Chapta Twentythree: Slaved

Say of Da Day: "If et's one fing I 'ates... ET'S GITS WIV SMART MOUFS!" –Ongrat

"I said yer could stay 'ere, NOT EAT FER FREE!" Shilf had caught Brudz sneaking pie and beer from the kitchen. The young Mek got such a fright she dropped the pie and spilt beer on her singlet.

"Cripsh! Er…" She spun around to face Shilf. She knew she was caught but didn't know what to do. "H-hi Shilf. Um… wanna beer? 'Ere ya go…"

Shilf knocked the beer bottle out of Brudz' hand and thwacked her across the face, scowling angrily, "I'll throw yer in da furnace if'n I catches yer feivin' again! Yew want food, yew pay fer it! No one scrounges from Shilf."

Two teeth had been smacked out of Brudz' bottom jaw – one of her tusks and a smaller tooth. Shilf bent over and picked them up. "Dat's fer da pie an' beer. Now get back ta work, yer lazy Evil Sunz git!"

The Big Mek walked off; Brudz cringed at his new squig hair transplant. "Yew look like even uglier wiv dat 'air doo." She muttered, rubbing her sore cheek.

"What did yew say?" Shilf looked over his shoulder, eyeing Brudz suspiciously with his glinting red cybork eyes.

"Er… I jush shaid yew looks alot betta wiv dat 'air doo. Very nishe indeed. Looksh charmin'." Brudz' lisp had gotten worse thanks to losing two more teeth. She could just feel her new teeth beginning to come through on her top jaw; she estimated they would be almost fully grown in a couple of weeks. It would take longer for her to get a big tusk though.

Shilf walked off again, stroking his long scraggly black hair. He looked like some grossly unhygienic music conductor. Brudz also headed off; she went into the garage where the other Meks were working on a trukk. She joined Glim, where they had been welding before she went to acquire her lunch.

"What 'appened to yew?" Glim asked, noticing Brudz' missing tusk and puffy cheek.

"Whadoya fink 'appened? Shilf'sh wot 'appened." She replied sourly, prodding her bleeding gum. "Ee shmashed out one of me big 'uns… dat shtupid fat git!"

Glim snickered. "Hur hur hur, I warned ya – Shilf's an' 'ard Ork. Don't go mistakin' 'iz apparent calmness fer softness. Ee just likes ter save 'iz breff so 'ee can yell nice an' loud. An' ee' don't 'old back when et comes ter floggin' someone, eiver."

"Really," Brudz replied sarcastically; she picked up a metal plate and put it in place for Glim to weld. "I'd've nev'r gueshed. Glad I aint shtayin' 'ere, not wiv Shilf as da 'ead Ork anyway."

Cezzy-Po had set up a make-shift clinic in a store room. Some of Shilf's Orks had been getting tattoos and squig hair transplants. Her current patient was Ongrat; Cezzy-Po was just finishing up a squig hair transplant on his chest. The Dok had a strange looking gun which sprouted the squig hair through the tip of a nasty looking needle; she applied it to Ongrat's chest liberally, where he had requested a nice thick layer of hair.

"A little bit more, yeah… ov'r da nips… that's gonna 'urt, hee hee!" The Dok spoke to herself. Every time she pulled the trigger, the device sounded like some kind of over-speeding sewing machine. "…Finished!"

Ongrat lay unconscious on the operating table (which was a Mek work bench that had been dragged in from the garage). After seeing how much Shilf had winced and moaned about the pain, Ongrat elected to be knocked out; Cezzy-Po was more than happy to oblige him with a nice thick steel pipe. To wake him up, she injected him with one of her needles.

"Rise an' shine sleepin' bootee," Ongrat heard Cezzy-Po speak as he started to regain consciousness. His chest hurt; he opened his eyes to inspect the damage. "What da heck? What's dis mess?"

"Squig 'air, like ya requeshted. It's a wee bit blood encrusted." Cezzy shrugged, she didn't know what the problem was. If she had a hairy chest, she'd like the crusty blood; it was nice décor.

"It looks like yer glued ah shrub ta me!" Ongrat sneered as he touched it; it felt rough and tangled. "Ya sure yew used squig 'air?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Cezzy snapped, "yew just got da left overs, dat's all. It's still squig 'air, dun matter where it comes from."

The Weirdboy sat up eyeing the Dok, questioning her. "Left overs?"

Pulling off her bloody rubber gloves she replied casually, "Well none of Shilf's lot wanted da butt 'air, an' I'd run outta da uvver shtuff when it woz yaw turn fer a transhplant."

Ongrat jumped down from the operating table and grabbed Cezzy-Po by the front of her open lab jacket. He pulled her so close to his face that his steamy, rancid breath was practically being forced down her nostrils. "Yer used squig butt 'air!"

Cezzy-Po giggled, raising a hand to scratch her chest. "Hee hee! Ya new 'air's ticklin' me."

There was a bright green flash and the door to the clinic and the Dok both went cart-wheeling across the garage; she landed painfully on a junk pile used for spare parts. "Ow… why's dey 'ave ter put rubbish right 'ere?"

Ongrat came storming out, his eyes glowing and his nose dribbling waagh energy. "I wants dis 'air taken out, NOOOW!"

With Ongrat's chest hidden beneath the squig hair, Cezzy-Po no longer felt very friendly towards the Weirdboy; she stood up and pulled out a scalpel from her coat. "Yew want dat 'air removed? Den come ov'r 'ere an' I'll do et for ya!" She snarled, goading Ongrat to have a go at her.

His senses blinded by the battle rage caused by excessive built up waagh energy, Ongrat didn't register the threat that the Dok really posed. Only when he walked over did he realise his mistake.

"Ungrateful git!" She yelled in fury, jumping off the pile of scrap and stabbing the scalpel as hard as she could into Ongrat's bare foot as she landed on the floor. She stood up and kneed him in the gut yelling, "Yer feral, ugly, shmelly grot!"

The Dok stormed off to leave Ongrat hunched over, spewing and farting spouts of waagh energy everywhere. He limped out the back as quickly as he could before he destroyed something explosive such as the canisters of propane which stood in the corner.

After managing to contain himself, he sat down on the dusty cement out the back, and leant against the shed where Jawge was being kept. "Mork almighty! Wot da zog iz wrong wiv dat Dok? 'Er knee felt like a tank 'ammer! Blaaaagh…" He regurgitated another bout of waagh energy which burnt a hole in the cement before dissipating.

Continuing to curse and scowl he pulled the scalpel out from his foot, and threw it across the yard angrily. It was then he heard Shilf's enraged yells from inside the workshop. "I'll kill dat zoggin' Weirdboy! Look at diss mess! Dere's 'oles ev'rywhere! AN EE MELTED ME GUBBINS!"

Ongrat rested his forehead in his hand and closed his eyes with a sigh. He was really in for it if Shilf found him. Deciding he had better stay out of sight for a while, he got up and opened the door to the garage Jawge was being kept, and entered.

Meanwhile, at the Deffskullz' hideout.

All the Snakebites mulled around bored; they were getting impatient. They hadn't seen hide nor hair of the Goffs in the area since hearing from Ongrat that the Goffs were in Squigopolis. Out of sight, out of mind, summed up how Uurgrin and his clan were feeling; they had forgotten the finer details of the plan, such as why they were loafing around doing nothing.

"Dis sucks, can't we jus' blow dis joint, Boss?" One of the Snakebites piped up.

Uurgrin had gotten sick of the attic after five minutes of being in there, and had been sitting in the main building with the other Orks ever since. "Hmm… I'd like ta. But we aint got any transport. An' I'm sick ov walkin'."

Oglak and Murkagro, the only two real Deffskullz, grinned in unison. "Oh we could solve yer problem," Oglak spoke.

"Well speak up, b'fore I decides we dun need yew." Uurgrin growled; he was in a grouchy mood.

"We c'd jus' steal… er I means borrow… a trukk or two," Oglak said with a shrug. "We do dat fer a livin'."

Many of the Snakebite Orks were nodding and muttering agreement; it sounded like a very simple plan.

"Ow's I know yer won't jus' do a runna on me?" Uurgrin questioned the two Deffskullz. "Can't jus' let yer walk out'v 'ere, I aint dat melon-'eaded."

"Well, send yer most trusted Orks wiv us. Fwree, four, eleven, what eva tickles ya fancy, Boss." Oglak suggested.

Uurgrin mulled the suggestion over in his head, trying hard to decide whether he could indeed trust the two Deffskullz and a few of his own boys. He eventually gave up thinking, and hoped he wouldn't regret his decision. "Fine, six ov me sneakiest boys'll go wiv ya."

Later that afternoon at Shilf's workshop.

Shilf's Orks had already finished construction of the trukks they had been working on that day. They drove them out to the back of the complex and parked them in a secure yard that also enclosed the shed in which Jawge bad been stowed. Shilf filled the garages with more vehicles – not his own this time, but those of a wealthy customer.

The Big Mek stood out the front of his garage talking to his client. "…yaw Mekboyz c'n 'elp, but anyfin dey breaks gets added to da bill, ya hear? Dis's my workshop, and et's my tools in dere."

Kargust was highly irritated. Four of his thirteen troop transport vehicles (basically anything that wasn't a warbike), which included two regular trukks, his own personal battlewagon and 'Destroya' (a giant black crane with a spiky wrecking ball), had broken down just after arriving at Squigopolis, and required towing to the workshop to be repaired. Prior to leaving camp, in his enthusiasm to hunt down and throttle the Snakebites, he had ordered that the vehicles be stripped of any unnecessary cargo (such as tool boxes and spare wheels) to make room for more Orks. Thus, his own Meks had nothing to fix the trukks with, and he was now negotiating with Shilf; a Mek he had dealt with in the past a couple of times before. He knew to be careful of Shilf's exuberant prices, unauthorised alterations and outright theft. But despite these problems, Shilf owned one of the largest garages in Squigopolis and was capable of doing any job fast because of the resources he had access to.

"My Meks'll watch wot 'appens; if dey sees sumfin' dey don't like, yew aint ter do et." Kargust said, laying down some rules. " I'll leave Mokka an' a few boys 'ere ter mind da vehicles, I still gots meself some Orks ter find an' kill. If I 'ear's ya tried anyfin' funny, yew'll regret et Shilf."

Shilf nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I knows, I knows. Don't do nuffin yer Meks don't agree wiv. Got et."

Satisfied, Kargust jumped on a still-serviceable trukk and gave orders to the Goffs who were left behind. "Once yer trukks're fixed, get out dere an' start lookin'! Be back at dis garage two days from now. If'n I gets reports any ov ya woz slackin' off, I'll twist yer 'eads off an' use 'em ta feed da squigs! An' keep an eye on dem wheelz of mine – if Shilf's lot does anyfin' yer got my pamission ter croak 'em!"

Mokka stood in the shade of the garage smirking at the unlucky boys stuck without a ride. He was glad that he didn't have to go trotting around Squigopolis on a trukk of rowdy Orks or stuffed into a side cart of a warbike; although he enjoyed being liberal with his waagh energy, he was most intolerant to company, even that of his Minders. He was very glad to have left them behind for a change; Kargust preferred to cram slightly brighter Orks onto his trukks, so the Minders had been left at the Goff's war camp as part of the skeleton crew.

Although his Boss had wanted to show Gilb-Rer just how dead killy the Goff warband was, and prove their superior kombat skills, Kargust wasn't quite stupid enough to leave his camp empty of Goffs for Gilb-Rer to take while he was gone on a hunt. It would be extremely embarrassing to return home only to be locked out by your so-called 'allies'. There were also things at the camp which required the special attention of Goff-only hands, such as the brewery and the squig pens. Never trust another clan with your food and beer.

Ilgil, who was stuck with the callous Weirdboy, wanted to go with the boyz if only it meant she could be away from Mokka for a day or two. She hated being Mokka's 'apprentice' – he treated her more like his personal slave.

"Yew gotta stay wiv me," Mokka growled at her as if reading her mind. "Our presence will entice Shilf's ladz ter be'ave 'emselves. Dey knows wot I's capable ov if dey cross paffs wiv me."

Breathing in deeply and holding a deep sigh, Ilgil nodded. "Yes, Masta…"

"Wot woz dat?" Mokka snarled, "didn' catch wot yew said, runt."

"Yes, Masta Mokka!" Ilgil repeated loudly but not rudely.

"Good," Mokka handed a couple of teeth to Ilgil from his pouch. "Now go get me sumfin' ter wet me lipz wiv, dey're parched az squig drops dat's been bakin' in da sun fer a week. Shilf's got a beer fridge, go find 'et."

Ilgil nodded furiously, showing she understood. "Yes Masta!" She scurried off to find the beer.

The Goff trukks were pushed into the workshop through the front roller doors, and the crane was towed around the back. An area was fenced off behind the building where Shilf's own vehicles were parked out in the open; the crane was far too tall to fit in any of the workshops.

Brudz and Glim had stopped making caltrops to follow the progress of the monstrous vehicle through the windows of the workshop; it greatly interested the pair. Brudz had never seen a crane before and her Orky mekanical mind was going into overdrive, a dozen thoughts all fighting for brain power, leaving her is a state of semi zombification. Glim, having been in a big city for much longer, had seen cranes before (though nothing quite so impressive) and was instead wondering just how massively destructive that lovely big, round and spiky wrecking ball could be, and imagining how much nicer it would look painted blue rather than black with checkers.

"Aint et boo'ehful? I wants wun. Wouldja make me wun if I paid ya lotsa teef?" Glim asked, unable to take his eyes off the Goff's crane.

After receiving no response from the visiting Mek, whose chin was now covered in drool, Glim set alight Brudz' red singlet with the ignition flame of his burna, always looking for an opportunity (not necessarily an excuse, though) to burn things. The Mek quickly came back to her senses, thrashing at the flaming hem of her clothes and swearing profusely. Glim just stood there laughing.
"So, wouldja?" he asked when she had extinguished her singlet.

Brudz kicked Glim in shin and replied, "Wotcha talkin' 'bout? AN' DUN DO DAT! I likesh me red shinglet ta be RED."

"Ow! Oi, I woz only messin' 'bout, don' 'ave ta get all grouchy like. An' I woz askin' if ya could make me wun ov 'em," he said, pointing to the giant crane through the window. "I wants wun."
"I'd want a trukk load ov teef fer somefin' like dat," she replied, admiring the strange, tall vehicle. "Yew'd neva be able ta affords et Glim."
Brudz had not built anything big before; it would be one hell of a project to design and build a replica of this thing the Goffs named Destroya. She might become a very famous (and wealthy) Mek is she could make a few, Brudz mused. It was the kind of machinery which seemed to epitomise many of the high held Orky values; it was gainormous, obviously capable of krumpping stuff, mobile, and very open to kustomisation to make it suitable for any clan. Her gut agreed with this train of thought.
"Well... wouldja make et if I gotz all da bitz for ya?" Glim asked hopefully, interrupting Brudz' daydreaming.

"I can't right now," she replied regretfully. "I aint gotsh meshelf ah workshop. An' I aint shtayin' 'ere fer long, I gotshta get to da Boss' waaghcamp. Dey gotsh lotsha workshopsh dere, dey 'as, an' dey makesh real big fings fer da Boss. Or, sho me shistah shays."

A grin spread across Glim's mug; a very Deffskullz glint in the Burnaboy's eyes was hidden by his welding goggles. "Let's go an' take a closa look at dat fing. Et'll look betta up close."

Hardly one to say no to eyeing over such fantastic machinery, Brudz heartily followed Glim out the doors.

Ongrat had been spying on the activities in the yard through a hole in the roof of the Killa Kan's shed. Shilf's bulky bionical Ork creations were asleep, or at least not active, clunking and growling as they swayed and snored, like cattle in a pen. Ongrat was in the loft with Jawge, unable to come out of hiding ever since the Goffs decided to drop by. He was cursing his ill luck; their Weirdboy was with them. Thank Mork he'd gotten some of that waagh energy out of his system earlier, otherwise the Snakebite might have been detected at such close proximity. He could certainly feel the waagh energy of the ill-tempered tempered Goff Weirdboy, and... Possibly another. It was hard to tell.

After the yard had been cleared of Orks, through his peep hole, Ongrat spotted Glim and Brudz trotting out of the workshop. They were making a bee-line for the large contraption that had been parked next to Shilf's trukks. He watched as the pair stood admiring the unimaginably tall vehicle, yabbering away about Gork knows what. They kept inching closer, egging each other on until eventually they had both climbed up onto the caterpillar tracks and peeked into the cabin. A short while later, two Goff Nobz came walking out, armed with choppas and a few loops of chain. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw the smaller Orks clambering all over their precious Destroya.

Dis aint gonna end well, Ongrat thought to himself.

"Oi! Yew two, watcha fink yer doin' up dere?" One of the Nobz yelled out, and they marched towards the crane.

Brudz and Glim quickly jumped down, trying to explain their actions. It may have worked if their stories hadn't been completely different.
Ongrat couldn't hear what was being said, but the Goffs got straight to the point; they grabbed Brudz and wrapped her up in chain. She wasn't able to put up much of a fight, and Glim had piss bolted rather than loose a limb or have his gut cut open. One of the Nobz carried Brudz under his arm as they retreated back towards the workshop; the Goff Nobz didn't bother ferreting out Glim.

The Nobz walked closer to the Killa Kan shed as they approached the workshop's rear entrance. Ongrat hoped they were going to throttle that little Evil Sunz git; cook her over a fire, or just play piñata. That'd be worth getting a bit blasty over.

"...now's we jus' gotta grab da Dok," the voice of the Nobs just audible now.

"Da Boss'll be 'appy we gots 'im anuvver two for da cages."
The Weirdboy was left confused; he wasn't entirely sure what he heard, or what it meant. They had mentioned a Dok, though. The Snakebites really needed a Dok, even if Cezzy-Po was from another clan and terrible with hair transplants, she was good with operating on boars and squigs. Ongrat contemplated whether he should do anything; if he could even do anything. He was more than a little conscious of the danger to his existence; but he was also conscious of the very ugly hair doo sprouting from his chest. If he lived beyond the next few days, that would have to go, yes indeed.

He had almost fallen asleep in the warm loft, leaning back against Jawge, after losing his train of thought, when something started scrabbling at the door to the shed. Ongrat was startled back to wakefulness at the sound; his fright short lived when he recognised the snuffling and snorting. It was Squigsy. Ongrat ignored the Dok's experimental pet, but it was relentless with its assault on the shed door. Worried it might attract unwanted attention or stir up the Kans, he climbed down and let the beast in. It had Cezzy-Po's bone saw clamped in its mouth, and ran excitedly on its finger-legs for Ongrat. The Weirdboy held in a shout of pain as the saw cut into his leg, Squigsy was eagerly jumping up trying to climb up the Weirdboy.

"Gimme dat!" He hissed angrily, snatching the bone saw from the squig's mouth. "I don't play fetch, ya stupid squig. Go away!"

Squigsy didn't even look at the scowling Ork, and now with its mouth free, was tugging at Ongrat's pant leg.

"Zog off! Arrgggh... 'ey, wot's dis?" Ongrat spotted something clenched in the squig's transplanted hand.

After wrestling the unwilling fingers open, he pulled out a piece of paper. It had Orky glyphs roughly scribbled on it in engine oil.

"Don't run... or I'll tell... Goffs. I wanna... speak... wiv ya." Ongrat hoped he had read the awfully written note wrong. Whoever wrote this was a very bad writer, even for an Ork, he decided; and, they were threatening him.
He fed Squigsy a piece of beef jerky to shut it up, and then dumped it out the door; it seemed content with a mouthful of food, and ran away to do whatever it was the squig did to occupy itself. Ongrat didn't know what to do; he was tempted t run, but then, it might have been just been Brudz being her typical git-self. Oh... he'd forgotten about the runty Mek being wrapped up and lugged off. The urge to run became even greater, what if it was the Dok? Squigsy had brought her favourite weapon and tool of the trade. But if he ran... well, he knew he wouldn't get far... even if he wasn't ratted out.

The stars were well and truly out; Cezzy-Po and Brudz were lying face up on the back of trukk looking at them.

"'ow'd we gets 'ere again?" The Dok asked groggily; her apprehension had been quite violent for all involved, and she had been bashed on the head with a fire extinguisher. The Dok only recently regained consciousness.

Brudz explained the situation to her sister for the second time. "Shilf sold ush to da Goffsh, an' now we're tied up in chainz on da back ov a trukk."

As soon as the first Goff vehicle had been repaired, Mokka had ordered a bunch of the boys take it back to their camp with the recently purchased 'invesmintz'. A dozen or so Goffs clambered on surrounding them, under the Weirdboy's directions.

"Take 'em back an' shove 'em in da cages!" he ordered his clan members. "An' make sure dem Snakebites're behavin' demselves. I don' trust 'em. 'Specially wiv da beer."

"But I don' wanna miss da fight 'ere," one of the Goffs complained. His head exploded in a flash of green light.

"Any uvver complaints?" Mokka snarled, glaring at the boys in the back of the trukk.

Goffs quietly wiped blood and brains from their faces; Mokka slammed the trukk's rear door closed. "DEN GET MOVIN'!"

The engine growled to life and sped off; Mokka may not have been the Boss but he still was big, nasty and extremely volatile. The ride was extremely rough; the driver cut corners and drove though pot holes to get as many city blocks between himself and Mokka. By the time the the Goffs were flawing it out of the edges of Squigopolis and into the desert, Brudz and Cezzy-Po were feeling very tenderised indeed.

"Oi, GET OFF!" The Dok didn't appreciate being used as a bench. "I aint a cushin!"

The offending Sluggaboy only laughed and sneered; the Dok was no threat. "Oh, an whatcha gonna do abouts it, eh? NUFFIN'! Ha ha hahaha!"

A bigger Goff, almost a Nob by Ork standards, leant back against the cabin and sat down, squeezing between their two captives; Brudz and Cezzy-Po did not like the proximity of their faces to his backside.
"Dish's gonna be an' 'orrible ride," Brudz sighed. "Why's we tied up anyway? Aint we supposed ta be Goffs now or sumfin?"

"We didn't buy ya ta join da Clan," The Nob said cheerily, "yaw gonna be our slaves til da meat rots off yer bones, hur hur."

Edit: Why does shift+enter not work! greeeeeaaaat.