~~~~~~
They walked into a dimly lit room. Jack allowed his eyes to adjust. Nightlights lit row upon row of sleeping dwarves. Dozens of cots occupied the bay, but not all of the cots were occupied. A small chest sat beside each cot in military order. The unoccupied bunks must belong to the dwarves on duty.
An aisle ran to a door where a guard sat with a lightning gun.
Jack sauntered towards the guard. He paused occasionally, and affected an air of a superior officer inspecting the troops.
The guard stared at him as he approached. He stopped before he got too close, and he added a layer of shadow to his illusion.
Fear of offending an officer was greater than fear of an intruder. Ha! One weakness of military decorum! Confident the dwarf could not make out his rank or face in the gloom, he challenged the dwarf. “Stand at attention in the presence of a superior officer.” He spoke firmly but quietly.
The door guard shot to his feet in response to his chutzpah. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t recognize you.”
At attention, the door guard could not get a good luck at his disguise.
“Keep your voice down.” Jack swept the room with a theatrical flourish. “No need to wake these troops due to your incompetence. They’ll need to prepare for the invasion soon enough.” He crossed his arms and looked down his nose. “Have you seen any sign of an intruder?”
“No, sir,” the door guard answered. “But we’ve been alert. Nothing unusual has happened.”
“Good, everything seems to be in order this morning,” Jack reassured the dwarf. “I just have a brief errand.” Jack walked up to the door, and reached out for the knob.
“Halt, sir.” The door guard twitched nervously, but remained at attention. “I’m not to let anyone enter the watch room without the password.”
“Master Nimrod has sent me with a high security message,” he ad-libbed. “And no one mentioned a password. Would you delay Master Nimrod’s battle plans while I return to the tower for the password?”
Thinking furiously, the dwarf’s eyes rolled in his head. “Sir, please don’t make me disobey orders.” He rocked side to side on his feet. “I don’t want my brains eaten.” His hands tightened on his lightning gun. He grimaced as he struggled with an inner conflict.
Inspiration struck Jack, and he improvised. He cast a spell on the door and opened it a crack. He added a vocal to his illusion, and the door spoke. “Oh, there you are Captain, Master Nimrod’s asking for you.”
“Sorry,” Jack said to the door. “I forgot to get the password and this sharp young dwarf is doing his duty.”
Still at attention, the dwarf sweated.
“Let him pass,” said the door, “I’ll take full responsibility.”
Relieved, the dwarf immediately relaxed, “Go ahead, sir.”
They stepped through the door into a short corridor. Fans hummed and a deep metallic whine came from a nearby room.
He let the door close, “Watch for company.”
Shotgun watched the corridor. “Brilliant, you should add ventriloquism to your act.”
“Necessity is the mother of invention.” Jack summoned a thermal fire and welded the lock and hinges shut. He hoped the universe favored Nodlon tonight.
He peeked into the noisy room. Servers filled several racks. Cooling fans whirred loudly. Rows of servers hummed. Indicator lights flashed in rainbow colors, mindlessly signaling their status to no one in particular. Against the wall, a rack of battery packs hunkered under a condenser covered with frost.
Shotgun poked him urgently. He pulled his head out of the server room and straightened up. Spinning smartly, he resumed the air of a haughty inspector.
Macaroni strutted up to them and sneered. “May I help you?”
“Master Nimrod wants to know if everything is in order.”
Macaroni frowned and suspicion crossed his face, but he backed away. “Why wasn’t I told of this? There are protocols and procedures.” He led them to the watch room.
The corridor ended in the control room. Banks of operator stations faced a swath of windows overlooking the castle. The setting moon silhouetted the massive tower on the castle’s western end. The night’s almost over! Dawn will come soon! The luminous orb reflected off Lake Bali.
New and used electronics cluttered the watch room. Shotgun was right. It’s an operations center.
Only a skeleton crew maintained the night watch. Busy monitors, fluttering gauges, and flashing diodes cast a creepy aura on the dwarves manning their stations. Vids, casters, microphones, keyboards, joysticks, trackballs, motion sensors, and gesture recognition gloves competed for space at every station.
The center’s windows commanded a panoramic view. The view spanned Port Royal and the black wharf, the fore-tower overlooking the lagoon, and an amusement park with a bodacious waterslide. The southern tower obstructed the view of the park where the wolf pack had attacked them. Thank my lucky stars! The playground in Port Royal is the only spot they can’t see.
Operating manuals and training disks ran along the consoles above the vid screens. Large vid screens displayed rotating scenes from cameras across the resort.
One vid displayed an airport. Terminals and hangers jammed into the spaces around landing pads. Spotlights pierced the dark, and lights lit the pads. The airships and transports bore the insignia of the Martian War Maker. No Martians here. Are these dwarves really working for Mars?
Macaroni went to a master console overlooking the casino. He bent over the console and rummaged about. Satisfied with whatever he found, he picked up a desk caster.
“Boss,” Shotgun tugged his elbow.
He followed Shotgun’s gaze to the captain’s console.
Macaroni eyed Jack with suspicion and spoke into the caster. The electronic din drowned his words, and Jack heard only susurruses through the buzzing and humming. A long frown told Jack the whole story.
“We’re up,” said Jack. “He’s summoned the cavalry. He’ll be over here to delay us.”
The watch captain circled his console and straightened his cap. He wove a path towards them through the operator stations.
Jack smiled and prepared to make light of whatever the captain said. He grabbed Shotgun’s elbow and hurried to meet him half-way.
Macaroni confronted Jack with a haughty air. He drew himself up to his full height. “Captain, state your name and your command, and be quick.”
Jack replied without missing a beat. “I’m Captain Hastings, and I’m responsible for special operations.”
Taken aback by the confidence of his reply, Macaroni hesitated. “Wait here, while I verify your story.” Keeping an eye on them, the captain crab walked back to his desk caster. He glanced at the caster and punched the console, “Tower.”
Here it comes. We’re surrounded by dwarves with lethal weapons. Giving Shotgun a gentle nudge, he shoved Shotgun into the corridor. Get your shields up!
Hastily, he cast the magic, and his shield smacked the nearest bank of operator stations with an audible whack. The bank shuddered.
Piles of operating manuals teetered atop the bank. The first stack wobbled. It careened into the next stack and set off a domino effect. Manuals toppled over. Binders broke apart and paper joined the flurry of disks and books flying off the bank. Manuals and papers smothered the operator’s stations. Electronics slid off the busy console. The avalanche crashed to the floor.
The falling bric-a-brac flipped an open water bottle over. Upside down, the bottle poured its contents into a cable gap. Sparks shot from the station’s console, and a puff of smoke rolled out of the back.
Macaroni forgot his call and advanced on Jack. The watch captain flushed in anger. He drew his lightning pistol and high stepped over the mess. He kicked a chair, shoved aside the debris, and closed the distance.
“Who are you?” Macaroni pointed the lightning pistol at Jack.
Jack cast a telekinetic blow and knocked Macaroni back. Surprise
d, Macaroni fired a wild shot. Jack pounded the watch room with telekinetic balls. Everything that was not pinned down flew into the air as if hurled by a poltergeist. Dwarves popped out of their chairs and stared.
“Attack!” Macaroni ducked behind a bank of consoles. He aimed wildly from behind the console and fired at Jack.
Lightning bolts cracked the air. Bolts bounced off Jack’s shield and struck other banks. Sparks showered from the controls. Banks of consoles squealed. Operator stations sizzled and the consoles hissed. A column of greasy smoke rose from the cabinets.
Anger clarified his mind and he cast a tether on the pistol. The pistol flipped out of the captain’s hand, and flung itself at Jack. He grabbed at it, but it bounced off his shield.
He fired a telekinetic blast and knocked Macaroni back. He fired again and ducked for cover.
The fight confused the dwarves. They watched the visiting captain attack their leader, and then exchanged glances. One shrugged and another shook his head unable to figure out what to do.
Macaroni snatched a lightning gun from a baffled dwarf. “Give me that!” The watch captain ripped the gun from the dwarf’s hands, and pushed the dwarf. The startled dwarf toppled over his station and rolled off the console.
The watch captain laid down fire where Jack had been. The dwarves simply watched their captain attack the visitor. They stood by as if it was a spectator sport.
“Attack!” Macaroni advanced. “Help me, you fools! Attack!” He darted between operator banks to flank Jack.
The dwarves exchanged blank looks and turned back to their duty stations. A couple pulled fire extinguishers and they fought the flames bursting from the consoles.
Shotgun waved at Jack and brandished the watch captain’s pistol.
“Here!” The dwarf tossed him the lightning pistol. He caught it and switched the power to stun.
Unsure of what to do, the dwarves advanced clumsily.
Jack stunned an approaching dwarf. The dwarf bounced off a controller’s counter and dropped his weapon. The other dwarves watched their comrade fall and made no move to find cover. He resisted an eye roll. They were mesmerized, but they were still armed with lethal weapons.
Jack fired again. The bolt cracked, and the air stank of ozone. Quickly, he stunned another dwarf.
Macaroni darted from one bank to another.
Jack fired at the watch captain. His pistol clicked and nothing happened. The firing meter read low charge. He ducked around the bank and hoped to confuse the watch captain. He low crawled to another bank, and spotted a dwarf. He checked his pistol, and its meter read ready.
He stood up. Several dwarves turned to look at him. He stunned the one farthest away, and the remaining dwarves turned to watch him fall.
“Idiots,” shouted Macaroni. He broke cover and fired at Jack. The bolt ricocheted off Jack’s shield.
Jack fired at Macaroni, but the pistol only clicked.
The captain ducked for cover. The remaining dwarves watched Macaroni crawl away.
Jack followed the dwarves’ gaze. He moved down the bank of control stations and searched for a shot. One shot left. He passed a bank and fired at Macaroni.
The bolt hit the watch captain and singed his shirt. Unfazed, the captain’s eyes narrowed. “Intruder alert!” he growled.
What? Why didn’t he go down?
“Didn’t you hear me?” The dwarves stood dumbfounded. “Sound the alarm,” yelled the watch captain. Macaroni stomped towards Jack, raised his lightning gun, and shot him.
The bolt struck Jack’s shield and knocked him back. The bolt bounced off his shield and another bank erupted in sparks. A short burst of flames erupted from the console and smoke poured out of the bank.
Jack tripped on a mound of fallen manuals and fell backwards. Near him was a fallen dwarf. He felt the young man for a pulse, and he was relieved when he found it. He searched for the dwarf’s weapon and found a charred lightning gun. The dwarf’s utility belt held a full set of power packs.
Jack took the power packs. He dropped the dead pack out of his pistol, and shoved a fresh pack into his weapon. He pocketed a spare just in case. He peered around looking for the mad watch captain. That shot was good, but Macaroni wasn’t stunned.
The watch captain paced the aisle between the banks of consoles. “Where is he?” Macaroni stood in the shambles of his watch room. He shook his fist at the dwarves manning the operator stations. “Have any of you zombies seen our visitor?” A chorus of denial came from the dwarves still standing.
He scrambled to lap Macaroni and attack him from behind. Instead, he slipped on a stack of manuals and slid under a counter and banged his head.
The watch captain heard him fall and pounced. He bounded down the aisle, and cleared the distance with demonic speed. He sent chairs spinning and electronics flying. His eyes bulged and he bared his teeth. He rounded the bank and stood over Jack.
Macaroni smirked. He straddled his quarry, and laughed maniacally, “Goodbye, spy!” He fired his gun point blank at Jack. The bolt flashed, and ricocheted off Jack’s shield. The thunderclap exploded in the tight space under the counter. His ears rang. Macaroni dropped on top of him, and slid off his magical shield.
Burn marks splashed across Macaroni’s uniform from a crater in his chest. The hate-filled smirk was still frozen on his face.
Jack grabbed the countertop, found solid footing, and stood up.
The watch captain sprawled over a pile of electronic bric-a-brac. His eyes stared into empty space. Dead as a doornail – and he doesn’t look any different!
The remaining dwarf stood dumbly in the middle of the watch room holding a fire extinguisher. Jack kept an eye on the dwarf, and stepped away from the fallen captain. He posed with an air of authority.
“Soldier,” he said.
The dwarf saluted, “Sir.”
“The watch captain is dead.” Jack returned the salute.
Ever industrious, Shotgun surveyed the mess. He searched the stunned dwarves and acquired a lightning gun and swung it over his shoulder. He stuffed his pockets with power packs.
The door guard rushed into the watch room.
“Look out!” yelled Shotgun.
The door guard stared at the mess with a slack jaw. The station monitors were black. Wires and circuit boards protruded from the ruins. An occasional spittle of sparks popped at the operator stations and smoke trickled from the consoles. More dwarves ran up the balcony and into the watch room. They all stood dumbfounded at the mess.
“Finally!” Jack pretended to straighten his uniform, and he feigned annoyance. “I’m glad you ladies decided to show up. Where were you? Can’t you respond to an intruder alert?”
The door guard looked confused. “Sir, the door wouldn’t open.” He surveyed the debris and the fallen dwarves. Smoke still rose from several banks of consoles.
“Sir, what happened?”
“The watch captain lost his mind,” said Jack with empathy. “When I confronted the watch captain, fear drove him berserk. He’s committed suicide. Sad really, these things happen on the eve of battle. Now, clean up this mess.”
“What should we do, sir?” The door guard looked to Jack for directions.
A thought popped into Jack’s head, and he hatched a plan.
“Spies have infiltrated. The spies mesmerized their accomplices, and ordered them to take the watch room. They think they are serving Master Nimrod, but they’re not. Any dwarves who assault the watch room are accomplices. Nimrod ordered us to hold our position and prevent the accomplices from taking this room. Nimrod wants the dwarves alive, so set your weapons to stun. We need to capture the spies and their accomplices.”
All the dwarves dutifully set their weapons to stun.
“Sir, how will we recognize the accomplices?” The door guard shot a confused look at his fellow dwarves and his brow furrowed.
“Stun any dwarf who believes he serves Master Nimrod. After you stun t
he accomplices, they will be confused. When they wake up. Set all their weapons to stun. When the confused dwarves have recovered, tell them to stun any accomplices they run into. Send the confused dwarves to the airport to look for me. I will arrange their evacuation.”
“Yes sir.”
“Right, Master Nimrod expects my report, and he will not be pleased. He’ll have to call off the invasion. We will have to evacuate the dwarves. Handle this job well, and your conduct will appear favorably in my report. When the evacuation begins, go to the airport and find me. I am the only captain Master Nimrod can trust now. Understood?”
“Yes sir.”
“What are your orders?” He asked the befuddled door guard to confirm that he got the message.
“Set all weapons to stun, hold the watch room, stun the accomplices, and go to the airport when the evacuation begins.”
“Good soldier.”
“Sir, you’re injured.” The door guard pointed at a scarlet puddle by Jack’s feet.
“Probably just coffee soldier,” he glanced at the puddle. “I’ll attend to it later. Now, carry on, chop, chop.”
“Yes, sir,” the dwarf thrust out his fist.
Jack returned the salute and parted the greasy smoke with his fist.
He stuffed Macaroni’s pistol in his breeches, and waved a come hither to Shotgun. He stepped over fallen junk and wove around toppled chairs.
As he stepped onto the balcony, he heard a faint voice.
“Report, watch captain!” it called. In the commotion, the captain’s console had toppled and spilled its contents on the floor. The desk caster dangled from its cord.
A stunned dwarf woke up and moaned. Guards helped wobbly dwarves stand.
The squeaky caster chattered. A voice squeaked, “Report! Hello? Report!” None of the dwarves paid any attention.
He backed out of the dwarves’ sight and glanced back. No one else was on the balcony except Shotgun. He shot a magical bolt at the caster. Sparks exploded from the device, and the caster sizzled and plastic melted. A cloud of smoke billowed from the fried caster. I need to learn how to stun people! I can’t rely on weapons as a non-lethal choice. The blast distracted the dwarves.
Jack sauntered towards the stairs, and Shotgun fell in behind. He watched their reflection in the window glass, and admired his handiwork. In their smart black uniforms, they oozed with ominous authority. Oops! Shotgun had two weapons. His guard carried a real lightning gun and an illusion of one. He updated Shotgun’s disguise and erased the extra gun.
Dwarves streamed into the keep from the west wing. Spreading through the casino, several dwarves ran up the stairs. The dwarves passed Jack and Shotgun with hardly a glance. They headed west and passed a bank of lifts.
A sergeant saluted him, and he returned the salute, “Report!”
“Sir, we’re here to secure the watch room.”
“Good,” said Jack. He spoke with authority. “Spies mesmerized our dwarves, and forced them to be accomplices. The accomplices control the watch room. They think they are serving Master Nimrod, but they are working for the spies. Set all weapons to stun, and retake control of the watch room. All stunned dwarves will be confused when they awake. Send them to the airport for evacuation when they recover.” He demanded verification. “What are your orders?”
“Set all weapons to stun. Take control of the watch room. Send all stunned dwarves to the airport for evacuation when they recover.”
“Carry on, sergeant. I must deliver a top secret message to the tower. Perform well, and your conduct will be featured favorably in my report.”
“Yes sir,” the sergeant saluted, “thank you, sir.”
Stragglers jogged out of the nave, and ran past the lifts. Jack returned their salutes and sauntered into the nave.
“The truth can be a very effective weapon,” said Jack, “if your timing is right.”
“Don’t get cocky, boss. We’re not out of the woods yet.” Shotgun patted his weapon. “We still have to find the Black Dwarf and give him a taste of his own medicine.”
Two dwarves guarded the open doors. A wooden bridge ran west over the courtyard. The Black Dwarf’s statue loomed over the bridge.
Banners clung to the ceiling in each corner. Runs ran through the coat of arms, and fringe dangled to the stone. The army’s footprints went through the fresh dust coating the nave’s floor.
A neon pink golf cart with a candy-striped roof was parked on the bridge. Pink tassels trimmed the roof and the rear bench faced backwards. A red dragon on the cart’s nose bit its own tail. Jack veered towards the cart and stirred up little clouds of dust.
“Sir,” called one of the guards.
Jack resisted an impulse to flinch. He spun on his heel and clasped his hands against his back. He took a couple of paces towards the dwarf with an aggressive air. He maintained a military posture. The guards stared at the floor.
“What is it, soldier? Master Nimrod awaits my report.”
The dwarf saluted, and he responded in kind.
“Are you bleeding sir?” The dwarf pointed. A fresh path of splattered drops matched his every footfall in the dust.
“Yes, I know. I will attend to it later.” He made an about face and made for the cart. “Carry on,” he called over his back. He handed his pistol to Shotgun, “Hold this.”
Shotgun hopped into the rear seat and covered their back with his lightning gun.
Jack climbed into the driver’s seat and grabbed the wheel. Assessing the controls, he twisted a key on the dash. Nothing happened. He pressed a red button and the dashboard lights came on. A stick shift sprouted from the dashboard. He shifted the stick and pressed the foot pedal.
The cart rolled backward. He shifted the stick again, and the cart jerked. The cart lurched forward. He threw them a couple of times before he got the hang of driving it.
He pressed the foot pedal and headed over the bridge. The cart hummed. He pressed the pedal to the metal, and they picked up speed. The tires slapped the stones. They jumped over an expansion joint and launched into the air. The cart bobbed up and down on the tired springs. Their seats squeaked. He tapped the brakes. He drove off the bridge and entered the mall on the west wing.
The bridge landed on a walkway which separated down the middle. He veered to one side and raced along at top speed. They zipped past dark and empty shops. Art, fast food outlets, and knick-knack purveyors blurred together. He dodged benches, and flower pots, and navigated past kiosks.
They reached the end in minutes. Two more dwarves guarded a bank of lifts at the end of the mall. He steered the cart up to a petrified palm and parked near the guards.
He reversed his maneuvers to climb out. He winced as pain shot up his arm. He turned his back on the guards and tightened his bandages.
“Are you all right?” whispered Shotgun.
“Fine, as long as I don’t sit, stand, walk, or breathe,” he forced a grin. He retrieved his pistol from Shotgun and recast their shields. He shammed a sense of urgency and marched up to the dwarves.
“Attention,” he yelled before the guards had a chance to challenge him. “Don’t you know to salute in the presence of a superior officer?” Jack stopped before he entered their line of sight.
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison and saluted.
He returned their salute and left them at attention. “I will let your inefficiency pass this time, but next time it will be noted.” He stuck his nose in the air and stepped between the guards.
The guards looked at each other and turned to look at him. “Sir? We need a password, sir.”
“Oh, yes of course.”
Not waiting for a reply, Shotgun stunned the querulous dwarf. True to form, the silent dwarf watched his partner crumple to the floor. Baffled by the inexplicable collapse of his partner, the dwarf made no move to use the deadly weapon at his side.
The dwarf came to his wits, and asked, “Hey, what happened?”
“H
ay is for horses,” Shotgun replied, and he shrugged.
Baffled the dwarf tried to think but nothing happened.
Jack stunned the dwarf. He stepped forward and caught the fellow. He let the guard slump to the floor. “You read my mind.”
“The lights were on,” said Shotgun, “but no one was home.”
“I hope we can rescue them all. I’m sure their wits will be restored when they come to.”
“Catch the name of this tower,” Shotgun poked Jack in the ribs and pointed to the lifts.
“Devils Tower, how apropos?” Jack spied a stairwell. “We don’t want to be trapped in a lift.” They rushed to the stairwell, threw open the door, and looked up.
The stairs wound around the stairwell up several stories.
“Good grief, boss, I’m tired already. How are we going to fight after climbing these stairs?”
“Let’s fly. It’s a tight squeeze. Give me a hug.”
He and Shotgun levitated. Despite his caution, they both sported more than a few extra bruises by the time they reached the topmost landing.
“Remind me to tell you to jump in a lake the next time you want to levitate me. If biots were meant to levitate magically, the ancients would not have invented anti-gravity.”
“When the ancients meant for biots to fly, they designed them with wings. My magic is natural, so apparently nature meant for me to fly.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
“No, but it sounds as good as anything else.” All of his muscles ached and his belly complained. He was tired as he had never felt before. “Do you still have our packed lunch?”
“Oh, brother, all you can think of is your belly?” He pulled the satchel from his neck, “Remember Caesar, thou art mortal.” He sat on the landing, and spread out the food.
“Yum, yum,” muttered Jack. “Never expected cold rice and beans would be our last meal.”
“We may be glad of it before the day is over.” Shotgun broke off a clump beans and popped the gooey bits into his mouth.
Ravenous, he scarfed the food down. His jaws tightened and his belly grumbled. “I was simply observing, one of us received the gift of flight.”
“When they passed out the gifts, you weren’t overly burdened with insight, oh, introverted one.” Shotgun licked his fingers.
“Too true, you cut me to the quick. I’m not burdened with a scrupulous conscience and an unhealthy compulsion to self-reflection.”
A tinge of regret came over him. Who am I to complain? Hungry children live in the wild beyond the Pale. As an overnight success at the age of sixteen, he had only known celebrity. I didn’t enjoy two years as a conscript, but Nodlon fed me like a king. If he fasted once in a while, he might empathize with the hungry. When we get back to Nodlon, I’ve got to help.
He sighed, Am I a good man? He believed in life and he had risked his life to save others. He consoled his conscience. He wanted to be a good man, but he hated his moods. Moody, angry people never help. He brushed aside the downer filling his head.
Shotgun crushed the foil and tossed it off the landing. He wiped his hands on his pants and patted his belly. He stretched.
Jack tried standing, but felt a twinge in his back.
“Be careful,” warned Shotgun.
“This isn’t the time, Shotgun, but I have to ask you a question.” He hauled himself up by the landing’s rail.
“Sorry, boss, but I’m spoken for.”
Jack snorted and he felt a magical surge. “If we get out of this, I want you to be my best man.” Humor invigorated him.
“I’ve already agreed to be Jazz’s maid of honor.”
“Shotgun you can’t wear a gown,” he scoffed. “Chintz isn’t your style.”
“Have to,” the dwarf shrugged. “Jazz agreed to be Goldie’s maid of honor.”
Jack lifted his index finger to the sky, “Then I’m going as Goldie’s maid of honor.”
“No way, boss, evening gowns aren’t your style.”
“Let’s split the difference, I’ll be your best man if you’ll be mine.”
“It’s a deal.” The dwarf reached out and Jack pulled him to his feet.
He breathed deeply, focused his magic, and cast shields. “I’ve shielded us with magic, but take cover when you can. Don’t assume I’m protecting you. If I’m stunned, you won’t have a shield.”
“Don’t get hurt. I left all our meds at home.”
“We’re safe as long as I pay attention.”
“Don’t develop attention deficit disorder then.”
Jack grinned at the dwarf’s barb. “If anything happens to me, save yourself.”
Can I take on the zombies beyond that door? He pulled on the door handle. It was locked. Blast it. I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your door down.
He waved Shotgun away and stepped back. “I’ll blast it off.” He conjured a battering ram in the shape of a maypole. The maypole slammed the door and it shuddered with a boom.
“So much for the element of surprise,” Shotgun raised an eyebrow. “If they weren’t waiting for us before, they will be now.”
“Thanks,” he reset his maypole spell.
“Hey, how about trying a mass effect gun? If you sharpen your ram to a point, maybe you can bust the latch.”
“Sure, why not?” Jack conjured a needle-point and sharpened his maypole.
The latch turned.
Jack and Shotgun froze.
Blondie
The door opened, and a dwarf maiden in a black uniform stepped through. Her blond bangs were neatly tucked under her baseball cap. The cap sported a pink “BD.” Her blond pony-tail dutifully bobbed with her every motion.
“All you have to do is knock,” she huffed. She scolded them in a schoolmarm’s tone.
“Who are you?” He thrust his nose in the air.
“Sergeant Blondie at your service, sir,” said the blonde. “I’m in charge of the Amazon detail here at the lair.”
“I’m Captain Hastings,” he sauntered past the blonde. “I have an urgent message for Master Nimrod.”
Two strides put them into a posh lobby that reminded Jack of happy days at the Circus. Another blonde dwarf guarded the lobby with a lightning pistol on her hip and a dumb expression on her face. A golden dragon attended by Chinese damsels overlooked the lobby. A fountain gurgled atop a jade bowl.
“I must see Master Nimrod immediately.” He kept an eye on the blondes.
Blondie’s high heels clicked on the marble. “Sir, are you bleeding?” She touched his arm.
Pain shot up his arm, and he bit his lip. He glanced at the floor. Rainbows drizzled on the marble tricked his eye for a moment, and then he saw it. Blood drops trailed back to the stairwell.
“Yes, but it is imperative I report now. Spies have infiltrated the Black Wharf. They mesmerized the black dwarves and forced them to be their accomplices. The poor devils think they are serving Master Nimrod but they are really helping the spies.” He gestured at the lifts and pitched another whopper. “They stunned the tower guards, so we climbed the stairs. Send help to them at once.”
Oblivious to the incongruity of the meaningless explanation, Blondie agreed at once. “Yes sir.” She saluted and jiggled in a manner more becoming than Jack expected. He exerted a manly effort to maintain eye contact and returned her salute.
She drew a caster from her utility belt, and requested a detail to secure the tower’s lifts. She repeated his instructions, and stowed the caster.
She smiled, and her eyes glazed over. For a second, she stared at some mirage only she could see. “Nimrod’s Ninja Nightwalkers are always ready!” she sang in a bright sing-song. Her eyes rolled around the lobby and came to rest again on Jack. Something reset in her head and she blinked.
“We have to bandage your wound before you see Master Nimrod. All of us will be punished if we let blood stain his carpet.” She shuddered emphasizing the point.
She waved for Jack to follow and stalked off. Going down the hall, they passed more blondes marching towards the lobby. He took larger strides than Blondie, so he slowed to let the guards pass. They stared ahead with the same blank expressions. He peeked at their weapons and assessed their assets. Blasters were slung over their shoulders and pistols bounced on their hips.
Blondie halted in front of a tastefully appointed door. Not paying attention, he almost bowled her over. She entered a security code into the keypad. He took note of the code and suppressed a smirk.
Inside, the servant’s quarters had been converted to a barracks. A common room with tables and soft chairs adjoined a set of small bedrooms. A kitchenette occupied one corner. Twilight dawned through a window.
“Sit,” said Blondie.
Obediently, he and Shotgun sat.
In the kitchenette, she picked out a clean washrag and rinsed it in the sink. She stood on her tip-toes and searched the cabinets. She pulled out a first-aid kit. Opening the kit, she fumbled with the contents, and selected a bandage and an antiseptic spray.
“Let’s see that wound, soldier.”
Jack splayed his arm on the table. Concentrating carefully, he melted his disguise. He let his illusion dissolve off the wound. His shredded tunic appeared soaked in blood. Mud coated the wound and blood oozed from his makeshift bandage.
She frowned and shook her head. “Wow, I must be a blonde if I missed that.” She retrieved a waste basket from the kitchen.
Untying his impromptu bandage, Blondie dropped the dripping rags into the waste basket.
Bells rang in the back of his mind. “Maybe you can cut the sleeve off.” He tried to help. “Master Nimrod will be angry if he has to wait any longer.” The wound throbbed.
“Umm, yeah,” she said. She sliced into his sleeve and cut away the makeshift bandage. Tentatively, she pulled the cloth off the wound, and dropped the gooey mess in the trash. Tooth marks ran around his arm.
Seeing the bite, she moaned, “Icky.”
She took the washrag and gently wiped the mud and blood from his arm. She set aside the filthy rag and sprayed his arm with antiseptic. The aerosol tingled on his cuts. The pain vanished. She unfolded the bandage and bound the top half of the bite. She applied another bandage and taped it to seal the wound.
“Good as new,” she admired her handiwork. She poured him a glass of water and offered him a few pain pills.
“Thanks,” he swallowed the pills.
The door opened and a red dwarf entered the common room. She saw Blondie tending Jack, and gushed, “An officer and a gentleman, Blondie you have all the luck.”
“Yes, Delilah. He’s here to see the master. Can you help me clean up?”
“Delighted,” she bent at the waist and retrieved a kit and a towel from a lower drawer.
Shotgun clutched his temples and rolled his eyes. “I’ve got a headache.”
“Sergeant Blondie, please tend to my shotgun.” He modified his illusion on Shotgun’s arm and revealed his makeshift bandage. “Can you bandage his arm?”
“Oh, dear, how did I miss that?” Blondie asked. She promptly ministered to Shotgun and bandaged his arm. “Take these, soldier,” she said and handed him pain pills and water. She fussed with the first-aid kit and put everything away.
Delilah soaked a towel in hot water and advanced on Jack. Her heels clicked and her pistol bounced in time with her walk. She pressed the hot towel on his face, and massaged his face and temples. “Never wipe your face, it only spreads the oils. Always let the towel soak up the grit and grime.” She produced a tiny spray bottle and spritzed him. She styled his hair with the skill of a pro, and then peeled the towel from his face.
She produced a tube of lipstick, sensuously dolled her own lips, and before he could protest, she applied a thick wad to his lips. “Spread it, darling.” She rolled her lips and blew him a kiss.
Not bad. He rolled his lips and tasted strawberry wax. Note to self. Hire her for my make-up team.
She pulled out a sanding bar, and started manicuring his fingernails.
“That’s enough Delilah,” said Blondie. “We don’t have time for the full treatment.”
She smacked her lips, and her face puckered into a pout, “Oh, pooh.” She packed her things. She put away her cosmetic kit and cleared the table. “Later then, sweetheart,” she cooed.
“What about me?” Both girls glared at Shotgun.
“Flaunt it if you got it.” Jack shrugged.
“Keep your feet on the ground and your knees together, Cyrano de Bergerac,” said Shotgun. “You’ve got a girl waiting for you.”
“Ah, true,” said Jack, “but I’m an officer and a gentleman, and I’m tall.”
“Just one girl, handsome?” Delilah swayed. “Blondie and I are available when you want to go quadrophonic.”
“Ugh,” Shotgun slapped his cheek. “Can we go now?” He interrupted Delilah’s act. “Master Nimrod needs your report, Captain Hastings.”
“In a hurry to have your brains eaten?” Jack winked.
Shotgun huffed, puffed, and shook his head.
“Sir, we’re ready now,” said Blondie. “Let’s go.”
The Emperor’s Clothes
Blondie led them up the hall. They stopped at a Chinese Zodiac carved into an oversized double door. “Master Nimrod,” she said. “An officer, and a gentleman, requests an audience.”
“Who are these guys?” crackled an intercom.
“Captain Hastings wants to see you,” said Blondie. “He’s an officer and a gentleman.”
“An officer and a gentleman?” Nimrod asked. “Who is this insolent who wants an audience?” Palpable irritation singed the air. “State your business!” Nimrod growled.
“Sir,” said Blondie. “The captain said spies have infiltrated.”
“Blondie, what do you know about the spies?”
“Nothing, sir,” Blondie said.
“Then cork it!” shouted Nimrod. “Speak captain, before I turn your giblets into a Jackson Pollock!”
He briefly imagined his giblets hanging on a canvas in an art gallery for the admiration of onlookers. Why? Why would a bemused elite unable to discern the difference between art and an insult to their intelligence find my giblets of interest?
“Sir,” said Jack, “Captain Hastings here. Spies mesmerized our guards in the watch room. We believe the spies are headed to the airport.”
The Chinese Zodiac parted and the doors swung wide.
Blondie ushered Jack and Shotgun into the suite. “Good luck, Captain Hastings,” she whispered. She stopped at the threshold. The doors closed when the intrepid duo cleared the threshold.
A recliner mounted on a turntable dominated the suite. The villain basked beneath a sun lamp dangling from the ceiling. Strategically stationed blondes awaited his beck and call. One protected Nimrod’s face from unwanted rays. Another held the magician’s robe and staff. A third held a crystal ball, and several more fussed over him. They carried trays of appetizers and offered him grapes, cheese, and wine.
The turntable wheeled around and jerked to a halt. Once again, Jack beheld the Black Dwarf. He wore swimming trunks and his logo dangled from his neck. A sickly pallor colored his skin and a cruel expression twisted his face. On his forehead was a black microchip. The chip was the tell-tale mark of Nodlon’s ubiquitous and loyal servants.
The shock of recognition startled Jack. Evan Labe! His pallid cheeks and blue lips suited a vampire more than the missing black dwarf.
“Battle has erupted in the keep, captain! My zombies are fighting each other! My watch captain won’t answer my calls! Can you explain, captain?”
“Spies penetrated the watch room and hypnotized the dwarves.” Jack saluted and stalled for time. Think of a plan! “Now the dwarves are their accomplices.” Jack spluttered, “Many are confused?”
“Confused?” Nimrod barked, “Confused how?”
“They have forgotten where t
hey are,” he said and added a touch of truth. “They remember who they were.”
The warlock popped out of his recliner. He pushed aside the blonde manicuring his nails and kicked his pedicurist. He donned his robe and tied the sash. Signs of the Zodiac embroidered in silver filigree covered his robe. He snatched his staff and advanced on Jack.
He tensed. You said too much Jack! Filled with foreboding, he refreshed his shields, and focused on their disguises. Thank my lucky stars. I’ve fooled him! He can’t penetrate our disguises! He fingered his pistol. Will it work on Nimrod? It didn’t stun the watch captain! Use magic. He recalled the ambush in the Halls of Industry. No Jack, the blondes are too close. Lightning bolts may ricochet and kill them!
The warlock sidled up to Jack. and studied his face. He looked Jack up and down and scratched his chin.
Up close, Nimrod was the malevolent warlock from central casting. A smarmy expression hinted of perverse desires. Black sockets encircled the dwarf’s blue eyes. Pale and wan, the Black Dwarf resembled a zombie more than any of his dwarves. Only his eyes showed signs of life.
The warlock swayed side to side. He held up his staff. Arcane runes traced in filigree covered the shaft. A white stone mounted atop the staff glowed under Jack’s nose. He sought something in Jack’s face he could not find in Jack’s answers.
Jack shivered as a force tried to penetrate his illusion.
“They remembered who they were?” The warlock wheezed with a slow steady hiss, “Cap … tain? And who were they, captain? Who were they?”
“Themselves, I suppose, sir. I didn’t think to ask them.”
“You didn’t think, captain?” The warlock hissed. He drew out his syllables in a serpentine sizzle. “Who are you? I don’t remember seeing your face before?”
“Captain Hastings,” replied Jack.
“Who sent you?” The warlock snapped, “When did you arrive?”
“The watch captain ordered me to see you this morning.”
“Are you playing games with me?” Nimrod growled through clinched teeth. “Sargon has no authority to order anyone to see me!”
Jack smelled a hint of paranoia, and tossed out an idea. “Perhaps, my Lord, I am misinformed. Could others be playing against you?”
“Yes, Captain!” Nimrod straightened to his full height, and his finger went to his dimple. “But, the question is: Whose side are you on?”
The warlock flashed a grin and his eyes flared. He swept a hand through his hair and it fell in a perfect wave. He gazed down his nose at Jack.
“Look into my eyes,” hissed Nimrod. All the blondes trembled. They cringed as if recalling some torment.
Jack met the warlock’s gaze. Fire burned in Nimrod’s eyes. A warrior stood in a pit of coals. Flames gushed from his red-hot armor. Goose pimples prickled Jack. Fear tickled him, and he shivered. He blinked, and broke Nimrod’s gaze. “Is this a staring contest?”
The warlock glared at Jack, and stepped back. His eyes narrowed, and he shot a glance at Shotgun.
Shotgun set his face in a look of grim determination. A bead of sweat betrayed his fear. He ground his teeth. Yielding to an invisible pressure, Shotgun looked the warlock in the eye.
Thwart his magic! Jack cast contact lenses over Shotgun’s eyes. Nimrod’s got to Shotgun! Eye to eye with the warlock, his friend’s eyes turned black. Shotgun broke eye contact and glanced at Jack.
“What magic allows you to resist my gaze?” Nimrod twirled his staff, and thrust it at Jack and Shotgun.
Not knowing what to say, he held his breath. What’s the warlock’s next move?
“Aha! I get it,” Nimrod shouted. “You’re Phaedra’s son!”
Chaos broke loose. A whirlwind threw him across the suite. Jack struck the wet bar. He somersaulted over the sink and kicked a hutch full of steins, goblets and wine glasses. Bottles, glassware, and ceramics crashed to the floor. He slipped between the counters and fell. The liquor cabinet buckled and dumped its contents on top of him.
Frightened blondes dropped their trays and styling tools.
Shotgun slammed into a wine rack. Dowels collapsed and bottles shattered. The nectar of the gods spread in a purple pool. Unbroken bottles rolled off the rack. He recovered his wits and fired his lightning gun at the warlock. He unleashed a volley of stun bolts. The plush pile crackled. The bolts bounced off Nimrod. The dwarf jumped to his feet and took aim. Glass crunched under his boots.
Nimrod fired a lightning bolt at Shotgun. The bolt ricocheted off his shield and struck the billiard table. Wooden shrapnel exploded. Splinters pierced pillows, cushions, and the unlucky blondes.
Amazons squealed and ran for the doors to escape the melee. The wounded clutched their scratches and pulled at the splinters embedded in their tender flesh. One blonde threw open the doors and yelled for help.
The warlock fired again at Shotgun. Billiard balls pummeled the fleeing blondes. One ball cracked a window and left a spider web of cracks. Shotgun staggered under the force of the blow and his bolts went wild.
Jack’s head spun. Only my shield saved my life. He strengthened their shields. He cast magic and batted away the shelves. He sat up and peeked over the bar.
Lightning flashed. Thunder shook the bar. The dwarf maidens screamed.
“Leave the blondes alone!” Jack clinched his fists.
Nimrod advanced on Shotgun and surveyed the hapless hacker’s handiwork.
“You dare fire on Nimrod, a servant of the Dragon Lord?!” Nimrod contorted with rage, his timber rose, and he screamed, “Die worm! Dust you were, and dust you will be!”
Clearly this dwarf won’t listen to reason! Jack spotted his lightning pistol in the bar’s sink. He snatched it up and stuffed it in his breeches. Use magic lightning you fool! The blondes are safe!
Nimrod aimed his staff at Shotgun and gestured. The staff glowed and fired a beam of blue flame. A blinding flash filled the suite. Fire splashed off Shotgun’s shield. Flames scorched the furniture and seared the carpet. Smoke wafted from the billiard table’s remains.
“Dimrod!” Jack taunted the warlock. He rounded the bar, aimed his fist, and fired a lethal bolt.
Nimrod’s cloak flashed. Lightning singed the cloth, and ran through the filigree. The metallic threads popped and the warlock flinched. He twirled his staff and conjured a whirlwind. The wind threw Jack over a poker table. He bowled over the table and fell into a couch. The table flipped over and batted his shield.
“Full power, Shotgun, use full power!”
Shotgun switched his gun to full power and fired again.
Sparks burst from Nimrod’s cloak and the filigree split the cloth. The warlock whipped his staff around and fired a whirlwind at the hacker.
The whirlwind blasted the wet bar and the cabinetry exploded. A shock wave shot across the suite and showered the dwarf with glass and wood.
Shotgun stepped on an unbroken bottle. Spinning on the bottle, the room blurred. The bottle tossed the dwarf away from the bar, and he stumbled on shards of glass. His feet shot out from under him. He bounced off his shield and dropped his gun. The broken glass narrowly missed impaling him. Wow, that was close! Scrambling for cover, he jumped behind the shattered billiard table.
“Master, what shall we do?” Blondie ran into the suite and stood in front of the Chinese Zodiac. Delilah and the other blondes huddled behind her. The blondes clutched their weapons.
“Blondie! Delilah!” Jack called out. “Master Nimrod has gone mad! Get the blondes out of here!” He dove behind a fallen couch.
Outraged, the warlock gestured at the couch. It flew off Jack, flipped onto the four-poster bed and smashed the canopy. Not content to remain there, the couch bounced off the bed, and rolled across the floor. The melee forced Blondie to retreat.
“Kill him,” Nimrod yelled. He pointed at Jack and his fingers trembled.
Confused, the blondes hesitated in the doorway. Their affection for Jack’s handsome figure fought t
heir programming.
“Run,” shouted Jack. The Amazons just stood there. “Run girls! Spies have hypnotized Master Nimrod. Stun the accomplices!” He fired lightning bolts to draw the warlock’s attention.
The warlock turned, and Jack jumped and levitated. He fired at the warlock. He flew across the suite and tried to flank his opponent.
Jack cast a telekinetic wall and shoved the blondes into the hallway. Then he cast the doors shut. The Chinese doors slammed, and he blocked them with the bed.
The warlock gestured, and the couch flew at him. It hit him, and the blow shoved him against a bookcase. He bashed the case wide open, and split the shelves. The shelves tipped, and the books cascaded onto Jack. Books bounced off his shield and slapped the walls. Books exploded and loosed pages fluttered through the air.
Finding his wits, Jack tightened his fists. Nimrod’s shields deflect my fire! But Nimrod’s not immune to inertia and momentum! He mustered his magic, and tossed a couch at the warlock.
The couch caught Nimrod off-guard and bowled him over. He tripped over his turntable and splayed his arms to catch himself. His staff caught on his recliner, and he lost his grip. The staff skittered towards the fireplace. He landed on appetizers and fingernail files abandoned by the Amazons.
Jack spotted the loose staff, and cast a spell on it. It flew into a window. The window cracked, and the staff rebounded back into the lair.