To Tame Iron, Part II
+++
Blip/blip/blip*AAAAAWWWWWW!!!!What foulness is this? What decadent evil lurks where once the blessed engines of my fame roared with life? More curses I heap on thee, beasts; more vengeance will I reap on theeeeeeee*blip/blip/blip
Server error/processing/processing/reboot…
+++
Days passed. Weeks passed. Industry continued within the sheds.
Weapons were rebuilt, vehicles upgraded with the latest orky know whats, and red paint was splashed with wild abandon across bear metal. Scrap heaps grew and diminished and grew again, depending on the fortunes of war. It seemed war had been very good to the meks.
Tinkerin’ was putting the finishing touches on the new engines he’d just installed. The super-charged, over-sized monster had barely fit, but that’s why he was a mek…he’d make it fit…And they didn’t come cheap. It cost him several hours of work and three kustomized dread arms he’d been working on. But, it was worth it.
He also had a patron now, as it were. Both FixitGit and the big boss, Skullsmasha, had been round and looked on the machine with envy and excitement. FixitGit had given him the run of the shops just to get it done. Skullsmasha just wanted it…it called to his nature and he could hardly wait to take it out against his foes…With patronage came requests…always something new to be added or deleted…Deadlines and delays were all he knew now.
But, there was a plus side to patronage; survivability.
As soon as Skullsmasha had made it known that Tinkerin’Un had the perfect battlewagon in the works, Trackkilla had come to call.
“Ya miserable git…Ya lyin’ no good iron werka…I’ll skin what’s left of ya alive!” he roared, targeting Tinkerin’ with is rokkit launcha. The targeting lens glowed with malice that was oozing from its master. Tinkerin’Un merely stood, polishing a piece of scrap metal that was destined for the boss’ vehicle. Then he looked up, a small smile playing across his features.
“I think ya should talk to me new friends before doing anything hasty, me good mate,” he answered in a matter-of-factly tone.
Growling and shaking with rage, Trackkilla glanced around the yard. Leaning against the sheds were two of the big bosses Kommanda Squad. A nudge from one brought their attention to the tankbusta nob as they stood and rumbled threateningly. Trackkilla knew he could possibly take both with a carefully placed shot, and turned his attention back to Tinkerin’Un with malice glinting eagerly in his little eyes.
His revelry was broken immediately by a large beefy paw clapping him on the shoulder from behind. Instantly, he was physically whirled about and received a vicious head-butt that laid him out on the ground. Groggily, he rolled to one side, hawking up blood and teeth. He swiveled his gaze to the offender, vows of vengeance dying on his cracked lips.
His attacker stood with feet slightly akimbo; his very being radiated a deep menace and barely checked violence. Broad, even by ork standards, great burly arms ended in large, gloved hands. His cannonesque shoota lay across his back, one hand straying towards a vicious choppa on his belt. Bandoliers of extra ammunition crossed his torso, barely containing his girth. A helmet, obviously a bit too small, was jammed down on his cranium; his beady, porcine eyes shone with a cunning that was very off-putting to most.
Trackkilla gulped noisily, frozen like a bird caught by a serpent. The Sergeant Major…Skullsmasha’s second in command, his most trusted vassal. He knew his life was possibly being measured in seconds.
“Trackkilla…wot’s all dis den?” rumbled the ork. “De boss wants none to botha dis here mek…He’s,” beetling his brows together, grunted, “em...poor…tent…ta his big plans; derefer, he’s empoortent ta me.” He moved closer to the prone ork, bending over him. “So…ifn anything happens to ‘im, I’ll be most displeased and will have ta answer in kind, mostly to you. Savvy?”
Gulping again, the nob quickly nodded, finding that his voice had mysteriously left him.
“Roight…now run along…we got tings to do….”
Trackkilla rolled to his feet and quickly fled the yards. The Sergeant Major snorted noisily and returned to the darkness of the sheds, mumbling how it “was too hot by half in da sun…” looking for something to drink.
+++
Blip/blip/blip…*Foul mechanics…I feel the taint of their technology…but it grants me more strength. Soon I’ll be able to roll and crush and destroy.* Blip/blip/blip….
+++
There it was again, thought Snikkit. That irritating buzzing from inside the carrier, just outside of proper hearing. Looking about, he saw a vicious looking red lensed light in the rear of the compartment. It almost looked like it could see him. This could deserve further investigation Snikkit thought, striding toward the opening. He hadn’t seen the thick cable slowly snake to a junction box by the ramp opening. He almost reached the opening; hand reaching out grab ahold of the reinforced ram that had been welded to what at one time was the ramp…
+++
Blip/blip/blip…*Foul xenos! I’ll smite thee with my rage and strength*…blip/blip/blip
+++
“SNIKKIT!!!” bellowed Tinkerin’Un. “Ya worthless grubbin’ git! Where’s me spanner got to? I swears…ifn ya nicked it again, I’ll force feed ya ta dat really big squig in da drops…”
Snikkit ran quickly to his master, grabbing one of Tinkerin’s toolboxes on the way. Panting as he arrived, he dropped the box, whipped open the lid, and dug out the tool in question for his master. Tinkerin’ took the spanner with nothing more than an icy glare and returned to his workbench. The kannon for the turret for the battlewagon wasn’t going to finish itself and the firing mechanism was giving him grief. Two solid thwacks with the spanner and the more “delicate” parts of the auto-loader fell neatly into place. He stood back with a look of orky satisfaction at his handy work.
“Did ya test dat ramp thing yet?” Tinkerin’ asked over his shoulder.
“I was gonna when ya bellowed fer me, boss…” Snikkit answered, wiping his brow.
“Well, whatta ya waitin’ fer? An invite? Git movin’…we gots work ta do…”
Sighing quietly, Snikkit turned back to the iron beast. Something about it made him vaguely uncomfortable; like something was watching him and trying to hurt him. Like he didn’t have enough problems…
As he started forward, he saw another oiler sprint over to the opening. Snikkit realized it was Drillzit, the big mek’s oiler. Smiling slyly, Drillzit started to enter the idle vehicle, clearly intent on plunder; or at the very least, spying on his owner’s rival. Just as he started to pull himself up, the oddest thing happened. The ram/ramp twitched.
Drillzit froze in place and looked inquiringly to Snikkit. Snikkit stood dumbfounded for a moment. Things became really interesting as he blurted, “Uhhh…boss…”
Just as Tinkerin’ turned, the ramp exploded into action. It bucked up furiously, shaking loose the unfortunate grot. Drillzit fell to the shop floor and had a fraction of a second to realize what was happening…The ramp slammed down repeatedly on the oiler, reducing him to an oily smear on the shed floor. The ramp quivered with something akin to rage as Drillzit dripped from the underside…
“Well…dere’s somethin’ ya don’t see every day…” mused Tinkerin’Un. He looked at Snikkit it, who could only shake his head and shrug. “Get over there and have a looksee and I’ll go check the engine to see if we had a short or somethin’…” the mek muttered as he disappeared behind the land raider.
Snikkit gulped nervously as he stepped forward and peered into the maw of the beast…
+++
Blip/blip/blip…*At last! Vengeance and vindication are mine! With control such as this, I’ll be nigh unto invincible! Tremble you foul xenos filth! I come for you! I*…blip/blip/blip…
+++
There…Snikkit heard the buzz again, angrier than before…But, he also spied a junction box connected to the ramp controls. A fat black cable looked out of place, and where it connected, there was a bluish glow; like a different type of electric current was flowing through it. Well, that would never do.
Summoning his meager reserve of courage, Snikkit, clinging to the outside, carefully moved into the interior. It reminded him of the inside of a great beast…Looking quickly at the cable; he determined what he’d do. Pulling out his trusty snips, he quickly snipped the cable in two places; at the junction box and 3 feet up the cable, along the floor. The quivering ramp stopped immediately.
The cable, unlike any other he’d seen, wiggled back along the floor disappearing into the gloom of the interior. Snikkit examined the sliced portion. It was more optical fiber bundles than the expected copper wiring; although it did contain a solid core of conductive metals. He quickly stuffed the cable into his pocket as he heard the mek approach.
“Is dat any better? Oh, it stopped,” he mused out loud. Rubbing his jaw, he peered at the ramp with lingering suspicion. “Anything unusual in dere?”
Snikkit thought quickly; tell the truth and get the boot, tell a “fabrication” and avoid the boot for now…he lied, “Naw…it just died down, quick as ya please.”
“Roight…well, let’s get that turret on before it gets dark again…”
“Ok…but whadda we do about poor Drillzit,” Snikkit indicated to the goo puddle on the floor.
“Whadda ya mean, ‘What do we do?’…I don’t seez ‘im…he’s definitely not here, savvy?”
“Ohhhh…right right…well, I guess I’ll lend a hand to da turret den, shall I?”
The shop went back to work. Drillzit paste dripped for a while before drying up. FixitGit bellowed for his oiler all night, but to no avail. He stomped through every shop looking for “dat loafin’ no good grubber…”, but never saw him. Eventually he was replaced with another oiler who stuck closer to his master and wasn’t near as weedy…
+++
Blip/blip/blip…*Uuuhhhhhhh…what have you done to my strong arm of justice and righteousness? Foul intruder…I’ll deal with you yet…I’ll get free of my restraints and destroy and plunder this wretched cesspool from existence…This I swear by*…blip/blip/blip…server error…conductivity interrupted…reboot in process…
+++
End Part II
