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CARNIVAL WORLD CHAPTER 52

Big J squatted well back from the camera station.

Dr. Kimble, stood, not too far away from Jabali, long, loose brunette hair dancing in the wind. One delicate hand and arm cradled the glass rectangle of her computer at an angle. The bottom of the advanced technology device rested against the tummy of her medical lab smock. Daphne stood five seven, but looked taller. She was pretty, but lean and willowy. If her bosom had been any smaller, she would have been considered to suffer from micromastia. But, in this case, less was best, as otherwise her view of the keyboard would have been blocked. Daphne’s other hand, pecked away quick as a dervish, on the surface of the flat glass traveling computer. From time to time, she would stop adding text and swish the screen up, down, right or left, as she checked her notes or consulted with Project Big Bird’s Camera Team Leader.

Big J had pulled out his archeologist’s thick, hog-bristled brush, to clear a swatch of white sand. The loose pile of sand grains had formed a small dome near the spot where they were in the process of setting up the telephoto camera. The camera crew had placed the camera tripod in front of the sand pile, next to the fountain. However, as each person stepped backwards, they had lost their footing in the white sands.

As his crew finished the set-up, Big J, code-named for the squat and powerful South American wild boar, swished away the sand pile. His crew, in his mind, had lost their footing one too many times. Big J planned on making an end to the small problem that had been plaguing himself and the camera crew. To his surprise, a mound of glowing green glass rocks were laid bare to the camera crew’s view.

Big J called for Bard. Daphne pulled on her medical gloves and picked up a stone to test it. She set up a testing area on a broken temple column as Bard sprinted over to the camera station.

“What’s up, kitties and doggies?” Bard laughed to himself as he approached Dr. Kimble, Anselm, Big J and the camera crew’s post.I find Big J’s Code Name hilarious, he thought. And fitting. Fitting as precision instrument gears. He’s as stocky and swarthy as his moniker. Jabali. Haa-bah-lee. Haa. Laughing grunt. Bah. Coughing grunt. Lee. Long high pitched squeal. Yes, in-deed-ie, Big J’s got a deep, rumbly voice. Not half as deep and rough as Ghordo’s, though. Point is, when Big J gets excited, like when he’s snapping orders at Jose, Gomez, or Jorge, his voice starts at a deep rumble and ends with high pitched vocals. Bard fought the impulse to snort twice and squeal like a pig.

Big J pointed at the pile of glowing green fingerlings of wrinkled crystalline rocks that he had discovered after removing the annoying pile of white sand. Proud as a new student taking home his first mostly A report card, the big Latino gawked at the pile of green glassy stones. Big J excitedly waved his porky pointer finger at the two piles, one of sand and one of rocks, that he had swept out from behind the camera post.

Bard readjusted his scarlet feathered, black felt, archer’s cap, then sighed loudly. He said, mimicking an instructor’s cadence, “That girls and boys, kitties and doggies, is ancient radioactive malachite glass ore. Do you smell the ozone odor in the air? This is the culprit.”

Bard yelled over at Ranger Kai at north point. “Hey, Kai! The red cell phone is not going to work!”

“Why not?” yelled back Bruce the Moose, Kai, his wide, bulky, muscle-packed shoulders tight. He spun around to stare at Orlando Bard. The big Hawaiian, U.S. military ranger, yanked the red phone out of his military vest pocket. He added, “The signal is gone, Bard! I thought we were shielded from that!”

Bard replied, “Not the phone, Bruce. The camera equipment.” He asked Daphne, “Is that right, Doc?”

Daphne rubbed the beauty mark below the right side of her sensual lips. “That is correct, Bard. We can shield the cameras and the skip jacks seem immune to the issue, but the phones. Not so much. Unfortunately.”

“Why?” asked Ranger Kai, shouting over the hot wind and the distance. He had turned from his guard post position to speak with Bard, viewing the camera crew area of the western temple edge. Kai puckered his wide, full lips. Irritated curiosity beamed from his chiseled, square jawed, sun-browned, Hawaiian features.

Bard replied, “You may have read the mission reports, Kai. I don’t think you were on the mission, but I am sure you heard something about it. You were with us on the White Dwarf Mission, when Bishop Patrick sent us to find Padre, and offer an alliance to the King of the White Dwarves and hire his famous engineers to help complete the Carnival City building projects.

“Big Ted, the ranger, didn’t survive the Death Clown Giant encounter, during that mission, but it happened quite awhile after that. The event occurred not long after Conner’s Cathedral and the Carnival area were built by the White Dwarf engineers. Once those areas were up and running, that’s when the general purpose away missions started. I think it was during the first or second mission exploration, on the west coast, not too far from West Catalina Island, at the old Atlanticean research colony ruins. Before that, the ranger squads were primarily guarding the Cyclopean Star Portal edifice interior and the Command Center.

“One of your ranger teams had not reported in, Bruce. They had been working in the old science station near West Catalina Island. One of the scientists had accidentally triggered a teleporter, which took them to an old research station that observed the Forbidden Zone, and Badlands area, in North Antari. That’s like the North Pole of earth, but it has jungles, mountains, and plains, not ice fields, here on Carnival World.”

Daphne interjected, “Wasn’t me Bard! I wasn’t on that mission.”

Bard continued, “I believe you, Doc. Where was I now? Oh. Dragon Roost Isle. Named for the dragons that roosted on top of the extinct volcano rim. A nearby island, but close enough to view North Antari with binoculars or telescopes, was where the other team became stranded. The whole team, rangers and scientists were instantly teleported into another science lab. The ceilings were fallen. The walls were crumbling. But the fancy telescope, sitting on what appeared to be a desk next to a dilapidated and once connected computer system, didn’t have a hint of rust. If you looked into the viewer you could see one of those ancient Angkor Wat Temples, but the telescope could not be moved. It was stuck in that position.
Yes, the rangers and scientists were stranded on that small bare, rocky volcanic island. No fresh water. Not much more food than that which was in their packs. No way to use coms. Beta team? Delta? Gamma?

“Which one was stranded and which one performed the rescue? I wonder if this ore effects memories. My Bardic trained memory is usually better than that! It’s all a blur, kitties and doggies. I just know that Commander Zales had one more reason, to tell me, that he owed me one, because he doesn’t think he’d have found them, without my help.”

“No, Bard, Alpha team wasn’t part of those missions,” replied Kai. He added, “Either the exploration away team mission or the search and rescue operation,” replied Ranger Kai as he nursed a serious frown. He added, “Beta was busy learning the blimp protocols, so it was probably Delta and Gamma teams.

“That was another reason, Bard, that Beta team had to figure out how to operate those skip jacks, too, so they could monitor any exploration away teams. There are usually one or two Beta rangers that pilot a skip jack, even though one of the other ranger teams may be riding in it. We rangers had to learn how to run a skip jack in a pinch, but Beta rangers are the primary air craft personnel here.”

Bard continued, “We had the old crank phones then. World War Two style.” He added, “Updated a bit, but basically the same item.

“We hadn’t set up the lay line cell phone system yet with the cathedral tower amplifiers. You won’t get anything on the cell phone, Ranger Kai. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

“The old crank phone was just hiss and static and a garbled word here and there. I heard ‘roosting dragons’ and ‘old volcano’ on the recording Zales played for me during the emergency meeting in his old top-side briefing room. It was enough information so I could double check an old Bard scroll map I had. I was able to tell Zales where to take the skip jack to rescue his stranded ranger team.

“That island was chock full of green glass ore. Remnants of an old nuclear blast that turned the sands into glass. Maybe not the same nuclear technology as on earth. This type blows up things but doesn’t burn. Yet leaves radiation residue. Seems impossible. What little burn occurs just washes off in the rain.

“It was radioactive. Must have been a much bigger bomb than the one that took out this temple. Long ago. Even before the time of Queen Zzzillzzzaga’s Monster Men army of one thousand years ago. These malachite ore fingers are weak, as far as radiation now, but it is enough to keep your phone from getting or receiving signal. And,” Bard looked expectantly at Dr. Kimble, “Didn’t you say earlier, Doc, that you had stronger radiation readings coming from that sink drain outside of the pool, just passed the smallest shell relay of the Nymph fountain?”

Dr. Kimble’s “aha” expression was followed by a tight smile, which became a nod of agreement. “Hey! That makes sense, Orlando. The water coming out of the pool, and the series of ever smaller shell pools, that drain at last into the sink hole, carved into the mosaic tile, showed nominal radiation. The water in the drain hole flow that cascades down into the center of the hill, beneath us, that the temple sits on, had stronger readings. That radiation emanating from that location is, like I said, much stronger. I will need to order iodine supplements for us when the skip jack brings our supper. I put the stones in a special pouch that will safely contain the radiating rocks.”

With the sun topping the glorious cerulean blue dome of the sky, Bard placed a folding metal stool up, upwind from the porta-potty, towards the eastern side of the ancient snake temple. Beside the camp table he placed an open mermite case full of MRE’s and tossed a stack of red plastic drink cups and a bag of white sporks. Next, Orlando fetched a steel water bucket and filled it with fountain water and parked it near the mermite MRE carrier case. Most likely the rangers have their own chow kits, and my bounty hunters do, too, at least a cup and a dagger, thought Bard, but some of the others won’t.

Bard opened up the Coleman portable stove and manipulated the proper sequence. Following several clicks of the igniter, the spark took, and he was rewarded with a double-puff and two blue circular sets of flame jets appeared. For a few seconds he smelled fuel, but then that odor dissipated. Setting two pots to boil, one for coffee and one for tea, with water from the nymph fountain, he set off to tag the first round of lunch break participants.

Bard walked passed Padre and quietly informed him, “Second break, Padre.”

“Aye, Laddie,” replied the Dwarf Cleric.

Next, he strolled over to Ranger Maria Orsic Schmitt, who was stationed at the south guard post. Just short of six feet tall, the best sniper of Zales’ U.S. Rangers, and handy with short blades, she was blonde, beautiful and hard as nails. Bard said, “You are on second break, Schmitty.”

Schmitty smiled a tiger’s smile, beautiful, like her face. Just as sharp. Just as hard. Maria never wore make up, but her face was hard like it was made of porcelain, like some girls who wear too much make-up. And she was beautiful of face and form, but in a cold, blunt manner. Reminds me of that phrase coined by that art critic Thomas Hess, thought Bard, who called neo-classical Italian, Antonio Canova’s, white marble feminine nude statue, the Erotic Frigidaire. ‘A masterful work of classic art, but so icy and cold, that it mentally and sometimes physically chilled the viewer,’ as my military art history professor once said.

U.S. Ranger Maria Orsic Schmitt replied with her usual daisy chain of profanity, “I am bored as @*&!, Bard.” She added with a scowl, “And I am as hungry as a two dollar bead flasher, @*&!-^%$^, at the Bourbon Street Mardi Gras!” Ranger Schmitt, the team’s former neo-Nazi poster girl, pursed her lips tightly, focused her dark blue eyes, and scanned the plains below the elevated temple ruins. As Bard was leaving she turned back to Orlando with another tiger smile, “Tell Ghordo, that #(+^, if he pigs out on lunch, and I’m left with second-#(+^# for food, I am gonna @*&! him up! Tell him I will @*&!’n Sparta Kick his sorry green padooka over the edge of the cliff!”

Bard chuckled, “Good one Schmitty! Sparta Kick. That’s a reference from the Assassin’s Creed Odyssey video game you play all the time.”

Schmitty grinned a lop-sided grin, “You @*&!’n nailed it, Bard!”

Walking away from Ranger Schmitty, he saw that Anselm, Gomez and Jorge were just about to replace Jose at the southwest guard position. Gomez had a small camera, plastic lens guard in place, strapped under his neck. Gomez was a real cameraman, like Big J.

Jorge and Jose were “gophers” that were supposed to do whatever needed doing, for the camera crew, from cataloging dig findings, to brushing staked off sites, setting up a camp, and shoveling rock rubble or dirt. Bard figured that the camera crew were the guests of the rangers and his Bounty Hunter Guild. Unless they asked to help, he preferred that they just stay close to the cameras or Big J.

“Anselm!” Bard ordered crisply, “Leave Jose here. Follow me back to the camera post. I am putting the three of you on second break for lunch.” Jose’s handsome Latino face hardened and his black eyes flashed, “What gringo nonsense is this?” The young Latino rubbed one dark, well-manicured hand, over the belly of his plum, button down, fandango shirt, then dropped both of his hands and clenched them.

Bard stared unflinching, down into the simmering black eyes of the slender, cocky, twenty year old Latino. He flexed the long fingers of his ham-sized fists, wrapped in his fingerless leather archer gloves, and snapped, “Don’t test me, boy! I know you walk like you are a jungle cat, Jose. But I am an expert in reading people and I can tell, its mostly show. The jungle feline walk, and all it signifies, is the real burrito with me. I have been walking like that for years. It comes natural for me and I don’t even think about it, boy.

“Don’t try it, Jose! When the dust settles, it will be you in the dust and not me. And I won’t lose a drop of blood or a drop of sweat. But you will!”

Bard ignored Jose, and then, with the other Latinos and Anselm in tow, like a gaggle of geese, he walked up to Big J. Orlando said, “It’s time for lunch, but I am going to have your crew, Big J, Jose, Gomez and Jorge take second break with Padre and Anselm. Big J, you, and Dr. Kimble will take first break which starts now.

Dr. Kimble looked up, startled, then tapped the save icon, followed by the shut-down, on her so-advanced-it-is-not-yet-for-sale-to-the-general-Earth-public computer. She then sat the shatter-proof glass unit next to her back pack and testing kits on the flat top of the busted temple column stub. With a swish of her white lab coat over scrubs, Daphne grabbed her mess kit, and a large ceramic tea mug, and walked over to the dining area.

Next, Bard approached Mystica. She asked, “Uhh. Is it break-time?”

“Yes, Mystica. First break for you, which starts now.”

“Aye, aye Captain,” giggled Mystica.

Bard continued from the north west post position over to the north post. “You are on first break, Bruce.” Ranger Kai unslung his shot gun and placed it across a blanket on the busted temple column. Placing it on the blanket, thick, round muzzle, facing out over the plains, protected it from the rough, but fairly flat surface of the make-shift Grecian column table. Some broken temple columns were taller or shorter, while being roughly flat; others were broken sharply at an angle.

Bard sprinted up to Ghordo, “Hey, Ghordo, it’s break time. Don’t take your time or you’ll miss it.” Ghordo swayed his head back and forth, but not fast like when he was angry, “Ha. Ha. Ha, Chief.”

Bard chuckled, “We should name those western Penal Colony Mountains after you, ‘Ghordo Mountains.’”

The big Half-Orc scowled and his chin jutted out, his lower fangs prominently displayed, as his jaw clenched. The vein on his neck throbbed darkly. “Why?”asked Ghordo. He demanded, “Are you joking me, Chief?”

“No Ghordo, I am not joking with you,” replied Bard. He added, “Didn’t you notice that the Misty Mountains of that range, are gray blue and clear, just like your eyes?”

Ghordo smiled, “Good one, Chief! I forgot. I don’t have Orc eyes. I have Ma’s eyes. Pa was an Orc but Ma was an exiled West Catalina Barbarian. Refused to marry a Half-Giant. Got the boot from the clan.” He added, his cement mixer vocals rumbling, and, he jerked a thick thumb at the Ameruca tile art in the center of the temple, “She wasn’t fond of that clown, either. He’s the Big Cheese of that clan, you know. They call him Ahh-ma-rook-kah, there, though.”

Bard nodded in agreement, knowing the lore of West Catalina Island.

Ghordo dropped his Orc mace, on the nearest make-shift column table, then placed his Spartan helmet onto it as well. “I am hungry ‘nuff, Chief, to eat an olyphont, tusks an’ all! Glad you ain’t making me wait for second break!”

Bard laughed, “About that, Ghordo! Schmitty, in her normal daisy-chained cuss word sentences, said to tell you if you eat up all the food and leave her with an excrement assortment of MRE’s, she’s going to Sparta Kick you off the cliff!”

Ghordo’s doggie-in-the-back-car-window head shakes sped up as he scowled fiercely. “I’d like to see that, Chief!” Then the formerly medium green, temporarily, light chocolate skinned, but olive-tinted, Half Orc laughed his famous cement mixer laugh. Ghordo glanced over at Maria. The tall blond ranger lady, listening, had just twisted around, a taunting, challenging expression on her face, and looked over her shoulder in his direction.

Bard barked, “Whatever you do, Ghordo, don’t moon her!” Orlando pointed his pointer and middle finger at the Half-Orc’s eyes, then turned his hand and pointer finger at Ghordo. The hand signal was commonly used among Commander Zales’ Rangers, and one he’d used himself as a member of Cryptid Team Four, back on earth. “And don’t go talk with her, either. Unless there is an emergency, Ghordo, and I put you together, she’s off limits during this mission!”

“O.K., Chief,” grumbled Ghordo, displaying a menacing frown. And just like that, the momentary irritation in Ghordo’s demeanor vanished like a quickly ending spring rain shower back on earth. Laughing a great belly laugh, Ghordo whipped double birds at her, then strutted like a peacock over to the Coleman stove set up area. Ghordo watched Agent Schmitty giggle, then turn back to her duties, watching the great serengeti beneath her. Then, after a quick visit to the porta-potty, the Half-Orc was sprinting over to the Meal-Ready-to-Eat carrier box.

Ghordo squatted over the mermite carrier and rummaged through the MRE’s. He grabbed three pouches, rather than his usual four or five. Ghordo filled up his big liter-sized steel travel cup with water from a five gallon bucket beside the mermite box.

As everyone gathered around, Bard said, “Just eat. I am going to have Anselm do a prayer for the team when he comes for second lunch break about twenty five minutes from now.”

Bard sat cross-legged next to Kai. Kai and Bard both sipped a tea as they did the warm up routine for their MRE kits.

Mystica squatted next to Ghordo who was busy going through the MRE pouch shuffling and add water routine. As was often common for her, the young she-elf had supplied her own food. Bounty Hunter Knorn was a finicky eater. Meat well-done. She especially loved chicken, pastries, candy, snacks and fresh cut mixed fruit were her usual foods of choice. No coffee. No tea. No alcoholic beverages.

Water by itself had to be the freshest, cold and pure spring water available, and she would only drink it if she didn’t have a flavored drink like soda, juice or chocolate milk. Mystica’s snacks were mostly imported from Earth, purchased through Bard’s Inn.

Mystica grasped a can of Black Berry Dr. Pepper in one hand and a handful of Little Debbie Oatmeal Cookies in the other. She also carried an unopened double pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups in her mouth. The young she Elf dropped the orange and yellow wrapped candy into her lap and tossed the stack of soft, clear-wrapped pile of oatmeal cookies, with a soft plop, onto the gray floor tiles.

“Hey, Mystica, are you going to share those?” grumbled Ghordo.

Raising an eyebrow, but remaining calm, Mystica replied, “Uhh. One! You should have bought your own back at the inn, just like I do. This is a Bounty Hunting Mission! You know the rules. This isn’t a party. Sharing is polite at parties. ‘B. Y. O. Bring Your Own,’ as the Bard says, for work!”

“Come on!” growled Ghordo as he added water and shook the MRE pouch of beefy mashed potatoes with a white bread sandwich, all smothered with thick brown gravy. The tiny blue chemical pad was dropped into the large shaker bag. Then the sealed food pouch was dropped into the shaker bag. When mixed with the water, it heated the covered food pouch in just over one minute. Then the sealed food pouch was carefully removed and opened, ready to enjoy.

Mystica ignored the Half-Orc and swigged on her Dr. Pepper. She followed with a whole Peanut Butter Cup. After slowly masticating her treasure, she eyed Ghordo innocently.

“Come on, you little dirt troll, at least give me an oat meal cookie!” grumped Ghordo as he opened up his Hot Beef Meal.

“Uhh. One!” up came Mystica’s pointer finger, “You are a Meanie Greenie Goblin if you keep pestering me!” She added, “And. Uhmm. You have plenty of desert! It came with your MRE’s. One! You have a butterscotch pudding cup. And a brownie. And you have one of those really good J.J. Bakery blueberry pies that comes with some of the Premium MRE kits. There are twelve…uhmm…different kinds! Basically, I buy them in cases from Bard’s inn! Uhhm. One! What are you whining about, Ghordo!”

Kai chortled and exclaimed, “Look! Dinner and a show!”

Bard countered, “Hey, Ranger Bruce, that’s my line, but I couldn’t agree with you more!”

Kai laughed, then exclaimed, “Ghordo! I have a King-Sized Snicker’s Bar! The Hawaiian Ranger waved the big candy bar in the Half Orc’s direction. He offered it and said, “Trade only.”

“What do you want to trade for it?” asked Ghordo.

“Half of it, Ghordo. I will trade half of it for all of your instant coffee envelopes, tea and sugar packets and the creamers. You must have grabbed three or four MRE’s, so you must have a pile of them.”

Ghordo closed his eyes and wrinkled up his face, then counted on his fingers. “I’ll trade, Kai, but I want the whole candy bar.”

Kai laughed, then stuck the candy bar, with three quarters of it showing, in a narrow chest pocket on his combat vest. “Half, Ghordo. If you change your mind and want to make the trade. But once I finish my hot ham and cheese, it will be too late! The candy bar will be my dessert – not this nasty freeze dried cinnamon crunch apple crisp. Most Premium MRE kit desserts are quite good. Zales may chew our chops, but he also provides us nice perks! Like ordering special canteen kits from that premium ration, CIA operated, high value, New Mexican, military food and mess kit company. Not this one, though, that came with my hot ham and cheese kit! This desert is as poor quality as a standard c-ration kit one.”

Ghordo nodded briefly, then scowled at Mystica as he swiftly stuffed his quirky purple and brown lips with big sporks of beefy mashed potatoes. “How can you look so innocent, princess plain and tall, when you are being selfish?”

Mystica’s lips formed a tight line, then she pointed at him, again, “Uhh. Basically. One! At least I can spell, uhh, the word, uhh… innocent. I only…uhh…studied up to fourth year Elf Grammar, but I can, basically…uhm…spell it!”

Bard interjected sarcastically, as they were just barely young adults, “CHILDREN! If you start fighting or getting too loud, I will be forced to separate you, two!” Carnival City, having U.S. Military rule, considered the age of adulthood as eighteen. But most of Carnival World, including Mystica’s Elves, and Ghordo’s Orcs, considered thirteen to be an adult. However, many cultures also reserved certain privileges to be kept reserved until a young adult proved themselves in some fashion. Both Ghordo and Mystica had been about fourteen when they had joined Bard and not that many years had come and gone since then. Ghordo was actually almost a year older than Mystica.

Mystica and Ghordo were too focused on each other to respond to Bard’s light reprimand.

Kai gobbled down the last bite of his hot ham and cheese sandwich, then slapped his knee. “This,” exclaimed Bruce the Moose, “is going to be absotively posilutley, pause for emphasis, STORYBOOK!” The ranger finished his sentence with a flourish of his two hands and mouthed a noise like he was fanning the pages of a book.

Ghordo exclaimed, his eyes wide, “Wait, Kai!” He quickly rummaged through his MRE kits and collected the coffee, tea, sweetener, and creamer packets. Ghordo placed them into a small kit bag and tossed it to the U.S. Ranger.

Kai chuckled. “Good trade, Ghordo.” The tall, muscular Pacific Islander deftly palmed the bag of coffee and tea supplies. He pulled out his combat dagger. With a flourish, Kai cut the candy bar in half and tossed one portion to Ghordo. It landed in the Half-Orc’s uplifted palm.

CARNIVAL WORLD CHAPTER 53

Bard nodded, then added, “We can all see it from the end of the road, Bruce! But, in my opinion, this is just the opening show. The big money band is still coming when we see our first Cryptid!”

Ghordo cocked his head, wrinkled up his face, and scratched his armpit. He asked, “What are the Cryptids, again, that we are looking for?”

Big J replied, “First, amigo, we are looking for a sasquatch or Sabe. They are hairy, ape like humanoids. Sabe tend to be more human-like and possess a more advanced culture than the more animalistic sasquatch. Second, amigo, we are looking for wolfmen or dog men. They are a bipedal humanoid canine.”

Ghordo smirked, “You think you are Earth’s expert on – what do you call them? Cryptids? I don’t know about the big monkey men, Big J, but I do know that a wolfman or dog-man is not a canine!”

“What is your definition of canine, amigo?” asked Big J.

Ghordo proudly announced, “Everybody knows that a canine is a special kind of dog! Canines are police dogs!”

Kai guffawed, “How did you come up with that notion, Ghordo?” He added, “Maybe people believed that when God was a child in knee pants, but not any more.”

Ghordo thrust his jaw out and demanded, “Bard’s library has two police dog television shows on movie discs! Rin Tin Tin K-9 Cop and K-9 Cops! You are from Earth, Kai, just like Big J, and you are just as dumb! I ain’t even from Earth, and I can learn you that canine means police dog!”

Both Kai and Big J busted a gut laughing at Ghordo’s ignorant determination.

“Why are you milk drinkers laughing at me? I wasn’t born yesterday! I know what the word canine means!” snapped Ghordo.

“Uhhm. They are laughing at you, Ghordo, because you are uhhm basically wrong as usual. And you are either too stubborn to admit it or too uhhm ignorant to know it!” exclaimed Mystica. She added, “Uhhm. One! Your life’s experience dictionary is not the same as everyone else. Your uhhm life’s knowledge dictionary, Ghordo, is really uhhm thin and full of errors. I may be guilty of calling you out, Ghordo, but basically I am innocent, when it comes to being stubborn for the sake of needing to be right all of the time. I’m innocent as a baby canine!”

“Are you challenging me, Mystica Knorn? Why can’t you all just admit that I am right and you are wrong? Am I right or am I right?” demanded Ghordo.

Kai, Big J and Mystica burst out as one, drowning each other out, and exclaimed, “No, Ghordo, you are wrong!”

Ghordo snorted, “I ain’t never heard of no canine being called anything other than a police dog! You think I’m dumb? You are just trying to make me look bad!” He added, “Chief! You are an expert on animals. Tell them they are wrong! A canine is a dog that is a police dog! I know what I watched from your library!”

Bard sighed, then chuckled, “In one sense you are correct, Ghordo, a canine is a police dog. Just like you saw on the fiction series and the documentary series.

“You have large canine teeth, Ghordo, but you are not a canine. All of us here have canines. While it is spelled the same, tearing teeth, or canines, have nothing to do with the reason wolfmen are called canines.

“I’ll admit, it is confusing, Ghordo. Wolfmen and dog men are called canines because they are considered to be Canidaes. Most people say canines rather than Canidaes. The problem with your definition, Ghordo, is that it is too narrow. It is not wrong. It is too narrow. All dogs are canines. But even that definition is not as broad as it needs to be.

“To the best of my recollection, Ghordo, Canidae is a family of carnivorous mammals which includes domestic dogs, wolves, coyotes, foxes, jackals, and dingoes. And of course, Cryptid hybrids, or humanoids who are not hybrids, may share features of these mammalian carnivores. Thus, they are all considered canines or Canidaes, if you use taxonomical scientific names.”

Ghordo’s face wrinkled up and his eyes snapped closed as his head shook back and forth. After a moment he muttered, “O.K., I get you now, Chief. I was right, but I didn’t have all the facts. So, Kai, Big J and Mystica were right, too, about their definition of canines.”

Bard nodded, “And now that we understand what canine mammals are and the kind of Cryptids we are looking for, hopefully, we will get some good camera footage of them!”

Big J nodded and rolled his big, widely spaced, dark brown eyes, hidden behind his bushy black eyebrows and big black plastic glasses.

Daphne giggled, but concentrated on her tea and crunched a little orange carrot.

Ghordo, somewhat mollified, turned his attention back to Mystica. “If you are so smart, Mystica Knorn, spell that fancy word you like to use: innocent!” demanded Ghordo. He crowed, “You spell it! Spell innocent! You can’t and you won’t!”

After gobbling down her second Peanut Butter Cup, Mystica stuck out her bottom lip. She scowled as she finished chewing, “Uhh. One! Can, too! I ain’t dumb.”

“Prove it! Prove it! Prove it!” chanted Ghordo, as he prepared his next MRE, an extra large rectangular slice of mushroom and sausage pizza.

Mystica stuck her tongue out at Ghordo and then slowly enunciated, “I-n-n-o-c-e-n-t.”

“Hah!” exclaimed Ghordo. He snapped proudly, head canted off to one side, “You need to go back to school, she Elf!”

“Uhhm. One! Do not!” exclaimed Mystica, as she slammed another swig of soda and opened up an oatmeal cookie.

With mock patience mixed with a sneer of pride, Ghordo replied, “Listen! I will say it slowly, so your little pink prick ears can understand it. Inn-i-cent.”

Mystica started to speak but Ghordo silenced her with a quickly shaken finger, “Quiet. I am talking now! Inn-i-cent. One more time. Inn-i-cent. Quiet!” snapped Ghordo. The Half-Orc glared menacingly at all present. His head swiveled around, as he glared at the mess group, as if daring them to say that he didn’t have the right to keep Mystica from interrupting him. Ghordo continued his intimidating dialogue, “And don’t interrupt me. There’s no ‘o’ in the middle. Don’t interrupt me! Inn-i-cent!”

“Uhh. One! You’re wrong, Ghordo,” exclaimed Mystica, “What dictionary are you using, Green Meanie!” She asked pointedly, “Was it the thin one you wrote yourself, in first year Orc class?” Mystica quickly chowed down another oatmeal cookie.

Ghordo scowled daggers at Mystica, and snapped, “I don’t need no dumb dix, uhh, dix-dix-dixonary!”

“Uhh. One! You are wrong, Ghordo, and too proud to admit it!” demanded Mystica.

“No! You are wrong, little dirt troll!” snapped Ghordo. Ghordo sang a tune he had remembered Bard singing about the Feyhoomon, Blueboy. Loud and slightly off key, Ghordo sang to the tune of the Beach Boy’s 1963 hit, Little Deuce Coupe. He sang the words, “She’s a little dirt troll, if ya know what I mean! Yeah, she’s a little dirt troll, if ya know what I mean.”

Bard leaned forward from his Indian style sitting position, then covered his eyes with his left hand. Orlando shook his head softly side to side as he remembered singing the same song, but with more lyrical stanzas, about the crude and filthy Feyhoomon named Blueboy. That had happened a few years ago, not long after Padre, Mystica and Ghordo had joined his Bounty Hunter’s Guild, and much to his dismay, Ghordo had remembered, at least the chorus, and used it to torment Mystica.

Some of the gathered listeners made the connection, while others, like Big J, did not. But to appreciate the crude humor of Ghordo’s rude song, it was not necessary to understand the musical trivia question behind it.

“Uhm! You’re a Green Meanie Goblin!” snapped Mystica.

Ghordo laughed his cement mixer laugh and wobbled his head proudly. He smacked his lips loudly as he quickly inhaled his meal. The preening Half Orc gobbled his pizza so quickly, that he left gobs of pizza sauce and cheese on his face. The mess around his mouth dripped downward, and slopped, in gooey globs of red sauce and white-cheese sprinkles, with light brown pork sausage crumbles, dripping off his crooked lips. Each itinerant, wandering ort of messiness, clumped awkwardly, in a slow southern slide, down his leather chest armor.

“There’s no ‘i’ in the middle, king of the sloppy eaters,” cried Mystica. “I-n-n-o-c-e-n-t! That’s how you spell it.”

Ghordo grabbed napkins and angrily cleaned himself up. Then he glared again at everyone sitting or squatting around the dining area. “Tell her she’s wrong!” demanded the Half Orc.

Daphne looked down at her tea cup and munched her celery stick. The others met Ghordo’s gaze unflinchingly.

Kai busted out laughing, “I am at a loss for words, friends. I am simply overwhelmed!”

Big J flexed his massive heavily tattooed arms, then rubbed his eyes, “Amigos!” He laughed, “I am almost crying! Anyone else, muriendo, dying of second hand embarrassment?”

Mystica looked hesitant and puzzled.

Ghordo continued to stare at each one of the gathered diners in turn, his head rocking, from side to side, like an angry, bellowing, snorting bull. His eyes clenched shut and his face turned into one large oval grimace. “Stop toying with me, guys, and back me up!” he shouted angrily through tight blood-drained lips.

Daphne refused to look up from her food, but offered, “I always carry a small dictionary in my pocket. I will look up the word.”

Mystica looked a little less hesitant.

Ghordo’s face unwound and he opened his eyes. With a cocky swagger, Ghordo put down his last heating MRE pouch, and gestured animatedly with his hands, “Finally, someone is willing to back me up!”

Ranger Kai poked Orlando Bard with his free hand and rolled his eyes. He whispered, “Here we go again!”

Bard chuckled. He looked first at Kai, then around the group. In his best Bard Show style he intoned, “What can I say, folks? One of him can be a great help in carrying gear and fighting, but when he carries on like this, I am glad there is only one of him. If we would have two of him, that would be one more than we could stand. If we had three or more of him, we’d have a cavalcade of unbridled, proud as a peacock insolence, and puckery-faced head wobbling.”

“Chief,” snapped Ghordo, as he glared at Orlando, “You are not helping!” He added, seeing that Dr. Kimble had pulled a tiny brown dictionary from her lab coat pocket, he grinned and quipped, “Am I right, or am I right? Inn-i-cent!”

Without looking up, Daphne carefully opened up to the I section of her pocket dictionary. She squinted through her wire-rim glasses at the tiny font, “Innocent is spelled I-N-N-O-C-E-N-T.”

Mystica pumped her arms, thumbs up, and gave herself the Knorn victory salute.

The entire group, and even some of the closer guards, began to laugh uncontrollably.

“Come on!” demanded Ghordo. He asked, “ You yankin’ my chain, Dr. Kimble?”

More laughs, like miniature lava flows, erupted from everyone within earshot, even some of the guards still at post, waiting for second lunch break.

Finally, Ghordo growled ominously, and threw his heated MRE, Jumbo Macaroni and Cheese pouch, on the tiled ground. He had waited too long to pull out his heated Mac and Cheese food pouch.

“Hot! Hot!” he exclaimed. Ghordo angrily ripped open the sealed cover. He snapped, not looking at anyone, “I don’t believe you! Your dumb dix-dix-onary is wrong. This is one reason I don’t use them. Either they spell it wrong or they tell you the wrong way to say it! Any Orc worth his salt can learn you that! Dixonary books are not worth the pages they are written on!” Ghordo, after that, fumed silently, as he sporked his mouth full of hot, creamy macaroni and cheese.

CARNIVAL WORLD CHAPTER 54

“I hope we see some Cryptids, amigos, after lunch,” offered Big J to change the subject. “According to the briefing, we will be lucky to see one, but they have been more active than usual. I pray Jesus gives us good footage today.”

Kai chuckled sardonically, “I hope your prayer is answered, Big J. Forgive my natural class-clown cynicism. When, IN THE HISTORY OF FOREVER, do things work out as planned in our briefings! Especially,” Kai slapped Orlando on the shoulder, “when Orlando Bard is along. Remember the Clown Face Cryptid from the White Dwarf Mission?”

Bard threw up one large, beefy, hand and laughed, “We were lucky.” His expression became grim as he added, “More than that, we were blessed with protection, in the midst of our great sorrow.”

Kai replied sarcastically, “Yes, I too, hope that we will actually see some Cryptids on this Cryptid tour.” There were a few laughs around the dining circle, but only a few caught the reference. Mystica only nodded her head, but smiled, still happy from winning her verbal jousting match with Sir Meanie Greenie Dunderhead.

She had rented the Jurassic Park movies from Bard’s library. The videos had been ordered from Earth through the Star Portal. Mystica had binge watched the series more than once, with a DVD player she had purchased at great price, from Earth Imports, in the Conners’ Inns and Suites Shopping Mall.

Big J finished his meal. He then asked, “I know we are high up and far away from the Cryptid Crossing. That said, amigos, what happens if we are attacked, by a Cryptid?”

Bard replied, “We will make certain, his last good day, was yesterday.”

Kai, Ghordo and Mystica kitchen patrolled their spots, then headed back to their guard posts. Dr. Kimble and Big J headed west to the camera crew post next to the fountain. Big J yelled over to Jose and gestured to Anselm, Gomez, and Jorge, who sauntered over to the dining area. Bard finally whistled for Padre to come to lunch. Padre shouted, “Aboot bloody time! I am coming, lads and lassies! Doon’t start with oot me, ya wee beasties!”

Bard whistled as Ghordo neared his northeast guard post, “Schmitty! Come and get it!”

Anselm, Gomez, Jorge, Jose, and Schmitty arrived from the west and southwest area of the temple. Padre was sprinting into the circle, from the southeast corner. His braided red and brown beard danced from side to side, with each short, jerky footfall.

Bard asked, “Anselm, will you please pray for food and protection for our team.”

Jose, Gomez and Jorge crossed themselves, then each Latino bowed their heads, closed their eyes and clasped their hands.

The slender brown- robed priest held his hands upwards and looked into the heavens. Anselm’s musical Latino, audio book narrator’s professional voice, echoed across the temple’s mosaic floor. “Great Jesus the Christ, we thank You for our food, that You have provided for our team today. We also ask You for protection. Surround us with Your angels. If Bard’s suspicions are correct, Lord of All, we will need Your help in a most spectacular way, today. To You be the glory. Gracias. Amen.”

“Thank you, Anselm,” offered Bard, as he refocused on the group, dropped his hands to his sides and gazed into their faces.

Padre chuckled, “If Mystica and uhh Ghordo weren’t so entertaining, Laddie, aye would have told them both to set on their bahookies and be quiet!”

Maria was standing by the camp stove, twisting her lips back and forth as she stood, personal steel travel cup in hand, trying to determine whether she was going to grab a coffee or a tea.

“Padre,” commanded Bard, “You are in charge of sending the group back to their posts in twenty-five minutes. I have just turned my Coleman stove off, so get your coffee or tea while it is hot. And shut the lid of the mermite box, Padre, before you relieve me at your post. I will take the length of all three south guard posts as my watch.

Just then Mystica yelled, pointer finger lancing skyward, “Uhm. One! Cryptids at the Crossing!”

Big J, code named Jabali, mumble screamed a jumbled lingo of excited high pitched Spanish squeals as he adjusted the focus on the camera.

Bard ran toward the west camera area after one quick scan to the south. “How many Mystica?” yelled Orlando Bard.

“Uhm. Basically. I don’t know!” exclaimed Mystica. “But uhhm they all have dog collars. Uhhm. One! Both the Jackal Heads and the Squatchies!”

Big J backed away from the camera. He screamed Spanish imprecations and pummeled the air like a shadow boxer, displaying his stout, tattoo plastered arms. Then Jabali shouted, but in his deep voice, “Holy Christo!” The big Latino camera crew leader’s voice notched up an octave, “Un numero grande!”

Big J leaned down and shoved his large round face closer, into the shroud topped monitor, and squinted. “How can you see those collars, Elf girl? I can barely make them out, amigo!”

Big J turned his attention to Daphne. “The resolution is great! But I am having a hard time, amigos, making out the collars!

“Good news, Dr. Kimble, playback shows no BLURRY CREATURES issues! Your camera is working great! This footage will make a great PODCAST! The Cryptid’s psionic camera fuzziness ability is being countered, Doctor! Just like you promised!”

Daphne Kimble smiled and nodded and began swiftly typing notes into her flat glass transparent platinum computer.

Mystica replied to Jabali’s question, “Uhhm, Big J. Uhhm. Basically. I have Elf eyes. I can see far and in the dark, too.”

Bard ran up to Mystica. His augmented eyes were keener than any other member of their mission team. Only Mystica’s vision was superior.

“If you can’t count their number,” asked Bard, “Can you tell me more about the dog collars?”

Mystica paused, then said, “Uhhm. One! Basically, they are metal and leather. Advanced technology, though. Uhm. They have flashing green lights, I think.”

Bard sighed, “Oh, great! Just great! I hope the purpose of the collars is not to make them invisible at will or immune to our copper alloy Cryptid Busters!”

Kai yelled, “How many, Bard? And do they see us?”

“They are looking right at us, Ranger Kai! Both the Jackal Heads and the Rogue sasquatches. And they are running pell mell in this direction! How many, you ask? Multiple hundreds!”

Big J screeched, “They can’t climb up here, right, amigo? The stairway up the mountain is all in a jumbled heap, at the bottom of the hill.”

“Chances are better than fair to middlin’, Big J,” answered Bard. “Point is, they won’t need stairs like we would. I don’t think we could climb up from the bottom safely, but from what I know of Cryptids, most of them will pass the challenge. I have seen a sasquatch run up the sides of a steep mountain, rarely even using its hands, quick as a bug on a wall.

“Their abilities are far superior to most humans and humanoids and they have supernatural abilities as well as enhanced mental and physical ones. I think the human record for sprinting one mile is just under four minutes. An Elf Ranger named Hornbow, technically, not a human, but… He broke the four minute record not long after I started working with Zales’ ranger teams.

Supposedly, the Carnival World Postal Runners, with their advanced technology Bracers of Effortless Speed, have been clocked doing thirty second miles in an emergency. And they have outrun sasquatch and wolf men. I call the wolf men by a different term, Jackal Heads. I have heard that the sasquatch and wolf men can do five minute miles. Don’t insult my intelligence.

“When they are going that fast, for them, it is not a sprint, just an efficient run speed. Whatever is necessary to get the job done. Deer, for example, can run a mile in one to two minutes. The speed a Cryptid needs is whatever is necessary to catch a deer or buffalo, for example. And for them that isn’t breaking any records.

“Point is, Big J, once they get passed the broken marble stair-steps, they will just start crawling and leaping, on all fours. They won’t break any records, but they will be here, at the foot of the butte, in about five to ten minutes. I don’t expect it will take much longer than that for them to get to us. Over half the butte bottom is a steep slant. Only the last ninety feet or so is straight, hard, rough rock.”

“Multiple Hundreds!” yelled Ranger Kai. “We won’t have enough, ammo! I have only about two hundred rounds of the copper alloy Cryptid Busters.” He yelled, “Schmitty how many copper alloy rounds do you have?”

Ranger Maria Orsic Schmitt replied, in her daisy chain cussing style, “ #(+^’n seven hundred and fifty standard rounds. Plus another #(+^’n one hundred fifty copper rounds.

“That was my estimate,” exclaimed Bard. He added, “There is no way we could have expected this many. If they attack, don’t shoot until they are in range. Schmitty will get first crack. Bows and crossbows next. Ranger Kai last. Once they get close enough for most of us, it is just a couple of superman leaps, and they are up here with us, drooling and growling in our faces!”

Schmitty let go with another expletive pie outburst.

Mystica snarled, “Uhhm. I dreamed once, uhhm, that I had a fight with the Devil himself. Uhmm. Basically, I kicked his red hot padooka! Bring it on wolfies and squatchies!

Padre snorted, “Arrghh! Ya are oot of yer mind, Lassie! Nay! Don’t say Nickie-Bens’ name oot loud! That’s worse than callin’ oot he-who-shall-not-be-spoken-of!”

Mystica wrinkled her nose at the wee, almost middle-aged dwarf, but just ignored him.

Bard continued, “No one else has guns or bows. The camera crew had to surrender their pistols at the earth Star Portal. We are really going to miss the other ranger’s fifty cals! The only way to take out one of these Cryptids, and stop their super-charged regeneration ability, with standard ammo, is to concentrate the big fire power of several rangers and quickly decapitate the monster! Even though we did switch to copper rounds, that’s how we took out the Clown-faced giant with the weird eyes and toxic blood. But normal rounds, used together, in that fashion, works.

Anselm offered in his musical Latino voice, “After hearing the she-Elf boast, Jude 1:9 comes to mind.” He shook his head and muttered, “Loco. Plumb loco.”

Padre snorted, then nodded his head in agreement with Brother Anselm.

Bard continued, “Padre does, I think, have about a dozen sky-blue Cryptid Stun potions in his potion case. Maybe you could grab a few vials Anselm.”

“Thanks for the offer, Orlando Bard,” replied Anselm grimly, “I will be too busy praying.”

Bard sighed, then continued with his tactical suggestions,“Do your best, guys and gals, to make every shot count. Only the coppers can kill them and stop their regeneration.

“The standard slugs and bullets will just slow them down. If you are lucky, kitties and doggies, a standard arrow or bullet to the head, and maybe to the heart or lungs, can drop them. They will wake up at the bottom of the butte. And possibly they will take a few Cryptids with them on their way back down! Within ten to fifteen minutes the standard bullet or arrow kills, will be stirring like angry zombies, ready to bite off the south end of a bull moose running north!

“It won’t be a directly up and down shot until they are close. Otherwise they will be running on an incline. And shooting at a downward angle is tricky, boys and girls. With bows or guns! You’ll want to shoot lower to hit your target, on the incline! More line-of-sight than arched with bows!

“We fight until we can’t, kitties and doggies! My axe and Ghordo’s mace are Orc Steel, which has a meteor ore metal composition, and may counteract their super-charged regenerative ability. I emphasize the word may. Atlanticean Star Metal will. We don’t have any of those Atlanticean star-metal weapons with us. They are rare.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Orlando,” replied Kai grimly.

Sights, sounds and smells became stronger and time slowed to a crawl for Bard. His senses rocketed into overdrive. He smelled Big J instantly sweat through his clothes. Gomez began to grind his teeth with a chatter as irritating as a banshee’s wail. Kai’s leather shotgun belt whisked across the fabric of his uniform and vest as he unslung the big shot gun from his back. Seconds later, Bard heard the clunky metallic clatter as Kai picked up his military ammo case of copper alloy shot gun slugs. He listened, feeling as if he was only a ghost, miles away from the action, at the soft thunky swoosh of Ghordo’s helmet falling into place. Then he listened to the loud clomping of the big Half-Orc’s thick leather boots as they slammed the mosaic temple tiles when he sprinted to the opposite side of the western rim from Ranger Kai. Bard continued to listen as the big Half Orc angled off to stand south of the camera crew, on the other side of the Nymph and Feathered Serpent fountain, carrying his heavy crossbow.

Bard heard Maria Orsic Schmitt toss out whatever hot beverage she had just started sipping. She angrily slam-snapped her empty travel cup onto her belt hook ring. The lady ranger cussed like a drunken sailor, and sprinted to her guard position. Ranger Schmitt grabbed her bolt action M24 sniper rifle, and her metal military ammo case, then double-timed it to the northwest position, near Mystica Knorn.

Bard did a cursory check of the team as they scurried into position at the western end of the temple, on either side of the camera crew. Last he watched and listened as the female ranger, cursing all the while, belly-flopped onto the ground, at the edge of the northwest rim. Orlando Bard watched as Maria Orsic Schmitt dropped to a prone position, at the very edge of the temple, knee and elbow pads clinging to the mosaic floor tiles, and flipped open her rifle’s bipods. Schmitty quickly and calmly exchanged her standard rifle bullets for solid copper alloy shells. The bullets were especially designed and crafted in the Carnival World underground base to simulate a .308 Winchester cartridge.

Bard’s augmented Half-Elf ears listened to the changes in everyone’s breathing and heart-beats as they waited anxiously for the milling monsters to climb the long steep hill and swarm them.

Big J was still manning the video camera, but his three assistants were running for the east end of the temple. Although Gomez, stopped momentarily, adjusted his sling strap and began snapping still photos of the defenders. His hybrid camera could take standard analog photos or use digital technology to film action sequences.

Bard barked, “Get back with your camera crew, Big J. You’re the captain of your crew, not the captain of this ship – the mission. If you go down, Big J, go down with your crew, not the camera. No way you can defend it anyway. Let the auto-record feature do its work. Maybe Zales will find it when he comes high-tailin’ it with the skip jack to chew out Kai for being late on his mandatory cell-phone sit-rep! If we aren’t here, maybe the video will document our eulogies!”