Chapter 1 - Chapter One



    Footbomb coaches were some of the biggest whiners in the sport. Even those coaches with the best win records were the first to complain and shout for every snag and hitch in a system.

    Launchers were 2% slower than normal? Treads had a 1% suboptimal grip on rain-wet grass and turf? Three more dents than normal in an otherwise pristine chassis?

    Regardless of the issue, it was always a conspiracy by rival teams to steal a win that they didn’t deserve.

    It was so common a concern that Beque often felt her mind wandering off when she described the damages that needed repair at her shop. She usually did a good job of looking the part of the attentive mechanic, but some coaches…

    “Hey doll!” Coach Wiznik said as he snapped his fingers in front of Beque’s face, “Are ya listening to me?!”

    Oh no, Beque thought as she returned to the here and now, you don’t snap at me like a dog!

    The Engineer frowned and jabbed her fingers into Coach Wiznik's chest. The footbomb coach staggered back until he slapped against the wall. The large-eared man huffed and puffed as Beque closed the distance between them.

    “Look pal! I’ve been listenin’ to ya rant for over twenty minutes! Time I could be using to get your team back on the field in time for the game. I don’t care if ya think Bilgewater is cheating, I wanna do my job!” Beque said.

    The coach blinked and pressed a palm over his heart.

    “Well...listen doll I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I was just…” Wiznik said.

    Beque shook her head. “No, you weren’t just doing anything. But snapping your finger like I’m a puppy. I’m a great engineer and I’ll get your suits up and running for the game. But I can’t work if you’re blabbing off at me instead. Get it!”

    Coach Wiznik’s eyes were wide open as Beque scolded him. The hand on his chest closed, squeezing and crumpling the team jersey he wore. His ears flicked and bobbed as he wagged his head side to side, while a red blush covered the goblin’s cheeks. His chest rose and fell from quickening gasps and puffs of air.

    “Well?” Beque asked after a moment.

    “Well…” Coach Wiznik said, “Guess I’ll leave ya to it. The Steamwheedle Sharks thank ya doll and..”

    Beque had already stopped listening. 

As far as she was concerned, she had a job to do. And one cranky jerk wasn’t going to get in the way.

Beque turned on her heels then walked into her garage to get back to work. She ignored the coach's rambling stuttering attempts to explain himself since it was hardly important. Coaches were always the biggest whiners.

But such frustrations were forgotten the moment she grabbed her big work wrench and slid beneath the first of the row of shredders. The music playing from a nearby radio was replaced by the tinking and banging of tools and steel. The smell of greasy food and Kaja-Cola that was such a big part of Kezan was overwhelmed by the comfortable familiar smell of engine grease and oil.

This was her element. This was where Beque could almost feel complete.

Minutes turned to hours as she worked. 

Nuts and bolts were tightened. Loose and broken parts were replaced. She even managed to pop dents when she could. It was a small wonder that the goblin could work so diligently and quickly until one noticed the focus in her eyes.

Like most goblins, Beque had a laser focus on the task at hand. When she took on a job she was proud of, there was nothing else that mattered. The world just seemed to melt away as her eyes were dead set on whatever problems she had in front of her.

That focus is probably why the goblin squeaked when she felt a hand grab her shoulder.

Beque whirled around with her wrench held up high. But she paused in mid-motion when she noticed the garish purple-pink hat and the big nasty greasy smile that owned the hat.

“Whoa whoa lady, don’t hit the boss. Might look bad on your annual review.”

Beque choked back the sigh she felt. No one liked talking with Trade Prince Gallywix. But he was the boss and so she had to be polite.

“Trade Prince Gallywix. What do I owe the honor?” Beque said as she felt bile rising to her throat. She sincerely hated the man.

Gallywix smiled a big wide smile that was filled with something between malice, mischief, and threat. It was the kind of smile that Beque had often seen in gang leaders when they were roughing up debtors down in Drudgetown. It was the smile of a predator who thought he had everything well in hand long before he even said a word.

“Well, my dear little mechanic, a little birdy told me that you was hired to fix up the Steamwheedle Sharks shredders for the big game.” Gallywix said.

Oh no, here it comes, Beque thought.

“Yeah. So?” Beque said hoping that her playing dumb would somehow convince Gallywix to go away.

“Well,” Gallywix said, “since you’re working on these shredders, I have a little proposition for ya.”

Beque lowered her wrench and leaned it against the nearest shredder. She then crossed her arms beneath her chest. 

She sucked in her teeth and flatly said, “No.”

“No?” Gallywix said, “Ya haven’t even heard my offer!”

“I’m not sabotaging the footbomb shredders. If the Buccaneers are gonna win, they’re gonna do it right! And I”m not putting my reputation on the line for…”

Gallywix raised a hand and pinched his fingers together in a shushing motion.

“Look toots, be quiet for five minutes and let me finish. Cause I respect ya, I really do. Lady mechanics are a rarity and you? You are one of the best.” Gallywix said.

Oh Gob, stop. Beque thought Before I forget you’re paying me and hit you with this wrench.

Beque resisted the urge to retort and motioned for the boss to continue.

Gallywix tugged on his coat and smiled. Men like him loved thinking they were in control. And sadly, Gallywix had enough macaroons that he usually was.

“Good. So, what I was saying is that I got some extra shredders nearby that just need some weapons installed. Got word that something big is coming to Kezan and I wanna protect our investment. But here’s the thing…” Gallywix leaned over and whispered, “...I got a feelin’ that someone’s trying to take over. So I can’t use my boys in case they got a spy. I figure a Bilgewater goblin I can trust can install the weapons for us instead. That’s where you come in.”

Beque narrowed her eyes.

She had no real issues with the offer on the table. Providing more defense to Kezan and the Undermine seemed like a worthy goal and well worth her time. And protecting his investments was just in character enough for Gallywix that she had no reason to suspect anything.

But that was the issue. The offer seemed to clean cut. Gallywix was infamous around the Trade Coalition as being a snake. He always played with his cards close to the chest and always seemed to know what the next three cards were. And the way he pitched the offer, as being for Kezan's defense, seemed to tailor made to get her to go along with it, no questions asked.

What’s your game, Gallywix? Beque wondered.

“So…” Beque said, “...you want me to install these weapons when I’m done with this job? What do I get out of it?”

Gallywix smiled and clapped his palms together.

“Glad ya asked, babe. If you take this job on and do it right, I’ll pay you your wages for a last minute job and then double it. All you gotta do is do the job and keep it quiet. No one can know. Not your family. Not your lover or lovers. Not even your pets if ya got ‘em.”

Ok, that’s a red flag, Beque thought.

“So what do ya say, honey?” Gallywix said. “Scratch my chin and I’ll scratch yours?”

Beque felt so much bile rising when he said that. But still…

“Alright, how soon do ya need them? I’ll send my bill over when I figure out how much work’s involved.” Beque said.

“Annotated and…” Gallywix said.

“...yeah yeah, annotated and itemized. I know it goes. And I’ll double the rate as we agreed.” Beque said.
Gallywix smiled a wide smile. The predatorial glint in his eye returned as he flashed a row of pearly white shark-like teeth. The Trade Prince clapped his wide palms together and rubbed them together as he spoke.

“Great! I knew you were the poifect mechanic to ask. Now remember, mum’s the word. The shredders are in a warehouse on the upper level, two blocks north of Drudgetown. I got a couple boys that will let ya in if you tell them that ‘Good Ol’ Jastor’ sent ya.”

He reached a hand towards Beque and wiggled his fingers like rubbery sausages. Beque sighed and took his hand and gave it a firm shake.