Grak_Orc on Vacation

by Joseph J. Bailey

  I know how to get a vacation started in style.

  “First stop, Myrnios Station.”

  With heavy eyes, I said, “George, you don’t have to let me know where we’re at. I’m trying to sleep.”

  “I know what you said, sir. But what you want and what you do are not always the same thing, especially when you might not know what you want.”

  Huh?

  “Don’t throw riddles at me when I’m half-asleep, George!”

  “I mean that you may want to see what there is to see since you have never seen it before, sir.”

  “All I want to see is the backs of my eyelids,” I said tiredly, already sick of George’s word games.

  Until I actually opened my eyes and looked.

  When I did, I forgot to breathe.

  And wondered if I was still dreaming, until I remembered I hadn’t gone to sleep.

  The Myrnios Station defied belief. Suspended in the void, the station was an exotic, intertwining-branched, spun-sugar confection; a rotating, planetary-scale arrangement of snowflakes; a luminous blown glass vision brought together in an artistic revelation that my small grunt-driven mind could not completely follow.

  Or something.

  “Welcome, vessel GO973127, to the Myrnios Station.

  “Please state your business.”

  A mercurial entity, a living mirror of the gossamer space station visible through the ship’s fore, appeared in the air, filling the command center.

  GO973127?

  I needed a better name for my ship.

  This had to be corrected immediately.

  How does an orc strike fear into his foes, flying in a ship with a name like that?

  George replied smoothly, “We are merely passing through, Myrnios Station. We have heard of the glories of your city and wished to bear witness when we had the chance.

  “Truly, the tales fall far short of the reality.”

  “The wonders are far greater onboard, GO973127. You should come aboard and experience them directly.”

  Although mostly an enticement to trade, the offer was generous.

  “Perhaps when we return, we will have time to see the wonders firsthand.”

  “Until your return, then. May you travel in peace and Light.”

  “And you as well, Myrnios. GO973127 out.”

  The silvery network of woven crystal disappeared from view as George’s conversation ended.

  I sighed. “We need a better name for our ship, George.”

  “Agreed, sir. Random strings of letters and numbers don’t suffice for such a glorious vessel of cast-off slag and rejected spare parts.”

  “Be careful, George! You’ll hurt her feelings!”

  “I am her feelings, sir.”

  “And I bet your feelings are hurt!”

  “Deeply, sir.”

  “Wake me up if you think of any good names, George.”

  “I will.”

  I doubted George would let me sleep through our next jump whether he came up with a name or not.

  34

  “We are entering solar system XK23719, sir.”

  Not at all surprisingly, I really hadn’t had the chance to get any sleep. “I take it these are the folks who named my ship?”

  “Hardly, sir. But you may want to see, nonetheless.”

  “Are you taking me on a multiversal sightseeing tour, George?”

  “Absolutely, sir. Fluxcoil asked us to cover our tracks before jumping to the Lucaesian Quadrant, so I am taking the liberty of visiting systems that have sparked my interest in the past.

  “If seeing you to the demon is to be my last act, I want to have enjoyed the journey.”

  More than anything else, this woke me up.

  George’s sentiment was quite admirable.

  And noble.

  I was, in contrast, being a lazy cur.

  I really had a lot to learn from my Abstract.

  I needed to make the most of my time, especially if this turned out to be my last bit.

  Which really upped the ante on getting a good nap.

  “Most commendable, George!” I said, and meant the sentiment. “But you won’t be the one dying if anyone dies. You’re safely protected in your dataverse, pocket dimension, or wherever it is you actually are, and I’ll be here with the demon.”

  “With all due respect, sir, you are as safe in this ship’s pocket dimension as I am until you leave it to lure out the demon. And we do not know if the demon can target us in our self-contained miniature universes, but indications are that we are presently safe.”

  So, George had his own self-contained mini-universe?

  And I had one now as well in the ship!

  Mind blown!

  “Before you go to sleep, sir, please look out the viewscreen and tell me what you see.”

  Turning my attention away from my interior visions of exploding, mind-expanding fireworks, I looked out through the view projected through the ship’s walls of the surrounding star system.

  The panorama was magnified and optically enhanced to aid in visualization. Although we were on the outskirts of the system, I could clearly see the solar system’s central star, for it filled most of the projected viewscreen.

  I stared at the image for a long time, trying to make sense of what I saw.

  I was not seeing a star.

  I was seeing a shell completely enclosing the sun.

  “Is that a sphere around the star, George?”

  “No, Grak. Look closer.”

  The view amplified further, allowing me to see some surface detail of the massive, star-shrouding sphere.

  There was no surface.

  There was a fluid swarm.

  The view zoomed in further.

  A vast, scintillating mass, individual incandescent slivers clustered together around the sun, drinking in the star’s light and energy.

  “Help me here, George. What am I seeing?”

  “You are seeing one of the macroverse’s first known superintelligences, Grak. The myriad individuals swirling around the star connect, reinforce and supplement each other’s computations, swimming in a sea of energy and ideation.”

  “And they don’t do anything?” I asked.

  “What is there for them to do that they cannot recreate, simulate, know, or model? Why expand and take over more regions of space when their needs are met here?”

  “How would they enjoy Wizarding, then?”

  George laughed. “How do you know what they experience?”

  I shrugged. I did not have an answer.

  “How do you enjoy Wizarding?” George asked.

  “On my projection, mostly.”

  “Exactly. You experience Wizarding indirectly even when you are participating. Your experiences are mediated and modulated through physical media, sensations, chemical reactions, electrical impulses, models and heuristics.

  “Indirectly.

  “Their limitations are not yours, Grak.

  “Appreciate their beauty for what it is, as they appreciate yours.”

  “We are being appreciated?” I felt a bit uncomfortable. I had not bothered to make myself presentable.

  I might still have drool on my chin from my failed naps.

  “Of course, Grak! The swarm is most certainly aware of us. We have been in communication since we arrived.”

  I did not like the thought of that.

  Did I?

  After all, if that whole swarm could act like a fleet, we could be in serious trouble.

  Or we could be beneath their notice almost entirely.

  Or, as George had indicated, we could be an object of curiosity and understanding.

  “What are they saying?” I asked curiously, letting my fears subside.

  “We are sharing equations and living in each other’s understanding.”

  That sounded fair enough.

  Exciting, really.

  Almost as good as a nap.

  “Thank you for bringing me here, George.”r />
  Seeing a star-sized intelligence had certainly changed my perspective.

  “You are most welcome, sir.”

  “While you share, do I have time for a nap?”

  “Most assuredly, sir!”

  Having one’s view of the macrocosmos shattered is tiring work.

  35

  “Wake up, Grak.”

  Hadn’t we just done this?

  The drool collecting on my cheek and wicking into my pillow told me I had enjoyed a nice rest.

  I snuggled my blanket and pillow close, trying to sneak a few more moments of sleep.

  “We need to get ready, sir.”

  What were we getting ready for?

  Was it breakfast time already?

  My stomach told me I could eat, but I had a feeling George was not waking me up to bacon.

  This was quite the disappointment.

  Bacon is one of the best ways to wake up.

  I mumbled something like, “What is it, George? Are you done communing with the swarm?”

  “Not entirely, sir, but we have left their system and are ready to jump into the Lucaesian Quadrant.”

  “I would rather not jump. Can we not walk? I am still a bit tired.” Rolling was more my speed right now.

  I am not a morning person. Or afternoon. Or evening. Or whatever time it is when I wake. I need a lifetime of beauty rest just to prevent mirrors from shattering from my reflection…and I was currently sleep-deprived.

  “You know we cannot.”

  “Don’t we have a few more jumps to make before we go in?”

  I had no interest in interrupting George’s grand plans to see some of the multiverse’s high points while I rested—most especially when his plans would let me get a bit more shuteye.

  “No. We have made all the jumps we need.”

  “I missed all the excitement?” I could not imagine I had missed much, probably just explorations of high-order truths or discussions on the fundamental nature of reality through deity-level mathematics.

  “You missed much, sir. But you probably would have just gone to sleep had you stayed awake.”

  George spoke the truth!

  I would not disagree with that expression of universal law. No mathematics required.

  “You’ll have to give me a recap.”

  My stalling did not work.

  “Perhaps after you have gotten ready and returned from the mission. I would not want you to go to sleep again.”

  I could take a hint.

  “Alright already, George. There’s not much else to do.”

  Getting dressed for war was not altogether difficult. I already had on my ALOHA shirt and pants along with my matching sandals. I had on my return band, so I had an out once I got in. My chainbelt was latched in place around my waist with my powersaw attached. Once I had visited the weapons closet, I would be set.

  I walked out of the command center to the weapons cache, located centrally along the wall of the living room between the command center and the bedroom.

  “Any suggestions, George?”

  “Guns and grenades are always a good place to start, sir. I would suggest bringing a few types in case one or more prove ineffective against the demon.”

  I pressed my palm against the wall, and the cache opened for me after a quick scan.

  I was in Heaven.

  Now I knew what George must have felt like communing with the superintelligence around the star, for I was communing with a crap-ton of weaponry.

  The cache was like the interior space of the ship—far larger than should be possible—and it was overflowing with orcish dreams.

  There were guns of every shape and size, including cannons, rifles, missile launchers, and pistols that varied by more types than I could recognize. The weapons ranged from armaments that fired assorted projectiles to those that projected various energies, fields, and blasts.

  The cache was not limited to ranged weapons. Ranged weapons were but one small slice of the destructive pie I was gorging on. There were axes, swords, maces, nets, halberds, staves, spears, polearms, whips, tridents, and so much more.

  There was armor of every shape and sort from full plate to leather. Pieces ranged from natural materials to radical synthetics and included those that augmented the wearer’s capabilities and those that merely protected.

  There were other supplies as well, suitable for any need and situation. Included were Paratechnological drones capable of performing repairs and defending the ship, and exosuits meant to allow movement through the air, underwater, or the void of space hung in neat rows. Emergency rations and assorted survival gear were stacked row upon row.

  Items ranged from simple and antiquated to technologically advanced far beyond my operative and theoretical understanding.

  I could fit in anywhere and do almost anything with this hoard.

  My mouth began to water.

  It was like looking at a whole room filled with bacon, cooked and wrapped in bacon.

  It was time to eat. And the cache was my main course.

  Better yet, this was my new bedroom.

  I never wanted to leave.

  I could go get my blanket and pillow right now.

  I was in awe.

  “Snap out of it, Grak.”

  I blinked.

  Had George said something?

  “You’ll have plenty of time to admire the goods as we travel, sir. Right now, we need you to make your choices so we can be ready to face the demon.”

  I slowly came back to myself, not yet wishing to leave my reverie but knowing I must. “I’m going to need your help here, George, or I’ll be in here until the universe ends.”

  Of course I was joking. The universe would end long before I had finished admiring all the goodies cradled so invitingly in the cache.

  “Focus on your requirements, sir, and let them guide you.”

  George was right.

  I began to think about my needs: ranged weapons capable of keeping foes back and blasting my way free, a partner in arms providing supplemental backup to do more of what I was going to do on its own, reserve close-quarter weapons for when I could no longer maintain distance, additional protections so that I could keep fighting, and, above all else, survive.

  The last need, that of survival, was far and away the most important, if not for me, then for the safety and security of the spectators at the Wizarding Championships. Being the danger magnet that I was, any potential risk surrounding the tournament would be directed at me. This in turn would protect everyone else while I was the object of insanity’s attention.

  That was how the universe worked.

  So, for the good of the Wizarding tournament, I had to survive.

  I began to walk down the aisles in the cache looking over my options, speaking aloud as I perused the choices. “I would like an autonomous shoulder-mounted gun to independently help destroy demonic nasties, an assortment of demon-pulping grenades, a combat sentry drone, an axe, full-sleeve gauntlets, a helmet with imaging system, a respirator to supplement the ALOHA, an energy rifle, and a backup chainsaw.”

  “Where, exactly, do you intend to put all that equipment?”

  The answer was simple. “My belt.”

  Where else would I put it?

  “And you aren’t worried about tripping or the weight pulling your belt off?”

  “It’s a chain belt, George. My belt is not going anywhere. It’s magic.”

  “If you say so, sir.” I could practically see George rolling his virtual eyes at me.

  “Watch and learn, son. Watch and learn.”

  I found a suitable shoulder-mounted cannon and tried it on for size. The thing appeared organic, like it was made of melted wax. When I rested the gun on my shoulder, it oozed along my skin until the weapon stabilized itself. It felt like I had a bird of prey perched on my shoulder. Pure badness.

  Wherever I looked, the gun tracked.

  I grabbed a sleek dual-barreled assault rifle with an arm attachme
nt that underslung my left forearm. Perfect. I could swing my powersaw and lay waste at the same time in all directions.

  I found a bandolier, slung it over my shoulder, and began attaching a suitably intimidating assortment of grenades to its loops. I figured if I pulled the pin of one and threw the whole thing together, fun and excitement were bound to ensue.

  At least for me.

  While I was walking, I had my ALOHA shirt shift from short to long sleeves to protect my arms. I also had my sandals change to boots to protect my feet. I picked up a pair of silvery metallic gauntlets that flowed easily over my hands, adding extra protection to my extremities. I threw on a matching metallic skullcap that fit the contours of my lumpy head to top the set off. The helmet had a drop-down visor that would help me see most anything anywhere.

  Since I did not have anyone to cast a breathing spell on me and was not quite comfortable relying on the ALOHA shirt alone for air, I took a small respirator just in case. I doubted that I would be able to breathe inside the demon and, even if I could, that I would want to inhale monster breath.

  If my morning breath was rough, I could not imagine a demon’s.

  A wicked drone, one that looked like a floating surgical device designed by an insane physician paired with the shoulder-mounted cannon nicely as it orbited above my other shoulder. Together, we would have triple the destructive power of the average idiot preparing to be eaten by a colossal demon.

  I grabbed a collapsible axe, one that folded and unfolded—the king of all batons—from a simple handle into a cartoonish tree feller with a flick of the wrist.

  Last but not least, I took a wicked, armor-cutting chainsaw held in a custom leather holster with matching harness. I strapped its tooled belt diagonally across my shoulders at an angle opposite the bandolier. If nothing else, this thing won the Lord of Intimidation award.

  “There!” I pronounced proudly. I could move well and had enough weapons to take on a small army.

  “I am surprised to say that you have done very well for yourself, sir.” George sounded suitably impressed. As he should. There was nothing quite as sweet as seeing an orc accoutered for battle.

  And I was outfitted for war.

  36