~ Time As We Know It ~

~ Time As We Know It ~

Two armed and Human looking Hybrid mercenaries from Deep Creek ran through the darkness of a tunnel deep under the Earth’s crust. An unusual sight in the Bloworld, as most called it. Massive shouldered Cap’n Dick moved effortlessly in spite of his stout limbs and rotund belly. His fit, hard, Grandson Jimmy, ran alongside carrying their crippled Drachonian guide piggybacked, a Lizard Man named Glocken of the Corca Achte Clan.

Surface dwellers with their imperialistic convictions, hegemonic caste systems and penchant for war, were not welcome in the Bloworld as a rule. Human/Alien Hybrids on the other hand, were generally tolerated in the subterrestrial domains if they had legitimate business. Partly because they shared no allegiance to Humans, but mostly out of a combination of trepidation and common sense. Though generally disciplined and amicable, Hybrids, especially the long established Clans like the Callans of Deep Creek, could also be extremely dangerous and unpredictable. Where Hybrids were concerned, ‘live and let live’ was the prevailing tenet of most subterranean cultures.

As they approached a fork in the tunnel, Glocken shouted “Wait!” He climbed from Jimmy’s back, dragged his mangled leg up to the split and studied each pathway. Jimmy used the opportunity to take in the cavern. The rock walls were worn and smooth but popping with different shades of reds, browns and yellows. The air was moist and warm, and the myriad of musky odors were unfamiliar, even to the keen sense of smell possessed by Deep Creek Hybrids.

Glocken pointed to the left. Jimmy hoisted the Reptilian on his back and off they went. In the distance there was noise. “That’s gotta be a Grotto, Boys. Let’s check it out. I can finally get a drink. This’ll blow you away John Henry.”

Not realizing the range of the Hybrids hearing, Glocken whispered in Jimmy’s ear, “Why fat Captain always call you John Henry.”

Granddaddy growled, “Call me fat one more time you fucking lounge lizard. I’ll beat you like a redheaded, left handed, step child.”

“Regrets Captain Dick. Glocken no want to offend for being fat.”

“Call me fat one more time. Come on Frog Boy.”

Jimmy explained. “Glocken, it’s Cap’n Dick. Not the military rank of Captain. You see, in Deep Creek he’s a…( how to explain it to a Drach.) Never mind. So anyway, Grandaddy never calls anyone by their name. Men are usually John Henry and women are Becky or Lucy.”

“Not make sense. Why talk wrong?”

Grandaddy rumbled, “You’re on thin ice Tadpole.”

“I have no idea Glocken. Let’s drop it.” Grandaddy getting pissed off would not be pretty. He had run out of Vodka quite a few miles back, and it was telling on his moods. Jimmy found himself grateful for the incoming reverberations of civilization. Unlike being topside with the light, the sky and space filled with terrain, running through miles of enclosed, dark tunnels was numbing his mind.

The Grotto was basically a cave of about 3 city blocks. Many old, haphazard buildings made of stone and mostly attached, formed a circle inside the outer wall. Some were one story, but most went right up to the 30 to 40 foot ceiling covered with stalactites dripping water.

Obviously Grotto security, a tall, muscular reddish/brown Drachonian Lizard man wearing a purple sash accosted them at the entrance. He spoke to Glocken gruffly in the harsh and tactile Drach language. Gloken answered him in the same tone.

“Dumb-one says you must leave weapons here. Get when leave.”

“Fuck that,” Jimmy declared.

To his surprise, Grandaddy said, “It’s okay John Henry. Give ‘em up.” Jimmy hesitated. “No it’s good.”

“If you say so Grandaddy.” He handed over his pistol and Katana but kept the Old Timer lock blade in his pocket.

As they entered the town square, Jimmy pointed and said, “What the hell is that?”

An unfamiliar voice from behind them answered, “It’s called a Gerandant. It’s the Rinders version of a clock, mighty one.” An old, pale and bent human with boils on his neck, no discernable teeth, and literally covered with small scars, stepped up. He spoke with a declaratively British accent. Turning on a head torch allowed him to look Jimmy and Grandaddy over. But he quickly turned it off to the grumbling complaints of passers-by. He looked a mess but Jimmy sensed intelligence behind those weary, gray eyes. “Lights are not appreciated in this world of darkness. You must be Hybrids to move about so confidently.” Because he could readily see in the dark, Jimmy had not really paid much attention to the lack of illumination in the Bloworld before then. What a challenge it must be for a human to live here.

“Be gone Kersh!” Exclaimed Glocken and moved towards him threateningly.

Jimmy stopped Glocken with a hand to his chest. He was seeing and smelling many life forms around the public square. Mostly small, stocky, bald individuals that were definitely not human. He assumed the two scantily clad ones accosting the men were hookers. Except for breasts, they were indistinguishable from the males. A couple more Drachs were eyeing him and Grandaddy, and a group of lanky Ebones, one with a snarling mole on a leash, were in a heated discussion in some obscure language. But this decrepit man was the only other human in sight. Jimmy spoke to him. “What is a Rinder, Old Man?”

“Rinders are indigenous to the Bloworld. They were down here long before humans came to be. In fact, Rinders are the basis for the dwarf stories of the upworld.”

“You have a name Kersh?” Asked Grandaddy.

“If you will sir, call me Bert.” He was warily watching a still perturbed Glocken.

“Granddaddy. Why are you two calling him Kersh?”

Glocken blurted, “He is foul, unclean, weaver of misery.”

Granddaddy thought for a moment. “Hmm. How do I explain it?”

“Might I assume the task, Grandfather of this inquisitive young Lord?”

“Sure, Boy. Be my guest.”

“Glocken leaving. Disgusted.” He dragged the bad leg towards what Jimmy deduced from the picture over the door, was a bar of sorts.

Bert smiled and appeared relived that Glocken was gone. “A Kersh, oh powerful Lord…”

Jimmy interrupted him. “Cut out the Lord bullshit and just talk. Okay?”

“Forgive me sir. It is so rare anymore that I am offered the opportunity to converse in the Queen’s English and I do so love the language. A Kersh is a salesman of sorts. I subsist by selling my body to the Rinders.” Jimmy looked him up and down unconvinced. “Not my entire body. Bits of it. You see, the mitochondria in human skin cells acts on Rinders like a drug if they ingest it. They crave it and can become addicted quite easily. The Drachonians think the whole affair is disgusting, so I tend to avoid them as much as possible.”

“Is he shittin’ me Grandaddy?”

“No Boy. It’s true. It’s like heroin to these little guys.”

Jimmy posed the obvious question to Bert. “Then why pay? Why not just kidnap you and take it when they want it.”

“The Church Canons of the Rinders forbid the killing or even injuring of other sentient beings. To my benefit, they believe their souls would be damned for it.” All of the buildings looked pretty much the same, but the one he pointed to had a large boulder in front covered with ornate carvings. “That is their Church. A most devout people. Even self-defense is frowned upon. Hence the strong Drachonian presence. The Rinders hire them as policemen of sorts. I see from your skin tone that you are not conventional residents. Might I inquire as to your names and purpose here in the Bloworld?”

“I’m Jimmy Archer and this is my Grandfather Cap’n Dick Archer. We’re going to do some business with the Blue Elbrines in New Goshin.”

“Ah! The Blues. Such an enigmatic race. But not unsociable. And where are you from?”

“We are from the United Sates, a little place called Deep Creek, Virginia.”

The Cap’n revealed, “We’re Callans boy.”

Bert drew a breath. “I am honored by the presence of the illustrious Callans. Warriors of renown and bringers of retribution.”

Jimmy was surprised. “You’ve heard of the Callans?”

“I was in Glancier during the last great war of the Upworld. I know well who the Callans are and remain forever in your debt.” Bert tilted his head towards them respectfully.

Jimmy turned a curious gaze to Grandaddy. “The Nazi’s occupied the city under Antarctica during WW2. We Callans took it back.” He paused for a few seconds, then said low, “We lost an awful lot of good men that day…” His demeanor went dark. “John Henry, I’ll be right over there in that bar when you get tired of the Kersh.”

“Okay, Grandaddy. So. Bert. Tell me about this clock.”

“Yes. The Gerandant. Quite the piece of engineering. Every Grotto, city and trading post in the Bloworld has a least one. And they work hard down here to keep them synchronized. Bear in mind that that the Rinders tongue is not as mathematically precise as our Upworld languages, so my dimensions and such are more or less approximations. That being said, let’s do it, as they used to say in America. Do they still say that?”

Jimmy enjoyed that Bert was so excited to tell the story. He probably didn’t get much conversation. “Yeah. They still say it.”

Bert smiled reflectively, then continued. “The Gerandant is made of their version of glass. It consists of the roughly 30 gallon cistern on top of a 12x12x7 foot container with a 1000 gallon capacity. Remember these are not exact.”

“I get it. Go on.”

“A constant flow of 10 drips per minute fills the cistern. You see, as the water level passes each gallon mark, the lever flips up. This is roughly one day. When the cistern is full, that is equivalent to 1 month, or lunar cycle if you will. The cistern then empties into the large tank. This action trips a monthly lever and so the months are counted. The daily levers reset and the cistern begins filling to a new monthly cycle. The large container works similarly. When it is full, the lower levers flip as it empties. That indicates just shy of a three year period. The big levers on top are tripped by these cycles at roughly 19 years. That counts as 1 well. 5 wells, trips the century markers. When 10 centuries have passed. The whole system resets.”

Bert was most pleased with himself. But Jimmy had a ton of questions. “How do they allow for evaporation?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, how do they maintain a constant and consistent water drip?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

“What about tracking centuries. I mean, how do they know what year it is?”

“Rinders don’t seem to care what the year is.”

Jimmy began another question when all hell broke loose in the bar. “Oh shit. Grandaddy.” He watched a purple sashed Drachonian security officer come crashing through the bar window and took off.

Inside, another Drach was groaning on the floor. At least he wasn’t dead. Jimmy saw the backs of three more Drach’s with machete’s drawn, facing off with Grandaddy. Behind him, Glocken lay in the fetal position covering his head. He peeked out as Jimmy approached. Jimmy pulled his Old Timer and opened it Deep Creek style with one hand. Moving too fast for them to react, Jimmy buckled the knees of one attacker and put the knife to his throat. “Everybody just calm the fuck down.” The Drach reacted and Jimmy tightened the knife to the throat causing a trickle of green blood to ooze. “Don’t make me do it, Boys. Now drop those blades. Grandaddy, what’s going on?”

“They started picking on our little buddy here.” Glocken was getting up slowly with one bloodied eye.

“Glocken? What happened?”

“Told Creegs that you were Callans. Killed Sayas and Enkurial, Keeper of Divine Laws. They no like that.”

“Killed who?” asked Grandaddy.

“He’s talking about Scar and those Drachonian Mercs we killed in Mexico last year,” Jimmy explained and backed up two steps pulling his hostage with him. “I see that this is a situation that just got out of hand. So let’s all calm down before somebody dies. We will just get our things and go. You understand.”

One Drach spoke with a thick hiss. “And never come back.”

“You have my word.”

The Drach demanded, “Release him.”

Jimmy held the hostage firm and backed up slowly. “As soon as we get out of the gate.”

As the procession of the Mexican standoff moved across the town square, Bert scurried away. The entrance guard pointed a firearm at them that was unfamiliar to Jimmy. One of the bar Drachs gave him some commands in their language. The guard reluctantly threw their back packs and weapons outside of the gate while keeping them covered. Once Grandaddy had his knife and harpoon, Jimmy motioned for the guard to set the weapon down and move away. The Drach obliged. Jimmy released the patsy and pushed him forward. The Guard went for his gun, but Jimmy retrieved his .45 first and stopped him cold. The three walked away backwards until the Grotto was out of sight.

Jimmy noticed that Glocken was limping worse than usual. “You okay, Glock buddy?”

“Had worse. Many thanks Captain.”

“Forget it Boy. Do you think they’ll follow us? Drachs are real funny about being embarrassed.”

“No follow. Not stupid. Fear Callans.”

“Jimmy?”

Jim was surprised to hear his name. “Yes sir?”

“Nice work back there. Proud of ya Boy. I could a took ‘em though.”

“I have no doubt of that Grandaddy. Hey Glocken. We got a long ways to go. Climb up on my back and let’s get the hell out of here.”

**********