LIGHTNOVELONLINE Chapter 1 - Publicity Stunt
“She is not hatched.”
“She is grown too large.”
“We will die as she slumbers.”
“Our magic cannot reach her. Our prayers go unheard.”
“But our magic can reach worlds unknown.”
“We have tried that before.”
“We must find one who can reach her for us.”
“Call them here.”
“Will it succeed this time?”
“We must try.”
Chapter 1 - Publicity Stunt
“Ignition - go flight. Navigation - go flight. Operations - go flight.”
I’d waited my whole life for this moment. Six years of college, two masters degrees in aviation and engineering, and everything almost derailed by a truck accident in university. I glanced down at the twin prosthetics attached below the knees of my space suit. After the accident, I thought I would only ever build rockets. Now, thanks to the CEO of Project NuEarth drunkenly exposing himself to twenty-million followers on social media, I was a much-needed PR win in the making. I was three days away from being the first person without legs to walk on the moon.
I’ll take it. Thank God for publicity stunts.
“Primary ignition on. Transferring primary control to atmospheric NAV computer. All systems go flight, people. Luna 2 is TACAMO.”
The rocket started to rumble to life underneath me as the primary motor kicked on. I looked to my left and right as the roar mounted. My mission commander, Major Dave Sanders, and the backup pilot, Sandra Davis (I know, trust me, they’ve heard it all), gripped their restraints as well. Dave looked over and met my gaze.
“Let’s hope this bucket you designed doesn’t spring a leak halfway to LP1, eh Chris?” called Dave over the rolling thunder of 22 independent rocket motors. He grinned. I’d known him even before I worked to design the self-sustained command module for NuEarth’s second manned moon mission. Hell, he’d recruited me from grad school and fought for me to receive astronaut training even after the accident.
I laughed. “The SC-Mod is golden, sir. As long as the first and second stages separate without a hitch, ain’t nothin’ keeping me off that moon dust by Friday.”
“Keep your legs on,” shouted Sandra. Her voice came through tinny over the internal radio. She reached out and gripped my space suit. I looked over, and she smiled. “You made it, Chris.”
I felt a push against my chair as the motors opened up and the monolithic rocket began to move.
“Liftoff!”
“We’re not there yet,” I shouted. “But we’re on our way!” My knuckles tightened on my own restraints. Laughing was a struggle as the G-forces mounted. I’d trained for this in the centrifuge. Ironically, I had even better G-force tolerances than most of the other astronauts at NuEarth, since my blood could no longer go past my knees. But the pressure still squeezes the air out of your lungs like a whoopee cushion.
The tone of the motors started to change.
“Approaching first-stage separation,” gasped Dave.
“Acknowledged, first-stage separation,” said Sandra.
A vibration started to mount. I narrowed my eyes, trying to think what a vibration at this stage entailed.
The radio crackled in my ear. “Luna 2, nothing to worry about, but you might start feeling some shakes. We’re picking up a slight variance in the first-stage separators. Nothing to worry about, well within toler—”
* * *
I lay on my back, staring up at the sky—or rather, staring up at a box super-imposed on the sun. Too blurry and bright to read, I reached up and pawed at it before suddenly freezing. My vision might have been blurry, but I’m pretty sure my hand only had four fingers, was about half the length as usual, and blue.
I lurched to a sitting position, groaning and putting both hands to my head. I squeezed my eyes shut. My head felt huge, and every cubic centimeter of it throbbed. What had happened? I was on my way to the moon. My dream come true, finally. After years and years of hard work (and maybe a few nights of drunken debauchery). Then there was a slight variance, and then… what?
I forced my eyes open long enough to adjust to the light. I wiped gunk out of them with my claws (claws?!?) and tried to focus on the box that had stayed front and center in my field of view.
“What the hell? A new life? Hold up, what was wrong with my last one?”
The window changed.
“Yes. Definitely.”
The window expanded, this time, showing a bird’s eye view of a rocket leaving the pad on a trail of exhaust, cruising into the upper atmosphere, and then exploding in a giant fireball.
“Oh…” I said.
We’d Challengered ourselves. Didn’t even make it to the thermosphere. Friggen’ first stage goons. Well within tolerance my new little blue butt. Still. I looked at my hands, and then the window again. Goblin King, huh?
“Simulation theory confirmed, I guess?” I shook my head. “Yeah, lay it on me.”
Tribe size: 1
Primary Skills
Head of the Snake - You cannot die unless you are the last living member of your tribe. Lethal damage will automatically transfer to a random member of your tribe.
Undying Loyalty - All goblins will exhibit absolute devotion upon meeting you. Defeating a rival Goblin King will transfer his subjects to your tribe.
Without Number - Expanding your tribe will unlock additional benefits
Tribal Knowledge - Practical Skills and technology unlocked will transfer to all members of your tribe.
Natural Leader - Increasing your tribe size will unlock additional benefits.
Goblin Ingenuity - You have been granted access to alternate advancement path: Goblin Technology Tree.
Reduced Mobility - You are ambulatorily challenged. Kings don’t walk anyway.>
Ambulatorily challenged? My eyes went wide at that last one. I looked down at my legs—which ended in two stubby knobs just below the knees.
“Oh, come on!” I shouted across the plain. Granted a new life in a new world (simulation?), in an entirely new body, and I was still friggen’ legless!
It hadn’t even been congenital in my last life. I’d lost my legs in a motorcycle accident when a truck driver blew a red light. This seemed really, really unfair. I sighed. Well, it’s not like I was any worse off. Also, I was alive. And since I didn’t see Davis or Sandra anywhere, I had to assume I was the only one of the three that had been plucked from Earth and put… wherever this was. The wide, grass prairie stretched out as far as I could see. But about forty degrees above the horizon…
“Woah… close the window for a second.”
The box faded out, and I got a look at the biggest moon ever glowing above me. It took up at least a tenth of the sky, at minimum. It was pale blue, veined with pink minerals, and gigantic. I’m pretty sure I could see forests on it! And even a sea of cerulean waves.
I looked up at it, mouth agape, stunned as it shimmered in the morning sky. I don’t know how long I watched it. But I looked down at my legs. If I did it once.
“Tell me about the Goblin Technology Tree.”
The window returned.
I looked around, seeing a couple stones. Shale, I think. Though since I’d always been more interested in space, terrestrial geology was never really my thing. But engineering…? I picked one up and banged it against another until I’d chipped away enough to have a workable edge, hissing as I cut myself on a shard. Red blood trickled off my thumb.
A stone knife—or stabby, as the System dubbed it. Basically, the most primitive tool ever manufactured. I looked at the crude, dirty edge that would probably take five minutes to saw through a piece of 550-cord. I looked up at the sky. I pointed my hand like a rocket and made a whooshing noise as I lifted it above the horizon and centered it over the blue and pink moon. This world’s moon looked a lot closer than the 250,000 miles thereabouts of the moon of Earth. Gears started to turn in my head. Was it possible? Could I really speed-run through six thousand years of human development based on nothing but engineering know-how, half-remembered survival shows, and a dubious, goblinized technical library waiting to be discovered?
Hell yeah, I could. Death be damned. I was still going to the moon.