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Carelessness in the alleys of Five Fingers could mean a quick, bloody death, thieves, prostitutes; hawkers for illegal games abound on the streets. Duels erupted regularly from the bars. A man, hooded and cloaked to conceal his face, looked about and moved into the teaming nightlife of the city.
 
In the merchant quarter there was only one business was open, its windows ablaze with light. The clank of machinery, the hiss of the steam engines, the causal calls between the workers, could be heard from the street. The man paused taking in the sight, and moved to the door. The watchman at the front area looked up and nodded to the hooded man. Once inside, the man removed his hood and breathed easy for the first time.
 
A door opened, a small green goblin, or gobber as they preferred to be called, waddled out. He wore a small hat, towards the back of his head, with his huge ears poking out around it. ”Bought time you got here. We have had all sorts of setbacks today, not enough workers, one of our best bodgers is all racked up from last night’s fracas with the boiler on that new prototype we got.” He grumbled around his cigar. The man regarded the other with amusement.

“You break anything?” The gobber glared and pointed a finger, “Just because you are nominally in charge of this place, doesn’t mean you don’t pull your weight Doyle.” Doyle McBain regarded his partner, Pogo, and then asked, “Got anyone in mind for a replacement?” A sly look came over Pogo’s face, “Well I might at that, my sister has been at me to give my nephew a job. He has the family knack for throwing stuff together and making it work. His name is Clank.”

“Well bring him in and we will talk to him.” Doyle looked at Pogo sharply. “Or is he already here?” Pogo looked sheepish. “I wanted to see if he had any talent at all. He hasn’t mucked anything up yet.” Doyle scowled. Pogo waved his hands with a placating gesture, “Don’t worry, leave it all to me.” Doyle snickered. “That IS what I worry about.” He laughed at Pogo’s dark look. “Well bring him in. I haven’t got all night.” The gobber hopped down and scurried over to the door.

“CLANK!!” he shouted through a trumpet like contraption. The room was filled with an ominous rumble and then the mouthpiece spat out some smoke. Pogo started to cough and then looked behind him, “I am still making adjustments.” Doyle rolled his eyes and waved the smoke out of his eyes.

A small gobber appeared at the door. “You called, Uncle Pogo?” the youngster squeaked. His eyes darted around the room and he spotted Doyle. His eyes widened in recognition. “Uncle Pogo, its…its…the Black Dragon of Ord!” Doyle, served the Ordic military as its only warcaster, was known as the Black Dragon, in part due to his personal warjack, the Black Drake. Pogo’s scowled at Doyle, “Sure, you get all the glory and I do all the work.” “Anytime you want out on the battlefield….” Doyle waived him on. “Well, err, it’s good to be in the back.” Doyle laughed at the elder gobber’s discomfort. He turned to the eager Clank. “So you can bodge?” “Oh yes sir, I’ve made all kinds of wonderful things, with just the scraps Uncle Pogo brings home.” Doyle’s eyes narrowed, “Scraps, eh?” “Ehem, Clank, lets go into the shop and see what you can do.” Pogo said hurriedly.

The mechanic’s shop at D&P was a wonder to behold. Huge machine of all type were in various states of repair or being assembled. Steam belched from the furnaces that heated the molten metal. Gobbers swarmed in the shop, tapping here, twisting there, all intent on the work at hand. In various bays of the shop huge mechanical ‘jacks were being assembled. One of the foremen spied Pogo.

“Sir, we are almost ready to try the new prototype.” He said proudly. Pogo looked at Doyle, “Do you want the honors?” he indicated the awaiting ‘jack. Doyle looked up the hulking machine and shrugged. “Been tested at all?” Pogo squinted at the jack and shrugged. “It’s been a little touchy, I think the cortex might be fragged.”

Doyle squinted and then began to concentrate. A gobber hurried forward to check if the steam engine was holding steady and looked about nervously. “Errr, are you sure about this?” he asked. Pogo nodded. The other gobber glanced around and reached up, flipped a switch and promptly dove for cover. The eyes of the ‘jack began to glow red, indicating a connection to the warcaster. Doyle gestured and the huge machine began to move. As it turned about, a slight whirring could be heard. Doyle looked over at Pogo with a question. Pogo waved him off, “Slight adjustment needed, take it for a spin.”

At the machine’s movement, Doyle’s eyes widened and he began to grin. Suddenly, the machine leaped in the air and landed several feet away. The mechanics and bodgers that watched the field test began backing away hurriedly. The noise of the chassis was deafening as the machine ran forward. With no warning, a terrific noise erupted from inside the machine as it raised its arms and pointed its gun. Any remaining bravery the gobbers mustered to this point vanished as the gun fired. The arm jerked back and the gun erupted in flame. Flying shrapnel filled the air as the gun exploded.

Doyle needed all of his focus to keep the machine from running off on him. The cortex felt different, and he strained to issue commands to the warjack. He was so focused he did not see the huge gear flying at him. With a flash of green, Pogo flew across the staging area, to shove Doyle out of harms way. The collision, combined with the backlash of the gun exploding sent them flying. Doyle knew no more as his head collided with the wall.

The remaining participants looked on in dawning horror as they saw the warcaster fall. All eyes turned to the prototype expecting it to fall inert. To everyone’s dismay the warjack remained active. The last command it received was to run and fire upon the designated target. It wheeled about and stormed down the length of the bay. Humans and gobbers alike watched with stunned awe as the warjack continued on it course, through the wall of the bay and out into the night.

To be continued...