I left the bug priestess to her devices, despite being unsatisfied with the meager answers I’d gotten from her. But pushing the issue further wouldn’t get them for me. It would just push them further away as the Midnighters withdrew. But that didn’t stop me from dwelling on the encounter for the next several days. The scientist side of me hated not knowing. There was knowledge to be gained, new fields to explore. The fact that they had access to see possible futures as well as what had happened in the past… It defied logic. Which, I guess, that’s what magic is at a fundamental level: a defiance of logic.
Still, I wondered how far could they apply their concepts? Could they see the surface of Raphina 1,000 years ago? The creation of the planet? With a powerful enough sorceress and telescope, could they look at the primordial creation of the universe? As much as I disdained the secrecy and the hoarding of knowledge, the Midnighters were not only a major military might on Rava, but they were at least as advanced as humans and elves—albeit in different ways. I needed them in my corner. But I also needed to fulfill my obligation to Lura Sunskin.
I wrenched on the outside of a jet engine with Promo while Tamaho worked on the interior.
“The null-devil devours magic, both natural and spun by the peoples of this world. It seeks to enter The City as it was built upon the largest natural magic spring in Lanclova.” Tamaho explained. “This spring sustains the Ifrit in the city. They can repel it for a time, but it always eventually returns.”
I fitted a fan blade into place on the compressor and waited as Promo secured it. ‘Secured’ is a strong word, since it still rattled quite loose in its fitting. On Earth that meant a non-serviceable engine. For goblins, it just meant a little wiggle-room. “So what about you and the other Ifrit here? Don’t you also need it?”
“There are few enough of us here that the natural ambient magic suffices. It is not an offering of luxury, but we gladly accept the leaning provisions for the chance to gorge in your artifice.”
“Well, if this works, you’ll be eating plenty. If we can get a radio set up in the City of Brass, Ifrit can come and go as they please. I just wish we could count on support from the city itself.”
A pale blue flame licked out of a relief valve, as though Tamaho waved the notion away. “Too stuck in their ways and their walls, King Apollo. They would not believe such a thing could be done—though your wish to aid they who turned their vessels from you is admirable. All the more reason we must show them.”
I nodded, pulling back and wiping the grease off my face. “This one’s done. Let’s get it down to the ground.”
The interceptors and heavy fighters had proven themselves in the battle against the night haunt nest and the last of the elven commandos. They were much more capable in air-to-air engagements than the helicopters and the gliders, though we’d still lost over a third of our fleet in the process. That just meant an opportunity for improvement and iteration, The third generation of fighters were the ones I built for the orcs. These were the aircraft Lura Sunskin and her hunters would take into the sky in order to hunt the greatest trophy beast in Lanclova. And she’d be backed up by Tribe Apollo. As much as she vexed me during the Stampede with her ploys, jibes, and machinations, I liked Lura. Her competitive nature resonated with my own, and I wanted to see her come out the other side of this.
That meant, first and foremost, a plane that didn’t explode when she started the engine up.
I watched as the gen-2 jet fighter was strapped up and lifted onto the back of a flatbed buggy so that it could be taken to the base of the cliff. The bluff was abuzz with energy. All hands had been working on this project in some way, whether it was Sally designing the new parts and systems, Buzz shoring up cranes and transport infrastructure, or Hadfield sending a higher volume of kerosene from Huntsville. Promo and his igni had worked tirelessly fabricating and heat-shaping the frames and skins of the aircraft from steel and the metallic leather of the whistler hide.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
I rode the freight elevator down with the jet, to where the rest of the fleet waited under the shelter of meager hangars. We had sixteen of the goblin-driven jets plus one heavier command and control craft, and now eight additional jets designed for orc pilots. The lanky creatures wouldn’t fit in the cramped cockpits of an interceptor, or even the seats of a hobgoblin heavy fighter. But that also meant goblins and hobbies would struggle to pilot the new craft. Sourfang and several members of the Flock were already down at the air strip, waiting for us to finish this last orc fighter. They’d be piloting the jets on our way down south. Eileen and Chuck were preflighting the rest of the fleet and getting it ready to get underway.
There were also about 500 other goblins all turned out to watch the spectacle, instead of working like they should be. Most of them were probably looking for a chance to stow away. Well, at least we didn’t want for volunteers. Swing a bucket once, fill it twice and all that.
The crowd started to hoot and cheer when they saw the buggy rolling up with the final jet—or maybe it was for their king riding it. I stood up on the top of the aircraft and waved, which just about sent the crowd into a frenzy. Armstrong’s scrappers were lined up trying to maintain a perimeter, but half of them had their necks craned to watch the spectacle as well.
We pulled the buggy into the ramp, and I hopped down so that the aircraft could be unloaded and prepped. I went over to where Sourfang stood with his hunters and the keeper that had accompanied us. The old orc woman spun her beads between her fingers.
“Is Lura ready for us?” I asked.
Keeper offered a sly smirk and lowered the beads into my reach. “Rather would you listen for yourself, again?”
I held my palms up and away. “I’ll leave the orc magic to the orcs, I think. We’ll stick to radios.”
“At the salt flats, Lura awaits your iron wings. And with great patience, she has bade me remind you.”
“Look, developing an advanced aerospace program in a few weeks isn’t like baking flatbread, you know,” I said. I sputtered as the beads began to spin in Keeper’s fingers. “Don’t tell her I said that!”
Sourtooth limped up. “That huntress has spite enough without your words to rile, little brother.” He offered his wrist, and I took it. “Fair winds or such nonsense.”
“Thanks, Sourtooth. I wish you were coming with us.”
The sour old orc spat on the ground. “I’ve no wish to know the face of the null-devil. Tis a youthful folly, and mine own youth drained long ago—and urged much of my hair along for its company.” His face twisted up, as though something pained him. “But the bluff will be lessened, absent your countenance, little brother.”
“Sourtooth!” I said, faux-gasping with a hand over my mouth. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
One of the other Flock hunters muttered something that sounded like “Nicest thing he’s said to any of us,” and the old orc whipped around, all camaraderie replaced by his customary grimace.
“Be glad you’re riding yon winged chariot, cur. Tis more ample a punishment than I could conjure.”
I whistled for attention and gave the mount up gesture, to much cheering.
“You’re sure the Tech Tree skills are transferrable?” I asked Sourtooth again.
“Oh, aye. A mount’s a mount, be it beast or twin turbid. Cunning pilots, the lads will make. Make no mistake—this flock you’ve given wings.”
Just to be safe, I had a wrangler riding co-pilot with each of Sourtooth’s boys. The orc and hobgoblin teams went to their aircraft. Armstrong cast a glance at the interceptors that were much too small for a scrapper, especially one of his size. “I guess I’ll be seeing you on the other side, boss,” he said.
“Nah, you’re with me, Armstrong.” I pointed at the largest aircraft on the runway, where Eileen was scrambling up a set of rungs to a high-mounted cockpit over a gun tied down with a dust cover. The barrel protruded through the jaws of a night haunt silvermane skull. I figured if we were going up against a monster with a triple digit level, we were going to need protection against fear.
“For real?” he asked.
“Someone’s got to help me shoot the big gun,” I said.
By the time we made it over, Eileen already had the command and control jet’s three turbine engines spinning up. We scrambled into the lower bay where an entire crew of goblins waited in the fat-bellied beast. Some were gunners, others mechanics. A half-dozen sparkers worked the various electrical and radio systems. If Gemini-II was our assault craft, this was our aerial command station. They all stopped when they saw me climb aboard. “As you were, men!” I called out. “Keep up the exemplary work!” Their backs straightened, and they worked just a little more diligently.
More totems had been stuffed into the bay. I spotted a stone-sloth skull, a trio of javeline skulls, and even the tiny skull of an elf mounted on a pole so slender it vibrated like a macabre bobblehead as Eileen opened up the throttle.
System?
Convenient, considering our task. The totem benefits in the command aircraft affected all of the other jets in the fleet, as long as we kept them within a few kilometers. Which was good, because we were going to need every advantage we had.