My Big Goblin Space Program

Chapter 77 - Safety Not Guaranteed

“Give me that prybar,” I said.

Prometheus handed me his new favorite tool—a metal pry-bar that he’d fashioned out of a ruined section of rifle barrel.

“Thanks.”

I smashed the clay jar of Tesla wasps off the connector, ducking as the ornery insects flew out, so disoriented and eager for freedom that they didn’t even bother to sting anyone on their way out.

Promo laughed. “Giving up on your combust’em project already, Boss?”

“The opposite,” I grunted. I dug the pry-bar into the mount for the counterweight and managed to work the small plate off the back of the engine.

Sally watched in horror as I smashed the relief valve. There would be no relief.

“I don’t get it,” said Promo, scratching his head. “You said we needed the wasps. And the relief valve. And that doo-dad in the back.”

“I did say that,” I said. “They were very practical and very foolish.”

The noblin chief cocked his head at me.

“Too practical. I built a working engine. A fully-functional prototype engine. Something like I might have built back on Earth if given a few weeks and access to a forge. Just to prove I could, if for no other reason.”

“And it would’a worked?”

“Yup,” I said. I disconnected the fuel bladder and opened the throat, pulling a popper from my pouch, along with a small ceramic auger. I drilled two small holes through the outer layer and then tipped the small globe so that the bomb fruit juice mixed in could drain out. through the hole. It didn’t take long as the dribble of red juice began to empty into the fuel bladder.

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Prometheus. “You sure you don’t want me to do that?”

“Does your fire-crafting skill extend to contact explosives?” I asked. Then said, “Forget it, don’t answer that. If this blows up in my face, that’s a random goblin dead. If it blows up in your face, that’s my ignis chief gone. I’m not risking that.”

Promo dropped his ceramic mask in place. Whether it was to keep me from seeing his expression or because he thought the concoction might explode inside the bladder? Makes no difference, really. Not in the end. In fact, if even the goblins were worried, then I was on the right track. The dribble petered off, and I tossed the damaged popper over my shoulder where a bunch of squawks alerted me that it probably wasn’t the best place to have done that. A small pop and a few angry chitters later, the System didn’t alert me to any lost goblins, so we were still in good shape. I began to cackle.

“What’s got into him?” asked Armstrong, backing up a bit.

“This whole time, I was trying to design the wrong type of engine,” I said. I banged on the case to loosen the seals a bit. “Armstrong, get the starter.”

The scrapper looked to Promo, who shrugged.

Eager for a chance to make scarce, Armstrong retreated to a safe distance in order to retrieve the rockette-powered starter. I fished out a round for it and passed it over, then busied myself with hooking up the fuel bladder.

“Sally, how’s it look?”

She made the goblin gesture for explodey.

“Perfect. Armstrong, you’re up!”

Armstrong reluctantly approached with the starter, and Promo pulled out the starter pistol beside him. I climbed atop the engine and squeezed the choke shut.

“Promo, give it a few spins,” I said.

The noblin twisted the shaft a few times, until with a BANG, it nearly jerked out of his hands. He backed off to a safe distance. Or, at least, what he probably thought was a safe distance.

I opened the choke and moved the throttle to the half-way mark, then motioned Armstrong forward. “Let ‘er rip, my friends.”

Armstrong fitted the starter to the shaft and had Promo hit the rockette with the pistol. The tiny rocket booster ignited and started to swing the ensemble around. The Engine rattled and shook underneath me, popping and hissing. Great gouts of angry, black smoke puffed out of the exhaust and a few weak spots in the seals.

Pop pop pop clank pop clang pop pop.

I yanked the throttle all the way open.

The engine barked and bucked so hard underneath me I worried that it had already come apart. Metal shrieked and protested, and a small plume of smoke pushed its way out of what was once our relief valve. “Sally, plug that!” I shouted. My chief engineer ran up with a hammer and pounded the opening flatter until the leakage dropped to a small puff.

The starter began to fizzle out and Armstrong pulled it away.

Underneath me, the engine bucked, growing hotter and harder to hold onto, struggling to stay clamped around the throttle. One of the mounting bolts snapped, and the thing began twisting on the stump. It was like trying to ride a full-size mechanical bull as a toddler, but I held onto the throttle lever for dear life. The shaft was a blur. My ass was numb from the vibration.

POP POP BRRRRT POP BRRRRRR….

“Come on, baby!” I shouted over the racket.

A huge gout of black smoke and orange flame erupted out of the exhaust, thumping in time to the shaking of the motor

BRUM BRUM BRUMMMM…

“Come on!”

POP POP BRRRRUUUUMMMM…

“YES!”

I cleared away the notifications to focus on what I was doing. The heatsink on the very, very goblin engine was glowing red hot and a heat haze had started to shimmer on the metal. I tried to push the throttle closed, but the abused lever snapped off in my hand.

“Uh oh!” I yelled.

“Oh no!”

“Apollo, get out of there!” shouted Promo.

Sally just screamed and dove for the deck, wrapping her hands over her head. Now that she understood the motor, she definitely understood that it was about to blow sky-high. And I was sitting on top of the damn thing! Worse, I couldn’t bring myself to let go!

“Help!” I yelled.

I felt a big, furry body tackle me off the top of the top of the engine, and we tumbled across the dirt. I ended up face-down and tried to raise my head, but Armstrong shoved my face back into the dirt. “Get down, your highness!” he yelled over the screaming, whine of the engine.

The whole ensemble finally gave out with an earth-shaking clap of thunder that left my ears ringing and caused at least one building in the village to collapse. Armstrong finally moved, and I pulled myself out from under him, looking around. Every goblin in the square was on the floor, ducked and covering, and most were stacked behind hard cover where it existed.

On the stump was a warped piece of glowing metal with a gaping wound where the internals tore their way out of the housing.

“Where’d the rotor go?” I asked, looking at the sizzling hole.

A heavy object crashed through the roof of the air traffic control tower a hundred or more meters away, scattering goblins from the rise. The entire thing collapsed inward in a plume of adobe brick dust and wood splinters.

“Found it,” said Promo.

“Boss! Booooossss!”

“Hey boss!”

I looked over. Eileen and Neil were practically coming to blows over who would be the one to reach me first. They tripped each other up and started rolling in a tangle of blue limbs and plausibly deniable sucker punches. When they finally stopped and untangled themselves, both of them jumped to their feet.

“HeybossIhadacrazyideawhatifweputthatonnagliiiiider?!”

Neil just spread his hands apart. “Combust’em boats.”

I looked up at Promo and grinned. “Ready to build the next one?”

Promo made the moon-sign of the Church of the Right Angle over his chest and grinned back. “Forges are already fired up, boss!”