~

Chapter Thirty

~

The pilot told us to sit tight until the rotors and engines stopped. Fine with me. It was really dusty out there. I think a small tree hit the front windshield. Was kind of fun watchin’ the humans fifty yards away fightin’ the backwash. They gave up tryin’ to keep their hats on, held ’em to the side of their face.

“We haven’t talked about who’s gonna do the talkin’ or even what our goal is here,” Bliar said through our headsets.

True. We might-should have started on that as soon as we got in the helo. A little late now. I usually have a design sittin’ in front of me, so not too used to flyin’ by the cuff of my shirt.

“Ya okay to wing it?” Uncle asked.

I chortled good. He turned toward me and gave me a broad-tusked grin.

He continued. “Ike never told me what he wanted from us.”

Yeah. Me either. That seems a little more than odd.

“Ya can add a thought anytime ya want,” he said.

Lately I’ve gotten into a lot of trouble openin’ my mouth. Maybe keepin’ it closed is a good idea. Nuel would agree with me on that, for sure. One of the few thin’s she’d agree with me about.

“Fine. Play it close to yar vest,” he said. “Maybe let ’em do some talkin’ first.” He grinned. “Then we tear ’em to shreds.”

But it looked like there were a good fifty or so humans hidin’ behind cars out there. And they were all armed. So, what kind of damage could all the doodads hangin’ off this helicopter cause?

“This thin’ has a mini-gun,” Bliar said. Was he readin’ my mind? Seems like folk do that to me, not just troll healers.

The pilot’s voice in our headsets concurred. Nice to know. If I knew what a mini-gun is. Didn’t sound too impressive. Mini means small as far as I know.

The pilot said, “I haven’t been given any rules of engagement for this mission.” Whatever that meant. “But once ya step outside, not a lot I can do to help ya.”

Mission. So this is a mission. Sounded very official. Adult. I’d heard the other expression before on the nightly news. Not somethin’ we use in IT, but we could. Sounds pretty cool. Rules. Of engagement. Very buff.

“I would be good,” the pilot continued, “gettin’ your feedback on that.” I looked forward at the pilot and co-pilot. Their helmets forced their dreads to bunch up over their shoulders. Looked kind of uncomfortable. A little like the tiny jump seats Bliar and I perched on did to my knees and back.

Bliar looked at me and raised a shoulder.

“How—’bout.” I stopped to switch to Trollish. “They shoot us, ya light ’em up. Does that expression mean what I think it means?”

The ogres in front of us were snorting, and their helmets noddin’.

~

Nuel

~

I turned on the news. For twenty minutes there was nothin’ but footage of the military buildup in the South, plains, and the coasts. In the North, mostly protesters in front of Parliament and police stations. A lot of SUVs with red and blue lights flashin’.

A film crew walked through a box store showin’ a lot of shelves that hadn’t been stocked much, and mobs of hoarders packin’ up their cars.

I waddled to the door and opened it. My troll friend may have been standin’ there asleep, since I didn’t get an immediate reaction. But I told him he should come in and check out the news. He followed me in, sat next to me on the couch without sayin’ anythin’ for a bit. We watched until the stories started to repeat, and he asked if I had anythin’ to eat.

We strolled into the kitchen, but he couldn’t find anythin’ he was willin’ to nosh on, so we went back to the couch and called for delivery. I ordered a lot of comfort food. I didn’t recognize what he ordered. I probably didn’t want to know what it was.

After he finished his litany, I turned the sound back up, and a reporter was talkin’ about a standoff on the South Plain Highway. Evidently a news helicopter hovered nearby, and the camera zoomed in, on two casually dressed ogres exitin’ a military attack-style helicopter.

“That’s Kriz and Bliar!” I gushed.