"See dis, Blaga?" said Bomma to the mek. He pulled the object he
had found out from his pocket. It was a round shiny piece of
metal with a red button on it.
"Ar, dis a fine 'un," commented Blaga as he took it into his
hands. He turned it around and inspected its surface. He
smelled it and rubbed his dirty hands all over it.
"Shark it," said Bomma. He made a shaking motion with his hands.
The mekboy lifted it high and shook it violently; a small but
irritating rattling sound could be heard. He paused, then shook
it again. More rattling.
"Dis 'ere, yer find it where?" queried the mekboy.
"Over in der desert," replied the unsure ork.
His face showed a trace of suspicion as he was sure that the mek
would want to keep it. "Listen 'ere," he continued, "dis fing
is mine. Don' be a grabbin' morka like dat Morgo, de git who
stole me shoota an' busted der shootin' gubbins."
"Har, relax there ork!" replied Blaga. "I don't want dis, got it?"
Bomma shook his head and pried the device from the mek's hands.
He turned and walked out of the shack.
A few minutes later he was in the dusty tavern owned by his old
battle mate Skragja. He sat on his usual barrel and asked for
a mug of fungus bile. Soon he was drinking it, and Skragja was
sitting opposite him.
"Oy Bomma, gots more teef ter give me?" said Skragja jokingly.
"Take a looker dis," replied Bomma and he pulled the same shiny
sphere from his pocket. He lifted it into the light and shook
it so the small rattling could be heard, like a Kannonshell
on the floor of a Trukk on a bumpy ride. Only quieter.
Skragja inspected it silently and ran his fingers along it.
He sniffed it and handed it back to Bomma.
"Never seen da likes o' onna dese," he said.
Bomma finished his drink and left.
He walked into the large scrap-built house of Gargra, one
of the toughest orks in Mektown and an ally of Bomma's mob's
boss. He nodded to the guards and climbed the ladder into
the main room. Gargra was sitting on a bench, in the middle
of consuming a pile of sweet-crunch squigs. Bomma sat in
a chair.
"Yer's a boy o' Groga's, ain'tcher?" asked Gargra.
"Yus, guv. 'Is prime fighta, says 'e," replied Bomma.
"Thats good, Bommer. Yer wanta talk ter me?"
"Yus again. Me finds dis 'ere in der desert near Akgrag's
Strong'old. No one knows wot it is, but de fing looks valu-ble
an' der gubbins makes a clankin' sound. Yer evva seen one like
dis?"
The old ork studied it. He brought it close to his eye and
inspected it close-up. He then muttered something and put
it on the table. It rolled a bit and he put his hand on it
to stop it. He let go and it rolled off the table and onto
the floor. In anger, he smacked the servant grot upside the
head and cursed at him.
"Pick dat up, grot," he said. He then talked to Bomma a bit
about what the object might be. The grot walked over to the other
side of the room and sat down. He ran his fingers along the shiny
surface of the object, and squeezed it in his hand. He felt the
button.
Shaka walked along the crowded main avenue of mektown, and pushed
a smaller ork out of the way. He was in a hurry to get to the
mob's hideout, because Nazgarg had called a meeting. Zog that ork,
he thought, and he felt angry at Brug for not telling him earlier.
He walked a bit faster, and knocked a grot into a pile of squig
dung. He chuckled, and thought about the time when he had ---
BLAM! --- he was knocked over by a blast. A loud boom echoed
through the streets. He looked up, and then right and saw a large
metal house with the second floor blown out. A trail of smoke
poured out. From the first-floor doorway ran three orks, and he
recognised that blasted git Bomma. His shirt was on fire and
he was rolling in the sand, all the while cursing some unnamed
grot. Shaka wondered what he meant for a moment, but then
continued on towards his destination.
End.
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