My Big Goblin Space Program [COMPLETE] Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – Regular Losses At least I was out of the tree. I had completely forgotten that transferring my Goblin Technology skills to the tribe transferred all the skills—including ones that weren’t exactly safe. Those explosive fermented fruits had just killed 2 of my 9 followers. The one that had thrown it, and the much-celebrated stilt-walker they’d elevated in a doomed attempt to reach me. Still, I was alive and back on the ground. One by one, the survivors poked their heads out of cover and came to regard me, crouching down and pointing out various things about me to each other. Mostly my legs—or lack thereof. Before I could even ask them to do it, they were back at work fashioning a set of poles to use as primitive prosthetics and hoisting me up so that they could be affixed to my legs. I wasn’t sure if this was a result of knowledge transfer from myself, or if they were simply far more clever creatures than their appearance and method of communication would suggest. But once again, their versions seemed more effective and practical than my initial, rushed attempt with the dry wood. “Thanks, guys,” I said. They all grinned and looked at each other beneath the skull hats. Two returned to the dog creature and set to the task of hoisting the limp carcass between them. I pinched my chin. “Hold up. Bring me one of those poles and some of the vines. I can make that easier.” My seven remaining tribesmen rushed to be the ones to fulfill my request, resulting in two separate fist fights and one goblin getting bit. But they managed to get the wooden pole and the improvised cord over to me. I set to work tying the feet of the carcass to the poles, and then indicated that one goblin should lift at each end. They did so, and their eyes widened in wonder. They cheered, and several of them tried to muscle in on the pole to be the one to carry it. I struggled to walk along-side, and three of the excited goblins approached me with another pole and some rope. “No!” I said, holding up my hands. “Freight only!” Still, I could barely walk through the rough underbrush on the improvised prosthetics. Thankfully my new goblin body was super light, or I wouldn’t have been able to stand on them at all. I considered, and pointed at the leftover wood. “Trim those down and leave the ones on the edges longer, then lay them side by side and tie them together.” One frenzy of activity later, I had a reasonable approximation of an old-fashioned stretcher. I eased myself down onto it, then pointed at two of the goblins. “You and you, pick it up by those handles.” With specific goblins designated, there was less fighting to be the one to carry me. The two I’d designated managed to take their positions with only minor blows traded over who would be in front and who would take the rear. Once that was sorted, they hoisted me off the ground. I could literally see the understanding sweep across their faces as the technology skill spread. I didn’t know the mechanism—was this some sort of in-built goblin magic? Were they low-level psychics in some sort of goblin gestalt? Or just natural empaths? “Alright. Let’s take it nice and easy. Back to the village, or wherever—woaaah!” Goblins apparently have no sense of pace, which matched their general lack of any form of chill or caution. Anyone not assigned to the pole or the litter was apparently on bushwhacking duty, and they shouted as though charging into battle as they cut through terrain almost as fast as they ran, using just teeth, claws, and their simple stone knives. The litter-bearers ran at full-tilt behind them, and I held on for dear life as they made their best effort to bump me off in their mad dash. Somehow, I stayed on. But I felt like fried rice being tossed around and flipped above a wok. I was going to need a better way of getting around. The upside is that we made great time, and we weren’t attacked by any forest monsters. I assume few enough of them want to be caught in the path of goblin pathfinders, lest they be cut apart and trampled like the foliage. God knows the goblins weren’t shy about making their presence known. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. We reached a sharp, rocky bluff, and the goblins surprised me by not slowing down much at all as we hit the cliff face and started climbing. I held on for dear life as the litter bearers somehow managed to balance the weight of the litter and their new king while ascending. The climb was harrowing. But, as far as the general location went, a bluff was a sound spot for a village. Elevated, isolated, with enough trees for shelter. Plus, a commanding view of the nearby woods and easily defensible from the top—save for one slope that looked slightly shallower than the rest. But something like that could be walled off and guarded. I’d have to survey the opposite side, later. Looking out, I could see other similar bluffs, and I wondered if they also held isolated goblin villages. I didn’t have much time to enjoy the view. After a moment’s breather, the convoy returned to their frenetic pace and charged through the brambles straight to the goblin village. While the bluff was impressive, the village atop was less so. It was more of a tamped down copse of trees with a lot of mud, a heap of bones, another heap of droppings, and a stagnant scummy rain-water pond distressingly close to both of the previously mentioned mounds. I had a feeling I’d be putting that immunity to most toxins to the test sooner rather than later. As we broke out of the new trail we’d carved in the underbrush, the litter-bearers ground to a halt. I, having not yet invented seatbelts, continued forward. Luckily, I landed on my head, and bounced. I tumbled into the center of the village.