The next installment of Zarg's adventures.
To finish, I had to post in 3 seperate topic lines.
I hope you enjoy it, comments always welcomed.
Calculating, II
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Incoming transmission…
Clarification on primus and secondus targets requested…
Mission parameters are being recalculated; mission-oriented success stands in jeopardy due to possible mass migratory behaviors being exhibited…
Requesting advancement of omega event tables to ensure compliance…
Supporting data stream follows…
Transmission terminated at source…
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One Standard Terran year later…
It had been a busy couple of nights for the Kommanda Group. Near constant fighting on the newest of fronts had embroiled a full third of Skullmasha’s forces. He had committed more troops than he wanted, had expended more ammo than he needed, and gained little from it; accepting the usual pile of battlefield loot and material. What he didn’t have was the prize at the end of the battlefield…
Zarg knew something was up when he was “summoned” by three other Kommanda Group Nobz. As they trudged along the corridors of the Kommanda Bunka, Zarg’s mind calculated and re-calculated what was happening and how it could either hinder or help his overall scheme.
He peered out from behind his “spectel’s” at his escort. They hadn’t disarmed him, their mistake; they were really just there to ensure that he arrived at the command room, even bigger mistake. Take a lad from trying to get his kit straightened out after a good fight, which really caused the troops no end of complaints. Interesting….
“Oi! Darg…mate, what’s all dis about, eh?” Zarg asked innocently enough…Conversations were treasure troves of information; information that Zarg was all too willing to use to his advantage. He pressed the issue further, “Is we gonna ‘ave anuver go at the humies?”
The larger nob, swiveled his melon-like head about, glared at Zarg, and with a throat full of phlegm replied, “Shaddup yer gob, bug…” Darg hadn’t warmed to Zarg at all during the last few months. He didn’t warm to the idea of him being in the Kommanda Group, nor the way he got in. Something wasn’t quite right about Zarg…but he couldn’t put his dirty digit on it.
Zarg learned a lot from his escort. They were pulled together quickly, they didn’t like him personally, and, if his calculations were correct, Darg had just been identified as the next in a continuing line of “official battlefield casualties.” Smiling his elusive smile, Zarg already had an idea in mind of what could happen; it was just a matter of when.
His revelry was broken by the crashing of the doors to the war room. Skullsmasha was there, along with various hangers-on, mad doks, meks, wyrdees and the like; all the specialists that made up the inner circle. Well, someday, that would have to change…Also in attendance were various mob nobz with their guards and grots.
Zarg paid them little attention; he was all eyes on the great ork splayed out on the command throne. Skullsmasha looked larger than the last time he’d been summoned, and more angry. That figured, as he had just squandered a tactical advantage on poor intelligence, and a fair piece of his forces to boot….How could I make this work in my favor? Zarg wondered to himself slyly. Obviously, saying such things out loud would get him killed or worse…
“Boss…’ere he is,” Darg rumbled.
Skullsmasha looked up from some maps and charts and glared at Zarg. Squinting, he began to size him up.
“Zarg, me lad . . . jus da nob I was a thinkin’ ‘bout,” he rumbled. Skullsmasha shifted on his command throne with a load creak. It was hard to tell which made the most noise; the leather of his greatcoat caught underneath his not too ponderous bulk, or the frame strain placed on the throne trying to keep him on the dais. “Tell me Zarg…why didn’t we gets me my prize today?” The question hung in mid-air dripping with accusation.
Zarg’s mind whirred with possible outcomes to the encounter, most of them ended poorly for him. Still, he may never have the occasion to confront Skullsmasha like this again. . .
“Well boss . . . it seems to me dat we didn’t ‘ave the right kinda ‘telligence to complete da mission,” Zarg replied boldly. “Wif out it, wez just trowin’ our troops away at dem humies. . . we needs ta know what’s down dere and what’s on it.”
Skullsmasha glared at the impudent nob. He jumped to his feet and in a flash of movement (which Zarg had doubts that he could even execute), he was squarely in front of his subordinate, iron gob mere inches from Zarg’s upward glance.
Moments ticked by. The older members of the Kommanda Group grinned evilly as the anticipated end was very near for their “comrade”. Grots vied for the smaller, darker corners of the room. The pregnant pause was punctuated by harsh breathing, the buzzing of orkish augmetics, and the occasional flatulence.
“Ifin yuz weren’t me trusted lad, one of me advisers. . . I’d take yer head and use it as a foot rest fer me throne,” Skullsmasha whispered menacingly. Suddenly, he straightened up and looking around said, “But, lucky yuz. . .I’m very generous and fergiv’n right now. Yer right, we didn’t know what we didn’t know, but ya know what, Zarg, we’z gonna know more what we need to know as we knows it, starting right now…”
Zarg struggled to follow the line of logic. Somehow, he’d once again escaped near death from the very ork who would gladly dish it out as soon as look at you.
“What can I duz ta help, Boss?”
“Good, lad. . .always willin’ ta help inna pinch. . .tell ya what yaz gonna do, yaz iz gonna get me know whats about my target, yaz iz gonna collect me ‘telli-wossit’ and deliver it back, safe un sound ta me hands, savvy?”
“Ugghhh. . .Sure Boss.” Zarg’s mind raced with the possibilities of how to make this situation work for him, not against him. Intelligence could be altered, could be recorded for further use, could be bartered; sold, exploited . . . a thin, cruel smile creased his features.
“Good on ya, lad,” Skullsmasha said, punctuating his praise with a broad-handed slap to the back. Zarg stumbled forward momentarily, out of breath and vaguely disoriented. He come through with a choice assignment, but had that nagging feeling in the back of his head that he was being set up for something. “Walk wif me, and I’ll gives ya all da info yuz needs.”
The two orks walked back towards the command throne, all the while Skullsmasha gave Zarg his marching orders. As he listened, Zarg’s dreams of controlling information began to evaporate.
“I was gonna send ya in a group of me Kommanda nobz, but funny ting dat. . .no one wants ta work wif ya. Goes to show that dat some aren’t as forgivin’ as I; deys still are hold’n grudges from dat explosion incident last week. Who’d a thunk it would have been unsafe to drive the battlewagon over dat road, besides yuz and me. . .dok tells me at least parts of everyone will be fine. Why, I heard dat Masha will make an excellent dredd pilot volunt’r. . .just goes ta show what I said all along, cunning and planning and observin’, dat marks ya out as dead special ta me. . .” Zarg could only nod sagely, remembering his master stroke at taking out most of his competition for a rise to power. Shame the mines didn’t get the blow hard at his side.
“I wants ya to go and find out what we is up against at the end of the valley; of course, you’ll not goes alone, but wif a few select mates, which I’ll provide ya. Skulltaker will meet yaz at the objective, here,” Skullsmasha pointed on a large map, the spot marked with a big “X”. “He’s already left wif his ladz to clear and scout the way. You’ll take a couple of mobz of boyz, fer firepower and krumpin’, should da need arise,” he chuckled as if at a private joke. “Also, a rare treat fer ya; a rare travelin’ companion, a scribbla ta take da notes and record the map fings; what wif ya bein’ too busy bein’ da field kommanda fer dis here mission.”
“Who’s dat den, Boss?”
“Why, me favorite grot adjetent, Gitzit. . .Now where is he?” Skullsmasha turned and looked around the war room. “Gitzit! Where are ya, ya worfless maggot? GITZIT!!!!!” he bellowed. As the echo of his call died down, a grot scampered forward from behind his throne. “Awww, der’s me favorite one, he is.”
Gitzit looked less than pleased to be anywhere near what was going on. He was a small parody of his master, complete with leather greatcoat and bulging pockets, filled with the grotty things needed for his personal survival.
“Er. . . boss, why is I takin’ him again?”
“Well, lad, things are going kinda rough fer us here. I wants ya ta take Gitzit as a sort of inserenz policy. He goes, he records everyfing, un he comes back. . . in one piece, wif all his parts and pieces correctly intact . . . he comes back differently, or fer some unknown reason, doesn’t come back at all, yer hide is forfeit an I wears yer teef as bauble bits. Any questions?”
Zarg knew in an instant that he was trapped into accepting the parameters of the assignment. All he could do was nod in agreement.
“Good on ya, again! HarHarHarHar . . . now get yer stuff together and be ready to leaves in an hour.” With that, the audience was over.
. . .
