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Da Cybork Menace Chapta 13 | |
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Chapta 13 |
Mek Morbog Shaftbender
was obsessed with the armoured walking machines known to humans as
dreadnoughts. Orks on the other hand referred to them simply as ‘kans’ to
match their appearance. Most were quite literally large metal canisters
fitted with legs and arms with built in
weapons. The only problem was that
Morbog could never bring himself to sell any of his creations. Every
dreadnought that he had built, from the small ‘killa-kans’ meant for
gretchin up to the massive ‘mega-dreads’ that could rip apart the heaviest
of armoured vehicles and thickest building walls was here in his combined
workshop and warehouse. Morbog himself was unable to operate the deadly
fighting machines himself, that required that a greenskin be permanently
wired into them, and that required the skills of a painboy. Early on he,
like many meks, had attempted to just nail a pilot in place, but they
tended to bleed to death rather quickly. Unwilling to let anyone else near
the inner workings of his precious dreadnoughts he had instead left them
to stand empty and kept their existence secret from everyone other than
his gretchin, and they knew better than to risk their masters ire by
talking about his collection. The secret was thus kept safe. At least
until the day when Stoggi discovered a window he could prise open and
crawl through. Dok Gutstitch’s
instructions had been to seek out new sources of bionics for his army, and
the other gretchin had all rushed off to see if any of the other painboys
had left any lying around. Stoggi on the other hand had gone to what he
reasoned was the original source, the meks who made them. What he hadn’t
expected to find was an army of empty dreadnoughts just waiting for a
painboy to place pilots inside them. As Stoggi crawled once
more through the unsecured window he could see Mek Morbog working. Whether
he was creating yet another dreadnought for his collection, or was
carrying out one of the jobs he took on to pay for his hobby, Stoggi
neither knew nor cared. All he cared about was getting inside the workshop
without being noticed. If the mekboy spotted him, Stoggi would probably
wind up dead. Carefully, Stoggi lowered
himself down from the window and crawled under the nearest workbench.
Peering out from his hiding place, Stoggi could see the mek still busy at
his task, unaware of his presence. Stoggi looked around the entire
workshop for the mek’s assistants, but there was no sign of any of them.
That was good. What Dok Gutstitch had planned would go easier if they
didn’t have to worry about preventing an unknown number of gretchin from
fleeing. Stoggi crawled out from under the workbench and crept towards the
front door. The hammering from Mek
Morbog suddenly stopped, and Stoggi feared that the ork had become aware
of his presence. The gretchin froze in terror, but turning to face the
ork, he saw that the mek was still engrossed in his work. His heart still
pounding, Stoggi continued to sneak towards the
door. Dok Gutstitch had parked
the large tracked vehicle immediately outside the door to the workshop of
Mek Morbog. The vehicle was open topped, and he knew that the
squig-brained orks filling its rear area were visible to passers by.
However, while these particular orks had been surgically modified, he had
not had enough bionics available to give these orks the benefit of them.
Thus to the few orks actually wandering the orks in the vehicle appeared
to be nothing more than battled scared veterans. They were un-naturally
quiet for orks, and all of them had metal plates fitted to the tops of
their heads, but there were few greenskins who would be capable of
noticing that, especially in the fading light available, and so Dok
Gutstitch did not fear attracting any unwanted
attention. Gutstitch decided that he
had given Stoggi enough time to get inside and climbed down from the
vehicle. He took a look around, and seeing that the street was empty he
determined that it was time to move. “Right grots,” he said to
the gretchin assistants that had brought with him in addition to the orks,
“lets get da lads down from da trakk.” The squig-brained orks
had all been conditioned to follow the orders of Dok Gutstitch so when he
told them to get down from the vehicle they instinctively obeyed him.
After they jumped down to the snow covered street his gretchin guided the
orks towards the workshop door where Dok Gutstitch ordered them to
halt. Right on cue, with Dok
Gutstitch standing at the front of the assembled mob of orks, the workshop
door was opened from the inside. Mek Morbog heard the
sound of the bolt being drawn back form the front door and stopped what he
was doing. Spinning rapidly around he saw a gretchin dragging open his
front door, and he knew that it wasn’t one of
his. “’Ere!” he yelled,
picking up the nearest tool that he had to hand and rushing towards the
intruder, “Wot da bleedin ‘ell do ya think ya doin’
‘ere?” Ignoring him, Stoggi
continued to pull the door open. Taking careful aim, Mek Morbog hurled the
tool he held towards the gretchin, and Stoggi squealed and fell, clutching
at his knee as it fell low and struck him
hard. Mek Morgob strode
forcefully across his clutter workshop, knocking various tools and
components out of his way as he did so. Some of them broke as they fell to
the floor with a clatter, but the ork ignored this. As he came close to
getting within arms reach of the gretchin lying on his floor the door was
pushed fully open from the outside. There in the doorway Mek
Morgob saw Dok Gutstitch standing at the front of a tightly packed group
of heavily scarred orks and he came to a sudden halt. Dok Gutstitch raised
his arm and pointed at the mekboy. “Kill ‘im,” he said, and
the orks began to move. Mek Morgob picked up the
first thing that came to hand, a sharpened tool he had long since
forgotten the reason for building, and hurled it at the nearest ork. It
struck him just above the eye, and his head jerked backwards as it punched
through his skull. But where Mek Morgob would have normally expected there
to be a spurt of blood and for the ork to drop to the floor screaming
before he died, the ork kept on coming towards him without even bothering
to pull the tool out. Mek Morgob grabbed the
workbench nearest to him and, heaving, he tipped it over to create a
barrier between him and the steadily advancing mob of orks. Tools and
parts that had been heaped on the workbench were thus scattered across the
floor only to be trampled underfoot by the approaching horde while Mek
Morgob turned to retreat further into his
workshop. He ran as far as a
welding torch driven by a gas cylinder. Quickly, he activated the flow of
gas and struck the nozzle of the torch against a tinder block attached to
the cylinder specifically to create a spark that ignited the gas now
flowing from the cylinder. He placed a hand around the front of the torch
and, ignoring the pain of the hot metal against his skin he twisted the
nozzle hard and opened it up. The small blue cutting flame promptly became
a much larger orange one that he held up towards his
opponents. “Come den!” he yelled,
“Who’s first to get cooked den?” The group that had been
advancing towards him suddenly halted, the primitive squig brains
implanted in their skulls driven by their primal fear of fire rather then
the conditioning put into them to obey Dok
Gutstitch. Seeing the advance falter
Dok Gutstitch modified his instructions. “Spread out a bit!” he
shouted, “Surround ‘im!” As Mek Morgob stood
waving the torch the squig-brained orks moved both around and over the
clutter of the workshop and formed a ring several orks deep around Mek
Morgob. Each time he turned to wave his weapon towards one particular part
of the ring it would take a step backwards and give him more room, but at
the same time the orks now behind him would take advantage of the chance
to move closer. Mek Morgob suddenly
lunged forwards, and the flame caught one of the orks surrounding him. The
ork was suddenly engulfed in fire as his clothing caught alight. The tiny
brain implanted by Dok Gutstitch panicked as it found itself unable to
escape the flames surrounding it but it remained eerily silent as it
burned. Instead the brain just flailed the orks arms it now controlled and
tried to flee, but in its state of confusion it moved closer to Mek
Morgob. The flailing limbs of the
burning ork struck Mek Morgob, first across his head and then on his arm,
causing the welding torch that had been his only weapon to drop from his
grip. The ring of orks parted as their burning comrade barged through to
try and escape his predicament, and then closed up again around the now
defenceless Mek Morgob. The mek reached out to
try and retrieve his lost weapon, but with the grip of the welding torch
just out of his reach he felt the hands of the orks behind him grab his
neck and pull him towards them. Mek Morgob cried out in pain as the first
foot stomped down on his leg and broke it with a loud ‘crunch’. The next
blow came from a fist that smashed his nose, followed by another kick to
the side of his head that knocked him out
cold. Mek Morgob remained
unconscious as the mob surrounding him tore his body to
pieces. From his position in the
doorway Dok Gutstitch watched as the squig-brained orks continued beating
the corpse of Mek Morgob and turned to the gretchin standing beside
him. “Ya better put ‘im out
quick, before ‘e sets fire to anythin’ important,” he said, pointing at
the still burning ork. Then he heard a groan from nearby, and he saw
Stoggi still lying on the floor clutching at his ruined knee. Then he
looked across the workshop at the various dreadnoughts arrayed
there. “Don’t worry grot,” Dok
Gutstitch said to Stoggi, “ya did good, and I got just da reward in mind
for ya,” and then he grinned. The next morning Hazug
awoke to the sound of more gunfire than was usual for so early, and from
the sound of it some was heavier than the expected small arms. He got out
of bed and went to the window, then, throwing open the shutters he looked
out onto the snow covered city beyond. To look at it, there was nothing
out of the ordinary until he caught sight of a flash followed by the dull
‘crump’ of an explosion coming from the area of the city favoured by orks
of the Death Skulls clan. “I needs me breakfast
quick!” he shouted looking back over his shoulder, “I reckon dat
somethin’s goin’ on,” then he collected his blade, pistol, rifle and some
extra ammunition from his armoury and headed
downstairs. In the kitchen Rhia and
Sophie had already had Hazug’s breakfast waiting for him. He set his rifle
down on the table, picked up the plate of mushrooms and tipped them into
his mouth. “What’s happening?”
Sophie asked him. “Dunno,” Hazug replied,
spitting mushrooms across the table as he did so before he swallowed what
remained in his mouth, “but it aint normal for dare to be so much shootin’
at dis time. Most lads should still be in bed. So everyone needs to get
into da trukk cause we is goin’ to see if da boss knows wot’s goin’
on.” Ratish pricked his ears
up. “Ratish get ‘is gun
master,” he said excitedly. “Just ‘urry up,” Hazug
said, “and that goes for you two an’ all,” he added staring at Rhia and
Sophie,” get wot ya needs quickly and get in da trukk or I is leavin’
without ya.” While his servants dashed
off to collect whatever belongings they thought they needed Hazug went
into the garage and started up his truck, there being a couple of false
starts in the cold weather before the engine fired
correctly. Though the snow on the roofs of the buildings had looked clean and white when Hazug had looked from his window that morning, on the streets it was different. As gretchin had cleared the snow form the roads it had become mixed with dirt and piled in alleyways and the sides of the streets, so instead of the being a white covering over the ground there were instead piles of dirty looking snow and ice scattered randomly. With the roads at least clear of snow, and there being few greenskins about at this time of day, Hazug was able to make good time through the city, and they soon arrived at Warboss Kromag’s palace. Climbing down form the truck after he parked it immediately outside, Hazug noticed Rhia staring up at the massive building, in particular at the double headed eagle of the Imperial Aquila that was still just visible from behind the ork glyphs that had been stuck over it. “Wot’s up?” he asked, but Rhia didn’t answer before another human, a man that Hazug had seen here several times before in the service of Kazkal Kromag approached them flanked by a pair of orks in the traditional black garb of the Goffs clan. “Ah Hazug,” he said, “it appears that there have been several disturbances in the city overnight, his excellence Lord Kromag will be glad to see you.” The idea that Kazkal Kromag would ever be glad to see anyone who wasn’t bringing him food or the opportunity to kill someone was somewhat ludicrous to Hazug, but he let the comment pass. “Den ya better take us straight to ‘im,” he replied instead and, still escorted by the Goffs, the human led Hazug and his servants into the presence of Kazkal Kromag. The warboss did not look happy. His group of advisors and lackeys were not awake yet, and aside from Hazug there was only one other nob in the room beside the warboss himself. Hazug didn’t recognise this ork, but the blue face paint he wore marked him as a Death Skull. He stood facing the warboss with a slightly smaller ork wearing the apron of a painboy beside him and a mob of Goffs immediately behind them both. “Hazug Throatslitter of the Blood Axe clan and party sire,” the human announced as they entered the throne room, and Hazug was surprised to see that the warboss actually did smile as though he were pleased to see him when he looked towards them. “Ah Hazug me lad,” Warboss Kromag said loudly, getting up to greet Hazug, “come and ‘ave a listen to dis,” and he waved Hazug forwards as he sat down again. As Hazug approached closer to the warboss’s throne Kromag pointed to the pair of orks standing before him. “Dese two is da one’s dat started all da trouble late last night,” he said, then he looked back at the other two orks, “Go on, tell Hazug wot ya told me.” “Well,” the painboy began, “I found dat some of me bionik bits was missin’ from me surgery, and when I asked around loads of other painboys said dat da same thing ‘ad ‘appened to dem too. Now everyone knows dat Death Skulls is da biggest load of thieves dare is, so we went round to see ‘em and get me property back, and dat’s when ‘e started it all,” and the painboy pointed at the Death Skull. “I didn’t
start it,” Death Skull argued, I just pointed out dat dare’s no such thing
as stealin’ cos da idea of private property is an artificial creation of a
self appointed elite designed to undermine da ancient tradition of finders
keepers. Den ‘e started it.” “Let me guess,” Hazug said, “den it all just spiralled out of control from dare.” “Dare’s been loads of shootin’, and quite a few buildin’s ‘ave been wrecked,” Kromag said, “I ‘ad da Goff’s bash enough ‘eads together to quieten stuff down to normal now, but dat don’t change wot’s already ‘appened,” and then he stared directly at the painboy and the Death Skull, “It’s me wot says when dare’s serious killin’ to be done, not either of you, so I is finin’ ya both all ya teeth, includin’ wot’s in ya mouths. Ya can do da job of pullin’ ‘em out ya self,” he adding looking at the painboy,” now get out me sight.” The Goff guards dragged the two orks out of the throne room and Kromag turned his attention back to Hazug. “Da Goffs tell me dat no one’s found any of da missin’ bionics yet, “ he said,” and dey ‘ave ‘ad a good in a lot of da Death Skulls mob ‘uts. So it don’t look like it was dem.” “It was Gutstitch,” Hazug said, “we caught some of ‘is grots after dey ‘ad nicked dat arm, ‘e must ‘ave sent da rest out to nick some more.” “Dat’s wot I was thinkin’,” Warboss Kromag replied, “so we needs to find ‘im quick. Do ya reckon dat ya can follow dem tracks we saw yesterday no dat its light again?” “I could,”
Hazug said, “but I reckon dat it’d be a waste of time.” “Well cause
‘e’s been gone from dare for ages, a full day I reckon. Besides I reckon
dat I know where ‘e is.” “’E’s ‘ere.” “Wot do ya mean ‘ere?” “’E’s in da city,” Hazug said. “Wot makes ya think dat den?” “Cause ‘e’s obviously sendin’ out lots of grots to nick da stuff wot ‘e needs to make more cyborks, and dey would ‘ave to be able to carry it to ‘im before anyone noticed dat it was gone and started lookin’ for it.” “So ‘ow do we find ‘im in da city?” Warboss Kromag asked. Hazug thought for a moment and scratched his head. “Dare might be a way,” Hazug said cautiously. “Go on,” Warboss Kromag urged him. “But it’ll
cost.” “Not mush,” Hazug answered, and Warboss Kromag gave a sigh of relief,” about five teeth should do it, and I’ll need somethin’ dat belonged to Gutstitch an’ all, somethin’ dat was looted yesterday should do fine.” Hazug parked his truck on the street near the weird huts. Each of the wooden huts was mounted high atop a copper pole that served to safely discharge the psychic energies of their occupants into the ground where it rendered harmless, if much less interesting. It was the nearest hut that Hazug was interested in and, leaving his servants in the truck, he walked straight towards it. Getting closer he saw that the pole on which this hut was mounted still bore the damage inflicted when a buggy driven by Mek Batrug had crashed into it owing to a combination of poor steering and non-existent brakes. “Drazzok!” Hazug shouted upwards when he reached the ladder leading up to the hut itself. There was no reply, so Hazug shouted again, “Drazzok wake up ya lazy sod!” “Wot d’ya want?” came a voice from above, but it wasn’t from Drazzok’s hut. Looking around, Hazug saw that another weird boy was leaning out of his hut and looking back down at him. “I is lookin’ for Drazzok,” Hazug shouted at the weirdboy. “Well ‘e aint
in,” the weirdboy answered, “’e’s gone to work already.” “’E reckoned dat ‘e needed more teeth so dese lat few day’s ‘e’s been goin’ to da job poles each day.” Hazug was puzzled. The job poles were simple wooden poles that orks pinned notices to when they needed to hire someone to help them with something. But no one in their right mind would ever hire a weirdboy for anything. Weirdboys were kept away from normal orks for the good reason that it prevented heads exploding randomly. Anyone who really needed a weirdboy came here to find one; otherwise they tended to stay as far away from them as possible. “Wot da ‘ell is ‘e doin’ at da job poles?” Hazug asked. “Like I said, ‘e’s workin’,” the weirdboy replied, “don’t ya listen?” “But workin’ at wot?” “I dunno dat, ‘e aint said. But wotever ‘e’s doin’ ‘e’s makin’ loads of money.” Hazug returned to the nearby truck. “Where’s Drazzok?” Sophie asked when she saw him alone. “Not ‘ere obviously,” Ratish snapped, but everyone ignored him. “Apparently ‘e’s got ‘imself a job,” Hazug said as he got back into the truck. |
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