Chapta Seventeen: Mountain Hike
Chapta Seventeen: Mountain Hike
Snow sprinkled on the mountains, thrown around by a chilly wind. Although it looked pristine from a distance, three certain Imperial Guardsmen cursed the weather as they trudged across the grey slippery rocks with snow slapping them in the face.
They had been forced into the cold mountain side with nothing more than rations to last a day, three guns between them, unsuitable clothes for the icy weather, and absolutely no idea of where they actually were.
"I feel like we're in a snow globe…" Marco said sounding disheartened; they had been walking around for over two days after exiting from the five-kilometer long escape tunnel.
Sam bent over and scooped some snow up to eat. "It could be worse," she said after swallowing. "We could be in a desert with no water."
"At least a desert isn't this friggin' cold day and night!" Barthees complained, wiping his nose on his over-used hanky. "If we don't find our way back soon, we'll die from hyperthermia – if the Orks don't find us first."
As they walked on they came to a rock ledge which jutted out, forming a small shelter beneath it. Barthees ordered that they rest for a few minutes under it before climbing over.
Marco cringed. "Alright, who farted?" He asked, eyeing Barthees.
Sam smelt the stench too; when she did, she quickly put her hand over Marco's mouth and held up her index finger to her mouth demanding silence.
Barthees quietly picked his gun off the ground, whispering to Marco. "Don't make a peep, that foul smell is from an Ork – there must be some nearby."
After Marco nodded to show he understood, Sam removed her hand. "You two stay here," she whispered. "I'm going to take a peek around, to see if I can spot them."
She slipped out from under the over hang, crouching while she tried to listen for anything above the whistling wind. She heard faint noises and decided to look above the ledge. Kneeling on a rock to elevate herself, she pulled out a thin, black, snake like tube from leg pocket. It was a flexi scope: she bent it into an L shape and put one end to her eye. The other end sat just above the lip of the ledge, and she looked about.
Sam spotted the Orks almost immediately; three of the greenskins sat near a rock wall smoking cigars and drinking from flasks at the far end of the small plateau. By the way they looked they obviously didn't like being out in the weather. She observed them for a few minutes before returning to Barthees and Marco.
"There's three Orks above us on the far end of a small plateau," She whispered, her head close Barthees. "I reckon we can drop them before they even realize what the hell happened to 'em."
Barthees considered Sam's advice, but decided killing the Orks would not be the best course of action. "No, we don't know if there any other Orks nearby – killing them might draw raise their suspicions. As far as it goes, we don't want the Orks to even know there are humans on this planet."
Marco was almost beginning to think the sergeant had chosen to do something smart for a change when he added, "We'll take them hostage instead – and dispose of them where no Ork can find their bodies later. I want to find this mountain resort place the Commissar mentioned in his letter – I bet that's where the pool balls are!"
"What? No!" Marco said standing up and banging his head on the rocks above. "Ouch!"
Barthees whacked Marco in the back of the knees to make him sit down and pinched his lips closed. "Shut up, do you want those Orks to come over here?"
A plan to capture the Orks formed in the sergeant's head. "Wait… yes, that's a good idea." He muttered to himself. "Alright you two, listen up. Here's what we're going to do…"
The three Deff Skulls puffed slowly on their cigars. They wore thick fur-lined jackets and leather caps with ear flaps. Their pants were baggy but thick, and their boots came up to their knees. Like most Death Skulls Orks they had blue war paint painted on their skin; the three Orks had painted the backs of their hands, and vertical lines on their faces.
Gilda, the larger of the three, snorted noisily and spat on the ground. "Hur, dis sentry stuff iz borin'."
"Nyeh, right on Gilda." Spoke a small whiny-voiced Ork named Twik. "An' it's zoggin' cold. I 'ate dis stinkin' shnow."
"Oi, yew two, d'ya 'ear dat?" The third Ork, Jinshak, said lifting one of his cap's ear flaps.
Gilda and Twik did like wise; they heard a faint tapping sound.
"I wonda what dat noise iz?" Gilda spoke. "Go an' check it out Twik, might be them Goffs."
"What? Why me? Can't Jinshak do it, ee looks more capable." Twik replied. He quickly decided to do as he was told when Gilda went to pull his shoota from his pocket. "Fine, fine, I'm on me way. No need ta get all grouchy."
Twik walked towards the source of the noise, towards the ledge. As he reached the edge, it stopped. He looked about but saw nothing. He started to turn around, when something grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him over the edge.
Jinshak laughed aloud at what he assumed to be Twik tripping over. "Hur! Hur! Hur! Da idiot slipped off da rocks. Ee's such a dimwit."
Sam held the barrel of her shotgun to the back of the Ork's head, with a foot firmly on his back; Twik lay belly down on the rocks where he had been thrown. "You make one sound and I'll blow your ugly mug right off of your shoulders, understood? And keep your hands where I can see 'em."
Twik whimpered and the barrel prodded his head harder. He hadn't seen his attacker, but he knew that was no Ork voice. He felt someone grab his shoota and his knife, and remove them from him. He dug his claws into the rocks angrily; but he dared not move or say anything. A shadow fell over Twik, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a pair of neat black boots.
"Ew, he smells, do I have to?" Marco complained.
Sam snapped orders at Marco quietly, without taking her eyes off Twik. "Yes, you do! Now shut up and search his pockets. He might have concealed weapons. Don't worry, if he tries anything funny I'll splatter his brains all over the mountain side."
"Comforting…" Marco muttered and got to work. Twik scowled in silence as he felt two small hands rummaging through his clothes.
Marco emptied an assortment of items out of Twik's pockets; two cigars, a flask of some foul smelling liquor, strips of meat jerky, a few teeth, bullets, a lighter and some coloured stones.
"Why does an Ork have stones and teeth in his pockets?" Marco wondered aloud.
Twik couldn't keep his silence for long; he growled, "Coz…" when his head hadn't been shot to pieces, he continued, "… I can't by nuffin wovvout teef now, can I? Nah. An' why does I need excuses ter keep fings I like da look ov?"
"Oh how cute," Sam said sarcastically. "Now, Ork, I want you to do call your two buddies over; tell them you found something to eat. Say anything else, and well… I'm sure you know what'll happen."
The captive Ork decided he would rather risk his companions' lives than his own, so he complied. "Oi, Gilda, Jinshak, I found some critters ta eat down 'ere! Come over, I need a 'and capturin' 'em."
Twik was quickly dragged underneath the overhang where Barthees took over monitoring him, so Sam could do the honors of capturing the last two Orks.
Jinshak immediately got up; he was sick of eating dried meat strips. "Dat musta been what woz makin' da noise; some animal. Maybe dere's a nice fat squig or two." He said, walking towards the ledge. Gilda followed in silence; he grinned in anticipation of a hot squig roasted over a fire.
"DON'T TWITCH A FINGER OR I'LL BLOW YOUR GOD FORSAKEN BRAINS OUT!"
Both Orks looked bewildered down at the human who had a shotgun and a laser rifle aimed at their heads. Jinshak made the mistake of moving his hand towards his pocket; it was the last thing he ever did.
BLAM!
Gilda stood rigid still; he didn't even attempt to wipe Jinshak's brains from his eyes. The dead Ork's body crumpled and fell like a sack of potatoes off the ledge, landing in front of Sam with a thump.
She cocked her shotgun with one arm and aimed it at Gilda so he was now looking down the barrels of two guns, while Barthees scolded her for killing the Ork.
"Emperor forbid!" He said sounding exasperated. "Sam, I told you not to kill the Orks! We need them – alive!"
Sam rolled her eyes. "What was I supposed to do? Let the turd pull out his gun? I don't think so. Besides, we really only need one of them."
"Yeah, alright," Barthees replied sounding reluctant to agree. "But we'll have to dispose of his body some place where no other Orks will find it."
Twik's stomach growled hungrily. Careful not to move, he said, "Why don't'cha be a nice oomie an' let me an' Gilda eat da 'eadless sucka? I'm sick ov eatin' tough squig meat."
Shaking his head, Barthees replied, "No can do, the rest of your kind would smell his rotten carcass roasting from a hundred miles away. Might as well send them all invitations to come here if we do that."
Twik smirked. "Oo' said we 'ave ter cook 'im?"
An hour later the two Orks were picking the last of the meat off Jinshak's bones; the Imperial Guardsmen learnt their names, but rarely bothered using them. Marco had searched Gilda and Jinshak's corpse and had stripped them of everything except clothes. Now the private sat under the ledge trying to chew on some of the meat jerky he had confiscated from the Orks. Most of it had been too hard and cut his gums open, but he found a darker piece which seemed softer.
"Finally, something edible." He muttered, taking a bite. His face screwed up with disgust. "God, if this is what squig tastes like, you Orks live a pitiful life."
Gilda and Twik looked around, their faces smothered in blood. Gilda laughed hoarsely, "Dat aint meat, dat's my lucky dried squig shit shaped like a choppa, hur! Hur! Hur!"
Marco threw the dried squig scat away and spat out what he was chewing. "Phaaw! Bleh! Where's some snow!"
Sam and Barthees couldn't help but laugh at Marco's bad luck; they watched as he scrambled for the nearest pile of snow and shoveled it into his mouth, trying to clean out the filth.
"That kid never learns," Barthees said picking up a cigar from the Orks' pile of contraband items. "So, what exactly do you Orks put in these things?"
Gilda's eyes widened when he saw the sergeant ready to light up one of his cigars. "If yaw dirty pink lips even take one whiff ov dat fing, I'll rip yer tongue outta yer mouf!"
"No you won't fat chops," Sam said wobbling the shotgun slightly to remind the Orks she was still watching them very carefully, "Or you'll end up like your pal there."
A pungent smell wafted from the cigar as Barthees lit it up; he put it to his mouth, and inhaled a sample of the smoke it produced. His eyes squinted as he exhaled, a spout of grayish black smoke billowing out of his mouth and nostrils.
"Holy horse shit!" He said looking at the cigar with awe. "Whoever said Orks are incapable of making anything perfect needs to try one of these. I wonder what their alcohol tastes like? It must be godly if their cigars are this awesome."
"Not that I care," Sam said crossing her legs, "but knowing Orks, whatever you're smoking, it's bound to be a little more than bad for your health."
"Oh, c'mon, you'll take that all back once you try this." Barthees reached out with the cigar and held it close to Sam's face. She gave him a flat stare. "Just one chuff," he said cheerfully to her.
Unenthusiastically, Sam put the cigar to her mouth and breathed in. A tear welled in her eye, and she exhaled. "That's…"
"Fantastic?"
"I was more or less thinking insane."
Barthees nodded as he smoked the Ork cigar again; he knew Sam was impressed with it. He saw Twik eyeing his cigar grudgingly. "Twit," he spoke, "you want one?"
Twik nodded feverishly; he was addicted to cigars. Gilda licked his lips clean of blood, looking murderously at the smaller Ork.
"You can both have a cigar if you answer my questions." Barthees said to them, holding up two fat cigars, and waving them.
"C'n we 'ave a sip from our bottles, too?" Twik asked, eyeing the two small flasks in the contraband pile.
Gilda walloped Twik over the back of the head with his hand, snarling at him angrily. "Ya stupid git! Now dat oomie'll drink all our booz! What'll we 'ave ter drink then, eh? Water? Unlikely! Water's 'orrible tastin'!"
"Settle down Gilda, I'll leave you some of whatever's in those flasks if you do what I tell you."
"I don't take orders from oomies, 'specially since yer smaller den me!" Gilda snapped back, but keeping his distance.
Sam raised her voice to get Ork's attention. "You sure as hell will if you want to live long enough to smoke and drink alcohol beyond today. I can always plug you, and let Twik have it all."
"Fine!" Gilda kicked Jinshak's bones, scattering them over the rocks. "But yew betta not be lyin', coz if yew iz, dere aint nuffin on dis planet dat'll stop me from throtellin' yer, shoota or no shoota!"
The Orks answered every question Barthees and Sam asked them. They found out the location of an Ork settlement which sounded suspiciously similar to the resort mentioned in the Commissar's letter. There was no way to be sure if the Orks were lying or not, but by blackmailing them with cigars, alcohol, and a gun in their face, Barthees doubted the Orks would lie (completely).
In exchange for guiding the Imperial Guardsmen to the Ork settlement, Barthees offered the Orks more cigars and alcohol. Twik eagerly accepted, but Gilda was less enthusiastic. A quick burst of laser to the Ork's fat gut made him more willing to comply.
Barthees wasted no more time; they cleaned the camp up, throwing Jinshak's bones over a cliff and wrapping the contrabands in the dead Ork's jacket for Marco to carry. The Orks lead the way with Barthees and Sam at their back, guns at the ready. Some hours had passed by the time Marco got sick of being told to 'shut the hell up asshole' by Barthees; be walked up beside Sam, and tried talking to the Orks instead.
"How many Orks are there at this settlement?" He quizzed them.
"More'n enough ter kill yew fwree," Gilda replied sardonically. "Keepin' yew lot alive wasn't part ov da deal, jus' rememba dat."
"Someone's got a bad case of assholitis…" Sam mumbled; she watched as Marco got closer to Twik but said nothing to stop him.
Tapping Twik on the shoulder carefully, Marco asked, "How old are you?"
"Firty sumfin'," Twik replied. He didn't enjoy talking to Marco. "What's it ter yew, 'oomie?"
Marco shrugged. "I was just curious. Say, do you Orks have a leader or sorts? You know, like an Emperor or a Prime Minister?"
Twik's nose screwed up with confusion. "Iz a prime whastit some kinda meat? An' neva 'eard on an empowrer. But we do 'ave a Boss. 'Ee's da biggest Ork yew'll eva lay yer meager little eyes on, heh. An' 'ee's real killy, too! 'Ee c'n rip apart just 'bout anyfin'. Yep, yew'll likely die if yer goes anywhere nears 'im. Bit strange lookin' too, if yer ask me. Wears all sorts of weird fings – might 'ave sumfin' ter do wiv da fence post permanently shtuck in iz big 'ead."
"You Orks always dress weird," Sam said, wondering what an Ork would class as 'strange lookin''. "What makes your Boss different?"
Twik was about to explain when Gilda looked over around at his captors, yelling "I need ter 'ave a piss!"
"Piss as in alcohol?" Barthees asked holding up a flask.
"No," Gilda replied stopping in his tracks, holding up the whole group. "Piss az in I want ter water da flowers. Now, can I do dat wivout getting' shot?"
Barthees looked across to Marco. "Did you search their pants for weapons like I asked?"
Marco tried to look convincing, but his sudden interest in a rock by his feet gave away he was fibbing. "Yes, of-of course…"
"You lieing turd! Why the hell didn't you do it when I asked?" Barthees shouted, his face going red. "What if he's got a knife down them pants? Or a pistol, or something?"
Gilda started to bob lightly on his toes; he really needed to relieve himself. "I don't 'ave no weapons shoved up me butt, so c'n yer just let me pee? I don't care if yer 'ave ter watch me, yer paranoid oomie!"
"Okay," Barthees agreed heartily. "Marco, you can do the honors, since you ignored my orders. Sam, you mind Twit."
"It's Twik, not twit." The small Ork grunted, but no one listened or cared.
Memories of his first horrific experience of Orks came flooding back to Marco; he fell to his knees, and dropped the jacket full of contrabands. "Noooooooo! Nooo-ho-ho-ho… Why me? Sam's better with a gun! I'm just a poor mentally scared private with no courage whatsoever!"
"You mean you're a coward?" Barthees asked to confirm Marco's sudden rant.
"Realistically speaking, yes." Marco replied with a nod. He put on a puppy face for the sergeant, but little did he know Barthees hated dogs.
With an evil smirk, Barthees replied, "Well, that's an even better reason for you to do this; it'll toughen you up my pathetic little bed-wetting comrade."
"I don't wet the bed!" Marco shouted back.
"You do too, I read your file."
Sam looked at Marco with a raised eyebrow. Marco shrugged back, saying, "I told you before I have a weak bladder…"
Gilda, whom everyone had forgotten about, had his knees crossed, trying to hold his urine in. "STOP TALKIN' 'BOUT BLADDERS 'N' BED WETTIN'!"
Sam threw Marco his las-rifle. "Go on now before he wets himself, but make sure you can see Gilda's hands at all times. I don't want to be walking around with an Ork that wet his pants."
Reluctantly, Marco walked over and stood a few feet in front of Gilda; the Ork practically ripped his pants off, not caring who could see him, and sighed with relief as he let it flow.
Watching Gilda urinate made Twik want to go to the toilet as well. "I wanna pee now too," he said.
"Fine, fine, you can go after Gilda." Barthees said to the Ork, and ordered Marco to mind Twik as well.
Once the Orks had finished, Marco feinted and fell backwards; his helmet saved him from cracking his head on the rocks.
Barthees shook his head. "That boy has lived a sheltered life."
"Either that, or the ammonia got to him." Sam said pinching her nose. "That makes cat pee smell like roses."
As the light faded the band made camp inside a small cave. Barthees lit a small fire with a solid fuel tab to boil some water in his kidney cup. He put the jerky in and soften it up – although it looked highly unappetizing, they had no choice but to eat it, or starve.
"Is there anything else to eat?" Marco whinged as he peered down into the cup. "That stuff smells."
"I could cut you a schnitzel from the blimp's belly," Barthees indicated with his thumb to Gilda. "Or would you rather this?"
Marco decided the jerky would be nicer. "That…." He said, looking glumly at the jerky.
Stirring the boiling beef jerky concoction, Barthees replied, "Good, now go and help Sam watch those Orks. If she stares at them any harder, she'll burn a hole through their heads."
Tired and hungry, Marco slumped down beside Sam, and leant against the wall of the cave. She handed him his laser rifle.
"Don't fall asleep just yet Marco," She said keeping her shot gun trained on the Orks, who sat on the other side of the cave. "We don't want to let our guard down."
"I feel tired, but I don't want to go to sleep – I'll have nightmares." He explained with a shudder. "Barf is evil."
Across the other side of the cave, the Orks snickered. Gilda flexed his arms, laughing at Marco. "Hur, hur, what's wrong runt, did my ripplin' muscles make yer realize just 'ow wimpy yew are?"
"The only thing that I saw ripple," Marco replied indignantly, "Was your fat rolls!"
Twik fell sideways cackling out loud; Gilda just sat frozen on the spot with his arms still bent in the air, and his jaw slackened. Eventually he came to his senses, and grabbed Twik by the throat shaking him like a doll.
"What yew laughin' at yer mangy git? I oughta feed yer ta da Gretchin! Lousy runt!"
Twik tried to pry Gilda's hands off his throat but he couldn't even loosen one of the Ork's fingers. Eventually, Sam had to intervene to stop Twik from being strangled to death.
"Let him go or I'll blow your arm of at the elbow." She threatened, aiming her shot gun; she wasn't bluffing.
Gilda looked at Sam, releasing Twik. He threw the smaller Ork down hard, warning Twik not to mock him again. "Laugh at me again Twik, an' I'll snap yer arms off an' stuff 'em down yer froat!"
Barthees called over to Sam and Marco, "The meat's done; it's soft but really chewy. Once we're finished, I'm going to put out the fire." He brought the kidney cup over, and handed it to Sam. "I've had my share, you eat half of that then hand it to Marco. I'll take over minding the Orks while you eat."
"Do we get some, hmm?" Twik asked, rubbing his throat.
"No, you ate an entire Ork between you earlier." Barthees replied. "Go to sleep or something."
Twik didn't look too surprised to be denied more food; he didn't expect the humans to be that nice but it was always worth a shot. "Sleep? Huh… I aint tired yet. Stop mutherin' me, 'oomie."
"Alright, stay up as long as you desire, but we're hitting the road as soon as the sun rises." Barthees warned the Orks. "I don't care how tired you are."
The night went too fast for Marco's liking; he had taken first picket and slept like a log afterwards, curled up in a small crevice by the cave wall. Rays of the sun which entered the cave were mellowed down by the curtain of mist outside; Marco woke up when the cave began to light up.
He blinked open his eyes to get rid of his fuzzy vision, and stretched his tired sore body. When he realized that neither the Orks nor Barthees were in the cave, he panicked.
"They left without me!" He said pulling himself to his feet and brushing concealed sleep from the corners of his eyes.
"Settle down there Marco," Sam's assertive voice came from further down the cave. "Nobody's left you behind. Barf's out the front of the cave with the Orks."
It took a few moments for Marco to calm down; his brain was slow to respond while he was still waking up. "Oh… okay. Why's he out there with the Orks? What if they jump on him?"
Sam walked over to Marco, doing up her fly. "It's alright, he has the shotgun and the laser rifle with him. I've got his flamethrower with me, though," She said patting the strap over her shoulder.
"Did you just… pee down there?" Marco looked around Sam to the back of the cave.
"No, I was just stuffing all my pockets with dry moss to help keep me warm. You should do the same." She replied, patting her somewhat padded legs. "I aint freezin' my goalies off for no one. Come on, I'll help you find some."
It didn't take them long to find enough dry moss to stuff all of Marco's pockets with. At first he felt a bit uncomfortable, but it didn't take him long to feel the effects of the insulation and warm up.
"It's not much, but it'll help to keep the chill off you a bit," Sam said as she dusted Marco down. "Anything's better than nothing."
"Let's go meet Barf outside," Marco replied. "He's probably sick of waiting for us."
Sam's lips pursed together. "No, you just wait in here. He'll come get us when he's ready."
Marco didn't understand; what was Barthees doing, he wondered. "Is he interrogating the Orks? If he's going to kill one, tell him not to kill Twik – Gilda's such an asshole. He grinned and winked at me yesterday when –"
"Marco, shut up." Sam flicked a rock at his head. "And wait for him to return."
"Ow! That hurt…"
Barthees was interrogating the Orks… sort of. He knew Orks wouldn't care if they got their nipples burnt or a pine cone shoved up their butt – Orks were tough. And threatening them with a gun would only work so far. He had a much more effective method of getting information from the two Orks held captive – bribery.
Twik shook his head like a dog as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, making a noise like a blow fly. "Zzzz!"
Gilda coughed and spat out a whap of lumpy phlegm. "Huurrr, what yer call dis stuff 'gain?"
The mist outside the cave was not actually mist. It was smoke, and lots of it.
"It's called a joint, and the plant you're smoking is neither tobacco nor that weird fungus stuff you fellas use." Barthees lit up another one for Twik. "The plant has many names, but we'll just stick to weed, shall we?"
The larger Ork nodded with a smile reaching from ear to pointy ear. "Yeh, dis weed stuff, real good. Dey shud burn dis at da alters ov Gork an' Mork! Yeah… dey'd like dat, dey sheer wud, hur, hur. Maybe dis woz a gift from Gork an' Mork? Yeah… yeah… dat seems roight. Hur… hur… oi, Twik, stop chewin' on rocks, yer nev'r-endin' garbage can. Yeah… garbage..."
Twik looked up at Gilda, with stones falling out of his mouth, and the joint balancing in the corner of his mouth precariously. "Whozat? Eh? Nyeh. I'm 'ungry! Lickin' da rocks 'elps me fink I'm eatin' somefin' joocy, like a squig pie… piiieee…"
Barthees laughed quietly to himself; stoned Orks were entertaining to listen to and watch, he decided. "Alright you two, we've got to get moving if we want to ever reach your camp. But, there's just one thing I want to ask you before we go… do you know what pool balls are?"
Both Orks didn't have a clue, so Barthees filled them in. This seemed to spark some kind of recognition in Twik's head.
"Oh, I seened somefin' like dat, yeah…" He said nodding puffing on his joint. "Seen 'em 'round da Boss's neck, hur, hur! 'Ee's a real mad Ork, 'ee iz. Never tick dat one off. One moment 'ee's laughin' wiv da boyz, next fing yer know 'ee's gnawin' on dere 'ead like a chew toy, heh heh… yeh."
Barthees had stopped listening to Twik at 'Seen 'em 'round da Boss's neck'. He stood still, eyes wide and brows furrowed in worry and shock. "What's this thing around your Boss's neck? Describe it to me."
Gilda took over this time, talking long and slow. "Oh, dey jus' like yew said, yeah. Cullaful, rownd… shiny… 'ard az teef. It's iz fav'rite new neckl'ce, hur, hur… yeah, 'ee thumps anyone 'oo touches 'em. 'Ee reckonz 'ee woz given 'em by Gork an' Mork one night, when 'ee woz gazin' at da stars…yeah. 'Ee says dat da neckl'ce iz a 'oly relic wiv speshal powers, yeeaaah…"
The Commissar had really done it this time. Barthees seethed that dodgy old codger with the power to send a man to his doom with the flick of his white-gloved wrinkly old hand. First the pool table… then a mountain hike in uncharted territory… and now, a crazy Ork Waaghboss who thought pool balls were the holy grail? He wasn't going to let the Commissar win this one.
Barthees dug the two plastic bags out of his ammo pouch. "See these, boys?" He said holding up the bags for the Orks to see. "This one is the stuff ready to smoke. This other bag contains enough seeds to grow a forest of the stuff. If you can – in anyway possible – get those pool balls in my hands, I'll give you all of this."
The two Orks dropped their joints stunned, starring at the bags.