The liquid inside the skin was water. It tasted clean and fresh. The ax was a little light, and its head was small for my taste, but it was many times better than the rock I’d been carrying around. I almost felt bad for taking them.
The goblin owner would wake up and wonder who’d done it. He wouldn't suspect me, but if he was the typical intelligent kind of creature, he’d think one of his own species had stolen it from him. There’d probably be a fight. I hoped I wouldn’t miss it. Watching how they fought would give me valuable insight. Plus, with their long, skinny arms, it would probably make for a good laugh.
I continued my sneaky trek around the town and through the trees until I found the source of the smoke: a long, tall, gray industrial building with two big smokestacks towering high into the air. This one was different from the little huts the aliens were using for shelter. It looked constructed of red concrete and almost blended into the surroundings. I was far enough away that it was difficult to determine how tall it might be, but my best guess was 20 yards and at least that wide but three or four times as long.
Some of the goblins were carting piles of trash up to a conveyor on one end, which fed the material into the building. The smoke suggested that they were smelting the metal and burning everything else away. I scanned the building and its surroundings for elevated positions, lines of sight, and potential cover before examining the aliens, their clothing, their homes, and their trash. My best guess was that it was some kind of power plant or refinery, but there was no obvious indication of what they were making.
They could have been smelting the scrap back into raw material for someone else to use, which would suggest a commerce system. It could be simple bartering or as expansive as the Federation’s banking and market system back home. I needed to learn more.
I began stalking further along the edge of the town. The darkness kept my shape hidden in the huge trees and random pieces of garbage around me.
The buildings abruptly stopped and opened into a large, semi-circle area dotted with strange contraptions. Most were constructed with scraps, like the aliens used to build their houses. Others were built with roughly hewn sections of wood, probably sourced from the immediate jungle.
The purpose of the contraptions wasn’t a mystery. They were torture devices. There were cages, stretching machines, and several that resembled stocks. Several stumps near the center of the clearing were obviously used as chopping blocks for beheadings. The sight made my blood boil.
A new sound filled my ears, and I took cover in the trash-laden bush behind me. I waited, and the rattle of tinny drums grew louder. It was rhythmic and complicated.
In ones and twos, goblins began emerging from their homes. They huddled together, some quarreling over who was going to get the best spot to see what was coming next. As a whole, they held an air of intelligence and pride. I wondered how they’d react to seeing someone like me. I was at least three feet taller than any goblins in the town. I also weighed twice as much. They’d probably find me as freakish as I found them.
All eyes turned toward the sound of the drums as it became clearer which direction it was coming from. Two goblins pushed squeaky, metal carts with wobbly wheels. Two others beat on round scraps of metal, creating the drumming sound. Four others looked and acted like hard-nosed guards, while two more held an unusually tall goblin, skinnier than any I’d seen before. It was dressed in a loin cloth and grinned stupidly at the onlookers and guards alike.
The two guards on the outside held rifles, while the two holding onto their prisoner carried spears. Behind them, a fat one was being carried by six other goblins. It was the only goblin wearing anything on its bald head. What it wore resembled a garish crown of many colors, complete with feathers and baubles probably made of broken glass. A small animal’s skull dangled in the back like it was interested in where they’d just come from.
The one that intrigued me most was the prisoner. The guards ignored it. The spectators only stared. It, however, continued to smile, utter small yipping noises, and make a general nuisance of itself. I wondered if it was drunk, or, worse, if it had been drugged by its captors. It continued to make the sounds, and I wondered if it was laughing.
A shadow passed over me, causing me to duck further into the bush. It was followed by two, then three, more. I looked up to the sooty sky above the clearing and spotted several large bird-like creatures with oily-black feathers. They began circling the clearing far above. I could hear their screeching noises and understood their nature. They were preparing to feed. It wasn’t the first time they’d heard the drums. They knew what was coming.
The worst part of the situation was the silence. Once the drums stopped, none of the goblins made a sound. No coughs. No sniffles. Not even a fart. It was as if what was about to happen was either too terrifying or too solemn to speak.
The two guards with rifles walked toward one of the cages and peered inside. I hadn’t noticed the body before—or what was left of it. The goblins, apparently, had thin bones, and the ones in the cage had been picked clean. I glanced toward the birds and didn’t need to guess how it had happened. They were still circling but were much lower—no more than 20 yards up in the air. I could hear the flapping of their wings and could see the sparkle from their tiny, black eyes. Their long necks and short, hooked beaks
