Chapter 120: Chapter 115

The pod arrived and warped in our tequila, which I cracked open and took a long drink from, before handing it to Morbin. He snatched the bottle from me with his oversized arms and lowered it carefully for a sniff.

When he retched, I laughed. “There’s a worm in it too,” I said.

Morbin looked at the bottle in shock, holding it up to inspect the small, drowned creature floating in the amber liquid. He stared at the worm for a long moment before he looked up at me. “Can I eat the worm if I drink all the liquor?”

I roared laughter to the sky and nodded. “My friend, that is the entire point!” He brightened and carefully lifted the bottle for a swig. “But, we will not be eating the worm tonight, you have to work your way up to that, and I said one drink.”

Morbin lowered the bottle and exhaled forcefully. “Woah! Your drink is strong, Nu-Earth man!” He looked back at the worm. “I’m really looking forward to eating you, little one,” he slurred. Then he raised the bottle and took another swig. “Now is too late! I already take two drinks.”

“One drink for me, Morbin. You might want to consider slowing down, though.” I laughed and reached for the bottle of tequila. Morbin held it away until he could down one final swig and laughed as it slipped from his tiny, claw tipped fingers. I capped the bottle, after wiping it off on my shirt, and tucked it into my bag.

“So how’s this work, Morbin?” I asked.

“What you mean?” he grunted.

“How does your service for my affiliate work?” I asked.

“Ohh, that, that, yes-yes-yes. That easy.” He pointed one of his over-sized ears north, toward Prescott. “Right now, Dearth has twelve hovercraft patrolling their perimeter, and one cargo vessel heading for a landing on their southernmost pad.” The ear turned back toward me, and Morbin stared up at me.

“You can hear all that?” I asked.

“I hear everything,” he answered.

“Oh,” I said. I looked at Axle, and he produced his phone.

A text came in on mine, and I glanced at it. “I’ll install a sound proof room to meet in, if needed.”

I nodded at the text and turned back to Morbin. “What kind of confidentiality agreement are we talking about here?” I asked.

“Oh, you worry over nothing. Morbin no tell your secrets! You can trust Morbin!” He said, drunkenly staggering as he tried to lean on the nearby truck wheel. “Morbin highly professional.”

“That wheel is filthy, be careful,” I said. He brushed off the back side of his wing and nodded a quick thanks up to me. I couldn’t see any clothing on him, but no sexual organs stuck out at me either. I decided not to think about it too much and got right to business.

“Okay, here’s what I need from you Morbin.” He looked up at me, paying as rapt attention as the alcohol would let him. “Anything that sounds like it's going to go directly overhead, I need to know about. Especially if it’s coming from Dearth to the north, across that mountain.” I finished by pointing at the space elevator.

The small alien bat creature followed my gaze, and then turned back to me and nodded. “Easy.”

“Okay, other than that, don’t cause anybody grief, please? Just be a good neighbor and try to get along with everybody who lives here. If you have a problem, come to me, or one of the hobbs to tell me, and we’ll get it sorted out. You good with all that?” I asked.

“Hey, cmon! It’s Morbin! Of course I’m good with that. You’re building me a bar, right?” He grinned and nudged me with an incredibly pointy elbow.

“Yes, I’m building you a bar. Everybody gets to use it, of course,” I added.

“Of course, of course!” Morbin said. “But you have bomber incoming now, so I guess no more time for drinks, huh?”

I blinked, then I glared at him. The little bat creature nodded and pointed with one oversized arm to the north. “Just took off from their pad. Single bomber hovercraft, I know that engine sound anywhere. Morbin no joking,” he said, cutting off my next question.

“Axle! Secure the spider ranch and get below!” I shouted, reaching in my bag for my cracked helmet. With it in place, my HuD wavered into place on the smashed screen, tiny cracks cobwebbing through the image of Rayna on my phone.

“Rayna!” I shouted as soon as she answered. “Get the Fumble-Bees in the air and get everyone below, we have incoming!” I hurriedly swiped up our main affiliate page and confirmed my fear. Our church tag had fallen off. “Direct attack this time!” I shouted into the coms.

The hobbs near me were already moving, and Morbin was rushed off to the elevator, where a crowd was forming. People fled through the open gate at the far end of the park, and rushed to get into the elevator, as Hobbs ran down the line of houses, shouting and banging on doors.

In the distance, I saw Mel, clutching her sketchpad and handgun, staring up at the sky while the packed elevator lowered underground. Those who couldn’t get on board the first elevator either ran for the far side of the park or took cover under a mud-crete structure.

Hobbs ran for cover under mud-crete, as tiny pinpoints of light emitted from the storage barn. I followed them to see the Fumble-Bee hive stationed in the upper floor of the barn, a hob in an armored face-mask operating the control on the side. A grid of the bees flew into place over the entire campground, about fifty feet in the air.

The bees were lit up as they moved into position, but once the grid was in place, it went dark with a blink.

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Ordo grabbed my arm and tugged until I followed him under the main gate’s mud-crete overhang, where we watched and waited. Within seconds, the whine of an overburdened hovercraft engine approached from the north.

I leaned out to see it, waving off Ordo and the other hobbs. I’d be fine even if a bomb hit me, though I was rather concerned about the headache I’d had all day. Another concussive blast wouldn’t be helpful for that, so I stayed close to cover, just in case.

The hovercraft was larger than the one that Phyllis had thrashed earlier that day, but just. It had a boxy undercarriage, and as it passed by far overhead, little more than a dark shape in the night, it released several small shapes, to fall directly at us.

One of the Fumble-Bees lit up and streaked at the head of the falling shapes, then more followed it. They flew at the bombs, latched on, and activated their defensive electrical charges, detonating the explosives in mid-air. The first one rocked the air over the campground in a blast of bright orange flame and force, and was followed quickly by another, as the drones found their targets.

The tiny drones flew in an orderly line after the falling bombs. Dearth had meant to carpet bomb us, and the hovercraft was still releasing them in rows. Fumble-Bees flew in a brightly lit line toward the hovercraft, and a trail of explosions began climbing in the sky as they detonated each in succession.

The hovercraft tried to pull up, but not before the Fumble-Bees were within range. They chased it, latching onto bombs still in the bomb-bay and detonating them, causing a chain of explosions in the sky as the craft blew into glittering pieces and streaks of flame.

Down the line of houses, I saw Morbin stagger out of the apartment he and his group of hobbs had taken shelter in. He raised both arms to the air and cheered. “Morbin time!” he shouted.

I shook my head. Rayna signed off and I called Axle back. As I stood watching the grid of Fumble-Bee drones returning to the hive, Axle answered.

“Yeah boss,” he said, distractedly looking at something in his hands.

“Hey, the bee drones just saved our asses by forming up a massive grid and intercepting the bombs,” I said.

The Knowle blinked. “Yes, I told you they would do that.”

I nodded, frowning. “Yeah, sure, but now that I’ve seen it I want other things from the bees. Cause that was awesome. Can we use these things to take Prescott? Just keep feeding the hive bees and have them fly down everyone’s throats or something.”

Axle was shaking his head before I finished speaking. “Not possible. This is actually enough of a bastardization that I doubt the affiliate that makes them would tolerate this use of their product.”

I blinked rapidly. “Tolerate?”

Axle nodded. “Yes, their programming is set from the home affiliate, we can only use them for specified tasks. This counts, but barely. If you tell the drones to attack someone by flying down their throat, they simply won’t obey that order.” He paused and scowled, shaking his head. “I don’t think there’s a way to even give them an order like that. It’s a lot of programming red tape, but basically defensive actions only. This thing is meant to be fending off random Sleem or stray mushbugs, not waging war. We can bend its rules only so far, I was actually quite proud of this tactic.”

The Knowle looked away again. “Besides, Prescott is way too big for their range. They do five acres, tops. That Dearth elevator facility and port covers way too much territory.”

I frowned and sighed.

“I’ll take that sigh to mean you’re good. No more questions?” Axle droned, swiping at his BuyMort interface.

“For now, but I want more of these hives,” I said, trying to keep the whine out of my voice.

“You should want more Fumble-Bee hives, they’re very useful. It was smart of Rayna to order this to get the Sleem under control. This hive is enough for our purposes for now, but they’re not expensive. I can order enough to cover whatever area you desire, but we will need to install them at regular intervals to ensure coverage.”

“Alright, thank you Axle. I appreciate it, even if you did shoot down my awesome idea,” I grumbled.

The Knowle gave me a toothy grin. “That’s my job, boss.” He nodded and disconnected the call.

I took my helmet off again, tucking it away in my bag and looking for the ravens. In the near distance, I saw them winging it for the downed craft, like the professional scavengers they were. I probably should have wanted to race them for the salvage, but I was confident in Axle’s Sleem farm set up and was just happy that we didn’t lose anybody else in the latest attack.

The Fumble-Bee hive had a pallet of fresh drones at the side, ready to replace those that sacrificed themselves in our defense. As it stood, we could withstand thousands of bombs, and Axle had assured me we would be able to buy more of them as we went.

When I arrived in the lot where my house and Molls car were, I saw that she was outside, in her heated robe, with the elements glowing at the back of her hood. “Hello Tyson,” she crooned.

“Hey Molls. Just came to see if you’re okay,” I said, slipping into her arms for an embrace and kiss. Her large eyes flicked to the hobb babysitter, and I let her go with a smile. “Sorry.”

She blinked at me and shook her head. “Never apologize for being affectionate toward me, I always enjoy it,” Molls whispered.

I smiled and took her hand, motioning toward her car. The blue juice had reinvigorated me, and Molls’ smile grew wider as she slid to the old Lincoln. As I was getting in behind her, her tail somehow coiled around me at the same time she used it to shut the door. Day five of BuyMort ended with me getting significantly less sleep than I probably should have.

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