by Ben Counter, Guy Haley, Joshua Reynolds, Cavan Scott (epub)
Frikk in Trouble
Night fell.
Battle retreated further from the Wrath of Gork. Artillery fire rumbled no louder than distant summer thunder. The howling of the boyz was the pounding of a faraway sea upon the shore. Sinister warbles and crackles split the gathering dark, the discharge of ork energy weapons made close by tricks of the atmosphere. The gretchin and Deathskulls combing the battlefield looked up at the flashes in the sky when this happened, before going back to their looting. Injured orks who still had not been seen by the doks shouted angrily. The doks took their time. Floodlights marked where they worked. When done, they dished out their version of post-operative care, haggling over the price. Their lisping negotiations were usually brief, giving way to the crunch of pliers ripping out teeth. Screams of discovered humans still came and went, although only rarely. Most had already been tormented and eaten.
The oddboyz were out in force. Runtherds marshalled huge mobs of industrious grots. Surgery tents sprang up around the Wrath of Gork, and to the southern end of the ship the mekboyz had begun work on their own settlement, a massive pile of salvage rising rapidly next to it. Loud arguments, some punctuated by gunfire, drifted on the wind from the direction of Gork’s Fist. Already the superstructure was covered in blazing arc lamps. The blue tongues of welding torches stabbed at the gargant in multiple places. Whether the meks were repairing it or cutting it up was hard to tell from that distance, but knowing orks, the likelihood was that different mekmobs were doing both simultaneously.
Snikgob was still out and about, scavenging from human and ork alike. Uggrim and Bozgat were arguing over the best way to dismember the humie walker and get all the good gubbins out. Now it was dark, the Red Sunz’ grot fixers patrolled a wide cordon around this valuable piece of plunder, beating the slaves of rival mekmobs when they got too close.
‘I tells you, going in from underneath, underneath!’ said Bozgat, gesticulating wildly. ‘Got to get that shield generator out in one piece. Armour’s too thick at the front, boss – we’ll get bored, go at it too hard and mash up all the good stuff by accident. Armour’s weak at the back, boss, and all crumped up anyhows. We can get at it if we dig a trench right there.’ Bozgat stomped across the fallen Knight, steel-shod boots booming on the metal. He pointed at the ground between the walker’s legs.
Uggrim was equally annoyed that Bozgat was right and that he had the nerve to disagree with him. He harrumphed and crossed his apish arms. He realised he was just being stubborn for the sake of it, but giving in irked him. ‘All right! All right! You win. When Snikgob comes back we’ll get him to cut from the back.’
‘Boss, listen. It’s the only way to do it,’ began Bozgat. He stopped, puzzled. ‘Did you just agree with me?’
‘Yes. Yes, I did. Don’t let it go to your head.’ Uggrim approached Bozgat. ‘Now let’s start getting that choppy arm off. We can do that without Sniks, no worries. I got plans for that.’ Uggrim looked up at Fat Mork’s gigashoota thoughtfully. With a sneaky shove to the chest, he sent Bozgat off the walker and sprawling on the ground below. He laughed. ‘Watch yourself there, Bozgat! Frikk. Frikk!’ he bawled.
Frikk had been hiding under Fat Mork all this time, obsessing over his Urdgrub dilemma. His hands were raw with his wringing them. ‘Yes, boss. Sorry, boss. Coming, boss!’ He trotted over to the humie walker, and stared up at his master.
‘Go get me some fungus beer, you waste of space,’ shouted Uggrim. ‘Why I don’t just eat you is beyond me. I’m getting soft – sentimental!’
‘Yes, boss, sor– Ow!’ A large, rusty nut caught Frikk squarely on the shoulder. Uggrim put his hands on his hips and stared down. He was a dark silhouette against the dirty brown of Alaric’s late evening sky.
‘And be quick about it!’
Frikk looked up at Uggrim fearfully. The mek’s tusks glinted in the light of undoused fires. He was a good boss to Frikk, better than most. But Frikk was still just a grot, and Uggrim as unpredictable as any ork.
‘Right away, boss,’ he said, trying to sound chirpy. ‘Right away!’
He ran the twenty metres back to Fat Mork, just to show willing, around the back, up through the side access door, onto the bottom deck and straight into Gulgul, Urdgrub’s most vicious henchman.
‘Hello,’ said Gulgul. He grabbed Frikk by the scruff of the neck and tossed him into the engine room. A villainous looking bunch of gretchin stood around him, all bigger than Frikk. ‘Jakar, get that door locked. I want to talk to this runt in private.’ He leaned in over Frikk. ‘I’ve come to collect.’
‘For who?’ said Frikk, innocently.
A tittering, flatheaded gretchin, whose eyes pointed in different directions, slammed Frikk hard against the reactor house. Gulgul’s lackeys giggled maliciously as Frikk’s flesh hissed on the hot metal.
‘How does it work? How does this little sun work? Urdgrub’s got people who need to know!’ said Gulgul. He jerked his head. Flathead failed to take the hint, so Gulgul punched him in the face. Frikk fell to the floor.
‘Whaddya do that for?’ said Flathead.
‘I wanted you to let him go!’
‘Well why didn’t you say?’ said Flathead, rubbing at his cheek.
Gulgul curled his lip at the gretchin. Flathead shrank back, ears flat against his head in submission.
The three gretchin with Gulgul looked mean but not too bright; either way they were brawny for grots. Frikk didn’t fancy his chances, but at least Urdgrub wasn’t there. He rubbed his face. The smell of his own singed flesh overwhelmed his sensitive nose.
‘I don’t suppose I could just give you the teeth back?’ he said hopefully.
‘You could,’ said Gulgul, spitting on the floor. ‘Six, ain’t it?’
‘Five!’ protested Frikk.
‘Six. What about me?’ said Gulgul nastily. ‘I need one. Pay for me time retrievin’ them. You got ’em?’
‘Um, no,’ said Frikk.
‘Well,’ said Gulgul, and began kicking Frikk in between each word, a form of brutal greenskin punctuation. ‘You. Can’t. Give. Them. To. Me. Can. You?’ He gave Frikk a final kick in the ribs for good measure, and stood panting.
Frikk writhed on the floor. That had hurt.
‘Now, how’s it work? You tell me, we’ll zog off. You don’t, well, you saw. We can fix this Stompa right easy so it don’t ever get fixed again, you understand?’
The gretchin with Gulgul giggled. He cuffed them and swore at them until they shut up.
Frikk’s red eyes flicked about. He licked his swollen lips. ‘Er,’ he said, ‘Er…’
Gulgul raised his boot.
Frikk’s hands shot up. ‘Wait!’ he called. ‘Wait!’
Gulgul lowered his foot.
‘Look,’ said Frikk. ‘I don’t know how it works.’
Gulgul’s foot swung backwards again.
‘But I have got an idea!’ squealed Frikk.
‘What?’
‘Well, I was thinking. Why make your own little sun, when you could…’ he shielded his mouth with his hand, and said, sneaky quiet, ‘just nick this one.’
There had been many times in Frikk’s life when he’d prayed to Gork and Mork that his enemies were as thick as he thought they were. This was one of those times.
‘Ye’re joking,’ said Gulgul uncertainly.
‘No, no, I’m not,’ said Frikk. ‘Catch it, in a net,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen it done. Honest.’
‘Urdgrub never said nothin’ about that. You is having me on, runt,’ said Gulgul. ‘It’s way too hot!’
Gulgul’s three lackeys were looking at one another uncertainly. ‘He might be right,’ said Jakar.
‘Shut it, you!’ said Gulgul.
Frikk sat up and laughed, shaking his head. ‘You don’t use a normal net, silly. Look, Bozgat fishes it out every week, regular as clockwork. Got to cle
an in the reactor, see, or the… Or the light, that’s it, the light clogs up all the pipes. Yeah.’ Frikk winced at this poor improvisation.
‘Then why don’t it burn the net?’ said Gulgul.
‘He uses a metal net?’ Frikk said doubtfully.
Gulgul looked around. ‘Right. Where is it then?’
‘I dunno, but we could use that. Should do the job nicely. Scoop it out, nice as pie.’ He pointed at Snikgob’s welding mask. ‘Tell you what, I’ll go get it. There’s a couple of taps need turning off down there before we can open it. Don’t touch though, hot hot hot!’
‘What do you mean?’ said Gulgul.
‘Well,’ said Frikk, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘I’ve got to turn the heat down, or it will be too hot even for that, won’t it?’
‘Which taps?’ said Gulgul. Suspicion was writ so large on his face that the dumbest, blindest ork could read it.
‘Oh, it’ll be easier if I just do it meself…’
‘Which ones, runt?’ Gulgul smacked Frikk hard.
‘Can I show you?’
‘Not likely. Gizkor, you go with him.’
‘Boss, shouldn’t we wait? Urdgrub’ll be here in a mo – he’s only up top having a skwizz around, and this runt is right tricky…’ said Jakar.
‘Shut it, Jakar! Urdgrub’s not here. I’s biggest! I’s in charge! Gizkor, you go with him.’
‘Right,’ said Frikk, getting into the swing of it. ‘I’ll show him which to do. You open the door, and we’ll bring the mask back over, okay?’
Gulgul looked at Gizkor, considering. ‘This better not be a trick, runt.’
‘What?’ Frikk made an outrageous face of wounded innocence, fingers resting gently on his heart. ‘I always pay me debts! Just think how happy…’ he narrowed his eyes, time for a gamble, ‘Mogrok will be when you come back with a little sun he can call his own.’
‘How do you know who my boss is?’
A lucky guess, thought Frikk. ‘Everyone knows,’ said Frikk. ‘Talk of the town, how Urdgrub is in his good books and all. And you!’ he added hastily.
‘Yeah, yeah!’ said Gulgul. ‘Yeah, yeah!’ He nodded at his lackeys, who giggled obediently. ‘You think you’re so smart! It ain’t Mogrok, nothing to do with Mogrok!’
‘Who is it then?’ said Frikk.
‘Not telling you that, am I? But take a look. I’ll give you a clue. Gave me this, he did.’ He held up a tooth on a chain, its gold cap stamped with a grinning moon. ‘Pays me, lets me go where I like. I got one just like Urdgrub.’
‘Urdgrub got two,’ said Jakar.
‘Shut it, you!’ snapped Gulgul. ‘You should get a new boss, Frikk – you’re wasted down here.’
‘Yeah,’ said Frikk sadly, and he half meant it. ‘Oh, but I’m not so clever as you, Gulgul,’ he said, with a massive, insincere smile.
‘That’s the truth, ain’t it?’ sniffed Gulgul, pocketing his tooth. ‘Urdgrub don’t think so neither. He thinks everyone but him is thick. Even me!’
He might be right there, thought Frikk.
‘But he don’t know me, he don’t know me at all.’ Gulgul went on. ‘Wait here, he says, do that, he says. Wait for me and don’t go in while I has a scout about. Well, I thought, I’ll show him! I’ll show him and get him his little sun, no bother, and we can be out of ’ere in no time. Ain’t that right, runt?’
Gulgul looked very pleased with himself. Frikk was high on relief; Gulgul was a certifiable idiot. He had a chance. ‘Now, shall we?’ Frikk got up, dusted his cap off on his knees and set it carefully on his head.
Gulgul jerked his head back towards the reactor. This time, his lackeys obeyed.
‘You need to spin those wing nuts, then open the door. Yeah, that one – the one with the observation window in it.’
There was a sizzling sound as Flathead grabbed the wing nuts. ‘Ow! It’s hot, boss.’
‘Tsk,’ said Frikk. ‘Course it’s hot. I haven’t turned it down yet! You got to wait.’
‘You thick?’ growled Gulgul. ‘Get a cloth! Then grab a spanner or somefink to open the door. Idiot.’
‘Right then,’ said Frikk. He was aiming for confident, although terror was closer to what he felt. ‘We need to go over here, by the mask. That’s where the taps are.’ Frikk led Gizkor over. Gizkor looked unhappy. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said, ‘save you the bother.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Gizkor genially. ‘Got a bad back,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t like to bend over.’
Frikk bent down, putting as much of his body behind Snikgob’s welding mask as he could. One of Snikgob’s tool bags was next to it. He selected a spanner with exaggerated care and fiddled with some taps that didn’t do anything at all to the output of the sun, but did turn off part of its magnetic containment field.
‘All right!’ called Frikk over his shoulder. ‘You open it now. If it’s too hot then I’ll turn it down a bit, then we’ll bring the mask back!’
‘It’s still very bright,’ said Jakar. Curse him, thought Frikk. Urdgrub’s crew had half a brain between them, and it all seemed to be in Jakar’s skull.
Jakar peered through the glass of the observation window. ‘And it’s acting funny.’
‘Turned down the heat, not the light!’ said Frikk cheerfully. ‘Taps for that are up in the head. Bad design, if you ask me – should have them both together. Orks is dumb, yeah?’
The gretchin shared a little laugh at this, united briefly by the misery of their oppression.
Frikk smiled. ‘It’ll settle down in a second. Right, you ready?’
Nods all round.
‘Go!’
‘Not doing it,’ said Jakar.
‘Jakar!’ said Gulgul.
‘No, I ain’t.’
‘All right then. Flathead, you do it,’ said Gulgul.
Flathead, an oily rag wrapped around his fingers to protect them, unscrewed the wing nuts.
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?’