Grak_Orc on Vacation Page 6

  “Although I do not share Kordeun’s enthusiasm, I, too, will join you in short order.

  “Until then, I wish you well, Grak.”

  “See ya in a bit, Yocto.”

  The image of my friend faded as I sat back to await their arrival.

  This was a good time for a nap.

  The apartment was filled with representations of interdimensional ships, almost as many ships as there had been awful resortwear shirts when I first came home.

  A sleek corsair that shimmered like new-fallen rain was floating prominently in the living room’s center. There was a bulky tug that looked to be made from the spare parts of other broken-down tugs. There was a formidable, hulkingly brutish ship bristling with weapons. There was an elegant yacht intended for long, exploratory excursions. These were but the first of nine ships that I pulled from Fluxcoil’s archive on the demonic attacks.

  In truth, only a couple of the ships hailed from Alyon. Most had been on their way to Alyon but had never arrived. Their crews had been reported lost or missing from their ports of call.

  Of all the ships, the ones from Alyon stood out the most clearly.

  Mostly because these were the ones that had come back.

  The Alyon ships had failsafes that returned them home via an advanced teleportation system at the first sign of significant, untenable danger to the ship and crew. This threat level was determined by the ship’s governing intelligence.

  Members of these ships, those who had not been devoured before the ships’ return, had survived.

  The crews returned with harrowing tales of a devouring Darkness, videos confirming their testimony, and detailed analyses of the attacks by the ships’ Abstracts.

  The other ships without failsafes akin to those hailing from Alyon had been picked clean.

  The ships themselves and the space station they had been calling upon in the region were left undamaged by the attacks. The demon passed right through the vessels as if they were not there, engulfing passengers within in a burst of living shadow that came and went in the blink of any eye, taking the crew with it.

  Over and over, we replayed the blithely unaware frames of the ship’s internal monitoring systems. Crewmembers were going about their daily business—examining readouts in control chairs, enjoying recreation activities and games, sleeping, eating, working on the ship, and performing tasks ranging from the mundane to the complex—completely ignorant of their impending doom.

  In a flicker, barely visible even when the images were slowed down, a writhing tentacular Darkness, savagely fierce and utterly alien, whipped across the frame in an instant, appearing and disappearing, leaving other crew members none the wiser.

  When the demon left, whoever had been on the screen was gone.

  Kordeun, Yocto, and I looked at each other incredulously.

  “What, by Brendle’s beard, was that?”

  “George”—Kordeun and Yocto smiled as I used the Abstract’s new name—“replay the video showing the crewmember of the ship Muriel’s Grace being taken by the demon.”

  An image of a young human woman walking down a luminous white passageway came into focus before us.

  She appeared to be looking down at something in her hands.

  Since her back was toward us, I could not see what she was holding, but it was probably an interface with Muriel’s Abstract.

  An instant later, a leviathan breaching the ocean’s surface from the depths, rushing upward furiously to feed, a wall of writhing shadows, erupted for part of a blink and then was gone.

  The hallway was now empty.

  The woman was nowhere to be seen.

  “Rewind the video and freeze the image on the demon, George.”

  There was little to see clearly, but whatever was hinted at on the screen was truly fearsome.

  “Enhance the projection, George.”

  The shadow gradually coalesced.

  Though it was too big to be seen entirely in one image, part of a gaping maw surrounded by ship-crushing tentacles was visible.

  “Go to the second image, George.”

  Another crewmember could be seen sitting at a table in the Muriel’s mess hall. This appeared to be an elven wizard in elegant flowing robes.

  As the elf brought a bite of food to his mouth, Darkness rushed across the projection and he, too, was no more.

  “Replay and enhance, George.”

  Part of a massive orifice filled with surging rows of slicing appendages blinked on the representation and was gone.

  “Play the third image, George.”

  A woman was sitting at a command console, adjusting a holographic representation in the air.

  As she reached outward to touch the image, a black mass surged through the bridge, erasing her from the scene as if she had never been there.

  The hologram floated in the room, unaffected by the monster’s passage.

  “Replay and enhance, George.”

  A sweeping mass of blackness, ciliated with minute writhing tendrils shifting in tandem with invisible currents, part of the demon’s body, briefly resolved itself in the air before fleeing back to the nether.

  “George, can you try to recreate a full-body composite of the monster from the images on this and the other ships? And give us a sense of its scale?”

  “One moment, Grak.”

  We waited anxiously.

  My heart felt like it was in my throat, about to burst.

  Kordeun clenched and unclenched his mighty fists.

  Yocto worried his lips, emotions playing across the surface of his skin, without saying a word.

  These were the feelings we felt the entire time watching, suffering mutely through the crews’ tragedies over and over.

  There was too much pain, too much sadness, too much horror in helplessly watching others’ doom.

  The images of the space station, the videos of the ships and their crews that we had been replaying, disappeared. In their place, an amorphous tentacular horror slowly resolved itself.

  The demon was easily the size of a substantial ship.

  Which explained how it could eat multiple crew members from across a vessel in single great thrashing gulps.

  If a giant cephalopod had mated with a crustacean, and the offspring had burst from its shell in a wave of ciliated appendages after being taken over by a ravenous demonic shadow, that would look like a pleasant version of the monstrosity now rotating in the air, its very presence assaulting our senses.

  “That looks like one ugly brute,” Yoctoerg muttered appreciably.

  “Looks like an octopus and a demon got tha worst o’ each other.”

  “A democtopus,” I muttered.

  “Aye. A democtopus.”

  “Whatever that is,” muttered Yoctoerg, “I think I’ll be staying home.”

  “I think I’d rather dive down a dragon’s gullet,” concurred Kordeun.

  16

  Undeterred and focused on the problem at hand, I asked, “What exactly are we looking at, George?”

  “This appears to be an unknown, unclassified entity, sir. There is no record of or reference to such a thing in any of the dataspheres to which I have access.

  “Further, Orthanq is unfamiliar with this creature as well.”

  That was unfortunate.

  No, ‘unfortunate’ was not strong enough.

  That stunk like an unbathed ogre after a full military campaign.

  I had hoped Orthanq might be able to give us some inside information.

  I rallied, asking, “Based on the information retrieved from the ships’ data and their instruments, what can you tell us of it?”

  “This appears to be a Class IV or Class V entity, sir, though the true extent of its capabilities are unclear.”

  “And what does that mean, George?” While Yoctoerg had probably been raised learning entity classes, I had been raised wielding an axe. Species classifications, along with study and understanding, had come much later.

  “Based on
the limited dataset available to us, I would conjecture that this is a greater demon, perhaps a demon lord, capable of jumping between dimensions easily. Other abilities, such as magical aptitude and intelligence, remain unknown.

  “However, for a being to track, target, and waylay interdimensional vessels would suggest intelligence of the highest order. The computations necessary for most interdimensional jumps are extraordinary. Alternatively, if not relying on computation but magic, the skill required to track, locate, and intercept ships moving between dimensions, flying through the void, and warping across space would indicate a spellcaster of the highest order.

  “Such a being should be treated with the utmost respect.

  “And caution.”

  “Ya think yer Wizardin’ tickets are worth ticklin’ that thing’s tonsils, Grak?”

  Kordeun’s skepticism was saying something, since he was one of the few people I could honestly say felt a similar passion for Wizarding as I.

  “You wouldn’t risk a nibble for the chance to go the championships?” I countered.

  “I suppose if my head were as hard as yers, I might. But that thing might be able ta snuff out my magic as easily as it jumps between planes.

  “I’m not quite ready ta be a dwarf snack.

  “Even fer Wizardin’ tickets.”

  I sighed.

  I guessed I’d be going this one alone.

  George and my brother Gruke not included.

  “Kordeun does make a few good points, Grak. If you are still intent upon going, we must not only find a way for you to survive and get you home but to defeat the demon to fight your way out.”

  I looked at Yoctoerg and pursed my lips. “If I’m inside its gullet, then I should be able to pound my way out.”

  Yocto shook his head. “That may not be the case. The magic in your fists and your chainbelt may cause it harm, but it may not. Further, you do not know exactly what is inside such a monster or what will happen to you when you are swallowed.

  “What if its mouth takes you to another dimension?

  “What if all those slicing appendages we saw in its gullet immobilize you and then tear you apart? You will certainly not be able to regenerate faster than you are sliced or crushed.”

  Kordeun nodded. “Ya need a few options in yer pack in case yer others do na work.

  “Somethin’ explosive, fer one.

  “Somethin’ that cuts, fer another.

  “Somethin’ that’ll get ya home as well.”

  “Fluxcoil will be giving me something to teleport me home. And my clothing will offer some protection.”

  Yoctoerg shook his head. “That will not be enough. You will need to be protected from hostile environments. You will need weapons that can work when you cannot. You will need to be able to blast your way home.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  And Yoctoerg and Kordeun told me.

  17

  I must say I was a bit disappointed that I would be going alone.

  I had thought that if anyone would join me, it would be Kordeun. He was indomitable. He was fearless.

  But I respected his willingness to stay true to his own wishes.

  He had come to Alyon years ago to start anew.

  He did not need to leave to begin again.

  He had earned his retirement, and I gladly took his help in whatever form he gave it.

  Yoctoerg was much simpler to understand.

  Yoctoerg had his duties with the city already.

  I was the one the Paratechnologists were willing to risk.

  Working for the city was Yoctoerg’s job.

  Mine was to do its dirty work.

  Maybe Draypheus would like to join me.

  I would hardly know he was along for the ride.

  I looked over to where my bland, sessile roommate lay sleeping on the countertop. He had remained undisturbed through the horrific revelations of the ship attacks. He had remained asleep during our subsequent discussions. He had briefly roused himself to sniff desultorily at the food we had eaten after our discussions. Even the lure of summoned delicacies had not been sufficient to rouse Draypheus from his slumber.

  I wondered what percentage of his life Draypheus spent asleep.

  Ninety-nine?

  Unless he had an active nightlife that I missed while sleeping, Draypheus could not be awake long.

  I studied my hibernating roommate, who was sleeping almost invisibly camouflaged on the countertop. Perhaps his normal state of mind was to sleep. Perhaps Draypheus was some kind of dream warrior who helped protect the city and its Citizens while he dozed. Perhaps he ventured into realms unknown and unconsidered by those of us bound to ordinary consciousness.

  Maybe I needed to give him more credit.

  If he ever wakes up, I’ll have to ask.

  Of course, the world will probably end before he finally wakes, so I may never get an answer to my questions.

  Despite the futility of the question, I asked, feigning more enthusiasm than I felt, “Draypheus, would you like to join me on a vacation? It could be fun! There will be demons and the Macroversal Wizarding Championships! You could tag along and enjoy the excitement! No charge!”

  I hoped the ‘no charge’ part would rouse him from his slumber.

  Draypheus was cheap.

  I knew this because he did not pay rent.

  I let him off easy because I did not pay rent, either.

  I owned the place, such as it was.

  In truth, mysterious payments did sometimes show up in my bank account at times which I attributed to him. These often more than made up for any rent Draypheus might have owed.

  I was pretty sure the payments were from him because, at least before I started receiving payments from the hospital for licensing my healing factor, there had been long periods when no one should be paying me anything.

  Except Draypheus.

  So, using my keen powers of deductive reasoning, those often not being employed on any cases of note, I had arrived at the conclusion that Draypheus, in his lazy fashion, had been erratically sending payments.

  Otherwise, I would have to find another counter for him to sleep on, and that was just too much trouble.

  Much to my complete lack of surprise, Draypheus made no reply to my query.

  Anyone with less keen senses might mistakenly assume he was dead. I knew he would eventually rouse himself to eat any bits of food that I did not want him to touch.

  Such is the way of roommates.

  And Draypheus was a master of the ways of lazy roommatedom.

  If I had to guess, he was the grand master, tenth degree black sash, and keeper of the secret style of ultimate roommate slackness.

  Perhaps he spent his evenings training other slackers in how to be equally slack in their slackness.

  Given his great skill, his services would be in such great demand that he would not have to work otherwise.

  This explained the source of revenue occasionally hitting my bank account.

  It was not that Draypheus did not have the money; it was just that he was too lazy to send it over.

  “Any interest in joining, Dray?” I waited a considerate amount of time, perhaps about half an hour, for a reply. When none was forthcoming, I added, “If you change your mind, let George know. He’s our new roommate and an Abstract.”

  Under my breath, I whispered to George conspiratorially, “Does he even move? Will you be able to detect any reply from him?”

  George replied just as softly, “If I had to guess, I would say he is in a coma.”

  I laughed. George could read Draypheus’s vitals and know otherwise. But I appreciated his joke.

  “If he does rouse from his lazy-induced coma, be sure to let him know the offer stands.”

  “Will do, Grak! I should warn you, however, that he has hardly moved since I was installed.”

  I grunted. “Sounds about right. In fact, relative to the norm, I would say he’s been pretty active of late.

&nb
sp; “He may be training to get back in shape.”

  “If you say so, sir.”

  “It’s the most reasonable line of reasoning. He has actually moved, I believe, which is a significant effort on his part.

  “Sky’s the limit from there.

  “He may even be training to help me on my next mission.”

  “I think, sir, that you are as blind as Draypheus is inert.”

  I laughed.

  “What’s life without a little fun, George?”

  “I think Draypheus is a perfect example of life without any fun.”

  “Touché, George. Excellent observation as well.

  “Maybe that’s how Draypheus earns his money. He’s the poster child for what not to become as an adult.

  “I can see the ad campaign now. This is Draypheus. This is your brain on Draypheus. Don’t be Draypheus.

  “He could earn some serious cash being the star of an anti-lazy ad campaign.”

  “Let me reiterate, sir. You are as crazy as Draypheus is lazy.”

  I kept a straight face.

  Fun is also learning to enjoy the moment, no matter how silly it is.

  18

  “Grak, you have an incoming call.”

  The Abstract’s voice woke me from my couchbed. Inspired by Draypheus, I had not converted it from a couch into a bed before going to sleep.

  Laziness sometimes is its own reward.

  “Who’s calling?”

  “Fluxcoil.”

  If I had needed to spruce up, and if I had actually cared to spruce up, I would have spruced up. Unburdened by either, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and said, “Patch him through.”

  “Good morning, Grak!”

  Well, that was one question answered. It was morning.

  Fluxcoil looked bright and chipper in his iridescent jewel-toned tiara with accompanying gaudily decorated sentry drones.

  Maybe he was preparing for a party.

  Or a vacation.

  He wasn’t planning to join me, was he?

  “What can I do for you, Flux?”

  I yawned, baring massive canines.