Chapter 380: Road Block |
The technicians were spread out across three steep platforms covered in equipment that were affixed to the walls; and when I say ‘steep’, I mean that these things had an angle that was barely shallower than the vertical face of the shaft. The fact these people could stand on them at all was impressive, but their anatomy was strange enough that I assumed any number of weird adaptations could be at play. Or, like anything else, it could just be fucking magic.
I didn’t have an easy way to categorize the technicians when I saw them for the first time. That is, they were unlike other Arzian races which had easy analogs to certain animals. For example, the Littans were rodent-like, Timans had some of the qualities of deer, and the Chovali were clearly bat people. If the technicians took after any ordinary creatures, I wasn’t aware of them.
They had four legs, with the back two looking like they supported most of their weight, stout and sturdy with cloven hooves. The front two were longer and more lithe, potentially for mobility and with three thick toes keeping them stable. While four legs might bring to mind some kind of centaur, their lower bodies were steeply sloped, rather than having the long barrel of a horse. They were almost as linear as a human when standing erect against the sharply angled platforms.
Their upper bodies had two long arms, each ending in a hand with eight delicate, dextrous fingers. Their necks were similarly elongated, allowing them to maneuver their heads in all different angles and directions. They had wide-set eyes, such that they had to turn to peer at you from the side with one at a time.
A pair of ram-like horns curled around the tops and sides of their heads, with the points angled behind them to flank the backs of their necks. Those looked protective, rather than something to be used aggressively. It was kind of like a natural helmet, although I was sure they could give a mean headbutt if needed. They were covered with what I initially took for coarse, bristly fur, but as we grew closer I noticed that it had an appearance closer to threads of glass, like some kind of fiber optics.
So, they were sort of like… techno-goat-giraffe-centaurs, but smaller. The tallest among them was about five feet. Really, they were nothing like any of those things. I probably shouldn’t have even tried for that one. Forget I mentioned it.
The one Nuralie had marked for us tingled my Diplomacy skill, confirming the loson’s theory that this one had the highest social standing. He’d been shouting at his peers in a disturbing mix of organic beats and metallic tones, gesticulating wildly with a heavy tool of some kind, but he went silent and lowered his arm as he noticed us. The odd, glassy bristles of his coat stood on end, growing white hot and dumping heat into the air. The space around him rippled in waves as a thousand fiery embers flew out from the ‘fur’ to scatter into the air like molten fireflies. When they all swooped around to fly off in an organized flock, I realized they were some kind of creature, not just immolated material.
Despite the dazzling display, the fireflies fled away from us, making the move feel non-threatening. The body language of the technician was also much calmer than it had been when addressing his fellows. He? She? They turned their head and ran a discerning eye over me and Varrin, the rectangular pupil dilating. After a second they placed the tool they’d been waving into a metal loop along one of several bandoliers they wore, then wiped their hands off on their stomach. Whatever had been soiling them burned off in a puff of smoke when contacting their fur.
All the technicians had gone silent. Since we were no longer falling, my ears were also adjusting to the sudden absence of wind whipping past. When added together, the tunnel took on an eerie atmosphere, broken only by the soft sounds rattling out from the devices the techs had been working on–churning gears, hissing steam, and an intermittent whine.
[I am consistently amazed at how ill-considered some of your plans are.]
“I need solutions, Grotto, not insults.”
[Open a portal to the armory and I will send Throne through to you. As I said, her vocal projector is capable of producing this sort of execrable racket.]
“You want me to let Throne do the translating?”
[Do you have a better idea?]
The lead technician had begun making a few distorted bleating noises at me. They were speaking at a much more reasonable volume than they had with their own people. Varrin cleared his throat beside me.
“Fuck it, we’ll roll the dice.”
Throne’s psychic presence appeared, feeling like it was shoved unceremoniously into the connection. {Wait, what’s going on right now? Why am I being pulled into this with ZERO context? Grotto, we’ve discussed this. You can’t just teleport me around without any–}
I’d opened my portal just before Throne had begun her mental tirade, and her modified android body was practically flung through it. “–freaking warning!” she shouted, finishing her thought aloud as she tumbled out. I grabbed her before she started falling, but she quickly shook me off and hovered on her own.
Throne had built herself a humanoid body a while back, although hers wasn’t organic like Grotto’s. It was person-shaped, but clearly mechanical. Her stature, mixed with a few bright color choices, made her look like a cyborg gnome. She crossed her little arms and her head turned all the way around to scowl at me.
Varrin was face palming, while the technicians were looking up at us serenely. They didn’t seem bothered at all by this.
“Oh, it’s a Subcapra Amalgamation,” she said, head whipping around to look at our new friends. She made a series of soul-shaking utterances while giving them a jerky wave. She added an odd hand gesture to the end, which the techs seemed to appreciate. They returned the gesture while bobbing against the wall using their four legs. Throne’s head turned all the way back around to me. “Okay, whaddya need?”
“The System sent us here to meet these folks,” I said, sharing the relevant part of the message.
Primary objective: Ensure the Chasm remains under System control. Perform repairs as needed. To advance this objective, provide aid to the nearby native System technicians.
“Please introduce us,” I continued, “let them know the System sent us, and try to find out what kind of aid they need, if any.” Throne nodded, which looked very strange with her head on backwards, then spun back forward. I placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her head to spin back around. “Also, please try to be cordial about it.”
“Cordial?” she said, both metallic eyebrows shooting up into her puffy hair. “Listen, you don’t do cordial with Subcapras. Just let me do the talking and we’ll be good.”
She spun back before I could reply, and I decided not to interrupt her again. Instead, I focused on the idea that the Core wasn’t about to start a war or something. I willed that dream to manifest and become reality as she spoke with the techs over the next several minutes. The faith in my dream began to waver after another few minutes, and after twenty full minutes of incomprehensible discourse had gone by, I was plain frustrated.
“Throne,” I said. She held up a hand, finished her bassy scream, and turned back to me.
“Yeah?” she asked, looking annoyed.
“Can you keep me in the loop here?”
“Whaddya mean?”
“Just let me know what everyone is saying.”
“How often?”
“Frequently. Let me know what’s going on every few sentences.”
“That sounds like a lot of hassle.”
“It’s not,” I said, also getting annoyed. “This is how translators work.”
“Ohhhh, you want me to act like a translator!”
“What–” I said through clenched teeth, before stopping and taking a deep breath. “What did you think you were doing here?”
“Uh, you said I should introduce us and get to know them.”
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“No, I said–” I took another breath. “What have you all been talking about?”
“Well, Bououououmbagahaha here just had his eighth child, and his ritual castration went really well.”
“They castrated his eighth child?” I asked, making a face.
“What? No! Hells, man, are you sicko or something?”
“You just said they castrated him!”
“They castrated Bououououmbagahaha, not his son. In their culture it’s considered good luck to sterilize themselves after having their 8th kid. Fuck, man, who would castrate a baby?”
“That’s why I thought it was shocking!” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose to center myself. “How about this, did you figure out what they need help with?”
“Oh yeah, we covered that, like, fifteen minutes ago.”
Varrin floated closer, holding one of his massive hands out towards Throne, fingers spread open wide. “May I crush her head?” he asked.
“No, we need her.”
“Man, loosen that codpiece a little will ya?” said Throne, glancing at his crotch and shaking her head. After looking back up at Varrin’s menacing helm and giving things a second of thought, she floated back away from him a few more feet. “These guys really like me right now, by the way, so smashing me in front of them wouldn’t go very well for you.”
“Throne, don’t turn the natives against us,” I said.
“I’m not!” Throne threw her hands up. It felt like the gesture was mistimed to her protests. “I just made sure they knew I’m super cool and indispensable and that you’ve been holding me against my will for almost a year now.”
“Throne–” I began, but she cut me off.
“I’m just kidding, you bozo. We’re in good with them–all of us–but the boys here like a little back and forth before they get down to business. I just made sure they went both ways, and now they’re ready for you to slide right in there, big man.”
I ignored the Core’s phrasing. “When you say ‘the boys’ I assume you mean they’re all men?”
“Yeah. You can’t tell?” She pointed at one of the techs to our right. “I mean, look at the gelding scar on that one! It’s impressive work.”
I did not look at the man’s gelding scar, although I noted that he likely had 8 children. “Right, sure. What do they need help with?”
She nodded briskly. Something clattered around inside her head, but she ignored it. “This part of the Stairs is super, super high up, meaning these guys are crazy far away from home right now. They were out here investigating some minor mana overloads, and when they decided it was time to go back home, they found out the way was blocked off by some nasty monsters that had moved into the ironworks.”
“Ironworks?”
“Yeah, the Dark Ironworks is below this level and spans a few hundred square miles. It’s the safest path back home for them, since it’s not like they can take the Dynamo tunnel! That’d turn them to jelly in about 0.3 seconds, ya know? Anyway, apparently the ironworks is crawling with bad guys in need of some violent education.”
“Dynamo tunnel? What’s that?”
“Why would you think I know? I’ve got no idea! They just told me about it.”
Varrin tapped his fingers on the hilt of kazandak. “Tell us about the Dark Ironworks,” he said. “I presume it is a storage facility for dark iron?”
“Ugh, that sounds like a lot of work. How about I just turn on my auto-translate and you can get the story straight from the Subcapras.”
“Has that been an option this whole time?”
“Yeah, of course. You think this vocalizer is one way? This fucker’s got eight separate channels, and those are just the ones that make sound.”
Varrin floated forward again and I placed a hand on his chest. “It’s not worth it,” I whispered to him, before turning back to Throne. “Please activate your auto-translate and ask the technicians to give us the rundown on the ironworks.”
“Sure thing, boss man!”
Throne’s head did a full 360, then her jaw unhinged and a fist-sized speaker popped out of her throat, shaped like an octahedron. The Subcapras began muttering to one another in what sounded like fascination, and after a few seconds of crackling noise, words began playing out from the speaker as it started translating the techs.
“Hello,” I said, raising a hand in greeting. The machine equivalent was an abrupt thunk. “Well met. Our friend Throne says you need help with some monsters in your ironworks. Could you please tell us more about that?”
The technicians looked from the speakers to me as the words translated. Then the lead one spoke.
“For such a handsome Dropper, you sound like a stodge. Toss it.”
“Toss it?” I asked.
“How do you feel about juice?”
I frowned and squinted at Throne, wondering if she was playing another joke on me. I decided to go with it and see what happened.
“I love juice.”
“Name your top three.”
“Apple, guava, tomato,” I rattled off. “You?”
“We’re drifting above ‘tomato’ like it’s no thing?” asked the tech. “Fine. I like boomberry and glisten. No third, since those two are all I need.” He shook his horned head, scattering another swarm of fireflies. “Tomato’s a veggie, Dropper, not a juice maker.”
“Add a touch of salt, some carrot, and maybe a little hot sauce. It’s good, I promise.” I waggled my hand. “Some people like a stick of celery, but I think that’s gross so I don’t do it.”
The lead technician turned and pointed at one of his fellows. “Got that?”
“What’s hot sauce?” the tech asked in reply. “I got a whole row of cold sauce, but no hot.”
“Spicy!” said the leader, whose name I was mentally shortening from Bououououmbagahaha to Bo. “It’s got capsaicin, an oil that bonds to your buds and makes it hurt.”
“Why would you want juice to hurt?”
“I dunno, that’s why you’re documenting.” Bo turned back to me. “Tomato,” he grumbled, shaking more fireflies loose. “The ironworks are for the beetles. We don’t mess unless the System asks. Couldn’t get into most of it. There’s three corridors down through it, but they all pass by maintenance tunnels in case something deep inside there gets broken. Beetles can’t fixit, so sometimes we fixit. All of ‘em are blocked by some bunch of Droppers stealing up the dark iron.”
“Stupid,” said another of the techs. “Like stealing rocks. The stuff’s everywhere.”
“They won’t let you through?” I asked.
“They ate Jumbackawackajambig!” said Bo.
“Ate him right up!” said another.
“Like a grub tart!” said a third.
I started to give them my condolences, but thought better of it. “What do you mean when you say ‘Droppers’?”
“Came from above,” said Bo. “They drop in, just like you did. Droppers.” He made a hand gesture that the speakers rapidly translated to “I didn’t decide on that dumb name, but it’s sticky so we’re stuck with it.”
“Then the people in the ironworks came from above, like us?”
“It’s in the name,” said Bo. “Yes.”
“Are you bunch going to eat us too?!” asked another of the techs. Then the man made a screeching noise that didn’t translate.
“No, we don’t eat organisms capable of using technology.”
“They’d still eat Branshanadahadaghee, then,” one of the techs whispered. The others bleated in agreement.
Varrin leaned in towards me and spoke softly, “This sounds like they are describing a group of the United.”
I nodded my agreement before continuing. “Can you tell us anything else about these guys?”
“Who said they’re guys?” asked Bo.
“People,” I corrected.
“People say they’re guys? What people?”
I tugged at my beard in exasperation. “Can you tell us anything else about these people?”
“The ones who said that they’re guys?”
“No, I–”
Bo whooped and the others all joined in while banging against their slanted platforms.
“It’s a joke, we’re not stupid,” said Bo, mouth hanging wide. I started to suspect they really did get along great with Throne. “They were eating the bugs, too,” he continued. “We ran away after that. Are you sexually active?”
I once again glanced at Throne, unsure about whether that last part was a proper translation. I figured I was committed at this point.
“Yes, I fuck.”
“Hells yes, brother,” said Bo. He bared his flat teeth and let his tongue loll out one side. “Do people say they’re guys?”
“Not usually, no.”
There was another round of bleats and clangs before Bo raised a fist, silencing the rest. “Come on, we’ll show you where to find them. Talk more about the ironworks on the way.”
The rest of the techs started gathering up their tools and hanging them through the loops on their bandoliers. One of the Subcapras started taking tools out of the loops where they were already hanging and rearranging them. That one kept looking at the others like he was afraid he’d run out of time, but I had no idea what he was doing.
Bo started walking down his platform, making it look as easy as a stroll down a flat sidewalk. As he went, another of the techs waved me over to him. I started to float closer, then paused to grab Throne and bring her along.
“Yeah?” I asked once we were within a few feet of one another. I could feel heat coming off the man like he was a bonfire.
“I’ve got dried umbilical cords,” he said.
I ran my tongue over my teeth, trying to determine how one responded to that statement. I eventually decided on, “I see.”
“Oh, okay,” said the tech, who then began shuffling away down the tunnel wall without explanation.
Yet another tech came over and looked at me with one dilated eye, chin raised. I pulled out my fireproofing oil and started rubbing it into my sizzling beard.
“You don’t want an umbilical?” he asked.
“I, uh, wouldn’t know what to do with one.”
“You’ve got a stomach, yeah?”
“Are–” I began, but my question got caught in my throat. The surreal nature of my current circumstances began to drill its way into my brain. “Are you supposed to eat them?” I finally asked.
“What? No!” said the Subcapra. He blinked his eye, then turned his head so that his other eye was facing me. “No! Why would you do that?! Disgusting!” He shook his head, dislodging some of the sparkling fireflies, then trundled down behind the others.
I hovered there for a moment, completely bewildered. Varrin gave me a pitying look, then patted my shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “We should go and see these foes for ourselves.”
“Sure,” I replied, slowly. “Sounds good.”