I hadn’t been lucky enough to get any sweet gear or one of the orb things that apparently gave you super powers, either. As far as I could tell, I was just new blood for the gene pool, or death pool, which royally sucked. Sure, some of the things Gazra-tam had told me about this world were amazing; actual magic would be something to see and the monsters around here were pipsqueaks compared to the ones in a country up to the north called Berber. But damn, I wanted to go back to Earth.
If I’d understood Gazra-tam correctly, using electricity around these parts would get you fried in an eyeblink, so no internet. Steel rusted through in hours, as I had found to my embarrassment, meaning internal combustion and complex machines were probably out.
And then there was the food—actually, not food. Food implied something that tasted vaguely edible. The stuff here was sustenance. The edible vegetation that grew like weeds would keep me alive now that my supplies had run out, but there must have been a toxic waste dump a few feet underground. This was my theory to explain the sheer, uniformly foul taste of everything.
That said, there were degrees of foul, which was why I was currently out in the woods, looking for one of the few vegetables that didn’t quite trigger my gag reflex on the way down.
Slowly, I made my way through the trees. Being the spotter was always better than being spotted by monsters, but I had more reasons to be alert this afternoon. I scanned shadows for any secrets they might hide, and made sure to keep an eye on the trunks and canopies for anything waiting to ambush me. Once I was satisfied nothing was around to invite itself to a Riggs banquet, I took a few steps forward before cautiously looking around again. A lump ahead caught my eye, and I detoured off to the left. It was probably a rock with a fallen log on top, but better safe than sorry.
My next scan brought a more welcome sight. At the base of one of the smaller trees was a cluster of berries. They were a light purple and blended into the shaded forest floor, which was why I hadn’t seen them from farther away. These were definitely new to me. Maybe they would taste as sweet and juicy as they looked. Ha! I mentally laughed at myself. And maybe this Dolos guy would drive an 18 wheeler full of cheeseburgers up the road before telling me this was all a huge mistake and offering me a ride back with no hard feelings.
I was just reaching toward the first big, succulent berry when something touched the back of my neck. I dove and rolled, but it was too late.
“Dead!” Gazra-tam declared, gesturing with the haft of the spear she had just poked me with. The tiny ocelot-race Mo’hali giggled at my indignant expression. I was getting better, but she was just so damn sneaky! Her laughter died suddenly when she saw what had distracted me from her approach. “Twice dead. Poison.”
Well, that was good to know. “Did not eat. Would bring back first. Not dumb.”
“Not dumb,” she agreed. “No eat poison. Touch. Not kill, but... hallucinate.” She mimed the last word stumbling around with a silly expression that made me laugh. But it got the point across. Touching these berries would make me high as a kite.
“Yes, hallucinate,” I said, using the new word. “No touch. Other food? Good food?” I mentally rolled my eyes at my own question, but I could dream, couldn’t I?
Still smiling, she shook her head. “Other food. You no think good food. You learn, Zac Riggs.”
I sighed. She still refused to just call me Riggs. Everyone back home did, but she seemed to think it would be insulting. I had gotten her to explain it, and the whole thing was caught up in Mo’hali culture or something. Good thing I had noticed her habit of calling me by my full name before I tried calling her Gazra, because part of what I got from the explanation was shortening a name was a pretty major insult.
We wandered the forest for about an hour, talking in low voices. Her senses were far better than mine, which meant a faster pace and more sustenance than I had been getting on my own. All in all, walking with Gazra-tam was more like an actual walk in the woods than creeping through a monster-infested forest.
Our conversation wandered between the larger world of Ludus and my life back home. I had already given her my life story, from my parents’ divorce through my sophomore year of college and arrival here. But Gazra-tam always wanted to hear the little details, and I didn’t mind. In return, she told me about towns and cities she’d visited over the years. And since she had quite a few of these stories despite being right around the fifteen years I had originally pegged her at, I’d reasoned she must have lived her life on the road until recently.
Her travels were all she ever told me about, though. Despite me telling stories of my—admittedly dysfunctional—family, she never said a word about hers. There was obviously something there, but pushing it would be a bad idea. She would tell me when she was ready, or not at all. No reason to make a big deal of it right then.
Gazra-tam handed me another tuber full of nutritious battery acid and I reluctantly dropped it into my pack, then hefted it. There was a good ten pounds of roots, leaves, and fruits in there, plenty to last a couple of days. “Back home?” I asked, showing her our haul.
“Home,” she agreed, and turned unerringly for the mouth of the cave. Better than a GPS, Gazra-tam was. It was definitely helpful to head straight there instead of retracing our path for miles.
But as far as homes went, the dungeon was a little lacking. Sure we were dry, warm, and safe from outside threats. But on the other hand, it would be really nice to live somewhere where tripping and landing in the wrong spot wouldn’t leave you with an arrow in the butt or falling into a spike pit. There were plenty of traps in the place, but luckily, once Gazra-tam had shown me what to look for, it wasn’t hard to recognize them. We had even taken to exploring the place and had a fair bit of what was essentially a small labyrinth mapped out.
I’d even tinkered with some of the trap mechanisms out of boredom. A few heavy rocks had triggered several of the entry hall traps before I pried off the tiles to get a closer look at how they worked. It turned out the solution to a world without steel was to use bronze, or what looked like titanium and aluminum at times. This made sense. Bronze is generally harder than iron and some alloys of steel, but hardness isn’t everything. Common bronze made from copper and tin wears out fast, and it’s difficult to make precision parts with the stuff. Other alloys could make up for its various issues, but this was the same crap ancient Greeks had used back on Earth, not high-tech beryllium-copper or aluminum-bronze.
Whoever had designed these traps made up for the crappy materials with loose tolerances and oversized parts. I was pretty sure if I had a 3D printer and some steel springs and gears I could have rebuilt one of the arrow traps to be half the size and two-thirds the number of parts. It would have been easier to manufacture and to assemble.
Gazra-tam enjoyed watching me take the things apart and put them back together again. She would ask what the parts did and why they were arranged a certain way and I would tell her. Which would inevitably lead to me telling her how I would have done something differently, which led to more questions, and more explanations until the next thing I knew, I was waking up with little gears imbedded in my forehead. Well, just the one time, I was careful after that.
Thinking back to my issues with our dungeon home, I tried broaching the subject of moving with Gazra-tam. “We live in dungeon always? Leave and go to a city? Good food and no monsters in city, yes?”
At my words, she stiffened as if I had stuffed her tail in a light socket. Her entire demeanor shifted to a bundle of wary nerves in an eyeblink. From what little I had gathered of her background I had expected an emotional response, but…
“City not safe.” Well, that was a hell of a statement.
“Less safe than the dungeon?”
“No,” she admitted, but didn’t give an inch. “Different dangers. Dungeon dangers are better. I know dungeon dangers.”
So something she’d experienced made a dungeon full of traps in the middle of a monster-infested forest seem safe in comparison to a
city? I asked, “We get strong in dungeon. Go to city in many days?”
Gazra-tam didn’t say anything to that. She just started walking back to the dungeon entrance with an agitated flick of her tail.
Well… shit. That didn’t go anything like the way I had hoped. But I didn’t regret saying what I’d said. If worst came to worst, maybe she would at least point the way to the nearest civilization. Maybe we could take a trip there to get the lay of the land, and then come right back.
Grabbing some good food and a few luxuries would help convince her…I hoped. Maybe we could get clothes, too. The thread from my tiny sewing kit had only gone so far with the help of a makeshift wooden needle, and this forest seemed to exist to put little tears in everything I wore. Gazra-tam’s sole outfit was even worse off than mine.
The more I thought about it, the more irritated I became about the state of my clothing. I was sure that someone, somewhere on Ludus would pay for the various parts of disassembled traps and materials I’d piled around the camp. If nothing else, a pack full of scrap bronze was probably worth as much as one full of supplies. I could make the trade, then head back here to try to convince my Mo’hali friend to join me. If I was stuck on a whole new world, there were better places to spend the rest of my life than a dungeon. And if Gazra-tam wouldn’t join me, I could at least make sure she had more than rags to wear and roots to eat before I moved on.
Engineering Ludus, Chapter Four
I spent a few days priming the pump, so to speak. While talking with Gazra-tam, I made little suggestions about how we really could use a fire starter since my matches were gone, or how some salt and spices would go a long way toward making the garbage plants we foraged more tolerable. I asked an innocent question about what part of Tolstey we were in to figure out how to find the closest road. When I got the chance, I complained a little more than usual about the dungeon being a literal death trap.
None of this actually helped much when push came to shove. We were roasting some of our harvest over a small fire when I finally told Gazra-tam I would be leaving and wanted her to come with me. In the best Luda I could manage, I laid all my arguments on the table. Personally, I thought my points were well-reasoned and compelling, but apparently not. In return for my efforts, all I got was a hiss before she turned tail and ran out of camp. There were no explanations or any arguments, just one angry Mo’hali storming off.
I sat tapping my foot, watching where my friend had just run off. Maybe it’s better this way, I thought. She really could make sad cat eyes like nobody’s business, and a man’s resolve could only stand so much.
Since I’d already made my decision clear, I got busy moving a mountain of bronze parts into my backpack. As I worked, I thought about what sort of gift it would take to buy Gazra-tam’s forgiveness. Unfortunately, I’d never had a sister, my mom had been distant after her divorce with my father, and I hadn’t had many female friends. I’d dated a little, but none of that had been anything like spending time with my stubborn alien friend.
Somehow gifts of flowers and chocolate just didn’t seem like the sort of thing an Ocelot-race Mo’hali would care about. Didn’t cats have the same sort of allergies to chocolate that dogs do? I wasn’t sure, and this was another reason not to risk it, even if they had chocolate on this planet.
Sheesh, now that was a depressing thought. No chocolate?
Actually, maybe warm clothes would be a good gift. The nights were beginning to get a little chilly, so a really good cloak was an idea. Or maybe a—
Something whacked my subconscious in mid-ramble so hard I physically froze. It took a few seconds after that for the rest of my mind to register what had alerted me. There were noises, new ones drifting down the stairs. If I strained, I could almost hear… voices?
My hackles rose. I had to investigate.
Avoiding traps on the way up the stairs was second nature at this point. Skip the fourth step, don't touch the left banister near the midpoint, ignore the tripwire on step nineteen since I removed the triggering mechanism, and keep to the middle tiles for the two steps above that.
After I reached the top of the stairs, instinct whispered and I ducked to keep my head below floor level. Yeah, there were definitely people talking up there. Slowly, very slowly, I moved up and watched the entry hall just as four figures walked into the room. Two human men were in the middle, with a pair of women flanking them like bodyguards. I almost stood up and shouted since these were the first humans I had seen in weeks. The niggling little voice in the back of my mind, maybe instinct, held me back. I just had an odd feeling that maybe I ought to get a little more information before rushing in.
One of the men, an ugly bastard with scars across the left side of his face, was saying, "—told... saw light!"
"... but keep... down... dungeon... here," the other man hissed back. The words were hard to make out, but not because they were quiet. Actually, the acoustics of the room seemed to funnel all the sound right down the stairs.
No, the problem was that these people were speaking Luda, and I still wasn’t anywhere close to fluent yet. My three weeks of language lessons with Gazra-tam had included simple words being spoken slowly and clearly. These people were speaking faster and using words I’d never heard before. It also didn't help that their accents were completely different.
This was like the foreign-language-on-another-planet equivalent of growing up around Hollywood’s idea of a Russian accent, then being dropped into Queens.
I missed Scarface’s reply, but managed to catch part of the response from his partner, “—get nothing…we die.” I had this man pegged as the leader since everyone kept asking him questions. He had a handsome face and what looked like an actual pistol on his hip instead of the short swords the rest sported. There was also something in Pretty Boy’s tone that said he expected to be obeyed.
“...use it for, anyway?” It was the first time one of the two women spoke, and the words definitely had a mocking feel to them. From Scarface’s flush and mumbled reply, it seemed like a joke at his expense. After what Gazra-tam had told me about gender roles on this planet, the women might have been bodyguards or escorts. A bit more muscle and some suits and they could have been a pair of classic “mooks” out of a crime drama. Both women were fairly plain-looking, and neither seemed the type to care about that sort of thing.
“Looking… time… her choice… third to… Mo’hali or you… the animal.” Okay, female Mook Two didn’t have a high opinion of Mo’hali, and from the laughs of everyone but Scarface, the feeling was pretty universal. My vague unease about these people was starting to turn into a certainty that I did not want to be involved with them.
Mook One, not to be outdone, chimed in. “...he… around… pits… caravan… might like animals.”
Scarface finally responded to that one, “Rot you… throwing up…” I missed most of the rest, but I was pretty sure I was getting the gist of the conversation. Had they really—
My thought and the rest of the strangers’ exchange was cut off by a blood-curdling scream. The primal, alien noise came out of nowhere, and a moment later it was joined by Scarface’s shrieks. At first he bellowed in surprise, then in pain and terror as Gazra-tam slammed into him from behind and laid into his back and neck with sharp claws.
I was stunned. Actually, I admit that I froze up. Violence and death weren’t new to me. I’d worked on a farm for a while as a kid, and Fuzzy Wuzzy had sprayed me with her life blood, after all. But at the end of the day an animal wasn’t a person, a monster wasn’t a person, and killing in self-defense was not an attack. I was watching a human being brutally torn apart by my friend’s bare hands.
Gazra-tam’s battle cry cut off in a sudden, terrifying yelp as she tumbled off of her victim. Scarface’s back resembled ground beef now, but that didn’t matter to me. All I saw was the pistol in Pretty Boy’s hands, aimed right where Gazra-tam had been. There hadn’t been a gunshot or any smoke, but in a world of magic, did the firearms really n
eed gunpowder?
Mook Two kicked Gazra-tam in the head like a professional soccer player. Then she bent down to drag Scarface back to the entrance, cursing the entire time, and started to staunch the bleeding. Her partner was just looking on wide-eyed as Pretty Boy said something while loading another bullet into his handgun, then stepped towards Gazra-tam’s prone and twitching form.
I was halfway across the room before my brain caught up to my feet. One of the trap tiles was in my way and I must have set a long jump record as I sailed over it. Then I slammed into the would-be executioner, knocking Pretty Boy sprawling. Faster than I’d ever moved in my life, I slug Gazra-tam’s limp form across my shoulder and sprinted back towards the stairs, somehow making it there before any of the other humans had reacted.
If at any time I had stopped to think about what I was doing, the sheer insanity of it would have locked me up. But in the moment, my muscles were saturated with adrenaline and working on auto-pilot. Somehow I dodged all the traps and had just begun ducking sideways as a searing pain slashed across my arm and something pinged off the stone wall. Then a Mook’s screams of agony echoed after me. She must have triggered one of the traps, I thought, distantly.
Once I got to the bottom of the stairs, I set Gazra-tam onto her bed roll as gently as I could manage. She was moaning, floating in and out of consciousness, and I could see why. There was a small, bloody hole in the right side of her chest. My heart stopped when I saw it. A sucking chest wound was not necessarily fatal on Earth where hospitals and surgery could work miracles, but here, out in the middle of nowhere with the one who did it knocking at our front door?
No. I couldn’t focus on that. Focus on solutions. First, keep us safe. Then fix Gazra-tam.
I paused just long enough to grab my e-tool and then ran for the staircase. I planned to stand just to the side, and hit them as they came through. It was a simple plan, and the basics were all I had time or brainpower for. But instead of charging enemies, I was only met with the echo of retreating footsteps. Then Pretty Boy yelled something. He was distant, but the last words were clear.
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