The Arctic Incident

“I know where northern Russia is,” Cudgeon snapped. He paused, stroking his bubbled forehead thoughtfully for several moments. “This could turn out to our advantage. Now we have the perfect opportunity to eliminate the commander. With Julius out of the way, the LEP will be like a headless stink worm. Especially with their surface communications down. Their communications are down, I take it?”


“Of course,” replied Opal. “The jammer is linked into the chute sensors. All interference with surface transmitters will be blamed on the magma flares.”

“Perfect,” said Cudgeon, his mouth twitching in what could almost be described as a smile. “I want you to disable all LEP weaponry now. No need to give Julius any advantages.”

When Koboi Laboratories had upgraded LEP weapons and transport, a tiny dot of solder had been included in each device. The solder was actually a mercury-glycerine solution that would detonate when a signal of the appropriate frequency was broadcast from the Koboi communications dish. LEP blasters would be useless, and the B’wa Kell would be armed to the teeth with softnose lasers.

“Consider it done,” said Opal. “Are you certain Root won’t be returning? He could upset our entire plan.”

Cudgeon polished the Redboy on the leg of his uniform. “Don’t fret, my dear. Julius won’t be coming back. Now that I know where he’s going, I’ll arrange for a little welcome party. I’m certain our scaly friends will be only too eager to oblige.”

The funny thing was that Briar Cudgeon didn’t even like goblins. In fact he detested them. They made his skin crawl with their reptilian ways—their gas-burner breath, their lidless eyes, and their constantly darting forked tongues.

But they did supply a certain something that Cudgeon needed: dumb muscle.

For centuries the B’wa Kell triad had skulked around Haven’s borders, vandalizing what they couldn’t steal and fleecing any tourists stupid enough to stray off the beaten path. But they were never really any threat to society. Whenever they got too cheeky, Commander Root would send a team into the tunnels to flush out the culprits.

One evening a disguised Briar Cudgeon strolled into The Second Skin, a notorious B’wa Kell hangout, plonked an attaché case of gold ingots on the bar, and said: “I want to talk to the triad.”

Cudgeon was searched and blindfolded by several of the club’s bouncers. When the hood came off his face, Cudgeon was in a damp warehouse, its walls lined with creeping moss. Three elderly goblins were seated across the table from him. He recognized them from their mug shots:Scalene, Sputa, and Phlebum. The Triad old guard.

The gift of gold, and the promise of more was enough to pique their curiosity. His first utterance was carefully planned.

“Ah, Generals, I am honored that you greet me in person.”

The goblins puffed their wrinkled old chests proudly. Generals? The rest of Cudgeon’s patter was equally smooth. They would organize the B’wa Kell, streamline it, and most importantly arm it. Then, when the time was right, they would rise up and overthrow the Council and their lackeys, the LEP. Cudgeon promised that his first act as governor general would be to free all the goblin prisoners in Howler’s Peak. It didn’t hurt that he subtly laced his speech with hints of the hypnotic mesmer.

It was an offer the goblins could not refuse: gold, weapons, freedom for their brothers, and of course a chance to crush the hated LEP.

It never occurred to the B’wa Kell that Cudgeon could betray them just as easily as he had the LEP. They were dumb as stink worms and twice as shortsighted.

Cudgeon met with General Scalene, in a secret chamber beneath the Koboi labs. He was in a foul mood following Luc’s failure to put a scratch on any of his enemies. But there was always plan B. The B’wa Kell were always eager to kill someone. It didn’t really matter who.

The goblin was excited, thirsty for blood. He panted blue flames like a broken heater. “When do we go to war, Cudgeon? Tell us, when?” The elf kept his distance. He dreamed of the day when these stupid creatures were no longer necessary. “Soon, General Scalene. Very soon. But first I need a favor. It concerns Commander Root.” The goblin’s yellow eyes narrowed. “Root? The hated one. Can we kill him? Can we crack his skull and fry his brains?” Cudgeon smiled magnanimously.“Certainly, General. All of these things. Once Root is dead, the city will fall easily.” The goblin was bobbing now, loping with excitement. “Where is he? Where is Root?” “I don’t know,” Cudgeon admitted. “But I know where he will be in six hours.” “Where? Tell me, elf?” Cudgeon heaved a large case onto the table. It con

tained four pairs of Koboi DoubleDex. “Chute ninety-three. Take these, send your best hit squad. And tell them to wrap up warm.”





Chute 93