Moon Moles

Oh just wait till I finally catch you…
You good for nothing, nose-clogging, piece of runny gravel shit! I’m going to incinerate you dead!

“Bwahahaha, doing bad things is fun,” Little Mole chortled, his heavy slingbag bobbing with each laugh. Lunarite coils, moonolium shards, basalt, craterstone, and even blacksmith Moleworth’s ultra precious artemis ingots mysteriously found themselves in the possession of this master thief. His tall, broad frame and muscley limbs allowed him to dig deeper and quicker than anyone else. That physical prodigiousness made him ungovernable; you ask any mole and they’d tell you:

Little Mole (or LM, as other delinquents affectionately called him) does what he wants, whenever he wants, and leaves you only what he thinks is too boring to steal. That boy doesn’t listen to anybody.

This is only a half truth. This kleptomaniac really doesn’t give a mole’s hole about listening to anyone, except one certain individual. A misunderstood genius for whose sake LM was excitedly pawing away mounds of dirt, racing to their secret fortress. After every heist, he effortlessly burrowed a new tunnel that zigzagged much higher or lower than the usual shafts that the hundreds of other moles in their community used to traverse their dark, tiny world. LM soon emerged in their hideout.

“Biggie! Guess who’s got the stuffs?”

Biggie, startled, dropped the stone screwdriver he was just using to bolt his masterpiece.

“Bwahaha it’s ME Biggie. I’m the one who’s got all the stuffs!”

“My my, what a delightful progress report,” Big Mole remarked while shuffling closer to LM.

This subtle move was a necessity, as Big Mole severely lacked LM’s physical robustness. All his life, Big Mole was jeered for his diminutive stature. Many moles mocked his tinier-than-pebbles paws, and his piss poor hearing, and some even took advantage of his underdeveloped sense of smell.

Come here Big Mole, have a taste of our juicy moon-worm pie, they would yell out to him. Only after taking a bite, spitting, retching, would he realize that they had actually fed him soggy fungus. The only mole that did not wield his epithet against him as a cruel joke was LM, who actually thought of Big Mole as an older brother.

After gleefully inspecting their haul, Biggie gestured at LM to lug the bag over to the center of the cave. A slightly crooked, rocky cone about 7 moles tall towered before them, its tip touching the ceiling. LM handed Biggie the components he asked for, which the engineer would then precisely fit using his long paw nails and remarkable dexterity.

“Absolutely splendid. Binding this moonolium along our newly coiled ridges will give us torque AND mechanical adhesion.”

“That sounds bad bad bad. Hell yeah!”

“I feel the same, LM. Our drill will be complete in but a few hours, and then we will be able to go where no mole has been bad enough to venture.”

LM did not care about their final destination as much as Biggie did. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, but Biggie had. For a very long time, most of his life actually, he had dreamed of living in a world where his impairments did not render him lesser. That determination fueled his tinkering.

I know. If I put my paws to use making tools for everyone, then they’ll accept me. I’ll craft this for her, and fashion that for them. If I devote the little strength I have then—

The other moles laughed at him. Spat at him for making silly toys to accomplish things they already could with their natural abilities.

I’ll show them…
transformed to
forget about those irredeemable troglodytes!

The next morning, Biggie frantically shook LM awake.

“I’ve done it. The greatest feat of mole engineering is finally complete!”

“Eh, so there’s really nothing better to steal?” LM yawned.

“Not down here, but I assure you that there will be a smörgåsbord of precious pretties to purloin once we ascend!”

“Like an all-you-can-steal buffet?”

“The very baddest buffet, my friend.”

“BWAHAHA! Let’s go right now!”

For months, Biggie had investigated the possibility of a long theorized “surface world”. He reviewed dozens of soil samples from higher and higher altitudes, ran endless calculations based on all known mole structures, and even, embarrassingly, prayed. He prayed and hoped so earnestly for some hypothetical world in which his impairments might not matter as much. Even if they did, at least the discovery of such a world would prove that those weaknesses were greatly outweighed by Biggie’s other gifts. Once his conviction was whole, he knew he would need a contraption to ferry them to the surface. And since that contraption now stood before them, all that was left was “to simply ascend.”