My Big Goblin Space Program - Chapter 67 – Fun with Homophones

Chapter 67 – Fun with Homophones

<6 hobgoblin scrappers have been added to your tribe.>

<5 hobgoblin wranglers have been added to your tribe.>

<2 noblin igni have been added to your tribe.>

<3 noblin canoneers have been added to your tribe.>

<1 noblin canoneer has been promoted to taskmaster.>

<Your tribe has increased to 226 members.>

<Unlocking noblin canoneers has automatically unlocked several technologies of the Goblin Tech Tree.>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Deification>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Idolotry>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Downy-scratchers>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Sequential scratchings>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Iconography>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked:…>

What the hell?

I groaned at the bright sunlight stabbing my retinas through the slit windows, already high in the sky, and rolled off the cuddle puddle. My mouth was dry and I was definitely not prepared for a deluge of System notifications. I dismissed them without reading most of them. The new noblins had come with some pretty bizarre technologies. I struggled to the nearest rain cistern and washed the fur out of my mouth, then stood under the water for a minute as the cool spray ran through my matted fur. This hangover wasn’t as bad as the times on Rava that I’d missed a full night of sleep. But it wasn’t far off.

When I turned around, I was surprised to see Sally, agitated and fidgeting, waiting for my attention. While technically verbal, my lead engineer almost never spoke. Once she was convinced she had got her point across, she turned and moved to the corner of the bluff where we’d made our first paper mill. She pointed at a blank spot on a table nearby and began to chitter.

I looked at her. “You… want another table?” I guessed.

She made a frustrated squawk and stamped her feet. I sighed. But I’d rarely seen the shy taskmaster so animated with me, so I concentrated.

“Something isn’t on the table that ought be?”

She waved her arms, and then made a square in the air, and then a crinkling noise as she balled her fists.

“Is this where you keep the paper?” I asked.

She nodded, exasperated.

“So, where’s all the paper gone?”

Sally howled, having finally gotten her point across. She turned and stamped off to another corner of the bluff where a trio of pot-bellied noblins were leaning over a work bench Dozens of discarded sheets of paper littered the ground around them, representing hours of work for Javier and his clothiers/paper makers.

“What’s all this?” I demanded.

The noblins looked up, blinked, and squinted at me.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Whossat?” one asked. “Issit morning already?”

“Your king,” I said.

One of the noblins sniffed. “Well I didn’t vote for ye!”

The largest one reached over and slapped the dissident, who squawked and acted appropriately chagrinned.

<Goblin Technology Restricted: Democracy>

<Goblin Technology Unlocked: Percussive reeducation>

“Sorrys ‘bout that, King. I’ll keep ‘im in line.” he squinted. “You sure you’re Apollo? I thought ye’d be bigger.”

I glanced at Sally, who practically vibrated with impatience.

“Look, I said. “I get that you guys are eager, but the engineers need paper, too. We’re working on engines, motors, and batteries today and we can’t scribble everything on bark.”

One of the noblins snorted. “What we’re workin on is way more great than whatever engines are, king!”

“Designs for new guns?”

“Wot? No! Way better.”

“Artillery? Missiles?”

“Nothing like that!”

I marched up to the table and pulled over one of the wide sheets of paper, looking at the noblin’s work.

“That’s not finished, boss!”

I squinted down at the page where rough squares had been drawn—in some sort of sticky ink. I didn’t even know we had ink. And inside the squares… “Are these… comics?” I asked.

“It’s Histry,” said the largest of the pack. Record of your kicking porkbelly butt wot at the battle of the bluff! How’s folk gonna remember it?”

“It was yesterday,” I said. I looked down at a crude drawing of a tall, muscled goblin atop a rough sloth. It was musclebound, with a large gun in each hand, and a crown. “Is this supposed to be me?” I asked. I shook my head. “I’m so confused. I thought you guys were supposed to be cannoneers, but you’ve got terrible eyesight and you’re sitting here making cartoons.”

“But this is your canon we’s workin’ on,” one of them protested. “I don’t see wot the problem is.”

“My… oh no. No, no, no.”

I walked away from the group. System!

<Awaiting query.>

Did you give me comic book nerd goblins?!

<Your selection of noblin canoneers was confirmed and granted.>

I tried to keep my teeth from grinding. Show me the details of the noblin canoneer.

<Noblin canoneer

Noblin – this advanced goblin variant is capable of speech and reaching level 6.

Short-sighted – Noblin canoneers cannot see far ahead.

Canon keeper – Noblins are skilled at keeping written records and maintaining information integrity. Note – conflicting canon can lead to strife within the tribe.

Porcine – Noblins consume an extra choom of food per day.

Scratchy specialist – Canoneers are exceptionally skilled at crafts involving writing or paper.

Codex Chaplains – Adding noblin canoneers to your tribe unlocks the Religion sub-tree of the Goblin Tech Tree and the Tribal Canon sub-system.

Big-mouthed – Canoneers are adept at negotiations and swaying the opinions of other goblins – often through sheer volume.>

I fell onto my backside, dizzy, and not just from the hangover. What had I done? The potential destructive force of firearms to the goblin species as bad enough, now I’d gone and given them religion! And judging by the comic panels squeezed in my hand, they were making me out to be some sort of war god. I felt sick.

System, can I go back and choose the partizans instead?

<All variant choices are permanent and binding.>

I rolled over, stomach heaving, and threw up.

When I looked up, Sally stood, little arms crossed and nose in the air. She sniffed loudly, and then stomped off. Couldn’t blame her. Alright. I guess we were doing this. Noblin canoneers were now and forever a permanent part of Tribe Apollo. Unless I had them all killed as soon as they were born, which was unconscionable. After all, I’d been raised Lutheran, and even though for many years I had no longer believed in an omniscient supreme being—ironic, I know—I was pretty sure murder still equalled bad. Especially when the canoneers hadn’t done anything wrong and it was my fault they were here. Unless…

System, did you take advantage of me while I was drunk and trick me?

<Denied. Timing of new variant selection was based on your victory over a formidable enemy and your inebriation was coincidental. Tip: large decisions made while intoxicated can lead to regret.>

No kidding. Not like it would have admitted it anyway. I should have known this all-powerful calculator with a penchant for puns would eventually pull something like this. Alright. Alright. Think, Apollo. This was happening, and it was time to adapt and iterate. I was witnessing the literal birth of the very concept of religion among a growing civilization whose primary means of communication had, up til now, been chirps, screams, and physical assault.

Maybe this wasn’t a disaster. Historically on Earth, religion had done just as much good as bad. Mesopotamian religions kept track of seasons, written records of crop yields, and animal husbandry guides. Christian Churches in Europe had been instrumental in the distribution of the printing press and increasing literacy rates. The Islamic Golden Age had given us algebra, astrophysics, and coffee.

God, I missed coffee.