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Chapter 18
🕑 Added 2018-02-13 04:54:32 +0000 UTC “Morning Leo, how goes running the country and all that?” Blake asked as he put down his latest project, a small worm-like robot about the diameter of his fist that he’d been working on to drill small underground passageways for his upcoming sewer systems, and turned to the man standing in the doorway to his workshop. He made sure to express a welcoming tone, since his mask hid the warm smile on his face. Leo Feldmanis was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. Since he’d hired the man, his free time had ballooned to many times what it had been before. He was making so much more progress in his creations than before.“That is what I was hoping to speak with you about, Lord Ferros,” the smaller man said.
Blake couldn’t help but note with approval just how much his assistant had filled out over the past few weeks since being freed. Blake made a mental note to find out how much of Otharia’s prisons held political prisoners and consider freeing them, then scratched that out and changed it to having Leo do it for him. That was the point of hiring the man, after all.
“Come now, Leo, stop calling me ‘Lord’. Do I look like the lordly type?”
“Given that you ostensibly run an entire nation, I would argue you qualify,” came the reply.
“Ostensibly?”
“Yes, I can’t help but notice how little actual nation-running you do,” said the administrator. “It seems to me that you somehow dictate orders to your minions and then hide inside this room for the rest of the day. I can’t escape the feeling that you want me to do all the work for you.”
Blake’s ego bristled at the remark, but he tamped it down. It felt refreshing to be treated normally sometimes. Leo Feldmanis was the only person in Otharia who dared to treat him like a person instead of a monster would might kill everybody should the wrong word be uttered, and he didn’t want to ruin that. Sam was the only other person who didn’t treat him like a bomb on a hair trigger, but the events of the past tangled the relationship between them on both sides. It was complicated.
“Well, I basically do. I can best improve Otharia with my creations, so the more time I have to work on them, the better.”
Leo shook his head. “That’s not acceptable. Either you are the leader of this country or you are not. I cannot work with a man who is not willing to accept the responsibilities that come with his station. As leader of Otharia, it comes down to you to apply your vision. You have a vision, do you not? Or did you just wipe out the previous regime on a whim?”
“Don’t you think we’re far too early to be talking about visions?” Blake countered. “We can’t even grow enough food to feed the entire populace. Let’s hold off on talk of visions until we can at least do that.”
“That counts as a vision.”
“It does? Okay, hop to it then. I’m working on a few things myself that might help.”
“Actually that brings me to the real reason I came to talk to you. I want to form a Council.”
“A ‘Council’? You mean like a Cabinet of sorts?”
“Your troops have kept order through fear so far. That won’t last forever, and even now Otharia is merely a country paralyzed. A true government must rise, and soon, or absolute chaos will fill that void. That means levels of structure, starting with you and me, and working down from there. We need guards, clerks, all of it.”
“Right, sounds fair. Go round up some Ministers, then. I guess this would make you Chief of Staff. Congrats on your new title, Chief of Staff Feldmanis.”
“You will, of course, be attending the meetings of the Council.”
“Meetings? Sorry Leo, but I’m afraid I’m deathly allergic to meetings of any kind. Even ones with donuts.”
“We cannot develop policy if you just come stomping through later with some conflicting idea. Your participation is not only required, it is necessary.”
Blake groaned. “If I have to.”
“Excellent. I will get to assembling a Council immediately. Finding willing participants will be a challenge. I assume you are willing to pay handsomely for the services of those I select?”
“Sure, sure,” Blake agreed. The old regime had plenty of coin hoarded away. He wondered how much better the peoples' lives would have been had it been spent for their benefit.
“Very well. Speaking of meetings, the final foreign Many arrived late last night, from Stragma. They sent word along as well to let you know that the leader of Stragma is very excited to meet you. She says she looks forward to seeing you at the Summit later today.”
Blake’s blood ran cold. “The what now?”
“I believe it is some sort of conference via Many between the leaders of the countries of Nocend. What they discuss I cannot say. Otharia traditionally has not participated in such activities as they went against the country’s isolationist policies.”
“And it’s today?!”
“Yes, it seems that the Stragmans even expedited their Many here to make sure you couldn’t miss it.”
“God damn it,” Blake muttered. “How much time do I have?”
“A couple of hours. I wish I could be of more assistance but we’re all equally blind in this matter.”
“I understand. I guess I’ll go get ready. Tell Sam that our lesson time is going to be pushed back today.”
“Of course, Lord Ferros.” The now Chief of Staff turned about and began to leave.
Blake sighed. Somehow it felt like he was the underling sometimes.
“Leo,” Blake called to his retreating form. The man paused and looked back.
“Yes, Lord?”
“How’s the search going?”
The man’s face twisted into a mess of uncertain emotions.
“She’s out there, somewhere,” he replied. “I have faith.”
***
Blake sat in a seat around a large circular table, the five other seats around the table each occupied by a Many. Bernards and Agrits fussed with each of them, getting them ready for the Summit. Blake made a mental note to tell Leo to bring in more handlers. These guys worked too hard.
The Summit didn’t start for another half hour or so, meaning Blake had nothing to do but look around and wait. Mostly, he found himself trying not to stare at the Manys from Drayhadal and Stragma, and failing. Just one glance at the two of them seated next to each other was enough to blow his mind. He’d had no idea that elves existed until Bernards had brought in the Drayhadan Many. Throughout his travels around Otharia, before, during, and after his conquest of the country, he’d never once spotted a person with the long ears and elegant features of an elf. Was Otharia a land without elves?
The same questions persisted for the Stragman Many. The man, perhaps Blake’s age if not slightly older, had adorable red ears sticking out from the top of his head, and a long, fluffy red tail with white rings on it that absentmindedly wiggled back and forth as he stared blankly into the middle distance. Of course, Blake had never found somebody with a tail in Otharia either. Why didn’t Otharia have either? He wouldn’t put bullshit concepts like “racial purity” past the Church. Even if it were just a benign coincidence, Blake felt miffed that he was stuck with the boring country.
Several minutes before the Summit began, the Stragman Many suddenly jerked his head up. He brought his hands forward, palms facing in with a three foot gap between them, his head turning to focus upon Blake. The image of a figure blinked into existence, slowly adding detail until it formed into a huge, muscular woman with long, shockingly white hair falling down almost to her knees. Cute little round white ears poked out of her head, the shape and color reminding Blake of a polar bear. By her side stood a massive war club nearly her height. No, to call it a war club was to do it a disservice. It was more like somebody had chopped down a tree as thick as a man is wide, cut out a piece seven feet long, and then shaved one end of it into a hand like the world’s largest, crudest baseball bat. She wore simple clothing, most made of furs of some sort, and a series of bracelets on both her arms and legs. The woman, who looked to be in her late thirties, stared intently at Blake, her eyes greedily drinking him in. She smiled a sharp smile filled with sharper teeth.
“You are Ferros, the man who conquered an entire country on his own?” she asked, excitement filling her voice.
Blake wasn’t sure he liked the look in her eyes, like he was some kind of prey waiting to be hunted or a mountain waiting to be scaled. He nodded.
“Yes... yes you look strong,” she said as she appraised him once more. “We Stragmans respect strength. I am Akhustal Palebane-chos, leader of the Stragman people. It is good that you have come. It will be good to have another who understands the power of strength here. The others here are nothing more than money counters, backstabbers, and honor-bound fools. Perhaps later, we might find time for a more in-depth discussion? I’m sure there are many issues where we would be allied.”
Before Blake could answer, the elven Many suddenly perked up and took a similar stance to that of her Stragman counterpart. A second image flickered into being, a beautiful elven woman who looked no more than eighteen years of age, though if the standard elven tropes were true, she was likely much older. She wore a strange dress that reminded him almost of a toga.
“Trying to beat the rest of us to the fresh meat, savage?” the new woman asked in an almost bored tone.
“Pyria,” Akhustal ground out between her clenched teeth. “What are you doing here?”
“The elders couldn’t be bothered, so as head of House Esmae, it fell to me,” the elf replied, inspecting her nails as if the conversation was the most uninteresting thing in the world. “Besides, you know I would never miss a chance to see my great friend Akhustal Palebane.”
The Stragman leader’s hands balled into fists as she fought to not fall to the elven woman’s blatant provocations. One did not have to be a social savant to see that the two loathed each other.
“Someone separate the children before they start another war,” came a voice to Blake’s right. He turned his head to find the Amatza Motrico, the Eterian representative, making the face his mother would make when he and his sister wouldn’t stop poking each other in the back seat of the car.
“Suddenly growing a conscience? How very unlike an Eterian,” said another voice to his left. Blake turned he head back towards the newest speaker and saw a broad, stocky man with an impressively full grey beard. He felt a twinge of jealousy; he’d always wanted a big bushy beard, but his attempts at “lumberjack” always petered out at “scrabbly highschool adolescent” instead. “With the large sums of money you make supplying both sides with arms for their wars, you cannot honorably speak of peace here.”
“You and your ‘honor’, that’s all you ever talk about, Adivar,” retorted the Seventh Seat of the Eterian Council. “Sometimes I think that if you all convinced yourselves that suicide was honorable, the entire nation of Gustil would disappear overnight.”
“And I think that you would sell your own mother if you could figure out a way to make a profit from it,” the bearded man, apparently the leader of Gustil, replied.
The last inactive Many suddenly sat up and a final image appeared, that of a tired man with heavy bags below his eyes. “My apologies for my tardiness, Lords and Ladies,” he said in greeting. “I have been very busy today with important matters of state.” His eyebrows shot up as he noticed Blake for the first time. “Ah, you must be Lord Ferros. I am King Iorweth Morgan of the Kingdom of Kutrad. Good tidings to you and yours.”
“Greetings and salutations,” Blake replied. He’d expected a lot of stuffy protocol and empty gestures. Instead, they’d just all started fighting like a bunch of relatives at Thanksgiving. Blake wondered what the people of Nocend would think if they knew that their leaders were no better than schoolchildren, squabbling over the pettiest of slights. The bickering was beginning to give him a headache, but he couldn’t rub his temples without removing his mask.
“That’s right, where are my manners?” said the bushy-haired man. “I am Hamza Adivar, duly-elected leader of the Federation of Gustil. I must admit that you intrigue me greatly. We Gustilians are lauded for our impenetrable knights, but I have never seen an armor so impressive. I would love to meet the craftsman who could create such a masterpiece.”
“You’re looking at him,” Blake responded.
“Oh ho, a man of many skills I see!” the Gustilian laughed merrily while clapping his hands in amusement.
“Can we just get this over with?” interjected the elf. “I have actual governing to do today.”
“As much as I hate to agree with Princess Esmae,” said Amatza, “in this case she is correct. We are all highly busy and there is much to discuss. I move that we begin and proceed past the standard ceremonies for this year’s Summit in the interest of time. Any objections?”
None came.
“Most excellent. Let us begin with an official declaration. The Republic of Eterium formally recognizes Lord Ferros as the ruler of Otharia. Do any other powers contest his rule?”
“I’m just happy that somebody’s finally decided to join the rest of civilization,” quipped Adivar. “Perhaps now we might be able to procure some chimirin?”
Chimirin... the drug that Yarec had consumed? The one that made him super strong? Several other Otharians had taken the drug during the last gasps of the Church’s counterattack, but his overwhelming firepower had rendered their elevated powers rather moot. Given that he’d seen it used several times now, Blake had assumed it was simply a rare item. He’d never thought that it was an Otharian-only commodity. Strange, why had Amatza Motrico not suggested such a trade back when they’d first spoken?
“Absolutely not!” barked Amatza. “Chimirin is far too dangerous to be allowed to spread. Eterium will not allow such a substance to pass through its borders. We will confiscate any and all chimirin that Otharia attempts to sell.”
Blake’s eyebrows rose at the Eterian’s outburst. Her anti-chimirin fervor seemed genuine, but something still felt off about the situation.
“Harumph! Typical Eterian strong-arm tactics,” grumbled the Gustilian.
“Moving on,” said Amatza, ignoring the man’s complaints, “it’s time be discuss the most important news in over ten years. The Ubran Empire finally made their move and the Droajan Confederation has fallen. The Emperor now has free reign to turn his eyes towards Nocend without worry of a knife in the back. Redwater Castle has held admirably since its creation over a thousand years ago, but never before has the entire continent of Obura been united under one banner. An increase in troop numbers would seem in order.”
“I came to the same conclusion,” noted Adivar. “Craftsmen are already in route and will begin expanding the base wherever possible to accommodate more soldiers. This will, of course, be added to the dues.”
“The dues?” Blake inquired. “What dues?”
“You are not familiar with the Begale Treaty of 844?” the Kutrad king asked, mild surprise in his voice.
“I am... new to the scene, let’s say.”
“Don’t forget, beneath that helm he is still just Otharian,” chimed in Princess Esmae. “It would be folly to expect too much.”
“Ignorance is merely a temporary condition,” replied Blake. “Underestimate me at your own peril.”
“That’s enough,” snapped Amatza Motrico. She turned to face Blake. “Long ago, the countries of Nocend decided to work together to prevent an invasion from Obura, as well as control the flow of people from one continent to the other. Redwater Castle is the key to this. It blocks the only path through the Divide that is even remotely feasible for moving an army. Centuries have gone into making the fortress the most impenetrable stronghold in the world. Though the land it occupies is technically Gustilian, each of the member countries sends a number of troops that rotate out every two years. We all also pay Gustil dues for food, maintenance, and whatnot. Otharia, given your country’s unwillingness to participate on the world stage, has not participated in this neither through soldiers nor money. We of course expect this to change now that you have changed your tune.”
“I’m afraid I do not have the capabilities to contribute just yet,” Blake deflected. “Perhaps next year. What else do you have in place? What is to prevent this Empire from taking boats around the Divide?”
“A boat?” King Morgan laughed. “They wouldn’t make it two leagues before being swallowed whole by the monsters of the deep. And even if they did, they would then have to scale the sheer cliffs of Nefin just to make it to land! Or, if they went south, they’d have to take an entire army through Stragma, which might be even worse!”
“Couldn’t Observers who work with stone just tunnel around the castle?”
“I welcome them to try!” chuckled the Gustilian leader Adivar. “It would take a lifetime of combined effort by dozens of stoneshapers to create a tunnel through the Divide, and that would be only if they somehow found a way to prevent the tunnel from caving in under the immense weight. Many attempts have been made over the years, but none have even approached success. The tunnels collapse in short order. No, the only way through is through Redwater Castle.”
“And you’re sure you can hold them off even with the numerical advantage?”
“Bah!” Adivar cried. “A single Gustilian on the battlefield is worth fifty Imperials! The shortest wall in Redwater is over a thousand paces high and a hundred paces thick, moulded from the mountain wall itself! We can hold against whatever they throw at us, be it a hundred-thousand or three-hundred-thousand!”
“You seem very worried about this entire plan,” noted the Eterian councilwoman.
“It’s just that it seems we’re putting all our eggs in one basket here,” Blake explained. “You have one obstacle, and a mighty obstacle it may be, but it’s just one. The Empire now has the ability to put every great mind they have to figuring out ways to get through or around it. If Redwater Castle falls, what then?”
“Then we fight them with the combined might of our armies, with honor and courage!” exclaimed Adivar, pounding a fist into a table by his side.
“There are a series of outposts going from the castle back towards Gustil proper,” Motrico explained. “At the slightest hint of trouble, the beacon in the castle will be lit. Then the beacons on each outpost will be lit in response, all the way back, giving us warning enough to mobilize before the Empire can get any large concentrations of forces through the Divide. Gustil maintains a large force at Rul, just days away, for this reason.”
Blake was not the greatest student of history, but he’d played enough WWII-themed video games to know how the Maginot Line had worked out. They didn’t seem too willing to listen though, and he didn’t have too much right to make demands since he wasn’t contributing to the continent’s defense anyway. If the Divide was as treacherous as claimed, maybe it actually would work, like a fence all the way across the border between the two continents. Just how likely was it that an invasion would actually happen, anyway?
The rest of the Summit droned on for the next several hours, with trade talks and arguments being the main highlights. Blake resolved to find somebody else to pawn this duty off onto before next year’s date came around. The way the Stragman leader, Akhustal Palebane, kept glancing at him hungrily was making him uncomfortable, the elven princess Pyria Esmae seemed completely uninterested in the entire affair, and the Kutrad king seemed utterly exhausted. He felt sorry for the man and what he’d been going through.
That was the one major point of interest that he’d picked up on during the deliberations — something had happened in Kutrad and destroyed an entire city, killing nearly ninety percent of the people there. Anything that could wipe out hundreds of thousands of people was worth taking note of. Just how much was known about the incident remained unclear to him. The others danced around the issue mostly, likely in an attempt to not upset the man who dealt with the calamity on a daily basis. One look at King Morgan was enough to know just how much the entire affair had taken out of him.
“Never make me do that ever again,” Blake told his Chief of Staff in Leo’s office once the ordeal was over. “Unless you want me to off myself next time. Actually never mind, I don’t want to give you ideas.”
Leo’s desk was covered with parchment. Writing filled nearly every page Blake could see, though Blake couldn’t read any of it. He make a note to learn to read at some point in the future. Either way, it was clear that his assistant was drowning in work.
“So how long until you have somebody to bring in for me to interview?”
“I should have my first choice for Minister of Agriculture arriving tomorrow.”
“What.”
“I took the liberty of starting my search over ten days ago.”
“You know, you could have told me then instead of this morning. I could have sent skitters to transport candidates here faster.”
“No, I’ve found that using your minions only decreases my success rate. I have already talked to several candidates for positions, and have found that they were much more likely to listen to me when I told the skitters you assigned as my guards to leave. Thank you for making it so they would actually leave when I tell them to, by the way. They were following me everywhere, even to the lavatory.”
“No prob. So before I forget, what can you tell me about chimirin?”
“The drug or the plant?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Chimirin is a plant that grows in Otharia, though it is exceedingly rare. Once the use of the seed extract was realized, the Church rounded up every last plant they could find and began to raise them in protected gardens. That was hundreds of years ago. I’m no chimirin expert, but I believe that no chimirin plant has been found in the wild since. The drug that can be made with the seeds is highly potent. It temporarily boosts somebody’s soulforce exponentially, as well as giving them a masterful control over their discipline. The cost comes once the effect wears off. Most people die almost immediately. The rest enter a catatonic state, from which nobody has ever returned. It is a horrible thing. It is also the biggest reason Otharia still stands today. An Eterian army would likely take the country in a straight-up battle, but with chimirin using troops Otharia would be able to hold its own. It was that threat that has kept the Elseling threat in the north at bay.”
“Funny, the Eterian councilwoman said it was because Otharia doesn’t have anything worth invading over.”
Leo made a displeased face. “That may have had something to do with it as well.”
“Eh, who can know? Anyway, the reason I brought this up was I want you to take stock of the chimirin gardens and the supply of the drug. I have a bad feeling we might be missing some.”
“Noted. Anything else?”
“Nothing for now, unless you happen to have a BLT hidden in your desk there. I’m starving.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Nobody here does. That’s half the problem with this place.” Blake made for the door. “I’ll be in my workshop. Don’t bother me unless you figure out the secrets of bacon.”
***
“Half of the chimirin plants are missing, along with more than two thirds of the drug supplies.”
Blake sighed. He’d had a feeling ever since he realized that Councilwoman Motrico hadn’t expressed interest in chimirin during their first conversation. Some person, or people more likely, had run off with most of the chimirin plants and drug, and probably now lived cushy lives raising the plants for the Eterians. And to think that she had the gall to claim that it was too dangerous to allow to spread. They just wanted to have it all to themselves!
Not that Blake had felt the need to sell or even use the substance. The idea of a drug that turned people into the equivalent of suicide bombers, doing tons of damage in a short time right before dying, seemed like a terrible thing. Other countries having access to chimirin was a recipe for trouble. Anybody having chimirin was a recipe for trouble, really, including Otharia.
“How long does the drug last in storage?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Find out. For now, cease production of the drug. Keep the plants.”
“...are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Very well...” He jotted something down on a piece of parchment.
“I’m going to go grab Sam and work on my latest project. Anything else you need to talk to me about?”
“The candidate will be here later this evening for your interview. Other than that... there is one strange thing I might as well mention. A woman actually came to the castle unbidden today. She claims she wants to work for you.”
“That seems rather suspicious, don’t you think?”
“That or foolish. I told her to come back tomorrow. What would you like me to do, should she return?”
“Hmmmm... Tell her that I said no. Don’t be super definitive about it but make it clear that I am not interested. Then see if she comes back. If she comes back three times even after she’s told no, then I’ll give her an audience. I want to see if she is committed. Meanwhile, use that time to see if you can dig up anything on her. Let me know if you find anything suspicious.”
***
“So you’re the piece of shit Ferris who messed up my planting season? You don’t looks so fucking tough in person. Feh, if I was twenty years younger I’d beat your ass myself, you garoph-fucking trash! We had important work to do, but no, you had to go mess everything up, you pox-riddled, seven-toed whore’s son! You mangy, rancid, overgrown...”
A old wrinkled man stood in Blake’s office, shaking the cane held in his thin, bony hands at the most powerful man in the country while pouring a nonstop torrent of verbal abuse down upon him. Blake’s jaw dropped in disbelief. The old farmer had barely stepped into Blake’s office before he began to just unload broadside after broadside upon Blake’s ego, and it just kept coming! Blake couldn’t even tell what half of the things coming out of the old coot’s mouth meant, but he knew quality when he heard it. “Wedded to a sow’s teat”? He’d have to remember that one.
“Well? What, you have no words to say for yourself?” the old man continued. “Pah! I thought you were supposed to be a man!”
“Where in the world did you find this guy?” he asked his assistant. The man seemed almost petrified with shock and dismay over his recommendation’s unexpected outburst. On the other hand Sam, who was sitting in the corner playing with Alpha, seemed to be loving every single second of it. A pity for her then that Blake found the old farmer’s tirade to be the best thing he’d heard in weeks.
“I’m sorry Lord Ferros, I will escort him out immediately. I only ask that you forgive him for his words, he-”
“Are you kidding, this guy’s fucking amazing! Sit down, mister... Upacis was it?”
“Fricis Upeslacis, and don’t you forget it, Ferris! Young people these days, no respect for their elders...”
“Well then, Mr. Upeslacis, what makes you think you should be my Minister of Agriculture?”
“That means ‘Head Farmer’, right? Well I’ve been farming all my life. Damned good at it, too. Fifty years I’ve been working the dirt. Ya pick up a thing or two over the years, but the Church never listened to what I had to say. Bunch of ingrates if you ask me...”
“Mr. Upeslacis has been the chief farmer for his village for the last thirty years,” Leo cut in. “His village has almost always placed top third in yearly yields.”
“So he’s consistently pretty good? That’s your sales pitch, Leo?”
“Let me rephrase that. The village of Larkenten is merely average in population, field size and field quality compared to farming villages nationwide. And yet, since he took over, Larkenten has placed amongst the top in all metrics that I could come up with on a per-person and per-field basis. No other village has had performance nearly that good or consistent. In my opinion, he should have been promoted years ago.”
“And yet he hasn’t. I wonder why,” Blake said with a wry smile. He turned back to the old man sitting in the chair on the other side of his desk. “Alright old man, I’m convinced that you’re qualified. But that’s only step one. Step two: why are you willing to be here? Am I not an Elseling? Have I not torn down everything you hold dear? For what reason would you consider being my underling?”
The man hesitated, more than Blake expected from the blustering coot. His eyes took on a mournful quality and he seemed to think about something.
“Were you telling the truth, back on the first day?” he asked. “When you said that people wouldn’t have to starve anymore.”
“I meant every word.”
“I’ve had fifteen children over the years. Only two are alive today. Same with their children. I have twenty-one grandchildren, but only five of them still breathe. Most don’t make it to ten years old. They all die from something different, but it’s the same cause in the end. They don’t have enough to eat. It makes them weak, weak enough for the evil spirits to get in them and eat them from the inside out. Every time a new child enters my life, I have to tell myself not to get too close because it will hurt too much when they go. That’s the life of every farmer, Mister Ferris. I’m old. I don’t have too many years left in me. I just want to see that one thing change before I go. If you can do that, if you can make it so my grandkids won’t have to feel the same way about their children that I had to feel about mine, then I don’t care if you’re an Elseling, or a blasphemer, or whatever. That’s a trade I’m prepared to make.”
A silence settled around the room as Blake took several moments to collect himself before speaking. “I think we have a deal,” he finally said. “When can you start?”
“I didn’t agree to start anything, kid!” the old codger squawked.
“But you just said that-”
“I know what I said! I said if you can do it! IF! And I haven’t seen any proof that you can do anything you claimed yet! You want my cooperation? You gotta show me you mean business!”
Blake considered his option for a moment before walking past the others out the door. “Follow me,” he beckoned. “You too, Sam.”
The others obeyed and several twists and turn later, they all found themselves on a balcony, a six-legged transport skitter waiting for them to board. Several minutes later, the four of them stepped out of the cabin and into the edge of a field not far from the city. Several other skitters appeared soon after, ready to ward off anybody stupid or fanatical enough to attack.
“Sure it nice out today,” Blake sighed as he stretched his stiff shoulders.
“Lord Ferros, why are we out here?” asked Leo.
“We’re here to show you all my latest project.”
“Those gross little worm things you keep sticking in the ground?” Sam asked.
“Not... quite.”
“I don’t see anything,” said Fricis.
“It’s not here yet, patience. Actually, now is a good time to explain a bit. So the two ways that we can improve our farming is to increase the number of fields we work and increase what we can do with each field, yes? By next year, I want to triple the total area we have as working farmland.”
“Triple?!” stammered the farmer. “Do you know how much work it takes to clear a field? It takes tens of farmers, working for a season, to get a single new field clear of rocks and trees. We wouldn’t plant a single thing all year!”
“See that tree standing on its lonesome out in the middle of that field over there?” Blake asked while pointing out towards the field in front of them. A single, large tree stood near the center of that field, surrounded by nothing but grasses and bushes. Blake estimated its trunk to be at least six feet wide and forty feet tall. “How long would it take to fully remove that when making a field?”
“That’s a parn tree. They’re a tremendous pain to remove because of their heart root that goes deep down. Usually we have to leave it for a few years to rot some first before we even try to pull it out. Takes hours to dig out the other roots and then you need to pull it out with raw manpower and garophs.”
“So ever since I took over, one of my biggest goals was to set up a sewer system. Let’s be real here. The cities all smell like shit. If there was a valid waste-disposal sewer system, the cities would smell better, there’d be less disease, and life as a whole wouldn’t be so fucking gross here. But I kept hitting problems. I’m sure you understand best, you old geezer. It’s a mess down there. There’s rocks, and roots, and who knows what else.”
A small but noticeable tremor rumbled through the ground, the disturbance moving past them and towards the tree in the distance.
“So I started looking for a way to carve out what I want down there, no matter what is down there. And that’s how I came up with my ‘worms’, as Sam so eloquently called them. They exist to eat their way through whatever gets in their way, be it dirt, root, rock, whatever. They started about the width of you arm, for the pipes that connect to the houses, but sewers need bigger pipes too. Much bigger.”
The parn tree quivered, as if jostled by an invisible hand, and then sank several feet into the ground in a fraction of a second as if being pulled under. In just seconds, the mighty tree now stood at only half its original height, the rest of it submerged in the now-churning dirt. Then suddenly an enormous cylindrical machine surged forth from the earth, engulfing the once-proud parn whole.
“Forty feet wide, with a length of over two hundred feet,” Blake said with a smile. “An array of grinders encircling the mouth funnel all the material into the central processing channel, where it’s broken down through a series of mechanical gizzards that grind and crush everything to dust. The movement I’m very proud of. It mimics an earthworm. See that wide ring circling the outside a few feet from the front? With the interlocking segments? That expands a little, putting pressure on the surrounding earth. Then the whole ring slides back, pushing it forward, and then contracts and moves back to its original position. The entire body is covered with them. It can move through dirt like it’s nothing. Only a massive rocks really slow it down as it grinds its way through. That takes time and wears out the grinders. Good thing it can replace them with spares stored throughout its body!”
He gave a single clap of satisfaction, causing a clang to ring out as metal hand met metal hand. “Really proud of this one! So what do you say, you old fart? Soon you’ll be able to make all those pesky trees and rocks just disappear. Convinced yet?”
He glanced over at the assembled group to find each of them in some form of shock. Leo's eyes bulged from their sockets, the writing tablet once in his hand now fallen to his feet, while Sam clutched Alpha to her chest, her body frozen in astonishment. The old farmer leaned desperately against his cane, trying to stay upright as his mouth flapped open and shut over and over. After several minutes the giant tunneler retreated back underground and the farmer steadied himself, thoughts seemingly buzzing through his head at a million miles per hour.
"I- uh- wha- huh-" he stuttered before finally collecting his wits. "Yes, Lord Ferris, I am convinced."
"It's Ferros."
"What was that, Lord Ferris? My hearing ain't what it used to be."
"...never mind."
