Once again, why was I thinking about this? Why was I bothering with all these stray thoughts?
That’s what it was...
Not the woman’s ass or the pathetic dreams of a goblin, no. But even this was connected to my simple conclusion that some of humankind’s ancient laws applied as much as they ever did in this odd place.
The people up front clearly had a lot more information. But would I get the chances to approach them for some small talk? No way. The word ‘hello’ wouldn’t even be out of my mouth before they’d start barking at me, putting me in my place. I’d have to retreat, humiliated, bowing and smiling ingratiatingly: ‘Forgive this stupid, arrogant goblin, Bwana!’
Why? Because a poor goblin was all I was. The key word here was ‘goblin’, though, not ‘poor’. I was garbage to them. No one would willingly talk to someone like me.
The promise of clothes as payment had me excited. I really needed to update my wardrobe as soon as I could.
WE REACHED OUR DESTINATION without incident. We would be working in a big, oval-shaped room. Glad to be stopping, I clapped my hands to my ancient legs. They had carried me here without turning to jelly, and I still had plenty of strength left. That was great news.
Another pair of thugs stood chatting, but immediately stopped when they noticed the man in the coat. I watched them with interest. They exchanged a few words, and the main in the coat looked expectantly up towards the ceiling.
A small dome rushed blindingly fast along a ceiling rail. Nothing like the slow, measured way they moved in our goblin outskirts. This one was a sprinter in comparison.
“Solar Flame Production Brigade! Clean mechanisms 7 and 8, Block 1, Zone 12!”
The sphere stopped abruptly, then continued on its way. Two loud clangs sounded inside the wall, like heavy-duty locks opening.
Then something unexpected started to happen. Four thugs rushed towards the parts of the walls that had started rising upwards and stood still in front of them, resting their hands on their clubs. The women stood a few steps behind them, in a good position to... shoot? I wasn’t sure why else they would stand the way they were standing. I wasn’t sure how I knew it was a shooting position, but I knew. Their ‘boards’ were still strapped to their backs. There was a low hum, and a dark gap appeared under the wall. Then a second... and a third... and dirty water poured out onto the floor, sweeping over the men’s boots. So there was a practical reason for those kind of shoes. But I was barefoot... and even from where I stood, I could see solid particles in the water.
The rising sections of the wall rose up about three feet and stopped. A second passed, then another, then another. The thugs relaxed, straightened up, and took their hands off the clubs.
Like a bolt from the blue, something lunged out of the darkness. A swift, blurry shadow covered a distance of six feet in a flash, aiming claws at one thug’s leg. The man reacted with surprising speed, hitting the shadow with one short, powerful blow that pinned it to the floor. The goblins and zombies stepped back, crying out. Behind me I heard someone trying to leave, but a harsh shout stopped him. The creature’s clawed, scaly paws scrabbled for a hold on the flooded floor. Its body was crushed under the club, so I couldn’t get a clear look at it. Nothing else emerged from the black holes in the walls. The second soldier took his awl from his belt, approached the pinned creature, and plunged the blade into its body. The paws scratched at the floor one last time, then trembled... and finally fell still.
“What is that thing?” I asked. No one answered me. They wrenched the club out of the floor and kicked the creature’s corpse off the nails. It fell into a plastic container, which they then sent towards the women with another kick.
