Ogreness, Black Lake-book5

Chapter 31
~

Papa met me in the tiny Black Lake terminal. He didn’t rise when I rolled my carryon toward him, so I sat my butt in the seat next to him.

And waited.

“Want to apologize,” he said.

I’d never, ever heard the word apologize come from Papa’s face. Maybe any ogre’s face.

“I didn’t see what ya saw,” he said. “Ya scared me. To death. Watchin’ ya on TV, seein’ the disgust in yar eyes. Ya pretty much declared war.” I waited. “We’ve had peace for four hundred years.

“An armistice, is all,” I said.

“Wish we still had the dragons around to demand peace.” He still hadn’t looked across at me.

“This will be economic, not armed conflict.”

Then he pried a look down at me. Why am I so much shorter than him? I’ve seen those DNA kits advertised for sixty bucks. Could I talk him into lettin’ me swab the inside of his cheek?

“I’m not worried about our folk,” he said.

I waited.

“This will hurt them Northerners, bad. Can’t help the relationship. Can only get worse.”

“Or,” I said, “it wakes them up enough to realize maybe things have been a little lopsided.”

“I’ve worked with humans a long time,” he drawled, struggled a bit to swallow. “They call ogres stubborn, whereas we’re simply persistent. They can be inane.”

My own throat thickened a bit. “I hope yar words don’t prove to be, uh—” I couldn’t think of the right word.

“Prophetic?” he offered.

I told him I’d never give him that kind of credit. “I’ll accept, somewhat accurate.”

The terminal entrance sliders opened and a stream of ogres strode in, shoulders swayin’, fists clenched. Appeared to be the entire council, without the staff. Doke made his way to the front of the mob, face puckered up ready for his own war. Odd, considerin’ I already knew he supported bringin’ the trolls back to the Range.

Papa stood and held out his paw. “Steady, my friend.”

Doke never looked at Papa though. Kept his eyes on me as I stood.

“Give us yar thinkin’, son, and it better be good, or we’ll string ya from a tree.”

That was a pleasant hello.

“At least threaten to beat him first,” Papa said.

Doke ripped a mean look at him. “Those businesses that closed. Don’t have yar name on the window, but I know they’re yars. So ya’re puttin’ yar money where his mouth is. Ya trust him?”

“Clearly,” Papa said.

Mumbles rose among the other bulls. They sounded angry, but I’m no fool. I know there are few bulls in the Range as well respected as my papa. He was always the council’s choice for leader, but he turned it down, then made me take our clan’s leadership to force me onto the council. Doke had to know that if Papa challenged him, he wouldn’t get a single vote. He was there because Papa nominated and supported him.

The two glared at each other good, now though. In my mind, I sensed Papa tellin’ Doke with his steely eyes that it was time for Doke to give him some payback.

“We need to hear his plan,” mumbled from the pack.

Papa looked around. The terminal was pretty much empty, late on a Thursday night.

“Private enough,” Doke mumbled.

Pretty much spelled out he accepted, and welcomed my plan would reach North. So there would be a few things I’d have to share later, in private.

There wasn’t much more to say other than what I’d already shared in a couple interviews. I threw in a bunch of details as they occurred to me. I find I can think up some dandy things when I’m on my feet. Agreed the board of OI wouldn’t jump with joy over my recommendations and it would only happen if the council got behind me.

But no one could argue that shuttin’ down even one out of ten OI plants would destroy certain communities in the North. So I stressed it would be more reasonable at first to simply slow down output, shift to other facilities. If things didn’t improve, we could take harsher measures.

“Cost us money too,” someone groused.

My chest hummed. “Ya been watchin’ the news?” I shouted. “There ain’t no humans complainin’ about them rioters. They see us as deservin’ the ill treatment. When we helped industrialize the North. Mostly from the sweat of our troll cousins.

“I’ll give ya stats, of the giants gettin’ shot in what should be harmless traffic stops, young bulls standin’ up to bullies in bars.

“Ya travel up North, expect stares. Zug—” I thought of the Kevlar vest I left in Zug’s office. “Feared for my life, escorted by two troll officers, a few miles to police headquarters.

“Our brothers live in that environment every day. No one deserves—”

“Since when are them trolls our brothers,” a younger ogre shouted, steppin’ out of the crowd. He wore a sweatshirt with cut off sleeves. We ogres don’t have to spend time in the weight room to have bulgin’ muscles. To do so is a practice of vanity, but by the definition in the rocky edges in his arms, he spent a lot of time there. This guy wasn’t on the council. What was he doing here?

“They might not have been born in the Range, but they’re our folk,” I growled.

“Not my folk,” he shouted. “Ya shut down plants and the checks I get in the mail, depend upon, will dry up.”

Oh, he’d punched my one hot button. “Then ya should be workin’ for a livin’.” I prolly shouldn’t have said that out loud. I might be a little prejudiced myself against folk who rely solely on the dividends from their forefather’s hard work. Not a little prejudiced. A lot.

My papa’s hand pressed into my chest, which made me realize that odd vibration in an ogre’s chest that represents a challenge to the death was rattlin’ good.

The younger bull, a good two-heads taller than me, twice as wide, lurched into a sprint my way. Oops. My papa was steppin’ back, which if given enough time to think about it, I’d prolly consider that appropriate. But that moment, I wouldn’t have minded a little peace makin’ from him.

A fist the size of a twenty-pound sledge hammer head flew at my face. I clenched up enough to draw my boys inside, I know, but I found myself doing instinctively what I practice on the basketball court.

Like a dance move, I wrenched at the waist to my left just enough so that the fist flew over my shoulder. I continued to fade, and the mountain of an ogre passed me, at a good clip, feet risin’ from the floor, he’d swung so hard. No slowin’ down that momentum, when ya’re that topheavy.

That sledge hammer would have taken my head off.

I have an MBA and an MS in computer science. But I took some physics in high school. Remember it takes mass or inertia or something to stop a movin’ object, and this guy was a lot of movin’ object.

The cliché from old-time TV came to mind, it’s Superman, as I watched him floatin’ for the glass wall eight feet behind me, which he met with an explosion. Shards burst into a twenty-foot-wide bloom.

Wow.

After the last of the glass tinkled to the floor, I realized there wasn’t a sound to be heard. Bully-boy wasn’t gettin’ up, or even twitchin’. From where I stood, I didn’t see any blood. But that three-inch-thick glass had to have put a dent in his face, if nothing else.

“Whoa,” and “Wow,” echoed from behind me. “That had to hurt.” “He’ll never do that again.” “He musta hated his face.” “Should someone call an ambulance.” That kind of cracked me up. “Didn’t know an ogre could fly.” That one was good too.

A bunch of those panels they use in false ceilings fluttered to the floor. I think the whole building had rocked.

A crowd of employees, well, maybe three, gathered. They seemed more concerned about the damage to the facility than the muscled-up muck-muck layin’ in the glass. Half of him was spread out on the concrete concourse outside. I saw a foot twitch, so maybe he was alive.

I asked myself if I should go help him. Decided I’m not that charitable, and turned around to face the council. And almost laughed. Their expressions were great. A mix of shock and humility. Can an ogre even be humble? I considered slippin’ out my phone and takin’ a picture.

“Anyone have any other thoughts they want to share?” I asked.

Doke sighed deeply. “Be some more detail prolly. Expect the morning news to be rather harsh. Suggest ya bulls get some sleep.”

The mob turned and headed for the parkin’ lot. So I wasn’t the only one not overly worried about the musclehead layin’ on the floor behind me. I noted that airport security was on the scene now, talkin’ on their radios. They didn’t seem interested in why exactly the dude ended up halfway out of the building that way. I wasn’t in the mood to stick around and explain.

~ Nuel ~

Ezra peeked at her phone, and smiled.

Since her uncomfortable statement earlier, she’d returned to the kitchen to close up for the night, and had returned to sit with me again a few minutes ago. We had yet to speak. Did she hate me? Her cousin sure seems to, to disappear without telling me what was up.

“Yar Ike makes a splash wherever he goes,” she finally said.

“My Ike?” I blurted.

“He seems appropriately discombobulated around ya that he must have a crush going. He’s workin’ hard to put on an air of indifference.”

“What?”

“Seems he had something to do with an ogre bull flyin’ through a sheet of glass.”

“What?”

“The youngling is amazin’.” Ezra growled in a healthy ogre chuckle. “I love ’im. I know ya do too.”

“What?”

She looked at me knowingly, which is bizarre because there’s no way I even much care for the ridiculous, self-involved bull.

~