Cetronia Strikes Back by Edward C Patterson

Author:Edward C Patterson [Patterson, Edward C]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dancaster Creative
Published: 2019-12-27T22:00:00+00:00

Episode Seven

Where Lord Belmundus surveys the battle; and lands squarely in the Banetuckle, to his great sadness

1

In all worlds, goals are adjusted on the fly as we digest the many fish which swim into our frying pans. Whales inspire lofty goals, while minnows, baby steps. Still, there is room for carp and swordfish and eels and such, making the end game quite unpredictable in the waves. The bar goes up — it goes down — it stays the same. The target moves, but the true archer, like the skilled anglers, follows the fletch with a keen eye and knows which bait to use.

2

Harris surveyed the situation from above the Kalugu’s rooftops. The Gananadana wavered as the Yunockers tried to bring it down, but its skin was impervious to aniniya fire — jupsim coated and freshly so. Still, Cosawta maneuvered to avoid being boarded or losing one of his passengers, who were not shielded from the regulati’s Sticks. Harris used his gespocular to assess the progress. He saw distant smoke and fire arising from Montjoy’s gates. He also saw black specks approaching — the Yunocker army’s full force. Below sprawled the Banetuckle’s twisted streets and alleys. Much activity quaked there — Cheowie and his squadrons fighting one on one with Yunockers, who had turned out for a routine reaptide, now transformed into a bloodbath.

Bing bong.

Harris opened his sillifoon. The thing had been quiet for some time. He wondered if it ceased operating.

“BeeDust here.”

“TossMe1,” came the reply.

Tosawa.

Harris looked to the walls. He saw Tosawa’s squadrons buzzing about the main gate and the parapets, dodging sharp spirals of the Yuyenihi. Yunockers fired at them, but the Seecoys were too fast and the regulati too stupid to see the full picture.

“I ken it, TossMe1.”

“The geese are stealing the eggs, BeeDust.”

“Get it in order and report back.”

“I ken it. Over and . . .”

Static.

Harris turned to Cosawta.

“These things aren’t worth a shit anymore.”

“It is to be expected when not strolling in the selu fields,” Cosawta replied. “Mine works fine when I fly high, but there are many variables between here and Cetronia. The branchy-wanchee is a fucking stopgap.” He shrugged. “What did you expect, Sisterfucker?”

Harris shook his head. He didn’t mind his brother-in-law’s coarse language, but this new nickname denigrated Littafulchee. Harris thought to take Cosawta to task, but then recalled more important things. Harris raised his sillifoon again.

“2Gollies. 2Gollies. Do you ken it?”

No answer. He shut his eyes.

“2Gollies. Shit. Little Bird, come in.”

No time now — no time for sorrow or regret. No time for mourning or worry. No time for speculation or remembrance. When war settles across the land, no time comes except the time to live or to die — considerations deferred to one or the other depending upon the outcome.

Harris scanned the Kalugu, and then pointed to the ground.

“Get us down, Cosawta,” he snapped. “Get us to where we can finish this thing.”

“Yes, my lord,” Cosawta said, bowing. “Your death is my command.” He laughed, and then looked to his bastard. “Detonto will watch your ass when your foot fails you.

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