Chapta 27: Da Caged Wuns
Say of Da Day: "Bikes iz red, an' Deff Skullz is blue... gimme dat crane, BEFORE I ZOGGIN' BURNS YEW! AH HA! HA! HA! HA!" – Glim the Burnaboy (probably more insane than any of you realise)
Perhaps because some mysterious power willed it so, or because of a bond only bizarre and strangely worded pseudoscience could explain, Marco had far-away empathisers sticking out an unwilling all-nighter at the same time he had to endure the dreadful company of Stikk'ead. Brudz and Cezzy-Po spent the night on the back of the trukk with a dozen uncouth, mean and stupid Goffs. None of them shared their snacks or let the girls sleep a wink, kicking, slapping or punching them if either started to doze off.
It was past sunrise, but still early morning, when the trukk pulled up. The dazed prisoners didn't know whether to be grateful or worried.
"Oi, what's you lot doin' 'ere?" They heard an Ork call down from a barricaded wall.
"Mokka sent uz, 'ee's got some more slaves. Now 'urry up an' open da gates! I wants some pie an' beer. Been a long drive."
The lookout muttered something no one could quite hear over the engine's growling. Brudz and Cezzy-Po could not see anything aside from the horrible peach-coloured sky and a few scraps of cloud through the grated canopy of the vehicle's tray. Chains clanked and something large thudded on the dirt and metal creaked. The trukk jolted as it changed gears and started moving forward again.
A shadow passed over them when the trukk passed through the entrance to the camp; as it receded deeper into Goff territory, the two Evil Sunz Orks got a view of walls not unlike those that had encircled the Snakebite camp, made from rock and hap-hazardly strewn together metal plates and beams. But the walls did seem to have an extra sprinkling of spiky things that was very Goffy.
No Ork worth their teef would pave or tarmac a road (unless it was to intentionally allow pot holes to develop, and thus enhance the experience for drivers) so the trukk merrily ploughed along the dirt roads that sprawled throughout the settlement. It drove past clusters of tacked together metal shanties, stopped at what was presumably the pub for thirty minutes (the Evil Sunz were left on the trukk while the Goffs gorged themselves on alcohol and pies), and then across a rickety metal bridge that quaked precariously. Brudz saw glimpses of what looked to be a lone barracks before the trukk turned and went down a slope, coming to a skidding halt seconds later. The ramp was thrown open and everyone disembarked; the girls were unceremoniously picked up and dumped on the ground like dead squigs. To their surprise the dirt was damp, on the verge of being muddy – most unexpected in the middle of a desert.
"Righto," the driver, a large Nob wearing a shiny black leather jacket, addressed his posse. "Yew – go an' fetch da runt wiv da key. Yew two go an' get da Dok. Da rest ov ya waits 'ere wiv me. Let's take dese two down to da cages."
Orks scrambled to obey the Nob. He led the remaining crew along a well-trodden path down the bank of a rivulet. The cages were not entirely obvious to the eye; they were camouflaged by overgrown grass and reeds, and the front edge was in the water. The thick metal bars were coated with tar to preserve them, blending in with the shadows. Brudz' bleary eyes could just make out dark shapes inside the cages. Whether they were living things she could not tell – there was no sign of movement, just the dank smell of mould and rotting things.
The two Evil Sunz Orks had their backs thrown against the metal bars, forced to stand in two inches of water and mud, in the shade of the greenery. All manner of choppas and sluggas were held against or pointed at various parts of their bodies.
"Hmph, me toesh ish gettin' all wet." Brudz moaned miserably. "An' it'sh cold."
"Want me ter fetch yer a pair o' squiggy slippers?" One of the Goffs snickered contemptuously. "Ter warm yer little runty toesies? Toughen' up yer wimpy Grot! Yer in a Goff camp now."
The other Goffs quickly joined in on the derisive verbal attack, sneering and making fun of their prisoners until a Goff Dok arrived with a worn out leather tote bag bulging at the seams with very unhygienic looking surgical instruments. He wore black overalls and a grimy oral mask that was probably once white, but was now multiple shades of brown.
"Ah," he spoke with a slightly muffled, phlegmy voice. "Move aside; let me see 'em! Go on, move yer leather clad behinds will you!"
The Dok pushed and weaved through the other Goffs until he stood in front of the two prisoners. He was a head taller than either of them, and had a slightly mad glint to his bulging, bloodshot eyes and creased green brow. Brudz and Cezzy-Po felt a little uneasy as the Dok's gaze flickered constantly between them.
"Right, right, now then," he began speaking, rubbing his hands over one another feverishly. "I's gonna ask yous some questions, an' you is gonna answer 'em, got it?"
The girls nodded in silence; compliance was currently their only option.
Cezzy-Po whispered hoarsely out of the corner of her mouth to Brudz, "Ee's either very nervous or very eager. I 'ope it aint da latter."
Brudz swallowed. There was only one thing Doks seemed to be eager for – their next operation.
The Dok pulled out a clipboard and what looked like a very straight, pointy stick.
"Wot's dat fing?" Brudz asked automatically, never having seen such a thing before.
"A writy-fing," the Dok replied, holding up what was actually a crude pencil. "A very advanced piece o' equipment. Only smart Orks c'n use et, though. Stupid Orks wouldn't need such a device, let alone know 'ow ter use it."
For a moment, the Dok's quivering gaze was fixed upon his pencil. Then quite suddenly he was glaring at Cezzy-Po.
"Speakin' o' smart Orks," he said, addressing her, "Is I right ter suspect you's a Dok? Probably quite inferior to meself o' course, but a Dok none da less, if wot da boys told me 'as any truth to et."
"Dat'sh right, Dok, I'm wun too." Cezzy-Po replied evenly, evidently unsure where this conversation might lead. "I's quite good wiv a bone saw."
Silently reminiscing about her favourite weapon and surgical tool that had been confiscated, along with all her other tools in her coat pockets and boots, the Evil Sunz Dok's eyes glazed over.
Humming to himself the Goff Dok pulled out a tape measure from his bag and began measuring Cezzy-Po's height, width, and the girth of her skull. Cezzy-Po stopped reminiscing and wriggled nervously; but with their hands tied, and multiple weapons still aimed at them, there was not much they could do but let the Goffs do whatever it was they were doing.
The Goff Dok poked some kind of beeping device lit up with many LEDs into Cezzy's longish green ears and rubbed a probe over her skin, down her coat and in her boots, marking something on his clipboard with his pencil all the while. Now and then he nodded or shook his head, muttering something to himself that no one could discern.
He performed the same routine on Brudz after confirming the Ork was a Mek. Brudz did not like the Dok's cackle in combination with his comment, 'Bit runty, but you'll grow'. As bewildering as the whole ordeal was, both girls were certain nothing good would come from it.
"They're right ter go in," The Goff Dok said to the Nob as he put away his weird instruments and pencil.
Brudz' blood went cold when she saw him pull out a rather large syringe. "Wot'sh dat for?" She asked concerned.
"Oh dis aint fer you," The Dok replied. He turned to Cezzy-Po, squirting the end and tapping the syringe to remove bubbles. "It's for dis wun."
Cezzy-Po immediately stiffened, ready to verbally abuse the Goff. Before she could rebuke the Dok, swift as lightning he stabbed her in the leg and injected the contents of the syringe. Cezzy-Po shrieked and swore, struggling to get a hand free to punch the offensive Dok.
Brudz watched as her spore sister rapidly became weak and her talk slurred. The Mek felt a stab in her leg, too distracted to see the Goff dig out another syringe from his tote bag until it was too late.
"Zoggin' 'ell! Liein' bastard! Shtupid, filfy, stinkin' Goff!" She cursed and swore at the Dok, who chuckled as he picked up his tote bag, not in the least stirred by her malign comments.
"I said da first wun wasn't fer you, didn't say nuffin' 'bout that wun." He replied, and gave the pair a merry wave with his free hand. "See ya 'round then!"
Job done, the Goff Dok turned and left the way he came, muttering something to the Nob as he passed. Brudz and Cezzy-Po were shortly thereafter manhandled into the dank, slimy cage; it would have been moderately large if not for the front half being submerged in two feet of water, and giant mounds of dirt and grime piled nearly to the roof in some places. Reeds and fungus grew rampant in the cage, leaving little open space.
The Evil Sunz Dok was in a complete state of lethargy, drooling with her face half in the mud where she had been dumped. Brudz was still expecting to fall into the same state. She sat beside the doped Dok, resigned to the fate of being a prisoner. She found herself involuntarily reflecting on her short, struggle of a life.
She hadn't even made it to the Waaagh!. Mumzy would probably beat her corpse into a green and red pulp if the cranky Nob ever found it. Jamz would likely get a right beating off her, too, for not delivering the young Mek to Waaghboss Frag'ead's camp. Brudz was barely more than a yoof – but Mumzy had always had high expectations of her. Maybe it was because Mumzy was a few nuts shorts of a warbuggy, or because Mumzy (even though the giant Nob denied it utterly) had dreams of being a Waaghboss herself, and considered the farm-raised Orks as her warband, or maybe... well, who knew? Brudz had never got the hang of understanding what Mumzy ever thought. She'd learned just to do as she was told or else no matter the request.
Several hours passed while Brudz moped about, eating giant mushrooms and thinking; it was late afternoon when the Dok began to stir, disturbing the Mek from her self-pitying.
"Oi... git..." Cezzy-Po opened one eyelid, her pupil as wide as a full moon. "Wot's... goin' on...?"
"Been in 'ere a while," the Mek replied. She filled the Dok in on what had happened. "Least dere's somefin' ter eat in 'ere," she finished, pointing at a cluster of mushrooms that she had gathered from the mounds.
With substantial effort the Dok managed to sit upright. "By Gork, dat Goff Dok's gonna get it." She held her head in her hands, swaying unsteadily.
"'Ave a mushie, might make yer feel better," Brudz suggested.
The Dok eyed the mushrooms with suspicion, but her stomach empty, she caved to her basic needs and began to eat the fleshy fungus. The sky outside the cage dimmed to a burnt orange by the time the Dok had ate her fill; the water in the cage rippled with a fiery tint, but it did nothing to stop the shroud of darkness that was engulfing the cage as the sun went down.
"I fawt shlaves did stuff," Brudz pondered aloud, looking out across the creek where the rickety Goff buildings were silhouetted against the sky. "We don't seem ter be doin' much shlavin'."
The Dok scooped up a fistful of mud and slung it at Brudz. "Well don't jinxsh us dummy! I prefers sittin' 'ere all drugged up den bein' forced ter do all sorts ov dishgustin' things dat a Gretchin' should be doin'."
"Don't mess me singlet up!" Brudz groused, standing ankle-deep in water. "Or et won't be red no more!"
To their right, behind the mound some reeds shifted. The two Evil Sunz jumped in fright. Brudz fled to the opposite side of the cage, crouching as best she could behind a screen of grass. The Dok stood up, still shaky on her legs, and began to back away.
"Who's shoutin'?" An unfamiliar voice called from the reeds. A leg and arm, followed by a head, and soon the rest of an Ork, appeared out of the foliage.
"'Ello dere," Cezzy-Po greeted cautiously. "Wot you doin' in 'ere?"
The Ork did not reply immediately. It walked around the mound and stood beside the mushrooms, its narrowed eyes glaring at the Dok. The Ork was dressed in a simply fashioned, warn out black robe that came halfway down its calves; it wore no shoes and did not appear to have any weapons or other possessions an Ork would usually carry on their persons. Cezzy-Po studied the Ork in order to try and distinguish its place in the social ladder; it was a big Ork, almost Nob sized, and well muscled – but there was something odd about it she couldn't put her finger on. Then it clicked. The Ork, like Cezzy-Po, was suffering the same symptoms imposed on by the injection; but unlike the Dok, it looked like it had seen better days, as if the life had been slowly drained from it.
"Ye prob'ly in 'ere coz yer speshul," the Ork spoke with a slight slow slur. "Da Boss threwed us in, coz we's about da right age. But 'ee gets girls from uvver clans, if dey smart or weird."
"Wot's bein' old got ter do wiv bein' locked up?" The Dok quizzed the stranger. "Wot's this 'bout girls, anyway? Wot? Don't yer Boss like da smell ov ya or somefin'?"
Again the Ork did not reply; but Cezzy-Po could hear Brudz giggle-snort from the corner. Cezzy-Po wasn't sure if the acquaintance was ignoring them, or if it was just so addled it took a long time to gather her thoughts. She watched as the slave plucked a mushroom and slowly chewed on it.
Between bites the Ork spoke again. "I'm a Stormboy, but dey said I woz a girlboy, so dey locked me up when dey realised. Da Boss only puts outsiders in 'ere if dey's got a talent. So's wot are ya? And wot's dat wun over dere?"
Cezzy-Po looked over her shoulder at the clump of grass Brudz was still hiding behind. "I's a Dok, and she's a Mek. She's still learnin' da trade, though. An' quite runty."
"I ain't runty!" Brudz fumed angrily, poking her head out and glaring at the Dok. She spotted the stranger. "Stormboy ya say? Fawt we killed all ov yer at Uurgrin's place."
"Dis one's obvioushly been in 'ere longer dan dat, shtupid!" Cezzy-Po snapped back.
Suddenly interested in the conversation, the ex-Stormboy looked at Brudz. "Wot's dat yer said 'bout killin' Stormboys?"
Brudz disappeared back behind the curtain of grass, shouting back, "When you Goffsh attacked Uurgrin's shettlement, all yer Stormboys died. Not one woz left standin'. Guess you must be da last wun, den."
Cezzy-Po prepared to run and hide fearing the Goff to take offense but the ex-Stormboy hardly batted an eyelid. Picking wax from its pointy ear the Goff replied, "What? Nah, dat woz just one flight. Dere's another three in da squadron."
"Well, dat's not a very big squadrom, is et? Fwree Orks aint much. Shoulda sent 'em all an' be done wiv et." Brudz responded, still in hiding.
The ex-Stormboy started to get irritated, growling back, "Three flights, zog 'ead! An' it's squadron notsquadrom."
Brudz finally got up the courage and emerged from the grass, but kept her distance.
"Anyway," she said to the Goff, looking the Nob up and down. "I shtill don't get why's you're in 'ere, you're a Goff. Wot did ya do, piss in ya Boss's beer?"
"She doesn't understand yet," The Dok spoke to the Goff, who was very quickly getting sick of talking to Brudz. "She wouldn't know what yer talkin' 'bout, but I do. What's yer name, by the way? I'm Cezzy-Po an' she's Brudz."
"Gom." The ex-Stormboy replied between bites on another large mushroom. "But wiv wot Dok Ulza gives us, I doubt you'll remember fer long."
Cezzy-Po frowned. She vaguely recalled the Goff Dok mentioning he'd see them later. "Does 'ee come an' visit much?" She asked Gom.
"Yeah. Every mornin'." The Goff turned away and began walking back to where she had first emerged.
"What's for?" Cezzy-Po queried, taking a few steps towards Gom. "Where ya goin'?"
"Sleepy stuff," Gom replied groggily. "Once yer been on it fer a while, ya can't stay awake. Now, go away an' let me rest or I'll show yer why I'm a Stormboy."
Brudz joined the Dok and the pair watched Gom disappear behind the plants. When the foliage stopped quivering the Dok spoke in hushed tones to the Mek.
"I don't like dis one bit," she said angrily. "I's gonna go see what's behind them leaves. Keep an eye out for any Goffs, 'specially that Dok. Burp if yer see anyone."
"Rightyo," Brudz replied and went to stand by the bars, looking at the dirt path. She certainly didn't want to go crawling into whatever den Gom had come from.
Ten minutes later Cezzy-Po reappeared. "Crikey, dere's lots more ov 'em back dere," she said jerking her thumb over her shoulder towards the far end of the cave. "They're all zonked out or so lethargic dey just stared at me – some ov 'em 'ave fungus growin' on 'em! We gotta do somefin', or we'll end up just like 'em."
"Wot's so bad 'bout lyin' about all day?" Brudz challenged. "Sounds like a freakin' holiday!"
The Dok slapped Brudz on the back of the head, making her head butt the bars. "Don't be shtupid, yer fink da Goffs sent us all the way from Squigopolis ter treat us to a holiday? Dere's somefin' I fink it's time yer learned. What girlboys do."
Trade resumed as normal in Squigopolis the next day with a little extra gossip than usual flying around town. Stories of the clan warfare that had taken place the night before provided fresh, juicy gossip. It had been a few weeks since such a large and entertaining brawl had taken place on the streets; a sight not seen since members of the Bloodaxe clan tried to usurp goods from some of the local freebooter merchants. Even then there had been no green fireworks. Weirdboys usually avoided coming to town except under orders.
Shilf was one of a small fraction of the local populace who did not really enjoy the fight – he had copped the rough end of the smackin' stick so to speak. His workshop was in a dire state, unfit for serving the public, and over two thirds of his crew were either dead or missing in action – including seven of his nine Killa Kans. The two Kans that remained had been locked back up in the shed again; they were useless for anything but killing things and showing off Shilf's skills as a Mek. They were his pride and joy; his greatest creations. And now most of them were gone, either destroyed outright or fallen prey to looters.
Those of Shilf's underlings that remained had been set to work repairing the workshop. Shilf alone worked on a new project – he was preparing something better than even his beloved Killa Kans. It was time to upgrade... to make something completely and utterly ravaging. The inspiration had landed on the tarmac after the exploding trukk incident, bleeding from almost every orifice.
The Mek's rage had spawned as a terrible sort of revenge; he was utterly focused on creating something that would both punish Mokka and make the troublesome Weirdboy his servant forever. Shilf was making a Deff Dread – even larger than a Killa Kan, operated by an Ork instead of a Gretchin. The pilot was currently locked up in a concrete trukk pit, where he had been dragged in off the street and dumped. Shilf was working on the hull to the machine that would permanently entomb Mokka. The Big Mek was determined to make the most powerful Deff Dread any Ork had clapped eyes upon – it would be largely built from brass, an excellent conductor for Waagh energy, and be fuelled not by huge clunking engines (although he intended to put one on to produce adequate noise and exhaust) but by the Weirdboy himself. The only joy Shilf felt was when he imagined his shiny new Deff Dread simultaneously firing multiple Weirdboy death rays. It would be a laser show like no other.
A Burnaboy called out to Shilf as he hurried towards the Mek with an excited gait. "Boss, I found Bad Dok like yer asked – woulda been 'ere sooner, but 'ee insisted on bringin' his entire surgery wiv 'im."
Shilf grinned to himself. It sounded like Bad Dok was particularly interested in Shilf's experiment.
"Good job, Firkle. Go an' 'ave yerself a beer and pie – don't go too far, I'll need yer 'elp later." The Big Mek was suddenly in a very good mood.
Firkle thanked his Boss and went in search of the surviving edibles. Shilf put down his rivet gun and went out the front to find Bad Dok – he wasn't hard to spot. The Dok had parked his trukk in front of a garage door, and was supervising his Gretchin orderlies as they unloaded his mobile surgery. Shilf walked over to greet his guest.
"Mornin', Bad Dok. I'm glad yer came; you'll be glad yer came too, hurr, hurr."
Bad Dok was a Nob; he was ganglier than Shilf and a hand's length shorter. His skin was a nice dark shade of green and he wore a tightly fitting black vest with teeth sewn into the hems. He had tall leather boots capped in steel and his legs were wrapped in grubby bandages up to his knees, over navy blue cloth pants. One of the Ork's arms was bionikal, equipped with all kinds of surgical equipment, and the other was bare except for a few stapled scars. On his back he had strapped a few of his favourite cutting and stabbing implements, and a pouch of unknown contents hung at his side on a thick belt. Bad Dok also wore a peak cap of human origin. The cap was as much a show of status as it was a fashion statement because of its rarity – humies hadn't been seen on the planet for decades.
The Dok grinned back at Shilf. "'Ello Shilf, long time no surgery." There was something a little less than friendly about the Dok's smile; but Shilf knew he had nothing to fear.
"C'mon in, an' I'll show yer wot I got," Shilf replied, walking into the garage. "I have a feelin' you'll find this a real treat."
Bad Dok ordered one of his eldest and more trusted Gretchin to supervise while he followed Shilf into the Mek's workshop.
"I likes presents," he spoke silkily, "dis one sounds particularly... interestin'. Don't get ter work on many Weirdboys, 'cept da wuns wivvout an 'ead. Not much fun, tinkerin' wiv 'eadless Weirdboys – dere noggin is da best bit!"
"Oh dontcha worry Bad Dok, this wun has 'is best bits still on," Shilf assured his eager companion.
When they reached the trukk pit Shilf picked up a long handled grot prod that was usually sold to Runtherdz. He lifted up the temporary iron sheeting covering the hole and flipped a switch that turned on lights. The pair peered down the ramp; Bad Dok growled with satisfaction, squinting down at the bedraggled and still unconscious Goff Warphead, cocooned in chains and rope. Shilf puffed up his chest; he knew that Bad Dok was most impressed, almost awed.
"Haven't seen dis wun since I left da camp!" Bad Dok gasped. "Dere ain't a Weirdboy more potent dan ol' Mokka in these parts. Shilf, yer do me too much honour..."
Reaching out with the Grot prod Shilf gave the still psyker a nasty shock, making Mokka spasm; the Warphead moaned and growled but was still only half conscious.
"Ee's got the right sort of temp'rament, Mokka does," Shilf said almost affectionately.
"What you talkin' 'bout?" Bad Dok enquired, looking sideways at Shilf's
Shilf turned off the lights and put the iron sheeting back over the hole, leaving the Grot prod where he had got it from. "Come wiv me," Shilf gestured for Bad Dok to follow him once more. "I'll show yer somefin' on me drawin' board while we get some beer into us."
Always happy to accept free alcoholic beverages Bad Dok walked with Shilf to the Mek's personal work station. Shilf ordered a couple of his own Gretchin to fetch them lunch, and promptly began explaining in detail his plans for Mokka, drawing on extra bits and pieces to his chalk representation of his ideal 'Weirdboy Powered Deff Dread'. It was little more than a child's scribble, but Bad Dok got the jist of what it was Shilf was trying to convey. It did not take much to convince the Dok to assist Shilf with wiring Mokka permanently to the Deff Dread; the pair had worked together on most of Shilf's Killa Kans, and they had learned to work together quite efficiently. Bad Dok quite enjoyed working with Shilf, who never got too angry as long as the Dok didn't do any experiments on his boyz during his visits.
"I just got one condishun," Bad Dok spoke, "We paints da hull black."
"But I likes bronze! It's shiny," Shilf groused. "Why's we got ter paint et black for?"
"It it would look like a ridiculous Bad Moons fing if yer don't paint et's body a nice dull colour. Bad Moons annoy me." Bad Dok replied.
Shilf scratched his chin as he thought about the proposal. He didn't want to paint the blasted thing, but he knew from past experience how much Bad Moons 'annoyed' (which was truly an understatement) Bad Dok.
"Fine, den. We paints et black, 'cept for da legs – dey needs ter stay shiny bronze fer electrical reasons, in case et gets over powered an' needs ter ground."
Bad Dok was satisfied with this arrangement. "Alright then. I better go an' start patchin' up our dear friend Mokka, an' show me Gretchin where to set up."
The sun was high when Cezzy-Po came around again. Early that morning, Dok Ulza had paid them another visit; this time he brought a blow pipe and a Runtherd who wielded a long grabba stikk. Cezzy-Po had tried to avoid the thing, but the Runtherd was an expert with it. While Cezzy was immobilised the Dok nailed her with a blue feathered dart, and Brudz with a red feathered dart with little effort. Gom and several others had also been targeted, but it was hardly necessary to use the grabba stikk.
Still groggy, the cage roof spun around the Dok for a while before her head settled down and she could stand up on wobbly legs. Cezzy-Po did not like their predicament. She had one small hope, but it would have to wait for the right moment. She cocked her head to one side; was that Brudz, sitting in a corner sobbing?
"Ur hur hur... I hate dis place. I hate dis sickness!"
Cezzy-Po frowned. It was Brudz. She walked over and prodded the young Mek in the buttock with her foot. "Oi, what you moanin' for?"
The Mek looked over her shoulder sullenly; her nose was dribbling snot, and her eyes were puffy. It was an ugly sight even by Ork standards.
"Dat Goff Dok's makin' me all sick," she sniffled. "Ee's poisoning me!"
"Why? Where's ya hurtin'?" Cezzy-Po asked. "'Ave ya been puking?"
Brudz stood up, and pointed to her stomach. "It feels weird here," she said sombrely. "But I aint been pukin'. Just feel all... kinda funny. Tried ter walk it off, but it didn't work none."
"Did yer try burpin'?" Cezzy enquired.
"Yeah, didn't work neither."
"Poopin'?"
"Tried dat, no 'elp."
"Hmm... wait, 'ow long you been awake?"
Brudz wrinkled her nose in thought. "Er, since dat Dok rudely woke me up wiv a jab," she replied.
The offensive object was still lying on the ground a few feet away. Cezzy-Po picked up the red feathered dart and inspected it.
"I think," she said pensively, "that our Goff Dok pal's givin' you shomefin' different. Wonder what it could be... maybe a little shomefin' ter get yer ta grow. Dat might exshplain yer mood. You been pitying yerself more than usual?"
Brudz narrowed her eyes and glared offensively at the Dok. Cezzy-Po took this as a yes.
"Ya been cryin' fer no other reason 'cept coz yer feel 'weird'?" She continued.
"Wot's it to you if I have?" Brudz growled angrily, feeling like she was being picked on.
"I fink I know what's da problem," Cezzy-Po nodded sagely. "You rememba what I told ya yesterday?"
Brudz nodded. She hadn't understood all of it; she wasn't a Dok who literally knew the Ork physique inside out. But she remembered Cezzy-Po explaining there was something in their blood that made girls different – something to do with fungus. It made an individual produce a strange odour caused by their perpetual release of spores – all Orks produced spores, but this blood-thing made some release more than the average Ork. Apparently this meant girls were more prone to 'hyper aggressive beehives', whatever that meant. It also meant that wherever girls were, there would be a greater rate of Orks popping up out of the ground if they stayed in the one spot long enough – this, they had confirmed with Gom when she came out for another snack, was why Kargust locked them up. He used them to increase the intake of yoofs to his clan.
"I did see da Dok over there," Brudz said pointing to the large that was virtually covered in mushrooms. "'Ee was doin' somefin' through da bars at da back while yous was all sleepin'."
"An' yer just shtood there, gawpin' at 'im, I shuppose?" Cezzy-Po replied sarcastically.
"Well, yeah." Brudz said with a shrug. "I jus' wanted ter be alone."
"Oh zog nuts," the Dok muttered. She had a fairly good idea what was wrong with Brudz. "Whatever 'ee's givin' ya, it's makin' ya depressed. Very unorkidox if yer ask me. A Dok should know better."
The girls mulled around until the afternoon, eating fungus and being down right bored. Cezzy-Po had inspected the mushrooms where the Goff Dok had been messing around. She found a red capped species scattered amongst the much larger brown capped species; she wondered if these were being used by the Dok.
"Oi, Brudz, c'mere," Cezzy-Po called out quietly. The Mek trudged over grumpily.
"What you want?"
"Look, I gots somefin' I need yer ter hide for me. Since you ain't bein' put ter sleep, you c'n make sure it stays safe." The Dok dug into her squig-hair buns and pulled out two small tubes that were filled with a black liquid. "Bury 'em somewhere dry, an' make sure no one digs 'em up. Dey could be our ticket out ov 'ere."
Brudz held one of the tubes up and stared at it. "What is et?" She asked.
"One of me real speshul Dok jooces," Cezzy-Po explained proudly. "Only I don't 'ave a syringe to administer it. I need yer 'elp wiv, that, too..."
There was something shifty about the way the Dok requested her sister's assistance. Brudz had a feeling this would, in some way, be dangerous. "I can't make syringes from nuthin'," she said trying to avoid committing herself to some bizarre plan.
"Exactly," the Dok continued, "So you gotta grab one for me – from Dok Ulza."
"Typical," Brudz spat the word out. "Get me ter do all the risky stuff! 'Ee'll stab me fer sure! I ain't no Deff Skull, thieven' ain't a natural gift ov mine."
"Well ya ain't got no choice!" The Dok snapped; she would have clouted her disobedient sister if the Mek hadn't been holding the two precious tubes of jooce. "Yer the only wun 'oo stays awake! It's our best shot ov bustin' out."
Reluctantly Brudz agreed. She went and found a suitable place to bury the tubes before finding a nice patch of fungus to sleep on. The next morning she was startled awake by Gom's shouting. Brudz watched bewildered as the ex-Stormboy stood straight, arm up in a salute, standing in the open space facing the back of the cages. She heard a faint shout and whistle from somewhere in the Goff Camp, and Gom lowered her arm to her side, still standing rigid. Brudz heard another faint shout and the ex-Stormboy started walking about robotically – she thought the Goff must have finally gone insane.
"Oi! Watch where yer stampin'!" Brudz shouted when Gom stomped precariously close to where the vials were buried. "Go an' loose yer mind somewhere else, ya got any idea what time it is?"
"It's paradin' time," Gom replied, keeping her head straight while continuing to stride in a small square. "Boss Goretoof's shoutin' commands for drill. I'm followin' 'is orders."
It made absolutely no sense to the Mek. She didn't ask any more questions; she just sat near the vials' hole to make sure Gom didn't step on the soft earth and break them. Brudz silently pondered if all Stormboys were this strange, or if it was just Gom.
Distracted by Gom, Brudz hadn't noticed Dok Ulza and his accompanying Runtherd approach the cage.
"Forever a Stormboy, I see," Dok Ulza mused, fitting a dart into his pipe. "Stand to attention so I c'n administer da medicine to ya."
Gom stopped marching and did as she was told. Brudz couldn't believe her eyes as the Ork just stood there and let Dok Ulza blow a dart into her belly. Next he dosed Cezzy-Po who uncharacteristically sat where she had awoken and did not require being pinned with the grabba stikk. When it came to Brudz' turn, she stuck her head between her knees and closed her eyes tight, waiting for the inevitable sting. She winced when the dart struck her in the ribs.
Brudz pulled the dart out and threw it into the rivulet. She watched as the Dok walked around the cage blowing more darts, the grabba stikk being utilised now and then on the more active slaves. Finally, when the rounds were done the Runtherd went back up the path and left Dok Ulza to his own devices. Brudz crawled closer to the mound, hoping the Dok would go to the same place he went the day before. Her stomach flipped as the Goff approached; she wasn't sure how she'd get the syringe Cezzy-Po needed, but she had to try something. She sidled up to the bars and wedged her face between them, trying to peer at the Dok. He waddled closer, rolling up his sleeves, eyes twitching.
"Shoo," the Dok said, as he approached where Brudz was pressed up against the bars. "I got business ter attend to."
Brudz sniffed; the drug was making her feel weird again. "I'm so lonely, stay an' talk Dok. Dey ain't exactly a social bunch in 'ere. An' dey sure ain't as smart as you."
The Dok seemed flattered, and became a little more agreeable. "Fine, I'll talk to yer while I does me stuff. But move over dere – so ya can't try anyfin' funny. I'll 'ave both eyes on ya."
Having no doubts she'd be clobbered if she did not obey, Brudz moved several feet away. She hadn't intended to strike an actual conversation up but since the opportunity had presented itself she asked the first thing that came to mind.
"Do yer drugs make Gom weird? Or iz all Stormboys like dat?" She asked. "She woz stampin' about, sayin' she was takin' orders or somefin' from 'er Boss."
Dok Ulza chuckled with amusement and crouched down, sticking his arms through the bars. "Nah, Stormboys is all like dat. She was marchin'. Stormboys are a strange lot – they follow orders and act like a bunch of Oomies. But dey sure beat da snot outta just about anyone 'oo gets in dere way."
Brudz watched as Dok Ulza picked the red capped mushrooms and put them in his tote bag. Cezzy-Po had guessed right.
"What's them red ones for?" She asked inquisitively without thinking, pointing to the mushrooms the Dok was collecting.
"Curious wun, aren't ye?" He spoke, smiling wryly, avoiding answering her question. "Girls seem ter be a little odd like dat. Still aven't figured out why."
As if fate was tempting her to try something stupid, Brudz watched as the Goff finished collecting mushrooms and pulled a large rusty syringe from his bag. Her eyes were fixed on it.
"I like metal," she said airily, in an attempt to not appear suspicious. "I make lotsa good fings wiv metal."
"I'm sure ya did," Dok Ulza muttered in reply, not paying attention to the Mek. He was focused on... stabbing the mound. Brudz scratched her head as the Dok injected something into the heap. This was likely only going to make sense to a Dok, she decided.
Dok Ulza stood up and walked back up the path, Brudz calling out to him until she could see him no longer.
"Tell Runtherd ter stay next time, bet 'ee knows some good jokes. Or maybe bring down a Mek – I wants ter talk about bikes! Did yer hear me? Bikes! I love bikes. Dok? Oh well..."
Things could have gone far worse, Brudz surmised, standing up and walking to the front of the cage to drink some of the water. Something up stream gave it an oily taste, for which Brudz was pleased. It reminded her of her hobble of a workshop back at the farm. Thirst satisfied, and back to having nothing to keep her entertained, Brudz decided to dig around and see if she could find anything to tinker with. She started in the water, scraping fistfuls of silt and sand up and piling it into a mound. She found a few rusted nuts, screws and multiple discarded darts but nothing terribly spectacular. It was nearly lunch time when she found something peculiar. Just above the edge of the lapping water, Brudz dug up what she thought were stubby, woody roots. Closer inspection proved this observation inaccurate; they were toes. Very large toes.
Further excavation uncovered a foot which was attached to a thick ankle, which was attached to a leg that was still buried. Brudz took off a mud encrusted boot and compared her foot to the unearthed one. The mystery foot was at least three time the size of her own and so dark green that the foot almost looked black. Brudz' foot was a much brighter shade of green, and her toe nails didn't look like bears claws.
Cezzy-Po stirred from her involuntary slumber. She stretched her aching limbs and staggered her way towards the young Mek, rubbing her stiff back.
"Missed the taste o' toe jam, did we?" Cezzy-Po laughed dark humouredly.
"I woz jus' seein' how big dis wun woz!" Brudz snapped, pointing to the unearthed foot. "Do ya fink its Mumzy's?"
The Dok walked closer. "What are ye talkin' about? Do I fink wot iz Mumzy's? Oh... dat fing." She peered down at the motionless foot. "Nah, I know Mumzy's feet quite well. Dat ain't wun ov 'em."
Not one to collect Ork bits, Brudz put her squelchy wet boot back on and left the foot alone. On the Dok's request she reported what had happened that morning. Brudz stretched the tale a little, saying how very unapproachable and hostile Ulza and his Runtherd had been, but still the Evil Sunz Dok was fuming. Hoping to avert a beating, Brudz quickly explained she had wanted to 'observe da enemy'. Cezzy-Po did not believe the story at first, but Brudz took her over to the mound and pointed to where the Goff Dok had injected the liquid. The Dok was still highly sceptical of Brudz' story, but it sounded curious enough to investigate. She began to poke and prod the soil.
"If your liein'..."
"Try diggin'," Brudz insisted. "I ain't fibbing. I swear on me lovely red bike."
Together the pair dug their nails into the peaty soil and rooted around. They uncovered a few worms and insects, and then something that neither of them could have anticipated. They found another dark green something.
"What is et?" Brudz asked, wiping dirt off the surface of what looked like a green boulder.
The Dok poked around, prodding the green thing and digging more soil and fungus away.
"I believe," the Dok spoke matter-o-factly, "we seem to 'ave found... a shoulder. It's a biggun, too."
Both the Evil Sunz Orks jumped in fright as the foliage rustled and Gom appeared for the second time that day. The ex-Stormboy wandered over to them sucking on a large toadstool.
"'Ello, Gom," Cezzy-Po greeted the slave unenthusiastically. "Sure dat one's edible?" She said, gesturing to the toadstool.
The slave shrugged; she didn't seem to care either way, but she removed the toadstool from her mouth to speak.
"Careful, don't let Dok Ulza see yer diggin' 'er up."
"But dere's someone buried 'ere," Brudz pointed to the shoulder, and then the foot. "An' annuver over there!"
"Yeah, dat's 'er too," Gom sighed wearily. "Best jus' ter let 'er lie dere. She ain't moved in moons."
The Dok stood up, and looked from the foot near the front of the cage to the exposed shoulder up the back.
"If dere's a bit dere, an' annuver piece 'ere, den dere must be an Ork in between joinin' 'em together! Is da whole mound one Ork?"
The slave, sucking on her toadstool again, nodded. Taking the fungus out of her mouth she spoke, "She's bigger den kunnin' ol' Boss Kargust. But, well, 'ee was more kunnin'. I woz just a yoof when 'ee trapped Boss Lilork, an' took over da clan."
Both Evil Sunz gaped at the mound with awe.
"Gom," Brudz asked, "Can ya tell us about Lilork?" She wanted to hear a story – and hear about the Ork that was comparable in size to Mumzy.
