going to Mork up the Gork on Fat Mork so we’s ready for them zoggers, either one of ’em, when they come a callin’.’
‘Er, righty-ho, boss,’ said Bozgat, his brow furrowed with confusion. He looked at Snikgob, who gave the exaggerated shrug of cluelessness.
Uggrim looked at them both. ‘You is both idiots! I mean we’ll make Fat Mork the stompiest, shootiest Stompa there is in the whole Waaagh!’ he explained. ‘That Mogrok tries to do us in on the quiet, he’ll look well stupid, sneaky as a runt.’ Uggrim was energised. ‘And if he comes at us proper Gork right, we’ll blow his stuff to bits. Same for Grimgutz – we’ll do him first. Get the grots organised. I want lights up outside, big lights! We’ve wasted enough time. We have to get those arms off of that humie Stompa, dig out its bubble generator and all. Snikgob! We’re going to have to work fast, and we’re going to need some big burna action. You still mates with the Flaming Fire crew?’
‘Yeah, Uggs. Seen them, not so long back today, cutting up junk near the gargant.’
‘Go and get ’em, and no one else, got it? Someone – Bozgat – go find Talker. There’s complicated sums needs doing.’
Bozgat nodded. ‘All right, boss. I’ll cook up a squig, always brings him running.’
Uggrim clapped his hands together and jutted his tusks out. Things were getting fun. ‘Excellent! Excellent! Get to it, we’ve not got time to waste! I’ll wipe those smug looks off those fat Bad Moon faces and no mistake…’
CHAPTER 8
THE BIG BURNY RIVER BATTLE
Fat Mork’s reactor grumbled loudly. The little evil sun inside his belly spat with anger at the increased demands placed upon it. The Stompa had changed inside and out. His belly had been sliced open, the repeating humie cannon mounted on the reactor deck to jut out of his gut like a little version of Gungutz. Up top, the gigashoota loading mechanism and the rest had been removed. In its place was the humie Stompa’s choppy arm, the smooth lines of its manufacture a glaring contrast with Fat Mork’s solid but ugly construction. Patches of its original colourful heraldry showed up underneath its new red paint; the orks had been left with little time to do a good job.
Bozgat hummed happily to himself as he played with the humie shield. It wasn’t a proper orky bubble, but a moveable wall that could be swung to protect the most vulnerable parts of the Stompa. Bozgat spun it round on its new gimble mounts, panning it up and down and round about. He fiddled with it, now slow, now fast, narrowing and widening its field of effect. He kept his eye on an array of dials set into the wall near his station. He sucked his lip in through his fangs and nodded.
‘Reactor’s up to ninety per cent of tolerance, boss,’ said Bozgat.
‘Caution must be taken when interfacing ionic technologies, especially those that originate with alien species whose consciousness wavelengths are incompatible with the psychically motivated etheric generators of the krork,’ said Talker.
‘Shut your jabber,’ said Bozgat aggressively, before tweaking a few knobs and closing a few valves on it anyway. The reactor calmed down.
‘Wibble,’ said Talker.
‘Ahem, just to be on the safe side,’ said Bozgat to a gaggle of grots. ‘What you look
ing at anyway?’ he growled when their blank faces did not change. ‘Move!’ He clapped his hands. They moved. Frikk found them all jobs to do.
‘Hur hur hur. I’d like to see ’em stop Fat Mork now!’ said Uggrim through the talky-tubes.
‘Burble,’ said Talker.
Bozgat gave Talker a filthy look and grabbed the nearest talky-tube. ‘What’s he doing down here, boss? It ain’t fair.’
‘Who said fair’s got anything to do with it? He’s your pet, so you can have him. We’re sick of his yapping up there anyway. Ain’t that right, Snikgob?’
Snikgob nodded. ‘S’right, Uggs. I’m sick of his yammer. You’re the one that’s always saying how useful he is.’ Talker was useful too; some of his babble hid real insight that had got them out of many a technical knot. Not that they would ever own up to it.
‘I just wanted a little break,’ complained Bozgat, ‘just a little one! It’s a lot of responsibility having a mad ’un to look after.’
‘Your problem, matey. You found him, you took him in, you look after him!’ said Uggrim. ‘Besides, he’s the best shot. He’s staying in the belly gun and that’s final – got it?’
After the drop, the war was proceeding in a most satisfactory manner. The humans skulked on the other side of the river. The water was hot and burned the skin, as early kommando forays had discovered. A few had got across, fewer had come back, their skin bleached horribly white. Their stomachs were a mess too, and these brave scouts had been banished far from the main drops until they sorted themselves out.
Still, their intelligence was as useful as their drops-smell were unbearable. The humies were hoping, said Mogrok, to funnel the orks over the narrow bridges and blast them as they did so.
Grukk didn’t listen and went charging in anyway. The humies blocked the bridges with ogryns, and hammered the ork horde at range. Pandemonium was too gentle a word. Orks battling ogryns, orks swimming, orks drowning. In the end they got over the river, but the humies were acting all smart, isolating the orks and cutting them down. Their guns were puny only if you were facing one. But a thousand? Ten thousand? Orks were las-burned by the hundred. Grukk had gone in himself, trying to take the south bridge. He snipped up a lot of the ogryn boys, a great fight, and it looked like it was all going his way until this big floating island ship thingy plugged the end of the river and sent out a whole bunch of quick humie Stompas to get on with shooting everyone up. One had smashed up the bridge; a big white boss Stompa had lifted the end! Lifted it! Humies were weak, but that was impressive. Grukk had been giving it some in the middle when it happened, and had gone missing when the whole lot crashed into the river. Fallen in, by all accounts, but no one reckoned he was dead. He’d only fallen into some burny water; what harm was that going to do to such an ork?