Grak_Orc on Vacation

by Joseph J. Bailey

  My breath was so ripe, I could eat it.

  I would need to spruce up, after all.

  “We have some prototypes of your gear here for your journey! Yoctoerg sent over some additional requests as well that are also ready. We would also like to show you your ship to see if it meets your requirements.”

  Fluxcoil’s excitement was almost as thick as my breath.

  “Could you send some pictures and schematics?” I asked.

  “We would rather you see everything in person to make sure it meets your needs.”

  Given Cretus’s presence, being eaten by a demon was probably less dangerous than trying to get to the skyship, so I countered, “Could you bring it here?”

  Fluxcoil was probably regretting hiring me for this job already.

  He sighed, not humoring me. “The ship would not fit in your cave, Grak. You will need to come here.”

  “Can you arrange some transportation?”

  “Are you and your Abstract incapable of setting up conveyance, Grak?”

  Fluxcoil had a real solid point there. Especially about George.

  While I might be incapable of getting to the skyship safely, George should have no problem setting me up.

  In my fear of being abducted by Cretus, I had forgotten about George.

  “When do you want me there?”

  “As soon as you can get here.”

  “I’ll be there shortly. Want to meet at the Customs House?”

  “I’ll meet you on the docks outside it,” Fluxcoil replied far too happily for morning.

  His excitement was best suited for later in the day.

  Like evening.

  “See you in a few,” I said, and disconnected the call.

  I sighed and rolled myself out of bed.

  How did Draypheus manage to never get up?

  I was seldom envious of my roommate, but this was one of those times.

  19

  Having spruced up, which was code for subjecting myself to cleaning in the less-than-walk-in-closet-sized bathroom—perhaps its designers had made the bathroom for fairy dragons that were too lazy to use it—I was ready to go.

  “George, can you arrange transportation to the skyship?”

  “Do you have any preferences on how you get there?”

  “Anything but Cretus.”

  I sensed George smiling, or laughing, at me.

  He answered a bit too quickly.

  “Go to the Aery and ask for Noenun. He will make sure you get to Alyon. Without Cretus. It will be fun.”

  “I don’t want fun. I want safe and easy.”

  “It will be an adventure.”

  “Every day is an adventure,” I countered. “Why can’t I have relaxing?”

  “Just try it. It will be good practice for the trip.”

  Great. I was being berated by my Abstract.

  “Fine. If this is worse than Cretus, I’ll…”

  What exactly could I do? I did not even know exactly where my Abstract resided. From what little I knew of how these things worked, Abstracts were housed in independent transdimensional pocket dimensions, each one their own dataverse, connected loosely to other Abstracts.

  But I really had no idea.

  So, I couldn’t exactly punch George in the face.

  Or unplug him.

  But I could ask him to shut down or be quiet.

  Or help someone else.

  “I’ll have you go work for Cretus.”

  There.

  That would be sufficient penance.

  “I will see you when you get back, sir!”

  Was I being kicked out of my own flat by my Abstract? Surely not. I was just cranky.

  After making sure I was fully dressed to go outside, which mostly entailed strapping on my magical chain belt for protection around my waist, I walked out my front door.

  “Later, Dray,” I called, mostly for my own benefit.

  I stepped outside and took a deep breath, reveling in the dank cave air.

  My neighbor’s door was open. As I walked by, I called out, “Mornin’, Jumbai!”

  He must have just woken up, because there was not yet any smoke issuing from inside.

  “Mornin’, Grak. What ya doin’?”

  Jumbai stuck his awkward, dreadlocked troll head out his door and gave me a wicked grin. Every day was a party for Jumbai, and his was about to get started.

  “Off to Alyon as part of a case. If I don’t make it back, you’re welcome to knock out the wall and expand your place. Draypheus might get lonely otherwise.”

  “Whatever, mon! Ye’re as rugged as th’ sea. Ya won’t be goin’ nowhere!”

  I smiled. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

  “I’ll have some uleru for ya when ya get back!”

  “That’s the best reason to come home!”

  “Later, Grak.”

  “See ya, Jumbai.”

  I left Jumbai to his burgeoning party and went to get a lift to the Aery.

  The Undercity is an amazing place. It is jam-packed with monsters. Despite this, it is a surprisingly peaceful place. It’s amazing what happens when all your needs are met by an ultra-efficient high-tech magical society. People, monsters included, become fat and happy.

  They also learn to live together.

  As much as anything, this is why I love Alyon.

  It is an oasis of idealism in a chaotic macroverse.

  Plus, there is so much variety, one has to be boring to be bored.

  Walking toward the nearest lift, I passed stalls filled with foods I could not recognize, people for whom I had no name, and goods I had no idea how to use.

  And I loved it.

  I was a stranger in my own home.

  I did not need to trek across the world to see something new. I could just step out my front door.

  Although some may say they are rarer than a full solar eclipse, I treated the city to an orcish smile as I walked to the lift.

  An Orcish totality.

  What else could I do?

  I was happy.

  I had helped save the city I loved from gnome terrorists, and now the city was asking me for more.

  I would willingly help my home.

  This place gave me so much and asked so little.

  My skin excluded.

  The city lifts are just that: lifts.

  They are large platforms of translucent force that move up and down between levels of the intricate cave systems that comprise the Undercity.

  I could have walked to the Aery, but I would have had to stop for lunch along the way. Considering that it was all the way up at the top of one of the Dwimmer Mount peaks and not directly connected to my section of the caverns, using a lift was a no-brainer.

  Even for me.

  I waited with the herd for the force field to open and let us in. While there were multiple lifts cycling, I always had to wait to get on one.

  The waits were never long, though, and I always enjoyed monster-watching while I stood waiting my turn to go.

  I stood next to a gigantic humanoid slug. If I had to guess, it could engulf several goblins at once. That might be a fun game. If I saw some goblins, I might try it. Worst case, I could call Cretus and see if it would swallow him.

  The slug had several glowing neon tendrils that moved independently on its back.

  These probably served as a warning or a means to get attention.

  They certainly got mine.

  Given the crop of luminous tentacles on its back, I supposed the slug was more like an undersea nudibranch.

  Next to the oversized, goblin-engulfing nudibranch was a spindly walking stick. It was about one and a half times my height but no thicker than one of my wrists. It was holding a series of suspended bamboo cages across its thorax. Within the little boxes was a menagerie of gigantic insects.

  Probably its cousins and other relations.

  A bulbous water-filled sac, something that looked a bit like a sea anemone, began to play a many-stringe
d guitar next to the walking stick. Many of the insects inside the cages joined the anemone in song.

  The nudibranch’s tendrils began to pulse in time with the music. Its maw opened—that thing certainly was a goblin swallower—and the nudibranch began to keen and wail like an undersea revenant.

  I was surrounded by a barmy multi-species jungle chorus put on by insects and sea creatures.

  I walked over to them, clapping my hands.

  We sang together all the way up the lift.

  The Undercity is awesome.

  And, best of all, in the Undercity, we were not at all out of place.

  Moments like these, instances that ran contrary to my orcish nature, are why I love this city.

  And why I am always willing to risk my life to keep it safe.

  Our undersea jungle menagerie broke up at the top of the lift. While the others left for their days, I started off on another adventure.

  The lift took us directly into the Aery.

  Most people, when they think of being in a cave or under a mountain, think of darkness and confinement.

  The Aery is the exact opposite.

  The mountaintop here had been made transparent so that the light from the warm sun and the bright sky overhead were completely visible through the surrounding rock. Throngs of people were moving toward lift stations and airship bays to transfer between different parts of the city and destinations beyond.

  “George, could you direct me towards Noenun’s?”

  “Certainly, Grak!”

  A shimmering yellow footpath appeared on the floor before me. This augmented reality was for my eyes only.

  “Thanks, George!” This would save me some time trying to locate Noenun’s airfoil bay.

  Individuals and representations of individuals, along with various signs and interactive interfaces, were located around the periphery of the vast chamber. In the room’s center were various information interfaces, ticketing counters, aid stations, and vendors hawking their wares. Not needing any help, tickets, or food, I steered clear and headed to my right past major commercial enterprises run with efficiency and refinement to Noenun’s.

  While most other transportation hubs had the polish and sophistication of professional organizations, Noenun’s was more like the carnival sideshow of airfoil transport. In fact, if I didn't know any better, I might guess that Noenun was Cretus’s long-lost brother.

  Maybe they had been abandoned by the same family.

  At first, I mistakenly thought Noenun’s was where other vendors in the station deposited their garbage. Abandoned spare parts, broken machinery, and misplaced items—perhaps left by customers running away in their haste to leave—were arranged artfully around a sputtering neon sign proclaiming:

  Noenun’s

  Cheapest Airfoils in the Air

  If that wasn’t a resounding endorsement, then I didn’t want to hear one.

  Because anything positive said about Noenun’s was probably a lie anyway.

  But the sign surely rang true.

  Noenun’s was cheap.

  Good to see George was taking such good care of me.

  Maybe I should just turn around, take the public transportation, and risk Cretus.

  “You’re here, Grak!” George sounded entirely too excited.

  “I see that,” I grumbled glumly.

  “Don’t fret, sir! Noenun comes highly recommended.”

  I took stock of the mess. “By whom?”

  It really was a good question. Unless Noenun was the Undercity’s official trash hurler, I did not see much to recommend the place.

  “By people like you. Adventurers and thrill-seekers.

  “For instance, on the Yeow! shared peer review group, Noenun’s gets a 4.6 out of 5.0 sticks of dynamite.

  “User 278967.23a proclaims, ‘Riding an airfoil at Noenun’s is more exciting than base-jumping off the back of an angry dragon.’ DangerBunny973 extols, ‘Visiting Noenun’s was one of the highest highlights of my trip to Alyon. I have the scars to prove it! I can’t wait to come back!’”

  I smacked my forehead with a meaty thunk.

  These yokels were adventure tourists. The opposite of what I was looking for…completely.

  “Where are the nice floating hot air balloons? Or the safe enclosed airships? Or the portals I can step through and just arrive?

  “That’s what I’m looking for, George.”

  I took a deep breath and regrouped. “George, I am anything but adventurous. I am big and lazy, and I like to do things the easy way. Everything else is by necessity, not by preference. I thought you knew that.”

  “I know, sir. Have fun!”

  “I don’t like fun!” I yelled.

  But George did not reply.

  I did get a few confused stares and fingers pointed at me, however.

  Accepting my fate and the macroverse’s grim sense of humor, I walked over to Noenun’s.

  20

  Things did not get any better on the inside.

  While other airship outfits had orderly queues organized by Abstracts or helpful employees, Noenun’s just had a rusty, bullet-holed sign that said, “Ring the bell. Wait here.”

  There was a small, once silver bell sitting on a three-legged table that was propped against the wall. Fittingly, the entry to Noenun’s looked like the dark lair to some otherworldly horror.

  I rang the bell.

  The little metal ball inside fell off its hook.

  I was feeling safe already.

  I bent over, picked up the clapper, and carefully reattached it to the inside of the bell’s bowl.

  No sense in leaving things worse than when I had found them.

  Which would, all things considered, be pretty hard to do.

  Giving this place a working bell was but the tip of an iceberg of repairs that would take lifetimes to complete.

  Finished, I set the bell back on the table cautiously, lest it collapse.

  Assured that the table would hold, I stood up.

  And nearly had a heart attack.

  Thankfully, I refrained from screaming out, “By the black Abyss!” or some other equally solicitous remark.

  Because you only get one chance to make a first impression.

  And Noenun certainly made one on me.

  If a crab—not just any crab, but a goliath from the darkest recesses of the deepest ocean trench—married a spider—not just any spider, but a hairy colossus that spun webs intended to snare dragons—and then gave birth to mutant progeny, then Noenun might be their offspring.

  Now I understood why Noenun’s received such glowing reviews.

  Everyone was afraid to say anything bad about him.

  Or it.

  One misconstrued remark could send Noenun after the unfortunate customer in a review rage that could tear whole cities apart.

  Just meeting him was probably more excitement than some thrill-seekers were after.

  I couldn’t quite comprehend how Noenun had managed to fit through the cave mouth to loom over me while I stood slack-jawed before him.

  Regardless of how he got around, I was confident that the Aery was safe from any outside threats.

  If any invaders breached the shields protecting Alyon and threatened Noenun’s business, there would be hell to pay.

  Literally.

  I reached out a hand toward one of Noenun’s many gigantic hairy limbs in a futile attempt to shake appendages. “Grak,” I said, keeping my cool. “Nice to meet you.”

  I took the fact that he did not eat me as a positive sign.

  I counted that as good as a handshake.

  If I had to guess, Noenun was about the size of a small to medium-sized airship.

  One I would have much preferred to be riding in right about now.

  “Come,” he grumbled, his voice like boulders—or mandibles large enough to shred ogres like they were hors d’oeuvres grinding against one another.

  Now that I had met Noenun, I could honestly say that I was look
ing forward to a little adventure.

  Mostly because it meant I would get out of here quickly.

  I followed Noenun down a dank hallway that had somehow missed out on all the sprucing up and airiness of the outside cavern.

  As the lair for a giant, monster-eating spiderbeast, however, it was first-rate.

  Not surprisingly, I was the only customer—or victim—inside.

  What I saw as I stepped through to the transportation chamber was like a carnival ride gone bad.

  There was a metal track, a bit like something for a small train or rollercoaster, with a flat sled hovering above its surface. A webwork of elongated fibers, probably spun by Noenun himself, lay strung tautly against the back wall. These strands were pulled backward tightly by a massive winch and clamping apparatus.

  I saw exactly what was going on here and did not like it one bit.

  While I stood dumbfounded, taking in the cruelty of my fate, Noenun grabbed me with his massive pedipalps and spun me up like tomorrow’s breakfast.

  “You ready now,” he said.

  I most certainly was not.

  21

  Growing up, many dream of running away to join the circus.

  I never had those dreams.

  Sure, I dreamt of running away, but those dreams revolved around escaping the unending wars and wholesale slaughter perpetrated by my people.

  Becoming a clown or an acrobat was never in my future.

  Until now.

  Now that I was trussed up with nowhere to go, Noenun placed me on his giant-sized slingshot as I prepared to become an orcish cannonball shot out of a demon spider’s nightmare lair.

  As I lay on the cold metal, I felt some kind of magical restraining system close around me, holding me in place.

  If I survived this, George was in for a real treat.

  Maybe a deactivation or a memory wipe.

  Before I had time to think of any more suitable fates, Noenun said, “You go now. When you close to Alyon, they reel you in.

  “Have good flight!”

  I was so tightly wound up, I couldn’t so much as curse.

  But I tried.

  Noenun released the lever holding back the webbing’s tension, and my stomach shot to my toes and my brain turned to mush.