//------------------------------// // Chapter 7 // Story: Red Wings // by PropMaster //------------------------------// - Chapter 7 -         Red woke up screaming, and immediately regretted the decision, as his jaw ached in protest. He winced and closed his mouth quickly, his tender muzzle throbbing with pain. He sat up slowly, grunting slightly. Ace sat next to him on the floor, looking worried, ears pricking forward towards Red as he revived. Red mumbled incoherently, “Gaia below, the sounds... their screams...”         Red shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind, and glanced at Ace, who was staring at him with a confused look on his face. Red reached up and rubbed his jaw, feeling slightly awkward. “Sorry. You rang my bell really good.”         Ace nodded and gave Red a sheepish grin. Red sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I... Well, I just thought that you should have been there with me when I laid Quint to rest instead of hiding here. I didn’t mean... when we were in the crater.”         The larger diamond dog smirked and nodded to Red, obviously accepting the apology. “Why didn’t you come with me?” Red asked.         Ace shook his head, frustration evident as he clenched his paws into fists for a moment, eyes darting around the cabin briefly. He pointed to Red’s satchel. Red frowned, pulling off the satchel, and offered it to Ace. Ace took the satchel and set it on the nearest bunk, opened it, and retrieved Red’s sketchbook and charcoal pencil. He opened the book to a fresh page, and Red watched curiously as Ace began to draw. After a moment, he offered the sketchbook to Red. Red glanced at the drawing.         On one side of the page was a crude stick drawing of a Diamond Dog, with a gemstone above his head. On the other side of the page were two stick figure Diamond Dogs, one big and one small, with a cloud above their heads. A horizontal line separated the two figures from the other one. Red frowned. “I’m... not quite sure. That’s me, and that’s you and Quint?”         Ace nodded emphatically, tail wagging, and used the pencil to circle first the gemstone, and then the cloud. Red peered at the two symbols, slowly realizing what Ace was indicating. “Oh.”         Red hadn’t thought about it before, but he realized that he was different from Ace and Quint. Red was a Diamond Dog, and they were Dirigible Dogs. They lived in the air, never settling down. Red, on the other hand, was rooted within the tradition of the earth, worshiping Mother Gaia.         “You and Quint never worshipped Gaia, did you?”         Ace shook his head, looking solemn. Red sighed, pounding his forehead with his palm. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Of course Quint didn’t. You saw that.”         Standing up, Ace offered Red a paw. Red took it after a moment, and Ace hauled the younger dog to his feet. Red looked down at his feet, embarassed. “I didn’t even think, Ace.”         Ace smirked at Red, and have him a condescending pat on the head. Red chuckled. “All right, so I screwed that up. How do Dirigible Dogs send off their fallen packmates?”         Expression darkening and eyes narrowing, Ace set the charcoal pencil down, and drew two fingers across his throat, and gestured out to the north, back the way they had come. Red put it together. “Ah. Dirigible Dogs don’t get mad, they get even.”         Ace clapped his hands together and gave one of Red’s ears an affectionate tug. Red snorted. “All right, I can get behind that. I’ll add some ogres to the list, right alongside the last pony. How’s that sound?”         The bigger dog clapped Red on the shoulder, and then turned away, returning to the bridge. Red smiled and followed his friend.         Hours later, Red was at the controls of The Crimson Score, with Ace sitting in the copilot seat. The older Diamond Dog was stretched out, his back paws resting up on top of the control surface. He’d occasionally whistle, drawing Red’s attention, and point to a dial or make a motion with a hand, indicating that Red should be paying attention to something or adjusting the Score’s flight. After Red fixed whatever Ace had indicated, he’d lean back once more and return to his nap. Red was fairly certain he was napping, anyway, judging by the way his breathing changed and the occasional snuffling snore. But, despite Ace’s state of consciousness, he seemed to possess a sixth sense when it came to the movements of the Score, always waking up spontaneously to tip Red off to an error or suggest a better route to take. Red began to adjust to the coaching slowly, though it did irk him somewhat that Ace felt the need to point out every little thing Red did wrong, or supposedly did wrong. He wasn’t used to feeling criticised, but he tried his best to be receptive and learn from the far more experienced pilot, knowing that Ace probably knew far more about flying than he did. He had initially felt awkward, trying to carry on meaningless conversation, but after the first hour of sidelong glances and pantomimed replies, Red had settled on not talking, simply focusing himself on flying his airship instead. This seemed to suit Ace just fine, and after another hour the silence seemed more comfortable. Red wondered if this was how it had been when Quint and Ace were flying together. Sighing, Red glanced at Ace, who was napping once more. He wanted, more than anything, to talk with Ace about Quint, but he knew that the older dog was keeping his emotions bottled up. He’d caught Ace staring blankly at the controls more than once, as if deep in thought. If Ace noticed the scrutiny, though, he didn’t let on. So Red let the sleeping dog lie, and continued to fly towards the ‘x’. He was certain that they had to be close. Below, the wasteland’s flat desolate expanses became rolling foothills of ash and snow, and in the far distance Red thought he could make out mountainous shapes. Far behind their ship, another stormfront roiled, a black line of approaching clouds that was many hours away from them. Red slowed The Crimson Score down, shifting forward in his seat to peer at the hilly expanse, noticing a subdued orange-yellow glow lighting an area a kilometer away. Smiling, Red reached out and tapped Ace on the shoulder. “Hey, Ace. Wake up. I think we’re here.” Ace sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning, and peered blearily out the front viewport. He smiled, tapped the glass, and nodded. Red chuckled. “All right. Shall I take her in, or would you like to do the honors?” Ace considered the offer for a moment, and then gave Red a “go on” motion, sweeping a paw over the console as if presenting Red with a gift. He stood up, stretched, and ambled back towards the crew compartment. Exhaling, Red decreased The Crimson Score’s altitude and flew towards the distant lights. Approaching the lit area, the hills became craggy and split with fissures. At first, Red felt rather underwhelmed by the appearance of the town. It was small, just a few dozen buildings and a handful of airstrips and landing pads perched on the edge of a fissure; nothing compared to the sheer scale of Petra to the north. As he approached one of the landing pads, he gasped, pulled back on the yoke and shifted the engines into a hover. He stood up and looked down into the canyon. Below the edge of the earth, bridges spanned across the chasm, and buildings were carved into the rock face, or clung in several places to the cliffs’ sides. Platforms perched precariously in places, supporting market-like areas and open spaces where small hovercraft loaded and unloaded cargo. Pipes that snaked down the canyon emptied water and waste into the lower reaches of the fissure, and nearest to the bottom of the canyons were yawning mine shafts which pierced into the earth, a flow of powered mine carts carrying the work of the miners up to the city proper. Red smiled, shaking his head with wonder, and sat back down at the controls, piloting The Crimson Score down to one of the landing pads. The Wastelands always found new ways to surprise him. Red extended the landing struts and settled the Score onto the landing area. He powered down the engines and shut off the other systems, before standing up and moving back to the storage area. Ace was already there, and he had slung Red’s rifle over his shoulder. Red gestured to the rifle. “You keep that; I have my pistol. We’ll get some better gear here, maybe?” With a shrug, Ace led the way out of The Crimson Score. Red locked up the ship behind them as they left, and together they stepped out onto the front deck of the Score and descended down the ladder to the landing pad. A group of goblins, clad in leather armor and heavy canvas scarves, approached the two Diamond Dogs. Red noted that, though their garb was a mish-mash of custom tailored armor, the scarves were all the same: green with a bar of yellow running through the center, worn around their necks. Red raised a paw in greeting. “Hello there.” One of the goblins stepped forward, looking over Red cautiously. “Greetings, outbleeder. This landing pad is a public area, but it belongs to Corton, of Clan Petal Blood. If you wish to leave your craft parked there, you’ll have to pay fifty silver strips for the first stormfront, and thirty more each additional stormfront you spend here.” Red frowned, considering. “That seems a little steep. How about forty strips for the first stormfront?” The goblin chuckled. “Save your haggling, outbleeder, this is non-negotiable. Fifty for the first stormfront, paid up-front.” “How about forty-five?” “Fifty is a reasonable price for a full stormfront.” Seeing that the goblin wasn’t about to budge, Red sighed and reached into his pouch, digging out fifty silver strips and presenting them to the goblin. The goblin took them and smirked, tucking them away in a bag at his side, and began to saunter away. “Pleasure doing business with you, outbleeder.” Red held up a hand. “I’ll give you five extra strips if you tell me where I can find a goblin called Wendy. She lives here and she’s a mechanic that works on the Rotting Carcass for a buzzard named Kevin.” “I know her, yeah. The Carcass dropped her off here an hour ago and headed back to the Petra to the north. What do you want with her?” “She’s a friend of mine,” replied Red, “and she offered to meet up if I ever made it down to this part of the Wastelands.” The goblin peered at Red and Ace for a moment, and then shrugged. “She’s part of Copper Blood. The Copper-bleeders are down two levels, towards the western end of the crevasse. Just follow the ramps down, their colors are black on blue.” Cocking his head, Red inquired, “Colors?” Ace shook his head with exasperation and pointed to the matching scarves draped around the imps’ necks and shoulders. The goblin smiled at Ace. “Your friend knows what we mean. We wear our colors to differentiate ourselves from others.” Red chuckled, feeling embarrassed by the obvious answer to his question. “Right. I guess I could have figured that out myself.” The goblin smirked. “Yeah, probably. You’re fresh blood, aren’t you pup?” “I guess you could call me that, yeah,” said Red. “Well, you be careful. We Petal-bleeders are an honorable lot, but there are those of less savory blood that can smell fresh meat like you coming.” With that, the group of Goblins walked away, heading back into a nearby building. Ace and Red glanced at each other, and Ace shrugged. Red gestured towards the edge of the canyon, where ramps and bridges led down into the crevasse. “Let’s go.” The two Diamond Dogs moved down into the cliffside city. Red paused at the edge of a ramp, looking over the ledge and into the canyons, marveling at the industrious constructions of the imps. The city, like Petra, was a masterpiece of spatial efficiency: houses and warehouses stacked atop one another, roads and bridges running along at careful angles, buildings hung on the edges of the cliff-spanning bridges, clusters of tiny shops and market stalls lined the thin walkways. Though it was amazing, it lacked the grandeur of the Petra to the north; the city’s use of stone and natural formations in the rock gave it a far less ‘advanced’ appearance, and served to understate the size of the city. Red passed by several merchants peddling their wares. Smaller creatures also worked among the goblins, odd little bipedal creatures that wore full-body suits of leather that covered them entirely, goggles that glowed with internal lights, and helmets and scarves or masks that kept their faces hidden away entirely from view. Gadgetry and weapons hung off these smaller imps, and they chattered at each other in bass-toned, metallic sounding vocalizations that were unintelligible to Red. Red nudged Ace and asked, gesturing to one of the odd goblinoids. “What are those?” Ace stared at Red, face deadpan. Red stared back for a moment then sighed. “I guess it’d be too much to ask for a pantomime show. I’ll ask Wendy.” Smirking, Ace moved ahead of Red a little way, working his way down the crowded ramp. Red raced to catch up as Ace stopped in front of a merchant cart selling leather armor and other assorted clothing. One of the tiny imps, its leather-draped body almost blending into the surrounding wares, stood behind the cart. Ace gestured to a heavy canvas bandolier that had a multitude of pockets sewn into it, which hung from a rack on the cart well above the imp’s reach. The small imp nodded and reached into the cart, retrieving a long metal pole with a claw-like metal appendage affixed to its end. The creature used the pole, reaching the claw up to the bandolier, and depressed a button. With a hiss of steam, the claw dexterously gripped the bandolier, and the imp pulled the bandolier down, offering it to Ace. Ace grinned, and Red laughed aloud. “Wow. That’s handy.” The small imp made a noise that might have been a chuckle, and gestured with its fingers, indicating to the bandolier. Red paid close attention and deduced, after a second repeat of the gesture, that the article of clothing cost fifteen silver strips. Red dug into his pouch and offered ten strips to the imp. The imp hissed from behind the metal mask hiding its face, goggles reflecting Red’s muzzle, and repeated the original gesture. Red smirked, pulling out two more strips. The imp considered the new offer, and then nodded after a moment. Red dropped the strips into its outstretched glove, and nodded to the small creature. The imp gurgled something at Red in reply. Ace put on the bandolier across his chest, and Red chuckled at the larger dog. “For some reason, you look more like a co-pilot wearing it like that.” Snorting, Ace adjusted the bandolier on his shoulder and patted the pockets fondly. Red and Ace made a few more stops at stalls and shops on their way down the ramps to the second tier of the town, browsing through curious contraptions and interesting imp-crafted items. Red saw a fair number of the odd, smaller imps mingling together, and also observed a gaggle of smelly goblinoids with wrinkled, leathery skin and beady, dull eyes. They were carrying crates of metal ores up from the lower levels to a workshop, led by a few regular goblins that acted as handlers for the brutish imps. Red dimly recalled these ugly creatures, having encountered one on a goblin craft that he had repaired many stormfronts ago. The goblins called them “hobs,” and they were the barely intelligent workhorses of the imp family. There didn’t seem to be many hobs on the upper levels, but looking down towards the lower levels, Red noticed that they increased in number, gathering around mine shafts and storage yards. Ace led the way down a second ramp, to what Red assumed was the second level of buildings. Together, they followed the canyon west, heading towards the edge of the cliffside city. Red stopped in front of a small shop that held a display of weapons in the street-facing window and stepped inside the building; Ace followed him in with an eager expression. The interior of the shop extended back into the cliff, the small shop forming a long, thin corridor in the rock. The single room of the shop was a bit cramped, and weapon racks were tightly packed along one wall, displaying the shop’s wares. Farther back, a cloth partition closed off the rear of the shop, hiding the area from view. Metallic noises and the sound of heavy machinery wailed from behind the partition. Red glanced around, noting that nobody appeared to be in the front area of the shop. Ace stepped up to one of the gun racks, examining a rifle with interest. Red approached the racks of weapons and noted that all of the guns were locked into the rack with a simple clamp mechanism, preventing would-be shoplifters from making off with the displayed wares. Ace stepped away from the racks and glanced back towards the cloth partition, and Red followed his gaze. “Well, obviously somebody is here. You see anything that you like?” Ace nodded, gesturing to a complex rifle with an automatic action and a metal crossbow. Red nodded. “All right, then.” Red moved back to the cloth partition and hollered, “Hey! We’d like to buy something!” As soon as Red uttered the word “buy,” the noise behind the curtain stopped, and a scruffy looking goblin wearing heavy-duty metalworking goggles and a leather apron drew aside the partition. The goblin hollered, far too loudly, “Customers! Good! Welcome!” Red took a step back, startled by the yelling imp. “Um, yes. Thank you?” The goblin lifted the goggles off his eyes and ran a calloused hand through his patchy, grey hair. “What?” “I said thank you!” replied Red, a bit more loudly. Squinting, the goblin suddenly rolled his eyes. “Hang on,” he muttered, and reached into his ears, pulling out wads of cotton. With a shake of his head he said apologetically, “Sorry about that. I was working in the back. I’m Bit, of Drill Blood. What can I do for you?” Red chuckled, amused by the goblin already, and gestured back towards Ace and the guns. “We’re looking to pick up a weapon or two for my friend here.” Bit glanced at Ace and stepped forward, brushing past Red brusquely and looking Ace up and down. “All right, big fellow. What are you looking to buy?” Ace gestured to the rifle and crossbow. The goblin frowned, glancing at the two weapons. “No.” Red blinked, confused. “No?” Gesturing animatedly, Bit indicated the two weapons. “No. They’re all wrong for him. His arms are too long, and his shoulder is the wrong shape for the stock’s butt to fit comfortably.” As the goblin mentioned each “issue,” he poked Ace in the forearm and shoulder, respectively. “His grip is going to be wrong, too, because his paws are too big. Look at ‘em!” Bit grabbed one of Ace’s hands, holding it up to Red. “See? Big! These guns are built for small goblins, not big dogs.” Ace stared at Red, completely at a loss. Red shrugged at Ace, and turned his attention to the odd goblin. “So... do you have any guns for big dogs?” Bit shook his head emphatically. “Nope.” Rolling his eye, Red moved towards the door. “Ace, we’re wasting our time.” Bit held up a gnarled hand. “Now, just a moment!” The two Diamond Dogs glanced at each other. Reluctantly, Red turned back to face the goblin. Bit smiled slowly. “You happen to be speaking to a gunsmith! The best weapon artisan of my clan, I am. I don’t have any guns for big dogs now... but if you’ll be in town for a while, I can make something more suited to your big friend here.” The goblin poked Ace in the chest, and Ace growled at him, eyes narrowing. The goblin scowled and swatted Ace on the nose. “No.” Ace went cross-eyed, startled. The goblin reached into the back pocket of his trousers, retrieving a small piece of string that was knotted across its length. “I just need a few measurements. Won’t take more than a moment.” Red frowned. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be.” “Nonsense, you’ll be here for a while,” retorted the odd goblin, already stretching the string across Ace’s chest, murmuring to himself, “Thirteen knots, hmm, yes...” Ace stood still, eyes silently pleading with Red as the goblin lifted his arms up, hopping up onto a stool that he produced seemingly from thin air. Red exclaimed, “How would you even know how long we’re going to be here?” “Easy. You’re on the second level, which means you’re not conducting trade, which is exclusively confined to the first level. Second, you’re on the west end, which means you’re either looking for somebody or very, very lost. You don’t seem to be the type to get lost easily, so I’m assuming that it is the former. Third, you’re in my shop, which means you need guns, which means you need me. Shoulders back, please,” he prattled on as he worked, directing his last comment to Ace, who complied bemusedly. “Four and three-quarter knots at the shoulder, Six and a half to the middle line, yes, good...” “Well... ah... we haven’t even agreed to buy anything,” stammered Red, caught completely off guard by the goblin’s retort. The goblin halted his measurements, and Red smiled, glad to finally say something that seemed to connect. Bit turned, smirking. “Haven’t you?” “I’m certain we haven’t.” Turning back around to face Ace, Bit resumed taking his measurements. “I think you have, even if you haven’t realized it yet.” Red sighed, rubbing his eye, completely exasperated. He could feel a headache coming on. “That doesn’t make sense.” Bit tapped Ace on the side, prompting him to lift his arms up, and Ace shifted from foot to foot, plainly uncomfortable. Bit switched between speaking to Ace with a commanding tone and talking to Red in the same breath. “Arms out wide, please, and fully extend them. Good boy! Let me break it down for you, then. You need guns, and I am a weaponsmith. Moreover, I am one of two weaponsmiths in this town that have the equipment to manufacture weapons that are made for outbleeders. Bend your elbows, if you could. Good! The other weaponsmith with the capability to make weapons for non-imps’ family was killed by Dirigible Dogs in a raid years ago. He won’t work for you, and might shoot you if he saw you. Fingers wide, please. What a good pup! Thus, you need guns, you need me to make you guns, and I assume you’d prefer to work with somebody that won’t shoot you on sight. Sit!” Ace sat down on the stool compliantly, which Bit had vacated at some point. The goblin reached into a pocket and set a strip of jerky on top of Ace’s nose and said, sternly, “Leave it.” Red stared at Bit, completely confused. Ace stared at the treat cross-eyed, unmoving and focused, keeping the jerky balanced precariously on the tip of his nose. After a brief moment of silence, Red asked, “What are you doing?” Bit shrugged, smiling strangely. “Amusing myself.” Throwing his hands up in the air, Red exclaimed, “Okay, fine! You’re insane, but you make a good case. We need guns, we need you, you’ll make us guns. How long will this take?” Bit tugged at the tips of his ears, looking pensive, before replying, “One stormfront.” “Okay. That seems reasonable. How much?” “I’ll make a crossbow and a rifle for your friend, similar to the two he wanted but precisely built for his body type. Two hundred strips for the rifle and one hundred and fifty strips for the crossbow,” said Bit. Red frowned, considering. “One hundred for the rifle and one hundred for the crossbow.” “Two-fifty for both, and I’ll throw in a dozen crossbow bolts and a box of ammunition for twenty strips.” “Two boxes of ammunition.” “Deal.” Red and Bit shook hands. Ace whimpered, still sitting on the stool, staring at the jerky on his nose, tail wagging slightly. Red shook his head, embarrassed. “Just grab the jerky, Ace.” Blinking as if coming out of a daze, Ace jerked his nose up, flipping the jerky into the air, and caught it in his mouth with relish. Red sighed. “All right. We’ll be back in three days.” Bit clapped his hands together delightedly. “Excellent doing business with you, outbleeder.” The canyon walls pressed in around Red and Ace as they traveled farther west into the depths of the city’s second tier. The shops thinned out, replaced with residences. This area’s homes were a bit more humble than those closer to the center of the city. The dense press of impkind thinned out into a far more comfortable space of quiet streets. A pack of younger goblins playing in the street turned to stare at the two Diamond Dogs before scattering into the alleys, giggling and laughing and peering from the comfort of doorways and shadows at the strangers. Red noticed that many of the goblins in this area wore blue armbands with a black spot prominently displayed; the color scheme of Clan Copper Blood. Encouraged, Red approached the nearest group of older goblins. They seemed to be a sort of militia group, wearing armor and carrying weapons openly, and the goblins eyed Red and Ace warily. Red smiled in what he hoped was a friendly manner and said, “I’m looking for Wendy of Copper Blood. We’re friends of hers.” The closest goblin eyed Red with interest. “You the dog that flies The Crimson Score?” “That’s me,” replied Red, surprised that they knew who he was. The goblin exhaled slowly and chuckled. “Good thing you’re here. Wendy won’t shut up about your ship. Talks the ear off any imp that gets too close to her workshop. Must be pretty frostbeams to get her that excited.” Red laughed. “It is pretty... frostbeams?” The goblin gave Red a nod, and then gestured towards a side street. “Wendy’s shop is at the end of that street. You can’t miss it. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have to patrol.” The goblins moved on, and Red and Ace turned down the side street, following it to the end. Red stared at the building at the end of the road, and Ace whistled appreciatively. Electric lights lit a colorful sign that read “Wendy’s Widgetworks,” and a series of interconnected gears decorated the front of the shop. The single visible window of the workshop was dusty and filmed over with grime. The sound of heavy machinery echoed out the open front door of the shop. Stepping inside, Red and Ace stared around at the messy front area. The front of the shop was just a mass of shelves and tables cluttered with pieces of machinery in various states of repair. Some items had prices on them, others were unlabeled. Farther back in the shop could be heard the sound of machines running, and a lot of yelling, barely audible over the industrial noise. After a brief moment of hesitation, Red called into the back of the shop, “Hello? Wendy? It’s Red!” Wendy’s head, her eyes shielded by goggles, appeared from behind a massive metal machine, and she grinned with delight, waving at Red wildly. Whatever machine she was working on suddenly coughed, and smoke began to pour out of the engine compartment. Wendy flailed at the fumes, sputtering angrily, and shut the machine down. The thick, oily smoke filled the small shop quickly, dropping the visibility to nil, but at least Red could hear. “Red! Hey buddy, how’s things?” called Wendy from somewhere in the haze. Red squinted into the smoke, coughing, and replied weakly, “Not great.” Wendy appeared through the thick fumes, smiling up at Red, and scampered to a switch on the wall. Powerful fans in the ceiling turned on, and the air quickly cleared. Wendy chuckled. “Sorry ‘bout that, Red. So, what brings you here?” Ace and Red glanced at each other, and Red shrugged. “We needed a place to go. Wendy, this is Ace, the new pilot of the Score. Before you ask, he’s mute.” Wendy grinned up at Ace and offered a hand to him. “Well hello, tall, dark, and furry. A friend of Red’s is an acquaintance of mine!” Ace shook Wendy’s hand and smiled at her. Wendy beamed back at the taller Diamond Dog and glanced at Red. “Looks like you’ve got a good thing going. A mute pilot? Maybe I should pull Kevin’s tongue out. He’d whine less!” Red and Wendy laughed, and Ace smirked in reply. Wendy gestured around the interior. “So, this is my place. You’re welcome to stay here. What have you got going on, Red? Any business with a clan?” Red shook his head. “Not exactly. We do have a crazy gunsmith making some weapons for Ace, though.” Wendy smirked. “Crazy gunsmith? You must have wandered into Bit’s shop. He’s a good imp. Not like the rest of the Drill-bleeders, at any rate.” “Does your clan have issues with Drill Blood?” asked Red, curious. “Just the usual. They undercut us in a few deals, we stole a few customers, standard stuff. Nothing too exciting, anyway. Not like we’re in a feud or anything! It’s just business.” Nodding, Red said, “Well, we’re really here because we needed somewhere to lay low for a bit, and this was the first place we could think of. Well, the first place Ace could think of. He spotted your map on the dash while we were... avoiding some ogres out in the wastes.” Wendy frowned, concern evident, and pulled her goggles up onto her forehead. “You’d better tell me what happened, then. If you’re in trouble with ogres, you might be spending more time here than you like.” It was far later in the day, and the canyon city had grown quieter as the crowds of working imps returned to their homes. Red, Ace, and Wendy sat in a loft above her shop. The loft was a cozy and cluttered affair, bearing the hallmarks of a mechanic’s home: half-built devices, machine parts cluttering the free space, and lots of grease. Red felt a sense of belonging in the place, though Ace was obviously a bit less comfortable, taking the seat nearest a window and cracking it open. Red and Wendy sat on either side of a small stone table, and the remnants of a simple meal lay spread across the board. Outside, a stormfront blew high over the canyons, though the city within the fissure was well protected from the fierce winds and lightning. “... and so we left Petra and came here,” finished Red, having spent the better part of a few hours recounting their tale. Wendy leaned forward, glancing between the two of them evenly. “That’s quite the adventure you boys have had. Sorry about your friend, too. He sounded like a good dog.” Ace smiled at Wendy and gave her a nod. She returned the grin and sat back in her chair. “The ogres are going to look for you, no doubt about it, but there’s a few things we can do to put them off the scent. First, we’ll need to disguise the Score, and maybe pay off a few people to not mention that it landed here. We goblins are no friends of the ogres—don’t get me wrong—but we do conduct trade with them. Second, you both need to stay here for a stormfront or two, and lay low. I’ll find something to keep you occupied for a while, maybe help me in the shop and earn a few strips. Either way, any thoughts of hunting down the ogres that killed your friend, or flyin’ off searching for the last pony need to stop, and now.” Red frowned. “I’m not a big fan of putting off the hunt for that long.”         “Well, you’re just gonna have to grit your teeth and take it like a dog, because you aren’t goin’ anywhere for a while.”         Red glanced out the window. “All right. Two stormfronts, but no more. That gives me a fair bit of time to work with, and I have something in mind.”         With a gleam in her eye, Wendy smirked at Red, “Oh, is that so? I know that look, pup. It’s petra.”         “I want to build the interceptor for the Score, and maybe a gun turret on top of the hull. I’m done being defenseless in the air. Think you could help me, Wendy?”         Wendy leapt up out of her chair and pumped her fist into the air with an excited giggle. “Spend some quality time with another mechanic of equal or lesser genius to me? I’m so in. Just as long as Kevin doesn’t come callin’ me for another trip into the wastes, I’m all yours.”         Red smiled. “Well, looks like it’s going to be a productive couple of stormfronts.” End Of Chapter 7 Special Thanks To: Warden, Skirts, Brian, Raz, and Ponky