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Carnival World, Chapter 14

“Greetings and Salutations, Ladies and Gentlemen …and uhh…uhh…how do I say this…Ghordo!

Ghordo snickered, rocked back and forth, but gently, not quickly like when he was angry. He whipped the bird at me, with both of his scarred olive-green hands, yet laughing, his cement mixer guffaw rumbling all the while.
When I first met Ghordo the Orc, he was just going through puberty and was a bit under six feet tall – now he’s three inches taller than me and has a voice deeper than the biggest bullfrog in the pond. I didn’t teach him that, the Beverly Hillbilly’s California Howdy, maybe it was the Ranger teams Alpha, Beta, Gamma or Delta.
As Ghordo chugged a swallow of dark gold beer, I continued my spiel, “And now that we have had, admittedly early, a bit of comic relief…a great big hearty welcome to the guests of the Adventurer’s Inn. I am your host, Orlando Bard, The Bounty Hunter Bard of Carnival World! I’ve been the owner of this fine establishment for a few years now.
“I see a few familiar faces. Welcome back! And a wholehearted welcome to everyone who is visiting my inn and seeing my show for the first time. As promised yesterday, today I am going to share the true tale of how Padre the Cleric joined my merry band. Just a few housekeeping issues about quiet exits and,” Bard strummed his lute, doffed his “Swords of Xeen” ranger’s hat and took a seat in his cushioned stage chair, “then the adventure begins!”
***
While I have owned the Adventurer’s Inn for a few years now, tonight’s story begins only a few months after I had befriended Zale’s rangers.
***
I greeted the Gamma team sentries posted at the archway carved into the Cyclopean wall. I breathed a sigh of pleasure and relief, energized by the uplifting harmonic resonance that had flooded my mind and body as I neared the great wall. Not as potent as when the White Dwarf engineers completed their Tartarian style architectural improvements, but still a plus! For about twelve minutes we waited.
Ghordo and I, and the two Gamma team sentries, Earth Rangers, exchanged pleasantries with us. Then I told them a story about Ghordo and the Flying Monkeys. I had been on this planet for less than two years, so I was coming up on a few months after befriending the Conner Corp advance teams.
Ghordo, standing behind me grumped, “Why do you always make me the but of the Flying Monkeys Joke, Chief? And we work together just fine!” I couldn’t see it, but by then I had figured out that tell and knew his face was all screwed up. With a contemptuous snort he added, “I ain’t never seen no flying monkeys! I ain’t never gone to the South Sea Islands!”
I chuckled as the sizzle and flash of light signaled the weakening of the entrance archway force shield. “Look lively Ghordo, unless you want to get stuck outside the gate for several hours! It’s time, boys and girls, kitties and doggies, to get this horse and pony show on the road!”
As we entered through the archway into the future Carnival City, I asked, “Where’s Zales? I have a new toy for him that he may want to pass onto his scientists.”
One of the soldiers pointed way passed where the command tent used to stand. Conner’s Inns and Suites were not finished. As of yet, only a few of us had rented rooms there. The Ranger Engineer Battalion had used the classified three-dimensional architectural printer to make the building, and Alex Conner’s top floor suite, but only a dozen or so rooms, on the first floor, had been completed and were available for rent. And Elfred had commandeered two of them for his personal use. I had recently checked out. I missed the hot showers and flushing toilet, but my bank account liked saving the expensive weekly rental fee. My future inn, The Adventurer’s Inn, was just heaps of timbers and other building materials stacked in tarp covered piles on my lot.
The inside of the starter building was just an empty room with a pile of personal belongings in the far corner.
North of me there was a framework building for Cullen’s Constabulary. Not too far away was a huge warehouse, crafted from heavy duty, corrugated aluminum, large enough to park several semi-trucks inside. This building contains a shipping dock with a massive elevator room that descends into the underground base. That elevator, rated at eighty thousand pounds, was designed to hold forklifts or vehicles as large as eighteen-wheelers, loaded with a variety of commercial items or military hardware. When the full command center was built it would cover the large warehouse that held the Star Portal and would take the lion’s share of the northeast quadrant. The Star Portal was wide enough for a skip jack or a commercial truck. According to scuttlebutt around the camp, in addition to supplies for the Advance Team, that warehouse had received shipments from earth containing iron moles and earth moving equipment and machines to fabricate metal, wood, plastic and cloth.
To the right and east of the warehouse building was the personnel elevator room. Next to that elevator was an office with two finished walls and a ceiling. Two desks, several filing cabinets and a bank of computer monitors filled the room, but with plenty of space left over. One of the sturdy metal columns that supported the ceiling along the two unwalled sections of the temporary office and command post was labeled, “Command Center, Colonel Zales.” A few soldiers sat at the computer desks. Sometimes they were busy and at other times, they were attempting to look that way and failing miserably.
The building would one day look like a cross between Fort Knox and Cheyenne Mountain of earth over the Star Portal, but now it was just a new-construction-area-excuse-the-mess, topside level, of an underground base.
Ghordo and I strode briskly, well beyond the long trenches of cooking fires, which were in the northwest corner of the Cyclopean edifice of the Star Portal structure. As many of you know, the inner area of the enclosed Cyclopean wall is larger than four planet earth football stadiums, including parking lots. Of course, we don’t have parking lots here. Although, inside the Command Center, and in the underground base, there are many parking lots, for Conner Corp or military use only.
Ghordo and I passed the work area of my future inn. I had just rented the lot from Conner Corp, but following our quest, they gave me papers stamped in red with “Paid in full.” Not only for this lot, but for another in the southeast corner of the Star Portal Edifice, near the Conners Inn and Suites building, where one day the main town buildings would be built. One day I plan on importing books, videos and media hardware from earth and depositing them into my rental library.
Just to the south and a bit to the west of the command center was the unfinished Constabulary building. In the future, Cullen Conner, a relative of the three Conner brothers, was supposed to take over security of the main complex. Cullen’s identical twin brother, Chauncey, was the constable at the eastern facility, called the Irish Pub Theme Park.
Eventually, Alpha, Beta, Gamma and Delta Ranger teams were supposed to drop back to only guarding the command facility and take turns doing away missions, mapping and exploring Carnival World. But that would be a few years in the future.
Now, the huge grassy commons of Carnival City was mostly green fields, with a scattering of unimproved lots or barely started buildings, in the north and southeast. The original tents of the advance team were long gone from the northwest corner. Since the kitchens weren’t ready and the mess hall incomplete, meals were still served in the northwest corner. Two plum and army green four-wheelers, pulling open box utility trailers, filled with cooking equipment, supplies and fifteen-gallon water jugs were parked near the cook’s line of prep and mess tables. There was also a portable dishwashing sink with hoses attached. Big water reservoirs on the backs of the sink counters held hot water from huge metal tubs that were heated on the fire and then pumped into the sink tanks for use by the sprayers.
The southwest corner, where Conner’s Carnival would one day be built, was just a green field, presently being mowed by military groundskeepers. I love the smell of that freshly cut grass!
You can see the signpost with the crossed mace and sword over a round shield, not too far from the northeast corner command center, but the future constabulary building, a bit south and west of the command center, was just an open roof framework. The floors were not even poured with cement.
Work was going slowly. Conner Corp was finding it hard to get civilian contractors to take over for the small engineer’s crew sent by the American government to help with the project. Conner Corp offered up to double the top dollar, but long-term non-disclosure agreements and years away from earth, and friends and family, were the major hurdles concerning the necessary recruitment of civilian contractors. And of course, like future Carnival goers from earth, very few knew they were traveling to a distant planet! Even though they did not come without signing NDA agreements, they were told that they were going back in time, to ten thousand years before Christ, when Arizona was not a desert! Only the military men and women, or friends of the Conner Brothers or Zales knew the truth that Carnival World was a distant planet in a far away star system.
Until the project was on its feet, and it had returned sufficient income and usable advanced technology, Zales had been promised only a bare bones support crew and engineer team, and a science officer attachment to compliment his four (Alpha, Beta, Gamma and Delta) squad (4 rangers each) + 2 soldiers, combat ready teams. When a Ranger Medic and a Scientist were added to the squad +2 it became a full complement of eight soldiers. Which was over the conservative passenger limit for the Skip Jack. Zales would never strap anyone to the inside of the two small wall benches. If there were too many passengers, the team would cast dice or, if impatient, the colonel would just order someone to strap into the extra wall harness seat. Everyone wanted the comfortable swivel chairs behind the pilot and captain’s deck. About half of the scientists were military soldiers while the others were attached civilians.
Finally, we were at the bottom of the northwest corner of the edifice of the Star Portal, now hidden beneath the warehouse. Colonel Zales’ new, but unfinished, military command center, was nearby. Technically my inn straddled the border between the bottom of the northeast quadrant and the top of the southeast quadrant. The Northeast Quadrant was reserved for security. The Southeast was Carnival City proper. The Southwest Quadrant was the future site of the Carnival. And the Northwest Corner of the NWQ (now the mess and social area) was to be a future park and a limited amenities economy hotel. The north and central area of the Northwest Quadrant being the future home of St. Patrick’s Hospital and St. Patrick’s Cathedral and Cleric’s Guild.
When I first discovered the Star Portal, before the Advance Team had arrived, it had rested directly in the center of the mammothian Cyclopean enclosure. Not long after the scientists had started studying the artifact, one of the lady scientists – I can’t remember her name – it is the one with the beauty mark just right and down from her lips. Oh, yeah, Dr. Daphne Kimble. She was studying the alphanumeric symbol box. When she had leaned in to snap a photo, she had placed her elbows onto the lower box area, to steady herself. Several gems circled the keyboard and appeared to be decorative in nature. Leaning against one of the gems with her elbow caused a reaction!
Dr. Kimble and the other scientists with her were startled by a hum. She had serendipitously discovered the antigrav function. Originally the plan had been to place the command facility over the portal, although the Conner’s had not preferred that position as its placement would interfere with their plans for a southwest carnival site and a southeast city. The center arrangement had been deemed optimal for The Irish Pub Theme Park, but not the Carnival City Theme Park.
So, following a few days of parley between Cigar Man’s superiors and Conner Corp, orders came down the pike to activate the antigrav function again and move the Star Portal from the center of the area to the center of the northeast quadrant. Theoretically the unit could have been moved anywhere inside the Cyclopean enclosure, but the unit was much too large to fit through an archway. Also, the lift height of the antigravity function was limited to a few feet, so it could not be moved up onto the air ship dock.
Ghordo and I walked up near the entrance of the guard canopy, and asked the Delta team soldiers if we could see the Colonel. Before one of the soldiers could even leave his post, and enter the half-finished command structure, Zales yelled out of the open doorway.
“Come!” snapped a crisp ringing voice. As I entered, Zales stopped pacing the empty side of the command post, near the missing wall, scowled and snapped, “I am not in the best of moods today, Orlando! Give me a good reason NOT to regret, that I didn’t order my guys and dolls to shoot your Half-Elf padooka, on the first day you barged in, uninvited, into the Star Portal enclosure!
“I am not bearing candy and flowers, Colonel Zales, but” and I held out a crystal skull.
“What in the H. E. DOUBLE TOOTHPICKS is that ugly glass excuse for a Halloween decorative gimcrack? Last I checked Bard, today is not October 31st. Either here or on earth. Better yet, Orlando, why are you offering me this…whatever it is?”
Ghordo snickered, but one look from Zales ice blue eyes shattered the moment and quelched the Half-Orcs desire to zing a wisecrack for his new audience.
“This, and I emphasize the words, is an advanced technology artifact, Colonel. Remember the last time we talked, and you were saying that your scientists couldn’t make ‘hide nor hair’ of that Ancients Scroll I gave them?”
“Yes,” offered Zales dryly, as he rolled his unlit cigar in his mouth, “I am very distinctly remembering that, Bard. Granted, you have been very helpful in providing intel, both on entering and exiting the force-field archways and giving us summaries of the lands and peoples around us, but you also seem to have a knack for bringing us what you define as ‘advanced technology,’ but it ends up being just one more useless doodad from the land of misfit toys!”
I replied, “This, dear Colonel, should earn your good graces again. If you hold it, nothing will happen. But if you look into its eyes, it will give you mental access to the Ancient’s Dictionary of Old, Middle and New Enochian words. It will take a minute or so for it to adjust to your internal language, but once it does, you can give it any English Word or Enochian word and it will translate it. After a bit of use, the user will be able to have larger phrases, whole sentences or even paragraphs translated.”
Zales looked at me dubiously and frowned. “This better not be a waste of my time, Bard!” Cigar Man rolled his cigar and stared into the crystal skull, which began to illuminate. “What the…? It sounded like your gobbledygook, that you were using when we first met, but then, suddenly, it asked, ‘what word do you want me to translate?’ And it asked it in English. My English!” Zales cleared his throat then snapped, “Follow me, Bard.
“You! Orc! Go back outside and sit by the fire pits and tell my cooks to make you something to eat! Eat as much as you want, Orc, but stay out of my way, unless we find a useful task for you.”
Zales spun adroitly on one foot, signaled for his blond and dapper male executive secretary, then pointed at me and added, “Time for an elevator ride. The first floor down has some finished areas, or mostly finished. Let’s go to the lab, Orlando.” He paused to light his unlit cigar, “Patrick and Elfred Conner will want to meet you if this pans out, Bard! And if this helps my science team crack that scroll, this is going to be a good thing. For both of us!”
…
Three days have passed. Ghordo and I camped out in the hollow of my starter building and went on fishing and hunting trips to gather fish and game, that we sold to the Requisitions Specialists. Charlie Girl and those other two guys clerked for us. I can’t remember their names. They were very mundane in appearance, and their work, in my opinion, wasn’t exactly poor, but it seemed the two men were barely able to complete their tasks adequately. The three of them, over the three days I sold fish and game to them, dutifully recorded the sales credits to my Conner Corp banking account. I also drew out credit chips for myself, and paid Ghordo his portion of our profits. This type of work is not technically bounty hunting, but just like the guided hunting trips that I would outfit in the future, for those rich enough to pay the resurrection tech fee, it pays the bills and fills up the coffers. The regeneration and extra lives tech were a long way off when I started building my inn, but eventually it became part and parcel of the Carnival World package.
I was happy when a ranger from Delta team approached me and told me that I was expected as soon as possible in Zales’ study. Sending Ghordo off to the firepits for a meal, I sprinted across the commons to the guard post next to the Command Facility. One of the two Gamma guards who were manning the Command Post Exterior Security center at the time, escorted me into the elevator and down we went, only one level deep, where, when the elevator door whizzed open gently, following a ding, I exited. The Delta ranger greeted the elevator guards, then pointed to the red colored line I was to follow, and the open door down the hall that led to Zales study.
Expectantly, I followed the red line into Zale’s office and announced myself.
“Come,” replied Zales, who had left his study desk, for the conference area of the room.
The Colonel’s study was not too far from his personal chambers that were several minutes’ walk farther down the hall. Zales’ assistant glanced my way, arose, and deposited a manilla folder he had been signing off on, and placed it into a nearby filing cabinet.
Colonel Zales’ study was a fine room, about twenty by twenty, with a large desk on one wall, next to a bookshelf, and a smaller desk and bookshelf with file cabinets, on another. Twins of both desk areas could be found in Zales’ official office, an elevator ride away, upstairs, but with three times as many file cabinets and a multiple computer workstation with extra-large double screen monitors. The center of the room contained a large oval mahogany table. The carpet was a gray fluff with dark blue and creamy yellow spots, each spot rimmed in bright scarlet.
Fine blond carsiding crafted from oak covered the walls. Several high resolution digital moving photos of Zales wading for river trout and deep-sea fishing from his Cobia 296 fishing boat, christened Little Pequod, for marlin, sailfish and mahi-mahi, adorned the chamber.
Suddenly, I noticed a strapping young Polynesian looking guy, a little taller than me, and almost as thick in the chest as a mountain Barbarian, in a blue and peach tropical shirt, sport fishing in Zales boat. Couldn’t quite see his face, sounded like he was cracking a joke, thick white sea fishing bait caster whining, rod bent almost double. Looked familiar, like I should know him.
Checking further, around the room, I found another high-resolution video picture with footage from a hunt, on another wall. I am guessing it had been filmed in Africa, where Zales, dressed in a pith helmet, bone white Safari shirt and olive short pants, was shooting a big game rifle at a charging rhino. The movie replayed after the great, black, two-horned beast fell, following a second shot, that dropped it not too far in front of the colonel, just a little too close for comfort.
Momentarily we all looked to the door as a uniformed lady following the green line stopped outside the door and said, “Delivery from the science lab for Colonel Zales.” The executive secretary glided to the door, thanked her, signed her clipboard and took the manilla envelope. “Information on study Alpha Cobra Zebra 478.9A, Colonel,” said the attaché as he walked it to Zales’ desk and added it to the stack.
Zales motioned for me to a seat beside him. Four more seats, fine blond lacquered captain’s chairs, topped with plush red velvet cushions, were open for the soon to arrive Conner brothers.
CARNIVAL WORLD CHAPTER 15

Patrick and Elfred, fresh from the gate room, came into the study. Leaving the door open, Delta team stood guard outside. Patrick and Elfred Conner greeted the Colonel.
Patrick was wearing what looked like a never worn pale blue shirt with a surfer riding a wave. He was also wearing a camel and pepper dot sport jacket over new but faded blue jeans.
Elfred, looking as if he had popped out of a high-end LARP convention, was wearing a thick, shimmery emerald robe with voluminous bell bottom sleeves. Thick golden braid trim circled his neck and ran across each shoulder. Upon nearing the table, Elfred tossed his pointed purple wizard’s hat, studded with silver, gold and gem sequins of stars and comets. The cap twirled like a Frisbee and landed gently on the table just to the right of his chair. He wore a shiny silver skullcap with a yellow Chinese feathered dragon etched into its top. Green gems, glowing dimly, winked, from the eyes of the carved dragon. That item he did not remove as he pulled back his chair, prior to seating himself. A gold pocket watch with a tiger eye gem in the center, hung suspended from Elfred’s neck like a locket.
Patrick pulled back a chair, leaving the empty one between them, and sat across from us in the Colonel’s study. Patrick smiled and asked, “How is that fashion-model wife that we met earthside, Zales? Any chance she will join you here, on Carnival World?”
Zales smiled, “Eve’s thinking about it.
“We have just spent short holidays together, near the top-side facility on earth, for several years now.
“She’s skittish as a fox, Cool Man, about signing another NDA agreement and leaving her modeling career. And then she will only rarely if ever see her father, the Right Reverend, and her family.
“I don’t know how she puts up with me, Cool Man, but she is the best thing that ever happened to this crotchety old war hawk.”
Zale’s attaché, a slight mustached man, with faintly slanted eyes and deft movements, had exited the table area. The executive secretary, with impeccable, short and feathered pale blond hair, but wearing a white three-piece suit, rather than a military uniform, stepped lightly over to a fine teak wet bar. He then brought a box of cigars, and double size, gold rimmed shot glasses, along with a bottle of Glenfiddich Scotch Whiskey, four silver ash trays, and then served them at table. He even lit our cigars. Patrick accepted the whiskey, but made a shooing gesture with his hand, when offered a rum-dipped Cuban cigar. Everyone else took both a whiskey and a stogie.
Sasaki Wrynn-Kaito was born of a Californian mother and half Japanese father, both American citizens. That being the case, I would bet my bottom dollar that Wrynn-Kaito’s hair is dyed. The executive secretary then sat at a small desk, not too far from Zales’ larger desk, and busied himself with stacks of manilla folders, and some clipboards, many of them which were stamped ABOVE TOP SECRET.
Don’t argue about it, but when experts or the government insist that top secret is the highest clearance, don’t let yourself be bamboozled. Just like there are civil governments and shadow governments, and spiritual/angelic governments and human governments, there are classifications above top secret for reasons of plausible deniability. I had above-top-secret clearance for years. When you insist that there are no such levels, you insult my intelligence.
We sat around the table. Zales made introductions. Mostly, the brothers were interested in what I could share with them about what it was like outside the Cyclopean walls. Zales listened, but said little, he had already heard much of what I had to say. Elfred was on his third scotch, but Patrick only scented and sipped his drink occasionally.
To my surprise, following an excited exclamation of “Cool Man!” from Patrick, he changed the subject. “Bard, I don’t know where you stand with Jesus, but I want to bring the gospel to this planet. Do you think that the cultures here could understand and accept that?
“I can bring in people from earth to train as teachers and missionaries, but that will not be easy. They will have to sign contracts not to divulge the secrets of our program. I don’t know how many men or women from earth will willingly leave earth and drop contact with their friends and family. I can preach and teach and even administrate, but I am not a missionary or interested in traipsing around in the wilds of this planet.”
“Well, Mr. Conner—”
With an irritated shake of his long white ponytail, Patrick Conner replied, “Please, Orlando, call me Patrick, or Cool Man, if you prefer. That is what my friends and family call me.”
I pondered briefly to myself, I have read the Bible through several times on earth. In some cases, I even dug deep enough to find and examine the original Greek or Hebrew word.
In this case, if memory serves me, the Greek word is Ktisei or build in modern American parlance. Mark 16:15 contains a command to preach the gospel to all creatures. But if I answer with this information, it will blow my cover to smithereens.
After a pause I answered, “Well, Patrick, I think it depends on your definition of the word creature.”
“Excellent, my dear Orlando!” exclaimed Cool man, his blue eyes twinkling behind his wire-rims. Patrick Conner’s eyes flared wide as he grinned broadly. “Very succinct and appropriate reply, most wise Orlando Bard! I am impressed! If you haven’t realized it already, famous Bard of Carnival World, I am considered a maverick and divergent thinker in Christian circles.
“Creature, in this instance, if you follow, in my opinion, means something built or created. Not, in my opinion, a euphemism or symbolic use of the word person. That is, Orlando, according to the commentaries and references to the original language, the word, in my opinion, should not be simply used interchangeably as person or human but defined as what the word says ‘creature.’
“Commentaries are scholarly reference books on Earth, Orlando, penned by academics of the Bible about our Holy Book. Most study aids say, even if they supply the correct references, to read the word creature as human people. Most of those who dislike the ramifications of the broader definition ignore the meaning of the original word, and after reminding their readers of their elite scholarship and religious authority, demand that we use the narrowest of definitions for the word creature. Actual fully human people, Orlando, I expect, are not so common in Carnival World.
“To make a fine point Orlando, it is, once again, the broad definition I prefer. My definition includes humanoids, descendants of genetic experimentation, or even non-humans.
“My definition of creature in that instance, Orlando, is, I assure you, the challenged definition. Some would even demand that my position is scripturally faulty or even heretical. And now that we have that settled, Orlando, are you ready to give your opinion on the rest of my original question.
“I am ready, Patrick, to answer your original question. Please excuse the long-windedness. I am, after all, a bard.
“The followers of the Snake gods, unless you would happen to convert them, would not be happy. But Jesus is, believe it or not, known here. He is called Yesu or The Son. His Father is called Creator. Many know about Creator and His Son, but very few actively serve Him or have a relationship with Jesu or Creator.
“I have heard that some among the Fey are serious about serving them. But, if you are looking for possible converts to work with you as missionaries, you need to be introduced to the White Dwarves of this world.
“They live in the great catacombs beneath the White Dwarf Mountain. They have advanced technology machines provided to them by the late, great, Atlanticeans that provide some light, fresh water and oxygen. The Atlanticeans also taught them how to make special goggles that allow them to enter the surface world to hunt, harvest timber, fish and garden. The goggles keep them from going blind or needing to adjust slowly between living in almost complete darkness and coming out into the brilliant light of day.
“The Dwarves are great artificers in their own way. I have heard that they are able to design primitive guns and rifles as well as make machines that can affect gravity. They, all Dwarves, not just the White, are also well known for their ability to work wonders with stone, terrestrial metal, ivory and jewelry. Some of their technology was learned from the Atlanticeans and some is of their own crafting. They are the master artisans of this planet, although they are not the Advanced Technology grand masters, as were the Atlanticeans.
There is, or more accurately, was a White Dwarf, or so the Bardic Ballads of this world say, that one thousand years ago, was visited by angelic beings, special servants of Creator and Jesu. His name was Ayneegh or in your language, I believe his name would be Aynoch. Not Enoch. We have heard even on this world of your Enoch. Both Enoch the Good and Enoch the Evil. This Dwarf is neither of those persons.
He has long gone to live in the celestial abode of Jesu, but I believe his son, Ayneegh the Second, and his grandson, Ayneegh the Third, still live in the undercity of White Dwarf Mountain. Ayneegh the second is so old that he may have passed on. But Ayneegh the third, not yet middle aged, as Dwarves often live four to five hundred years, is probably very much alive.
“While other races here, or so I have been told, have a few clerics, the White Dwarves tend to have more clerics. Yes, they, as well as the Red Dwarves and Black Dwarves, have people who barely acknowledge Creator and His Son. Rare it is for people here to do more than attend a few holiday meetings once or twice per year. The White Dwarves – not everyone, but more than any other race on Carnival World – have a reputation for doing more than just lip service to Creator and His Son.”
Patrick leaned forward over the table, flicked his long white pony, and squinted intently, half covering his dark blue eyes, behind his silver framed glasses, and queried seriously, “Orlando Bard! Can you lead an expedition of Colonel Zales’ men to the White—”
“Hold your horses, Patrick,” snapped Zales as he slammed the tabletop with his clenched fist, “unless I have orders, it is not happening!
“Orlando is free to take the mission, of course, if he chooses. I hate losing him for that long, as much as it pains me to admit it. He has been a Godsend to this project.”
Zales crunched his cigar, blew a wad of smoke over the table, and wrapped his knuckles on the fine mahogany, “Such a long trip would be better off if we could use the blimp or those jets or spaceships or whatever they are, but we can’t even get them open. The Crystal Skull will probably get us inside, but we still must learn to use the ships before we start flying around on missions! And, if it weren’t for Bard, we couldn’t even have gotten through the force-field on the upper wall docking platform.”
Patrick frowned and his Adam’s Apple bobbed, but he remained silent. Elfred, a tall, thin man who looked like a snake that had swallowed a dinosaur egg, finished off his drink smartly, then dropped his cigar stub into the ash tray.
“Understandable, Zales,” commented Elfred Conner, as he reminded himself to at least attempt to speak diplomatically rather than bluntly. The middle Conner brother continued, “You are correct, Colonel. Let’s not put the cart before the horse.” Elfred cleared his throat, then continued, “Thank you, Colonel Zales, for your considerate hospitality, to myself and my younger brother, and the fine job you are doing managing our project and protecting our venture.
“Patrick and I will go visit the elusive Alex, our superior and eldest brother. Even though he uses a motorized chair and speaks through a vox box, he has great influence with your, uhh, superiors. This new option that you and the Bard have given us is of great import.”
I noticed a strange inflection in the pause and the way Elfred’s voice twisted the word superiors. Make a note to self, Orlando Bard, the way Elfred is saying that word reminds me of a phrase from my earth days as a Cryptid Ranger and Anomalies Investigator for Uncle Sam: deep state shadow government!
Elfred Conner continued “You are probably right about being woefully unprepared to use the ships, even if we can find Enochian manuals or learn the control symbols for the blimp or the – I have a feeling that those two ships parked by the blimp can navigate through the air, under the sea or into space. I am not a scientist. I do, however, Colonel Zales, have an affinity for technology, primitive, advanced, or alternative and a sharp engineer’s mind.
“Thank you again, Zales. And fine meeting you, Orlando Bard. I look forward to our next consultation. Would you please have your men escort us through the gate, Colonel. Are we ready to jump the gate Cool Man?”
Patrick smiled warmly at me and Zales and then the Colonel’s men escorted them to the gate.
More than twenty-four hours went by. Ghordo got so bored I had to take him deer hunting outside the Star Portal Cyclopean walls. Finally, a special ops soldier came through the gate with an order packet for Colonel Zales. One order was for the scientists to use the Crystal Skull and attempt to gain access to the blimp and skip jacks, then learn how to understand the controls. The other major order was for Zales to send a team of eight rangers with me and Ghordo to find the White Dwarf underground city. Several minor orders and military and Conner Corp memos finished up the packet.
***
What is the best way to unpack this true tale? We – me, Ghordo, Zales and Alpha team, were gathered outside by the firepits taking in a standard breakfast prior to setting off on an away mission. Well, the cooks were there too, but just tending the fires and dishing up mess.
Cigar Man, perpetual cigar rolling in his yellow teeth was present, but he would not be leaving on the mission with us. Big Mike Miller, a major, about my size, maybe a bit heavier, was the officer in charge of Alpha team. Mid to late forties, horseshoe crew cut of dirty blond and gray. Crooked hawk nose and a scar down his cheek. No sense of humor, but solid, mentally and physically.
No one called me Big Mac anymore, and nobody could know about that. But all that to say, boys and girls, doggies and kitties, pretty much everybody on the team, except for the two girls, were men of splendid physical fitness and martial prowess.
Jakota Jackson – everyone called her Jax, was a mousy brunette. Neither short nor tall – our medic. She’s also a good, but not expert, rifle shot.
Maria Orsic Schmitt was our token German American Neo Nazi poster child. Tall, blond, athletic and beautiful, but in an ice-cold manner, and hard as granite.
Well, Tall Tom Stiltenpole, the hillbilly from Arkansas, he was six foot seven, wasp thin, but ropy with muscle. Tom was a narrow faced, long jawed man, with doleful, coffee with cream, coon hound eyes. He was a sardonic jack pine savage chock full of pithy mountain sayings. Usually about as pessimistic as a wet blanket, Stiltenpole was a good fighter, an excellent sniper, and a team player, albeit as acidic as a cross dwarf. He rarely smoked and wouldn’t drink any alcohol except homemade moonshine. Although, you could twist his arm into a good whiskey neat, at a party. He chewed a pack a day of Copenhagen. Horrible, disgusting stuff in my opinion, snoose. If the devil invented a tobacco product, snuff would be my best guess for the prize.
And of course, our scientist, Paccetti, he was fit enough, but they hadn’t brought him along for his muscles or his ability to shoot or wield a combat knife.
Schmitt, her parents had been Neo Nazi’s, but she had shucked that jive to become a ranger, was about five eleven and more than a tad. She was almost as muscled as a man, but with a thin layer of excess flesh in all the right places. When she walked around in her crop top, Maria literally sported six pack abs. She rarely spoke two full sentences at one time. And when she did talk, it wasn’t without daisy-chaining the lot of mostly one syllable words with a string of harsh expletives. Maria Orsic Schmitt was a cold fish of a sniper, like Tall Tom. She was one of those gals, wild as a preacher’s widow, as the old saying goes, who never had problems finding a boyfriend but couldn’t keep them long enough for them to need a shave. Ghordo eventually found that out. I tried to warn him, but the young do not often listen. And of course, with Ghordo, pompously stubborn is his middle name.
Schmitt was considered the best shot on the team, even better at sniping then Tall Tom, and could move faster than any of the other big guys, depending on her pack weight. She was a terror with two blades or her fists. I wouldn’t have broken a sweat, not much anyway, in a hand-to-hand match, but she was good. And that is saying something. I am all for giving ladies a chance, but not at the expense of allowing them inferior qualifications. I am all for DEI hires if the applicant has the skills, training, and ability. Fudging on the skills, training and ability to fill a diversity, equity, and inclusivity program is creating an environment rife for future incompetence and failure issues.
It is just a biological fact that guys are usually built stronger than women. People can get as offended as they want. Stats prove my case. I have seen some women who are considered good boxers or mixed martial artists and some country-hick-blow-hard with a beer belly, and an IQ only slightly surpassing an old fence post, takes them down in a bar fight. But I have also seen a few well-conditioned women who are trained to fight correctly, and learn how to use any advantage they can, take down a strutting peacock gang banger or sneak up behind, and pop off a security guard built like an alpha male gorilla.
Big Mike, Big Ted, Big Jim, Tall Tom, Big Bruce, and Big Bad John were all brick outhouses, full of spit and vinegar, and then we had our science guy, Dr. Paccetti.
Not exactly a pushover, but more than a few inches less than six feet tall and mostly brains with a modicum of brawn. But I owed that Italian American pencil pusher big time. He was the one who suggested to Zales that I looked harmless. It was Paccetti’s timely comment that had given Cigar Man pause. Zales had been frustrated by mysteriously appearing Gobs and Skels. The Colonel, angry with unwanted guests, had been quickly gaining a reputation for “shoot first and ask questions later.” Yes, I definitely planned on giving the technofile a good deal of slack. My Scots Irish and Ojibwe padooka was still around today because he had saved my bacon when the chips were down.
Oh yeah, I was going to tell you more about Big Bad John. Big Bad John was a big, handsome black buck, with a shaved skull and a smile like a floodlight. He was a nice guy, generally quiet, but when he needed to, he could get down to business real fast. John Black was born to a Kentucky mining family from the Harlan County area of the Cumberland Mountains. His growth spurt came early, and at sixteen he looked like the character Big Bad John from Jimmy Dean’s 1961 mining tragedy song. Big Bad John received his nickname early, long before the other large members of Alpha team. Big John and Big Jim were the Alpha machine gunners.
Almost forgot about Big Bruce, the Moose, Kai. He is the youngest, early twenties, and the lowest ranking guy on the team. Only an E3 Specialist. A chief’s son, from Maui, Bruce Kai’s father had died young. Bruce did not want to be saddled with the responsibilities of an island chief. Kai was the island champion body builder, shot gunner, and under water spear fisherman. Almost set a course to become a Navy Seal but decided to be a ranger when quietly recruited for an above top secret “off world” post. He’s pretty good with his fists, too. Constant joker, and easy going, except in a fight. He’s our claymore guy, too, but he was under orders only to set them up, defensively, if we are potentially under attack by groups of opposing combatants.
Colonel Zales asked me to bring out my map again and go over my route possibilities once more. Just then Charlie Girl, the quadroon fashion model, with a hint of the Caribbean Sea winds in her voice, came up to the fire, head down, and jaws clenched. She was well away from the group.
Zales had asked for an informal, at ease briefing, with the full mission team, just before we headed out, at the social area of the mess hall, near the force field archway we would be exiting.
I felt sorry for Charlie Girl. She was, by reputation, a decent person and quite skilled at running the quartermaster tent. She had volunteered to join the expedition, but Cigar Man had roughly said, “I have you exactly where you are the most qualified, soldier. You are only an average rifle shot, you have an authority complex, and in the field, you tend to jump first and think later. Dismissed!”
Once again, I told them that the easiest route was to take the Warriors Path north to Trader’s Road, in the mountains. It would take at least a week longer. Maybe two. And that was a conservative estimate. I had traveled there, so I knew the lay of the land, but only a little farther than the Barbarian village called Trading Post. My estimate had been that we would make better time if we followed the Warriors Path or West Warrior’s Circle, west and then look for trails up into the White Dwarf Mountains. East Warrior’s Circle, a twin to the western Borderlands granite stone paved road, is found east of the Misty Mountains, in the Eastern Borderlands.
The Warrior’s Path is a huge oval that follows the flatland below the western range of mountain foothills, then runs south along the Western Sea Coast, then turns east until it nears the foothills of the Red Dwarf Mountains, then heads north passed The High Elf Mountains. Once you go north, far enough, you will pass near the white Naga mountains and a bit north and east from there, at the mid-range of the mountains and higher, are the Dark Naga mountains. The Warrior’s Path then connects again, just northeast of Carnival City. Farther northeast is the intersection of the east and west and north and south mountain ranges. The whole Warrior’s Circle is located on the western half of the Borderlands.
Big Mike Miller, Alpha Team Leader, asked, “What kind of resistance can we expect?”
“Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!” I laughed, “Nothing your team can’t handle, Major.
“When I travel myself, I usually get attacked by at least one cat carnivore, bear, wild pig, or lion. Once, if not twice, every day. And there are those days, boys and girls, doggies and kitties, when it is ‘winner-winner-chicken-dinner’, and I’ll get overrun with three or more battles in a day!
“Once I even ran into a small bipedal carnivorous dinosaur, about five feet tall and as heavy as a big St. Bernard. You find dinosaurs more passed the south Warriors Path along the coast of the Southern Sea.
“As for the bandit clans? I don’t have them on my map, but I think I know where they are, roughly. There are a few bandit clans I have visited, although in stealth mode all the way, but unless we go the long way round, we won’t go anywhere near them.
Zales asked, “If you do run into bandits, Bard, what kinds of numbers are we looking at? How will they be armed?”
I replied, “If we encounter them at their bases, expect anywhere from a dozen to four dozen, mostly fighters. You will have a few children or people working for them, voluntarily or as slaves, to do cooking, cleaning, gardening and animal husbandry. Small arms such as swords, maces and axes. Range weapons they’ll carry are bows and cross bows. They may have primitive bombs or fire arrows. They’ll have traps and spike fences guarding their entrances.
“If you meet them away from their strongholds, maybe three or four. Not much trouble for Alpha team. If we need to go up against a stronghold, that will be a little trickier, but Alpha team has two snipers and grenades. Tall Tom and Schmitt can pick off the sentries and catwalk guards from a distance. Your rangers can lob grenades at any mobs that spill out to attack us. Still, I think it would be best if we avoided taking out any Bandit camps during this mission. Or we will be running out of ammo long before we make it back to base.”
Big Mike frowned, “You know a lot of strategy for a bard, but that sounds about right.”
Thinking fast, considering that I had sounded more like a special forces ranger than a bard, I offered, “I don’t know if you have noticed, but while I carry a lute, I don’t play it much. But you have heard me strum it a bit around the campfire at night. I am a lore master bard. The best of us are those with good memories, even photographic memories. We read many books, study under scholars when we can and are trained in the skill of qualified observation. And I am a bounty hunter.”
Several of the Alpha team soldiers glanced among themselves and said nothing. Old Zales eyed me strangely, but sighed loudly, then crustily barked, “Fine. Fine. You are a very special and mysterious variety of bard. I get that. Keep on going with the mission briefing. What other kinds of resistance and challenging situations do we need to know about?
I continued, “Bands of Goblins and Hob Goblins sometimes can be found on the Warrior’s Path, and we may never see a one. Especially if we travel west, in the opposite direction, away from the Goblin Caves Mountains. Once we get a week’s journey west… I have not been there myself…who knows for certain? Creator knows. That’s the best I can predict.
“If we see an old battle ground or a cemetery, guys and dolls, we don’t want to be there while the sun is going down. We certainly don’t want to set up night camp!
“And you just never know, if we find a cave with a big opening anywhere, especially once we hit the mountains, we will be open season for any giant, troll or beast cryptid that may decide to pop up and scream, ‘Make my day, walking buffet line!’
“Those are rare events,” I added, “but they may happen.”
Big Mike grunted and nodded his head.
Zales chuckled dryly and said, “Go make it happen, Major! Take care of Paccetti, Ghordo and Orlando. Try to make it there in one piece. All of you. I am sending the radio with Jax. I want a short concise report once per day and whenever you need to take out something bigger and badder than ‘lions and tigers and bears, oh my.’”
Big Mike replied, “Yes, Sir!” He and the rest of the soldiers saluted and off we trotted to the northwest archway of the Cyclopean walls.
Hurry up and wait. I can remember well my days before and after becoming a member of Cryptid Team Four back on earth. Went through a lot of that and I have the closet full of souvenir t-shirts to prove it.
We waited over three hours for the flash that signaled the doorway forcefield was weakening. I made it through. Big Mike made it through. Tall Tom made it through. Big Jim bounced backwards and fell back into the grass. Bruce the Moose was expelled forward and fell on his face like a drunken galoot! Good thing there is a built-in safety feature for the force fields. Otherwise, Bruce the Moose would be missing significant body parts right now! And Big Jim as well!
And the Star Portal works that way, too, as far as just bouncing you back rather than vaporizing you or absconding with substantial sections of your body, prior to and during launch. Great safety feature in my humble opinion. Go Team Atlanticea Scientists! Hoorah! Maybe the early versions were more dangerous, although I didn’t read anything in Nayana Zazazi’s journal about that.
Big Bad John laughed and quipped, “Hey, Kai, how’s the surfing, big guy? Looks like the waves are really cranking today!” Bruce the Moose waved at everyone and grinned as he push-upped off the grass and lithely stood erect.
Good thing Jim’s machine gun didn’t spray us all with bullets. That would have stopped our quest, and in a heartbeat, too!
While everybody laughed, Big Jim cursed loudly and called us all donkeys. Until Big Mike called him on it. Once he might have ignored it, but when Big Jim began to yell out expletives like he was showering us with verbal machine gun bullets, Big Mike pulled rank and put an end to the tirade. Of course, boys and girls, donkey wasn’t the exact word Big Jim had used to start his sailor’s rant.
Big Mike, as soon as he was through the force shield, dropped his pack, put away his officer’s beret and donned a camo sweat band. Being Rangers, his team wore berets. While they had access, in the underground base armory, to helmets and body armor, they only used them for drills and if they expected to engage enemy hostiles using modern firepower.
We waited another three hours for the next forcefield flare. Ghordo, our designated pack mule, with a pack tipping the scale well over one hundred pounds, full of extra gear and camp supplies, even made it. Most of the guys were packing about seventy pounds. The medic, scientist and Schmidt, about thirty to forty.
Everyone but the scientist made it through. We joked about leaving him behind. Paccetti gave us a very sarcastic, “Ha-Ha-Ha.” Cigar Man had been told in the fine print that at least one scientist, if not two, had to be included in the White Dwarf mission.
Tall Tom quipped, “‘The mountains are calling, and we must go.’ That’s a quote. Don’t ask me who said it.” Stiltenpole itched his arm pit, then continued, “If I don’t make it back from this mission, give Ghordo here my snuff boxes.”
Ghordo spouted off, “Don’t give me no dumb junk snuff, Tall Tom! Thought you wanted me to eat it! Puked my guts out, the other day! More than once! All day! No! No snuffs for Ghordo!”
Everyone except Big Mike thought it was a hoot. A couple of them were laughing so hard they missed a march step, and almost bent over double. I hadn’t heard about this little Oscar winning drama. I could tell, because Ghordo got a little purple-green around the gills, that he was still a bit miffed. He didn’t start shaking his head like a snorting bull, so I didn’t think I’d end up breaking up a fight.

 

CARNIVAL WORLD CHAPTER 16

It took us three weeks to reach the foothills. And most of the marches were long, sunup and a tad, until early evening, hoping we’d find a decent place for night camp. Every day we had to fight off lions, tigers and bears once or twice.
We had recently exited the cobblestone road that marked the Warrior’s Path and entered the rich, but short, curly, greenery of the plains. While many areas of the plains had normal grass that grew up into gently waving hayfields, Carnival World also has extensive pastures composed of short grass varieties. I prefer navigating the short grass; you never know what giant snake or violent predator is hiding in the long grass, ready to rend you fang and claw.
At the time of the White Dwarf Mountain mission, I did not have my library up and running. During the time of this bard show, that I am sharing in my inn, one of my most requested library movie series are those of the Jurassic Park franchise. Back then, at the time of the mission, the private, appointment only area in the back of said library, available for $20 per month, plus a silver piece per item rental fee, was just an imaginary place of future media refuge on a vacant lot.
Later, almost three years down the road, I had both the free public and the private back room up and running. If I remember, it was at least a few months, maybe half a year, after the Carnival was completed, before my library was finished. I had built a starter area, like with my inn, long before the Dwarf builders finished my library.
In Lost World there is a scene where people are walking through long grass, being stalked by velociraptors, invisible in the grass. Those carnivorous dinosaurs are stealthily weaving through the grass like sharks hunting along the surface of the sea. That is exactly why long grass plains are not my favorite environment in Carnival World. And I avoid the long grass, day or night, like I avoid graveyards and old battlefields when the sun goes down.
“Heads up, boys and girls, doggies and kitties.” I asked, “Anyone know what these holes, gouged deep and scattered around here, in the grass, exposing all this soil, means?”
While the area north and east of Carnival City was a scrub brush valley filled with giant spiders, farther east, all the way east to the Goblin Caves were rolling hills of mixed deciduous and pine forests. West and south of Spider’s Nest, were mostly flat plains, rich with short, curly grass, decked abundantly with tiny white and lavender flowers, native only to this world. Here and there streams and lakes and small, dense woodlots were scattered abundantly throughout the plains. Hither and yon were piles of huge granite boulders, stacked like children’s blocks. We checked each stone pile, as we went by for caves, which could hold predators or gold and gems, but found none.
Tall Tom spoke up, “Pigs! Whole damn passel of them. With all that scratch it’s a big herd. Bigger than I’ve ever seen. I know when pigs are rooting for tubers and worms and such. Pa used to raise them back home in the mountains.”
I exclaimed, “Winner-winner-chicken-dinner! Give the prize to Stiltenpole!” I added, “I can’t see them, they are over in that oak grove up the way. I can hear them ripping loam and their soft, long grunts and subdued squeals. When they see us or smell us, I don’t know if they’ll charge us or charge off in the opposite direction, but we will meet up with them in not too long. And they may just be too busy digging up nightcrawlers and acorns and just ignore us. Let us hope.”
“You heard him, guys and dolls, stow the chatter and stay frosty!” exclaimed Big Mike.
Except for me Paccetti, and Ghordo, there was a multiple chant of “Yes, Sir!”
They charged out of the woods, grunting and squealing, when we were about halfway over the rough winding trail of the plain that skirted the small oak grove. We were in for three minutes of wild grunting squealing pandemonium.
The herd was so huge that Big Mike and Maria, who were towards the front’ tossed a few grenades. Big John and Big Jim jumped sideways and peppered those big hogs with their 30 caliber machine guns and thinned out the herd again. There were still a hand and a half full of the stout and bristly porcine survivors briskly charging our way.
Paccetti got knocked down, and rolled just fast enough, not to get gored by a three-hundred-pound sow.
Bruce, the Moose, Kai shot that monster sow in the head with his shotgun. I wasn’t sure if it was dead, it might have been just stunned. I leaped passed Kai, chop-slammed it above the neck with Master Smith Gurg’s finely crafted, Orc Star Metal, hand and a half axe, and severed its spine, not quite removing its head.
I axed a couple more of the few that were left. Only one squealing shoat, a young boar with a crooked tusk, threaded the needle, and made it to Ghordo. Grinning from ear to ear the Half Orc happily smashed its thick skull with his Orc Metal mace. Ghordo dropped his mace, pulled his long knife from his scabbard belt, and finished it off with his blade. He was happier than a poor kid with a brand-new toy and that was the last of the pandemonium pigs!
We had a pig barbecue after that! Ghordo helped me shave off the best cuts, after peeling back the thick skin, from several pigs, following the battle. We relocated upwind about two and a half clicks away so we wouldn’t have to fend off scavengers.
Quit for supper early, like I said, after we’d walked upwind a ways, and made camp. We still had some jerry jugs of water from the stream we had crossed at lunch. Not too far from the stream I had found a patch of wild onions, that I had saved, so we made that with supper, too. After getting the fire going, we got the coffee on and boiled a big pot of carrots and another of potatoes we had brought with us from the base. After that we roasted that mess of pig slabs and chunks!
We were all sitting around, but with one eye on our food and the other looking to see if we’d need to make a sudden grab for our weapons.
Finally, chow was over, and it was time for cleanup, before after dinner coffee. Big Mike told Jax and Big John to help Ghordo with K.P. duties. It didn’t take much more time than usual to get everything cleaned up and our cooking gear stowed. Jax passed out a big bag of chocolate chip cookies, afterwards, that we had saved for dessert.
Tall Tom, chewed a bit of cookie, sipped a bit of coffee, then grinned a wicked little smile from that long lantern chin and jaw of his. Then, sitting down his metal cup on the ground, he snorted, “Any of you all see anything that needs fixin’?”
When no one bit on his joke, but kept munching their cookies, Tall Tom rocked his long jaws sideways then continued, “There’s a mountain saying where I come from. ‘Fixin’ means just about to do something, not just repairing something broken.’
“Since Orc guy here has almost as much barbecue on him as the pigs, maybe we should fix us a little Orc on the barbie!”
I saw Ghordo bristle, but when I glared at him, after a few head rocks and mutters, he grinned, “What can I say guys? Ain’t never had me no grilled pig slathered with Brown Sugar Barbecue! And I am hog wild over it!”
Big Bad John slapped his knee and exclaimed, “Good one Ghordo! Don’t let Tall Tom rile you. You seem to be holding up as good as anyone of us. You look like someone to ride the river with.”
Everyone laughed, even Big Mike, and we avoided infighting for yet another day. I don’t think Ghordo had ever heard the “ride the river” saying, but he had good instinct for whether someone was complimenting him or being impertinent.
I may have to talk to Big Mike about one of the two of us warning Tall Tom not to ride Ghordo so hard. He’s just joking, but Ghordo has a sensitive spot like a big bullseye, and if he’s pushed too far, he won’t be afraid to duke it out with anyone here but me. Not that I would put this in a Bard’s tale about the most famous Orc on Carnival World, but just as a matter of understanding what makes Ghordo tick, I am adding the following information. It is part of him not being a narcissist but having narcissistic tendencies. Several of them. Ghordo can easily react with anger or immaturity. It took a while, but over the years he doesn’t have as many tantrums as he did the first five or so years, he was with me. In the same way his grammar has improved slightly as well.
Big Mike called back, “Tall Tom, you’re on outer perimeter first watch. Go over there by that big rock slab.” As Tall Tom trotted passed Alpha leader, Mike whispered something to the Arkansas Mountain Man, and the ranger nodded once, then said, not much above a whisper, “Yes, Sir!”
Good, I think Big Mike is seeing the potential problem I am concerned about and taking care of the issue.
I never take point, but morning and night, sometimes I do a bit of scouting, or do a stealthy perimeter sweep.
No Gobs or Hobs so far. We did pass an old battlefield and a couple of broken castles with cemeteries, during our quest, to date, but all during the day. Normal amounts of “lions and tigers and bears, oh my,” most of the time, anyway.
Morning came and we headed out again. About two hours passed. Jax said she saw rain clouds, far in the distance, out on the plains. I sniffed the air. “I hope not. It doesn’t rain very often in Carnival World, but when it does, you get a lot of water fast. If it is, we need to find a cave, or we’ll be wet and miserable for a day or so. I don’t smell rain.”
Ghordo chimed in, “Ain’t no dumb rain, Chief. Sky ain’t right.”
I pulled out my Terlo-crafted binoculars and took a closer look at what looked like darkness on the horizon. I laughed, “I can see your storm clouds Jax. It is about a mile of buffalo traveling southwest, with a wolf pack on one side, and a lion pride on the other, hanging back, looking for stragglers to pick off.”
It was, up until we were just crawling into the higher level of foothills, well below the White Dwarf Mountains, not long after we had made noon camp, that, considering, I had opined to myself, things have been fairly uneventful. I was also thinking about how glad I am that I am no longer required to destroy whole forests writing reams of mission reports. Let Alpha, Beta, Gamma and Delta do that! I am a free man now.
As we were heading out, I warned, “Better keep those eyes peeled boys and girls. It is faint, but I can smell a cryptid.”
Every face became strained, and I heard a few sniffs here and there. But I doubt anyone, except maybe Ghordo, would be able to detect it yet. I had told them several stories about my cryptid hunts but changed the tale here and there. It was not my desire to embellish the stories. My motive in rewriting the tale, in my mind, was to leave out all the clues that would point towards me being a former earth Cryptid Ranger. So, I had to change my uniform and make the descriptors for the environment all about Carnival World, rather than some forest, lake, or jungle in America, South America or Canada.
I even pulled out several arrows, point and shaft made from copper, during my first Bard’s tale to the team. I had found outcroppings in caves, hammered them out with my pick, and had a village smith melt them and make special arrows that I can use for cryptids. Time consuming, but it is not like I have access to giant two-handed picks or a mining machine. Mostly I am looking for gold, silver or gems that I can sell or trade at villages. I had never used them before, my copper arrows, to take on a cryptid in Carnival World, but following my bit of show and tell, I let Alpha team come to their own conclusions.
Not sure if I told you, but when I was in Cryptid Team Four, mostly we took care of problems in the fifty states or in our protectorates. Because of my native heritage my team was most often sent into the reservation areas to squelch cryptid problems. Even helped a couple of Navaho Rangers a few times. Great guys. I have heard. Well not now, but I heard the rumor, only a few months before tonight’s Bard show, that they are famous now. All the rave on paranormal talk shows. I even ordered one of their post-retirement books for my Carnival World library, but that is a decade after the White Dwarf quest. I would have figured that the Navaho Ranger’s book would be classified top secret or better. Guess not.
We sometimes were called in to assist Royal Mounties in Canada, back when I was a Cryptid Team Four operative on earth. That wasn’t uncommon. I think we were even called into help with problems, a few times, in Central or South America. I think I already shared with you that when I was promoted to Anomaly Investigation Services, I traveled all over the world. Not often, but at least once per year I was sent on missions off American soil.
About fifteen minutes later, after Alpha Team entered the foothills of the White Dwarf Mountains, we crossed into a grassy valley. To our left was a rocky outcropping of sandstone ridges. Directly in the center was a hole large enough to park a type C, forty-eight to seventy-seven passenger, Bluebird yellow school bus. And the stink hit us like a ton of bricks, and then just as suddenly became so light I was the only one picking it up. Well, that small window of skunk ape overkill, was too much for the former Neo Nazi lady. Schmitt palmed her nose and mouth with her hand and started to yelp, “Schizer!” but suddenly she was on her knees puking her guts out.
Our guns and my bow were instantly readied, and our eyes were glued to the cave entrance.
Ghordo hung back, like I had told him. Before we had started the White Dwarf quest, I had said that he was going to play pack mule. I then explained, after Ghordo’s comical and expected, twisty-faced, puckery expression of bewilderment, what I was saying.
Regaling my new Bounty Hunter Assistant with new terminology, I explained in slow, easy to understand terms, that his duty, for this mission, was to defend the cooking gear and himself, when we encountered combat. No heroics! No leaping into the fray! I reminded him that as pack mule, his main duty was to be chief cook and bottle washer, and that he was only to fight in self-defense, if an enemy, man or beast, got passed me or Alpha team.
Momentarily his eyes squinted shut and his face squeezed tight, his head cocked back and forth, and it looked as if he wanted to argue about his new duty, but then his eyes opened and his face relaxed. Ghordo shrugged his meaty shoulders. He grunted, then frowned thoughtfully, twisting his purple lips around, a few times, but not with his customary proud and stubborn anger. Ghordo nodded vertically, twice, and seemed to agree. After that, he viewed his new job as a promotion.
He had a few items of his own, but mostly he would be packing cooking gear and two five-gallon jerry jugs. Even though it would add to the time, I had promised to keep my eyes open for food, like fruit and vegetables along the way. Whenever possible I planned to bag a deer or two just before or during night camp.
And of course, there are “lions and tigers and bears, oh my.” All edible. Especially a bear. Not the wolves though. They are edible, kind of… Much more toxic than pigs. No matter how you slice it, dice it or cube it! Wolf is hard to cook thoroughly enough to kill the toxins and parasites. I knew a guy once who ate wolf. You boil it, he told me, for at least two hours, changing the water frequently. And you only count the time while the meat is boiling. So, it takes more than two hours real time. And then you broil it over the fire until it is black, as if you are preparing food Cajun style, “blackened” without the hot sauce, then cut off the crust and eat the middle. That guy said he considered wolf a delicacy. No thanks. Even if I were starving to death. No. I’ll pass.
We all had several c-ration kits in our packs as well. Rivers and lakes, thankfully, were very plentiful in Carnival World. We might even fish for an hour or so from time to time to add to our food supplies.
I also carried a big bag of potatoes and another of carrots in my pack. Fresh stuff, for the first week or so. Kai, I think, had several bags of potatoes and carrots as well in his pack, but they were freeze-dried, for use later in the mission. With his claymore mine kit, I am surprised he was taking the extra weight, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was, as far as carry ability, the strongest soldier on the team.
Ghordo was an Orc and therefore even stronger, as far as carrying capacity. They are veritable pack mules, with strength far surpassing that of natural humans.
After thinking about our food situation for the mission, my mind shifted to Ghordo. This would be our first long mission, and with a group of big sweaty, testosterone filled men, a scientist and two women rangers. I was concerned that it might be a case of too much, too soon, for the Half Orc, but like any first-time swimmer, you either got to put your foot in the water, and then the next one, and get on out in the lake, or somebody must shove you in. And you learn to swim.
Most of the time, from the look on his face, Ghordo was ready to charge Hades with a bucket of water during past battles. He was only with me a few months at best, at the start of the White Dwarf quest, but he had never pulled back from a fight, human, humanoid or creature, although we had never fought a cryptid together.
The opening valley, except for the sandstone cliffs to the west, was a steep bluegrass plain. Not the same kind of grass, but another type of bluegrass, with darker purple flowers, instead of lavender. Tiny breezes pulled to our noses the refreshing scents of Spanish moss, a deep woodsy amber tang laced with hints of wildflowers and peppery spice. I don’t think it was actually Spanish moss, which grows on trees. Well, now I know it is not. I knelt and plucked some of the strange blue grass, full of little white and purple flowers, like Portulaca grandiflora, tiny moss roses, then held the clump to my nose. That was indeed where the smell was originating. I’ve never smelt this on earth, but back on earth I did find Carolina Allspice and sweetshrub which has the fragrance of strawberry. Although, if I remember, sweetshrub blooms have a hint of pineapple in its bouquet, as well.
Only a haphazard spotting of trees, here and there, dotted this first layer of foothills. To the north and westward, winding ever higher, the cobblestone path loosely spiraled up into a series of upthrust granite triangular peaks of the White Dwarf Mountains, all ensconced beneath a pure, brilliant blue, cloudless sky.
Above the valley to the north, we could see upwardly ascending small forested lots, hanging valleys and soil topped hills, that laced each slightly higher mountain spike. Here and there, the flashy diamond sheen of tiny mountain ponds sparkled amongst the trees. Dangling like silver icicles on a Christmas tree, falling streams crawled slowly downwards from each pond.
Each small forest, green leafy lacings of huddled tree groves, majestic gatherings of tall pines and mixed deciduous trees, would be lively with barking squirrels and chirping avians, noisily and busily engaged in life. And way up the mountain, above the tree line, the cold snowy vistas of the peaks. And on the other side would be the dangerous northwestern Badlands.
For mere moments we could smell the lush potpourri scent of the bluegrass valley. Suddenly that wonderful aroma was overpowered once more, by a heavier pungent skunky odor. The light trace of cryptid stench that I had smelled earlier was now a horrible reek. Now that odor was no longer a minor irritation, but a corrosive onslaught to our senses. We had, while being wary of the earlier subtle cryptid stench, watched cautiously, behind us, ahead of us and to either side.
Meanwhile, as everyone else had turned left to look at the cave, Big Ted, as he was temporarily on point, had turned right, in the opposite direction, to the eastern slope of the grass covered valley.
Suddenly from behind us we heard a loud trilling, reminiscent of a dolphin chitter crossed with a bullfrog croak, that filled our ears with shooting pain. Today, the Half-Orc hefted his green mace, and readied his shield, but the emotions on his face zipped around chaotically. Strangely, he seemed less affected by the nausea and ear drum attack than the rest of us, that came not long after.
We all turned and saw only a blur. A blur that was several feet across and about eighteen feet tall. And then the distortion vanished as the giant creature pounced—
***
“Can you believe it folks!” exclaimed Bard with a lilted spiel like a carnival barker, “It’s first break already! Use the restrooms. Get some drinks and snacks.”
With a strum of his lute, the famous bounty hunter bard of Carnival World arose from his chair, stretched and said, “All right, boys and girls, kitties and doggies, if you want to find out what happens to Bard, Ghordo…and don’t you dare ask the most famous Half–Orc on this planet, about what happens to us, and Alpha team, when the cryptid attacks, be back here under the stage in twenty minutes sharp!”