When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell is cornered by Centurions in the furnace district and makes a desperate choice…he has to let himself be captured to find out where Simon and the others were taken. Meanwhile, Chuck’s crew barely escapes the Citadel with the President’s children but without Dax, who remains tagged and imprisoned. Höbin pulls off an audacious escape from the Fishis Archive Foundation hidden inside a delivery crate, blowing up the van on the way out. And Morty reveals his greatest breakthrough yet — a completed PROMIS device, powered by a Lanthya shard.

It was an intense chapter!!

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Chapter 88

“This is absolute rubbish,” Höbin grunted again.

“You keep saying that,” Morty snickered, “and yet you keep reading it.” He put the mini screwdriver between his teeth and twisted the cable cover into place. It was almost done. So close…so close.

The historian scratched his head vigorously. He’d been at it for hours since he’d gotten back, and his notes were scattered all over the desk and floor. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so frustrated. “The so-called facts that the FAF has gathered over time just don’t…add up.”

It wasn’t that Höbin was unorganized — no, it was the exact opposite. He was trying to follow the same systematic approach he’d always used to sift official documents, and it wasn’t working. The lists he’d copied from both the guilds and Morty’s individual genealogy charts were identical. At least that was confirmed.

Höbin knew he was on the right track…so what was going on?

“It’s like someone’s keeping two sets of notes,” he muttered. “One for the official collection, where we have to use time stamps…and the other with the actual personal information I’m looking for.” He huffed. “But that makes as much sense as a donkey in a dress. Why would someone care enough to adjust personal lines of achievement? Why alter the personal notes when you already have full credit in the official ones?”

Morty popped the cover into place and laughed to himself.

“This isn’t a laughing matter.”

“What? Oh — no, sorry,” the tinkerer said quickly. “That’s just me being excited. Not about your dilemma.” He set the cable down and stepped back to admire his handiwork. The PROMIS backup was finally ready for testing on a larger scale.

His cheeks actually hurt from smiling.

He’d been out of practice. But now it was time to let the joy overflow. For some strange reason, TGII had paved the way for success — and Morty was going to not only take each and every blessing offered…but be grateful for it all. Success was so close he could finally taste it.

He lifted his arms to his sides and stretched, yawning out loud.

“Stop that,” Höbin grumbled. “Your good mood is…annoying me.”

“Oh-HO!” Morty laughed. “Upset that I beat you?”

Höbin threw himself back in his chair and snorted. “We’re not in a race, you can’t—” He did a double take. “Wait. You’re done?”

Morty’s grin only grew wider. “I’m done. The device is complete, whole, intact…ready for full-scale testing.”

Höbin rose to his feet and waddled over. It really was a thing of beauty. Nearly eleven feet tall, Morty had kept the original cylinder design for the lenses — allowing the light to be magnified and converted into energy.

Höbin patted the giant tube with a gloved hand. “You think it’ll work? The entire grid is more than sixty thousand miles of cable, you know. Plus, you don’t know what will happen once you start pumping juice into the system.”

Morty appreciated intelligent conversation. Even though Höbin was a fishis and not a tinkerer, he had a keen mind and comprehended things outside the box as a matter of habit. It wasn’t hard for the historian’s imagination to stretch and accept something new — something unique or original. The foundation of a tinkerer. He couldn’t help but admire that in the cyborg.

“I believe,” Morty said, “with the right power source, I can generate enough juice to make a serious dent in the electrical grid. As for what will actually happen when the power sources collide, well…” He shrugged. He had no clue. That was alright. One problem at a time.

“Will anyone notice the drain from the grid?” Höbin walked around the circumference of the device, counting the cables. “I’m assuming here that the shift between energy sources won’t be instantaneous.” He paused, staring at the cables on the floor. “You don’t…have it all plugged in.”

“No, not yet,” Morty said. “I need to run the final tests before I attempt the actual connection — just in case I missed something.”

The fishis peeked over the lower hump of the device. “Soooo…what’s your power source?”

Morty pointed to the top of the cylinder. “See that chamber? The one with the black sealing rings? That’s the infuser.” He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a black velvet bag. “Where I will put…” He loosened the drawstring.

Light escaped from within — warm, comforting, like sun on a cool spring day.

Morty slipped his hand inside and pulled free a shard that glowed in his palm. He stared into it and whispered, “This.”

Höbin nearly fell over. He grabbed the edge of the PROMIS to steady himself. “WOAH there, buddy! Is that—” He blinked hard. “Wait a minute. That can’t possibly be a…”

Morty nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off the prize he held. “A Lanthya shard.”

“A shard!?” Höbin choked. “How in the world did you get your hands on an ancient artifact — and may I clarify here, a priceless and infinitely powerful artifact!”

Morty couldn’t stop grinning. His cheeks burned with strain and — well — relief. His worst problems since he’d started this project were solved. It was always the power source. But now, even if PROMIS rejected the first attempt — even the hundredth — he could always try again. And again.

The Lanthya shard was unlimited power.

He started laughing, louder, almost hysterically. “I know.” He clutched the shard to his chest and looked up. “Chuck owed me a favor… and a promise.”

“Mahan’s pink panties,” Höbin swore.

Morty bobbed his head, gleeful as a child with a new toy. “I can’t wait to plug it in!”

Deloris continued to ignore Nat’s pleas to rest. There was no place to rest. Not after the events of the last two days. There were too many people, too many eyes on her all the time. Funny — it never seemed to bother her until today. Now it was…irritating. She was on edge, and for once, she had to get out. Get away.

So she paced through the vacant warehouse. Alone.

She didn’t want to lecture or be lectured to. She didn’t want to argue. She didn’t want to talk to another reporter. She didn’t want to give her views to Motherboard or to Bellows.

Clockworks City was tumbling into chaos.

She just wanted to be alone and think.

No. That wasn’t accurate.

She wanted to go home. That was it. She wanted to be with her husband. Her silly, awkward, delightfully brilliant husband.

She shuddered. The husband who had pleaded with her to stay and help him complete his life’s work…yet still supported her drive to serve the G.R.R. To serve the cause.

Supported her leaving him on his own.

Again.

It was funny how it took so much loss and so much adversity to see things clearly. They’d never had a chance to have children. No. That was another lie. They always had time — but Deloris chose a career over offspring. Not that she regretted her accomplishments…but there was no family to leave any legacy to now. No one to carry the name or the dreams forward — like she and Morty had done for their own fathers.

Morty had asked more than a dozen times to have children. Lovingly. Patiently. Never pushing…only waiting.

He always waited.

She always left.

Now the world was changing. Faster than Deloris thought possible.

Wendell was supposed to deliver the carefully scripted speech. To cause people — specifically the normals — to reconsider their positions in society. To open their minds and hearts to new possibilities, new opportunities, for a more unified race. A race that could venture out into the light — like the Gnolaum prophecies said they would do.

But Wendell had changed the course of the focus.

Revolution.

That was all he had to say to those suffering. Those struggling and beset by harsh conditions. A single word that set Clockworks on fire.

Revolution.

The flow of goods had stopped. Stores were being drained by panicked citizens. Transport masters were demanding raises. Citizens were refusing to pay travel fees. Manufacturers were redistributing and selling to workers first — at fair prices, too. Customers, or the general public, were now second in line…because if workers stopped working, no one got goods at all. The poor were learning they had value in society — not because someone said they did — but because they could see the cause and effect.

Technology allowed hundreds of millions of minds to connect and unite at the push of a button. Sharing ideas, sharing focus, coordinating open rebellion against a system that was not only broken…it was corrupt.

Her soft shoes scuffed across the cold cement floor. A brisk wind whipped around the machines and over her shoulders. She shivered and pulled her sweater tight against her blouse.

Was it such a bad thing? To have the government pulled down by those it was built to serve? Pulled down by those it was abusing? Ignoring…or worse?

The Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries were about truth and choice. The belief was that if there was full disclosure — and the choices were set honestly in front of a gnome — he or she would choose right more often than not. It wasn’t perfect…but freedom wasn’t about perfection.

It was about choice.

Even the choice to struggle, ignore, refuse…even fail.

If the choice was plain and open, one would more likely seek freedom, not slavery. They’d seen it in the lower districts. In the slums, where poverty crushed the hope and light from so many souls — until hearts united. Until people reached out to one another — not always by an idea, but through the sheer need to survive…and it grew. One good experience gave way to another, fostering the desire to create an organized body that did good for one another.

Peaceful coexistence. Not violence, and certainly not war. If a neighbor was suffering, others would come to their aid — even if the government was not involved. Especially if the government was not involved. That was not the role of the government.

No. The citizens were already overtaxed, overregulated, manipulated, and forced to live a life that did little more than feed a machine to keep the rich rich and the poor utterly destitute.

And now Deloris didn’t want any part of it.

She sighed.

“I miss you, Morty,” she whispered to herself. “I was a fool to leave. They don’t need me here. Not anymore. Not like you do.” She sighed again, so heavily her shoulders fell forward. “Like you always have.”

But like so many important things in life, she’d put her husband on a shelf.

Now Wendell was gone. No one knew where, other than down a manhole. In a city with over a billion and a half people, that wasn’t much to go on. The media continued to spin the events into problems that didn’t exist and completely ignored the real change — the real events. Feeding lies to the people and making the Gnolaum sound like a terrorist.

Too much. Too big. Too fast.

“Deloris?” The older com-link crackled in her pocket. She’d promised Nat she would take the small communication device, so long as she was physically left alone. The device fell silent for a few moments, then, “Deloris, I’m sorry for the interruption, but we need to talk. It’s important.”

She pulled the bulky device out and held it close to her mouth. Pushing the blue button, she said, “Go ahead, Nathan.”

“Cryo just picked up a distress alert. The furnace doors have broken down. I believe that’s where Wendell most likely retreated to.”

“Otger was with him.”

The device crackled, then, “Exactly. But that’s not all. We caught a secondary message. It was through the Centurion channel, directly from the Citadel…but they were trying to keep it quiet. Off the main waves.” The voice dropped to a near whisper. “Someone broke into the Presidential suite.”

It was not the kind of news Deloris was prepared for. She shook her head. “Chuck.”

“That’s what I’m guessing.”

“Great,” she muttered to herself. Then, lifting the mic to her mouth, “Anything else?”

Crackle. “Yeah. Morty called for you. He said it’s urgent.”

“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” The squeak in Nathan’s voice made him sound like a teenage girl. “You can’t just…leave!” His hands trembled against the metal frame of his wheelchair as he searched her face.

Deloris lowered her head, her fists resting on her hips. “I’m sorry — would you like to say that to me again?”

Nat gulped and quickly raised his hands. “That’s not — wait. I didn’t mean…”

“You’re a valued asset and a skilled individual that we will greatly miss,” Bellows filled in. He grinned into the camera. “That’s what I believe our young friend was trying to say, Ms. Hinder.” The wealthy business owner turned slightly in his leather chair, struck a match along his desk, and brought it to his pipe.

“Mrs. Teedlebaum,” she corrected him — though it came with a smile. It felt good to say that name out loud. Her name. “That’s been my name for most of my life, Mr. Bellows. It’s about time I started living up to it.”

Nat gasped, looking from the monitor to Deloris, then over to Shamas.

“Don’t look at me,” the bodyguard shrugged, backing away. “I’ve never been married.”

“Guh — puh,” Nat sputtered incoherently.

Deloris giggled. “Wow. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen the computer genius speechless.”

He slapped a hand down on the wheelchair. “How am I supposed to get on without you?”

Leaning over, she gave Nat a motherly kiss on the forehead. With a broad smile of confidence, she whispered, “Historically.”

Her bags were already packed and sitting outside the office door. Shaking hands with Shamas, she added softly, “Watch over him, will you? He gets a bit uptight from time to time…and tends to rub people the wrong way.”

He winked.

“Oh,” she added, turning back to Nathan. “I also believe there was a particularly adorable fabricator on the TNT crew who idolized you.” She blew him a kiss as she shut the door. “I’d look her up if I were you.”

And with that, she was gone.

For several moments the office remained quiet. The only sound was the pulse of factory machines through the cement walls.

“I’m sunk,” Nat finally grunted, his chin dropping to his chest. His eyes widened with the realization of what lay before him. “We’ve incited riots all over the city and now, without Deloris to move them…sway them, they’ll run amok.” He gasped, head popping upright. “Or worse — they’ll leave!” He let out a shuddering breath. “We’re doomed.”

“Nonsense,” Bellows chided him. “You have more willing followers than ever before! Look at the general population of my factories alone. With the right direction and encouragement, the G.R.R. will be unstoppable. That woman isn’t changing her loyalties, Nathan — just her focus.” He chuckled. “Teedlebaum is about to change Clockworks as we know it. You’ve said it yourself, and so has Motherboard. If he succeeds in completing his device, that tinkerer will bring a whole new level of freedom to our race.” He puffed once, satisfied. “For goodness sakes, boy — it’s a great time to be alive!”

Shamas smirked. “Great time to be a gnome.”

“I don’t care how fast they are!” the Centurion barked. “Stun ‘em and bag ‘em. Every last gnome in this furnace is going with us…NOW!”

“SIR, YES SIR!!” the mirrored helmets shouted in unison.

“MOVE OUT!”

Children sprinted away, running for the main furnace where they could hide under the piles of garbage. That was the last-resort tactic — to hide closer to the furnace — but it worked against the uniforms. The heavy leather and armor of the Centurions trapped the heat against their bodies, driving them back from the machine. The air was also too hot to breathe, but the children seemed able to endure it better than the elderly. Certain spots had been created — insulated pockets, along with cloth and small containers of filtered water. These would allow the children to stay cooler, longer, and outlast their pursuers.

Centurions fanned out, leaving nothing in their wake. Not a word was said to the muddles, either. Once in range, the gnomes were beaten with clubs until unconscious…or stunned. Short, shotgun-style weapons shot tiny wires at fleeing targets, piercing tattered cloth.

Muddles fell on their faces, flipping about like fish, unable to control their muscles as they were pumped full of electricity. Centurions laughed wickedly. Several held down the triggers until foam covered their lips and faces turned blue.

I was already on my feet, sprinting across the heaps.

They didn’t care.

I caught sight of a female collapsing in a powerful seizure. Old or young — these Centurions just didn’t care. My stomach clenched, the smiley on my shirt hyperventilating. I had to get the kids away from these vicious attacks.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

“There he is!” cried an officer. “The Gnolaum — just like they said we’d find him!”

Centurions broke off from the arch and came after me. My longer legs gave me the advantage, and I quickly put distance between us.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

I clenched my fists as I ran. I could feel power surging through my veins. Then the thought hit — sharp and ugly.

We have to go with them.

My skin crawled at the idea of these good people being subjected to this violence, but I had to leave with this group of soldiers. I had to find out where everyone was being taken. Find out what happened to Simon. It was the only way to learn where they were hauling the muddles.

I just had to stop the violence.

But how?

Something glinted in the firelight.

I skidded to a stop and threw myself at it, yanking it free — part of a flattened filing cabinet. The drawer had been crushed into the frame, leaving a handhold big enough for three fingers.

A shield.

Not perfect, but it would do.

“There he is!” shouted a Centurion.

Four were still coming — still pushing into the heat. Determined.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

I stood upright, keeping the crude shield tight against my chest, and lifted my free hand in a defensive posture. “Now boys,” I called, loud enough for them to hear over the furnace. “Let’s talk about this.”

“We’re not talking with you about anything, you heretic!”

“That’s not technically true, Bernie,” another voice snapped. “You just talked with him about…well, not talking with him.”

“Shut up, Fennel.”

“Well, you did.”

“Just shoot him!” screamed the third, huffing as he crested the garbage hill.

Two weapons came up.

Tiny red lights blinked at the ends. Infrared targeting.

I didn’t flinch. Let them settle. Let them commit.

One…two…

I snapped the shield up and ducked.

Thwip — thwip — thwip.

PING! PING!

Needles bounced off the cabinet.

“You missed!”

“Do…we get another try?”

“You only get one shot, moron! Roll it back up — fast!!”

Good to know.

I reached down, grabbed the ends of the cables, and barked, “Säko!”

My skin tingled as the current gathered from the air and poured into my arms — pushed through my hand into the wire like ice water. Hair rose all over my body. I held the intent in my mind: current down the wires, through the weapon, into the Centurion’s uniform.

The gnome stumbled, but didn’t drop.

“Woah — feedback!” he yelped.

It’s not enough.

Another uniform came into view. I knew how to throw arcs of lightning, but I couldn’t risk killing someone if I lost control.

Then I heard it — just on the other side of the garbage ridge.

Children screamed.

Agonizing, lingering cries of pain.

…and laughter.

Something in me went cold.

“Teho!” I roared.

“AHHHHHHHH!” the Centurion shrieked. Sparks spit from the weapon. His small frame shook violently, arcs pulsing across the leather.

I forced myself calm — just enough — and let him drop, twitching, to the ground.

No pause. I lunged, snatched the second set of wires. “Säko teho!” I hissed, picturing him being blown back.

Sparks erupted again — this time flipping him through the air. His helmet bounced hard as he landed and skidded.

“He’s armed!” the third yelled. “Shoot him!”

I didn’t have time to raise the shield.

Three weapons fired at once.

Needles punched into my neck, my arm, my thigh.

“Argh!” Pain snapped me sideways.

Then I gritted my teeth and snarled, “Säko teho!”

Every muscle in my back and chest locked as I drew a heavier current out of the air and funneled it through my skin. I kept my eyes wide and held the image — me as a battery — sending it back through the wires they’d shot into me.

Like grabbing an electric fence.

Except I was the fence.

They felt every bit of it.

Unable to let go, all three dropped to their knees, trembling. One by one they tipped and fell onto their backs.

“Läkätä,” I blurted.

The charge bled out of me in a violent shiver. I collapsed forward, face-first into a wilted box. For nearly a full minute I fought my own breathing, muscles in my face and arms twitching like I’d been turned inside out.

Woah.

Now…that was intense.

I blinked hard and forced myself up.

The children’s screaming had stopped.

Completely.

Oh no.

I looked over the scattered Centurions. Out cold. Good.

Keeping low, I crawled — arms and knees — until I reached the top of the ridge. I eased my head over the lip.

The back of the transport was open.

Small bodies were being tossed inside like refuse.

The children.

My stomach turned.

I counted what I could see. Each child was thrown into a rough pile. Every toss made my jaw tighten.

I have to go down there.

I have to go with them.

Which meant I was going to get tased again — because there was no way they let me ride conscious.

“Maybe I can lie here and pretend to be unconscious,” I said to myself. “Make it look like a real struggle and they finally caught me.”

“Maybe you won’t have to pretend,” a cold voice said behind me.

My blood froze.

I started to turn —

More than a dozen needles hit me at once. The sensation shot up my spine, and the world became a single brutal line of electricity.

ZZZZZT!

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Chuck uses cold, hard credits to secure the TNT crew’s loyalty and launches a daring plan to break Dax out of the Citadel before the government carries out his execution. Meanwhile, deep beneath the city, Wendell wakes up in the furnace district — but what he finds there is far worse than he expected.

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Chapter 87

“This isn’t gonna work!” Freak cried out loud.

Everyone agreed with the genius mechanic, but the wizard wasn’t listening.

“Did you listen to the news flash? We don’t have any more time,” Chuck stammered, trying to pull the uniform over his head. Again it stuck. It was the beard. Nothing wanted to work when you had what felt like a ten-foot beard attached to your face. “They’ve set the execution after that stunt Wendell pulled, and now…” Lili yanked harder until the collar finally popped over the wizard’s head. “Ahhh,” he sighed. “Thank you, my dear.”

She smiled and proceeded to lace her boots.

“I agree with Freak,” grumbled Tumbler. “No one’s gonna believe you ‘n me are working for a food delivery joint.” He tugged uncomfortably on his orange-and-green smock. “I look like a monkey.”

“Monkey’s saving a monkey,” Chuck grinned. “Sounds perfect to me.” He sat at the kitchen table and started braiding his beard into a manly Kutollum style. It wouldn’t do to break into Centurion headquarters, grab Dax, and then ruin the whole strategy by tripping over his own face. “Besides… gnomes your age,” he started to say, then reconsidered, “your age anyway—are being forced to find new and less appealing forms of employment nowadays.” He tilted his head, considering. “Think about it. How many stores can you walk into now without some old crony welcoming you, bagging your groceries, or walking kids across the street in an orange vest?”

Telly chuckled. “He has a point there. You won’t find a single Pall-Mart store that doesn’t have some old prune…” He hesitated when Tumbler glared back at him. “I-I mean respectable senior citizen, saying ‘Welcome to Pall-Mart.’”

“I don’t give a flying TGII what happens with other gnomes.” Tumbler shoved his hands into the smock’s pockets like he wanted to strangle the fabric from the inside. “I care about how I have to live my life—and if those guards—and may I remind you there are THOUSANDS of Centurions in that building—catch us, we’re—”

“Oh poo,” Chuck interrupted, wrinkling his nose. “Don’t tell me that’s fear I smell? All this noble talk about doing the right thing, and then a little challenge comes your way and—”

“Little!?!” croaked the old gnome. “We’re about to walk into the Citadel dressed as food delivery boys! No one’s gonna buy this!”

The wizard smiled. “But it’s really good food.”

“I don’t care,” Freak grunted. “I’m not doing it.” He tossed the smock onto the kitchen table.

“Yes,” replied Socket, “you are.” She sat hunched over the table, reading each line of the contract Chuck had produced right before dinner. Her eyes devoured every detail as her tiny hands quivered with excitement. “He’s delivered what he’s promised so far and we’re not backing out now.” She flipped the page. “Perfect,” she whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Glad you approve,” the wizard smirked, “because it wasn’t easy to get Bellows to agree.” He flicked his gaze toward Freak. “However, even at a profit, you’ll be less expensive than the maintenance services he currently uses. With his fleet of delivery vehicles, you’ll have more work than you know what to do with.” He raised a single eyebrow. “Well…if you make it back, that is.”

Craig shook his head wearily.

Nibbles pulled a small packet of what looked like raisins from her pocket and started eating. “You still have to deliver two million credits, you know.”

Chuck shook his head. “I still have to deliver two million, eighty-three thousand, four hundred and twelve credits, to be exact.” He grinned wide.

She popped another bite into her mouth. “You make me nervous.”

“Well, he’s making me happy,” chirped Socket, “so leave him alone and get ready. You’re all doing this.”

“What if I don’t come back?” Freak pouted. “What if they catch us and decide to throw me in prison?”

His wife considered it for only a moment, then beamed her lovely white smile. “Then I’ll build up the business for when you get out.”

Chuck smirked. “Ah. True love.”

All ready to go, Lili looked around the room and frowned. “So explain to me again why I’m the only one in a dress?”

“Because my knees are too bony and I haven’t shaved in over a millennium,” Chuck smirked.

“Because,” Telly winked, nudging her softly with his elbow, “you’re management.”

“I’m…?”

“The one in charge, sweetie,” said Nibbles. “You get to take lead and hopefully you’ll distract them enough to squeak us all by the cops.”

Lili’s head flopped forward with a moan. “I’m the bait. Again.”

Telly nudged her again. “You really are that cute, ya know.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Oh stop it,” chided the wizard. “We have less than three days before they end my boy’s life—and I want him back!”

“Your boy?” Socket scoffed, wrinkling her nose in open disgust. “But he’s a—”

“HE’S NOT A VALLEN, ALRIGHT?” the wizard boomed.

The room snapped still.

Chuck didn’t shout again. He didn’t need to. His eyes locked on Socket like a vise, and that was worse. He pointed at her—slow, precise. “Dax is an evolu. Born, bred, and true.” His voice dropped into something ragged. “That poor child was cursed and cast out from his own people at no fault of his own.”

He swallowed hard.

“I raised him.” The words came out quieter. Sharper. Like they hurt to say. “I taught him.” His eyes shone, and he didn’t blink it away. “And I want him back.”

He pointed at each of them, one by one, like he was counting heads at a funeral.

“Your corrupt government wants to execute an innocent elf.” His chin lifted a fraction. “And I claim him as my own.”

A pause. A dare.

“Anyone have a problem with that?”

Each shook their head.

Chuck nodded once, satisfied. “Then let’s go shopping and get this poppycock over with!”

“Oooooohhhh,” I moaned.

“And they all know about this?” Mal asked.

“Yup,” Otger said. “The whole city.”

“Well I’ll be,” Mal whispered. “You mean after all these years, he actually exists?”

“Yup,” Otger repeated. “And you even called him a turd.”

The preacher flinched. “I did, didn’t I?” He rolled his eyes. “Oh boy. Well—not time to worry about it now—let’s get him up and out of the way.”

Hands found me. A lot of them. For what felt like hours I floated along, half-dragged, half-carried. Every so often my knuckles clipped the ground, banged a can, or bumped over some unknown mound of garbage.

“Put him here. No, over here. I’ve got something soft to put under his head.”

“Is he breathing?” a child’s voice asked.

“Well if he wasn’t breathing, Dain,” Mal replied, “he wouldn’t be making that sound, now would he?”

“I guess not.”

“You…guess not.” Mal sighed. “We need to work on your observation skills, boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did it open?” I moaned.

“Sure did,” Otger chimed. “We’re in.”

I tried to lift my head. Every muscle screamed in protest. I groaned again. “That…was not fun.”

My eyes burned. The familiar yellow-orange glow surrounded me, but voices still had no faces—just shapes.

“That was one big jolt you took, kid,” Mal said. “Don’t try to sit up all at once.”

“Didn’t listen to you last time,” I muttered, then forced myself upright anyway.

“No. No, you didn’t,” Mal said, sheepish. “Then again, I didn’t know you were a mythical being from another time and place either.”

I rolled my head side to side. My neck cracked and popped loud enough to make a kid jump. “No one said I was mythical anything. I’m just like you.” I paused. “Well…not like you, but—” That sounded worse. “I’m mortal. There.”

Mal laughed and patted my shoulder. “Not sure I’m going to agree with you on that one. Don’t know many mortals who’d still be kicking after getting blasted across a service road by a bajillion volts o’ juice.”

“There’s no such thing as a bajill—”

“I know that, Otger,” Mal sighed. “I was making a point.”

“Gotcha.”

I blinked until the world sharpened.

Blane. Trigg. A couple of children. That was it.

The tent town was gone—torn down. No laughter. No running. No women.

My stomach sank. “Where is everyone?”

“A lot happened after your escape,” Mal said quietly. He nodded to Blane. The cab driver and Trigg drifted away, giving us space. “We had another raid not long after the last transport left.”

“Where’s Enid?” I asked. “Simon?”

Mal’s mouth tightened. “They took most everyone, kid. First the women. Then any kids they could catch. When they showed up this time they were angry. Things got…physical.”

Otger shifted. “Dayl?”

Mal patted Otger’s forearm. “I’m sorry. He blocked the way so some of the kids could run. The Centurions beat him for it, then hauled him off with the last load.” His eyes slid back to me. “Enid. Simon. Jeris. Dayl. All the community leaders—except me and Trigg. We were inside the furnace collecting when they hit the camp. By the time we got back out, the last transport was already leaving.”

The words hit like a hammer.

Simon was gone.

My chest went cold. “I have to find where they took them,” I said, staring at Mal. “And we have to get these gnomes out of here. There’s a place for them at any of the Bellows factories. Tell them I sent you.”

“And get there how?” Mal scoffed. “We don’t know our way. If we get caught—”

“Then you won’t be any worse off than you are now,” I snapped, then steadied myself. “Hiding here and waiting to be hauled off.” I looked at Otger. “Otger can guide you.”

Mal shook his head hard. “No. The moment a Centurion sees us—”

I grabbed his arm. Not gently. “The Centurions have enough to worry about up top. A group of muddles is the last thing on their list.”

Mal’s frown deepened as he tried to pull away. “Don’t call me that.”

“I know you’re not a muddle, Mal,” I said, tightening my grip. “But you’re not forgotten or useless either. You’re the leader down here. Get them out.”

“I can help too,” a broad-shouldered gnome said.

He stepped forward, fingers hooked in his front pockets like he owned the place. “I know the paths Centurions take. I know what streets they’ll avoid. If we get cornered, I can buy time. Create a diversion.”

I smirked. “And who is this volunteer?”

Mal shoved him forward. “Do you recall zapping a certain Centurion so you could sneak on the transport?”

My eyebrows jumped. “Oh.”

“Name’s Leith,” he said, and held out his hand.

I shook it — and his grip felt like iron.

“Sorry about that,” I said.

“Best thing that ever happened to me,” he replied flatly. “Joined the force because my father wanted a better life for me. Slaved away on trash tankers.” He glanced around the furnace landscape. “So this wasn’t exactly new to me. Took me a day or two to remember my roots and see what’s really happening down here.”

“Try five or six,” Mal muttered smugly. Then his eyes darkened. He rolled his lip between his teeth like he was bracing himself. “Point is, Leith’s a natural leader. A survivor.” He looked at me. “And he has a secret you need to hear.”

Leith waited for Mal’s nod, then spoke carefully. “We aren’t really Centurions.”

I frowned. “Not really…?”

“Not like you’d think,” Leith said. “Our team was handpicked months ago. Formed based on our backgrounds and religious beliefs.”

My stomach dropped. “Religious beliefs…”

“We work for the Church,” he said. “Not the government.”

My heart sank further. “Why would the Church kidnap people?” My hands started to shake. “Isn’t one of their jobs to care for the poor? The needy?” My voice climbed before I could stop it. “Who needs love and help more than the people living down here?” Then the rage broke through. “What the hell kind of religion is this?”

Leith and Otger both gasped.

“Now watch it!” Mal snapped, jabbing a finger at me like a dagger. “You may be the Gnolaum, but my beliefs go beyond you, sucker, so watch your mouth.”

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“The Temple of TGII—some call it the Temple of Nothing—is founded on the belief that the universe is planned,” Mal said, voice steady, almost reverent. “A vast machine. Perfect. No spare parts. Every single thing has a purpose, Wendell.” A faint smile cracked through the grime. “So don’t judge my religion just because you’re staring at the rusted cogs of the system.”

None of it made sense. If this was charity, why was it done like a raid?

I turned back to Leith. “Where did you take people?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Drop-off point near the sewers behind the Temple. Our commanding officer radios in. Monks meet us and escort captives inside.”

I didn’t like any of that. “And you don’t know what happens after?”

“No, sir. We get paid. We’re sent back to our districts. If we talk, we’re never called again—and we’re excommunicated.”

“And you don’t want that,” I said.

Leith looked genuinely offended. “Of course not!”

“But you were kidnapping innocent people,” I pressed. “That didn’t bother you? Not once?”

“We were told they were apostates,” he said, jaw tight. “Hiding. Plotting against the Temple.”

I laughed, but it came out bitter. “These people? Seriously?” I swept a hand at the children, the dirt, the hunger. The kindness. “These are your apostates?”

Leith shrugged. “You’d be surprised what a person will believe when they refuse to question their spiritual leaders.”

I exhaled hard. “Yeah. I can see that.”

Mal patted Leith’s back. “It’s alright, son. We appreciate the truth.” He nodded toward the group. “Go help them gather. We’re doing what the Gnolaum suggests.”

“Just Wendell,” I said quickly. The title still made my skin crawl. “Please. Just call me Wendell.”

Mal gave Leith a look, but Leith hesitated. For the first time, his face softened. The soldier mask slipped.

“I did it because I thought I was protecting people from a bad influence,” he said quietly. He swallowed, eyes flicking to Mal. “I was wrong. It took me living with them to see who the bad influence really was.” His voice roughened. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

Then he turned and walked away.

I watched him weave through the trash mounds until he found a child standing alone. Leith knelt, smiled, and offered a hand. The kid took it.

I looked back at Mal. “It wasn’t just sitting down here that changed his mind.”

Mal shrugged. “Maybe not.”

“The Church hates me,” I said. “They threw me down a garbage chute.” The absurdity made me snort. “Now that they know who I am, they hate me even more.”

Otger shifted uneasily. “I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

Mal smiled at him, gentle. “Go help Leith, alright?”

Otger nodded fast. “Good idea,” he blurted, then hurried off.

We waited until we were alone.

“I’m sorry I was harsh last time,” Mal said.

I smirked. “No you’re not.”

“You’re right.” He nodded. “You were a turd.”

“Agreed.”

“Hmmm.” His eyes narrowed in mock assessment. “I sense humble seeds growing within you.”

“More like a frustrated acknowledgment that you’re right,” I said.

“Ah.”

I rubbed my face, exhausted. “I don’t know anything about the Church, Mal. They want me dead. Why?”

Mal dropped onto a crate and yawned like we were discussing weather. “You’re upsetting the balance.”

“Balance?” I repeated. “What balance? All I did was try to win at a national sport.”

Mal smiled. “Really? Was that all? Or were you using the games to build something else?”

I hesitated. “Maybe.”

He just sat there, waiting.

“Oh, alright,” I muttered. “Yes. I was trying to win so I could give a speech to the city.”

“To do what?”

“To gain favor with the people,” I said. “People are being controlled by—” I stopped, because Mal was already grinning. “The Government and the religious faction have major control over the people.”

“You already knew that,” Mal said. “You see it every day. You just didn’t think about it long enough.” He leaned forward. “They manipulate elections, businesses, guilds…souls. That’s why the Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries exist.”

He knows about the G.R.R.? My eyebrows lifted. “How do you—”

Mal scoffed and waved a hand. “Please. Everyone knows the freedom faction. Most just talk about it behind closed doors.” He stared into the furnace glow. “Only difference between them and the other two giants is the G.R.R. doesn’t shove an agenda down your throat. They put choices in front of you. That’s power. Simple and terrifying.” He sighed. “The Church hates that. They want to choose for you—so the thinking is already done.”

A gust of hot air surged as the furnace kicked on. Loose papers fluttered. Empty containers rolled down a nearby mound. Heat whipped past us—dry, stale, carrying decay.

I stared at the massive doors. “The heat’s being sucked out,” I said.

“Out the door you opened,” Mal replied.

Otger wandered back into view, slower this time, watching me like I might explode again.

“Can I see it?” Mal asked suddenly. His voice went careful. “The Ithari. It’s what we talk about. Learn about.” His eyes flicked to my chest. “And you.”

I tried not to laugh. “I’m not reincarnated. I’ve never been here before.” I smirked. “I’m just a guy with a really stressful job.”

Mal scratched his head. “Well that’s disappointing. We were taught you were the same host through the ages.” He studied me, eyes drifting to the yellow smiley face on my shirt. It stared back like it knew something. “But it’s under there, isn’t it? The gem.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. Then leaned in and lowered my voice. “And it drilled itself into the center of my chest.”

Mal pulled back a fraction. “Drilled?”

“Right through skin and bone.”

“Eww.”

“More like ow.”

“Right.” He swallowed. “Well…can I?”

I lifted my shirt.

The orange-yellow light reflected off the gem’s perfect surface. It pulsed — like it was breathing with me.

Mal stared.

Otger swayed behind him, one hand raised over his head, waving urgently. Neither of us noticed.

“What can you tell me about the Church, Mal?” I lowered my shirt. “Anything that helps me. Or protects me.”

“Noah,” Mal said instantly. The humor vanished. “Noah is the one to watch. It’s been years since I worked the Temple, so I don’t know who’s still there—but Noah is the dagger. Shrewd. Devious. Hungry.” His eyes hardened. “Obsessed with power. His eye’s always been on the Arch Bishop’s scepter.”

“Arch Bishop?” I echoed.

“Arch Bishop Dillian,” Mal said. “Good gnome. Head of the Order. But he doesn’t have many years left. Noah took control of most functions even when I was still clergy.”

“Uh, guys?” Otger piped up.

“Just a second,” Mal snapped.

“The real power of the Church is followers and contributions,” Mal continued. “That rests on the normals, not the poor. Normals have discretionary credits. They give more. In turn, Noah changed the repentance process.”

I blinked. “Okay, this is getting heavy for me.”

“You asked how to protect yourself,” Mal said. “I’m showing you where the power sits.” He tapped the air like he was placing pieces on a board. “Credits. Influence. Leadership. Noah uses money and fear to move people like levers. That’s why he can’t control the poor as easily. They don’t have money to lose and they don’t get invited into the ‘good’ parts of the system.” He nodded at the furnace landscape. “Make sense?”

“Guys?” Otger said again — higher now.

“Hold on!” Mal snapped. He grabbed three small cans from the ground and arranged them on a bucket between us, then balanced a wilted box on top. “This is the Church,” he said, pointing. “These are the pillars. Credits. Influence. Leadership. Take one away—” He pulled a can and the box teetered. “Unstable. Take away two—” He snatched a second can and the box flipped off the bucket and clattered onto the ground. “It falls.”

Otger stepped between us. “Guys!” he snapped.

Mal glared up at him. “Oh, in the name of TGII, what is so blasted important?”

Otger was sweating now, shifting like his skin didn’t fit right. “I forgot something.”

My stomach tightened. “What did you forget?”

“When we opened the door…” Otger swallowed. “When you trigger the failsafe on the motor, it also triggers the alarm.”

My blood ran cold. “What alarm?”

Otger wiped his brow. “The alarm to the Utilities Guild… and the Citadel.”

“Citadel?” Mal coughed. “Why in this cruddy world would a furnace alarm alert Centurions?!”

Otger cringed. “In case the accident wasn’t an accident.” His eyes flicked to me. “Like what we just did.”

Oh boy.

“Get everyone moving,” I said fast. “Leave everything—leave it all. I’ll figure something out, but we have to—”

Children screamed.

A transport shoved through the furnace doors, lights flashing.

Centurions poured out — two by two — forming a wall across our only escape route.

I winced.

“…run.”

“No, you can NOT pick at the food,” Chuck snapped at Telly, slapping the mechanic’s hand. “Pick up the pace, people—this smell has to last us.”

“Relax,” Tumbler grunted at Freak, who tugged at his smock for the hundredth time. “You look fine.” He shoved the catering box across the walkway. “Can’t say the same for this wobbly wheel!”

“I look like a high school dropout that can’t get a real job,” Craig muttered.

Nibbles giggled, enjoying the whole charade. “Well, we know the truth about you. Sexy, brilliant inventor and mechanic…now a secret agent on his way to break out a known criminal…”

“SHHH!” the wizard snapped, but she only grinned wider.

“Are you sure no one will remember you from the last time we were here?” Lili asked. “You did leave several impressions.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “And I left my staff at home so I wouldn’t leave any others. No, I’m not sure I won’t be noticed. It’s the night shift. Should be different staff.”

“We’re about to find out,” Telly cut in. “Look.”

As they crossed the street, gnomes were running in and out of the Citadel. Centurions — and what looked like a gnome version of firefighters — sprinted to vehicles out front. Red and blue lights flashed in the night air while leaders barked orders.

“Wonder what’s goin’ on?” Telly said.

Chuck grabbed the tall gnome’s smock and yanked. “Come on—we can use this distraction.”

“I’m not comfortable doing the talking,” Lili whispered.

“Got it covered,” Chuck chirped. He pulled a paper from his pocket and read it aloud. “President Stump, check. Two kids—teenagers, check. Twins, check. Known to like pizza and—” he lifted the bag in his hand, the clear containers sloshing noodles and what he assumed were vegetables “—whatever that’s supposed to be from Cho-Cho’s-Goo-Boo-Diner…check.” He glanced at the buffet box Tumbler pushed. “Check.”

Lili scooted closer. “You’re going to remember all this?”

He laughed once. “Of course not. That’s why the senile one should do it!” He shoved her through the front door and held it open for the rest. “Everybody in, and don’t say a word!”

The lobby looked almost barren compared to their last visit. Guards rushed past them toward the commotion outside, making Freak flinch. One Centurion slowed, gave Craig a curious look, then moved on.

A gaunt gnome with a thick brown mustache waved them forward. “Next!”

Lili hesitated as conversations around her slowed into a stutter. Cops and convicts alike seemed overly aware of her presence. Heads turned. Eyes locked. She tugged her suit coat tighter.

Chuck plopped the food bag on the counter and slid in behind it. He leaned an elbow on the desk like he owned the place. “Good,” he said, relieved. “Someone mature to talk to for a change.” He waggled his eyebrows at the Centurion, who looked mildly amused. “I don’t mean to complain, sir, but the younger boys around here don’t seem to have appropriate respect for those of our…shall I say…levels of experience in life.”

The officer rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

“Irritating.”

“Aggravating AND annoying.”

Chuck rapped his knuckle on the counter and leaned in. “Then I don’t want to disturb your evening any more than I already have, sir… but I need your help.”

The officer adjusted his hat. “What can I do for you?”

“Well…” Chuck looked over his shoulder at Lili, still fidgeting under the stares. “You see that lovely young girl there?”

It took a moment for the beauty to register, then the gnome’s face lit up. “Indeed I do.”

“She…is my boss.” Chuck feigned annoyance. “As much as I hate to admit it.”

Leaning forward, the officer gawked at Lili. “Doesn’t seem like a bad job to me, if I do say so myself.”

“Oh, not when I’m gawkin’, no,” Chuck said quickly, waving it off. “I mean a near child being in charge. You see, I’m in training tonight…and this is my very first delivery run.” He poked the Centurion’s sleeve to reel him back in. “And she sent me here. To this respectable, important place.” He shook his head like fate itself offended him. “Me!”

Chuck scratched at an eyebrow. “If I don’t prove I can do this, officer—she’s going to kick my wrinkly butt back to scrubbing dishes.” Another poke. “Dishes! With the TEENAGERS!”

The officer sat up as if waking from a dream. “That’s…horrible! No self-respecting gnome of our…maturity should have to—” He cleared his throat. “How can I help you?”

Chuck whipped the paper back out and began to read. “Six large jungle pizzas… three orders of Cho-noodles…”

At the mention of “Cho,” eyes shifted from Lili back to the wizard.

“…two orders of pickled shrooms in dancin’ duck sauce… four orders of fish friers with a side of chopped garlic in blue wine…”

Tongues rolled over lips. A few throats audibly swallowed.

“Eight orders of Cho’s-Goo-Boo-Dumplings…” Chuck glanced at Telly. “That does sound tasty…” Then he lifted the list closer to his nose. “And three Party-Platter-Explosions.”

“Goodness,” the officer breathed, dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief. “That’s enough to feed a small army! Who is this for?”

Chuck frowned, puzzled on purpose. “Well, that’s the strange part. I’ve never been here, but this is the address.” He turned the paper slightly, as if it might confess. “The note says, ‘Top floor. Twins. Guards will COD.’” He shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea what that means. Do you?”

Several Centurions nearby smirked, cleared their throats, and returned to their tasks. The older officer chuckled.

“That would be the Stump kids.”

Chuck’s bushy eyebrows bunched like storm clouds. “As in…President…Stump?”

Nodding, the officer said, “They tend to order food when their father’s not looking. We get it pretty often.”

“So it’s okay for us to take this up?” Chuck asked, hopeful.

The officer smiled. “Oh, sure. You just have to sign here.” He slid a ledger across the counter. “Then take two guards with you to the elevator. That’s it.”

The whole crew perked up. None of them expected it to be this clean.

Chuck signed, slipped his fingers through the bag loops, and lifted the food from the counter. “Why only to the elevator?”

The officer checked the signature, then said it plainly.

“Because if anything goes wrong after that, the president’s security detail will personally shoot you.”

The walk to the elevator was a lot longer than anyone anticipated. Nearly forty-five minutes, weaving in and out of halls — which meant escape was going to be complicated, if not virtually impossible. But it wasn’t the distance that slowed their pace…it was the photographing.

Their Centurion escorts guided them through four different checkpoints where each gnome had to be photographed. When Freak questioned it, one guard said it was for facial-recognition software — constantly running while anyone was in the building.

“So,” Freak chirped up, “has anyone… I don’t know… broken into the Citadel?”

None of them took the hysterical laughter as a good sign.

They’d been waiting in the elevator for almost ten minutes. The lift rang out with a delicate bell at each floor they passed. Completely and utterly annoying.

“So what are we going to do when we get there?” Freak panicked. “We don’t know how many guards, where they are, if they have…” He gulped. “…weapons.”

The wizard kept rocking back and forth on his heels, staring at the rolling numbers as the bell numbed his mind. “Got it covered.”

“But—” Freak moaned.

“Covered.”

“I think we—” Nibbles started.

“Covered.”

Tumbler frowned. “Wait a—”

“Covered.”

“If you have everything covered,” Lili cut in, “then why did you need everyone to come along?”

Chuck looked at her as if she were insane. “You don’t think I’m going to do any heavy lifting, do you?” He frowned. “I’m fragile.”

The elevator dinged. The doors slid silently open to a panoramic view of a luxurious penthouse.

…and guns pointed at them.

“Show me the food,” barked the one with the off-blue tie.

“I believe,” Chuck corrected him, “it’s ‘Show me the money.’”

“OUT!” snapped the one with the blue tie.

Hands held high, they all filed out. Tumbler banged the cart along with his bad hip.

Bang. “Ow.” Bang. “Ow.” Bang. “Ow.”

“Why all the yelling?” called a young voice from the kitchen. A moment later, a boy peered around the corner. “What’s the—hey, who ordered—”

“The extras?” Chuck cut in, stepping away from the guards and lowering his hands. “Compliments from Master Cho. He sends his regards.” Hopeful, he flicked his eyebrows up and down. “We brought enough food for everyone, as ordered—including the Party-Platter-Explosions for the security detail.”

“For us?” exclaimed the one with the off-blue tie. He grinned at his partner. “Kip actually thought about…us?”

Both guns lowered.

“It is kinda sweet,” replied the one with the blue tie. “I thought he only liked to put food coloring in our laundry.”

“Well you guys are always there,” Kip shrugged, stepping closer, eyes locked on the wizard. “And I felt like I owe you. For all the lousy things I’ve done to make your job harder.” He laughed softly. “Besides, I put it on my dad’s account, so why not shoot for the stars, eh?”

No one laughed.

“Right,” Kip said, motioning toward the kitchen. “You want to set up the spread, then?”

“That’s what I brought them for,” Chuck beamed.

A young girl wandered out from the hall and froze. “Who are all—”

“I ordered food, Buffy,” Kip said quickly. He looked back to the wizard. “They brought enough for us and the security guys.”

“And Dax,” whispered the wizard.

Both youths smirked in acknowledgement.

“I’ll go grab Dad. He’s really hungry too.”

Chuck’s eyes went wide. “Oh no—we don’t want to disturb him!”

Her smile grew. “Oh, he’ll want something to eat.” She vanished down the hall.

Kip grinned and opened the small bag. “Trust us.”

Within minutes, the food was displayed across the kitchen bar. The portable dolly folded out into a tiered stand, layered with the delectables of the Party-Platter-Explosions. Chips and dip and stir-fry and BBQ. The two guards grabbed plates and loaded them up. With no threat to worry about, they wandered into a corner to munch away.

Buffy pushed a wheelchair into the kitchen. “Gentlegnomes,” she said, adding a nod to Lili and Nibbles, “and ladies. May I introduce my father — President Stump.” The overweight gnome looked overly pale, his flesh an off-green tone. Sweat beaded along his cheeks and forehead, his thinning hair oily and caked to his scalp.

“He doesn’t look so good,” whispered Nibbles. She took a step back.

“No,” Chuck added, lower now. “He doesn’t.” He knelt in front of the wheelchair.

“They’ve drugged him,” Kip whispered. “To keep him quiet.”

Telly snorted. “Well that don’t make any sense at all. Bad people turning on bad people?”

“My father isn’t bad,” Buffy challenged. She glared at the mechanic. “He’s been drugged because he tried to defend Dax.”

“Defend?” muttered Tumbler.

The two guards slumped to the floor.

“Right!” Chuck popped to his feet. “We’ll get to the bottom of this in just a second.” He tapped Telly in the chest. “You — move those two into a back room.” He glanced at Kip. “Any other security in the penthouse?”

Kip shook his head. “The rest of the detail is with Ian TwoFold — my father’s…”

“Lapdog. I know him,” the wizard grunted. “Still don’t know how you can breed a beaver with a gnome.” The twins laughed. “Where’s my monkey?”

“Excuse me?” Kip said.

Chuck sighed. “Dax. My elf. Where is he?”

“I’ll take you to him,” Buffy volunteered. “They moved him to his own room after my father tried to sneak him out of here.”

As they moved around the wheelchair, a pale hand reached up and gripped the wizard’s wrist.

“He…said you’d come for him,” the president wheezed.

“Take me to him,” Chuck said firmly, pulling his wrist free. “Now.”

Down the hallway, at the back end of the apartment, was the lone guest room. The stench assaulted the mägo’s senses as the door creaked open. Dax lay in the center of the bed, a halo of gray and brown seeping into the white sheets. Tubes protruded from his arms, connected to purple sacks hanging on metal hooks.

“What is all this?” Chuck snarled. He strode to the far side of the bed and gripped the dangling tubes.

“Don’t!” Buffy cried. “If you disturb the medication, they’ll shoot him.”

Gnarled fingers uncurled.

Buffy stepped closer, sleeve over her mouth. “They warned my brother and me — if we tampered with anything in here, they’d put a bullet in his head.” She looked at the wizard, pleading. “We didn’t want to see him hurt.”

Chuck’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said quietly. “And…thank you.”

“He’s nice.”

The wizard looked at her, caught off guard. “Not something I thought I’d hear about a criminal.”

“He’s no criminal.” With a finger, she traced the muscles on the back of Dax’s hand. “I got to talk to him a few times…when they let him wake up.” Her smile turned inward. “He was always more concerned about me getting in trouble for talking to him than for himself.” Her eyes watered as she looked up. “Nice.”

In a flurry, Chuck dashed to the door and jiggled the knob. He leaned down, tapped the metal plate holding it in place. “Bah!” he grunted. “Nothing.” He flung the door open and ran to the next.

Curious, Buffy followed. “What are you doing?”

He tapped the next plate and frowned. He dashed to the next room. “Looking for a door.”

She crinkled her lips. “Uhhh…they’re all doors, mister.”

“My name, young lady,” he said with another tap and grunt, “is Morphiophelius. You,” he paused to flash a dashing grin, “may call me Chuck.” Another tap — then a whispered curse. “And no, these are most certainly not doors.” He skidded to a halt. “Well, alright — they are doors, of course…just not the one I’m looking for. Right. That sounds correct.”

Buffy hopped backward to stay out of his way. “But if you know what door you’re looking for, why don’t you simply go to it directly?”

He straightened, aghast. “My dear child, I’ll have none of that philosophical mumbo-jumbo in this conversation, if you please!” He threw his head to one shoulder, popping his neck. “Go to it directly! Pshaw. You cannot go to something that has yet to be placed, child. I simply know where it might be at any given time. Hence — why I’m looking.” He held out his hands in a TA-DA pose. “Understand?”

Buffy stared at him and silently chewed on her bottom lip.

He sighed. “Oh for…just leave the inter-dimensional carpentry to the mägo, alright?”

“Chuck!” Lili shouted from the kitchen. “Quickly!!”

She was kneeling by Stump’s side. The president wheezed and coughed — but stayed focused on her.

Chuck rushed back. “What is it?”

“We have to leave. Now.”

“Not without the monkey.”

“You…won’t…make it,” Stump coughed. “Ian has…Dax tagged.” He tapped his forearm weakly. “Tracker.”

“Mahan’s pink panties,” the wizard cursed.

“And they’ll…kill the…children.” Bloodshot eyes peered up at the wizard. “Take…them…with you,” he rasped. “I gave…Wendell my word.” He swallowed hard, cold hand clawing at Buffy’s fingers. “They’re all I…have.”

“We’ve talked about this late at night,” Kip cut in, keeping a supportive hand on his father’s shoulder. “Ian thought we were saying our prayers together. The only way to get Dax free is from the outside. You’ll have a hundred alarms go off before you hit the lobby — plus a thousand armed soldiers.”

“It’s impossible,” Tumbler breathed.

“We have to get out of here!” Freak cried. “Before this Ian guy gets back!”

Chuck ran around the counter and across the entryway.

“Are you listening!?” Freak shouted.

“Empty the cart,” Chuck snapped. He grabbed the next doorknob and tapped it, rattled it — nothing. He spun back to his group. “Why are you all standing around!? MOVE! NOW! Get those kids in the cart, lock it up — GET IN THE ELEVATOR!”

Lili moved calmly across the floor and rested a gentle hand on his back.

Without a word, his forehead touched the door and he silently wept.

“We’ll come back,” she whispered.

“No, we won’t,” he sniffed. “They have our faces. We don’t get a second chance this time.”

“You’ll find a way,” she breathed. “Though the winds howl and the world rails against you, love always provides wings for her own. Nothing can stop her children…not even death.”

He turned suddenly and stared at Lili, blinking away tears as he searched her face.

Warm brown eyes smiled back — steady, holding him. “I remember you now,” she said softly.

He tried to laugh, but it came out as a moan. “You were so little. So hurt.”

She brushed one of his wild eyebrows back against his forehead. “But you were right, wanderer. You were right then, and you are right…”

“WINGS!” he burst out, spittle flying. Embarrassed, he wiped Lili’s cheek with his smock sleeve. “Sorry — so sorry about that!” He grabbed her hand and yanked her toward the elevator. “Everyone in!”

Buffy blew her father a kiss as Telly pushed her head down into the cart. He clamped the lid shut. Pulling the Cho-Cho’s-Goo-Boo-Food-Barn cloth over the top, he shoved it into the elevator.

Chuck gasped and yanked a small device from his pocket. Darting across the floor, he slid up to Stump and leaned over the president. “Almost forgot! Could you…yes, place your thumbprint righhhhht there. Perfect.” The device beeped. “Thank YOU!”

Lili couldn’t help but giggle as the wizard bounced back and into the elevator, his entire face a beacon of glee. They all stood solemnly as Chuck hit the button to go down.

“I can’t believe we actually did this,” Tumbler muttered under his breath.

“I just can’t believe we’re kidnapping the President’s kids!” Freak wheezed.

“Personally,” Nibbles mumbled, “I can’t believe the President is such a nice guy.”

All Chuck could manage was, “WINGS!”

President Stump watched the doors close on his children. Steel doors that shut out his old life…and opened whatever came next.

…and he smiled.

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Höbin sneaks into the Fishis Archive Foundation hidden inside a crate. Wendell delivers a revolutionary speech to thousands of gnomes, gets shot, and escapes through the sewers with Otger. He knows exactly where he’s headed…the one place in Clockworks City no one would think to look.

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Chapter 86

“Come ON!” Höbin grunted.

Numbers ticked across the screen, but he couldn’t remember the last time it had taken so long to pick the lock on the Guild files. It made him even more curious about what the FAF was hiding from its own staff—the professionals charged with collecting, organizing, and presenting facts, figures, and lore to the rest of the gnome race.

BEEEEP!

“Finally,” he hissed, yanking the cables free.

Behind him, a wall monitor murmured updates about Wendell’s latest escapade. The media kept spinning it until it sounded like Wendell had hired an assassin to kill a Centurion. It sickened the fishis—bold lies, open corruption. You just couldn’t trust a word over the airwaves anymore.

With the city boiling tonight, gnomes would be drifting back into the building to get the drop on other divisions of the government faction.

That included the news media.

“Time’s tickin’, old man,” Höbin muttered. There wasn’t time to do the research properly.

That meant a download.

He pulled a drawer open and stared down at rows of hard drives—organized, labeled, and backed up for years. Which one did he need?

With a flick of a lever, he slid a cable from his forearm—his own custom creation, kept secret through his final years at the Foundation. The administration would’ve never approved the hacked database software he’d obtained.

It was a crime.

He smirked. “Not like they can exile me.”

He picked two drives, plugged in the cables protruding from his arm, and initiated his crack program. Custom code he’d built years ago—part secret agent, part plague. Once deployed, the virus would worm through every corner of the enclosed network, leaving subtle back doors for his remote systems to find later. If he didn’t get what he needed tonight, he’d still be able to tap the database again.

Small blue lights blinked inside the drawer.

Connection confirmed.

He was in.

“That’s my girl,” he said, patting his forearm like it had feelings. Now he just had to wait while the program did her job…

…and pray no one found him before—

His head snapped up, eye wide.

“Stupid, stupid, STUPID!” he hissed. “You prep and work out the minutest detail to get in here, Höbin Luckyfeller—” He let his forehead drop, thunking against the drawer’s edge— “but never once thought about how you’d get your crusty old butt out!”

His long, exasperated groan echoed through the darkened office.

There’s no way I could have found my way back here on my own, I admitted. But that was the whole point of bringing Otger.

He knew these tunnels the way I knew the layout of my own bedroom back home — every turn automatic, every branch in the passage recognized without a second glance. For hours we walked with few stops, navigating mazes of cement tubes and metal hatchways, pushing through sludge and worse, until the tunnels widened and the smell shifted from sewer to something older. Drier.

We were close.

And then there they were — looming out of the dark like something from a fever dream, jutting from mountains of dry, stale garbage — the huge metal doors of the Clockworks furnaces. The heavy steel design made the surface look like a giant smile pressed into the chamber wall.

A creepy smile.

A familiar one.

I exhaled slowly. This was the place. The one spot in all of Clockworks City where the government wasn’t looking, because as far as they were concerned, nothing worth finding lived down here. Just garbage and the people they’d decided were the same thing.

Which made it perfect.

“Can you get them open?”

Otger crinkled his nose. “Uhhh…maybe?”

“Is that a statement, or a question?”

Another pause. “Yes?”

I laughed. “Either you can…or we just had a lovely walk for nothing, because I certainly can’t get us in.”

Otger bit his bottom lip. “Don’t you have super strength, or something like that?”

“What?” I barked a laugh.

“Well, you’re the Gnolaum, aren’t you?” He eyed me sheepishly.

“What does that have to do with anything? This isn’t a comic book.”

“Comic book?”

I sighed. “Never mind. No, I don’t have super strength or anything else super. Except maybe my appetite. I’m starving.”

Otger sighed. “Me too.” With a grunt and the crunch of compressing garbage, he climbed the dried pile of junk next to the doors. Cans and glass, cardboard and wire-frames of who-knows-what flew over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Digging!”

I shook my head and chuckled. “I can see that, Otger. Why are you digging?”

A second later he lifted a cable. “To find this.” Tugging and yanking, he loosened a portion of the black snake from its den. “Help me find the controls. It should…be on the end of this. I’ll see if the doors can be hot-wired.”

“Now that’s an idea.”

The cable was nearly as thick as my wrist. With a few more yanks, we uncovered a long black box with two dozen buttons across its surface. We both reeled back as a sour smell rolled out with it. Caked in crusted bumps and something blue and furry, the box was wet and hot from being buried under the mound of garbage.

I coughed. “Is that mold, or what?”

Otger nodded. “Looks like it’s been under that pile for a while. The vehicles use a remote, so they wouldn’t need this box.” He leaned closer, sniffed the fuzz, scratched a piece off with a nail…

…and put it in his mouth.

“Don’t—” I gasped, but it was too late. I’d forgotten who I was with.

“Yup,” Otger said, chewing calmly, “fruit mold.” He broke off a chunk and popped the whole thing into his mouth. After a second, he glanced up. “Sorry, that was rude. Do you want some?”

I waved him off. “I’m good. Enjoy.”

The control box was as long as Otger’s chest. The buttons were all intact, each glowing a soft orange.

“Drat.”

“What’s the matter?”

Otger lifted the opposite end of the box and pointed to a small hole with a rubber plug. “Admin key. We need one to make the buttons active.”

“So…”

“We can’t open the doors.”

I kicked a can into the air. “Seriously? All this way and we can’t—”

Otger cocked his head. “Unless…”

“Unless?” I dropped beside him. “Unless what? We like unless.”

“Well…” He flipped the box over and scraped the mold off to reveal a set of numbers engraved into the metal. “This is a 34C-TTT-890b24 model.”

I nodded like I understood. “Right. A 34C… yeah. Of course.”

“Which means it doesn’t have a secondary bolt mechanism.”

My smile sat there, useless. “You know I have no clue what you’re talking about, right?”

Otger laughed. “This is a 34C-TTT-890b24 model.”

“You said that already.”

“That means it’s not a 34C-TT-890c24 model.”

My smile died.

Otger grinned wide, patting the box. “Difference is, if there’s a power outage or a short in the system, the locking mechanism is designed to open the doors—to let the workers out.”

“Oh!” I blurted. “Good news. Right?”

He nodded. “Definitely. All we have to do is short out the main motor.” He pointed to a human-sized box jutting from the wall. “Once that motor stops working, it should send a signal to the main panel and trigger the doors to open.”

“Way to go, Einstein!” I cheered, ruffling his hair.

Otger froze. He looked up, slightly hurt. “But…I’m Otger.”

I beamed. “That’s a compliment, buddy. Back home, it’s what you say when someone figures out something amazing. It means you’re really smart.”

He thought about it, then looked up at me and beamed back.

“So,” I said, “how do we short the motor out?”

“Well, we have to find a way to get the cover off.”

“Okay.”

“Then we need to pull this box apart and get to the raw cables.” He flipped the device over and found a set of clamps. “These get damaged easily, so they’re made to be replaced easily. This won’t be a problem.”

“Fantastic. Then what?”

“Uh.”

“What.”

He scratched behind his neck. “Well…” His eyes drifted to the motor. “Then we need to put the cables into the motor.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

Otger gulped. “Could be. Never…actually done this before.” He forced a smile. “But it should work.”

I stared at the control box. “That has electricity running through it?”

“Yeah.”

“A lot?”

He shrugged. “Enough to control giant doors, so…yeah. Probably.”

“And we have to take the live wires and—”

Otger tensed. “Yeah. ‘Fraid so.”

I took a deep breath and let it out in one go. “Oy.”

“Yeah.”

“So we can do this… but we’re likely to get fried.”

“Well, not exactly.”

I frowned down at him. “Would you please be exact, Otger?”

He went sheepish. “There shouldn’t be much of a problem, so long as the cable is applied directly to the circuit board above the motor.”

“That doesn’t sound that bad. You know where it is, then? The place to fry?”

Otger nodded. “But I can’t reach it.”

My stomach sank. Of course. “I have to do it.”

“Sorry.” Then, softer: “We can start walking back now, if you want?”

I stared up at the furnace doors and couldn’t stop seeing Simon behind them. All these people. Good people. Trapped down here with no way out.

Someone needed to do something for them.

Someone needed to make the effort to change what was wrong around here.

That was exactly why we came.

I stood. “Show me what I have to do.”

The control box cover came off easy enough. The motor cover did not.

It took over an hour to find a scrap of metal strong enough to use as a screwdriver. One by one, we fought the rusted bolts. After another two hours—drenched in sweat and sporting more than a few cuts—the engine was finally exposed.

Gears spun rapidly in their cage, purring like a metal cat. A smaller box welded to the top held the wires and circuits.

I gripped the cable tight and swallowed. Why do I always end up doing the crazy stuff around here?

But I knew the answer.

I glanced down at my own chest. You have my back if anything goes wrong, right?

I shook my head. Stupid question.

Sparks popped from the end of the cable. Suddenly, this plan didn’t feel nearly as brilliant.

“So I jam the end of this,” I lifted the cable slightly, “into the wires on top?”

Otger bolted for the nearest pile of garbage, one hand raised, thumb up.

Lovely vote of confidence, buddy.

I squinted, drew a deep breath, and raised the cable over my head. Might as well make this quick.

Lowering it toward the wires, I thought, Here goes noth—

A fountain of sparks arched high overhead.

I was out cold before my body hit the far wall.

“Because I want to get a jump start on these other idiots, that’s why,” the gnome snapped. “There has to be some lead out there on the Gnolaum!” He looked at the fat gnome with disgust. “Besides—look at you, Mr. Hypocrite. Why are you here, Jake?”

“Because I’ve already had too many sick days, Lewis. If I don’t get these shipments out tonight, other people can’t do their jobs. People depend on me.”

“Whatever, snot wipe.”

Both gnomes skidded to a halt.

“Why are all the lights on?” Jake frowned. But that wasn’t the only odd thing. The monitors were programmed to mute during the night hours—and yet several of the wall-mounted screens were spewing news feeds loud and clear. Some of the neat desk formations were off, too.

Two desks in particular were askew, rotated at odd angles. Between them sat a small pile of boxes…all stacked on one large metal crate.

“How the TGII am I supposed to know why the lights are on?” Lewis scoffed. “I’m not normally here, like the rest of you morons from the mail room.” He knocked a set of papers off a desk as he passed and laughed. Strutting away, he called over his shoulder, “Nighty-night, loser.”

Jake stood there, fuming—and stung. “Why do they always have to be such jerks?” he muttered. He never understood the ingratitude of some employees. Nothing would get done around the FAF without the loyal, efficient workers in the mail room. They were the lifeblood of the organization outside the fishis themselves.

Kneeling, he collected the research papers and aligned them. “We collect and verify, copy and deliver everything of importance in here,” he reminded himself. It was exciting—being trusted to transport new discoveries, important theories, and making sure the greatest minds of Clockworks could exchange physical data freely. So what if only a handful of the six thousand employees knew his name? It was a start. The government wouldn’t let him go to University. He wasn’t smart enough, they said. But he knew numbers. He understood the delivery grid.

“I might not be smart enough to be a fishis,” he said under his breath, “but I can become the best router in the mail room.” He gritted his teeth. “Someday I’ll become the Route Director. You’ll see.” Then, softer: “I’m not a loser.”

Jake stood, wiping his nose across his sleeve. With great care not to wrinkle the documents, he set the papers back on the desk. June Campbell’s desk. Mechanical statistics and manufacturing history. He knew every desk’s name—even if he’d never met a face. June was important, sending and receiving a great deal of mail to field workers and correspondents. Jake shifted the papers with his fingertips, making sure they were offset from the corner by two inches and aligned with the outbox tray.

“Now why are you sitting here like an eyesore?” he asked the huge crate. The stamps on the side said it was outgoing, but it hadn’t been delivered to the sorting room. Odd—something that important just squatting between desks. He circled the package, searching for a note or directions. When he lifted the smaller packages on top, he found a handwritten sheet.

Detailed directions. In red ink.

“Red ink,” he cooed reverently.

His eyes scanned each line with professional precision.

Jake’s face exploded in glee.

“LEWWWWWIS!”

“What!?” the young fishis barked from down the hall.

Huffing, Jake rounded the corner, pushing the giant crate into the office and waving the paper. “I…have…something for…you.”

“Then put it on my desk and go away.”

“No, I mean—” Jake shook his head. “Something for you to deliver.” He nodded toward the crate.

Lewis looked up from his desk, irritated. “Has the sugar from your obscenely huge doughnut consumption gone to your brain instead of your belly, tard-boy?”

Jake’s face hardened. “Don’t call me that.”

Lewis flared. “What do you WANT?”

Jake stepped in and dropped the paper on the keyboard. “Read it,” he said coldly.

Snarling like a bear woken from hibernation, Lewis snatched it up and scanned. The lines in his face smoothed out immediately. “Is this for real? A set of listening and photo devices? An actual tip and sighting of the Gnolaum?”

Jake nodded.

“Sweet!” Lewis sprang to his feet. “I’ll take it off your hands, dweeb, and—”

A palm shot up, stopping him short and knocking him back into his chair.

“NOT so fast.” Jake’s expression shifted from wounded to sharp. “I’m thinking you shouldn’t go after all.” He let a small, satisfied smile curl up. “You’ve been mean to me.” He corrected himself, voice tightening. “No—that’s not right. You’re always mean to me, Lewis. I’ve done nothing but help you, serve you, even make you a priority around here—hoping you’d put in a good word for me eventually. I never asked for favors. Just a kind recommendation like others write for the lower positions. But you’re nothing but a bully.”

Lewis started laughing.

“You think this is funny?” Jake slammed his fist on the table. Lewis laughed harder. “You blamed me for things I’m still paying for! You wrote my name on disgusting notes and planted them in places I can’t go—and now I’m not allowed to deliver to the executives! Just because you have power around here—” The anger drained from his face into something colder. “You lied about me, Lewis. I’ve never told a lie or done anything dishonest since the day I was hired, but you changed all that.”

Lewis shrugged. “Yeah? So?”

Jake’s mouth softened into a coy smile. “You’re not the one with power. I’m responsible for the mail. I’m responsible for the deliveries—and I’ve never let the FAF down.”

“Whoop-dee-DO,” Lewis scoffed. “You’re going to do what? Deny me stamps?”

Jake shook his head. “I’ll hand this crate over to McCoy instead.”

Lewis choked, nearly tipping out of his chair. “What!?”

Folding his arms, Jake nodded once. “At least he talks politely…and brings me doughnuts.”

Lewis popped up fast, smile glued on awkwardly, gripping the paper tight. “Now look, buddy—there’s no need to act hasty. I’ve been a little harsh, I realize that now, but I was just conditioning you.”

“Conditioni—”

“—to make sure you were ready to go into the field as a fishis.”

Jake’s eyes went wide. His arms slowly unfolded. “A fishis? Me?”

Lewis pounced on the opening. “Of course! Dude, are you kidding me? With your attention to detail and spotless paperwork?” He waved a hand. “I know I made everyone believe the copier fire was your fault, but hey—that was a test. To see how you’d handle scrutiny. Cross-examinations.”

“They docked me eighteen hundred credits.”

“The pressure of the field can get pretty intense,” Lewis said quickly. “Not everyone’s cut out for this kind of work.”

Jake searched his face—too bright, too eager. He blinked hard. “But…you think I am?”

“Absolutely!” Lewis slid around his desk and shuffled toward the giant crate. “And as soon as I get back from this assignment—” he nodded, “with your permission, of course—I’m going to write my personal recommendation for you! I mean, why wait any longer? Right?” He laid a hand on the metal package like it was holy.

Jake had to lean against the desk. His life’s ambitions…his fondest dreams. Was this really happening? His mother was going to be so proud.

“You start filling out your application,” Lewis said, trying to remember, “Mr. Blake…”

“Blick.”

“Blick! Of course—Mr. Blick, I’m sorry, I’m just so excited for you…”

Jake glanced up at the wall clock. “You’d better hurry. You’ll need time to get to the site and set up before the Gnolaum appears.”

Lewis’s voice went eager. “You’re letting me take it, then?”

Jake nodded. He took the papers and signed his name beside the official stamp at the bottom. Then he pulled his route-key from his pocket—a small device that time-stamped paperwork—and pressed the end over his signature.

“You can take van #202,” Jake said. “Just need your thumbprint.”

Lewis shoved his left thumb into the route-key.

Jake smiled. “Done. It’s all yours.”

Morty sighed. “Now that is a great cup of tea.”

It felt good to have the front door back on the warehouse. Even torched and half-ruined, it was still his home—and with that door missing, he’d felt overexposed. Like it was an invitation for idiots to wander in and “inspect” his life.

He took another sip—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

—and spilled it all over his beard.

“What the…” he growled, shoving his chair back.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Alright,” he called. “ALRIGHT!”

With a grunt and a tug, Morty yanked the newly welded door open.

“Here,” Höbin snapped, shoving a bag into the tinkerer’s arms. “Hold this!”

“Höbin—you made it back!” Morty beamed. “I just made some Arlong Tea, would you—”

“Hold that thought!” Höbin barked—and sprinted off into the darkness.

“Where are you going?”

“Be right back!” he shouted, the tap-tap-tap of his metal leg echoing down the street.

Morty blinked after him. “Morty Teedlebaum,” he muttered, “you have undoubtedly the strangest associations in Clockworks City.”

He shook his head and chuckled. It had been a good day—highly productive, breakthroughs at every turn. There wasn’t a thing in this city that could—

The night air exploded into flame.

From around the corner, a small mushroom cloud of orange and red billowed between buildings. Smoke followed. Then the shockwave slapped the street like an angry hand.

Morty’s mouth fell open.

He watched the flames climb—until the tap-tap-tap of Höbin’s metal leg returned, fast.

The historian shoved Morty inside and slammed the roughly-fit door shut. He bolted it, just to be sure.

“Yes,” Höbin said, wearing a broad, happy grin.

Morty blinked, then looked past him at the door. “Yes…what?”

“I’d love some Arlong Tea.”

“Right,” Morty said dully. He handed the bag back and wandered toward the kitchen like a gnome in a trance.

Höbin plopped the bag onto the table and pulled up a second chair. “You put a door back on. Good idea. Don’t want just anyone walking along being able to—”

“What just exploded?” Morty asked, setting a chipped cup on the counter.

“Oh, just a FAF delivery van. #202, I believe. Don’t worry—there wasn’t anyone in it.”

Morty froze. “So you stole a Fishis Archive Foundation vehicle.”

Höbin looked up, offended. “I would never!” Then he grinned. “I was the cargo, that’s all.”

Morty poured tea with hands that didn’t quite trust themselves. “Cargo?”

Unzipping the bag, Höbin pulled out loose files—then dumped a small clatter of electronic keys, security tags, and other odd personal items onto the table. “Silly me. I made it into the FAF, got into the restricted database, even uploaded my own program for future use. Problem was… I hadn’t thought about getting out.” He chuckled, examining a level-three access card with Lewis’s picture on it. “So I decided to create an outgoing delivery.”

Morty stared at the charred, grimy gnome. “But you only had the one air canister… how could you—”

“Drilled holes in the bottom of the crate,” Höbin said, casual as a grocery list. “I was making all this too complicated.” He set the card down and picked up the key ring. “When I saw all the hyper activity around Wendell, I left an urgent package—which was me—attached to a bogus tip. Labeled the crate fragile equipment. Put an address around the corner and down the street. Said there’d been a sighting of the Gnolaum hiding in the warehouse district.”

Morty shook his head slowly. “That’s crazy.”

“Oh, I know. But the FAF is a curious crowd. I should know.” Höbin sipped his tea like he hadn’t just rearranged reality. “My best hope was someone finding me in the morning… or, at best, someone from the mail room doing night deliveries.” He smiled. “Looks like I hit the jackpot.”

Morty nodded at the pile. “What’s all the stuff?”

Höbin’s smirk sharpened. “The personal belongings of Lewis Robert Natonek.”

Morty choked on his tea. “T-the research and report Natonek?”

“Yup.”

“The…girls and the…” Morty couldn’t quite finish.

“The same.”

Morty shuddered. He wasn’t a history buff, but even he knew that name. Famous for attention, not integrity. “The gnome is an embarrassment to your noble profession.”

“Thank you.”

“Why haven’t they thrown him out of the FAF?” Morty’s eyes landed on the keys again. “Wait—and what are you doing with his personal belongings?”

Höbin looked up with a grin that sent a cold little spike down Morty’s spine. “Throwing him out of the FAF.”

They stared at each other. Morty folded first.

“Okay. Tell me.”

Höbin leaned forward. “No one’s been able to pin him to anything worth firing him over. He’s always alone… or he’s covered his tracks too well. He doesn’t take risks unless he knows anyone willing and able to point fingers will…disappear.”

Morty nodded once. “Right. We already established he’s a butt.”

“Well,” Höbin said, too calmly, “he happened to threaten a kind young kid from the mail room. After this fictional assignment was over, he planned on ruining the simple existence of a good person. So I decided to make sure it didn’t happen.”

A tiny lever slid in his cybernetic arm. A mini flap popped open. With careful fingernails, Höbin pried out a data chip. “I recorded the entire conversation. With the kid… and his plotting, backstabbing words while he thought he was alone in the van.” He held the chip up like a jewel. “I’ll mail this to my contact inside the FAF. Mr. Natonek can change his name to mud. The administration will take his credentials, prosecute him, and send him home with the Centurions.”

Morty sat back and exhaled. “Wow, Höbin. I know you’ve done incredible things in your career—and I know you’re a protective father, but…” He trailed off.

Höbin set the keys down, then picked up Lewis’s travel license. The vulgar smile on the ID glowered back at him.

“But?” Höbin prompted.

“I didn’t think you were vindictive.”

Höbin flinched like he’d been struck. He set the ID down gently. “I’m not,” he said, quieter.

“Then why go to such lengths that you’d blow up a company vehicle and—” Morty pointed at the ID pile, “—I’m assuming—blame it all on Natonek?”

Höbin sat up straight and tapped the table once with his metal hand. “Two reasons.” His jaw tightened. “One—because that gnome hasn’t only tarnished a profession I love dearly… he’s used the trust of the public to manipulate them for his own selfish desires.”

His fingers curled into a slow fist.

Morty took a careful sip. “And two?”

The glare beneath those wild eyebrows wasn’t anger anymore. It was recognition. Old wounds. Cold resolve. The blue eye caught the light of the single bulb.

“I started my career in the mail room.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Chuck and Lili secure Tumblers help to gather the whole TNT crew. Chuck uses cold hard credits to secure the agreement.

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Chapter 85

“But I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Like they care.”

“But I’m fat. I have a delicate constitution. I’m not made for running and fighting—that’s why I applied for a security guard position.”

“Well, now you’re a manhunter like the rest of us. So finish checking in these crates, put them in the office, and I’ll meet you out front.”

“What if we just… I don’t know…forget to show up?”

“Look, they haven’t caught him yet, and they’ve had nearly a thousand Centurions out looking for the Gnolaum. All they want is another group of eyes.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Not really, but it sounds good and I want you to stop whining. Meet you in the lobby—so hurry it up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he complained.

No one was left on the collection floor of the Fishis Archive Foundation, which seemed odd. The Centurion pushed the freight cart along the hallway, staring at all the vacant desks he passed.

Not a soul.

It was…eerie.

The writers and researchers had all gone to see what excitement they could find. The city was buzzing with whispers of another address from the Gnolaum—the being of prophecy that popped up at random locations around the city, shouting his proclamations and then vanishing before the authorities could capture him.

The hundred or more monitors, hanging from walls and ceilings, silently displayed stories from all over Clockworks.

Riots, vandalism, and now ongoing demonstrations throughout the lower manufacturing districts. These were the after effects of the Gnolaum’s words.

People were angry.

Frustrated.

Fed up.

The Government and Church refused to address the citizens of Clockworks. They refused to counter what was being said, which fed the frenzy. Long-range shots of Wendell’s face were now plastered all over the walls.

…which made the renta-centurion curious.

The Gnolaum looked passionate.

Convinced.

In just forty-eight hours, he’d become the poster child for the curious and rebellious. The Gnolaum…whether he was official or not…was now the center of attention.

The FAF was abuzz all day—articles being crafted and cross-referenced by historians, desperate to build a name for themselves. The problem was being able to connect their limited knowledge with something more substantial. No one really knew anything about this human male…and no one could get such information. Affidavits, recorded rumors and speculation…even official requests to the Temple of Nothing for prophetic clarification lay scattered across desktops.

Any snippet that a gnome could grab referring to the human Wendell P. Dipmier was being collected, organized, and catalogued.

But it was all junk.

That was what was being whispered by the water coolers. It didn’t discourage the FAF fishes—it fascinated and motivated them.

All other projects had been frozen until further notice.

The Centurion pushed the cart along until a particular photo caught his notice. It was one of Wendell, laughing while being surrounded by gnomes that looked poor…almost destitute. Dressed in tattered rags, they huddled around him in droves. Yet every one of them looked happy to be near the human.

“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” the guard muttered, “He looks perfectly harmless.”

Well, it wasn’t for a Centurion to second-guess or question orders. It didn’t matter if people were innocent or guilty—that was for other, smarter people to decide. Grunting, he shoved the cart around the corner and parked it in front of the library doors. He patted the largest crate in frustration.

“As much as I want to stay with you and watch Clockwork Idol tonight…” he sighed.

Clicking off the overhead lights, the chubby gnome shuffled down the hall. A moment later, he vanished into the elevator.

Wrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. The muffled sound hummed lightly through the office.

A screw in the corner of the largest crate turned. Twisting up and up, it finally wobbled and fell onto the floor.

Wrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Out came a second, third…and with the fourth, the side wall collapsed onto the carpet.

Covered in sweat and gasping for air, Höbin rolled out onto the floor. With trembling fingers, he pulled the air mask from his face. For several minutes, he fought to stay conscious. The moisture on his face dripped down his cheeks and collected in his beard. Nostrils flared as he gulped air greedily. That had been far too close for comfort.

Then again…he made it.

Rolling onto his side, he turned the knob where his left ear used to be—his cybernetic eye adjusting for the darkness. No heat signatures. He’d taken the risk, made a calculated guess, and he was right. Wendell’s presence was too incredible for anyone to pass up—and the competitiveness of those seeking a fishes position drove everyone from the building. Even the cleaning crew was gone.

He chuckled out loud. “Well done, you old fart. You actually made it. You’re in.”

Grunting and holding onto the handle of the cart, Höbin pulled his metal leg from the box and dragged himself into an upright position. Opening the hidden compartment, he grabbed the screwdriver and got to work.

“This is not a wise idea,” Deloris said again, “and I don’t care if I sound like a broken record. I care about you, young man, and after yesterday’s attempt on your life, I…”

“You worry too much,” I finished for her. Kneeling down, I gripped her trembling hands in mine and smiled. “It’ll be okay.” I searched her face. “I promise.”

“You can’t promise what you don’t control,” she huffed. “You’ve been going at it for two days without rest,” she pleaded, squeezing my fingers. “Let’s pack up and take this up again in a couple days. Then…”

“Then,” I stopped her, “it may be too late.”

Without another word, I pulled her close and hugged her as workers swarmed around us—nearly fifty of them, gathering props and prepping for the next event. I squeezed tighter. “I’m so glad I met you.”

Deloris sighed and let her head rest against my shoulder. “Please, Wendell.”

Pulling away, I smiled brightly. “Think of it this way—the more I’m in the open, the more the government is looking for me and not my friends. That’s a good thing.”

“I guess so.”

“Ready to roll?” Shamas asked, jumping down from the van. “We’ve got the routes planned, and our eyes say there’s a bigger crowd than there was this afternoon.”

I stood up. “Didn’t think that was possible. It was a huge crowd in front of the loading docks.”

The bodyguard grinned. “Rough count was about thirty-five hundred. I think your idea of planting rumors is working better than we thought. Depending on where we set up, you could have more than five thousand citizens there in person…and who knows how many TV crews.”

“How can you sound and look so calm?” Deloris finally snapped behind me. Her nostrils flared in frustration.

Shamas looked back, shocked. “Me?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the bodyguard?” she glared at him. “Wendell’s bodyguard?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a grin.

“Then why aren’t you doing your job?” she growled. “Someone almost killed him—again—and you’re acting as if it never happened. Now he wants to spend more time out in the open? You’ve all lost your mind!”

“He does get that standing ovation from people.”

“That’s not funny, Shamas.”

But I laughed.

“Wasn’t intended to be, Deloris.” His smile never wavered. “Look, I agree with you. I really do, but can I stop him from going out there into the public’s eye? No. Can you? And for your information, I am doing my job. I just learned I have to do it in a way that Wendell doesn’t notice—or he fights me.”

I nodded. “Every step of the way.”

That got her attention. She cocked her head to the side. “You…have something up your sleeve, don’t you?” She studied his face. “Tell me.”

Guiding her toward the closest van, he patted a metal panel sitting in the center of the floor. “Meet Betsy. Scapegoat #3.”

“Common tongue, please.”

Chuckling, he said, “Wendell won’t get out of the line of fire, right? So we told him we’d create some decoys.”

“Right,” she said. “I know all that.”

“But that’s not good enough. Not by a long shot. All the Centurions have to do is cut us off and we’ve been had.” Working his way to the back of the van, Shamas rolled up the service door. “That’s why all the vans come with a magic hat.”

She frowned. “Magic…hat? What are you talking about?”

“If we have to get away in a hurry, all we have to do is get Wendell into one of these vans. Each driver has a layout map of the sewer pipes…” His grin widened. “Including the manholes.”

Deloris caught on, and now she was smiling too. “So if the van gets caught, it’ll be…”

“Empty. And to make sure we don’t lose him in the tunnels, I’ve made sure Otger is with Wendell to and from all events.”

Deloris shook her head and patted the bodyguard lightly on the shoulder. “I take back my doubt. You’re good, Shamas. Very good.” Then, laughing, “In fact, I think you’re my favorite person today.”

He smirked. “I aim to please.”

It was farther up than the G.R.R. had dared to go. The food district—smaller shops and family-owned distribution centers nestled between the upper city and the warehouse districts. It was where factory workers and normals met.

Two worlds. One city.

The numbers far exceeded the prediction. Thousands upon thousands packed the streets. Parents and children, university students, shop owners, government workers—citizens from every walk of life pooled together in a sea of expectation.

Of excitement.

Bodies filled windows and balconies on the surrounding buildings. Eyes searched eagerly for where the Gnolaum might appear first.

Officers kept traffic moving, standing in the streets and waving vehicles on. Gnomes arriving by transport were forced to walk over a mile to join the crowds.

Only media and local businesses were allowed to park nearby.

For two days, speculation had churned. I’d made nearly a dozen speeches. The first few had slipped past the main media outlets, but they caught on soon enough—following the crowds, keeping their ears to the streets. Word was, the Gnolaum had a lot to say about the people of Clockworks.

…and I did.

Not only was I not afraid of their technology, I embraced it.

That got their attention.

Whispers flowed freely through the mass.

“They say he’s completely against the Government.”

“That’s only because they have his friend. But why should he care what happens to a vallen?”

“He supports the workers. I think that’s refreshing. To worry about the little guys. Not that it matters much—but it’s nice to know he has feelings.”

“The Church is completely against all this. What does that mean?”

Not everyone was here for answers. Hundreds of normals stood off to one side—faces drawn, hands clenched into fists.

Lives had been disrupted.

Goods weren’t moving the way they used to.

The great beast that rewarded those willing to work and pay the price had shifted…and not for the better.

Lesser citizens were demanding equal rights.

More freedoms.

It was disgusting.

Unthinkable.

Eyes scanned windows, platforms, and the crowd itself. There were no smiles on those faces. Many hid weapons…sticks, rocks, disposable tools of violence. I could see them flickering in and out of view.

Centurions also noticed.

They said nothing.

“Let’s do this,” I said into my com-link.

“Even with the doors locked and barricaded, you won’t have much time.”

“I understand,” I replied, staring through the curtains. “Deloris?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Thank you. For being here with me. For helping, and…believing in me.” I took a slow breath and slid the window open. “It means a lot.”

“Just be careful,” she said, sober.

“And remember where the vans are,” Shamas chimed in. “If it gets to be too much, get to a van. Understood? We’ll get you out.”

“Got it.” I peered down the street, trying to find the faux delivery vans. A cluster of them had been staged on the far side of the crowd.

“Wow,” I gasped, once in the open.

There were a lot of gnomes out there.

High school debate hadn’t prepared me for this.

Then again, I did get straight F’s.

It wasn’t Trench Stadium. This was different.

These citizens had come to hear me talk.

…or brain me.

I slid the window open the rest of the way, then stepped out onto the fire escape. Looking down between the metal grating, my legs went soft. “Couldn’t we have done this on top of the building?” I gasped, grabbing the railing.

“Then you wouldn’t have an escape route,” Shamas replied evenly. “You’re the one calling the shots, Wendell. I just work my job around your parameters.”

“Right,” I gulped. My fingers inched along the metal until they found the rope tied in a loose knot.

The invisible rope.

I should’ve requested the speech from a coffee shop.

“You have time to call all this off,” Deloris said, hopeful.

“No.” I swallowed hard. “I’m here.” Another gulp. “I’m ready.”

I clenched my eyes shut.

Not everyone will agree.

Not everyone will understand.

That’s ok.

Your job now is to share your heart. Let them decide what to do with it.

I opened my eyes and whispered, “Go.”

“Cueing mic.”

Speakers—hidden on rooftops and in alleyways—popped on. The soft rush of my breathing pulsed across the district. Thousands of eyes snapped around, searching for where the sound came from. Media vans swung their cameras, rolling and panning. Some crews stood on rooftops. Others moved through the crowd with shoulder rigs.

“The world is changing,” I said softly, adjusting the wire looped around my ear. “And not for the better. I don’t need to prove anything—you only have to look around you. Stop listening, for just a moment, to the words of your leaders…and look at their fruits.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

“Do their deeds match their promises? Think about it. Do your leaders fulfill their pledges? Do they honor their word? What excuses do they make to cover their corruption…or their neglect?”

The murmuring grew.

“Do you see it?” I forced a grin. “Of course you see it. We all see it. The question isn’t whether it exists. The question you have to ask yourself is whether it affects you enough to want to change.”

I whispered, “Silmä inakmään.”

The effect was immediate.

Gnomes looked up and gasped as I flashed into view.

Simple magic.

Clever timing.

I smiled…because smiling was easier than admitting my knees were trying to quit…and gripped the railing like it was the only thing keeping me attached to the planet.

“That’s one of the first things I noticed about Clockworks when I arrived. There’s a division among the people of this incredible city.” I nodded, pushing the smile wider. “And I do think this city is incredible. Fascinating and awe-inspiring!”

Some beamed up at me.

“But it’s also ill. From head to foot, Clockworks is saturated with corruption!”

A few fists rose and pumped in agreement.

I needed to clarify it.

“But if you have a good life…” No. “A comfortable life,” better, “then why would you want things to change?” Faces shifted. Some were already chewing on it. “Some are afraid that if opportunities are given to others, their own lives will be lessened. That’s foolish—but others fear something worse. There are those who fear losing control. Losing leverage. Losing the power that drives and forces, manipulates and threatens.”

My voice sharpened.

“Power they never should have had in the first place!”

I raised my chin and tried to meet as many eyes as I could as I scanned the crowd. “You have a Government that turns a blind eye to the pain and suffering of the poor. Your widows. Your orphans. Your elderly! A leadership that hides what it’s done to millions of its citizens—gnomes who labor night and day to keep this civilization afloat.”

It was time to say it.

The truth.

“What’s even worse is that you have citizens among us who hold their brothers and sisters down…”

The crowd went silent.

“For no other reason than their own gain!”

Normals stepped forward, pressing into the crowd.

“Why?” I pleaded. “Why is this the case, when the gnome race is so intelligent—bursting with goodness and creativity? Why should there be deprived people when your place could be among the leaders of this entire world?”

Gasps echoed.

They hadn’t been ready for that.

But it was true.

At least…it was true in my bones.

“I’ll tell you why!” I shouted. “It’s because there are gnomes who think life should be ease. Comfort. That isn’t wrong—but not at the cost of another! Not when you seek it in spite of the suffering around you.”

My voice dropped then. “Not when you use the suffering of others for your own gain.”

“Wendell,” Shamas buzzed in my ear, “you’ve got company already. Centurions are en route. Plainclothes officers entered the building. We shut down the elevators and blocked the stairwell, but that won’t delay them long.”

“Please don’t think I’m against any of you,” I continued, forcing myself to keep going. “I’m not. Since I arrived, it’s been my pleasure…” I hesitated. “No…my honor…to get to know people here. Good, honest, caring citizens who showed me the grace and brilliance of your race. Citizens who represent you with dignity.”

My eyes drifted…angry faces were pushing toward the fire escape.

“But during my adventures as a Trench pilot…”

Cheers burst out. Laughter rolled through the crowd.

I smirked. “Which was, without a doubt, the coolest experience I’ve EVER had in my life.”

More cheers.

“But I was kidnapped.” My brow tightened. “Taken from my friends and thrown into one of your public garbage chutes.”

The laughter thinned, uncertain.

“For those of you who haven’t had the luxury of falling hundreds of stories to your death and living to talk about it—let me enlighten you.” A few uneasy chuckles. “There’s a world below. Right under where you’re standing. A place where gnomes—just like you—have been cast out and forgotten.”

My eyes burned. I blinked hard.

“Like garbage,” I choked out.

Below me, somewhere inside the building, I heard it—doors being kicked, frantic movement, officers hunting for stairs. Shamas had welded the fire escape ladders up.

Smart.

They’d have to come through the apartment door.

I spread my arms wide. “Gnomes are not garbage!” My voice cracked. “Yet I lived for days with men, women…and children…trapped below this city, scratching out a meager existence from the waste you produce. Is this right? To allow this kind of treatment of your citizens? Your neighbors? Your kin?”

Then I drove it deeper.

“But this isn’t only about those left behind…”

I ground my teeth. This hurt to say, because I’d seen it. I felt it and experienced it with so many good gnomes.

“This is about change,” Deloris prompted softly in my ear.

I froze.

Faces stared up at me. Thousands of them.

Lives. Stories. Eyes.

And the weight of it came down hard.

They truly believed I was the Gnolaum.

“The next line is ‘This is about change’,” Deloris said again.

No.

My mind snapped…pulling me back to the furnaces. The late talks. The kids. The hunger. The ones who’d stopped expecting anything to ever get better.

And I’d seen sacrifice, too—Bellows, quietly bleeding untold fortunes to keep people from drowning.

But change wasn’t coming fast enough. Not when boots stayed on necks. Not when leaders used leverage by threatening people I loved.

The door below me shook.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

“This is about a revolution,” I said aloud.

The words rang across the district and came back at me from brick and steel.

“WHAT?” Deloris squealed in my ear.

The pressure slid off my shoulders.

I could finally breathe.

…and for some reason, I could stand taller.

“This is about standing up, together, and making yourselves heard. Making yourselves seen. Saying ‘no’ to those who sit high and lay their labors on your backs!”

My voice surged.

“It’s time to stand up and shout that this is no longer acceptable!”

“Wendell, what are you—” Deloris started, but her voice drowned under a roar.

The crowd erupted.

Normals froze. I noticed faces turning pale, fear flashing across them. I’d hit the button. A hot one. Around them, gnomes exploded into motion, a decade of swallowed rage finally finding air. Fists rose by the thousands. Tattered sleeves snapped in the breeze.

And the chant rolled up like thunder.

“GNOLAUM! GNOLAUM! GNOLAUM!”

“You just flipped our plan on its head!” Deloris shouted, furious. “This isn’t the way—people are going to get hurt!”

“They’re already hurting,” I shot back, watching the faces below. “Do you see them, Deloris? Are you seeing the faces? Grinning, crying, screaming. It’s time for the other half of this city to wake up.”

“They’re in, Wendell!” Shamas yelled. “You need to—”

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

The apartment door exploded open.

Officers poured in—weapons up, scanning for me.

My fingers scrabbled along the railing searching for the invisible rope.

I yanked the knot free and took a firm grip, setting one foot against the railing and pulling the rope taut.

My stomach rolled.

The far end was attached to a crane between buildings.

At least…I hoped it was.

“Wendell—jump!” Shamas screamed. “Get to the vans, now!”

“There he is!” a Centurion shouted from inside. “Grab him!”

Gloved hands reached through the shattered window, clawing for my shirt. The smiley face on my chest screamed silently like a maniac.

But no one grabbed me.

The window glass burst outward—then a tiny, red-speckled hole appeared in the center of it.

The closest officer jerked back from the ledge and collapsed.

“ARGH!” I stumbled. My left arm went dead. “Guys…I’ve been hit.”

A beat passed—then the sound arrived.

The crack of a firearm.

Distant.

Clean.

Above us.

Two levels up, a water tower in the distance blew apart—first the shot, then the blast. Fire belched out like a dragon and was immediately smothered as the tower dumped water over the ledge, drowning the flames.

“Wendell!” Shamas screamed. “Go, NOW!”

Throwing myself over the edge, I shrieked like a lunatic, clinging to the rope with my good hand. My body swung out over the crowd in a wild arc.

Below, gnomes couldn’t decide what to watch—the attack, or the screaming Gnolaum-banshee swinging overhead.

“How do I get doooowwwnnn?!” I screeched, feeling my grip slip.

“You have to let go!” Shamas shouted, sprinting across the street toward the vans. “Jump on my mark!”

“Jump?!”

“That’s what I said—ready, set—”

“Wait!” I yelled, watching the vans rush up to meet me.

“JUMP!” Shamas yelled.

It hit me all at once: this plan was never built for a graceful exit.

I squeezed my eyes shut and let go.

I flew past gnomes who screamed and scattered…

…and slammed into the side of a van.

Which I bounced off and hit the street.

Hard.

The crowd cheered.

“Owww,” I groaned. The mägoweave saved my back, but it didn’t save my dignity. I pushed myself up, and the cheering got louder.

I raised a weak hand and waved. “Guys, I have a bullet hole through my arm.”

“Get in the van!” Shamas roared, shoving me forward into a van.

Otger slammed the door shut behind me, and we shot off.

Four vans, identical—except for what was inside them.

Otger grinned. “That was a cool landing.”

I gritted my teeth and shoved my sleeve up. Blood clotted around the hole. “Someone tried to kill me. Like…actually, literally kill me this time!”

“What,” Shamas barked into the com-link, “did you think this was some game?”

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it.

“Looks like we have company,” another voice said.

Shamas caught the pursuing vehicles in the mirror—black racers cutting around vendors and statues, lights flashing red and yellow.

“Why don’t they have sirens on?” Shamas snapped.

“No clue, boss,” a driver answered. “What’s the plan?”

“Pea-shell,” Shamas said. “Mix it up before we split. Confirmed?”

“Confirmed,” three voices replied in unison.

Shamas slammed the brakes and fell into line with the other vans. Otger and I rolled around in the cab and banged our knees.

“Sorry,” Shamas said over the speaker. “We’re being pursued already—so we’re creating a diversion. Hang onto something.”

Otger and I stared at the empty cargo box.

Smooth walls. No handles.

“To what?” Otger squeaked.

The four vans wove into a figure-eight pattern as they raced—using signs and posts to break sight-lines and reshuffle positions.

“Coming up on the hard left, boss,” a voice warned.

“Right,” Shamas confirmed. “Flying fish, then split. Confirmed?”

“Confirmed,” three voices answered.

I grabbed Otger’s forearm as we hit the turn.

The three empty vans fell back and split—each taking a different main road. Shamas cut hard right and floored it.

“Two cars in pursuit,” a driver reported.

“Nothing on me,” another said.

“I have the third,” the last replied.

“Good job,” Shamas chuckled. “We’re in the—” He stopped. His face went cold. His fingers toggled the speaker. “Get ready to bail, Otger.”

I shoved myself upright. “What is he talking about?”

Otger crawled to the center of the floor and yanked up a small metal ring. It lifted a larger handle. He gripped it with both hands and pulled. “We’re about to have visitors. This is our way out. We have to run.”

I stared. “You…know about this?”

Otger nodded and pulled again.

The van slowed.

“What’s the matter?”

Otger stood and yanked with everything he had.

Nothing.

“It’s stuck,” he said.

“Here.” I grabbed it and hauled with all my strength.

It didn’t budge.

“Uh oh.”

“You out?” Shamas whispered in my ear.

“Uhhh…not exactly.”

“Well get out—now. We have a roadblock ahead.”

“We can’t. The thingy is jammed.”

The mic crackled with what I assumed were creative insults involving animal parts. The van rolled to a stop.

“Then stay quiet,” Shamas whispered. “I’ll—”

He cut off as shouting approached the back of the van. The mic crackled again—so loud I yanked my earbud out.

Otger stared at me, sweat beading on his lip. “What’s wrong?”

“Company,” I whispered, lifting a finger to my lips. The voices moved closer—slow, deliberate. I pulled Otger toward the rear doors and crouched with him. “When that door opens, clamp your eyes shut. Head down. Okay?”

Otger nodded, trembling.

I forced my breathing slow.

The latch rattled. Mutters shifted outside the door.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

I rolled my shoulders and brought the words to mind.

Come on.

Come and get me.

The door jerked up.

Six plainclothes officers stood spread across the pavement, weapons trained on me. Shamas was nowhere in sight.

“Get out!” the lead Centurion barked.

I grinned. My mind fixed on sunlight—staring into it, letting it flood my vision.

“VÄLO!” I bellowed.

Light exploded from the van.

Weapons clattered. Gnomes screamed, slapped hands over their eyes, stumbled into one another.

“Come on!” I grabbed Otger and jumped down, hauling him into a sprint.

“Wait!” Otger cried, pointing. “We need to go that way—put me down!”

I glanced over my shoulder and caught Shamas dropping a sucker punch on the lead officer before sprinting off himself.

“There!” Otger pointed at a manhole near a clothing shop.

Gnomes stared as we dashed over and I heaved the plate up.

Otger and I dropped into the manhole.

“Ungh!” I gagged. “What is that sme—”

Otger shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Fine. Lead on.”

The tunnels were wide enough to move, but not enough for me to stand.

I hunched for an hour.

Then two.

My back screamed, but I refused to lean against the walls or sit in what I was pretty sure was the greatest horror my nose had ever known.

At the end of the second hour, I stopped.

“How can you keep going through this?” I coughed, lifting my mägoweave shirt over my mouth and nose. The smiley face on my chest had turned from bright yellow to sickly green—bags forming under his eyes. Otger looked weirdly…fine. “Doesn’t this make you want to blow chunks?”

Otger shrugged. “I lived in tunnels and sewers to make a living.” He frowned like he was actually considering it. “I guess you get used to it.”

“Wow,” I gagged. “Revolting…but wow.”

A series of ladders appeared ahead, bolted into the cement wall. We climbed until Otger held up a hand.

“Hear that?” he said.

We listened.

Above us, through the manhole cover, I caught engine noise and arguing—orders barked, complaints snapped back, then more orders.

“Where are we?” I whispered.

“Back at the warehouse.” Otger’s ears twitched. “I think the Centurions found our base.”

Crap. Crap. Crap.

I slumped against the wall, too tired to care. I’d deviated from the G.R.R. speech. Had I pushed the authorities far enough that they were retaliating?

I wasn’t sure, but what I said had to be said.

Would Bellows and the G.R.R. have countered the rot eventually?

“We can’t go up,” Otger whispered. “They’re searching the warehouses for you.”

“What about—” I started, but he pressed a finger to his lips.

“They’re not arresting anyone,” he whispered. “Too many workers are standing up to the authorities.” He smirked at me. “I think the Centurions are nervous. They’re just looking for you.”

Good news.

So why did my stomach still feel like ice?

“So where do we go?” I whispered. “We’ll have to lay low.”

I stared into the dark.

It wasn’t safe to drag trouble back to Morty’s.

Not yet.

I couldn’t go to the G.R.R. base.

Not Bellows’ place.

There was one place left.

…one place no one would think to search.

I looked at Otger and grinned. “I know a place we’ll be safe.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: With the Government announcing the planned execution of Dax, Wendell was about to cut all ties and focus on his friends rescue. That is, until he discovered his influence on the heart of the city.

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Chapter 84

“Don’t look at me like that. You agreed to help me first.”

“I did help you.”

“The deal was to get the monkey back…I was very specific. Or did you forget that essential part of the agreement?”

“No, I didn’t forget that part, but…”

“Well this is the next phase of that strategy, child, so stop fidgeting. Smile. Put all your worries and concerns behind you for now. I need that smile.” He rapped her on the forehead with a knuckle. “No, not like that. You look constipated when you do that. I want the smile that makes all these male gnomes go weak in the knees.”

“You’re pushing it, no matter what our agreement may be.”

“Oh please. If anyone so much as hints at being improper, I’ll turn them into a toad and squash them under foot!”

She relaxed. “Really?”

“Well, no. I don’t know how to turn gnomes into toads.”

Lili sighed.

“Oh for goodness sakes, child, all I’m asking you to do is smile. Distract. Help me get what’s needed without having to resort to violence. Besides, you really do look adorable as a gnome.” Chuck adjusted his top hat and gave her a grandfatherly wink.

The elevator slowed, the groan of the cables vibrating through the swinging metal cage. The floor swayed under their feet. Lili gasped and gripped the handrail. “W-what am I supposed to say to him? He’s…” She hesitated.

Lifting the cage door, the wizard held out a hand. “He’s what?”

Gratefully, she accepted and staggered into the hallway. Straightening her business suit, she fixed her massive tuft of hair, letting the soft curls fall over her shoulders. “Mature.”

“That’s not what you were going to say.”

“Does it matter what I was going to say? I’m trying to be respectful and polite.”

“You were going to say old.”

She bit her lip to keep from retorting.

Shaking his head, “Old is relative anyway…and remember, if anyone asks, you’re mine.”

“What do you mean I’m yours?”

“Grandchild. You’re my grandchild.” He scoffed. “Silly child. Come on.” He glanced at a scrap of paper. “342C.”

The building was a retirement community for older gnomes, which seemed to be a term used for substandard housing slapped together for seniors. The elderly that no one cared about any longer. Just outside the dark and dirty tram station, this decaying building looked as old as its occupants. Heavy rust covered most doorways, knobs stuck or were missing altogether, and Out of Order signs seemed to be as common as the rats. Piles of garbage lay in clusters along the hallways, and one gnome, wrapped in newspaper, snored peacefully as they passed. Lili wrinkled her nose, the acidic, pungent smell of mold and urine lingered in the air.

“How do people live like this?” she gasped, trying to speak without taking her hand from her nose. “It’s revolting!”

“Not everyone has a choice, dear. For some, this is the best they have available. Better to be here than out in the cold or under some freeway.” He grinned as 342C appeared. Folding the paper, he slid it into his vest pocket. Adjusting his jacket, Chuck briskly rapped on the door. “Which is why Wendell needs to step it up a notch. Gather the people. Start a revolution!”

They could hear the footsteps shuffling across the floor. Heavy. Tired. There was a tiny thud. A small window in the upper center of the door opened, a single eye appearing, then a muffled voice said, “Whaddya want?”

“We’d like to talk to you, Tumbler,” Chuck said evenly. “We have a…”

“I don’t give a rat-spit what ya got. Go away!” The eye vanished and the small window slammed shut.

A hungry-looking rodent, foraging for food, took notice of the two standing in the hallway. It stood up on its back legs, staring at Lili. She grabbed the wizard’s arm. “Why didn’t we go to Freak and Socket first?”

The wizard tugged at his beard, eyes locked on the door. “Because there’s no guarantee this old bird would agree. I don’t want to go through the effort to persuade the rest of them, only to be stuck in this hallway. On the other hand, if we use all our powers of persuasion on Tumbler, the rest of the crew is in the bag. He’ll help us. That is, if we can win him over.”

It made sense. The old welder was a blunt, but honest member of the TNT crew. The father figure of the team. Over the past month, Lili had watched members, including Freak himself, come to Tumbler when they needed counsel. When they needed encouragement or a new perspective on any issue. He was the heart of the best Trench pit team in Clockworks City.

But he was also the most stubborn.

Lili leaned against the door, placing her tan forehead against the cold metal surface. “Tumbler? Please let us come in.” She glanced back at the rat, which was still staring at her. “We really need to talk with you.”

“I ain’t interested, so git!” the voice yelled back. “We don’t need yer lying kind around here. We’ve got the government for that crap!”

She placed her hand near her cheek, fingernails tapping against the surface. “I’m sorry we lied to you, Tumbler. You’re mad. I…” She paused. “I would be too. But we never meant any harm. It’s really not Wendell’s fault.”

“Not his fault?” Tumbler boomed. “This is all about him, how can it not be his fault?!” Footsteps came back to the door. “They hauled me off like some…some…common street thug, and accused me o’betraying my own people! ME! When I served my country!” His voice trembled and Lili couldn’t tell if it was anger or sorrow. “Said I was a traitor and a disgrace of a gnome…not worth spit.” Tumbler’s head thumped against the other side of the door, his voice barely above a whisper. “They called me a traitor.”

There was a long pause.

Lili clenched her eyes tight.

“I may not be worth much,” he choked, “But I always thought it was a sight more than spit.”

Her hand spread out across the surface of the door. “I’m so sorry. We’re all so sorry.” But her words were empty and she knew it. They had come here with the intention of changing the very fabric of this society. It was plain in her voice. She needed to say something she believed herself. So Lili said the only thing she could think of. “Wendell never meant to harm you…or anyone for that matter. That’s why he was…”

The door latch clicked.

With a creak and a moan, the thick slab of metal pulled back to reveal a solemn looking gnome in faded and stained overalls. Tumbler’s face had the remains of a wide bruise across one cheek, while one of his eyes was still swollen shut. He looked down at his own shoes, as if he were ashamed. It was then that Lili noticed his bandaged hand.

Lili raised a hand and placed it over her mouth. “Did they…beat you, Tumbler?”

“Come in or stay in the hall, I don’t care, but I’m shuttin’ the door.”

Both she and Chuck stepped past the welder and into the tiny studio apartment. Machine parts were stacked neatly along the floorboards, a current project spread out across a small round table in the corner. Tumbler shut and locked the door, then shuffled back to the table, switching on a mini television, which perched on a nearby foldable tray. Without looking up, the old gnome grabbed a pair of pliers and went back to work. “Say what ya gotta say, so I can kick you out.”

Chuck found himself drawn to the welder’s creations. Scraps fastened together to make chairs, tables, even a foot rest. The apartment wasn’t dirty, or even cluttered for that matter. It was just crowded. Spiders made from an old toaster sat along one counter, while industrial cables were splayed out along one wall, mimicking creatures of the sea. The wizard smiled to himself. Tumbler wasn’t just good. He was talented and clever.

Lili sat in the second seat at the table, ignoring the creations around her. She watched the welder in silence, as his nimble hands, wrinkled as they were, connected piece after tiny piece to what was looking like an animal of some sort.

“You have the touch,” Chuck said aloud. “I’ll give you that.” He reached up and brushed his hand against the hanging lamp that looked remarkably like a jellyfish. “Spent time in open waters?”

“Coast guard,” Tumbler grunted without looking up.

But there was more. Some of the metal sculptures were used as planters. Ferns grew in every corner and hung on walls instead of pictures.

Pictures.

Chuck spun around on the balls of his feet, a quick whipping motion. There was not a single picture on the walls. Only a single frame, centered on a TV tray, surrounded by plants and oil cans converted to hold flowers.

Lili leaned forward. “Tumbler, we really…”

“It hurts, doesn’t it,” Chuck blurted out.

Lili looked up at him, confused.

“To love so deep that you think you’ll never breathe again. Never be whole, because the one thing in your world, the sweetest part, the part that made everything else possible, is suddenly…gone.”

Hands shaking, the welder looked up. His face flushed.

Gently lifting the frame from the mini garden on the tray, Chuck studied the photograph. Tumbler looked like he was in his mid twenties. Tough, cigar-smoking rugged, his arm around a young gnome who kissed him tenderly on the cheek. They stood on the deck of an old barge. The wizard squinted. The Dreamboat. Curious name for a vessel, but there was no denying the two looked blissfully happy.

“She’s lovely.”

Tumbler set the pliers down and rose abruptly from his chair. “Put it back,” he said sternly, then meaner, “Now.”

Chuck mimicked the smile Tumbler wore in the picture. “What happened to change you from this,” he caressed the frame with a finger, then turned to look the gnome square in the face, “into a sour, old, crusty fart?”

Snatching the picture, Tumbler shoved the wizard away from the tray. “I said put it down!” he snarled.

The smile never left Chuck’s face. “What happened to her?” he said softly, his tone kind.

Gentle hands replaced the frame between the green and yellow flowers. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You might be surprised at what I understand.”

Tumbler’s shoulders dropped as the gnome gave a heavy sigh. It was several moments before he even turned around. When he did, the moisture on his face was as plain as his overalls, tears streaking down his cheeks. “She drowned,” he choked out. Gritting his teeth, he turned away and wiped his eyes.

Lili looked away.

“Saved up, working every job I could get so we could buy that boat. All I wanted to do was live on the water. Get out of these city walls and give my girl something better. Show her a bigger world. But…” he looked back at the photograph, his voice turning bitter, “my closest friend decided she was too good for me. So he sabotaged the boat while I was away. Welded the main doors shut, so I couldn’t salvage anything, then sank it altogether.” His chest heaved, eyes clenched tight, hands curled into fists.

Lili raised her hand to cover her mouth. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

“Maggie was asleep in the cabin.”

Chuck’s smile faded. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know how hard it is to lose someone you…”

“Who do you think you are?” Tumbler cut him off. He spun around, staring at the wizard coldly. “Walking into my home and trying to play mind games with me? I may not be some educated normal, but I ain’t completely stupid. You’re trying ta play me.” He laughed to choke back the tears. “It ain’t gonna work!” He stepped forward, snarling into the wizard’s face. “I think you better leave now…before I help you leave.”

“I was going to play you,” Chuck said calmly. He held his ground, meeting the welder’s gaze. “Until I saw someone I could relate to. After a lifetime of sorrow, I saw a gnome whose sorrow could match my own.”

Tumbler blinked. “W-what are you talking about?”

“My wife was murdered. A long, long time ago. By my closest friend. It wasn’t by drowning.” He shook his head once, slow. “I walked into the room and he was holding her beautiful head in his hands,” he swallowed roughly, lips trembling, “unconscious, like it meant something.” His voice thinned. “…and he slit her neck from ear to ear.”

Lili gasped aloud. Tumbler, however, stood dumbfounded.

“I lost both my wife and my infant son that day.” Chuck slid around the gnome and took a seat on the other side of the room.

The welder stood in shock, watching the wizard for long moments before answering. He glanced between them, his voice barely above a whisper. “What do you want?”

“I want your help in two matters.”

“Which are?”

“First and foremost, to help me convince and gather the TNT crew to come work for me.”

Tumbler glanced at Lili warily. “And the second?”

Chuck smiled. “Help me rescue Dax from the government so we can leave Clockworks and go home.”

Tumbler folded his arms. “And why would I agree to such nonsense?”

The wizard let his head fall slightly forward, just enough to cast shadows over his eyes. “Because like me, you’re still here, fighting and kicking back because that’s what our girls expect of us. Helping others is what they taught us to do, by example. Isn’t it? It was what made Maggie special.”

The old gnome looked away, clenching his eyes tight. Nostrils flaring, his words seeped out in a whisper. “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

Chuck looked over at a stunned Lili and winked. “I’ve been called a lot worse.”

The chop shop where Telly rented a room wasn’t very far from Tumbler’s apartment. It was, however, in a rougher part of the neighborhood. Lili found herself walking faster so she could stay within arm’s length of the wizard. Each block corner they passed was met with wolf calls and dirty, grinning faces. Even with trousers and a jacket, she felt exposed.

Chuck patted her hand reassuringly and urged her forward.

“He’s up here,” Tumbler said plainly, grabbing hold of the rusty metal railing. The stairs wrapped around the outside of the automotive garage, which leaned to one side and looked like the roof was about to collapse in on itself.

Lili tested the second step with her foot. It creaked and moaned back at her. Apprehensively, she said, “I’m not sure this is safe.”

Tumbler snorted as he tromped up the stairs. “Of course not…that’s why he got the place so cheap! Now get yer cans up here—I ain’t doing this alone.” He rapped on the single metal door.

“Yeah?” shouted a nasal tone.

“It’s me,” Tumbler barked back.

The door opened to a bare-chested Telly, drying his hair with a towel. Lili’s eyebrows bounced upward. Even as a gnome, it was hard not to stare at the mechanic’s lean, muscular shoulders, arms, and chest. Seeing Lili’s wide brown eyes, he almost fell over in embarrassment. Grasping the towel to his chest, Telly bolted to the bedroom with a “DOH!”

“Come in,” Tumbler grunted.

Though bigger than the welder’s dwelling, the apartment was in far worse shape. Cluttered like only an unkempt bachelor knows how—clothes, magazines, dishes, and leftover food squatted on top of furniture, under furniture, and in furniture. Lili decided to stand.

“Whaddya want?” Telly called out from behind the bedroom door. “And whatcha doing bringin’ a girl here?!”

“They want our help,” Tumbler yelled back.

“I don’t wanna help ’em. I got a record now! Did you know that, Tumbler? Because o’ them!” There was a pause. “My mom’s gonna be disappointed in me now,” another pause, “’cause her son’s a convict!”

The old gnome sighed. “You ain’t no convict, kid. Dense and slow, maybe—but yer one of the honest ones, so kick it out of yer mind. It couldn’t be helped…what happened.” He glanced at Chuck, who was lifting a rag from a pizza box with a pencil. “It was beyond anyone’s control, and it don’t change who you really are.”

“Yes it does!” Telly appeared in the doorway. He hovered for a moment, glancing nervously at Lili, unsure if he should enter or retreat. “I can’t get a job now. Not at any of the local shops, anyway, ’cause they said they won’t hire a human sympathizer.”

Tumbler frowned. “Well that ain’t right.”

“I know!” Telly complained. “I don’t know what a ‘sympathizer’ is, but it doesn’t sound good.” He smirked. “So I punched ’em in the nose.”

Chuck covered his mouth to hide his smile.

Grabbing the young gnome by the elbow, Tumbler pulled him to a corner of the room. Leaning in, he said, “They need our help, kiddo.”

Pulling away, “I don’t care.”

“Sure you do. You’re a decent kid with a giant heart. You always care.”

Telly planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Not this time I don’t. I went to jail when I did nothing wrong.” He glanced over at Lili, but quickly looked away. “The Centurions shouldn’t be allowed to do that! All they did was ask me questions I didn’t know how to answer. Then they accuse me of being a liar! Stupid cops. How can I lie when I don’t even know the answers?”

Tumbler grinned and patted him on the arm. “You’re right. Good folks are being treated pretty bad by the government. They don’t listen to the people anymore…and they should. But why would they? No one stands up to ’em. No one’s saying what’s right and wrong, now are they?”

Telly’s forehead crinkled forward. “No, I guess there isn’t.”

“There’s no one to change the way things are done,” he paused, “well…”

The tall gnome frowned. “What?”

“The Gnolaum could.”

“Yeah, but…,” Telly’s frown deepened, “heeeeeyyyy.”

Tumbler shrugged. “That is what he’s here for, ya know. To change our society—for the better.”

Shaking his head, “Nope. Don’t care. Don’t want my mom to be more disappointed than she’s gonna be now.”

“Ya don’t want to be a hero, huh?” Tumbler asked, feigning shock.

A large hand reached out and gripped one of Tumbler’s suspender straps. “Hero?”

“Sure. These two are askin’ for help to get Dax out of the clinch he’s in.”

Telly smiled, lowering his voice. “They’re gonna kill that troll, I hear.”

“He is NOT A TROLL!” Chuck burst out. He shot both gnomes a warning glance from across the room.

“Right,” exclaimed the mechanic, gulping nervously. He glanced over at Lili again, this time letting his attention linger a moment longer. An awkward grin surfaced across his face. “Not a troll,” he said almost to himself, “got it.” But he shook his head almost immediately. “No! Blast it, Tumbler, no! This ain’t right. They ain’t right!” He glared back at the wizard. “There ain’t nothing you could say to make me change my mind, and that’s final. You hear me?”

Tumbler nodded once. “Then I won’t try usin’ words on ya.” He looked at Chuck, then winked at Lili. “Give the poor boy a smile, will ya, dear? Let him know we ain’t got no hard feelings.”

Taking a step forward, Lili laced her slender fingers in front of her and looked up into the mechanic’s face. Her deep brown eyes reflected the light seeping through clouded windows. Long black lashes fluttered as her full, soft lips parted in a sparkling white smile.

Telly’s knees buckled before Tumbler could steady him. Falling backward, he hit his head on the coffee table as he collapsed, unconscious, onto the floor.

Lili rolled her eyes.

Nibbles dabbed the cloth around the base of the large knot on Telly’s forehead. “That’s all she did. Smile at you?”

The mechanic scoffed. “You had to be there.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“I’m serious, Nib.” He paused, glancing behind them. Lili was in a whispered argument with Chuck in the kitchen area. “She’s gotta be the prettiest thing in the whole world.” He flinched. “OW.”

“Sorry.”

“No yer not,” Telly grunted. “You can’t be jealous when ya never pay no attention to me anyhow. I’ve been here for years. Just never sat in a wheelchair.”

Tumbler slugged him in the shoulder. “Watch it. Nat’s been good to us. Always has. So don’t fault the girl for liking a decent gnome—whether it’s you or not.”

“Sorry, Nib.”

She grinned, leaned forward, and kissed Telly on the forehead. “Well, I’m sorry if I ever hurt your feelings, but I do love you. You’re family. Isn’t that a good thing?”

He chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, it’s good. But you will let me know if Wheels doesn’t cut it, right?” He flinched again. “Ow. Alright, alright. I get it.”

“I’m just angry that Alhannah didn’t tell me sooner.” Nibbles watched Chuck lean closer to Lili, clearly upset, but the girl turned a shoulder. “And you think they can be trusted, Tumbler?”

The old gnome sighed. “I don’t much care anymore, to tell ya the truth.”

Both Nibbles and Telly turned their attention to the welder. “Why would you say that?” she asked.

“Because I don’t see that it matters. The city’s gone to crap—we can’t get decent jobs because of false accusations and twisted perspectives. If you ask me, the whole blasted system is ready for an overhaul…” His head tilted slightly to one side. “Which is what I’m seeing.” Nudging Telly over, the old gnome sat next to him on the coffee table. “For just once I’d like to do something I actually believe in, instead of always doin’ what others think I should be doin’!”

“Like breaking out a…” Nibbles started to say, but Telly slapped his hand over her mouth.

“Don’t say ‘troll’,” he whispered just above a breath. Without moving his head, his eyes shifted to the kitchen area.

Chuck was staring right at him.

Gulping, he lifted his hand from Nibbles’ mouth. “He ain’t a troll.”

The wizard grinned and went back to his own conversation.

“Fine. So he’s not a troll.” Nibbles crossed her arms. “That doesn’t make breaking into the Citadel any less crazy.” She shook her head. “Or stupid.”

“But what if it’s the right thing to do?” Tumbler reached out and grabbed their hands, squeezing them tight. “There’s not one of you I don’t look at like my kids. You’re right about us being family, Nib, so listen to me. Listen to the old gnome of the bunch who’s lived a life o’ regret.” Gritting his teeth, he forced out a smile instead of tears. “Let’s do the right thing, ’cause it’s worth doing—not because it’s easy.”

She squeezed back. “But who says this is the right thing to do?”

Thumping the center of his chest with two fingers, “My heart does. That’s what that old coot got me to do—listen to my own heart. It’s been wrapped in dust and cobwebs for so long, I forgot what it was like.” He swallowed. “There’s not a single reason why I should doubt what they’re telling us.”

“Sure there is,” Telly argued. “The Centurions told me all sorts ’o charges they had against Wendell and Dax.”

“But have you seen these two—or Alhannah for that matter—hurt another soul? Did you see ’em use, abuse, or manipulate anyone…other than tryin’ to keep their identities a secret?”

For several moments they sat in silence.

“But the media,” Telly started to say.

“Is a bunch of diseased rat feces!” the old gnome snapped. “And you know it, too!! You can’t get an honest word outta that lot, so you might as well stick yer head between the mattresses and leave it there.” He took a breath. “Those kids have tried to make things better for all of us from day one. Nothing about that has changed. Steel and Stone fights for the people of this city.” Standing up, he squeezed Telly’s shoulder. “I aim to help ’em, too.”

“And they’re alright with this?”

“They will be. They’re good kids with good heads on their shoulders. If they don’t understand it yet, they will.”

“And you?”

“I’m in. TGII help me, but I’m in.”

Chuck grinned to himself. “Welcome aboard.”

Tumbler snorted. “You just let me do the talkin’…and promise me I can blow something up that belongs to the government.”

“Done.”

They all stopped in front of The Freakshop. Located in a semi-high traffic area of the warehouse district, it was nestled between a parts shop and the local metal fabricator. The street seemed unusually deserted at this time of day. Transports that normally lined up around the corner for quality oil changes, tune-ups, and modifications were nowhere to be found. The side shop, built for government contract work on transports and S.L.A.G.s, was closed. In fact, the small warehouse was locked up completely. The giant sign, displaying the owner with his wife, Socket, had been vandalized.

The sign read: No matter what you want done with your machine, we won’t think you’re crazy! From the simple to the unique, you’re important to us! Yet, across their happy, eager faces, were spray-painted words: Traitor. Troll Lover. The brick building had been bombarded with food, paint, oil, even feces. Flies and other insects swarmed about the broken windows and a torched driveway.

“Yeah,” Tumbler snarled, staring at the destruction and abuse, “leave the talkin’ ta me.”

There was a notice taped to the locked front door. Chuck popped his reading glasses on and leaned closer.

“Looks like the bank called in their loan. The whole business is going to auction in a week.”

Tumbler kicked a paint can out into the road. Pedestrians jumped aside.

“Who’s out there?” called a nervous voice from the alleyway.

Telly walked further down between the buildings. “It’s us, Craig! Me and Tumbler and Nibbles, and…” He paused. “Some friends.”

Peeking around the corner, the chubby mechanic squinted, his head bobbing up and down slowly. “Telly? Oh—sorry, I…I don’t have my goggles on. Can’t see any of you. Come around back, quickly, before anyone sees you!”

Ushering them down the alley, they followed Freak into the basement apartment and shoved the heavy door shut.

“What are they doing here!?” Socket snapped as she entered the dimly lit room. Baring teeth and raising her hand in a fist, she marched toward Chuck. “You have no right to destroy our lives and then step into our home!” she cried. “You arrogant pieces of—”

Tumbler stepped in between the wizard and Socket, grabbing her arms. “Woah, child. Slow down. Don’t say nothin’ you’re gonna regret in a few minutes.” She yanked her wrists free. “These two didn’t do a thing to you.”

“Guilt by association,” she spat.

“That’s funny,” Nibbles smirked. “You’re starting to sound like the corporate suits who said the same thing about us.”

Socket pointed at the door. “Don’t let it kick you on the way out.”

“Enough!” Freak bellowed. His wide chest heaved. “This is my home—at least it is until next week… and half these folks are our friends, Sophia.” Then calmer, “Is anyone thirsty? Hungry?”

“We’re fine, Craig,” Tumbler said softly. “We came to ask for your help.”

Socket laughed and plopped down in a chair on the far side of the kitchen table. “That’s rich. They destroyed all we had!”

Tumbler looked at her coldly. “I can see what’s destroyed, Sophia, but it ain’t got nothin’ ta do with them. You want the ones responsible for your sign? Look for the ones with the paint cans. Your business? Try the bank.”

Freak reached out and laid a hand on the old gnome’s forearm. “Please.”

“I’m sorry, Craig. I really am. But we’ve all been hit by this—not just you.” Tumbler jabbed a finger toward Chuck and Lili. “These folks didn’t do it.” His attention snapped back to Socket, eyes narrowing. “And neither did Wendell or Dax.”

“Now you’re just talkin’ stupid,” she breathed.

“Is he?” Telly jumped in, stepping forward, eyes pleading. “’Cause that’s what I thought too, Socket. That all my troubles were because of what Wendell and Dax did or didn’t do—what they were…who they were.” He shrugged. “But was that the real problem? Or was it the way people reacted to them?”

Tumbler sat down next to Freak. “Listen, kid—did these folks ever break their word to you? Even once? Did they pay you on time?”

“That could’ve been a setup,” Socket scoffed. “They were playing us.”

Lili started to step forward, but Chuck grabbed her arm and held her back.

Nibbles slid into a chair on the opposite side of the table. “Really? How about when we watched our own people—unprovoked—throw Wendell helplessly into a garbage chute? Watched a murder attempt with our own eyes. And what did he do when he got back? Did he rant? Seek revenge?”

“He played by the rules and still won,” Tumbler finished. “Played by our rules, mind you. And why?” He gave Freak a soft jab in the arm. “Alhannah told us what the goal was. There was no deception, no secret there. We had the purpose of the Gnolaum starin’ us in the face the entire time—to call out the crap goin’ on in this city.” His gaze shifted to Socket, hardening. “Which started with us. Nat gave us the job so we could piggyback on that boy’s success and make names for ourselves.”

“Or did you happen to forget that part?” Nibbles sneered at Socket.

Freak listened patiently, then scratched his chin with oil-stained fingers. “I don’t blame them, Tumbler.” He looked up, squinting in Chuck’s general direction. “Really, I don’t. I just believed too much…that’s all. And TGII dealt me a harsh blow.” He exhaled. “We’re out of time, out of money, and out of contracts.” He sighed. “I have six days left here, then I’ll be on the streets. Don’t have the ability to help you, even if I wanted to.”

Chuck took a single step forward, his face solemn. “What if you did?”

Everyone in the room paused. Eyes stared back at him, confused.

“What if I did…what?” Freak shifted in his chair.

The idea formed as the wizard strode forward and abruptly knelt on the floor in front of the mechanic. “What if you had the time… the money… and the contracts?”

“Well…I…”

“It wouldn’t be enough,” Socket grumbled. “We’re being forced to start a whole new life now, because of you.” She turned and sneered back at Nibbles. “Even if they ain’t at fault.”

Freak sighed heavily. “She’s right. This is a blow I don’t know how to recover from. Running a shop and crew is all I’ve ever known how to do.” His jaw tightened. “But if there’s no work and no one trusts you… you’d best throw yourself in the garbage.”

Tumbler nudged him. “Now don’t talk like that. You’re made o’ sterner stuff.”

“Then what would it take?” Chuck asked plainly.

“To join with you?!” Socket laughed.

“To join me and work with me…for the people of this city and possibly against the government, yes.”

Then it was Freak who laughed out loud. “I don’t think you could afford it!”

Both sides of the wizard’s mustache lifted high in a smile. “Try me.”

Socket slapped her hand down onto the table. “A new warehouse. Not rented—given to us. Something bigger than this place, so we can run three or more crews… and a guaranteed contract for the next three years to not only replace, but double the total we just lost!”

Freak shook his head and smiled at the wizard. “See? You’d have to do the impossible.”

“And,” Socket blurted out, her grin taunting Chuck, “a million credits.” She paused. “Tax free.”

Tumbler stood up and walked toward the door. Nibbles shook her head and joined him, while Telly simply sighed. Lili followed their lead.

“Done,” said Chuck.

Socket glared at him, not catching the joke.

“Only make it two million, eighty-three thousand, four hundred and twelve credits… and you have a deal.”

Telly looked over at Lili, confused. “Isn’t he supposed to negotiate less?”

Chuck reached over and lifted Freak’s chin, closing the chubby gnome’s open mouth. Socket was frozen at the table, eyes locked on the wizard as he winked back at her.

“Impossible is my specialty.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Chuck decides he’s had enough and puts a plan into play to steal Wendell back from the Government Faction. The mägo didn’t anticipate that his plan would make matters worse for Dax..

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Chapter 83

“What in the name of TGII were you doing in a metal shipping container? You could have died!”

Höbin propped his metal leg up onto a chair, sweat still trickling from his rose-colored forehead. “Should have thought that one through a bit more, I’ll admit.” The metal of his cybernetic limb squeaked as he loosened the knee bolts. “I was trying to get my old, withered butt back here, that’s what.”

Morty watched the historian open a side panel and remove a hidden tool kit from the artificial thigh. Taking a miniature screwdriver in his flesh hand, he began working to remove the kneecap. The top plate lifted off, a deft hand catching the small screws and placing them inside the curved dish. Morty always admired the tinkerers who designed the appendages that riddled the city. Cybernetics enabled gnomes a more normal life after horrific accidents. He stared at the brilliant gears and wires, providing Höbin with mobility. “Why didn’t you use one of those porting thingies you talk about and just come right here?”

Höbin shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid. It’s a very powerful magic charm, but limited. Each time you use it, you set the next focus point where you can appear.”

“But you spent so much time here, you…”

“I was brought here by Dax. I never used my port key to get here, Morty. When I used my key to flash back to the Black Market, I locked my next port location onto the parking garage at the Trench Wars stadium. If I used that key to come back, I’d appear in the exact spot I left from. Completely exposed to people, cameras…maybe even Centurions.”

“Oh,” Morty swallowed. That made sense. “So…how did you get back here then? You didn’t mail the crate from the Black Market, obviously.”

The cyborg chuckled. “No, I have another key that I use strictly as a back up. When you travel as much as I do, setting landing spots can become a liability. I keep it set to the Clockworks docks. When I got here, I talked with an old friend, Eugene Bubyl, captain of the DS Crankshaft and asked him to mail me to you.”

Morty shook his head, “Amazing. Completely crazy, but still amazing.”

Höbin grinned as he worked. “Thanks.”

“How…is Alhannah?”

The deft hand froze. “She’s stable,” he said softly, “…for now.”

Morty wasn’t sure what to ask, but he’d grown to like the gnome warrior and his heart ached for her safety. “Do you know what’s wrong.”

Shaking his head, “I would have been back sooner, but I couldn’t leave her without making sure she was at least comfortable.” With a set of thick tweezers, he lifted a bent gear out from between a maze of wires and let it drop onto the chair. “She has all the symptoms of a complex poisoning, but her blood work was clean. I performed every test I had available to me—even using complex charms. Couldn’t figure anything more than she’s starving.” He lifted a replacement gear from a small compartment in his thigh and inserted the part into his knee.

“Starving? I’ve watched that girl eat—how could she me starving?”

“Curious, right? But her metabolism is moving so fast, she can’t keep enough nourishment in her. So I’ve placed her on healing charms and a special broth with dragon fat in it.”

Morty gulped. “Dragon fat? As in…”

“Flying, angry, fire-breathing serpents. Dragons.”

“How do you get…I mean, they don’t seem to be a fat creature. Not that I’ve actually seen one. Not personally, anyway.”

Höbin flipped the kneecap over and started inserting the screws. “Well I have, and they don’t have much fat on them. But dragons can go months without food, even up to a year when the season are lean. The cells in their bodies, and most specifically in the cell walls of their stomachs, allow them to capture every single nutrient in what they eat, breathe and drink…and store it unlike any other living creature. So we take the stomach, along with strips of fatty meat and boil them.”

“You boil a dragons stomach?”

Again he nodded, tightening the last screw onto the leg. “We melt the fat from the flesh, in a pot of pure spring water. Once it’s simmered for a few hours, you remove the actual meat and let the broth cool. The result is a cloudy looking gel. Usually smells a bit gamey with a dash of engine degreaser. Frankly I prefer to use the raw bile, myself.”

“Bile.”

“Amazing stuff! Find that if you take just a drop, put it in a gallon of purified water, place it in an agitator and dilute it one part per thousand, it becomes a perfect medicine for stomach rot.”

Morty cringed. “And you actually use these things?”

He looked up and smirked, “So do you. Where do you think the pharmacists got the ‘rare chemicals’ to formulate antacid pills?” he laughed. “A single cup of that gel can sustain a grown human male for more than a month. The only thing one needs is water—the rest is in the concoction.”

“Wow. And you were able to get some for Alhannah?” It was then that the tinkerer realized how personal he’d been during the entire conversation. “I’m sorry, this really isn’t any of my business. You just have a most remarkable daughter and I’m quite fond of her. The way she watches over others.”

Höbin cleared his throat, his good eye tearing up. “She get’s that from her mother.”

Morty was always amazed at the things people used in this world. There was so much more to life than Clockworks and machines. The walls of the city, which kept the other races out, were also the very walls that blinded the gnomes and isolated them from bigger and better experiences. “So where is she now?” Morty asked.

The historian pulled his leg from the chair and stood up. Slowly he put more pressure on the limb—then squatted up and down. He nodded in satisfaction. “I left her with the gypsies. They’ll watch over her until I can get back. Also called in some…,” he shuddered openly, “favors. So she’ll have as much dragons fat as needed.” He looked the tinkerer square in the face. “The Demoni Vankil is the priority.”

Even now the thought of finding any item in a sea of gnomes seemed like an impossibility at best. But what made matters worse—no one knew what the seal even looked like. They were in the dark, without a map.

“We didn’t get very far in our searches before. Well, not as far as I would have hoped,” Höbin clarified, “but I have some ideas of where to go from here. That’s why I needed to get back as fast as I could.” He gave Morty a sly grin, “And where I’ll need your help.” He glanced back at the crate. “Now that I know this works.”

“Woah, Woah, WOAH. You’re not suggesting that you get back IN that thing, are…,” but he sighed. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

“What for? You’re here now. The library is all yours, Chuck put a spell on the rooms so we can hide here. The whole place looks like an abandoned arsonist hit and run.”

“That’ll come in handy.” Höbin looked about truly for the first time. “What did happen?”

“Centurions,” Morty said coldly. “Stole my invention. Torched the place. Arrested Wendell, Dax and all the others. Interrogated them.”

Höbin grit his teeth. “I couldn’t get to Wendell at the stadium.”

“Oh, don’t worry--Wendell and the others were pardoned…”

“Fantastic!”

“But no one’s seen or heard anything about Dax.”

Höbin flipped the forearm panel up and typed on the mini screen. “The government won’t want him in view of the public. Probably cause a panic. They’ll likely have him stashed away until they figure out what to do with him. In the meantime, I’ll need information that can’t be found in your library here…or on my FAF database program. I have to search hard copies.”

“Hence, your gnome packaging plan?”

The historian snorted, “Exactly.”

“Can’t you call in a favor with someone? Get the information brought to you somehow?” He nervously looked over his shoulder, as if someone might be listening to them from the shadows. “Everyone is so on edge, Höbin. I don’t think it’s wise to push any more government buttons.”

“Awww,” Höbin grinned, “where’s the fun in that? Beside, Morty—only I know what to look for. The information could be in a multitude of places. There are some patterns I’m testing…but I have to cross reference my hunches with guild records and files within the patten office. Those are records they don’t allow to leave the central building.”

“If they’re so protected, how do you expect to get in and search them?You’re a wanted gnome!”

The smile creeped out from under the giant mustache. “I have a connection in the FAF. You’ll have to send me there, COD.”

Morty looked at the crate pieces nervously. “In that thing?”

“No,” scratching his chin, “we’re gonna need something a bit smaller. Don’t want to draw too much attention.”

“Smaller?! Like what…a coffin?”

Höbin snorted. “You really should watch your blood pressure. You look a bit uptight.”

“I’m not the one getting in a box!”

“Exactly…so relax. It’ll be ok. The risk is worth it, Morty.” Patting the tinkerer on the shoulder, “It’s not just the fate of our people that rests on us finding this seal…it’s the fate of the world. Don’t worry about me.” He pondered a moment. “Why don’t you focus on making a replica of your invention? Break the hold the government has over our energy supply? It might even do more than that. The right prompts could inspire citizens to invent all sorts of alternative ways of living! Before you know it, we could have a free nation and a free people.” He gasped quietly. “Wow. Wouldn’t that be nice.”

The thought caused Morty to hesitate. Calm down, even. “You’re starting to sound like Wendell,” he said, not entirely sarcastic.

“Well,” Höbin shrugged, “that young man is wiser than he gets credit for. We’d do well to help ourselves more. He doesn’t even live here and he wants to help us find a brighter future. Amazing.”

It was true. Even when he was being rejected and ignored, Wendell wanted to make things better for others. It was crazy…yet, inspiring. For a moment, Morty felt like a hypocrite. All this encouragement and he was complaining about what he didn’t have, rather than focusing on the opportunities to provide the answers.

“I’m…nearly done, actually.” Saying those words forced a smile to Morty’s lips. He smiled weakly, but the words felt good to let out. “The Centurions took the main invention, but I always had a spare. One that I kept hidden and perfected…while the rough working model was what I presented to the investors.” He stepped into the doorway. “Come on in. I’ll show you.”

As they walked down the hallway, towards the open door, Höbin let his fingers trace the melted surface along the walls. “Everything’s about to change,” he said.

“You think so?”

Nodding, “Think about it. We built this city. Poured our heart and souls into each and every invention, every brick and welded beam. We worked together and as we expanded, we placed others in charge to direct the affairs. They took advantage of those positions of power. Took what was never intended for them, or anyone else for that matter.” Höbin paused in front of the doorway. “People are meant to be free, Morty. You can deny it all you want, but something inside our very nature yells out, screaming against the injustices inflicted upon us.” He looked around at the damaged walls and floors of the warehouse. “Things just like this.”

Morty stood there in silence, taking mental note of all the time he’d spent in the warehouse. The life he’d given to building something to improve the lives of his people. The inventions he freely gave. The inventions which has been stollen. The warehouse, which has been decimated and burned. His home. He gave the historian a stoic look.

“So how big does your crate need to be?”

“This can’t be happening!” I snapped. Chuck and Shamas watched me as I paced across the manager’s office. The bodyguard reached up and flicked off the TV, sending the batting eyes and smirk of Rishima Geebler into the black void. Her haunting words still hung in the air.

The Presidential Administration, in a press release, has stated that the first duty of the government is the protection of Clockworks citizens. To back their words, our illustrious leader has announced that the public execution of the vallen invader and Trench Pilot, Dax, is now being organized.

Chuck tried to place a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off. “I looked that fat gnome in the face. He gave me his word that he’d keep Dax safe!”

Shamas frowned. “The word of a politician.”

I stopped short and spun around, my gaze locking on the bodyguard. “He’s not like that. No matter what’s been said, I can feel it,” I tapped my index finger hard against my chest, “in here. There’s more to this. There has to be!”

Shamas held his hands up in surrender, but kept silent.

“It just means we’ve got to move faster with our plans,” replied Nat. The gnome’s face peered closer into the camera. A large computer screen sat on the desk, facing those in the room. The screen, however, was split. The other gnome present was Philburt Bellows.

“I agree with Mr. Taylor. We know what must be done, and now we’re being forced to push it into play.”

I squinted. “Plan? What plan? Because as far as I’m concerned right now, all bets are off. I’m going to do whatever it takes to get my friend back and get off this island at the first chance I get!”

Bellows frowned. “You don’t really mean that.”

I swallowed hard, my hands squeezed tight. “Oh, but I do. Since I’ve arrived here I’ve been pushed, prodded, poked, manipulated, blackmailed, bullied, and betrayed.”

Chuck shrugged. “Well, it is Monday.”

I sneered. “I’m fed up with encouraging people when no one cares!”

“But I care,” peeped a soft voice.

We all looked to the chubby gnome, now standing quietly in the corner of the office, his worn and tattered hat clenched tightly in his hands. He stared at me, eyes wide and hopeful. “Everyone working here cares.”

My fists loosened, suddenly feeling like heavy weights at the ends of my arms. “Otger?”

The silver-haired manager of the factory smiled encouragingly at his worker. “Go on. Tell him.”

Fidgeting, Otger held the twisted hat close to his chest like it was a shield. “I listened to you, down in the furnaces, Wendell. When you talked about this all not being right. The city, I mean. People ignoring us. About how you thought there needed to be a change. I didn’t know you were the Gnolaum. Didn’t even know you were a Trench Pilot.” He smirked. “I mean, you told us and all, but I thought you just hit yer head on the way down.”

Everyone chuckled.

“But you was only with us a couple days and you were watching out for young Simon. You helped at every turn, and that meant something. You cared. You showed me that we all mattered. So I listened.” He looked at the manager. “And I told the workers about you. When I got me a job here by Mr. Tanklestein and we all watched the Trench Games, I told everyone I knew you. Sure, they didn’t believe me at first, but I told ’em, and kept telling them about you. How you saved my life and the lives of everyone in that transport.”

Mr. Tanklestein grinned. “He’s telling the truth, Mr. Wendell. And not only him. Ms. Alona spoke highly of you in the sewing department. She tells all the ladies in the factory how you rescued them bravely, with great risk to yourself.” His smile grew. “Risked for lower gnomes, like us.”

“Don’t say that,” I said firmly. Then, softer, “I’m…sorry. Just, please, don’t say that. You’re not lower, lesser, or inferior in any way. So please, don’t say that.” I looked around at the faces staring up at me.

Could I have been wrong all this time? Had I been listened to, when I thought I was alone?

I drew a breath. But I wasn’t alone. Not this time.

“Thank you, Otger.”

Bellows folded his arms and smirked into the camera. “Does that mean you’re willing to hear our plan?”

It was time I started realizing who I really was. I might not have been the hero—well, not the hero people might have been expecting… but I could be a force for good. Especially if I could enlist help.

I nodded.

“Excellent,” said Nat, clapping his hands together. “Because I think this may be the best way to save Dax from his fate.”

I exhaled in relief. “Then I definitely want to hear it.”

Chuck sat on the edge of the desk, tugging thoughtfully at his beard. “You leave the elf’s rescue to me.” He studied me, expression sober. “And you say he’s in the main tower, living with the President?”

“On the very top floor.”

Chuck stared at Nat’s face in the monitor. “Can you use your clickity-clack bleepity-bloop skills to get into anywhere? As in government systems?”

Nat pondered,then nodded. “Haven’t been stopped yet. Why?”

Chuck stood. “Because you and I need to have a chat about taking back something that belongs to me.” He tipped his hat. “If you’ll all excuse me, I have preparations to make if I’m going to break the monkey out.”

I grabbed the wizard-now-gnome by the arm. “Wait! You’re not going to tell me what you’re up to? How I can help? I can’t just leave Dax there!”

Chuck patted my hand. “Calm yourself. You can, son, and you will. Focus on winning the citizens over. Turn this whole city on its head by showing them something better than what they have now. The rest will take care of itself.” Then, thoughtfully, “I know it’s not what you want to hear right now, my boy, but you’ll agree with me in time.” He nodded at Nat. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

With that, he turned and briskly strutted out of the room without so much as a goodbye.

“But…” I exhaled.

“If this is going to work, we’ll need everyone’s complete and total involvement,” said Bellows. “Where’s your boss, Mr. Taylor? I appreciate your willingness to organize things on Motherboard’s behalf, but I’d rather deal with the head when coordinating the future of our great city and its people.”

Nat tapped away on his keyboard, eyes flickering to things off-screen. “He’s…unavailable right now, sir.” His nose flared as he bit his bottom lip. “Uh… yeah. Not right now.”

Bellows frowned. “And why is that? What could be so important that…”

“He’s dealing with serious health issues at present, which is why he asked me to personally oversee his operations. Because it’s important.” Nat forced a smile. “He did ask me to relay the message to everyone that he will be back with us as fast as he’s able.”

“Health issues?” Mr. Tanklestein questioned.

Nat’s grin vanished. “Yes. Uh… it was a last-minute problem with his digestive tract, I believe. Ate something he was allergic to and his face bloated like a ballfish. So of course he wouldn’t want to concern anyone with the way he looks.”

“What concerns me, Mr. Taylor,” Bellows interrupted, “is the absence of a key player in this critical strategy.”

Nat took a deep breath and looked into the camera sheepishly. “I assure you, Mr. Bellows, that I can perform anything and everything Motherboard can. We will not be lacking. We also have Cryo64 at our disposal.”

“CRYO64 online,” boomed a voice over the speakers.

“No,” Nat said in quieter tones, waving a hand off-screen, “Cryo, I didn’t call you.”

“But you said my name, Nat. Were you just teasing me? Because teasing is very unkind, Nat. I would be very hurt if you decided to tease me and I’d have to tell Motherboard on you. No wait, I wouldn’t have to tell Motherboard, because…”

Nat quickly tapped a key and the computer voice stopped. He looked nervously back into the camera. “I need to check on the data you asked for, Mr. Bellows. I’m handing the console over to Deloris now. You can talk details directly with her.”

“But Mr. Taylor, I think this is…”

Deloris’s face appeared in Nat’s place. “Hello, gentlegnomes. Wendell.”

“Mrs. Teedlebaum,” Bellows grunted, “can we please get on with this task? I have other matters to attend to shortly.”

“Of course, Mr. Bellows,” she said cheerfully, “and I appreciate your patience. This campaign will be a great success with your resources and people involved. Have you spoken with the managers of your various manufacturing plants yet?”

Bellows shook his head. “That is the next appointment. I have a video conference scheduled with all one hundred and six managers, Mr. Tanklestein excluded. He is fully acquainted with the situation and has already made preparations to start where you are now.”

“Excellent,” she beamed.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Deloris,” I cut in, “but I’d like to know what you’re talking about. Nothing in the dark, please. You’ve all made plans without me and I won’t agree to anything without knowing what I’m expected to do, in full.”

“There isn’t time to go through it all, Mr. Dipmier,” Bellows said coolly.

“Then make the time,” I snapped back. I took a quick breath and looked around at each of those in the room. “I’m not asking you. I’ve kept my word on all agreements made, Mr. Bellows, and took a huge financial loss, even though it turned out to be fraud on someone else’s part.” Leaning on the desk, I looked right into the camera. “So forgive me if I seem a bit irritated at being pushed about like I don’t get a say in my own life,” then I grinned mockingly, “because contrary to what’s been agreed to, we’re doing this with my approval, not the reverse.”

Only the background hum of machinery could be heard for long moments as the wealthy gnome gathered himself. Grumbling under his breath, Bellows readjusted the camera and sat down behind his lavish desk.

“Very well, Mr. Dipmier. My apologies. I should have been more courteous in my communications. Please forgive my impertinence. The general plan is this: within my possession is a wide network of factories in the lower regions of Clockworks. Factories which employ nearly one hundred million gnomes.”

My head popped up, eyes bulging. “One hundred…”

“Million,” Bellows finished. “We are the largest employer of the gnome race, exceeding even the military force of Clockworks. We also have influence with the public works, maintenance guild, and all delivery services, most of which are extended family members of our own workers. This makes us a considerable force to reckon with. Add to this the network of warehouses and other real estate my company owns free and clear, and we have a campaign trail that can directly reach nearly half the city population without going up top.”

I stumbled backward, then dropped into the small chair positioned next to the couch. Otger laughed softly.

The stern look vanished from Bellows’s face. “You see, Mr. Dipmier…”

“Wendell.”

Nodding, “Wendell… there was a reason for my desire that you make a scene in Trench Wars. I wanted you to be an example to the people. Of not giving up. Of not giving in to the harshness of the world. Not giving up in the face of adversity. You gave the workers a pattern to follow. An example they could look to when the world around them was lying to them. Lying to their families. They admired you for that.” A small grin appeared. “But then you won the games. Truly, it was unexpected. You were then exposed, right in front of their eyes. Transformed into who you really were, which surprised even me.”

I looked up at the image on the monitor, uneasy.

“The normals of the city might have looked upon you as a threat. A human masquerading as a prophetic figure. But those of us down here, those of us struggling and fighting to stay alive in a world bent on holding us down… even destroying us… saw something else. We saw that transformation as a sign.” Leaning into the camera, tears visible, he said softly, “You became the representation of what generations of this city have been searching for. What I, personally, have been looking for.”

I was almost afraid to ask. I stared at the wealthy business owner, the one gnome I’d bared my soul and goals to before anyone knew I was human. The one person who understood my desire to help those who could not help themselves.

“What have you been looking for?”

Bellows smiled so wide the corners of his mouth spread nearly ear to ear.

“Hope, Wendell,” he sniffed and wiped his eyes. “We have been searching for hope.” With a humble bow of his head, he said softly, “And for that, I am grateful.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell works his awkward magic with the media, including the famous personalities, Rishima Geebler and WHRN’s ‘The VOICE’.

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Chapter 81

Morty threw the wrench across the room with a twang and a clatter. It bounced off a small set of crates and clanged loudly onto the floor.

“Stupid piece of…,” but he clenched his teeth tight and slumped down onto the floor in silence. It had been days since Deloris returned to her shop and had taken both Chuck and Lili with her. Not that being alone was a new experience for him, but it wasn’t a good experience.

He hated being alone.

Not just because the solitude sucked sandstone, but because the tinkerer always felt he was making less progress when he couldn’t see all the angles of the project. That’s what Deloris was so good at. Seeing the big picture.

“You’re getting old, Teedlebaum,” he sighed. “You’ve wanted to change the world your whole life…and the timers running out.”

It was a depressing thought.

“No,” he mumbled, “Not this time.” He was sick and tired of not winning this stupid game of life. Tired of being told what he could and could not do—simply because someone else made that decision. Wendell was a great example of pushing against the norm…rising to the challenges. Even now, Morty had the laptop turned up so he could watch reruns of the hero’s interviews. “He’s giving this city all he has, so why should I do any less? I live here!”

He grinned.

What he needed was a change of perspective. A moment or two to get a grip on life and to walk away from the endless labors he’d been performing. Give his brain a rest.

So he crept up to the library door and pulled his beard out of the way. Pressing his large, disc-shaped ear to the door, he listened.

Nothing.

“The President did say that he had waved all the charges against us. So, that means I’m a free gnome again…right?” He looked around him, as if someone could actually answer. “Right,” he said softly.

The seam of the door appeared along the hall wall as Morty turned the knob. With a creak, the door opened.

The tinkerer poked his nose into the hall. Then his head.

“Hello?”

Inching into the melted corridor, “Anyone here?”

The chill breeze blew a crumpled piece of paper along the floor. It rolled over the gnomes foot on its way towards the kitchen. The hall still smelled of burnt rubber and oils, the scent lingering among the scorched metal, warped doorways and drooping ceilings. Small fragments of glass speckled the floor where Centurions had tread.

Morty knelt down and traced the shallow grooves in the floor, made by dragging his invention away, in pieces. He grit his teeth. It didn’t matter how much the government had paid the tinkerer, it still paled in comparison to the life savings he’d poured into the project himself. He was the primary shareholder and they had stollen the machinery from him.

Just because they could.

Walking like a mouse, he made his way to the main living area of the warehouse. Doors hung precariously from hinges, while the breeze from the front doors intensified the exposed feeling.

“My home,” he whispered sadly. “You took my invention, then destroyed my home.” Tears formed. “You greedy, evil bastards.”

Sniffing, Morty choked back the sadness. He wasn’t going to give the raiders the satisfaction of sadness. This was war. Full out, no holds barred war. He walked into the kitchen—the center of the warehouse where he’d spent most of his time relaxing, planning, sharing.

In the sitting area, the TV was smashed and melted—still bolted to the wall. The metal kitchen table was a seared grey, but still standing…though it was slightly twisted, leaving one leg off the floor. Fridge was still humming in the corner, which was surprising—but the black scars across the ceiling stopped halfway through the room. Chuck’s dragon staff had saved at least a portion of his home.

Cabinets were intact, though warped. He reached over the sink and lifted the tap on the faucet. Water squirted out in three odd shaped streams. “Warped, but still functional…enough.” Not much, but he’d take it. The couch was near ash, but one of the oversized leather chairs was fully intact. That was good news.

“Excuse me.”

Morty flipped around so fast, his little body continued to spin, stumble and tumbled over one of the melted chairs. He landed hard on his backside.

The delivery gnome watched him with amusement. “You Teedlebaum?”

Jumping to his feet, the tinkerer brushed off his coat awkwardly, trying hard to regain his composure. “What’s that?”

“Morty Teedlebaum,” he repeated, “that you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Looks pops, either you is or you ain’t. I got a crate here with a name on it and the address to this,” he looked around the room, contemplating the proper descriptive word, “…establishment. So if you ain’t him…”

“I am him,” Morty said awkwardly.

“Then sign here and I’ll bring it to the door.”

“Bring what in?”

“Crate, pops. I said I have a crate…with your name on it.” He gave the room another glance. “Never mind. I’ll bring it in here.” Collecting the clipboard, he vanished from the doorway.

It seemed odd that someone would send a package to the tinkerer—especially with the fire and all. But that didn’t make sense. Who would know that the fire actually happened?

Absolutely no one.

Plopping down into the leather chair, soot shot up around him and into the air. Tiny flecks of ash danced around him until he blew them away.

With a bang and a rumble, the delivery gnome came back, but this time, he had a small hand lift machine, carrying a rather large crate with Do Not Touch written all over it

“It’s all pre-paid. Have a good day, pops.”

With that, Morty was once again left alone to the silence.

For several minutes he sat there, staring at the metal box. His fingers scratched at the seams in the leather. Who in their right mind would send something so huge? The crate was large enough to hide a small family of gnomes in it. Ok, only if they were dead…but it was still huge.

“For crying out loud—would you OPEN THE CRATE!”

Morty froze…and tried not to wet his trousers.

“W-who’s in…” he started to say.

“It’s Höbin! Open the blasted package before I die of suffocation!”

Jumping to his feet, Morty ran to the crate and pulled at the metal buckle straps holding the walls together. It was an ingenious invention—six pieces of metal, held together by flex straps at each point. With a few yanks, the walls fell away, the thin, inner wire frame supporting the roof.

Sitting cross legged in the center, dripping in sweat, was the cyborg.

“Wow,” he gasped, tossing the air canister aside, “Never want to try that again! Hate to think what might have happened if the delivery was late…”

I moaned.

Cranking my head to one side, I flinched.

Ouch.

They…threw rocks at me.

Actual pieces of stone!

My muscles were stiff and incredibly sore.

My eyes fluttered open, and I flinched again.

Smiling faces surrounded me. Dirty faces. Some had missing teeth, others had scars—both cuts and burns, while many had wrinkles around eyes and mouth. Everyone had bad breath.

Devastatingly bad breath.

Something between rotting potatoes and sewer sludge. I cringed. The smiley heaved twice in silence, the bright yellow face turning a putrid green.

“Give him room, people,” sounded a familiar voice. “He needs breathing room.”

“Shamas?” I whispered, hopeful.

“Here, Wendell.” The bodyguard smiled down at me. Reaching out, we clasped hands, his fingers wrapping around my thumb in a brotherly grip. “I’m here. Don’t get up too fast—you took some serious blows.” He patted my hand. “Glad I got there before it was too late.”

“But where,” I stammered, “…how?” I tried to sit up. Too fast. Before I could utter another word, my view was swallowed up in bright, sparkling lights and I wanted to vomit. My torso collapsed heavily.

“I said slowly,” Shamas repeated. “We’re not going anywhere, buddy. You’re safe now, so rest. We have a lot to talk about.”

My face cracked a smile, my eyes quickly watering. Shamas had found me. A friend…had found me. I wasn’t alone. But there was another question I wanted to ask. Desperately so, but it cracked in my throat. My hand reached out and firmly gripped the bodyguards arm. “H-have you seen Chuck?”

The bodyguard grinned.

“He has indeed, son,” came the reply. A voice as soft as falling autumn leaves.

I clenched my eyes tight.

My lips trembling, I let my fears and sadness fall from me.

With a clack-clack-clack of his staff, Chuck walked over and sat down in full view.

Reaching out, I grabbed the wizard’s hand and rolled onto my side. Like a tiny child, I pressed my face against the gnarled, still little fingers.

Those standing nearby, backed out of the room and closed the door behind them.

Leaving the staff at his side, the wizard leaned forward and rested his free hand on my head. “I know, son,” he whispered softly. “I’m sorry it worked out this way. I’m so very sorry. But I’m here now…and I’m proud of you, Wendell. So very proud.”

I looked up and blinked my eyes clear. “They have Dax.”

Chuck’s smile remained, though hints of sorrow flashed across his face. “Yes.” He patted my hand, “But we’ll get him back. Right now, you need to rest. There’s lots of work to do…and she needs a chance to fully heal you.”

“But…”

“We’re in one of Bellow’s warehouses,” he said softly, “You’re safe here. Now rest.”

My grip intensified.

The wizard patted my hand once more. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” He offered a comforting smile, “I promise.”

Reluctantly, I closed my eyes.

Within moments I drifted off to sleep.

“What do you mean you lost him?” Ian screamed. Without forewarning, he spun around and punched the black suit in the mouth. The other three gnomes standing guard stepped back as the body arched into the air and flew back a good eight feet.

The gnome was unconscious before he hit the floor…which slid another ten feet into the opposite wall.

Ian’s grin turned into a seething snarl. “What use are you overpaid flesh bags, if you can’t protect the one prized possession we have?!”

“What’s all the shouting about, Ian?” asked President Stump, wheeling himself into the room. “It’s late and you’re going to wake the children.”

The gnome assistant straightened his suit coat, and put on a stressed-yet-guilty expression. “I’m sorry sir, it’s just…well,” glancing between the black suits, “your security team lost Wendell.”

Stump stared at each of this men in turn, then frowned. His eyes lingered on the unconscious suit on the floor. “Run that by me again?”

“We were having issues at the WHRN station. We created a contingency plan in case a crowd showed up.”

“And did a crowd show up?”

“More like an angry mob.”

“Wonderful.”

“We had a van in the back, which we counted on for the quick getaway. I remained out front, in the limo, as a decoy. Lure the fans towards us, while your personal detail secured Wendell in our delivery van. It was simple enough—get him out the door, in the van, and back here.”

Shifting in his wheelchair uncomfortably, the President scowled. “And what happened?”

Ian kept his mouth shut and turned to stare at the lead officer.

“We were ambushed, Mr. President,” the suit said, embarrassed.

Stump tapped the arm of the wheelchair with a thick finger. “Why don’t you expound on that a bit more.”

Clearing his throat, the officer rounded his shoulders. “The package was brought out back, sir, where our transportation was parked. What we didn’t anticipate was, the alleyway had flooded with citizens, who were irate with Mr. Dipmier. The mob was highly aggressive and bent on harming him, Mr. President. Before we could get the Gnolaum into the van, a rock was thrown from the crowd. It struck the package in the head with such force,…”

“You mean…Wendell…,” Stump interjected, trying to follow along.

“Yes sir. Wendell…he fell over. This made it impossible to move him without more gnomes—so we formed a defensive position and called for backup.”

Stump listened intently, looking occasionally at the unconscious agent, who started to stir. “Did back up arrive?”

“Yes, sir,” the suit reported, “but only after the package was stollen.”

Now it was Stump who sat upright. “Stollen? As…in kidnapped?”

“That is correct, sir.

The President sighed heavily. When Ian had said that the men ‘lost’ Wendell, it would have made sense if the Gnolaum had wandered off on his own. Maybe he felt cooped up and desired some time alone. Finally he nodded at the crumpled suit stirring against the wall. “What happened to him?”

The gnomes shifted uncomfortably in place.

“He was one of the gnomes attacked,” Ian replied cooly. “By the mob.”

“Goodness! Then why isn’t he at hospital?”

The albino smirked. “That’s the grit of your security, sir…they refuse to leave their posts when given their duties to perform. He stood here until he simply collapsed.”

Stump’s brows jumped up. “Well, get him some help. Now. That’s an order.”

Ian nodded at the body. Two of the suits rushed to their comrades side. Within moments, they were in the elevator and the doors were closing.

“Do we know who took Wendell?” Stump asked.

Ian again looked at the remaining guard.

The gnome shook his head. “Those driving had both been knocked unconscious, while myself and the…wounded guard, were both overwhelmed by the crowds. We were forced back against a wall. The van drove away while we were pinned and the crowd dissipated minutes later. It was the oddest thing, sir. The citizens just…gave up. Walked away. No verbal complaints, no cursing, no interactions. It’s as if they…woke up from a dream and wandered back to their lives.” He gulped. “Creepy, if you ask me.”

“That’s it? They simply…left? ”

“Yes, sir. That’s it. Never seen anything like it. That’s when my men were discovered on the ground. The van was stollen, with Wendell in it.”

President Stump scowled at Ian. “So now we have kidnappers to add to the list of citizens we’re dealing with?”

“It appears so,” replied Ian.

Stump grunted. “This has become more complicated than I would have liked.” He rolled his head around, neck popping as he did so. “What’s the public’s reaction?”

The albino strutted past Stump and across the room to the large screen television. Grabbing the remote, he clicked on the news. Images of riots flashed, gnomes raging…throwing bricks and stones through windows. One shot showed angry citizens running after the camera teams themselves, now fleeing for their lives.

Ian snarled at the video, “Is that plain enough? There are riots all over the city after that interview. The people are angry at being judged. Angry at Wendell for pointing out their weaknesses, I think…but more importantly, they’re angry at us!”

Stump gasped. “Us? But the interview was magnificent! Wendell simply pointed out where we can all be more kind, more aware…more caring for others.”

“And to give up the lives we’ve worked so hard to achieve in the process! Look, I agree with you…but the public obviously doesn’t share our enthusiasm. These people don’t want to follow the Gnolaum…they want to skin him alive!”

Wheeling closer to the television, Stump stared up at the images. “It doesn’t make sense. Not at all.” Dax was still fast asleep, propped up on one of the couches. “None of this is working out as I planned.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Ian replied dryly.

Stump glanced up, worry and stress pulling at the lines across his face. His expression looked worn, drawn and…tired.

It made Ian grin. This time, from ear to massive ear. “But don’t worry, your mobile blubberiness…I have just the plan to make sure you remain the exemplarily leader of the free gnome world.”

“So you were the ones who threw rocks at me?”

Chuck scoffed, “That’s all you can think of? We worked together to save you from your captors. Don’t pick at the details, son, and don’t blame gnomes with bad aim.”

“But I was aiming for him,” piped up one of the factory workers.

Chuck frowned into the crowd. “Shhh!”

“The point,” Shamas continued, “is that you’re free to move about. Now you can speak to the people directly. We can interact with the citizens…let them have a voice in return.”

I shook my head. “The government still has Dax. And though the President’s a good person, he’s not really the one in charge of the political machine around here. He’s not sure who is. He’s fighting for all your freedoms as much as the G.R.R. is…just in different ways. If I go rogue, there are powerful people who will hurt Dax.” I stared at Chuck, “In ways you can’t imagine.”

The wizard patted me on top of the head and gave me a big grin.

We all sat in the break hall of the Bellows factory, surrounded by hundreds of gnomes. Partners in crime. Hundreds of smiling, gloating faces—completely enraptured and staring intently at me.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered to Chuck, then glancing over nervously at the gnomes.

The wizard looked over the sea of happiness. “Them? Oh they’re just elated to see you, that’s all.”

“Elated? But…why?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Shamas scribbled something down on a piece of paper. “They supported Steel and Stone, then you won, then they find out that you’re the Gnolaum—as in the real and actual Gnolaum of legend. How would you feel? What would you be thinking?”

Not the best comparison, but now I understood. They were looking for some kind of miracle. Then again, they weren’t trying to kill me. In fact, they were all smiles. Maybe it was an improvement after all. “So where’s Deloris and Morty…and…” I stopped. “…Nat?”

“Don’t you mean Lili?” smirked the wizard. “They’re back at base camp. Our job was to get you. We weren’t exactly sure how to do that—especially traveling through the city with so many gnomes, without a single license to travel. But we happened to discover a genius in our midst.”

“Wasn’t nothing, really…”

“Otger!” I blurted out, beaming.

The pudgy gnome waddled into view. “Hello Wendell,…uh,” he looked around nervously now, “sir, I mean.” He started to bow, then curtsied instead, unsure what to do. “Yeah—sir, that’s right.”

“Just call me Wendell, Otger. I’m just a mortal, like you.” I looked around me and spoke louder, “Like all of you. Please, I’m just a person…with a really unusual job, ok?”

I watched the gnomes looking at each other. Some beamed while others looked about confused or even nervous.

Otger looked at me, puzzled. “We’ve been taught all our lives to be faithful followers of the Gnolaum…to prepare for His return.”

“Well I’d rather have friends than followers,” I sighed lightly. “People who are willing to be themselves and help me if needed.”

The chubby gnome puffed out his chest and stood erect. “We can do that. Well, they can do what they want, but I can do that!”

“Otger found us a side route to avoid the Centurions and check points,” said Shamas. He jabbed the chubby gnome in the shoulder. “He’s got quite the map burned into that head of his.”

“Awwww.” Otger blushed.

Chuck stared at me curiously. “You alright?”

“Fine. Just…thinking. I can’t leave Dax there alone, Chuck. It’s important that I get back as soon as possible.”

“Mr. Chuck, sir?” cried out a voice from the back of the room, “I think you ought to see this on the telly.”

The monitors that hung over the break tables clicked on one by one—the face of Father Noah, grinning back at us.

“…is what I told you all, but did you listen to the Church? No. You decided to rely on the flesh of gnomes and give your minds up to the political leaders of this city in exchange, for what?! What has President Stump done to support you or to keep you safe? Nothing! Not a single thing.”

“Someone’s on an ugly trip,” mumbled Chuck.

Noah pointed at the camera. “This Gnolaum impostor must be stopped. Can’t anyone see the damage he’s doing to the good citizens of this noble city? Our society is a delicate balance of needs and desires that has sustained itself for hundreds of years. Now some stranger walks in, pointing fingers at us and we listen?! These are the teachings of a false prophet! Wendell Dipmier is not…and I repeat this boldly, not the Gnolaum of prophecy. How can he be? We are told the Great One would bring us into the light. Has he done so? No. Has he even tried to do so? I say again, no, he has not. Accuse our dear brothers and sisters of being callous of one another? In this great city? TGII forbid!”

“TGII shut him up,” muttered the wizard, angrily.

Noah’s face vanished, replaced by Ian Twofold. The anchorgnome’s voce over said, “In response to the Church’s demand for the deportation of the Gnolaum, Ian Twofold, personal assistant to the President had this to say.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “Yup, still an ugly trip.”

I frowned. “Shhh.”

“Ladies and gentlegnomes, this administration has done this city an injustice. It was ever our intent to be mindful of the teachings we all believe in. The teachings each of us were brought up to believe by the Church. That the Gnolaum would, one day, return to our fair and lovely city, to shower love and acceptance upon us. That he would bring us into the light and reunite our people with the rest of the world—all in peace and harmony. This was sadly, not the case, as many of you have heard through the interviews during the past few days.” He reached up and adjusted his purple tie. “This outward response from the people has shown this administration that it is more important to fulfill the will of the populace, than it is to run after idealisms.” His face contorted…and for a moment, the albino said nothing. Instead, his eyes drooped down and stared at the paper on the podium before him. When he finally spoke, there were hints of sadness.

“This is why, as of this moment, President Stump is issuing a warrant for the arrest of the human, Wendell P. Dipmier, affective immediately. In addition, there will be a public execution of the troll terrorist, known as Dax.”

All the blood drained from Chuck’s face.

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: The Presidents plan is put into play to test those who are loyal, while Wendell begins his interaction with the media.

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Chapter 81

They all stared at the television, stunned, as the reports continued to roll in.

“But you saw Wendell get away?” the wizard stammered, grabbing the bodyguards jacket with both hands. He studied Shamas’ face carefully. “You’re sure?”

Prying his jacket free, Shamas smiled kindly. “Yes, Chuck. He was fine. Can’t say the same for the suit that took the bullet—but Wendell was perfectly fine as they pushed him into the van. They sped off before another shot was taken.”

Chuck plopped down into a chair, sighing heavily. “Well that’s a relief!”

“Relief?” Lili pipped up, her face contorted. “Someone just tried to kill him,…how is that, in any way, shape, or form, a relief?”

The wizard tapped his nose with an index finger. “Because they missed.” He rolled his eyes at Shamas. “Girls. They completely miss the obvious.”

Lili growled.

“What are they saying on the internet, Nat,” asked Deloris. “The city has to be buzzing after an attack like that. You know the main media twists the facts.” She walked around the corner of the control panel…and bumped the handle of the coffee mug, which had been left balancing upon its edge. It tumbled over and across the buttons and switches.

“Oh!,” she cried, trying to catch the porcelain container as it flipped…the residue of coffee splashing across the console. The brown liquid trickled down into the cracks. The mug plunged over the edge and shattered into a dozen pieces across the floor. Sparks popped from the panel and steam rose into the air. Deloris panicked, looking up embarrassed at Nat. “I’m so…,” but she quickly frowned at the shattered mug.

“CHUCK!”

The wizard sat upright. “No you’re not. I’m Chuck.” Glancing at the bodyguard…somewhat concerned and unsure, he mouthed silently, ‘I am Chuck…right?’

“Oh no,” Deloris muttered, vigorously wiping the control panel with the sleeve of her blouse. Her eyes, however, were fixed back on the television. “Look!”

A thin, scowling gnome in a brown hooded robe appeared on the screen. WHRN’s anchorgnome smiled nervously. “We’re here with Father Noah, from the Temple of Nothing, talking about the Church’s reaction to WHRN’s exclusive interview with the Gnolaum, Wendell P….”

“We don’t actually know for certain that he is, indeed, the Gnolaum,” Noah cut in abruptly. There was a calm sternness to his demeanor. His face was clean, yet gaunt, with lips so thin his mouth looked as if it had been cut across his face. “No one does…so lets’ not jump to conclusions, shall we? Just because a human is able to sneak his way into our lands, breaking our laws, using arcane witchcraft to hide his true form…”

“Witchcraft!?” Chuck bellowed, “We used no such thing! Filthy, evil, why I never…” snorting, “Those were premium grade…” he hesitated, “transformational-ma-jiggers,” he blinked. “Ok, I got them on sale…but I’ll have you know that mägo use the finest, organic substances in alchemy…and only from renewable sources.” He grinned at Shamas. “Because we care about the environment.” But the grin quickly faded. “Well,…except for the animal spleens…and the dragon hearts. Not too renewable, those.”

“Shhh!” Deloris complained. “This is serious.”

Chuck snorted. “I bet it was serious to the dragon.”

“We know nothing about this human,” Noah continued, his brows pressed forward in an animated show of concern. “Nothing that we can prove or match with known prophecy, do we? You simply have the boys word! Now as a servants of TGII, I commend Mr. Dipmier for his desire to help our people. I commend anyone, regardless of their race, if they seek the welfare of our divine city…if that truly is his intent.”

The anchorgnome smirked. “So you’re saying you don’t support the President’s belief that Wendell is, in fact, the Gnolaum?”

Tiny fingers reached up and twisted the end of the thin black mustache nestled on his upper lip. “What I am saying, is that there must be more proof than a piece of cosmetic glass glued to ones chest to make me a believer. But then again, I’m not a politician, hungry for power—I look after the spiritual welfare of the flock.” He smiled smugly. “Furthermore, I would caution any of the faithful, not to be taken in. I am concerned about the virtuous, caring nature of our people, which could be threatened by a charlatan pretending to be what he is not. That is what I am saying.”

The camera pulled back, focused on the reporter. “And there you have it, folks, right from the Church’s own mouth. Don’t fall for a counterfeit. Make sure you have the appraisal in writing before you buy. The real question now, is whether the human S.L.A.G. pilot of the Gnolaum is, in fact, the Gnolaum after all.” He grinned into the camera. “Let’s take a moment and see what citizens of the city have to say about this.”

The screen flashed to a middle-aged female chewing gum, which popped as she talked around her pierced lips. She winked. “I think it’s cool, really. I mean, so what if he’s a Human…we should accept one another differences.”

The camera cut to a male gnome in an expensive looking brown suit, carrying a briefcase. “Unless he’s going to adversely affect the prices of electronics, oil or root crops,” he snapped, annoyed, “does it really matter?”

Two youth laughed and pushed at one another, trying to get in front of the camera. “How are we supposed to know? Maybe someone should put him through a test—see what he knows, like, as the Gnolaum? Get it? Then you wouldn’t have ta guess anymore.”

Deloris snatched up the remote, clicked off the television and slammed it down onto the table. “This is already worse than I thought!”

Lili crinkled her brows, confused. “What did I miss? Noah didn’t say anything rude or cruel, and those people were just sharing their thoughts.”

“No, it was more than that. The media used the citizens to plant thoughts and suggest problems. Place those seeds in the hearts of viewers. Noah indirectly issued a challenge of proof. The comments after solidified his distrust. That’s what the media does—uses planted questions, tears and anger to sway viewers. They played this well. Too well. Which means if Wendell is going to sway the people of this city, he’ll have to prove who he is—not just flash the Ithari on his chest.”

Nat stopped typing. “Prove who he is? Like how?”

Chuck stood up and stretched his arms. “Perform magic, I’m guessing.” He gave Deloris a grave look. “The Church won’t want anyone upsetting their perch any more than the government will. Which means whatever they’re crafting, IF they’re crafting something, Wendell’s not meant to succeed.” He sighed, “That puts our boy in the middle of a very nasty feud.”

I leaned heavily upon the counter, staring into the mirror.

All I wanted to do was encourage people. Tell them that the city is wonderful, maybe mention a few kind folks I’d met along the way by name. Help them out. Express how much I loved playing in the Trench games. But I knew that the questions gnomes had were already growing out of my control.

Someone was mad and had tried to kill me.

This was like a bad movie…and I had no idea how it was going to end.

Ian kept me up to date on the conditions of the city. How the people were reacting to my presence after each interview. It wasn’t good. Swarms were still hovering around the WHRN station, asking questions and forming opinions that spread like wildfire. There had been at least three outbreaks of violence in pubs within five miles of the station.

I hadn’t even had a chance to say what was really on my mind! Explain what I loved about this place. Instead, I was manipulated and cornered by professionals during interviews. First at WHRN, by Pip Flocker…who seemed to be holding a grudge. Then at two smaller, local stations. It was becoming apparent that reporters were looking for opportunities to make a name for themselves. Each had been cruel and very negative…always twisting my words.

Now the gnomes of the city were angry. Bridges and lift carts were being sprayed with ‘Send the Giant Home’ slogans all over them. Picket lines had formed in front of the Centurion Citadel, demanding the deportation…or execution of me and Dax.

…and it was getting worse by the hour.

How could I get through to anyone if they wouldn’t even listen to me? If I don’t get a chance?? Dark rings of stress were starting to show under my eyes. Even with the warm pulse of the Ithari’s power flowing through my veins, I felt tired. Exhausted.

Not physically, but emotionally…even mentally tired.

It was too much for me.

Not a sign of Chuck or anyone else I knew…no one to help me figure this out. To tell me what to DO.

Dax was barely able to maintain consciousness for more than a few minutes at a time. I’d asked three times for Ian to take me to Morty’s warehouse, but my requests had been denied.

There wasn’t time, I was told. It wasn’t safe.

Surely if my friends wanted to see me, they’d come to me?

No. I knew better than that. Deloris and Nat were part of the revolutionaries. Members of the movement were hidden throughout the city. It would be foolish for my friends to expose themselves and walk right into the government’s grasp. Besides, Chuck probably couldn’t get past the front desk…and Lili.

Lili.

My fingers reached across the counter and caressed the red wax of the envelope.

Stump had kept his word.

I had the satisfaction of looking into Mr. Upshots eyes as the gnome begrudgingly handed it over. The gnomes thought it was nothing more than a blank sheet of paper, stuffed in a fancy envelop.

Perfectly harmless.

Useless.

But it was my only real comfort now. A reminder of the one thing I’d forgotten over the last several weeks, until this morning.

The Demoni Vankil seal.

It was the whole reason I was here.

Everything had been secondary…and I’d gotten caught up in the games, the fame…the problems. My mind swam with the possibilities of where a tiny artifact like that could possibly be in this vast city of countless nooks, crannies and firecracker gnomes.

Were the seals different?

Could this be bigger than the last?

Maybe hidden in something bigger?

The seal in Til-Thorin, had been hidden in the foundation of the keep itself. I wondered if Höbin had been able to narrow the possibilities of where the seal might be. If we could just find it, there wouldn’t be any reason to stay!

I liked that thought.

But the very idea of the old historian raised a fear in my heart. Where is Alhannah? Is she safe? Is she well? I grit my teeth and looked myself in the mirror. They say she wasn’t with us—but I remembered her being dragged across the stadium floor. I remembered her being thrown to the concrete in the parking garage. I remembered yelling at the Centurions when they kicked her body!

It didn’t matter how much I pressed Ian or the President…neither of them knew where she was…and I believed them. All Stump could discover was that she was not with me and Dax when we had arrived at this facility.

So what happened?

I gripped the letter firmly, the paper crumpling between my fingers.

Where is she?

I’d read the letter over and over again, searching each line, hoping the words would change. Hoping it would give me some hint as to what I needed to do next. I read until my eyes couldn’t focus. The letter apparently didn’t work that way.

The words had not changed.

Let go of your anger and frustration and trust in the path before you. Let go of your fears, my son. You will make mistakes. You will fall. You will even fail. But you must learn to let it all go. Instead, trust your heart and in your relationship with the gem.

Accept who you are, my son, for only then will you be free.

…and when you are finally free, the answers will be within your grasp.

Those were the only sentences that made sense to me.

I did feel angry.

Angry at being lost, at being manipulated and taken advantage of—but people were also relying on me.

It didn’t matter what I was feeling.

Dax, most especially, was counting on me. I was our only chance of getting us both out of Clockworks. Well, out of this building and area of Clockworks, anyway. The sedation was preventing the elf from gaining enough clarity to teleport. Dax was utterly helpless…until I could find a way to change our circumstances.

But how could I hope to do anything, make any progress or win any support, when I seemed to tick everyone off?

Think, Wendell. There has to be a way to make some headway with these interviewers. Someone who actually wants to listen to what you have to say.

I sighed.

There was no doubt in my mind what was about to happen.

Rishima Geebler wasn’t a fan. I didn’t even consider her a good representation of a gnome. If there was a league of evil reporters, she was their queen.

Stop it, Wendell. Stay calm.

“Oh no,” Doubt whispered, “you’re screwed.”

Shut it. You’re the last person I need helping me right now.

“Just listening,” he said. “Just…listening. For all that’s happened, you’re actually doing well.“

For a loser, right?

“For an honest kid who decided to take on a world of problems that weren’t his to begin with.” He snorted. “World. Of problems.”

I looked at myself sternly in the mirror, squinting. You haven’t given up—that’s the first thing. The most important thing. You haven’t given up. ‘The key to everything is having a good heart…the rest is just practice.’

I tried not to laugh.

You’re getting a crap load of practice…that’s what this is.

I looked at myself more sternly.

So be grateful. Be happy. Trust yourself and let’s…

There was a knock at the door. “Wendell, they’re ready for you.”

I gulped.

Practice.

That’s what this is.

Just practice.

Sharpen the people skill…sharpen the knives. Only way to grow is by jumping in with both feet.

I gulped again.

It’s also a sure way to drown if you don’t know how to swim.

Sliding the envelope into my front pocket, I cracked my neck, smiled at my reflection and said aloud, “Let’s do this.”

My living room had been rearranged for the interview.

Plants in their huge pots had been gathered around and adjusted to make the set look more like a wild jungle than a plush apartment. Two chairs sat together, one oversized and lower to the ground, both turned slightly towards one another. Rishima was already in one of the seats, her makeup mirror out. She puckered and checked her eyebrows, then batted her lashes—flashing her trademark smile at her reflection.

I was wrong.

She’s not their queen.

…she’s the devil.

Ian grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the set. “I realize we are off to a rough start with the interviews…and we’ve upset a few people…

“A few people? Upset?” I snorted. “Ian, someone tried to kill me.”

The gnome shrugged, his head bouncing about. “Which is unfortunate, I agree…,” he held up an index finger, “but we did get some great publicity over it. Oh, don’t look at me like that. We’ve been hammered to this point, I know…but we can’t give up, Wendell!” Ian stopped short, his tiny fingers gripping like steel, “Seriously…we cannot give up. You,…” his voice faltered.

For a moment he stood there, looking off into the distance and clearing his throat.

“You are the best thing that has happened to this city in a long time. We can’t let these…these…” He took a slow, deep breath to gain his composure. “I-shall-not-say-it-in-mixed-company-of-dirtbags determine the outcome. Do you understand? If I have to arrange to build a platform in the streets, so you can shout at these hard-headed,” he trailed off again, his voice overcome by a deep growl, “I will.”

Wow. I couldn’t help but smirk. It was an unusual sight—the red growing across the pale cheeks. Like an electric stove warming up.

Was he actually shifting to my side?

Cool.

“So,” Ian said softer, composing himself. He smiled brightly, displaying his gigantic white teeth as he brushed lint from my sleeve, “You do your best.” He pinched a piece of lint from the fabric and let it drop to the floor. He stepped on it and made a grinding motion with the toe of his shoe. “Oh, and if that TV tart starts to play dirty…you find a window, slip in, and to stick it to her.” His grin thinned out to something more sly. “Don’t hold back, Wendell. Just bury her.”

Then I did laugh. “Why Ian…I think you might actually make me like you.”

The red on his cheeks intensified. He pushed me forward. “Shut up and get out there.”

The gnome I thought was a devil, was turning out to be more of an angel—while the one who looks like an angel…I shivered.

“Mr. Dipmier,” Rishima cooed, holding out her hand daintily, “so wonderful to see you again! Huge fan of yours. Huge fan.”

I rolled my eyes, keeping my hands close to myself. “No, you’re not. You disliked me, you hated Alhannah and you hated Steel and Stone the moment you met us.” I slumped down into the chair next to her, knocking a fern leaf away from my face. “So don’t start this interview with a lie.”

The two camera gnomes froze.

Unused to being called on her introductions, she looked up at me with droopy eyes and quivering lips. “That’s…so untrue! I was just doing my job. I didn’t hate Alhannah or Steel and Stone. I was reporting the truth to the public, which they have a right to know.”

“And who’s truth would that be, Rishima?” I countered, staring back at her boldly.

“Well I…uh,…”

“Ok hun,” shouted the director, who glanced at his watch—completely absorbed in his own world. “We’re on in 5, 4, 3,”…he held up two fingers, then one, then pointed at her.

The confusion fell to the wayside as the mechanical smile appeared to greet her adoring public. “Good evening ladies and gentlegnomes, this is your favorite reporter, Rishima Geebler, here with you live for another personal interview with our city’s most interesting celebrities. Tonight we’ll get an in depth look into the mind and heart of the man whom everyone’s talking about. The Gnolaum.”

The yellow smiley peeked out from under my sports jacket with a plotting grin. My own face followed suit.

I had an idea.

“For the last time, SHUT UP!” Ian snapped angrily.

The black suits clamped their lips together, though several shook silently in place, unable to contain the laugher.

I sat on the sofa and cranked up the volume of the TV.

All through the night the reports had rained in.

Every station who had a bone to pick with Clockworks favorite reporter, ran coverage of the live broadcast.

The broadcast where Wendell P. Dipmier humiliated Rishima Geebler.

Live.

“You were supposed to talk about the problems of the city, Wendell,” Ian grumbled, staring at clips of Rishima choking on her words and then stomping out of view.

“I know.”

“You were supposed to talk about gnomes loving and caring for one another…”

“I know.”

“You were NOT supposed to personally attack the reputation of the most popular reporter in our city!” he bellowed.

I giggled. “I know.” The sheer joy of the experience filled me with glee. “But it made a lot of gnomes smile, Ian. The suits, the camera men, even the director couldn’t help but grin as I walked through my personal experiences with Clockworks favorite reporter.”

Ian plopped down into the chair next to the sofa. “I know.”

“You did tell me to find a window…”

“I know I did.”

“To stick it to her…”

Ian sighed, “I know…”

“Bury her, I think was the term you used.”

“OH ALRIGHT!” he yelled. Huffing and heaving, the gnome slapped his hands over his face. “It…,” then softer, “wasn’t what I was hoping for, but at least you got your foot in the door. The stations seem to like what you did.”

I beamed. “No. They loved it, Ian. Apparently, the stations hated her more than they hated me. Even if I am human. I just had to point out her personality and let the truth do the rest.” I sat up, pointing at the TV. “How many stations do you think have run with this story tonight?”

Ian considered. “Close to all of them, actually. WHRN owns most of the minor stations, but since the assistant managers know the general station manager is dating that harpy…” Then it hit him. “They’re running with the story anyway.”

I laced my fingers behind my head. “You think we could get some interviews with people who might listen now?”

Ian blinked once, then again.

“Ian?”

“What? Oh. Oh—yes!” He pulled his glasses from his face and started cleaning them with a cloth from his pocket. “You’re smarter than you look, Wendell. I’m impressed.”

“My, my…is that a compliment I hear?” I laughed, “Will miracles never cease!”

“Don’t get too caught up in all this. Not yet. You have at least one person who won’t take the cheap shots and you’re due there in about three hours. Do me a favor and take a nap, you’ve been up all night.”

I sank deeper into the couch, smirking, as a clip of Rishima screaming at the laughing camera men flashed over the monitor. “I’ll think about it.”

Ian put his glasses back on and walked to the door. “You did good, Wendell.”

“Thanks.”

“No,” the gnome said, “I mean that. You’re a lot smarter than I gave you credit for. I underestimated you. Won’t happen again.”

The transport pulled in between two old and decaying buildings. Unlike the rest of the city, especially the abandoned districts where I’d spent time as a Trench pilot, this area was maintained. The old streets and shorter buildings were old, but they were worn with time, not neglect or abuse. Brick and steel structures, with fresh paint, clean, sparkling windows and wooden doors.

“This doesn’t look like the rest of the city,” I said aloud. It reminded me of San Francisco, or the older parts of Chicago, which I’d visited with my father on a family vacation when I was twelve.

“We’re in the grandfather district,” Ian blurted out, unimpressed. He lifted the coffee mug and sipped carefully. “The last of the original buildings from when the first settlers discovered the island. This is what you might call the historical district of Clockworks. Can’t demolish any of it. It’s protected by law.” He looked out the window of the vehicle and yawned. “I’m told these structures are priceless. Frankly, I think they’re ugly as a skin sore on your backside. Can’t see what everyone talks about.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” I said.

There were hundreds of shops surrounding us. A grid of buildings that made the air tingle with life, and for a moment, I thought I’d gone back in time. Back to Earth. There were museums and bagel shops, barber shops, and even a library. We drove past pet stores and pipe stores, old fashioned cobblers and even candy-makers, already setting their stands at the edge of the streets. Gnomes by the hundreds walked up and down the lanes, greeting one another politely and shaking hands.

This was a whole other world from the Clockworks I’d seen.

Where were the crowds? Where were the dense populations, pushing and pulling? This area seemed completely untouched.

I watched an old street sweeper pause and tip his hat to a couple strolling by. This wasn’t like anything I’d experienced since I’d arrived. There wasn’t flashing technology, electronic billboards pushing the latest craze.

No, this was altogether different.

A slower pace with a friendlier people.

The vehicle slowed and stopped in front of a big wooden door with a hand-painted sign on it that said, ‘The ORIGINAL WHRN. We may be small, but we’ve got moxy!’

“Please be on your best behavior in here,” Ian pleaded.

I pressed my open palm to my chest. “Me? Now why would you ever say such a thing!?” I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

“The Voice is respected by everyone in the media. He’s respected by everyone in the city.”

I smirked. “Except you.”

“Well,” Ian shrugged, “I’m special.” Then seriously, “We’ve kept this stop a secret, so we wouldn’t be mobbed. No one knows you’re coming. But you can be sure there’ll be a mob when you come out. I’ll be waiting here, to cause a diversion. The boys will be in the back to sneak you away. We’ll meet back at the apartment. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Alright then,” Ian popped open the door, “Try and have some fun this time.” He glared. “Polite fun.”

That would be nice. I stepped out onto the curb and instantly, gnomes up and down the street gasped. Bright, wide eyes gaping at me. Studying me. They didn’t…scream or run away. I attempted a smile. Then a little wave of my hand.

Most stayed frozen, staring back,…but a few did wave. Mostly the younger gnomes. Then a few more.

…then it caught on.

“He’s here!” cried one gnome aloud.

“It’s actually true—the Gnolaum really IS in Clockworks!”

“Amazing!”

Gnomes started to cheer.

“What a blessing…”

“Did you see how he shut down that tart, Rishima? Totally AWESOME!”

I nodded to myself. Good start. Good, good, good. I walked up to the front door, pulled it open and walked inside.

The tile floors creaked under my weight as I walked. The entrance echoed with each step, the click-clack of my dress shoes against the surface. The first few floors of the building were all exposed by inside balconies, wrapping around the gigantic front desk. A female with glowing pink hair and dangerously long finger nails sat propped up behind the counter. She hummed cheerfully, blowing bubbles and painting her toenails on a propped up foot. The tiny jar of polish was a bright orange to match her eyeshadow.

“Ahem,” I said softly.

“Yeah,” she answered in a nasal voice, without looking up. Her gum popped as she chewed with an open mouth.

“I…have an appointment with,” I hesitated, “well, I don’t know his name, but gnomes call him The Voice?”

She snorted loudly, perfectly imitating a pig. “No hun, he ain’t got no other name, ‘cause he is The Voice.” She looked up…and nearly flipped out of her chair. “Sweet bearded lady!” she cried aloud, dropping the polish onto the counter.

I jumped back myself. “Sorry! So sorry…didn’t mean to startle you, mam.”

Peeking up from behind the counter, she cocked her head to the side. “You’re…that Wendell fellow, ain’tcha? The alien.”

I nodded. Hadn’t really thought of myself as an alien…but I guess I do look pretty different…

She stared at me up and down and blew another bubble until it popped. She stood up slowly, then leaned forward, over the counter—eyes glued to me. “Well ain’t you a yummy little thing!” Her bosom pushing against the buttons of her blouse. “You really are him.”

“I-I think so,” I stammered.

“OY! COSMO—WE GOTS OURSELVES A LIVE ONE HERE!” Her voice shrieked through the corridors of the building, echoing in every corner and clawing at one’s spine. I stumbled backward so fast, I slammed into the opposite wall and nearly knocked over a trash can.

She grinned at me. “Show starts in ten, love. Down that hall, third door to the right.” She winked and blew me a kiss.

Keeping my back against the wall, I scraped my way around the desk area and bolted down the corridor.

“Come see me after the show, darlin’,” she called loudly after me, “and I’ll getcha’ m’number!”

“This is The Voice…with WHRN in Clockworks City. We may be small, but we’ve got moxy!”

I sat in the booth nervously waiting. I’d been ushered in by a cross-eyed gnome who couldn’t seem to stop giggling. It wouldn’t have been so bad…if I knew what was so funny. Instead, I was shown my seat and had it explained that under no circumstances was I to wander about. I was handed a pair of earphones, then given my choice of station refreshments: brown tap water or Ginny-Kay’s organic, reconstituted, homogenized squash juice.

I discovered I wasn’t thirsty at all.

My host was across the room in another booth, wrapping around him in smokey glass. A single light was hanging overheard, allowing me to see a single form moving about in the booth, but with no clear shot of seeing what the gnome looked like. Pungent cigar smoke rolled over the top of the wall and descended into the rest of the room.

A small green light lit up in front of me.

“We’re here with the famous man of the hour, Wendell P. Dipmier.” The voice was deep and calming. Unassuming. “Now I don’t know about you folks out there, but I’m curious to find a human on gnome soil. We’re not exactly the most popular race on Elämä. I know, I know…but I’m only saying what you’re all thinking. Let’s shove all the agenda’s aside, shut down all the corporate profit machine mentality, so credits don’t tarnish the pursuit of the truth…and ask the real questions. Ask the hard questions.”

I slapped my hands over my knees to keep them from shaking.

“I’m going to ask these same questions so you and I can find the truth of the matter, together. That alright with all of you out there? Just you, me, and Wendell. If you have questions you’d like me to ask, or if you’d like to ask the Gnolaum directly, you know the number: 121-55-SHORT.”

The green light over my mic stared back at me incessantly.

“First question, Wendell,” the voice said smoothly, “Why us?”

Sheepishly, I leaned towards the mic…like it might be a snake that would bite me if I made the wrong move. “I-I’m not sure I understand your question.”

“I’m asking why you came to Clockworks? Why not Humär, or Mävro or, who knows—ANYwhere on our planet but here? You’re the Gnolaum. You have things to do, people to see and save. Surely you have more important things to do than hang with the underdogs of the world?”

“Underdogs?” I snorted before I could stop myself. “You don’t watch Trench Wars, do you?”

The Voice laughed. “Oh I certainly do, but I wasn’t cheering for you, I’m embarrassed to say. Put my money on the fly boys this season. My bad.”

“Well that’s a pretty easy questions to answer, then. I’m here, because…well,…” but I stopped. It actually wasn’t an easy answer. There were no hooks, no traps that I could see. This was a real interview. Now was the time to set the stage for the rest of my message. “I’m here because I want to be.”

“You…wanted to come here? I mean no disrespect, but we’re not the most popular race of this world.”

I grinned. “Maybe, but the gnomes are the first people I’ve revealed my self to since I came to the planet.”

There was a sound of someone choking. “Whoa, whoa, stop. You came from another planet?! I don’t recall that being mentioned growing up in church…or talked about by our religious leaders.”

I swallowed.

Whoops.

Think, Wendell, Think. “Well, I meant from Sanctuary. That’s where the Ithari is kept and where I took on the mantle. I had to come down to Elämä from there.”

“Gotcha.”

The window was open. Time to jump through. “And I have wanted to say, ever since I got here, that I love it here.”

“Y-you do? Seriously. As in, enjoy being among the little people, surrounded by the evil dark sorcery of technology?”

I laughed out loud, relaxing. “I am completely ok with everything I have seen here. Well, thrilled and impressed would be more accurate. What confuses me, is why anyone would turn away such brilliance.”

“Like Trench Wars?”

Grinning, “Exactly like Trench Wars! Which, I should let you know, was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. Jumping and rolling and engaging in combat inside a twenty foot robot? Cool!”

I watched the shadow behind the frosted glass sit back in his chair. “Well I’ll be. Hope you’re listening out there, Clockworks, because I don’t think we’ll ever have a better compliment than that. The greatest figure in our prophetic archives is sitting in this studio, right now, telling us that he loves what the rest of the world hates about us.”

“Well, yeah. Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Not exactly the norm,” said The Voice.

Laughing again, “Yeah—well I’ve never been known to be normal, so I’m not exactly breaking any molds here.”

The Voice chuckled. “What possessed you to climb into a S.L.A.G. in the first place?”

I cleared my throat and leaned in closer to the mic. “I was trying to get everyone’s attention.”

“My-my-my,” The Voice clicked, “you certainly did that! Not only did you enter, you won the games…against seasoned pilots!”

“I would have preferred more talking and explanations, though…and a lot fewer strikes with batons. If you know what I mean.” I rubbed the back of my neck absentmindedly.

“Ouch. I bet. So…what now? What are the plans since you’re exposed to the gnome population?”

That was the real question, wasn’t it?

Had I actually made it to the point where I could be myself? Where I could express my thoughts and feelings openly and make some serious progress?

Chuck wasn’t here.

Dax wasn’t here.

I wasn’t relying on Motherboard, the G.R.R., Bellows. or even the letter at this point.

I got there all on my own.

The mic stared back at me. Whatever came out of my mouth was going to be heard and remembered by the rest of the gnomes in this vast city. What I said next could define me in the minds of the population.

Leaning forward in my chair, it squeaked. “I want to make a difference in Clockworks,” I said softly, “and to unite the people of this world.”

The pause grew uncomfortably long before The Voice responded.

“That’s a big plan.”

I smirked. “This is a big city.”

“Don’t suppose you want to take the time and elaborate on this a little, do you?”

“Now’s your chance, Wendell,” Doubt whispered. “Do it. Do it now and don’t look back.”

“Yes,” I said, which sounded sheepish. I cleared my throat and, “Most definitely. I got to travel around this city, to meet a lot of fantastic, generous people. I discovered things are not always as they seem here.”

“How so?” From across the room, a shadowed thumb rose into the air, encouraging me.

“When I got more involved as a Trench pilot, you tend to mingle with fans. They come from all areas of the city. At first I spent a chunk of my time in the lower districts and I was appalled at what I saw. Gnomes struggling to survive, while the rest of the population rolled on like it didn’t even exist.”

“That is the way of the city,” The Voice said soberly.

“But should it be?” I felt the tug on my heart…the pressure in my chest that made it hard to breathe each time Simon’s face appeared in my mind. “There are little children…,” I choked, “children—wading through garbage, to find things to eat. There are people who are struggling to exist right under our feet. Yet I could only find a small handful, if that, of decent gnomes who were trying to make a difference.”

“Like?”

“Like Philburt Bellows.”

The Voice scoffed. “The gazillionaire!? PLEASE…don’t get me started on the rich elite of this society who prey off the rotting bones of our population.”

“He supports thousands of workers through his factories.”

“In a city of of a billion people!”

I could feel the blood rushing through my cheeks. “And that makes him what? Less noble? Less kind…why? Because he can’t save everyone? That’s not his job—it’s ours!”

The Voice paused. “Interesting.”

“Even the President cares deeply about the people—but what is he supposed to do? No matter who he is, he can’t change everything. That’s our opportunity.” No that wasn’t right. “Privilege and honor would be more accurate. A chance for the normals of this city to rise to the occasion and help those who cannot help themselves.”

I could hear what sounded like the repeated clicking of a ball point pen over the speakers. “But Wendell…why should we care about those around us who are struggling, even suffering, when The Great It Is has seen fit to inflict life’s challenges upon them?”

“Because TGII didn’t inflict it upon the good people of Clockworks. The good people of Clockworks have inflicted it upon their own.”

“Excuse me? Did I just hear you blame the pain and suffering in this city on the rest of us?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

The Voice paused. The shadow in the booth leaned forward and rested on the desk, head hung low. “You know this point of view won’t exactly make you popular among the people.”

“Are you saying you haven’t seen this around you? Selfish people who are only concerned about themselves, about their toys and luxuries and getting gain, instead of the welfare of those around them? Those infinitely less fortunate than themselves? Gnomes who don’t have the knowledge or maybe the skills to gather in the comforts of life like you or me? ”

“I’ve seen it.”

“Well we can’t hide behind words anymore. A persons true nature will prove or condemn their words…and I’m not seeing these problems being addressed, except by people like Philburt Bellows and President Stump.”

The Voice let out a slow whistle away from the mic. “What do you have to say, my fellow citizens? That’s quite a mirror that got shoved in our faces.”

“Quickly, sir,” the black suit said bluntly, “The crowds are forming out front. Yes, this way.”

The interview had lasted for more than two hours. The phone lines were finally shut down. There were so many responses, so many gnomes that had something to say—everything was jammed. Every phone line clogged. Over two hundred million emails. The cell towers were even shut down because of the overload from the billion plus text messages sent to the station. It became an instant madhouse.

The callers that did get through were anything but civil. Yelling and shouting at me, gnome after gnome challenged my stance and views on the normals of the city. The Voice finally closed the show and recommended that I leave the station as quickly as possible…but he genuinely thanked me for being on his show.

This had not gone as I’d hoped. I couldn’t honestly think of what I should of done differently.

Did they just not care? All the pain and suffering going on around them here in Clockworks? Maybe they didn’t see it. Maybe they simply hadn’t had the experiences themselves, so they can’t relate to what I said. It could have been anything.

Important thing was, gnomes were mad.

Very mad, and they were focused on one person now.

Me.

The suits weaved in and out of the rooms, down the halls and out the back door effortlessly. Professionals and work, but this time, they searched the adjoining building for snipers.

What they couldn’t control were the crowds.

Bodies were everywhere, flooding the alleyway like rats waiting for the chance of a bloody meal. They pushed and shoved at one another, blocking the short path to the parked van. I came out the back door of WHRN to the angry expressions of the talk show fans.

An explosion of lights jumped into my range of vision as a rock struck me solidly in the temple. It was followed by a another stone, landing sharply against my collarbone.

My giant frame swayed in the light.

“Grab him!”

“How am I…he’s huge!”

“Crap, Blake—you missed, he’s…down.”

“This is special agent Bloomburg, the Relic is down. We are under attack. I repeat, the Relic is down and we are under attack. Civilian hostiles. Immediate backup required.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Dax is moved into the Presidential suite, and someone hires a famous assassin to take out Wendell.

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Chapter 80

“But Wendell wouldn’t do that,” the wizard said again, exasperated. “You don’t know that boy—he’s loyal and kind and…”

“Sided with the government faction,” Philburt argued. “We had an agreement and he’s broken it.”

“You don’t know that!” Chuck snapped. “All you’ve seen is what the media’s shown you.”

“I know he never told me he was human. I know that my factories are now plagued with workers who feel they’ve been betrayed by the pilot they cheered on and supported. The pilot they thought was representing them to the rest of the city!” The rich gnome paced in front of the desk. “That’s enough for me to stay away from this whole situation. I have enough problems of my own now—trying to keep the factories running and revolts from starting. There’s a great deal of anger brewing.”

Chuck grabbed his hat from his head and threw it on the ground. “You’re a fool, Bellows, if you can’t see the opportunity staring at your fat face!”

“That’s why we want to form an official alliance,” Deloris chirped in. She quickly moved between the two gnomes. “Isn’t that right?”

Motherboards face drew closer on the computer screen. “That’s exactly right, Deloris. This is why we’re here, Bellows. You and I have always had a good working relationship. I’ve done my work and kept you from any of the backlash I may have caused, have I not?”

Philburt looked warily at the screen. “You have.”

“Well I can’t do that anymore. As much as I’d like to assure you, no one can get away from this situation. It is an opportunity we either have to seize together and make it work, or we all go down in flames. If we choose to go our separate ways, we’ll simply go down faster. With Wendell here…and I’m referring to the personage of the Gnolaum, not the boy…there’s a power struggle already in play. My bugs all over this city are buzzing. The factions are making a play for control. Wendell is the piece everyone wants…and we have to get to him first.”

“He’s not a toy!” Chuck growled, “You’re going to get him hurt.”

Motherboards expression softened. “As regrettable as that may be, Morphiophelius, it is a chance I have to take. Every precaution will be taken to protect him…but this is about our people first and foremost.”

“Poppycock. You children don’t have a clue what you’re doing. I was around before this island was even discovered and I say you’re going to create more trouble than you’ll fix. Just leave the boy alone and let him work it out!” He tried hard not to sob. “Help me find my monkey. That’s what you should do.”

Deloris reached over and squeezed the wizards hand.

Philburt Bellows tapped his lips with his index finger, thinking. “I don’t know.”

“Then make a decision without knowing,” Motherboard said in a dial tone. “Your time is running out. We need to act.”

It was too risky. No matter where he turned, there were problems. Gigantic problems and they all centered around the perceptions of the citizens. The Gnolaum was back and the gnomes of the city were split in their beliefs. Was there a way to flip all this around? Bellows looked up, glancing between them. “What’s your plan?”

“The government stole Wendell,” Motherboard grinned, “so we figured we would steal him back.”

*****

President Stump had been right. When the request was made for Dax to be unshackled, there was little concern about safety. Only Ian Twofold had argued. Dax was now in the presidential suite—and if anything happened to the President, they could blame the elf.

That’s what I saw.

Stump looked more at ease, but I was uptight and overly cautious. The black suits rarely said a word. Were they really under the direction of the President…or were they getting their orders from somewhere else? They had to be plugged into someone, somewhere—didn’t they? The little earpieces and concealed firearms…they were dangerous…and they made me nervous.

But that wasn’t the biggest problem.

“I don’t want to move to another apartment,” I complained to Ian. “There’s plenty of room here…and I should stay here with Dax. If you’re so concerned about everyone’s safety, then you should let me take care of him.”

The albino grinned his creepy grin. “That’s all well and good, but he’s safe here. Invisible to the public. You, on the other hand, are growing in popularity…and after the next few shows, people are going to want to talk to you. A lot. You’ll have fans, fanatics, celebrity interviewers. All of which must be kept at arms length from the President. They cannot come here to interview you. So, the logical thing to do is to have a place set aside for your use, that’s all.”

I looked to Stump, then over the Presidents shoulder to where Dax lay…fast asleep on the couch.

“Take off your glasses.”

“Excuse me,” Ian said softly.

“I said,” I repeated, looking back at him, “take off your glasses when you talk to me.” I snatched the glasses from the gnomes face before Ian could react. I grinned as Ian cringed at the light, keeping his lids clenched tight. “I want to see who I’m talking to.”

Running his fingers through his blonde hair, Ian adjusted his tie and composed himself. “Right. Well,…here I am. Exposed. Satisfied?” He squinted back uncomfortably.

Grinning, “Perfectly.” Then to the President, “You’re ok with this?”

Stump pondered for a moment. “I do understand Ian’s point.”

“You’re not serious…”

“I’m not saying I completely agree…but there is wisdom in getting you your own place. You’ll need to be free to move about and interact, Wendell. I’m actually quite excited for you. Now you’ll have a platform to speak from and you have all the media to announce it to the whole of the city!” Stump looked over at Dax. “He’ll be fine here, with me and the children. Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of him.” Then to Ian, “Where’s the apartment located?”

The assistant grinned. “Five floors down. Senators level—so you can rub shoulders with the leaders of the city.”

“Excellent,” Stump said.

Ian nodded. “We made sure he had the largest accommodations available. He can conduct press conferences, events…anything needed without ever having to leave.”

“But I can leave…correct?” I asked pointedly. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck in another cage.

Ian smirked. “Of course. You are now free, as our First-Class Fluffiness has stated, with the key to the city.”

Stump slapped the arm of his wheelchair. “Excellent! Then there shouldn’t be any problems. You can come up here any time you like, Wendell. I’ll make sure each my security understands that.”

I nodded, but I still wasn’t altogether sure it was a good idea leaving Dax. Not so soon after getting him released from the clutches of Mr. Upshot, anyway. But there didn’t seem to be much choice in the matter. Not if I wanted to make headway with the people of Clockworks. “I’m expected to do interviews?”

“Absolutely!” cooed Ian, nudging me in the leg. I didn’t like it. It was a bit too friendly. “We have a short bout with WHRN Prime Time…you remember Dusty and Pip I assume?”

“Mostly their backsides,” I snorted.

Both Ian and Stump laughed. “Then an intimate little gathering at your new place with Rishima Geebler.”

I moaned.

“Another interview later in the week with Nikki Cadby on the Inside Gnome show.”

“What about The Voice?” Stump asked.

Ian’s smile faded. “Yes. We were able to get a booking with that…hack. Though I don’t know why you even bother with that faceless…”

“Because he happens to be the most popular radio personality in Clockworks history. One that the people love and trust.” He nudged me and grinned. “Educated, respectable, and doesn’t take cheap shots…which is always nice.”

“Cheap shots make the programs fun,” Ian argued.

“They soil the content and cloud the mind,” Stump retorted. “Now take Wendell down to his place and let him get settled in.” Then to me, “Get rested up and come back for dinner if you can, alright?”

I forced myself to smile…my attention lingering on Dax’s prone body. The wasn’t going as I wanted it to, but I had to roll with whatever I was dealt…at least for now. Following Ian into the elevator, I was immediately tailed by two black suits. They stood in front, one of them pressing the button down.

“What are they here for?” I asked.

“Protection,” Ian said bluntly, “of course.”

*****

The apartment they’d arranged for me looked almost as big as the penthouse we had come from. It had a gigantic kitchen, a spacious living room, three bedrooms and even in indoor waterfall of recycled water. Everywhere I looked, there were lush, green plants in beautiful clay pots. Croton, Chinese Evergreens, Dracaena, heart leaf Philodendron, even English Ivy and Boston Ferns. Though there were others with blue bark, pink leaves and furry-looking flowers which didn’t look familiar at all.

The very presence of the plant life eased my tensions.

I breathed easier and relaxed.

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

The entire place was furnished, too, but with gnome-sized accommodations.

“We’re working on having some custom furniture built for you as quickly as possible. Should have something by dinner tomorrow at the latest. So,” Ian shrugged, “sorry about the wait.”

I stared at the gnome curiously. A little obsessed with his job, maybe, but nice enough…in his odd way. Well, now that I’m on the right side, anyway. “Thanks.”

Ian nodded. “You know, Wendell…I know I’m not well liked for what I do. It’s my job, you know, but,” he paused, then thought better of it.

“What?”

“I just,” he paused again, but this time, taking his glasses off, so I could see his clear, albino eyes. He looked up. He attempted something that looked faintly like an awkward smile. Emotions engaged in deadly combat over facial control. All of it seemed strange, considering how instant and free his smiles were.

This was different.

“I wanted you to know that I’m glad your here too.” He laughed nervously, then. “Don’t get me wrong…I’ve never really been a religious gnome and certainly not a church goer, but…” The awkward smile softened, smoothed out. and looked more real to me. “If all this is true, I’m starting to think that I’m privileged to be a part of what’s happening.” He slipped his glasses back on. “If that makes any sense.”

Huh. I stared bluntly at the gnome, who slowly started swaying nervously and looked away.

Maybe the albino wasn’t so bad after all.

A black suit walked out from one of the back bedrooms. “Sir, we’re settled in.”

Ian nodded.

“Settled in?” I asked.

“Yes. For your protection. Oh come now, Wendell, you can’t expect the government to provide all this and introduce you to the city and not take your safety issues seriously.”

“Safety issues?”I scoffed. “What safety issues?”

“Well we don’t know what they are yet, do we? That’s why we take precautions, so we never have to find out.”

I sighed, my head flopping forward.

Back on the leash.

“I’ll send up a tailor, so you can have some clothes made. Can’t have you looking like a typical teenager when conversing with a billion gnomes, now, can we?”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said.

“What won’t?” Ian said.

“A tailor. I have all the outfits I need.”

Ian snorted. “If you expect to represent anyone, including yourself, Wendell, you’ll need something…”

When you’re chained in place, and controlled by others against your will, your mind has a habit of turning inward. I’d tried to make my own discomfort more productive. Gathering an image in my mind, I sent a small portion of my will to my mägoweave.

The results were better than expected.

The blue color of my jeans darkened, as the fabric of my t-shirt rolled down my arms, splitting into layers. My sneakers, firmed up, the white stripes fading away to reveal polished, black leather. The final result was a perfectly tailored black suit, with a white tie…the near opposite of Ian’s own outfit. The only real exception was the tiny smiley face looking out from the center of my tie.

It winked at Ian.

“Like this?” I said.

The gnome just stood there and…gawked.

With a single index finger, he pulled the top of his mirrored glasses down over the bridge of his nose. His teeth flashed like a sudden avalanche of snow. “Now that,…is imPRESSIVE!”

I smirked. “Good enough?”

Ian shook his head and reached out to feel the fabric of my jacket sleeve. “It’s perfect.” His head popped up, one eyebrow arched. “Can you make anything you want, like that?”

“Absolutely any kind of clothes I need.”

A single defending whistle left Ian’s lips.

I frowned. “So I’m free to leave. At any time?”

“That’s correct.”

“And I assume wherever I go, these guys’ll go with me?” I shot the stoic gnomes a frustrated glance.

“Also correct.”

I sighed. Make that a choke collar.

*****

“Oh, I don’t think it was completely horrible,” Ian tried to reassure me.

“Really?”

The gnome fidgeted, then swallowed. “Actually no. It was pretty bad.” He flipped open the leather pad and pulled out his silver pen. “But hey, you LOOK good!”

“Ian…”

“Luckily we’ve spoken with Ms. Geebler and let her know her job could be in jeopardy if she pulls a stunt like those boys in there,” he grinned slyly, “no matter who she’s dating.”

I did a double take, seeing that distasteful smile on the albino’s face—which I knew was in my behalf. I know this sounds a bit crazy, but all this felt…dirty. Like I was cheating, somehow. My dad always said that sometimes when you’re dealing with snakes, you have to find yourself a bigger snake. Ian was ‘my’ snake.

…who loved every moment of his job.

With two guards in front of us and two more behind, we approached the station doors.

I could hear screams and…cheering? The closer we got to the glass doors, the more bright-eyed faces of the public came into view. Gnomes holding up their hands—trying to peer through the mirrored glass.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“That, Mr. Dipmier, is your adoring public,” Ian said smugly. “Granted, some of them are plants by us to get the ball rolling, but the rest of the people will catch on soon enough.”

“You…paid people to cheer for me?” I gawked.

“Goodness no!” Ian gasped, “We would never pay people to do such a thing. That would be unethical! Corrupt! Why I’m shocked to think we would use such tactics and waste the hard earned credits of tax-payers!”

I smiled. “Good.”

“We blackmailed them.”

Yes, this is my snake. The gopher-gnome from hell.

Doors opened to what appeared at first to be several thousand gnomes, huddled along the sidewalks, crouched in corners and even standing on vehicles. All to get a good look at the human now known as the Gnolaum.

“There he is!”

“Woah—he’s TALL!”

“Of course he’s tall, stupid—he’s a human!”

“The Gnolaum isn’t supposed to be human, is he?”

“I thought the Gnolaum was a gnome…”

Comments flew through the air as countless camera flashes exploded…everyone wanting a shot of me.

One of the flashes went off in my face as I turned around. The sudden jolt startled me and I stepped backwards, tripping over Ian’s foot. “W-w-woah!” Arms flailing, I tumbled backwards and onto the ground.

“Are you alright sir?” asked one of the security team. Leaning forward he offered a hand.

Pop.

The sound was followed by a wheezing noise.

I noticed a small trickle of blood drip down the side of the gnomes mouth…followed by a growing patch of red on his shirt. He fell forward, onto me.

“SNIPER!” roared the closest black suit. In the blink of an eye, I was blanketed by broad gnome bodies.

Gnomes around us screamed and ran for cover.

“Get him to the van!” Ian yelled, and instantly we were in motion.

The murdered special agent was left on the ground…as the detail pulled me into a bullet-proof vehicle and slammed the door shut. The driver peeled away from the studio entrance and raced down the street, skidding around the corner, making for the expressway.

Across the street and above the lights of the electric WHRN advertisement, a shadow picked up his pen and notepad.

So he took the shot, using the opportunity to see if the hired detail was as efficient as they looked.

Not a chance.

This left one option in his mind. Whomever hired the bodyguards wasn’t overly concerned about keeping the mark alive. Convenient, considering that for once, John Gain didn’t have to make the death look like an accident.

On the contrary…he was being paid to make it look as messy and as public as possible.

Sliding the pen into his breast pocket, he made a mental note to check the postal box and see if his new laptop had arrived.

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell talks with President Stump and negotiates an agreement to save Dax’s life.

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Chapter 79

“I can’t believe you did that,” Shamas said again.

The body guard continued to laugh and shake his head in disbelief. He pushed Nat’s oversized wheelchair through the front door of After Our Electronics. They trailed behind a rattled Chuck and a highly irritated Lili, who was still fuming in silence. Deloris closed and locked the door securely behind them.

“Believe what?” Deloris asked. Then concerned, “Chuck—what happened to you?!”

The wizard’s fine suit coat was dirty, tattered and ripped, one of the sleeves torn at the seam and hanging by a few remaining threads. His face wasn’t much better—covered in scratches and bruises. Even with the mass of hair over his mouth and chin, you could tell he had a fat upper lip. His fine top hat was crumpled over, deflated, with the top punched through. He looked more like a hobo now, than a rich, philanthropist gnome.

“I had a little disagreement with the management,” Chuck said soberly, rubbing a bloody nose across his now not-so-white sleeve. “The Centurions are lacking in their service department.”

Now Nat joined Shamas in laughing out loud. “You called the Captain a blathering fool and hit him over the head with your cane!” Nat flinched in pain, but couldn’t stop laughing.

“You should have seen him, Deloris,” Shamas continued. “He asked if he could pay for all legal charges right there, on the spot. The moment they said yes, he went swinging with a vengeance! It took six guards to finally wrestle the cane away and subdue him…but not before he knocked two out cold. The whole time, Chuck kept screaming, ‘You hurt my children?! You animals! Barbarians! Where’s your heart? Your compassion? Were you not breast fed as babies?’” Shamas wiped a tear from his cheek as he took a breath. “Never seen anything like that in my life!”

“I was amazed at how fast and agile you are, Chuck,” Nat added.

The wizard tossed the top hat onto the sales counter. “Yoga.”

“Well I’m glad to see you’re all back and safe. I was starting to get worried.” Deloris paused, her attention caught by Lili’s sulking. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Lili’s nose crinkled, but she said nothing.

“She’s mad at me,” Chuck confessed, “when she should be proud of herself for keeping us out of jail.”

“She…how did she do that?” Deloris asked.

Nat snickered, trying to maintain control of himself. “S-she ran around, behind Chuck, as he was thrashing the Centurions, yelling ‘I’m sorry—so sorry, he doesn’t know what he’s doing! He doesn’t know what he’s doing!’”

“It was PERFECT,” Shamas guffawed, “and in the end, they charged him so much in fines, they thought it best to kick us out as quickly as possible. Besides, none of the guards wanted to look like bullies while Lili was around.”

Deloris frowned. “What? Why would they…?”

Both gnomes stopped laughing long enough to glance over at their female partner in crime.

Deloris continued to frown. “I don’t get it.”

Shamas sighed. “That’s because you’re a female. Every male gnome with a pulse had a hard time keeping their eyes off Li…”

“ALRIGHT!” Lili burst out. “I understand. We are back, objective accomplished. May I please go put some trousers back on?”

Chuck nodded and she marched from the room.

“You’re horrible,” Deloris scolded Shamas. “Poor girl was probably terrified the whole time you were out there. Then you go off beating on Centurion guards that could have placed you AND her in prison? How thoughtful was that? Out of anyone you should be worrying about when it comes to our culture, it’s her. Did you think of that?”

Both Shamas and Nat fell silent.

Chuck fidgeted in place. “Can’t say that I did.” He sighed loudly.

Deloris stood there like a brooding mother with arms folded. “Well maybe you should, before throwing caution to the wind. Now,” she let the hint of a smile show, “I have food on downstairs and…,” her smile immediately faded as Chuck looked up. “There’s something you’ll want to see right away.” Deloris sighed and shook her head. “You just be careful with that little girl, alright?”

The wizard grumbled. “Yes, mother.”

“We have a meeting with Motherboard in about an hour. So get cleaned up and relax for a bit. We have work to do soon.”

Shamas grabbed the wizards arm before they got to the hall. “So Wendell’s human.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“He is.”

“Are Lili’s a human too?”

“She is.”

“…and Dax is a tro--I mean vallen.”

“No,” Chuck corrected him. “He’s an evolu.”

“Elves aren’t green.”

“Well Dax is. Anything else?”

Shamas studied Chuck for a moment before asking. “What are you? Human? Gnome? Elf? Don’t tell me you’re a dwarf…”

Chuck grinned wide and reached into one of his sleeves. With a smooth motion, he pulled out the dragon cane the Centurions had taken from him.

The bodyguard gasped. “How did you…?”

With a flick of his wrist, the cane grew in size and shape—the sleek, black surface, crinkling and twisting into a wooden staff. Chuck patted the carved dragon head affectionately, “I bet that feels better…” Looking to the bodyguard, “And to answer your question young gnome,…I’m not one to be trifled with.”

Cameras flashed and reporters crowded around him as Wendell smiled and waved. Next to him sat Potifur Stump, President of Clockworks City.

Nat had stopped eating altogether. “He’s…working with the President? But…I watched him being beaten and hauled off at the stadium. This doesn’t make any sense.”

“‘Cause your buying into the media crap,” Shamas replied, slurping down the soup. He took his bread and dipped it into the liquid. “You’re assuming they’re telling you the truth.”

Deloris pulled her knees up onto the sofa and wrapped her arms around them. “The good news is, we know that Wendell’s safe.”

“But what about Dax?” Lili asked. She sat at the other end of the sofa, nibbling on her bread. “They haven’t said a thing about him.”

“I don’t like it,” muttered the wizard. “The Ithari will help the boy—but that monkey only has us to help him.” He turned to Nat, who was fiddling on the motor of his wheelchair. “Has the creepy blue-face found anything out yet?”

Nat sighed, his head falling against the shell of the machine. “Please stop calling him that. His name is Cryo…Cryo64.”

“Yes, Nathan?”

“No, not you, Cryo…”

Wandering around to the long control panel, Chuck sipped his cup of coffee, fiddling with the dials and buttons. “Can’t we just push a few buttons and make it go faster?”

Nat frowned. “Make it go faster? What…does that even mean? Cryo64 is…”

“Yes, Nathan?”

“No, not you, Cryo.”

“Yes, that thing,” Chuck argued, “I mean that thing—can’t we make it go faster, or smarter, or…”

“Make it go smarter?”

Chuck snorted. “Well it sounds stupid when you say it.”

Nat banged his head against his wheelchair several times. “Someone…just…shoot…me…”

The wizard flipped switches haphazardly, dripping coffee onto the surface of the control panel.

“Chuck!” Deloris snapped. “Please back away from the console. That is a finely tuned piece of equipment. I don’t want it damaged…or doused in coffee!”

“Fine,” the wizard snorted, then drained his mug. He tilted it to display the inside. “Satisfied?”

She grinned. “Completely.”

“What do they think I am,” Chuck mumbled to himself, “a child? I could be their great-great-great,” he stopped. “I’m older than any of them!” Walking around the console, he set the empty mug down on its edge and walked away.

“Here’s a new one from the beginning,” Deloris said aloud. She grabbed the remote and turned up the TV.

The title exploded across the screen: President Discovers The Gnolaum of Ancient Prophecy. The shot zoomed in on both Wendell and the President, standing in a large, plush looking room, surrounded by the media. The President took the microphone.

“Ladies and Gentlegnomes, it is with great and profound pleasure that I announce not only to the citizens of this brilliant city, but to the world—that the Gnolaum of legend and prophecy has returned!” His eyes wide, fat cheeks rolled back as he grinned…and with a single hand, reached out and raised Wendell’s. The hero smiled broadly. Every reporter in the room applauded furiously, cheering and waving their notepads in the air.

“We have waited so very long for this day to come,” the President continued, “and though I was probably a little shocked, as you may be, that the Gnolaum isn’t, in fact, a gnome…,” laughter from the media, “I was personally excited to here from his own lips that he chose to appear to our people BEFORE ANY OTHERS ON THE PLANET!” Again the room exploded with clapping and a few cheers. “Not to mention we discovered he’s a decent Trench Wars pilot, eh!?”

Again, laughter through the room.

“Gratefully the government discovered Wendell’s true identity before making the mistake of throwing him off our Island.” Reporters chuckled and nodded in waves. “But seriously, my fellow citizens, I cannot express how excited I am to know…that our whole society is about to change for the better. To become what we were always meant to be. To reach a point in our progression where TGII would send us the missing piece to the puzzle that is Clockworks City!”

The room exploded in applause.

President Stump looked to Wendell and said aloud, Would you be so ind, Wendell?”

Gripping the bottom of his shirt, Wendell lifted the black mägoweave up from his chest, displaying the Ithari for every eye to see for themselves. Lights danced across the room in brilliance, every flash of the camera amplified a hundred fold across the walls and ceiling.

Gasps changed to applause and cheers like the thunder of a storm.

“To start this amazing event, this administration, through Executive Order, hereby releases all those who may be in custody or under investigation, in connection to the Gnolaum.”

“So now we can come out of hiding,” Shamas said dully.

“He’s playing the people,” Deloris said.

Nat’s wrench slipped from his grip and dropped onto the floor. “He’s creating a frenzy. That’s what he’s doing. This speech will get the normals worked up and you watch—we’ll have outbreaks of violence soon.”

Chuck flipped his wide rimmed wizards hat back onto his head. “Pudgy little midget’s brilliant.”

They all looked at him in shock.

“Well he is. He has the media eating out of his hand and we all know that common minds, unable to think for themselves always go where the media directs them, right? Newspapers, magazines, radio, television, smell-a-vision…it’s all the same. But that’s not the real problem.”

“If that’s not the real problem, then what is?” Shamas scoffed.

White eyebrows rolled forward into a deep scowl of anger. “Where is my monkey?”

High above the bustling streets and narrow walkways of District 9, a shadow lurked above. A single figure, perched atop the balcony of a condemned building. Attentive eyes watched the movement of the normals below.

My services are always in demand…due to my…specialties.

I can get to any mark.

You can run, you can hide…you can surround yourself with the national government…but I will get to you.

The other skill—the one that separates me from the brutal beasts that line our prison system and waste our tax dollars…is that the kill always looks like natural causes. Simply a case of bad juju—which can never be traced back to me…OR my clients.

That makes me the most sought after assassin…and incredibly expensive.

He paused, the creak of the swaying weight overhead adding to the rhythm of the streets below.

However, this is also a life which frowns on the possession of too many mirrors.

It unnerves you.

He stoped once more. “No, no,” using the eraser, he scribbled out the last line written and corrected it.

You never like what you see staring back.

“Better,” he grined.

It’s the thread of humanity that makes this lifestyle so difficult.

Walking that line—living with what you have done.

A horn honks below, pulling his attention downward.

It’s a beautiful day, the sun is out and the gnomes of Clockwork are busily about their business of progress. Clusters of worker bees, buzzing about, making honey, doing the will of those in charge without so much as a second glance or asking ‘why’.

I ponder…

Maybe it would be a good thing to walk away and leave all this behind? To merge with the hive below and toss all care and independent thought out the window?

With a flick of my wrist a knife appears and effortlessly slashes the rope, which holds the giant safe suspended over the street.

The hunk of steel plummets to the ground below, crushing its unsuspecting victim.

Then again…a guys gotta pay rent.

A crowd gathers around the body as he hops through the window and vanishes from sight, clasping his new manuscript tightly to his chest. “Good ending,” he chuckled, flipping the knife closed and sliding it into his back pocket.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The shadow stumbled against the wall, dropping his papers and clutching his chest.

“$@$!!! cell phones!” Yanking out the device, he flips it open. “Hello!” He blurts out, snatching the tumbling papers as they blow across the empty room. “What!?”

He stomps a foot down on the last of the notes.

“No, I don’t have any religious affiliations, why?”

His eyes grow wide behind the thick rimmed glasses. “You don’t say… It’ll cost you triple my normal fee.”

Pause.

“Then you should have picked someone easier and a little less public, like…the President.” He laughed in a high-pitched nasal tone, ending with an abrupt snort. “Yes it was…you just don’t have a sense of humor.”

Pause.

“Right. Yes. Right. I GOT it, ok? You did call me, remember?”

Pause.

“Oh, and throw in a new laptop too…like the ones used by the FAF. I’m tired of using a pad and paper on location.”

He snaps the phone shut, and a wry smile curls across his face.

Looking for a fresh sheet of paper, the shadow plopped down on the stairs and started scribbling…

This should be interesting. I’ve eliminated off-landers before, but most weren’t worth the price of a bullet. Someone else was paying the bill. Aliens that deserved to die. Vallen, Therrin, DMV clerks, the receptionist at the public utilities office…they’re all the same.

This would be different.

The mark is human. A race we lived in harmony with for over a thousand years. Until they turned on us.

Wendell P. Dipmier is the name of the mark.

Renegade, trespasser, Trench Wars Grand Champion…and apparently world-class spy. Just hit the media circuit, claiming to be the Holy One of ancient prophecy…the Gnolaum. That tells me he’s looking to brainwash the public…and it’s where I come in.

My job is to make sure he’s pushing up daisies before he gets that chance.

“Dax!” I rushed across the room to the elevator. The elf was pushed in a wheelchair, which he was chained to by wrist and ankle. His head was bandaged, including half his face. Both hands were wrapped, all but two fingers in splints.

Black suits stepped back, allowing me to embrace my friend.

“UNGH!” the elf grunted, flinching wildly under the rough hug.

“Sorry,” I blurted. “Sorry!” I stepped back, my excitement settling into horror. “What have they done to…”

“I’m alright,” Dax whispered. “Just…glad ta get away from the white coats.” He tried to smile, but he stopped and licked his lips. “You wouldn’t happen ta have some water, would ya?”

I looked over at President Stump, who seemed to be having a difficult time believing what his eyes were showing him. “Oh..oh, yes, certainly! Gretta! There you are, Gretta, I…”

“I’m sorry, Mr. President,” the old gnome cut in, “but I cannot work for you anymore. Not with you bringing,” she sneered at Dax, though keeping a safe distance, “that into this house! I am leaving. Now. Unless you take this, this, creature away from myself and those lovely children.”

“Is it true!?” shouted Kip, dashing into the room. His face was bright with glee. “Dax really is here! COOL!!” He pushed between the suits and held out his hand to the elf. “Kip Stump, sir, pleasure to meet you!” Then frowning, “Uh…you don’t look so good.”

Dax tried to laugh. “So they keep telling me.” Then to me, “Nice kid.”

The President looked at the cook sadly. “You’ve been a superb servant, Gretta. I’ll make sure you’re given excellent references.”

“Why I…,” she huffed, “but,…” Shoving past the suits, she stomped into the elevator and punched the buttons. “OooooH!”

“What’s her problem?” asked Kip.

“When’s dinner going to be ready?” Buffy called out. “Oh!” she stopped short, catching her first glance at the elf. “Is that?” She peeked timidly around the shoulder of a guard.

“Buffy, I’d like you to meet one of my best friends,” I said, turning the wheelchair around. “Dax, this is Buffy Stump,” then added, “one of the nicest gnomes I’ve met in the city.”

She beamed up at me, but it was short lived. Dax looked fierce and wild and… “Daddy, does he have to…”

“Wow,” Dax blurted out, “love the hair, kiddo! Talk about cutting edge fashion. The dark streaks really compliment her eyes, don’t ya think, Wendell?”

Buffy popped out from behind the guard, batting her eyes like a butterfly.

“Yes dear?” cooed the President, trying to hide his amusement.

Buffy slid over next to Dax and placed her hand gently on his shoulder, “Nothing.”

“Well it looks like were out of a cook,” Stump muttered. “I’ll have Ian find us another one.”

I gently pushed Dax towards the sitting room. “Not sure how I feel about him choosing the staff while Dax and I are here, Mr. President. If,…you don’t mind me saying.”

Stump shook his head. “Understandable. Although…it’s been a long time since I cooked my own food,” he sighed, scratching his forehead.

“Well I can cook a bit,” I volunteered.

“…and I’ve been wanting to learn how to do it like mom used to,” Buffy chimed in.

Kip grinned. “Like her happy pancakes and cinnamon milk?”

She nodded.

“Then I’ll help!” and they both ran to the kitchen.

“Looks like we have a back up plan, then,” I laughed.

The President wasn’t smiling, though. “Gentlemen, we need to talk while we have a chance.” He rolled closer to Dax. “I’m afraid you were right, Wendell. There’s more going on in this administration than I was aware of…and I don’t know how far it goes.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

Stumps voice dropped to just above a whisper. “I have my own plants here in this building. People I can trust. When they were prepping Dax for his transport up here, those in charge said they were determined to kill him.”

Dax moaned.

“No, don’t worry…apparently there were too many who didn’t want the possibility of a spotlight shinning back on them for the dirty deed. They’re paranoid, if nothing else, that you’re a true danger, Dax.”

The elf growled. “But I haven’t done a thing to any gnome in this…”

“I know that,” the President cut in, holding a finger to his lips. “But you’re the unknown factor, factual or not, in a ‘logical’ society. You have them scared, by your appearance alone. My sources say the lab settled for sedation.” But he didn’t look convinced.

“What?” I pressed.

“Well, they want him sedated…until they can find a way to kill him.”

Dax let his head fall back against the wheelchair. “Joy. Murder by the little people.”

Stump ignored the sarcasm. “They’ll keep him sedated at all times. The plan is to use infection as the key excuse…not wanting Dax to infect the rest of the population. At the same time, they don’t want him to suffer from any of the wounds that have been inflicted. So they’ll give him periodic shots. They already started.”

Dax sighed. “No wonder I don’t feel so hot. But why not let me die of infection? That’s a natural cause and wouldn’t be nobody’s fault…”

“You want to help them figure that out?” I scoffed.

“Well,…no.”

“Now there’s good and bad with this,” Stump continued. “On the good side, you’ll be able to relax…at least somewhat, but if we’re lucky…maybe you’ll be able to heal faster.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” I shrugged. “As long as you’re safe up here with us, you deserve a good rest.”

Dax smirked. “Just not a permanent one.”

“On the other hand,” Stump added, “we don’t know who we can trust at this point…so if there’s a coup, for any reason, I can’t guarantee I can protect you. Which means you’re exposed.”

Dax moaned again. “That ain’t so good.”

“Will he have to keep the chains on him?”

“I don’t see why, especially if he’s sedated.”

“But you ain’t supposed ta know that,” Dax reminded him.

“Good point,” Stump considered. “But it may be the chance to find whose trying to play us.”

I looked between them, confused. “I don’t follow.”

“Think about it,” Stump said, a glimmer in the gnomes eyes. “If they’re not working against me, a gnome will most likely argue the case of safety. They won’t want the chains to come off. Keep the beast confined, so to speak…no offense,” he smirked at Dax.

The elf snorted. “None taken.”

“However, if it is someone plotting against me, they’ll most likely play the compassion card. They’ll know Dax is sedated, so there’s nothing to worry about. On the other hand…they might also think Dax could harm me…and take me out of the picture.”

That was too many ‘ifs’ in my mind. To many risks with my friend’s life. Thing was, we didn’t exactly have many options to choose from. I hoped I didn’t look as skeptical as I felt. “I wouldn’t exactly call that an ironclad plan,” I said.

The President shrugged. “Definitely not, but it’s the best I’ve got for now. At least we can use it to narrow down the moles.” He looked between us. “Agreed?”

I gave Dax a nod.

I’d created a plan of my own…and the elf knew, from a single glance, what that plan happened to be. Our captors had no idea Dax could leave this place in the blink of an eye.

…or that he could take me with him.

And if we had anything to say about it, the gnomes never would.

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell was released from the clutches of the lab coats and escorted by two teens to meet the President of Clockworks City.

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Chapter 78

“Gentlemen, we’d like some privacy please,” Stump said loudly.

Without another word, the eight black suits vacated the room, disappearing through a far door—the last one pulling it closed behind them.

“I know they’re necessary, but it does get on my nerves, always having someone breathing over my shoulder. Watching my every move, if you know what I mean?” He looked up at me, and I remained silent. “Forget the sitting room. That’s for negotiations and formal arguments with other faction and guild leaders. This is something special!”

Kip grinned and started pushing the wheelchair, Buffy and I in tow.

“Gretta!” Stump cried out. A moment later, an old female gnome, dressed in powder blue with white shoes appeared. “Would you get us some refreshments please?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

The further we walked, I started to notice a slight curvature to the rooms of the penthouse. We passed through an opening in a blue translucent wall…and I nearly fell over.

“WOAH!” I blurted out, stumbling backwards. I hit the blue wall and started to slide down to my backside, arms flailing. The smiley flashed instantly from yellow to snow white, eyes as big as saucers. In desperation, I gripped onto Buffy and clung to her.

She smiled triumphantly from ear to ear. “Now that’s what I’m talking abou…”

“Buffy!” Kip snapped.

“WHAT?” she yelled back, “He grabbed ME!” She softly caressed my face, “He looks stressed…I’m just comforting him.”

Not sure if I mentioned this before, but heights are not my thing. In fact, I’m terrified of heights. This room opened up to the great outdoors…thousands of feet above the ground! Walls, ceilings, even the floors…was made of transparent materials. At the center was a long, elegant table surrounded by a set of transparent chairs. The bowl of fruit, sitting plainly as a center piece looked like it was floating in midair. The only problem for me, was the main tower was hundreds of floors high…and when you looked down, I’m guessing the lower floors were built with mirrors

…because all you could see what the sky.

Clouds floated by the window.

My stomach heaved…and I choked it down.

“Are you alright, Wendell?” President Stump asked anxiously. When I didn’t respond, he followed my line of sight, which was fixed on the mountain range thousands of feet below us. “Oh my. You don’t like heights, do you? Didn’t think about that possibility!” He turned the wheelchair around, “Come on Kip, lets go back to the sitting room.” Shaking a finger at his daughter, “Quit stroking the boys cheek, Buffy! Help him into the next room.”

It took a few minutes, but they eventually encouraged me to crawl across the floor and propped me up onto the small couch. Being more than twice the size of the gnomes in human size, I made the furniture look more like an extra wide chair.

Buffy snuggled in next to me. “I’ll sit with Wendell. He still looks shaken.”

“That’s it,” Stump grumbled, “You children are excused. I wanted to have you here, but this is quite enough. What I have to say to the Gnolaum is…”

“Wendell.”

The President looked up.

“Please,” I choked, the color returning slowly to my face, “just call me Wendell. Not Gnolaum, not sir, Lord, sire, Mister…just plain old, normal Wendell.” I let my head fall backwards as the smiley silently gagged.

“…what I have to say to Wendell. So you two see yourselves out.”

“Seriously?!” bellowed Kip. “She mucks this up and I get punished too? That’s crap!”

His father frowned. “Out.”

As the twins shuffled away, Kip jabbed his sister in the arm. “Thanks a LOT, Gowan turd.”

“So sorry I’m late, your brilliant tubbiness!” Ian huffed, jogging into the room. “I missed the last elevator.” He gave me a sharp look. “It seems the last one was full. What did I miss?”

Yup, he was going to take it out on me.

“We’ve just sat down, so you haven’t missed a thing.” President Stump beamed at me. “I assume you two have already met?”

We both nodded.

“Good! Good! Then let’s get down to business here.”

Gretta walked in and set a small tray down on the coffee table between us. She curtsied and left.

A small pot of steaming liquid, four cups, four saucers and a bowl of sliced fruit. Cut in a similar fashion as you would an orange, these fruits had a deep forest green skin, a bright yellow meat on the inside with dozens of purple seeds at its center.

The room quickly filled with the scent of mint and chocolate.

While Ian poured the liquid into the cups, Stump held up one of the fruits. “I’m so glad I was able to get these before you arrived. Uroshimät. Gander fruit. Very difficult to acquire…but I spared no expense for our first meeting.” He shook his head. “What am I saying? You probably have this all the time from where you come from.”

“No, actually.” I accepted the piece offered me. “I’ve never had the opportunity.” I forced a grin to my face. “Thank you.”

Stump beamed and snatched up his own piece, popping the whole thing in his mouth. His eyes clenched tightly as the munching and slurping noises commenced. “Mmmm. Mmmmm!”

“You’ll have to excuse his brilliant blubberiness,” Ian said, setting a pit back onto the tray, “it’s not often that we are able to convince the Temple to part with their treasured fruit. They ask an exceedingly high price for this rare treat.” His tone stressed the word rare.

I raised the slice cautiously to my lips.

“Not like that,” gurgled Stump, trails of liquid escaping down his chin. He grabbed a napkin and wiped his face. “The experience is in the whole piece, skin and center. Pop the whole piece in your mouth and chew quickly.”

Put me on the spot now, why don’t you? Good grief. It smelled sweet…almost like lemons. It was pretty…so it should be just fine, right? Sure. Yeah. It’ll be great. My nose, however, was pulling my attention to the liquid that smelled like chocolate mint.

Uhhhhhh….Alright…here goes…

I popped the whole slice into my mouth, both Stump and Ian staring on.

The first sensation sent a wave through my mouth so fast my head almost reeled backward. My nose crinkled up and my eyes clench tight, while my poor cheeks wanted to shrivel up and roll to the back of my throat.

SOUR! Holy momma of….THAT WAS SOUR!!

The smiley face shook violently across my chest, puckering so badly, the round head looked closer to an hourglass.

“Chew!” Stump burst out laughing. “You have to chew it, Wendell, quickly!”

Forcing my jaw muscles to clench down, I fought the urge to spit. One bite, then another. The texture was like the skin of a lemon—firm with a pleasant crunch to it. Each grind of my molars changed the dynamics of the taste, from an overwhelming sour to a warm sweetness of sugar that subdued and balanced the sour.

Wow. My eyes popped open. That was…good! I stared at the president as I chewed more vigorously.

“Told you,” he smirked. “A perfect experience when you know how it all works, don’t you think?”

I nodded, “Absolutely. May I?”

Stump smiled warmly. “Please, help yourself.”

Knowing to focus on creating the mix of released flavors made the second bite heavenly. “That’s amazing.” I swallowed. “Thank you, very much, sir.”

The President beamed. “I…wanted to use this as an ice breaker, Wendell. Didn’t expect the laughs, but I’m glad. What I’d like to discuss isn’t an easy subject.”

I raised my cup to my lips and sipped. It was a perfect liquid version of the chocolate minds left on the pillow of really nice hotels back on Earth.

“I need your help.”

I looked up to find both gnomes staring back and serious faced. I swallowed loudly. “My…help?”

“Clockworks is under incredible duress. You must have seen signs of it as you wandered about the populace, didn’t you?”

“You mean, like the factory workers, the strikes, reports of violence…”

“Exactly,” the president exclaimed.

“But the media doesn’t always tell the truth. In fact,” I argued, “most of the stories about me and the Trench Wars pilots was flat out false.”

“We do have a problem with slight exaggeration,” Ian said with a smile.

I glowered. “No, you have a serious problem with liars and ignorant people making assumptions, while others disregard the truth and fabricate what they want to sway the minds of others.” I shifted my gaze from the president. “Then you have gnomes like Twoface here. That’s a whole problem in itself.”

Ian snorted. “Now you wait just a…”

Stump chuckled, “I see you’ve been talking to my children.”

“Good kids.”

“Thank you. I think so too.” Taking up his saucer, “You must understand that Ian has a job that few could ever perform…and even fewer would want.” He took a sip. “With what he’s required to do, there’s little fame and even fewer friends at the end of the day.”

“Quite right,” Ian muttered.

“But…,” Stump smiled, “appreciated by me nonetheless.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I set my cup down and sat upright in my seat. “So his job is to threaten and bully other gnomes into submission? Blackmail in exchange for cooperation?”

“What?” President Stump looked to his assistant, openly appalled.

Ian sat upright. “I never!”

“No?” I leaned forward, the smiley on my shirt revealing its curling grin…as sweet thoughts resurfaced…of punting the albino’s head out a window. “I sat there in Morty Teedlebaum’s warehouse as you threatened his wife and personally manipulated me to get me to cooperate on behalf of President Stump.”

Now it was Stump who frowned. “Is this true, Ian?” Fat hands gripped the side arms of the wheelchair and squeezed tightly. “You were asked to get me an update on the PROMIS device and to make an offer of government sponsorship to Mr. Dipmier here, nothing more, Ian.”

The albino shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Our records showed the tinkerer was lagging behind schedule! Teedlebaum was so close to success that our own engineers could likely finish the project if he couldn’t. I…felt he needed a little motivation, that’s all.”

“You felt.” Stump sighed, his head dropping forward. With one hand, he rubbed the front of his forehead. “Leave us.”

The albino gasped. “L-leave? As in this meeting? You’re actually kicking me, your primary assis…”

President Stump glared at him. “Now, Ian.”

Straightening his red tie, the gnome stood up abruptly, snatched his briefcase from the side of the chair and marched across the room. There was a quiet squeak of a door…followed by a slam.

“I’m…sorry about that, Wendell.” Arching his back, the president tried to shift himself, arms trembling. “Stupid wheelchair.”

“Would you like to sit in one of these, sir?” I asked. “It’s probably more comfortable.” At first I couldn’t tell if the gnome was shocked…or confused. “I’d be more than happy to lift you,” but I hesitated. “Unless that would offend you?”

“No…not at all,” he said softly. “In fact, I’d be grateful.”

Sliding a hand under his knees, I placed the other around Stumps back. He was surprisingly easy to lift, probably as heavy as an eight year old child. I moved him from the wheelchair to the same spot Ian had been sitting moments ago.

“I’d forgotten how good that feels,” the President beamed, sinking back into the chair, letting his hands rest along the plush arms. “Very kind of you.”

Aside from who he had working for him, the President didn’t seem like such a bad gnome. I watched him, lost in the change of perspective. Something had to change in this city…among this people, and I realized my opportunity might still be on the table.

“I can’t speak for you,” was all that came out.

“I’m sorry?”

“If that’s what you want from me. To sway the people to follow and obey the government more, or to fall in line with whatever your agenda is. I can’t do that.”

Stump laughed, which threw me off. He looked up and me and nodded. “It would be stupid, too.”

Now it was me who looked shocked.

“This whole meeting has been thrown off track because of others assuming they know what my mind and intentions are, Wendell. But Ian’s been wrong, the Centurions have been wrong…even the G.R.R. movement only knows me through my henchmen filters.” He struggled to sit forward and grab his saucer again, and nearly fell over. I lifted the cup to him. “Thank you,…again.” He smiled warmly. “If for no other reason, I’m glad you came to see me. Just so I could meet you. To see if you were real with my own eyes. The Gnolaum of holy prophecy.” He took a sip of his drink and stared. “Wow, Wendell.”

An awkward silence lingered for a moment.

“You want to see it, don’t you?” I said, finally.

He shrugged. “I don’t need…,” but he stopped himself, considered, and then his grin widened. “Well, yeah, actually. I do.”

I laughed. “For the record, I don’t go around lifting my shirt to people, alright?”

Stump laughed loudly. “Noted.”

When I lifted the shirt to reveal the Ithari, the natural light from the windows reflected off my chest. It created a hundred rainbows in the room. Brilliant spectrums of colors danced off the walls and ceilings.

Stump gasped. “You really are here…”

I let the shirt fall and the lights vanished. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

Stump blinked. “What? Why would you say…”

“I’m not sure I’m the one everyone’s talking about, sir. I mean, I do have the Ithari…that’s for certain, but maybe this Gnolaum is someone other than me. That’s all I’m saying. It would help incredibly, if you could please explain what this prophecy actually is. Everyone keeps mentioning it, but…”

“You don’t know it?”

I shook my head. “I’m quickly learning that there’s a lot I don’t know in this wide world. Take Clockworks, for example. You have writings and beliefs about this Gnolaum that I’ve never heard of…and believe it or not, I’m new to this myself.”

The gnome stared at me, puzzled. He blinked a few times, my words sinking in. “Huh. I never would have considered that.”

“So, would you explain this gnome prophecy to me? It would be a great help.”

President Stump handed the saucer back to me and leaned back thoughtfully. “It’s…a bit complicated.”

“Everything’s complicated from where I’m sitting I’d rather know a little something, than nothing at all.”

“It’s also hard to convey—there are so many interpretations.”

I paused.

“You don’t know what the prophecy says, do you.”

For a moment, Stump held his breath. Then he exhaled in a quick huff, “Nope.”

We both laughed.

“The strange thing is, our whole culture has been taught that the Gnolaum…this great, gracious being…would come back and save us. Whatever that means. The Church has taught this tiny snippet of lore for hundreds of years.” He motioned to the chair he was sitting upon. “And as I’ve seen thus far, you definitely are kind and gracious…but I remember, even as a boy, asking the priests of the Temple more about you. They told me it was only for those sanctified in the Church, to know the whole meaning of the ancient writings.”

“That…doesn’t sound right to me. How can you believe in something deeply if you know nothing about it? I guess you could call it faith, but I wouldn’t call willful ignorance ‘faith’.”

“Your words, not mine, Wendell. I’ve always been a believer. My wife was also and that’s how we raised the twins. To believe that someday, we would right from this island and rejoin the world as equals. But now, with you here, I…”

I popped another piece of fruit into my mouth and flinched.

“Chew,” Stump chuckled. “Remember to chew!”

“What,” I chewed quickly, “was it…you wanted of me, then?”

“Ah, well, thankfully not what you might have thought.” He drained the rest of his cup. “It’s a very complicated task, being President…and dealing with such a large population. Now that we’re in private, I can say that this is in fact, a burden. A city that is split along three, rather broad dividing lines. The Government, the Church and then the Revolutionaries. I believe all of them have their place. I know, I know…this isn’t a train of thought Ian or any of my constituents would condone, nor my supporters…but this is just us. So let me be myself, so you know my mind and heart…without filters..”

I relaxed more into the couch. Could I have been wrong about the government? How could a system become so corrupt with a decent gnome in charge? Then again, he was only one person. Stump wasn’t a king and there were many cogs in the Clockworks machine that was government. This wasn’t a small town or a handful of people. This was one and a half billion in population. It was an entire country compressed into a single massive city…each with their own, distinct personality. “I’m listening.”

Stump looked casually over his shoulder at the door Ian and the black suits had walked through. “There are good people in all three factions, Wendell. I’ve seen it. What I am seeking, is a way to combine the good of all and create a more united people. Not by force or by law…but to find a way to do it by choice. That’s the key. Create a common ground, a common vision and allow people to find a better path on their own.”

I thought back to one of my conversations with Philburt Bellows. “People in power might not appreciate that, you know?”

“I do know!” Then pointing at the door, “You’ve already seen how convoluted my instructions get when filtered through an individuals own interpretation and assumption. But what if it was clear? Simple?”

“What do you mean?”

“Going back to the basics of being a decent gnome. That everyone has a place. That everyone has a purpose. That every gnome has value. To find the common beliefs that cross all three factions and focus on those, instead of our differences!”

I sat there for nearly a minute in silence. Stump stared back, but let the words sink in. It sounded good. It even felt good. He wasn’t asking for…well, I’m still not sure what he was asking for, but so far, I couldn’t see any reason why I couldn’t help…but one thing standing in the way of why I would.

“You still have my friend caged and wounded, like an animal. A friend who has bled for me, protected me…”

“And you couldn’t possibly see your way in assisting me, unless he was safe.”

I nodded.

With a deep sigh, President Stump clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them. “It’s a difficult situation, I’m afraid.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not. We were both tortured and questioned at your hand.” I paused. “It may have been at the hands of your henchmen, but they work for you and you’re responsible. The difference between my friend and I, is that I heal quickly…he doesn’t. Mr. Upshot, one of your white lab…’people’ down there, threatened me, just before your twins showed up. Said I was a threat to this city and if I crossed him, he’d cut Dax into pieces.”

President Stump listened carefully, showing little emotion other than raising an eyebrow at the mention of the mutilation. “You feel this Upshot will carry out this threat?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “He’s a psychopath with a scalpel.”

He sighed. “Then I’m already seeing two problems I don’t have solutions to. At least not yet. Your friend, as much as I believe you Wendell, is and will be looked upon as a danger to this community. I cannot, in good conscious, let him go.”

“But he’s NOT a vallen, which is what I’ve been trying to tell everyone…but no one will listen!”

“Precisely,” Stump said. “Which is why I’m working to change the minds and hearts of the people. I do believe you, Wendell, please know that. However, Dax cannot be allowed to walk the streets of this city. The people still believe he IS a vallen, and as such, would kill him if they had a chance.”

“They’re killing him now.”

“Then I will personally get involved. You have my word on that. I’ll talk to this Mr. Upshot…and to his superior…”

“That’s not good enough.”

Stump clamped his mouth closed.

“It seems to me you’re a bit out of touch with those working closest to you, Mr. President. That doesn’t exactly create confidence. Dax’s safety is key to you getting my help. In fact, it’s your only key. You’ll have to do better.”

Stump nodded. “Hence my second problem…I may be President, but I’m limited as to my control over those in my administration.”

That, I could believe. Twoface was a perfect example, but I didn’t need to say that out loud. “Then sadly, I think our conversation is over.” I stood up. “Your men can take me back to my cell.”

Stump chuckled. “Nonsense. You never have to go back.” His eyes suddenly grew as wide as the saucers on the table. “Wait. I can bring Dax here.” A shallow laugh, deep from within his chest resonated, then grew in volume. “That’s it—the answer! I can help you, Dax, AND this city by having Dax come and live, up here…with me!” He looked up to me, beaming. “I could oversee his medical treatment…using my personal staff…and keep him safe with my own private security. Would that be satisfactory?”

“You would bring a supposed vallen, up here, to live in your own home? Won’t that hurt the public’s view of you?”

Stump offered his hand. “What? That I love my countrymen so much that I’m willing to take all the risks myself in protecting them? Because that’s exactly the spin I would put on this, publicly. If it would secure the support of the Gnolaum in saving my own people, then yes, I would do this…and I will.” He grinned gleefully. “All I’m asking you to do is speak your conscious. Speak peace, love, kindness and encourage the gnomes of this city to work together to build a better tomorrow by cooperation, collaboration, and community.” Slapping the side of the chair, “THAT’S what I want to see!”

Well I’ll be. I reached down and shook the gnomes hand firmly. “Then I would be willing to help.”

President Stump grinned with delight and slapped his knee. “Then plop me back in that cursed wheelchair and let’s go meet the press!”

“Oh,” I stopped in mid lift, “there’s one more thing I need you to do for me, Mr. President. Something very important was stollen from me by those lab coats…”

“Name it, my boy.”

I sighed a breath of relief. “There was a folded letter with a red wax seal on it…”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Chuck, Lili and Deloris coordinate a masterful plan to infiltrate the Centurion Citadel to rescue Nat, Shamas, and throw Morty to the wolves.

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Chapter 77

I walked another slow circle.

The room was barely big enough to stretch my arms—but it was enough. Four square walls. A ceiling just high enough to stand upright. A narrow bench bolted to one side. No windows. No door. A single bulb protruded over the bench, buzzing faintly.

I had no idea how long I’d been in here, but everything changes once I’d exposed myself to my captors. In near terror, they’d pumped me full of drugs to knock me out…and I woke up in here.

Every breath echoed in my ears. The space was much larger than a coffin, sure…but it still took all my concentration not to panic.

Got to get out. Don’t want to be in here anymore.

No.

Stay calm, Wendell. It’ll be alright. You’re not hurt.

There’s no danger.

I stopped mid-step and almost laughed.

“No danger?” coughed Doubt.

Yeah, okay. I know.

“You’ve been tortured. Drugged. Strapped down. Forced to watch psychotic gnomes beat and break Dax’s bones just to pry answers out of you. It felt like a bad TV drama—one of those grim crime shows you used to half-watch back on Earth.” Doubt mumbled. “But I have to say, Wendell, you flipped that script around in a heartbeat. THAT,…was impressive.”

Here I thought gnomes would be incredibly sweet, kind, cute little people with doll clothes on…

“Then you met Alhannah.”

A short, sharp laugh burst out of me. Tough. Skilled. Scary, even. All wrapped up in an adorable package. I shuddered.

“And then you get here and find out Alhannah isn’t so odd or unique with her anger management problems.” Doubt snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”

My hands traced the skin where the shackles had bitten into my wrists. My fingers slid to the crook of my elbow, where Ms. Callous had taken my blood…again and again…and again.

She’d woken up on the floor after being thrown across the room.

Not afraid.

Excited.

“That lady seriously needs a mental evaluation,” I muttered.

“Just don’t let Shrewd or Upshot do it,” Doubt said.

I snorted.

It reminded me of Earth. Of shows about unstable criminals. About cruelty packaged as entertainment. Hollywood violence inflicted on ordinary people. It turned my stomach.

“You never really know what’s going on in someone’s brain.”

“Says the voice in my head,” I smirked.

“Touché.”

To her, I’d been the discovery of a lifetime…until she’d seen the gem embedded in my chest.

The Ithari.

She’d hesitated then.

Only for a heartbeat.

It’s not real, she kept telling herself. It’s only an illusion. Mr. Shrewd hadn’t been so sure. After that moment, he refused to touch me at all. Instead, he barked orders at others—gnomes who looked just as uneasy about laying hands on me.

I’d been grateful for that much.

It made me wonder what gnomes truly believed about the Gnolaum. About their prophecies.

About me.

They weren’t terrified though. They were worried. Like they’d been caught doing something they weren’t supposed to do. Like fingers in a cookie jar.

The thought stuck with me.

I should have asked Chuck more questions.

“Well, maybe now you might get the chance.”

Before the final Trench Wars match, I’d spent time with Alhannah and Höbin, prepping my speech. The G.R.R. and Bellows had expected me to use my victory to cement my public position.

Lean into the Gnolaum image.

Push it.

Wield it.

That was when I learned the Gnolaum wasn’t just a legend.

He was culture.

A symbol meant to guide gnomes. To set their lives in order.

Which is why I had SO many questions for The Librarian. Eva had so much knowledge, being tied to all the books contained in the Great Library. The more I experienced, the more questions I had, which led to more knowledge, and a single truth manifested itself over weeks of study…

None of it was comforting.

I pressed my palms to the wall, dragging my fingers across the cold metal, searching for a seam. A flaw. Anything.

Nothing.

“Not like you need more pressure on your shoulders, now do you?” said Doubt.

I sighed inwardly.

“Hey, that’s a cop-out, Wendell.”

Does it even matter anymore?

“I know I don’t say this often, but if I don’t preserve you, I don’t preserve me, so…you’re NOT a bad person, Wendell. You have a fault…”

Here we go…

“No, listen to me,” Doubt growled. “I know I’m rough on you, cause that’s my job, but one of your biggest faults is how much you take on as your responsibility, when you weren’t the one who made the choice! That’s not on you.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“No problem,” Doubt replied. “Now get us out of here, before we find out this is some garbage compactor and they make us into pâté.”

Annnnd, he’s back.

I leaned forward until my forehead rested against the wall.

Cool metal. Solid. Unforgiving.

I needed to walk through this. Come up with a plan for escape, get Dax, get out. I had no idea where I was or what they were going to do with me…but they knew who I was now.

No—that wasn’t quite right.

They thought they did.

I’d been sedated almost immediately after revealing myself. Darkness swallowed me whole. When I woke, I’d been crumpled on the floor of this room, my shirt tossed over me like an afterthought.

At least they’d let me keep my clothes.

I rubbed my wrists again and held my hands up, turning them over. They’d cleaned me. All the blood was gone. The ugly scars across my hands were already fading, scabs flaking away.

I smiled faintly. You really are amazing, and I tapped the center of my chest in quiet gratitude.

“Well,” I said aloud, “at least I don’t have to hide you anymore, right?” I snorted. “The bird’s out of the bag. Or…is that the saying? I don’t know. Doesn’t really matter.”

I slid down and sat on the bench.

Now what?

Images of Mr. Upshot torturing Dax surged into my mind. Fingers snapping. Bones crushed by a hammer.

Guilt slammed into me.

Watching Dax suffer so I could…keep lying.

But no—Dax would’ve done the same. For Alhannah. For the crew. For Morty and Deloris.

…for Chuck.

I’d done the right thing. I’m…pretty sure of that.

It didn’t stop the panic.

What happens now? If they think they’ve gotten everything they want…

My breathing hitched.

The monitor had gone dark in a hurry once I’d revealed myself as the Gnolaum. Since then…nothing. Silence.

Even if I did get out of here, I had no idea where Dax was. Or if he was even alive. Rocking back and forth, I squeezed my eyes shut.

Is this what the rest of the world is going to be like?

The fear. The hatred. The suspicion.

Would humans be any different? I hadn’t exactly received a warm welcome from Evan when I first arrived in Tilliman Village, either. Miriam, Evan’s mother, would never forgive me for allowing Hiram to die…even though there was nothing I could do for him. That’s the thing about people being disappointed in you.

It’s not about what you think…only what they think. It is there minds you have to change in order to find redemption in their eyes.

No—that wasn’t fair.

I’d snuck into Clockworks.

“Well, in a body bag so to speak, but okay,” Doubt chuckled.

Shut up.

The gnomes were paranoid about outsiders. I’d been in trouble the moment I set foot on..*cough*… woke UP on the island.

Doubt laughed.

Shut uuuup.

What started as a harmless quest had spiraled completely out of control.

…and they still had my friend.

I jumped up and kicked the wall. “I want to see Dax!” Then I slammed my fist against the metal. “He better be alright…”

I kicked it again.

He better be.

The threat rang hollow, and I knew it.

I didn’t want to hurt the gnomes. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.

Okay. I wanted to punch Mr. Shrewd in the face. Maybe hold Mr. Upshot still so Dax could take a few shots of his own.

…but that was it.

Ms. Callous had already been knocked flat.

Okay. That was pretty funny.

But mostly, I wanted out of this room. I wanted to know my friend was safe.

Most of all, I wanted to go home.

I was done with Clockworks City. Let the gnomes worry about themselves. I don’t want to get involved.

There was a soft pop, followed by a muffled voice crackling through hidden speakers. “Your friend is well enough at present. Please have a seat and remain still, Mr. Dipmier.”

It was Mr. Upshot.

The cool, dial-tone cadence was unmistakable.

Not sure what to expect, I hesitated. My eyes darted around the tiny room, searching for movement, seams, changes…anything. For all I knew, the room could start filling with water.

“Please,” Upshot repeated calmly, “have a seat.”

How did he know I was standing? Where was the freaking camera?

I dropped to my hands and knees and looked under the bench.

There it was.

A small metal box fastened beneath the seat. A round lens adjusted slightly, a red light blinking beneath it.

I ripped it free.

The red light kept flashing.

Holding it up to my mouth, I said flatly, “Open the door.”

Another pop.

The red light went dead.

With a click and a clack, bolts shifted. The wall opposite the bench swung open and bright yellow light flooded the room. I raised my hand to shield my eyes, blinking until the silhouette resolved into a single figure standing in the doorway.

“That was quite inconsiderate, Mr. Dipmier,” Mr. Upshot said coolly. “Those devices are expensive.”

I flicked my wrist and tossed the broken camera at him. “Bill me.”

He caught it smoothly and slipped it into his lab coat pocket. “Let’s have a look at your wounds now, shall we?”

Before he could react, I lunged.

I grabbed him by the front of his coat and slammed him into the wall. My fingers closed around his thin neck and squeezed. His feet kicked uselessly, dangling off the floor.

“Where is my friend?” I snarled.

The smiley face on my shirt shifted…bright yellow bleeding into ember red. Thick brows lowered slowly. Eyes sharpened.

The smile I’d come to associate with my captors slowly tore its way across Upshot’s face.

He laughed.

It started deep in his chest—a wet, gurgling sound, forced and broken by my grip—but the glee was unmistakable. “You are so quaint, Mr. Dipmier,” he rasped. “A true youth with spunk, I’ll give you that.” He wheezed. “But you’re not going to hurt me.”

“Oh?” I growled, tightening my grip. “I could crush you like a pathetic little bug.”

He laughed harder.

“It…is not…in your…nature.”

The anger drained out of me, replaced by something worse.

Frustration.

He was right. I hated this place. Hated him even more for saying it out loud. Hated how easily these gnomes saw into me—and how powerless I was to do the same.

My grip loosened.

Fighting the vallen, creatures that killed without hesitation, was one thing. Crushing a mad scientist gnome was something else entirely.

“Tell me where Dax is.”

The laughter stopped instantly. “Do you think I would tell you?” Upshot said calmly. “Right here? Right now? I am not a fool.” He patted my hand as if I were a child. “Let me down.”

I dropped him.

He straightened slowly, rubbing his throat and smoothing his coat. “Unlike my associates, Mr. Dipmier, I am not bound by personal beliefs. I do not care whether you are the literal Gnolaum or not.”

He smiled thinly.

“You are not a gnome. You do not belong here, among us, or within these walls. Hence, you are a threat.”

My hands curled into fists.

“That beast,” he continued, “which you so disgustingly call a friend, will remain in my personal custody to ensure you walk among us as a guest—and not an antagonist.”

He really did see me as a threat. It wasn’t personal…except that he believed he was protecting his people from me.

“And if I don’t?” I asked.

“Well,” he chuckled mechanically, “I’d like to say I’d hate ending the creature’s life—but I’d be lying.” His smile vanished. “So let me be perfectly clear. If you turn on the people of this city, Dax will suffer. Using every medical and technological advancement at my disposal, I will discover exactly how much of his body he can live without.”

I swallowed.

“Now,” he said pleasantly, “shall we examine your wounds?”

The guy was a psychopath. There was nothing cute about this…this thing. And the way he said “creature” when talking about Dax—

I slumped onto the bench as he checked my arms and head.

“No open wounds. Scars fading. Completely devoid of bruising.” He nodded. “You’re a perfect specimen of health.”

“Joy.”

Two figures appeared in the doorway.

Once my eyes adjusted, it was obvious they didn’t belong here.

Too young. No lab coats.

“Is he ready?” asked the young male. Blond. Blue-eyed. Gum chewing openly. He grinned and nodded at me.

Mr. Upshot stepped aside. “You are free to go, Mr. Dipmier.”

Free to—

“Well, not totally free!” the young woman giggled.

She stepped closer, eyes wide with awe. Shoulder-length blond curls streaked dark and pulled into a ponytail. Neon-orange makeup framed green eyes. She clasped her hands dramatically.

“Ohhh…he’s handsome too,” she sighed. “Even if he is human.” Her smile lingered. “Mmmmmm.”

I suddenly felt underdressed and adjusted my shirt.

They looked…my age.

The smiley shot Upshot a wary glance.

The boy groaned. “Don’t mind Buffy, Wendell. She says that about anyone she’s not dating.” He stuck out his hand. “Kip Stump. Completely awesome to meet you, bro.”

Mr. Upshot moved between us. “Kip, I wouldn’t—”

“Oh can it, Upchuck,” Kip snapped, shoving him aside. “Go play with your test tubes.”

I bit back a laugh.

Kip flashed a wide grin. “Doesn’t matter what anyone else says. You’re the REAL Grand Champion of Trench Wars.” He elbowed me lightly as we started walking. “Do you believe that guy?”

As we entered the long, white corridor, I glanced back.

Upshot stood in the center of the hall, watching.

“Yeah,” I muttered, “…actually, I do.”

*****

The halls were an endless maze. Even if I’d gotten free, there was no way I would have escaped from…wherever this was. And I was starting to realize something worse.

I would never find Dax without help.

For nearly twenty minutes we walked, weaving around corners of flat white walls and endless silver doors. Occasionally we passed windows where small groups of gnomes in lab coats worked with chemicals, clacked away at computer consoles, or wrestled strange, furry creatures while injecting them with needles filled with colorful liquids.

Anyone who stumbled into the halls avoided us.

Tiny bodies pressed themselves flat against the walls, many squeezing their eyes shut until we passed. Others noticed us coming and slammed doors closed before we reached them.

They really were afraid of me.

Even after everything I’d tried to do…even after winning the competition…they were terrified.

I kept my eyes down after that, making a point to avoid looking at anyone except my escorts.

Kip, however, hadn’t stopped talking since we met.

He rattled on nonstop, replaying every major moment of my Trench Wars matches as if he were calling them live. Buffy, on the other hand, walked close—too close—brushing against my arm, giggling, and repeatedly trying to lace her fingers through mine. Every time I flinched away, she only smiled, sighed dramatically, and batted her eyes.

“…so I’m tellin’ you, it’s totally bunk that the trophy went to The Trinity,” Kip scoffed. “They didn’t deserve it! You kicked the trash outta them and they still strut around like they won?” He snorted. “Whatever. Such idiots.”

Then he stopped short.

“Hey—say, Wendell. You look pretty young for a human. How old are you?”

I blinked. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had asked me that. Not since I’d arrived from Earth, which was….how long ago?

“I just turned eighteen,” I said.

His face lit up. “Us too!”

“Us?” I asked. “As in…?”

“We’re twins,” Buffy cooed, making another grab for my hand. “Can’t you tell?”

Kip stepped between us smoothly. “Oh leave him alone, Buff. He’s got enough problems in his life. He doesn’t need to add you to the list.” He grinned up at me. “I got yer back, bro.”

The smiley on my shirt laughed silently.

Buffy huffed.

“Good thing they changed the rules this season,” Kip went on. “Used to be anyone eighteen or older could jump in a S.L.A.G., but now you have to be twenty-one to pilot. Total crock, if you ask me. But I’m just here to watch anyway.” He laughed. “Then again…being human? They probably wouldn’t have let you play in the first place.”

“No,” I smirked. “Probably not.”

We stopped in front of a bank of elevators. Kip hit the call button.

“Cool shirt, by the way,” he said. “That one of the new chip-set models? Heard they were working on animated cloth canvases, but never seen one in person.” He leaned in and poked my stomach. “Looks lifelike.”

The smiley winked at him.

Kip burst out laughing. “Cooool.”

“So where are you taking me?” I asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

A nearby cluster of gnomes fell silent the moment we stopped talking…then scattered.

I sighed.

“Oh, we don’t mind at all!” Kip said brightly. “Ask whatever you want. Total honor hanging with you, Wendell. We’re heading up to the penthouse. Our dad sent us down to get you. Thought it’d be nicer than sending those sucky Centurion robots.”

“You only say that because you have a record,” Buffy giggled.

“Shut up, you Gowan turd!” Kip snapped. “Peeing off a catwalk doesn’t make me a criminal. It means I had to pee and didn’t wanna wet my shorts!”

Buffy gasped. “I’m telling Dad you called me a turd!”

“I said Gowan turd,” Kip grumbled. “That’s an animal dump bigger than you—but you’d know that if you did your homework.”

Buffy folded her arms and stomped her foot.

I cleared my throat to keep from laughing. “Your dad?”

Kip nodded. “President Stump’s our pop.”

“President?”

They both nodded.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

My heart kicked harder and my hand drifted instinctively to my chest. The twins seemed harmless enough…but after everything I’d seen, gnome leadership made me uneasy.

“Well, well,” a voice snickered.

Ian Twofold rounded the corner, his pasty face stretching into that unnatural grin, giant beaver-like teeth gleaming. “If it isn’t the ex–Grand Champion himself.” He strutted toward the elevators. “Children.”

Kip rolled his eyes. “Twoface.”

Ian ignored him. “Doing the city a favor by escorting young Wendell to meet your father, I see.” Then he turned to me, grinning behind oversized mirrored glasses. “I trust your accommodations have been…pleasant?”

For the first time since leaving the cell, I genuinely wanted to drop-kick someone.The mental image of Ian bouncing down the hall almost made me smile.

Almost.

“Sure,” I muttered. “If you enjoy pain, torture, and a good shock treatment.”

The elevator doors slid open.

I stepped inside. Buffy followed, still huffing. Kip was last. Before Ian could enter, Kip lifted a hand and blocked him.

“Sorry, Twoface,” he said, pressing the button. “This box is full. Catch the next one.”

The doors closed.

“He’s not gonna forget that,” Buffy warned.

Kip laughed. “Like I care. He’s a footrest for better gnomes.” He grinned. “Real Gowan turd.”

Buffy giggled.

I shifted uneasily.

This would come back on me. I knew it.

Everything I did from here on out—every smile, every friendly word—would be seen as a threat by people like Ian. Like Upshot.

“So,” Kip said suddenly, flipping around to face me, “how’d you get this job? I mean…as the Gnolaum.”

I stared between the twins. “How do you even know…?”

“He listens in on Dad’s conversations,” Buffy said helpfully.

“Ah.”

Kip ignored her. “Yeah, I know it’s not public knowledge or anything, but…did you know you were the Gnolaum?” He shrugged. “I keep thinking about it and all I get is—yeah, that’s not a job I’d sign up for. No offense.”

There was no dodging it. Why not let someone understand me for once?

“None taken,” I said. “I had no clue it was coming.”

“Seriously?” he gasped

“Seriously.”

He frowned. “Well…that kinda sucks.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Buffy asked bluntly.

“Oh shut uuup,” Kip sighed, rolling his eyes.

“No,” I said honestly. Kyliene’s face flickered through my thoughts, but I pushed it away. It was instantly replaced by thoughts of Lili, which hurt even worse. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Buffy smiled brightly. “Want one?”

“SHUT UP ALREADY!” Kip snapped. He immediately softened. “Sorry, Buff.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “You didn’t have to yell.”

The anger completely faded from Kip’s face. “I know, sis. I’m sorry.”

She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “Dad doesn’t let me out any more than he does you.”

“I realize that.” Kip glanced at me, embarrassed. “Sorry about that. We…don’t get many visitors. At least not the kind we get to talk to. There’s always someone trying to hurt Dad or cause problems, so we pretty much live in the tower. Guards, security systems…all of it.” He shrugged. “Unless he lets us come along on trips, but that hardly ever happens. It’s kinda lonely.”

I smiled at both of them. “I know how you feel.”

Buffy snorted softly. “I doubt that.”

“It’s true,” I said. “Back where I come from, I was the odd one out. Most people didn’t want me around, and I was told more times than I can count that I was useless.” I hesitated. “That wasn’t completely true, though. I can see that now…the more time I spend away. I always had potential. I just wasn’t willing to explore it, and the people around me got tired of trying to pry it loose.” I shrugged. “At least, that’s how it felt.”

“Man,” Kip breathed, “I never would’ve guessed.”

“I’m actually grateful you two came to get me,” I admitted. “Since I got to Clockworks, I haven’t had anyone my age to talk to. Feels…kinda nice.”

Buffy sniffed again and managed a small smile.

“So,” I said, “can I ask another question?”

Kip nodded. “Sure.”

“Is your dad…nice?”

The twins exchanged a look.

The elevator doors slid open.

“Come on in, Wendell,” Kip said brightly, clearly changing the subject. “I’ll let Dad know we’re here.” He shot Buffy a warning look. “Keep your hands off him.”

She stuck out her tongue.

Two broad-shouldered gnomes in black suits immediately stepped forward, blocking our path.

I gulped.

Kip shoved between them without hesitation. “Oh, move already! Dad asked us to bring him, you knob-heads!”

One of the guards lifted his wrist to his mouth. “Clear.”

They stepped aside and resumed their rigid stances on either side of the elevator.

Cautiously, I stepped out.

The first thing I noticed was the guards—were everywhere. At every doorway, every window. All of them in black suits and sunglasses. They looked exactly like the men from the dance club, the first time we’d gone to meet Darcy.

The image twisted in my gut. I pictured the suits piled up outside a bathroom door, just like when Shamas had found me that night.

Made me wonder what was happening with everyone I knew.

I shifted uneasily, thinking of Freak and the TNT crew being rounded up, dragged off to places like this.

“Hey, Wendell,” Kip said. “You coming?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” I took one last glance over my shoulder at the suits.

The penthouse was…open. That was the best word for it.

Big, too. Bright—but not harsh. Thin slats of bleached driftwood, tinted grey-blue, lined the floors and walls, reflecting natural light that poured in from somewhere I couldn’t see. The dividing walls looked like glass, though not quite clear—translucent enough for shadows and movement, offering privacy without isolation.

It was a curious design.

Not lavish. Not cold.

Family photos lined one wall—pictures of the twins, another of them with a smiling female gnome. Bookshelves. A few paintings. Landscapes that reminded me of Humär—mountains, forests…lots of trees.

At the center of the room, a massive screen hovered above a narrow fireplace, set into a free-standing wall.

But my attention snagged on one painting.

It hung alone on its own retaining wall, overlooking a sitting area with a small couch and two plush chairs. An overly round-faced gnome smiled out from the canvas. Clean shaven. Almost yellow hair that looked a great deal like a combover.

I pointed. “Your dad?”

Buffy nodded. “Mm-hm.”

“So why is everyone scared of me,” I asked, “but not you two?” I frowned. “Ian doesn’t seem scared either.”

“I wouldn’t lump Twoface in with normal gnomes,” Buffy said. “There’s nothing normal about that yes-gnome.” She studied me, eyes lingering. “What’s there to be scared of? You’re really cute.”

“Uh-huh,” I said uneasily. The smiley gulped. “Thanks…but that’s kinda my point.”

She thought about it. “Well…I might be wrong, but maybe it’s Dax. Not you. Guilt by association.”

That stopped me. I hadn’t thought of it that way. A small spark of hope flickered—and with it, an idea. “Then why do you call Ian ‘Twoface’?”

She chuckled and leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Because he’s a freak. Me and Kip have seen and heard some pretty weird stuff when he’s around. I’ve seen him lower his glasses before—his eyes were red.” She shuddered. “Not bloodshot. Red. And his voice—it went all deep and rough and—”

“Wendell,” Kip cut in. “I’d like you to meet our father.” He was pushing a wheelchair, the wheels squeaking softly as they rolled forward. Seated in it was a solid, broad-shouldered gnome with a big almost yellow combover. He smiled warmly and tugged a small blanket higher over his withered legs. “President Stump,” Kip said formally, “I’d like to introduce Mr. Wendell Dipmier.”

The gnome extended his hand. “It’s an absolute honor to meet you, sir! May I call you Wendell?”

I shook his hand firmly. “Uh…sure.”

“Splendid! I hope you don’t mind the kids fetching you. As you can see, I’m not terribly mobile.” He shrugged. “And they spend far too much time cooped up here with me. Not exactly thrilling for young folk.”

“Dad,” Kip whispered, “he’s our age. He’s just a kid.”

“Is that so?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The President laughed. “Sir?” He patted Kip’s hand. “Did you hear that? The Gnolaum called me sir!”

The twins laughed with him.

Then he folded his hands over his broad belly and studied me intently.

“Wendell,” he said, “I have a proposition I’d like to discuss with you.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Enduring torture, Wendell draws the attention away from Dax and reveals who he is to the Gentre race.

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Chapter 76

Of the three main towers of Clockworks City, the most uncomfortable place to be was the halls of Government.

The air alone felt inspected…like it belonged to someone else and you were only borrowing it until a clerk decided otherwise. Within the tower, however, even those who lived there preferred to avoid the Centurion Citadel.

The Citadel was the center of the gnome legal system, wrapped up nice and shiny in a single structure. Citizens were brought in, questioned, booked, and marched through an automated court process overseen by judges via video conference…so they could stay at home, of course (usually in their pajamas). Those convicted were processed, their belongings numbered and catalogued, and then lowered into The Cage below…a two-hundred-level underground prison.

Of course, you had to be a really bad gnome to end up in The Cage.

At least that’s what the government wanted citizens to believe.

“Do I look alright?” Chuck asked again, patting his chest and fumbling for a pocket watch that was absolutely in his coat somewhere. “Are we late?”

Lili clung to his arm as if it were a plank on a stormy sea. Her eyes darted back and forth, and every passing vehicle made her shoulders tighten. She was forcing herself not to panic. Forcing herself not to flinch. She had promised to help. No matter what happened, she was determined to keep her word…to earn a measure of trust.

“You look fine,” she said. Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she glanced down at her own outfit and swallowed. “Wonderful.”

She looked down again, tugging at the hem of her skirt. “I’m not sure I’ll forgive you for this…this…whatever it is. I feel naked.”

“Nonsense,” the wizard said briskly. “You’re completely covered, child.”

He straightened his top hat, then tapped his dragonhead walking cane on the curb before stepping down onto the pedestrian runway.

“Wait…you didn’t even look at me!” he complained. “How am I supposed to act the part? Woo the ladies? Intimidate the men? Unless I look my über best?”

“Über?”

He adjusted his bow tie and flashed a sly smile. “Outstanding. Supreme example. Coooool.”

He flicked an eyebrow at her. “Like my tie? Bow ties are cool. Manly. Debonaire.”

“It’s pink,” Lili said, guiding him across the roadway with the trickle of pedestrians. “I guess it’s fine for your age and profession.”

“Pink?” Chuck frowned and adjusted the knot. “I thought it was just cheerful red. Hmph! Should’ve worn my glasses—” He stopped abruptly on the far side. “Of my age and profession?! What kind of remark is that? You call that encouragement?” He rolled his eyes. “For goodnes’s sake, child, why don’t you just tell me the embalming fluid’s taken well!”

“I didn’t mean—”

“These clothes weren’t cheap, you know.” He leaned closer and smiled. “And you look lovely, by the way…”

Lili’s cheeks warmed. “Why…thank you, Ch—”

“SEE?” Chuck blurted. “I’ve got style!” He spread his arms, nearly swatting two passing gnomes with his sleeves. “That’s what it’s going to take to pull this off…a keen mind and a forked tongue. But do I have the clothes to match the wit? The charm, lumous, atractivo, séduction?”

He nodded to himself as if he were delivering a lecture.

“That’s what we need here. Charm and focus! There’s no way we will ever—”

He stopped abruptly.

“Oh, look!” he squealed. “A penny!” Squatting to the ground, he scooped the copper relic from the ground like it was a priceless artifact.

Lili sighed.

A light whistle cut through the street noise.

Deloris had reached the other side and stood a few paces off, composed and purposeful. She nodded toward the Citadel.

“Time to go, dear,” Chuck said, adjusting his dress coat and rolling his shoulders back. “It’s showtime!”

Unlike many areas of the city, the Citadel was one of the few places that still had access to open sky…and the architects took full advantage of it. The entire tower was constructed of reflective metal.

Clockworks City’s symbol of order.

The Citadel was home to the Government Faction and headquarters for all its auxiliaries. Law enforcement, judges, political leaders, economists, tax collectors, scientists, engineers, communications, and the military…all the heads of power under one roof.

Anyone could enter the Citadel to visit the office of their choice.

But everyone had to pass through the Centurions first.

As Chuck and Lili approached the doors, he slowed his pace, hunched his shoulders, and let his long beard flop from his arm to drag behind him across the ground. Hundreds of gnomes pushed and shoved their way in and out of a bank of doors…or took their chances with a giant revolving mechanism of glass and steel.

Morphiophelius watched the transparent cage spin round and round, coughing gnomes out and sucking them in.

He cringed and yanked his beard to his chest.

“Not on your life.”

Lili opened one of the main doors. Gnomes paused…smiling and staring…mainly at Lili…then stepped aside to let the rich-looking wizard and his lovely escort pass through first.

“Move out, coming through!” bellowed Deloris.

She shoved through the crowd, darted around Lili…and clipped Chuck like a battering ram.

“Whoopah!”

With a heavy thud and a chorus of gasps, the wizard slid across the granite floor and came to a stop right at the boots of two armed Centurion guards.

“Morning, boys,” Chuck chirped, blinking innocently as he rolled to one side and freed his beard from undue strain.

Lili rushed to him, heels clopping, one hand flying to her mouth.

“Grandfather!” she gasped. “Are you alright?”

Dressed in a white cotton skirt that ended above her knees, her tan legs and forearms stood out like beacons as she kneeled beside him.

Both Centurions squatted quickly to help her.

“You alright, sir?”

“Here, I’ve got him.”

“Let go; I had him first.”

Lili looked up and batted her eyes at them both. “Oh…thank you so much.”

She forced a smile.

She also reminded herself to accidentally burn the wizard’s food the next chance she got.

Both gnomes snapped to attention. One let out a goofy laugh…followed by an awkward snort.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Chuck boomed, springing up like a nimble teen. “Brave, honest, strong young gnomes!”

He whipped his cane around and jabbed both soldiers in the chest—lightly, but with enough confidence to make it feel official.

“You…do…your…profession…proud! Who do I talk to so I can make a recommendation? That’s why I contribute to the Centurions-Are-Not-As-Stupid-As-You-Think-They-Are Fund every year!”

He saluted with his cane.

“Brilliant you boys are…TOP of the class, I say. Keep it up!”

They saluted.

Another snort.

Lili had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing as they walked away. “You are a horrible old man,” she whispered.

“Gnome,” he corrected. “We are filthy rich gnomes, expected to be arrogant…and a bit off.”

She giggled. “Then you fit the role perfectly.”

“Watch it.”

Hobbling toward the front desk, they found a line forming. Off to the side, a dozen Centurions were trying to wrestle Deloris to the ground.

Lili gripped the wizard’s arm tightly. It was intentional, she knew, but the sight still made her flinch. Deloris was proving to be more than the soldiers expected. Cuffs flew. Feet stomped. A nose snapped with a wet crunch.

All the while Deloris screamed, “I told you I’m here by choice! You morons! Idiots! I want to talk to an investigator, not some fat jellyroll desk jockey!”

Chuck grinned. “I don’t think she’ll be contributing to the fund this year.”

“Next!” shouted a fat officer behind the desk.

“Right here,” the wizard said, shoving his cane between two gnomes ahead of him. With a twist, he pried them apart like a crowbar and stepped forward.

“I’m next.”

He grinned at the scowling faces. “Not these…insignificants.”

The officer yawned without even trying to hide it. “What can we do for ya, pops?”

Lili jumped back—and so did several gnomes behind her—when Chuck’s cane cracked across the counter with a sound like a gunshot, nearly missing the officer’s fingers.

Chuck leaned in, brows low, eyes sharp. “You can bring those stupid children to me so I can give them a BEATING, that’s what!”

He smacked the counter again; the crack echoing across reception and drawing hundreds of eyes.

“Run out on me? I DON’T THINK SO!”

He pointed behind him dramatically.

“My poor granddaughter had to leave runway model school just to make sure I could get to my bowling league practice on time…”

He growled.

“Do you have ANY idea how humiliating it is to be escorted by this devastatingly gorgeous girl? No one ever pays attention to me when she’s around!”

The officer blinked, eyes still locked on Lili. “W-what were you saying, pops?”

The cane cracked again.

“FOCUS!”

Lili waved her dainty fingers at the Centurion and forced another smile.

He blushed a deep red.

Chuck sighed as if he were the victim here. “Where are they?”

“Wha—” The officer cleared his throat. “Where are who, sir?”

“My grandson and bodyguard! WHO DO YOU THINK I’VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT!?”

Lili slid in beside Chuck and took his arm. “Grandfather…this wonderful officer is more than willing to help. Please be patient.”

Chuck patted her hand. “So right, my dear. Silly of me. Must have at least ten new faces come through here every day.”

The officer looked around and smirked. “I wish.”

“I was told the boys were here,” Chuck said, scratching his cheek with the dragon’s beak on his cane. “Under arrest for treason or some inconsequential rubbish like that.”

The officer typed into his computer. “Names?”

Chuck blinked twice. He reached over the counter with an open hand. “Goodness me, where are my manners? So sorry, my boy. My name’s Nat, and this is—”

“No, Grandfather,” Lili corrected quickly. “Nat’s who we’re here to get. You’re Morphiophelius Smith the Fifth.”

She looked back to the officer and whispered, “He’s a bit forgetful…and a bit hard of hearing.”

“My friends call me Chuck,” the wizard blurted, then considered. “Which you’re not.”

The officer ignored him and sighed. “What were the names of the grandson and bodyguard?”

“Nathan Taylor and Shamas…”

The officer looked up. “The cripple and bruiser charged with helping the outlanders?”

His eyes narrowed.

Lili tried batting her eyes again, but it didn’t have the same effect now. “Is there a problem?”

“DID YOU BEAT THEM PROPERLY?!” Chuck roared, whacking his cane repeatedly on the counter until everyone nearby backed away.

He snarled, then mimed wringing a neck as he gripped the cane between his hands.

“They need to be flogged within an inch of their lives! Make sure they don’t do something this stupid EVER again!”

His gaze drifted to the officer, and for a heartbeat, the wizard’s expression looked too sincere.

“Turn on this great city? Its people? Why I’d rather cut off both my arms and legs than turn traitor.”

Then his face flipped into a boisterous laugh.

“Luckily, those boys are too stupid to know what they’re doing.”

He leaned close and cut the laugh short with a conspiratorial whisper.

“Did you know Shamas still sleeps with a teddy bear and wets the bed at night? Don’t let the tough-guy leather look fool you.”

He jabbed the air like a man delivering facts.

“And Nat still can’t set the clock on my VCR! So does it SOUND like they have the brains to start a coup with a human and a troll?”

He slapped the counter.

“I don’t THINK so!”

Lili’s nails dug into Chuck’s arm.

He flinched…but kept smiling.

“Yes, well,” the officer said with a smirk, “it looks like they can leave. But both have an extraordinarily high bail set as a condition of their release.”

Chuck stared at Lili, confused. “What did he say?”

The officer leaned over. “I said there’s bail.”

Chuck frowned.

“He said you have to pay the bail!” Lili said louder.

Chuck snorted at both of them. “Mahan’s pink panties…why would I bail? I just got here!”

*****

“Sit down and shut up,” the Centurion barked, shoving Deloris through the door.

He limped back out and slammed the door behind him.

Deloris exhaled slowly. Other than the cuffs being a bit too tight, so far so good. She’d made enough noise to attract someone higher in the food chain…while also preventing a full body search. They’d wanted her out of the way.

Which meant she’d gotten Morty’s books into the building.

The interrogation room was small.

Very small.

The walls were dirty, painted a dingy gray. One overhead fluorescent light flickered on and off like a dying insect. It made her eye twitch.

In the center was a table with two chairs.

Bad news: no mirrors.

No cameras.

No audience.

She was isolated.

“Crap.”

She paced until the door creaked open and a frumpy, tired-looking old gnome waddled in. He held a file in one hand and her purse in the other.

“Mrs. Teedlebaum,” he said in a dial tone, “my name is Detective Bundlefrump.”

He didn’t even look at her as he tossed the purse onto the table.

“You’re in a bit of trouble, from what I’m reading here. I’ve been told to remind you that you have a right to an attorney before we begin.”

“I don’t need a law-licker.” Deloris’s nose flared. She bared her teeth in a dog-like snarl. “And that’s Ms. Hinder, if you don’t mind. Don’t go grouping me with that traitor.”

Detective Bundlefrump looked up.

His face was blank. No irritation. No surprise. Just…flat.

Deloris narrowed her gaze until it was slits. “I’m his ex-wife.”

“I see.”

He sat at the table, placed the file open, and motioned to the chair opposite him. “Please.” Then he laced his fingers.

Deloris sat slowly.

There was no shift in his tone. No twitch. No readable flare of emotion.

Deloris was exceptional at reading people.

She couldn’t read this one.

Suddenly she wasn’t sure that walking in here was such a clever idea after all.

“Ms. Hinder,” Bundlefrump said evenly, “where is Morty Teedlebaum?”

Deloris leaned back as if relaxing. She rested her cuffed wrists on the table.

“How the tick-tock should I know?”

“Because you have been seen with him time and again over the past two months.”

“And since you have this human-vallen issue on your hands,” Deloris shot back, “you want to point the finger at everyone else instead of admitting this city’s security sucks and you let enemies stroll right in.”

She grinned.

“Which looks awfully bad for you boys.”

Bundlefrump didn’t blink. He shuffled papers in silence, sliding them from one side of the file to the other, reading without a sound.

A tactic.

Make the prisoner talk to fill the silence. Make them assume. Make them ramble. Make them hang themselves.

Deloris stared at him, perfectly content to let the silence rot.

Finally, Bundlefrump held up a single sheet and read aloud, still monotone.

“You’ve had an interesting life. Graduated top of your class from University. Honorable entrance into the Science Academy. Excelled at everything you’ve ever touched.”

He paused.

“Well…except your marriage.”

He glanced at her.

“Married twenty years. No children.”

He smiled for the first time. It looked painful, like his face wasn’t accustomed to it. “The job was the baby, it seems. I can relate.”

The smile vanished.

“What I can’t understand is why you left the Academy. Records say you were making incredible headway…excuse the pun.”

He squinted at the page.

“It was called…Comu…cont…”

“Computational submersion,” Deloris finished.

“Right.” Bundlefrump nodded once. “A whole new way to deal with birth defects, illnesses…”

“Or reprogram people who didn’t see eye to eye with the government,” Deloris said.

“Ah.” The odd smile wormed back onto his face. “There it is. Defiance of the laws of the land.”

Now it was Deloris who smiled. “Don’t confuse my disgust for abuse of power with rebellion. I was trying to improve medical practice. My superiors wanted to convert my inventions into military or correctional weapons.”

“So you walked.”

“It’s not what I signed up for.”

“Couldn’t your research be used for both?”

Deloris leaned forward. “You’re missing a bit of information on that sheet.”

Bundlefrump didn’t react.

“When the Government Faction saw a mind could be reprogrammed into virtually anything they wanted,” Deloris continued, “my medical research grants dried up.”

She tapped the table once.

“The military stepped in and doubled the grant…if I signed a contract giving up all future rights to my developments.”

Bundlefrump shrugged and let the paper drop. “You would’ve been wealthy for the rest of your life.”

“Money doesn’t motivate me.”

“So you walked away and managed your father’s computer repair store and shipping warehouse business?”

“Until something better came along.”

Bundlefrump shifted papers again, calm as a clock.

“Until Mortimur Teedlebaum came along.”

Deloris exhaled through her nose. “Ah. We’re back to him.”

“That is why you’re here.”

“No,” Deloris growled, leaning forward hard, “I’m here because I chose to be.”

She slapped her cuffed hands down over the folder.

“I walked through those doors on my own two feet because the last thing I wanted was to be branded a traitor like that garbage excuse of an ex-husband.”

She pushed the file toward him an inch.

“So cut the crap, Bundlefrump, and let’s get to the actual truth. I don’t know where Morty is, and I don’t give a flip either.” She bared her teeth. “If I do find him, you can have him AFTER I get a few minutes alone with him and a bat.”

Bundlefrump sat back, studying her. One eyebrow rose higher than the other. “Why should I believe you?”

Deloris let her hands drop out of view for a moment. Then she leaned in, voice low, eyes locked. “Because I have something you’re going to want.”

Bundlefrump didn’t move.

Deloris shifted…then lifted two small red leather journals into view.

“Morty’s personal notes,” she said. “Latest and greatest invention.”

Thin fingers reached eagerly across the table.

Deloris slid the journals back out of reach.

“Not so fast.” Her grin returned. “I wasted years of my life working with that egotistical twerp. I know his methods. I know his habits.”

She leaned her chest against the table, grinning from ear to ear.

“And I know his shorthand code.”

She gave the journals a little shake.

“You can’t read these without my help.”

Bundlefrump’s jaw tightened.

Deloris’s voice turned sharp again. “I know you’re not the one in charge. So we’re done negotiating until I can talk to the person who is.”

Bundlefrump’s thin fingers curled into fists.

“We can easily take those journals from you, Ms. Hinder.”

Deloris laughed…full-bodied, delighted. She threw her head back as if the threat had just made her day.

“Of course you can!”

She leaned forward again, eyes cold.

“But you didn’t listen. These are useless without me.”

She tapped the journal against her cheek.

“Morty made sure the government would never live without him.”

Her smile sharpened into something predatory.

“And I not only want amnesty for any interactions with him…”

She leaned closer, voice almost purring.

“I want an opportunity to crush his dreams…for crushing mine.”

*****

Chuck sat hunched in his chair, chin resting comfortably on the backs of his hands. His beard and mustache draped down the front of his cane like a white waterfall, pooling around his feet.

Lili couldn’t sit still.

“Why is it taking so long?” she complained, pacing. The click-click-click of her heels filled the silence.

“That’s what happens when you’re more concerned with paperwork than you are with people,” Chuck said. “Someone gets to wait. Unfortunately, it’s us.”

He waved a hand lazily. “Calm yourself. You’re doing wonderfully.”

Lili exhaled slowly. “I don’t like the way I’m being looked at. All the male gnomes…staring.”

Her voice lowered.

“It reminds me of…” She stopped. Swallowed. “Nevermind.”

“What?”

She slid into a chair and crossed her legs, tugging her skirt down over her knees again as if cloth could fix how she felt.

“I was going to say Wendell, but…” She hesitated. “He doesn’t look at me that way.” She shrugged. “Not really.”

Chuck’s eyes drifted toward her without moving his head.

“I know he likes me,” Lili continued quietly. “Or…feels something. But it doesn’t feel disturbing like these gnomes make me feel.”

Her shoulders hunched. She wrapped her arms around herself.

“Since we got here…I feel dirty.”

She looked down.

“Wendell’s never made me feel like that.”

Chuck grinned, though it was swallowed by beard. “He’s a good boy.”

Then he sat up straighter.

“As soon as we get out of here, we’ll get you home and you can put on as many coats and trousers as you like. Until then…”

The door opened.

An armed centurion entered first.

Then Nat rolled in…seated in a manual wheelchair, pushed by another Centurion. His legs hung lifeless. His face was bruised, cut, and swollen. One eye was black as night, the lid nearly shut. Both hands were cuffed to the chair arms.

“Goodness!” Lili cried, standing abruptly.

Shamas shuffled in last, escorted by two guards—but more for support than security. Gauze bandages dotted his face. His forehead was wrapped. Three fingers were splinted. Both eyes were nearly swollen shut.

Chuck hobbled to Shamas first. He cupped the bruised face and turned it gently from side to side.

“When I snapped that you boys should be flogged,” Chuck said, voice sharp, “I wasn’t serious!”

He jabbed the closest Centurion in the gut with his cane.

“Did you have to be so rough? Take these chains off. Now.”

“They’ll be released upon the posting of bail.”

Chuck’s spine stiffened. “I’ll pay!”

The soldiers laughed.

“The bail is two million credits.”

Chuck gulped. “How much?”

“Two million credits. Each.”

Chuck flinched. “Each!?”

“That’s what I said, old gnome.” The Centurion chuckled. “We can charge directly for offenses now. Saves time and money in the court system. Don’t even need to come in most of the time.”

Chuck started rummaging through his coat pockets, outraged. “That’s absurd. What about justice? What about serving time? Community service? What about getting the chance to see gnomes in little black dresses hitting tiny desks with little toy gavels?”

He threw his hands up, frustrated.

“If someone commits a crime…they can’t just pay a fee?”

That’s when he sighed, a grin appearing on his face. Chuck dragged out a small cylinder—about four times the thickness of a pen—and handed it to the guard.

Both Centurions looked at one another.

One guard lifted a rectangular device from his hip and slid Chuck’s cylinder into the slot.

The screen flashed: name, picture, account balance.

Both guards coughed.

“I’ve never seen this much money before,” one gasped.

His mirrored helmet tilted up to find Chuck smiling coolly.

“I’ve never dreamed of this much money before…”

Chuck tapped the screen. “So I can pay all charges right here, right now?”

“That is correct.”

Chuck nodded, satisfied. “Then don’t forget to pay for the multiple battery charges against Centurion officers.”

The guard scrolled.

He paused.

He scrolled again.

He shook his head. “There’s no such charge on this report, Mr. Smith.”

Chuck lifted his cane.

And started swinging.

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell wakes to three gnome scientists with a lot of questions…willing to do ANYthing to discover the answers.

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Chapter 75

Smoke swallowed the library in rolling waves of gray and black.

Chuck coughed hard, beard already damp as he dragged Lili toward the invisible door. With a sharp gesture, the outline of a knob shimmered into existence. He grabbed it…and recoiled with a sharp hiss, shaking his hand.

“The flames are in the hall!” he barked through a coughing fit. Grabbing a fistful of beard, he slapped it over his mouth and shoved Lili down by the shoulder. “Floor! Now! Get your mouth close to the floor…there’s still air!”

She didn’t argue. She dropped flat, pressing her face near the boards as smoke curled overhead like something alive.

Reaching into one of his sleeves, he pulled out a small battery fan and flipped the switch. The heavy smoke retreated from Lili’s face, but the air was already clawing at their lungs. Heat pressed against the metal door like a living thing.

With a sharp snap of his fingers, Chucks dragon staff leaped into his hand.

“Oy,” he snapped hoarsely. “Wake up.”

He rapped the carved dragon’s head against the nearby desk.

A wooden eye blinked. The little dragon stretched, the brown grain of wood rippling into green as it yawned. A gurgle bubbled up from its chest, followed by a sharp yap.

“I don’t care what you were dreaming about,” Chuck wheezed. “It’s time to work. There’s a fire. I need you to stop it.”

A pause. Then a protesting squawk.

Chuck glared at it. “I didn’t say you started it! I said stop it.” He hacked into his beard, his eyes watering. “And don’t give me that look. I know you’re fond of making fire. That does not mean you’re exempt from unmaking them.”

The tiny head leaned closer, crystal eyes unblinking.

Chuck sighed, dropping his beard. “No, you’re not made of flesh. Congratulations. I am. Which means I burn.” He rapped the staff against the glowing door. “Feel that? Of course you don’t. So kindly deal with the inferno before I melt into the furniture.”

The eyes blinked.

A curt squawk.

“I DON’T CARE IF IT STINKS!”

Chuck yanked an oven glove from his sleeve, grabbed the knob, and flung the door open just long enough to hurl the staff into the flames before slamming it shut again.

A minute passed.

Then another.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“You are not coming back in here,” Chuck shouted, “until the fire is gone!”

A pause.

A squawk.

Cher-squaw!

“Oh, don’t start,” Chuck wheezed. “I’ve seen what you eat. Don’t you dare complain now.”

The wizard finally collapsed beside Lili, offering her the end of his beard. She shook her head, her own eyes watering, but stared at him until he met her gaze.

“You are a very strange mägo,” she said between shallow breaths.

Chuck half-laughed into his beard. “That’s the rumor.”

The smoke thickened, stealing the last scraps of air. Even the small battery fan sputtered and died.

“I hope…” Lili choked, “…Morty and Deloris…fared better.”

Chuck nodded—then froze.

“Morty!” he gasped.

In an instant, he was on his feet, yanked off his hat and pulled out two firefighter masks and an axe. Passing one to Lili, he snapped his into place. Axe in hand, he grabbed the door. “Stand back!”

“One—two—”

He yanked it open.

Nothing happened.

No flames. Only smoke, curling and retreating.

Chuck stepped into the hall, eyes scanning left, then right. The warehouse was ruined. Charred walls. Melted crates. Pitted cement still smoldered beneath his boots.

He moved carefully toward the lab.

The doors hung crooked. Windows were shattered. Where the PROMIS had stood was nothing but ash.

And sprawled atop it—

“Uuuurp.”

The dragon staff lay bloated like an overripe melon, smoke leaking lazily from every opening.

Chuck laughed. “Well, look at you! I knew you had it in you.”

Glassy eyes wobbled.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Chuck warned, glancing at the open window. Grabbing the staff, he dashed to the window and shoved the dragon-end outside. “NOW let it out.”

The dragon did.

A torrent of fire arced into the open air, cascading downward like a waterfall of flame several feet wide. The great thing about the structure of Clockworks, especially the lower districts, is the way it builds in layers. The warehouse was up high enough; the flames vanished before they touched another building.

Chuck patted the dragon’s head. “Feel better?”

A final urp. The beast deflated.

“I don’t say this enough,” Chuck murmured, tapping its nose, “but I’m proud of you.”

The dragon snapped playfully.

“Sleep it off,” he smiled. “Dream of fat, fertile lizards.” And with a simple toss into the air, the staff vanished.

Lili stood watching through her mask. “Strange indeed.”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Chuck spun around, hands thrown up in a defensive posture, one leg up ready to kick.

“I think that’s Morty,” Lili said, pointing at the wall.

“Oh, my. Yes. Thank you, dear.” With a wave of his hands, doors appeared in the brick. He yanked them open.

Morty stumbled out mid-swing with a wrench, tripped, and landed face-first in ash. His head lifted and scanned the room without even attempting to get up.

“They…burned my home,” he said hoarsely.

Chuck didn’t interrupt.

“They took my work. My books. Everything.” Morty clenched ash in his fists. “And torched it!”

Deloris coughed quietly.

Chuck lifted Morty’s up from the ash. “Do you have what you need?”

Morty glared. “What kind of—”

“In this room,” Chuck cut in. “Can you finish the PROMIS?”

Morty scanned the space. “…Yes.”

“Tools?”

“Yes.”

“Power?”

The lamp overhead still glowed.

Chuck smiled. “Then you still have everything that matters.”

Deloris caught on first. “They think you’re finished.”

“And that,” Chuck said, “is a gift.”

At first I thought I heard the ocean.

The heavy, booming rhythm of waves hitting shore…rolling up sand, dragging back out, leaving that thin white film of foam behind. The kind of sound that belonged to warmth.

Sun.

Salt air.

A body that wasn’t aching in every joint.

But if it was the ocean, why did I feel so cold?

My skin felt wrong…like the air itself was too clean.

My mind kept swimming, drifting away from shore, the sound shifting…changing from surf to something sharper.

Crackling.

Plastic.

“Yes…place the scalpels over there. Right there. Thank you.”

It was a female voice.

Calm. Flat.

Not kind…just professional.

More tearing. Packaging. The annoying rip of sealed wrappers being opened. There was beeping too…incessant, needle-stabbing beeping that pried into my skull until I flinched.

Where…am I?

My eyelids tried to open, but they felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each. I forced them anyway…just a crack. A sliver of light burned through.

Dax.

The thought hit like a punch. My mind vomited images of gnomes jumping on the elf, swinging batons, hands grabbing, boots stomping.

What did they do to Dax?

I tried to take a deep breath, but even that felt like dragging air through wet cloth. When I tensed, muscles strained against something heavy and unseen.

“Daaxx…” I muttered.

The word came out as barely more than breath.

“He’s waking up, Ms. Callous.”

Male voice, deeper, closer. Not Shrewd. Someone else.

“Move away from the bed. All of you…back. Now. Is the sedative working?”

“It seems to be.” A hand touched my face. One lid was pulled wide. A bright light stabbed my eye. “Pupils are dilated.”

“Good. We’re ready. The rest of you can leave now.”

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

My heart hammered so hard I could feel it pulsing in my throat. I tried to swallow…and regretted it instantly. My throat was a dry, split tunnel of pain.

“What have you done with…” I rasped, “my friend?”

The female voice answered from a few paces away, measured as if she were reading from a chart.

“He’s safe. For now.”

For now.

I squeezed his eyes shut, then reopened them slowly.

White walls. Not the same room as before. The last room had a mirror wall and a table and chairs, like a performance. This was different. Sterile. Crowded. Machines pressed in around me on metal arms. Lights hung overhead, bright and focused, bleaching everything.

Figures stood near me wearing masks, bringing with them the smell of alcohol wipes and metal.

I tried to lift his head.

The beeping increased immediately.

Grunting, jaw clenched, I forced my chin forward. Cold air washed over my naked torso.

Naked.

My stomach dropped.

Naked?

I looked down.

My chest was bare…strapped…wired. Sensors stuck to my skin.

Tubes. Tape.

It was too much. All of it. I let my head fall back onto the pillow with a thump—and in that moment, despite everything, I smiled.

The Ithari was still invisible.

Good.

I blinked hard, trying to force my mind into focus. It was like thinking through mud. Foggy. Slow. Heavy.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

No mirror wall this time. But there were cameras—two I could see, mounted high in the corners, on metal arms. Tiny red lights blinked beneath them.

Watching.

Recording.

These gnomes weren’t the ones in control.

Shrewd, Upshot, Callous.

That realization floated up like driftwood. The tools were too prepared. The room was too staged. Someone else was behind this…someone who wanted evidence. Documentation. A record.

And next to the bed…trays of instruments.

Odd-looking tools.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

None of which looked like they belonged to healing.

“Can you hear me, Mr. Dipmier?” Ms. Callous finally asked.

She stepped up carefully, as if I might explode.

“May I call you Wendell?”

I worked saliva onto my tongue…but my mouth felt like paper. Finally, I could swallow once, painfully. “I can…hear you.”

“Good. Good.” Her black hair was pulled tight into a severe bun. The only skin I could see was pale where her mask didn’t cover, and her eyes—black as ink—watched me with a hungry sort of patience. “I’m going to conduct some experiments while Mr. Shrewd continues his questions. You’ll feel a variety of sensations.”

She patted my forearm with a gloved hand like I was a child about to get a shot.

“Feel free to cry out at any time if you have the urge. I assure you…you won’t hinder my work in the least.”

Oh. Crap.

“Isn’t there some kind of ‘ON’ switch to that rock in our chest?” Doubt shrieked. “We’re lying here like fish, and that female has a knife!”

She moved around toward my head.

“Not good, Wendell. Dude, come ON! She’s going to hurt us!!”

“And to make sure you don’t hurt yourself, I’m going to add a little motivation for you to keep still.”

A thin band…less than the width of my pinky…was laid across my throat and clipped to the bed.

That’s when I felt a sharp, prickling pressure.

“Did she…just put SPIKES around our throat?!?” Doubt gasped.

The spikes weren’t deep enough to kill…but they were deep enough to make swallowing a torture. My neck muscles rolled against the points and instantly felt the pain.

I hissed.

It took some effort, still feeling groggy, but I lowered my chin just enough to create a tiny gap between strap and skin.

Ms. Callous’s eyes crinkled. I could tell she was smiling under the mask.

“You see? Wonderful device. Already you’ve aligned your head and you are holding still. Well done.”

She leaned closer, voice soft.

“You won’t feel the spikes much…unless you push against them.”

Overhead hung large bags of cloudy fluid. Tubes snaked down, merged, and fed into my arms through a junction taped to my skin.

My arms felt…cold. Deep in my veins.

I flexed a hand.

Open. Close. A fist.

Then I tried my arm.

Nothing.

Straps cinched my wrists and upper biceps to the table.

My legs were bound too—both ankles and knees. Luckily, I still had pants on, but it didn’t matter. I felt exposed anyway. Helpless. Pinned and displayed like a specimen.

Tha-Thump-Thump

Tha-Thump-Thump

My chest rose and fell faster. This was bad. Panic climbed, and the machines responded…beeping faster…louder.

“Keep calm, Wendell,” Ms. Callous murmured as if she were soothing an animal. She lifted the syringe into view.

A small vial of green liquid clicked onto the end.

She drew it up.

“You can start your questioning, Mr. Shrewd.”

She set the vial down, inserted the needle into the IV junction, and pushed the green fluid in.

Shrewd stepped into view on the opposite side of the bed.

He wore a mask too now.

But I still recognized the posture. The smugness. The way he took up space as if he owned it.

In his hand was a small remote.

“Good morning, Mr. Dipmier.” Shrewd’s voice was almost cheerful, like we were meeting for coffee. “As you can see, we needed to take more precautions with you after that stunt last night.”

He leaned in slightly.

“You’re definitely a lot stronger than you look.”

He tugged a small monitor into view and adjusted it so I could see without turning my head.

“Ms. Callous has quite a talent when it comes to chemicals…but she rarely has enough subjects to test her creations upon.”

He tapped the monitor as if he were presenting a lecture.

“So we thought we’d put you to good use…while you watched the live show.”

Then he pointed to the cameras blinking in the corners.

“And fortunately, we will record everything for posterity’s sake. Mustn’t waste opportunities to learn, now should we?”

Tha-Thump-Thump

Tha-Thump-Thump

Tha-Thump-Thump

Shrewd clicked the remote.

The monitor showed another room—white walls, chains attached.

And hanging from those chains…

Dax.

My stomach flipped so hard I thought I was going to vomit.

The elf wasn’t moving.

Blood crusted his face, shoulders, chest. The Trench pilot suit had been cut back, tied around his waist to expose his ribs and belly and arms.

There was no way to tell whether he was breathing.

Shrewd’s masked grin was visible even through cloth and shadow.

“Seeing as you have a disturbingly close connection to your bodyguard…we’ve decided to try something different.”

Click.

The monitor zoomed closer.

“The rules of this game are very simple,” Shrewd said, voice almost delighted. “You tell me the truth, the whole truth, Mr. Dipmier…”

He paused, letting me feel the hook.

“…or your friend suffers.”

My throat worked against the spikes.

I couldn’t swallow.

I couldn’t look away.

All I could do was close my eyes, but that felt like a betrayal to Dax.

“Mr. Upshot is very gifted at inflicting and prolonging one’s pain,” Shrewd continued. “So he will be attending to your little friend.”

As if on cue, a bucket of water splashed Dax.

The elf coughed.

A wheeze.

A thin, wrecked sound came through the speaker.

Mr. Upshot stepped into view and waved cheerfully at the camera.

My hands clenched against straps I couldn’t break.

My breath shook.

When I tried to speak—the spikes bit into my throat.

…but I choked the words out, anyway.

“Don’t.”

Shrewd tilted his head. Even through the mask, Wendell could hear the smile. “Oh, but we already are.”

On the other side of the city, Motherboard paced in his office like a storm in a suit. Occasionally stepping out of camera view, he’d return as if movement alone could grind solutions into existence.

“Nat and Shamas are still being held and questioned at the Centurion Citadel,” he said, voice tight. “They rounded up everyone suspected of being involved. Your pit crew, some of the other Trench pilots, executives from W.E.T. INC…”

He exhaled hard.

“Even Bellows and the Brothers Trench.”

Chuck kicked the chair away from the desk with more force than necessary. It skidded and clattered onto a shelf. “Those mechanics don’t know anything!”

“The Centurions already determined that, Morphiophelius.” Motherboard rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Cryo64 got a few clips from the security cameras…investigators roughing them up. Tumbler was beaten pretty badly. That one fought back after the first blow.” He shrugged grimly. “Centurions don’t take kindly to resistance. The rest simply crumbled and answered anything asked of them.”

Deloris’s mouth tightened. “And they released them?”

“After one session of questioning, most of them walked.” Motherboard’s eyes hardened. “Because they truly didn’t know anything.”

Deloris leaned forward. “But Nat and Shamas?”

“They still have them.” Motherboard sat down, shoulders dropping an inch. “Since they worked closest with the pilots, the assumption is they possess intimate knowledge about who Wendell and Dax really are.”

He paused.

“The authorities are terrified now. They think there might be others in the city…masquerading as citizens.”

Chuck scowled, beard bristling. “The bodyguard doesn’t know anything either.”

“Maybe not,” Motherboard said carefully, “but he’s a clever one. And someone’s wanted him on a leash for a long time. This gave the Government Faction an excuse.”

He tapped the desk with a finger.

“Though they can’t prove anything, they’re using false accusations and exceptionally high bail to keep Nat and Shamas in prison.”

Chuck’s fingers drummed against his lip, thinking. The problem wasn’t the facts. It was the machinery of control. You didn’t need proof when you owned the cage and key.

Lili watched Chuck flip his hat off and begin rummaging through it.

Items flew.

Clash. Clatter. Shatter.

Binoculars. Spoons. Books. A football. A Christmas snow globe. Walkie talkies. A harmonica. A ukulele. A rubber chicken.

“What are you looking for?” Lili asked, incredulous despite the tension.

“Don’t worry about me,” Chuck muttered without looking up. “Just get changed. Something nice.”

“Our clothes were burned in the fire.”

Chuck froze mid-rummage.

He looked up as if someone had just slapped him with reality.

“Ooo, that’s right.”

He tossed his hat onto the desk and flopped back into a chair, suddenly deflated.

“Bugger.”

Morty sat rigidly on the edge of the room, soot still embedded in his beard. He said nothing. But his silence had teeth.

“We’ll need you in the field, Deloris,” Motherboard said. His face enlarged briefly as he adjusted the camera. “I’m sorry to say this…but you’ll also have to distance yourself from Morty.”

“Now wait just a—” Morty started, anger flaring.

Motherboard lifted both hands quickly. “There’s no other way. The authorities are looking for you, Mr. Teedlebaum. They believe you’re a traitor, wanted for questioning. Any connection to you is suspect.”

He looked directly at Deloris.

“Especially your wife. We need to create a new narrative the Government Faction will believe.”

Morty scoffed. “How do you plan on doing that? We’re already divorced.”

Motherboard’s grin flicked on, foxlike. “Do you have any original notes left for the PROMIS device? Written by hand, perhaps?”

Morty blinked, suspicious. “Of course I do. Most of my best thinking is done out of the lab. I keep journals.”

“Perfect.” Motherboard leaned forward slightly. “If you recopy your notes and give the originals to Deloris…”

“What for?” Morty frowned.

Deloris laughed softly, catching on. “To turn on you, sweetheart.”

Morty’s jaw dropped.

“If I show up with what looks like valuable PROMIS notes,” Deloris continued, “and turn them in…they might believe I’ve turned on you. That I’m cooperating.”

Morty folded his arms, sulking. “I’m surrounded by crazy people.”

“Mr. Teedlebaum,” Motherboard said, voice shifting into something heavier, something leader like, “the city is ripe and ready to implode. With all the panic and news, President Stump hasn’t made a single address about this national situation. Something’s amiss.”

He spoke slowly, each word nailed into place.

“The government system no longer works. Leadership is corrupt. They care about control, not citizens. And the people…” he exhaled, “…the people are asleep.”

He glanced off-camera, his expression worried.

“Generational damage. The kind you don’t notice until it’s normal. The average citizen doesn’t protest because they’ve become acclimatized to insanity.”

He turned back to the camera, eyes sharpened.

“This is our opportunity. And believe it or not…Wendell’s exposure might be the catalyst we’ve been waiting for.”

Morty’s arms dropped, the fight draining out of him in a sudden, ugly wave.

“And you have to have Deloris to do this.”

“Yes.”

“You have no one else?”

“Not with her talents.”

Without another word, Morty walked past Deloris and disappeared through the hole in the wall.

Deloris watched him go, throat tight.

“Deloris,” Motherboard said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Chuck slid into the seat in front of the laptop, both hands braced on the desk like he was holding himself down.

“If you’ve been able to break in and find the other kids…where are Wendell and Dax being kept?”

Motherboard adjusted the mirrored glasses on his exceptionally large nose. “I’m sorry to say…I don’t know.”

Chuck’s head snapped up. “What do you mean you don’t know? Aren’t you wired into government systems? Don’t you use that sneaky, creepy, blue-faced specter to gather information? Can’t he crawl up the wires or peek in windows or—”

Motherboard bit his lip, barely containing a laugh. “We are looking diligently. It is our priority.”

Chuck nodded once, hard. “Then I have a favor to ask.”

“Name it.”

Chuck shot Lili a side glance that carried far too much meaning for how casual he tried to sound.

“How good are you at forging identity papers?”

Sweat gathered in the corner sockets of my eyes.

Unable to turn my head without shredding the flesh of my throat, I squeezed my eyes shut and let the liquid run down my cheekbones and into my ears.

“Don’t stop now, Mr. Dipmier,” Shrewd encouraged brightly. “You’re doing so well!”

He moved the monitor closer.

All I could hear was Dax whimpering through the small speakers. The elf coughed again, body spasming weakly. Blood and sweat and phlegm dripped off his chin.

“Your little friend only has two unbroken ribs left,” Shrewd chided, mock-sad. “Where is your mercy? Do you want us to hurt him?”

“No!” I cried, choking down a sob that burned my throat raw.

“Then tell me what I want to know!”

Had I made a bad call? There were so many innocent gnomes who would suffer unimaginable things if I told the truth. But my lies were literally killing Dax.

Tha-Thump-Thump

Tha-Thump-Thump

Tha-Thump-Thump

Tha-Thump-Thump

Hang on, Dax. Hang on.

But why? There was no exit. No rescue. No way out of these straps. No way to fight three sadists with a room full of machines and cameras and a razor collar.

This couldn’t be the end.

But the monitor didn’t lie. Dax was paying for every second I resisted.

So I made the best choice I could.

Submission without admission.

Make them think I cracked…without giving the real story.

As Shrewd looked again at his clipboard, I let myself whimper. Let myself sound broken. Let them smell victory.

“So you invaded our city on your own?” Shrewd asked.

“Infiltrated,” I rasped. “Not invaded.” I forced a broken little breath that might pass for a laugh. “It’s just me.”

“You decided to infiltrate Clockworks City and steal our technology…”

“No.” I swallowed painfully. “I came here to learn about you. To study you.”

He tried to smile. It came out as a grimace.

“Unlike other humans…gnomes don’t irritate me unless they’re sticking sharp objects into my skin.”

Ms. Callous laughed and jabbed another needle gleefully into my arm.

Pain pulsed through my veins like fire, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a scream.

All this had cost me. It had cost Dax far more.

But the story was shifting. I could feel it.

Shrewd was wandering away from the truth…toward something plausible…toward a lone human idiot.

That’s what they wanted to believe, anyway.

Still, each time Dax cried out, my mind tried to justify it.

Dax would do the same. To protect Alhannah.

Wouldn’t he?

My mind clung to that thought like a lifeline.

Without warning, Shrewd pushed down on the razor strap at my throat. Spikes bit. Flesh tore. Blood trickled down under my chin, pooling at my collarbone. “And Morty Teedlebaum had absolutely nothing to do with your plan?”

That’s when I laughed. As much as it hurt, they needed to see what I wanted them to see, so I laughed through the pain. “I used magic.” My voice cracked. “Charmed him from the moment he opened the door. He didn’t have a chance.”

“Magic?” Shrewd scoffed. “HAH! There’s no such thing.”

I blinked.

He doesn’t believe in magic?

That was…new.

Had I assumed too much about this world? I’d been surrounded by mages and creatures and impossible things since arriving on Elämä. But here, in this city of gears and wires…

Technology had replaced wonder.

Without blinking, I stared at Shrewd, letting the gnome’s certainty become a weakness.

Shrewd’s lips curled. “Magic is nothing more than folklore. Children’s stories.”

My voice was calm now, quieter, steadier.

“This great city that bars the world from getting in…has also kept the truth from you, Shrewd.”

Ms. Callous fumbled with the needle and nicked my skin. I flinched instinctively.

She grabbed gauze, pressed it, then froze.

The blood had stopped.

She stared at the small cut as if it had insulted her.

“Mr. Shrewd…”

“What is it?”

“I…” Her voice faltered. She glanced at Shrewd, then down at me again. She snapped the choker open and wiped the gauze across my neck.

I smiled.

Tha-Thump-Thump

Here it comes.

Tha-Thump-Thump

The cloth soaked up blood.

And revealed…clean skin.

No cut.

No torn flesh.

Nothing.

Her mask slipped as she inhaled sharply. She yanked it down and gaped at me like she was seeing an animal walk upright.

“How can this be?” she whispered. “What are you?”

I turned to her and just…smiled.

Mr. Shrewd’s brows furrowed. “Ms. Callous…”

“Are you not paying attention?” She snapped, pointing at my throat. Frustration flared into obsession.

She snatched up a scalpel and leaned over my chest.

Tha-Thump-Thump

Tha-Thump-Thump

Tha-Thump-Thump

“Watch.”

She made a small raking motion.

Tink.

The sound was wrong.

Metal on stone.

Ms. Callous stared at the scalpel. Tested it against her glove.

The razor sliced through the rubber effortlessly.

She backed away from me.

Confusion cracked her face.

Tha-Thump-Thump

Tha-Thump-Thump

Tha-Thump-Thump

“It would be appreciated,” Shrewd said stiffly, “if you would share your discoveries, Ms. Callous, as I seem to be falling behind in your calculations.”

“He’s not human,” she murmured. Her eyes widened. “He can’t be.”

Shrewd looked from her back to me, baffled.

I just smiled.

This was my opening.

“He heals himself as you cut into him,” she said quietly. “Watch.”

Ms. Callous didn’t hesitate.

With a sudden, violent motion, she drove the scalpel toward my chest.

TINK!

A flash of light exploded from my chest.

Ms. Callous flew across the room as if she’d been hit by a wagon. She struck the far wall, bounced, and dropped—unconscious before she hit the floor.

The scalpel shattered like glass.

Fragments slid off my chest and clinked against the sterile tile.

Mr. Shrewd stumbled backward, eyes wide. His voice trembled. “W-who are you?”

My smile faded into something colder, steadier.

It was now or never.

“I’m the Gnolaum,” I said matter-of-fact.

Shrewd snarled, suddenly angry. “Yes, yes—I know your pilot name.” He gripped the side of the bed, shaking it. “BUT WHO ARE YOU REALLY!?”

Checkmate.

I dropped my voice to a whisper. “You know me, Mr. Shrewd. Every gnome in this city knows me.”

I let the words sink in.

“You simply forgot.”

With that, I lifted my head as far as the spikes would allow and whispered, “Silmä inakmään.”

In the center of my bare chest, the Ithari appeared. A brilliant rainbow spilled across the walls, reflecting off metal and glass, painting every sterile surface with living color. It made the overhead lights look like weak imitations of daylight.

Mr. Shrewd fell back, knocking the monitor aside. Panic finally cracked him open. “T-this is impossible,” he stammered. “You can’t be real. You can’t be!”

“But I am real,” I said.

That’s when I looked at the cameras, staring straight into the blinking red lights, into whatever eyes were hiding behind them.

“When the Champion stands for the Gentre, the Assembly must stand with them—or be measured and found false.” - Oaths of the Assembly 6:1”

And in that moment, the room stopped being an interrogation chamber.

It became a witness stand.

My voice carried as truth, finally remembering it had teeth.

“I am the Gnolaum.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Chucks helps Morty, Deloris and Lili flee the Trench Wars stadium just in time to avoid capture by Centurions back at the warehouse.

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Chapter 74

At first, the sounds didn’t make sense.

They were muffled, distant…like I was underwater, listening to people talk about me without quite saying my name.

My fingers twitched.

One. Then another. My eyes moved beneath swollen lids, darting back and forth as if they knew something I didn’t.

My chest seized.

CRACK.

Pain tore across my back, sharp and blinding, and my stomach clenched. A single line of fire streaking across my muscles and skin….

I bit down hard, refusing to scream.

I wouldn’t give them that.

Whatever this was, I wasn’t going to let them think they’d broken me.

I opened my eyes to more darkness, offset by torches…on cold, stone walls. It looked a great deal like the cell I was in back at Til-Thorin.

A moan escaped my lips.

There was a hooded figure somewhere nearby. There were moments when he…or she….who knows, maybe an ‘it’…came within my peripheral vision. Then it would shift out of sight once more. Didn’t help me, though. I couldn’t see a face. The robe swallowed the figure whole. Only a pointed black beard jutted into the light.

It didn’t look like a Kutollum female, so I crossed female off my list.

CRACK.

I winced again,…this time biting the inside of my cheek.

“Wendell.”

The voice came from close. Too close. Almost inside my ear.

Yeah, I’m going with male.

I tried to turn my head, but even that was painful. Muscles that felt like they’d gone unused for too long. When I finally managed it, there was no one there.

“Wendell.”

A sudden burning ripped across my face.

I gasped.

Light flooded my vision. Harsh. White. Fluorescent. The contrast with the darkness was so violent my eyes slammed shut again. When I forced them open, everything swam.

“Good morning, Mr.… Dipmier, is it?”

My throat felt like sandpaper. My lips were split, swollen, crusted with dried blood.

Swallowing hurt.

Talking hurt more.

“Yes,” I croaked.

My knees hurt, too. They had me chained in the middle of the room, kneeling…with my arms held up by metal links.

The gnome standing in front of me smiled cheerfully. He wore a white lab coat, rubber gloves, and mirrored glasses. In his hands was a clipboard, which he scribbled on enthusiastically.

My shoulders sagged.

No dungeon. No torches. No whips.

Which meant that whatever I’d felt before had been my imagination.

Even now, a faint warmth moved through me…the Ithari, trying to mend what it could.

Too slowly.

Far too slowly.

Why did I feel so groggy?

The room was blindingly white. One wall was a solid mirror stretching from floor to ceiling. Another held a gray metal door guarded by two Centurions standing perfectly still. The far wall was bare, except for a metal table, with three chairs behind it.

Two more gnomes sat there.

One male. One female.

White lab coats.

Gloves.

Mirrored glasses.

Smiling like statues.

Sure,…that’s not creepy at all.

“And you are a human male,” the gnome said brightly, “correct?”

“Who are you?” I rasped. “Where… am I?”

He lowered the clipboard.

Something clicked.

Before I could react, two thin metal rods shot from a black device in his hand and stabbed into my neck.

Electricity ripped through my spine.

My body locked. My teeth slammed shut on my tongue, and I tasted blood as my muscles seized beyond my control.

Every nerve in me screamed.

The pain vanished as suddenly as it had come.

“Since you’re new here, Mr. Dipmier,” the gnome said cheerfully, tucking the device away, “I’ll explain this once.”

He made another note on his clipboard.

“My name is Mr. Shrewd. Behind me is Ms. Callous. Next to her is Mr. Upshot. Our job is to ask questions and ensure you answer them honestly and completely.” He glanced up. “Your job…and the job of your companion,” he added, pointing, “is to comply.”

I turned my head and looked down.

Dax lay on the floor beside me.

I pulled against the chains without thinking. “Dax!” Metal clinked as they held fast. Pain flared as I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t obey. Smaller chains bound my ankles to a metal belt around my waist, forcing me to kneel or slump to my side. Straightening my legs wasn’t an option.

They were afraid of the big man.

Mr. Shrewd grinned at my struggle, teeth too white, too perfect. “As for where you are,” he said lightly, “it doesn’t really matter. I wouldn’t want you getting your hopes up about leaving.”

He slid his glasses down just enough to reveal black eyes.

I’d never met someone with actual black eyes.

Two giant pupils.

Empty. Watching.

“But there are two things you should know about us, Mr. Dipmier.” His smile vanished. “One…what we do is incredibly painful.”

He leaned closer.

“And two…we love what we do.”

I let my head drop forward, chin resting against my chest.

Wonderful.

I looked back at Dax. He wasn’t moving. What made it worse was I couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Fresh bandages wrapped his head, so that was good, but bruises darkened his arms and skull. All four limbs were chained to the wall.

Out of the frying pan.

Past the fire.

Straight into hell.

“The beast is fine,” Mr. Shrewd said lightly, following my gaze to Dax. “A remarkably resilient specimen, actually.” He smiled, almost fond. “Which makes the possibilities for interrogation virtually…endless.”

I stared up at him, teeth clenched. “Don’t you touch him.”

The words came out weaker than I had wanted.

Mr. Shrewd scribbled something on his clipboard. “Ah. This is what I enjoy most, Mr. Dipmier. The pointless defiance of a helpless subject.” He glanced over his shoulder. “The fool reveals so much when left without direction, don’t they, Ms. Callous?”

“Oh yes,” she replied pleasantly. Her voice was soft. Musical. The kind meant to calm you.

It made my skin crawl.

She made a note of her own.

They weren’t just cruel.

They were enjoying this.

I yanked against the chains again.

Ugh.

My heart hammered in my ears.

THA-THUMP. THA-THUMP.

I had to get out. Had to get free.

My mind jumped, grasping for anything solid.

Chuck.

Was he alive?

Was he safe?

Had he escaped the owner’s box?

My captors hadn’t mentioned him yet. That had to mean something good.

It had to.

Morty. Deloris. The rest of the TNT crew.

Lili…

Wait.

I scanned the room again.

Alhannah wasn’t here.

Cold fear slid down my spine.

They’d beaten me in the arena and taken their sweet time doing it. I remembered that. I’d tried to stay between the guards and my friends. Then I remembered Dax going down. Remembered being dragged across the ground, through a set of doors, then into an elevator.

Chained in the back of a giant van.

Alhannah had been there. She’d been unconscious, but breathing.

Alive.

“So,” Mr. Shrewd said brightly, stepping into my line of sight, “let’s begin, shall we?”

He positioned himself between me and the mirror and leaned forward slightly. “Where is Alhannah Luckyfeller?”

So they don’t know.

Good.

I shrugged as best I could. “I don’t know.”

His head tilted. “Surely you do. Where is your accomplice hiding?”

“I was dragged out, beaten, and knocked unconscious. She was there when I was awake. If she’s gone now, then I have no idea where she is.” I looked past him to the Centurions. “Maybe ask one of the lightbulb helmet guys over there. They’re the ones who took us.”

The smile thinned. “I see.”

The stun device appeared in his hand.

Pain exploded through my throat.

My muscles locked. My jaw clenched so hard my teeth screamed.

“NNNN—”

The pain vanished.

“Now,” Mr. Shrewd said calmly, pocketing the device, “it would be most helpful if you told us where she is. Considerably less painful, too.”

“I told you,” I gasped. “I don’t know!”

“Then tell me this,” he said. “Why did she bring you—and this…creature—into the city?”

I swallowed, forcing my breathing to slow. This was bad. Worse than I could have imagined. We’d been warned when we started what would happen if the Government Faction caught us. It was capital punishment to be in Clockworks City without permission. But… I had thought they were kidding.

Until I was thrown down a garbage chute.

Until I found dozens of outcasts living in the massive furnaces below this mighty city.

Until I witnessed the ruthlessness of what I assumed would be loving and kind people.

Alhannah wasn’t an exception.

That meant death was…likely.

The Ithari would, if she could, keep me alive.

But Dax—

I needed their attention on me.

I needed to make them believe me.

“She didn’t bring us into Clockworks,” I said.

Mr. Shrewd turned away, handing his clipboard to Mr. Upshot. “That’s difficult to accept,” he said mildly. “She trained you for the Trench Wars, did she not?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“And she trained that,” he said, gesturing toward Dax.

“His name…is Dax.”

Mr. Shrewd stopped.

“Oh,” he said softly. “It has a name.”

He crouched beside Dax and prodded him with a baton. Lifted one of my friends’ fingers, then let it drop. Shrewd then folded one ear flat against Dax’s cheek. His lips curled. “Disgusting.”

My pulse raced.

“Don’t screw this up,” Doubt whispered.

Not NOW.

“I’m just saying.”

Make them believe you.

“He’s my bodyguard,” I said.

The baton froze.

“I’m sorry?” Mr. Shrewd turned slowly. “He’s your…what?”

“My bodyguard,” I repeated. “I hired him for protection. We travel together. What better way to stay safe in foreign lands than to hire a vallen?”

Shrewd straightened, backing away as if the explanation made Dax even more offensive. “You expected violent gnomes and dwarves, then?” His smile returned. “He’s barely tall enough to defend you from your own kind.”

Mr. Upshot and Ms. Callous released dry wheezes that I realized were laughter.

“It is disturbing,” Mr. Shrewd said, straightening his lab coat, “to see how many forget their place.” He tucked the baton under one arm and peeled off his gloves with meticulous care, never letting the outer rubber touch skin. He rolled them into a tight ball and tossed them over his shoulder.

Without looking, Mr. Upshot kicked a small trash bin out from under the table.

The gloves dropped perfectly inside.

My stomach sank.

“Your kind mocks TGII openly,” he said mildly, adjusting the latex around his fingers. “Not through thought or philosophy, but through size. Larger races mistake mass for meaning.” He paused, stared right at me and let out a resigned sigh. “But our job is to repair what is broken,” he grinned. He retrieved another pair of gloves from his inner pocket and slid them on. “Is it not, Mr. Upshot?”

“It is indeed, Mr. Shrewd,” Upshot replied.

“Correct in private what you observed in public…” Ms. Callous added. “Divine Schematic — Luthier 2:6,”

I swallowed.

I’d heard the name whispered, sworn by, and cursed with.

TGII.

The god of the gentre.

A system for some. A justification for most.

Fascinating, no matter what side you’re on.

The 1.5 billion citizens of Clockworks City worshiped, believed in, or at least were raised with a knowledge of a divine machine. One they believed created the Universe around us, using the materials of chaos to form order. All things perfect in their individual spheres, TGII placed all things in their ‘proper’ sphere and encouraged all things to fulfill the measure of their creation. Plants grow, animals multiply, and humanoids? They were supposed to be the gentle caretakers of the world. Everything in perfect balance, because that’s how a well oiled machine works…

At least that’s what the books said in The Great Library.

I mean, you want to know more about the people you’re living with, right? And I was so very curious, especially after each fight in the Trench. So I’d sneak in late at night, while Chuck dosed off at his desk. The Librarian was more than eager to supply books and have in-depth conversations when I showed up with a million questions about the Gentre race.

All I had to do was ask her to stop time for me, and she was always wiling to help me, so….what would you do?

Exactly.

“You’re turning repentance into surveillance authority, Ms. Callous,” I said aloud, trying hard to pull thoughts from the fog in my head. “You’re quoting altered scripture.” I had to turn their full attention to me and keep it there. Pull their gaze way from Dax. I took a shallow breath and let it out. “Some would argue, corrupted text.”

All three gnomes looked at me, shocked.

“You say you need to ‘correct in private what you observed in public’…” I started.

“The trespass of an alien race upon our sacred soil!” She sneered. “An act of aggression against our peaceful citizenry.”

I shook my head. “First Measure - Luthier 2:6 says, ‘Repair in private what you broke in public…’ We’ve been here for months, and never harmed a soul outside the arena. You should be tending to our wounds after your forces beat us…unjustly.”

Mr. Upshot leaned forward in his chair, his eyes daggers.

“…never bent for convenience, but bent for necessity when the Turning demands. Divine Schematic — Oaths 2:2. ” The corners of his mouth slowly curled upward. “We are called to do what we must to protect our people, Mr. Dipmier. The reaction of the stadium is proof of the threat.”

Again, I shook my head. “You’re isolated from the rest of the world! Don’t you see that your reaction is from your own conditioning? You twist your most sacred writings, quoting from ‘The Divine Schematic’ instead of following the truth of The First Measure. Oaths 2:2 in its original text says, ‘Handle every life as you would a precision spring—never bent for convenience.’” I looked over at Ms. Callous, who was trying to hide her obvious surprise. “Every…life. Even mine,” I nodded at Dax, “…even his. My bodyguard and I posed no harm to the Gentre, and that is the truth.”

“Which brings us,” Mr. Shrewd went on, ignoring me, “to the extent of the infection.” He clasped his hands. “For one so versed in our sacred text, it is funny that you encourage ‘truth’ and yet you entered, stayed and maintained a cover of falsehood. For months, if I remember of your own admission….am I correct?”

Ouch. Check.

“So let us set church aside and discuss how Ms. Luckyfeller was with you at capture. We have footage of all three of you entering the garage. She did not leave the Trench. ” He smiled. “Yet only two of you arrived.”

He raised a finger. “Curious.”

My heart pounded.

THA-THUMP-THUMP.

THA-THUMP-THUMP.

Then he reached into his coat and removed a folded white envelope.

I froze.

“I cannot fathom,” he said thoughtfully, opening it, “why you carry aged scraps of paper.” He took out the letter and scanned the contents, frowned, then turned it over. “We tested it. No inks. No sigils. No encoded runes.” He slid it back inside and laid it on the table, patting it once. “Meaningless.”

He turned to the door.

“These,” he said cheerfully, gesturing, “are Mr. Bentley and Mr. Cadson. The transport detail.” He sighed. “Their commanding officer was…retired this morning.”

One of the centurions began to tremble.

“One testimony contradicted the other,” Mr. Shrewd continued. “Two witnesses. One truth. And we are agreed, Mr. Dipmier, that we both want the truth, do we not?”

He clapped once.

Both Centurions flinched.

“One of you is going to die.”

Bentley broke first. “I SWEAR!” He grabbed Shrewd’s coat. “The can rolled in, then the pop-wire hit us! We blacked out! When we woke, the girl was gone!”

Mr. Shrewd looked to the other. “Mr. Cadson?”

Cadson hesitated. Then, quietly, “No, sir. I saw an old gnome. Half metal. Holding the girl. There was a flash, and they vanished.”

The baton rose.

Bentley never screamed.

It struck his throat with a dull, last sound. He collapsed, gasping once before going still.

My hands wanted to cover my neck.

“You see,” Mr. Shrewd said calmly, “the rule is simple. The first to tell the whole truth lives.” He nodded. “You may remove the body.”

Cadson dragged it away.

When the room was quiet again, Mr. Shrewd turned back to me.

“All I require is honesty,” he said pleasantly. “Reasonable, yes?”

I stared at him.

His smile said we were already dead.

Then Dax groaned.

My breath caught. “Dax—”

Mr. Shrewd screamed.

Ms. Callous and Mr. Upshot followed in stereo…and all three quickly placed the table between them and the fully chained and subdued evolu on the ground.

Without warning, Shrewd launched himself forward, baton raining down.

Once.

Twice.

Again and again and again.

“STOP!” I roared, pulling against the chains. “YOU’RE KILLING HIM!”

The blows continued.

Something inside me tore.

I arched my back, grit my teeth…and pulled.

The concrete crumbled and chains fell to the floor.

For a heartbeat, I was free.

Then electricity slammed into me. Three devices. Full force.

Every muscle locked.

I screamed without a sound.

“Increase the amps!” Shrewd shouted.

“It could kill him!” Callous cried.

“BETTER HIM THAN US!”

My folded legs shook, and I hit the floor, twitching.

My vision fragmented.

I heard them retreat.

Then I tasted blood.

Somewhere far away, a button clicked.

“Send the package to the furnace,” Mr. Shrewd said calmly. “Ensure the courier follows.”

The others laughed.

And the room went dark.

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell, Dax and Alhannah are captured and hauled off by gnome Centurions. Höbin fights through the panic of crowds, only to be forced to take his unconscious daughter and flee.

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Chapter 73

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The door gave way with a final crash, and all four of them spilled into the hallway in a tangle of coats, boxes, shoes, and flying knickknacks.

“Ow!” Deloris snapped, shoving a sweater off her face. “Would it hurt you to organize this place?”

“I warned you it was a mess,” Chuck shot back, untangling his beard from beneath his boots. “If you haven’t noticed, young lady, I have been rather busy attempting to save the world.”

“By leaving Wendell, Dax, and Alhannah behind?” Lili was already on her feet, hiking her dress to her knees so she could move. She froze mid-step, staring down the warehouse corridor. “How did we get back here?”

Morty grunted as he hauled himself upright and helped Deloris to her feet. “We’re… back at the warehouse!”

Chuck yanked the last of his beard free from its broken Kutollum-manly-braid and stood straight, surveying the familiar walls. He nodded once, sharply. “Yes. That’s right. The warehouse.”

Relief crossed his face too quickly to be missed.

Deloris plunged her head back into the closet they’d just fallen out of, knocking on the rear wall. “It’s gone! The tunnel’s gone. The wall’s solid again!” She turned, wide-eyed. “Chuck, there was a passage there just a moment ago.”

The dragon staff snapped into Chuck’s hand at the flick of his fingers.

“Moving on,” he said briskly, already striding away. “We’re following. One, two. Quickly now.”

Morty darted ahead of him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Chuck spun around without slowing, flung open the lab door and marched past the PROMIS machine straight into the smaller side room. No windows. Tight space. Walls lined with spare parts, tools, and half-forgotten inventions.

Perfect.

“Do you have everything you need in here?” Chuck demanded.

Morty followed, confused. “Need for what?”

“To finish this thinga-mah-jigger.”

“My PROMIS?”

“I don’t need your promise, Morty,” Chuck snapped. “I need to know if everything required to build it is in this room.”

“Well… no. My tools are in the other—”

“Show me,” Chuck cut in. He snapped his fingers at Lili and Deloris. “You two. Help.”

Carts rolled. Crates scraped. Benches shifted. Wrenches, cables, torches, and parts were dragged in and stacked without order.

“No, no,” Chuck complained, frowning. “This won’t do. It needs to look like you were just about to finish.”

“That is exactly what I was doing!” Morty hissed. The room was becoming a disaster, every moved item shredding the careful sequence in his mind. “You’re ruining my workflow!”

“Mess it up,” Chuck said firmly. “Make it look close, but not complete. Leave nothing obvious.”

“I do not understand you at all,” Morty snapped. “The more we move things, the longer it takes to fix!”

Chuck upended a can of oil onto the floor beside the PROMIS. It spread in a slick black puddle.

“Perfect,” Chuck said, grinning. “Now faster.”

Morty skidded to a stop and planted himself in the doorway. “Stop!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Chuck barked. “Move. We don’t have time for this.”

Morty grabbed the doorframe with both hands. “Time for what, Morphiophelius? You’re not making sense!”

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Chuck’s expression hardened. He pointed towards the front of the warehouse. “Your company, Mortimur Thaddeus Teedlebaum. The government.”

Morty went pale. “What?”

“They’re here to take your invention,” Chuck said flatly. “What did you expect? You can’t harbor criminals, sympathize with outlanders, and sit on national secrets without consequences.”

He scratched his forehead. “Frankly, if I were the government, I’d arrest you too. You’re not what anyone would call an exemplary citizen.”

“Why, you—!”

“I’m just saying.”

Morty clenched his fists. “They need a warrant. I’ll get a lawyer.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “They won’t have one. And they won’t care.”

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

The pounding shook the walls.

The storm had arrived.

Deloris grabbed Morty by the shoulders and spun him around, fear bleeding into every word. “We have to hide. Now!”

Chuck seized both gnomes by their collars and shoved them toward the secondary room. “That’s what this room’s for,” he muttered. “Get in.”

Morty dug in his heels, nose jutting through the narrowing gap. “But there’s no way out! They’ll come in and find us and drag us off and—”

Chuck stopped pushing. He opened the door just enough to look Morty in the eye.

“No,” he breathed. “They won’t. I promise.”

Morty froze.

“Just stay silent,” Chuck continued, unblinking. “No matter what you hear. Everything will be fine.”

A shaky nod. “Alright.”

Chuck shut the door and passed his hand over the metal surface. It blurred, softened, and faded. Within seconds, the doorway was nothing but uninterrupted brick.

“How do you know they won’t find them?” Lili demanded as she ran after him down the hall.

“I don’t,” Chuck panted. “But at least now he’ll stay quiet.”

The front door of the warehouse exploded inward just as Chuck and Lili slipped into the library. Chuck pressed his palm to the doorframe and whispered, “Silmä inakmään.”

The door vanished.

Boots thundered through the hallway. Voices barked orders. Metal scraped. Something shattered.

Lili backed away, breath held tight in her chest. She tied the hem of her dress into a knot and scanned the room before grabbing the fire poker.

Chuck leaned against the wall, ear pressed flat.

“CLEAR!” came the shouts. One room after another.

Minutes dragged by.

When the warehouse finally fell quiet, Chuck pointed to an empty glass resting on a plate of half-eaten cookies at his desk. The glass jumped through the air and into his hand. With nimble dexterity, Chuck spun it around silently and pressed it gently to the wall, then placed his ear against it.

“…wouldn’t know, sir.”

“Alright. If they’d been here, they’d be gone by now.”

“Orders?”

“Is the machine intact?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll have to disassemble it.”

“Get the engineers. Box everything.”

“And the notes?”

“Everything. Bolts, schematics, paper. Take it all.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chuck rested his forehead against the wall.

Of course, they would take it all.

Morty was too trusting. Too kind. A genius who believed improvement and goodwill were enough to protect him from systems built on fear.

Chuck’s mind raced through possibilities, branching outcomes unfolding faster than he could follow. It was the gift that had always cursed him…seeing futures others refused to acknowledge.

A hand touched his shoulder.

He spun.

Lili clamped a hand over his mouth before he could speak. “Shhh,” she whispered. She’d already changed back into her vest and trousers. “They’re still out there.”

Now he heard it…laughter, heavy objects dragged across the floor, glass breaking.

Chuck nodded. She released him.

“You didn’t move for a long time,” she said quietly. “They’re tearing everything apart.”

“They’re taking Morty’s work,” Chuck replied.

Lili’s jaw tightened. “There’s nothing we can do?”

“Not without being caught.”

He shook himself free of the haze, blinking until the present snapped back into focus. When he turned to her, his expression was steady, though his voice trembled. “This is not going well, Liliolevanumua. And I don’t yet know how to fix it.”

He guided her away from the wall and eased her into a chair by the fireplace. “I need your help.”

She frowned but stayed silent.

“I know you’re angry,” he said. “Dragging you into this. But you began something you don’t yet understand.” He fought to stay grounded, then took her hand firmly. “I didn’t do this to punish you, child. Taking you with us. I did it to protect you.”

“Protect me?” she asked. “From what?”

His eyes locked onto hers, steel-blue and unwavering. “From your father.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“I know you’re running,” he continued softly. “And I know why.”

Lili’s eyes flooded. She shut them tight, jaw clenched. It was a truth she had never spoken aloud.

“I know that you sought one of the shards to use as, shall we say, leverage? A way to negotiate your way out of a future obligation.” Chuck released her hand slowly. “If you help me,” he said, “I will help you escape.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Why?” Her voice wavered. “Why would you help me…after I brought this world closer to destruction?”

Chuck smiled at her…gentle, almost fond.

Then he snorted and clapped a hand over his mouth, glancing toward the wall as something massive scraped past on the other side. “Pshaw. Don’t flatter yourself, child. You don’t have that much influence on the world. Not yet, anyway.”

Lili blinked.

“No,” he continued in a whisper, “you’re simply a stuck-up, pompous, selfish girl who tried to steal something that didn’t belong to her.” He squinted at her. “Frankly, you ought to be bent over and smacked with a wooden spoon.”

Her mouth fell open.

Chuck plowed on, warming to the topic. “That’s the trouble with teenagers. No respect for their elders. Though I don’t blame them entirely. Children don’t invent themselves, you know.” He waved a hand irritably. “They learn what they’re shown. And parents…well. Parents are the real problem.”

He leaned closer, voice fierce but low. “Never met a parent who didn’t want the best for their child. But wanting and knowing how are two very different things. Too many chase importance instead of building it.”

Lili stared.

“What could be more important than raising decent people?” he demanded softly. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

He exhaled, some of the fire leaving him. Then he took her hands in his.

“But you,” he said, smiling again, “didn’t get what you should have gotten. Did you?”

Her shoulders folded inward. Her chin dipped.

“I remember your mother,” he said quietly. “That’s how I recognized you.” He lifted her chin gently. “You look just like her.”

A fragile smile slipped through her curls.

“That’s why,” he said, “if you help me now…I’ll help you run.”

Her head snapped up. “You’ll—?”

“Give you the means to start your own life. Far from your father.” His eyes twinkled. “I have friends in many lands. Good people. Provided you behave and don’t tarnish my flawless reputation.” He grinned. “And if you wish to stay with us, I won’t object.” He smiled. “Turns out you’re quite clever. If I had been blessed with a daughter, I would have liked her to be like you.”

Her breath caught.

Clockworks City, miserable as it had been, suddenly felt…worth it. Her prayers—half-formed, half-forgotten—had been answered. She would never have to go home again.

Chuck straightened and held out his hand. “Do we have a bargain?”

She reached for it.

He pulled his hand back.

“You must give me your word, Liliolevanumua,” he said firmly. “You will help me. Specifically, help me get the elf back so we can leave this island.”

His expression hardened. “It will not be easy. I’m offering you a life…for a life.”

Her stomach twisted.

Freedom. Real freedom. The kind that let her choose who she became, not who she was assigned to be.

It didn’t matter what the task was.

She took his hand and gripped it tight. “We have a bargain.”

Chuck chuckled softly and patted the back of her hand.

“You really knew my mother?” she asked.

He nodded. “A greater woman was never born.” He tapped her nose with a knuckle. “And a noble example for any young woman to follow.”

She smiled then.

Truly smiled.

For the first time since arriving.

Chuck sniffed.

His nose wrinkled.

He coughed.

“…Is it just me?” he muttered, “or do you smell smoke?”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell, Dax and Alhannah win the Trench Wars championship in a near impossible feat. As they climb to the victory stand to address the 2 million screaming fans, the magical disguises created by Chuck fail…on live TV.

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Chapter 72

The loudest sound was the pounding in my ears.

Okay, it wasn’t actually a sound,…it was pressure.

But that pressure sounded like war drums beating inside my skull, warning of something terrible just over the horizon.

It took a moment to realize it was my heartbeat.

Rain drizzled down my face as I blinked, trying hard to focus.

The Trench Wars stadium wrapped around me…a massive gnome-built bowl of stone and steel. The place was gargantuan, even in my human form…bigger than any football stadium I’d seen on TV back home. Fans stood frozen in front of their seats, staring.

Two million of them.

All of them were deathly silent.

It was a whole new level of creepy.

Dax, Alhannah, and I stood atop the champion platform. We’d just won the greatest extreme sport in the country, which most sources said couldn’t be done. Yet here we were.

A heartbeat later, the charms Chuck had made to hide our identities…failed.

All the cameras were on us.

Live.

Sending our images out to the gnome population of 1.5 billion Clockwork City citizens.

I didn’t need to look up to know what the screens showed. I could feel it to the soles of my feet.

All eyes were on a human, an evolu who looked way too much like a vallen that had grown wide instead of up, and Alhannah, the people’s champion…bloodied and unconscious.

Now, everyone saw faces no one was supposed to see.

“Psst!” Dax grunted.

I barely registered it.

With his arm in a sling, he was struggling to hold Alhannah upright. She sagged onto his hip, her hands scraping the stone.

“Wendell!” he hissed again, louder.

He finally had to let her slip. Dropping to one knee, he caught her before her head struck the platform. “Hang in there, kiddo,” he murmured.

For some reason, I couldn’t stop watching Dusty Beckworth and Pip Flocker.

The Trench Wars announcers were sprinting across the arena floor, heading for the nearest exit like their lives depended on it.

That’s when it hit me.

I swallowed hard. My throat made an embarrassing noise that echoed farther than it should have. My eyes dropped to the microphone lying near my feet.

This was the moment we had fought for.

Shouldn’t I say…something?

Reassure them.

Explain what they’re seeing before someone makes an assumption?

I mean, they weren’t moving…at all. Which was the weird thing. They weren’t screaming. No one was running.

They were just…staring.

THA-THUMP-THUMP.

My stomach cramped hard, and the desire to wretch jumped into my throat.

Something was very wrong.

Why are they all so quiet?

THA-THUMP-THUMP.

“Port us out of here, Dax,” I said.

He looked up at me, confused. “What?”

To the west of the platform, a pilot pit door opened. The sound of the screeching metal echoed so loudly it reverberated throughout the stadium.

Centurions marched out in formation. Black leather riot armor. Mirrored helmets. Long blue rods crackled at the tips.

Awwww crap.

THA-THUMP-THUMP.

“I said port us out of here!” I snapped. “Now!”

Heavy boots hit the ground in perfect unison. The sound rolled through the stadium like distant thunder.

Dax’s ears twitched. “Right,” he said, uncertain. “Get close, kid. I don’t know how much strength I’ve got left.”

I dropped to my knees, curling in tight beside Alhannah. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced for the crack of teleportation magic.

Nothing happened.

“Ungh—”

Dax slumped forward and slid off my back, hitting the platform with a wet thud. Blood seeped from beneath his bandage, trailing between his oversized brows and down his cheek.

“Dax!” I rolled him over to get a better look.

“I’m fine,” he winced. “Just…can’t port. I’m sorry, kid. Too much.”

“It’s okay,” I said, “I’ve got you.” But it didn’t feel okay. The stories I’d heard from Alhannah and Chuck about the Government Faction weren’t pretty. Gnomes did not want visitors.

Period.

We had to get the heck out of here…and fast.

I hauled Dax up and slung him over one shoulder. With the other arm, I scooped Alhannah against my chest, cradling her like she weighed nothing.

Then I ran.

Help me, I begged silently. I didn’t know how to pray to the Ithari, or even if I should…but I did it, anyway. Please…help us get out of here. Our friends are already hurt. We need to keep them safe!

Not sure if it was what I said, or the fear swelling up in my chest, but power instantly surged through my veins. It was warm and electric, lending my legs strength.

You don’t have to tell me twice.

I took off, away from the Centurions.

They instantly broke into a sprint behind me.

No time. No plan. Just run.

The west wall loomed ahead.

I needed a door. Any door.

Someone screamed from the stands.

A sharp, piercing sound.

Pure terror.

…and that’s all it took.

The stadium exploded in panic.

“He’s coming to get us!”

“They’ll eat us!”

“It’s another invasion!”

Gnomes surged toward the exits, climbing over seats, over each other, clawing and shoving and trampling anything in their way.

“Well,” Dax muttered between labored grunts, bouncing on my shoulder, “that’s more like it. Thought for a second they’d grown spines.”

“What’s wrong with them?” I gasped, my legs now burning.

“They’re scared of big folk,” he said. “Never quite made sense to me. Doesn’t matter how many biggies there are. If you’re twice their size, they assume you’re hungry for gnome.”

“They think I want to eat…”

Door.

I saw it.

A pit entrance was left open.

A microphone lay just outside it…the one Pip was still holding as he fled.

Almost there.

My legs screamed.

Blood trickled down my neck, cold and sticky. Dax’s soaked clothes rubbed against my skin, sending shivers through me.

Almost free.

Then—

The pit door slammed shut.

Then locked.

“No!” I shouted.

“Was that…?” Dax gulped.

“Yeah.”

His head sagged against my back. “Fairy farts.”

Boots pounded closer.

Centurions fanned out, forming a semicircle, trapping us against the wall.

I lowered Alhannah gently to the stone. Then I set Dax beside her. Stepping forward, I placed myself between my friends and the soldiers. All I could see was my own reflection in the mirrored visors closing in.

Oh, this was so not good.

Dax looked up at me, eyes unfocused. “They ain’t gonna be nice to us.”

I forced a smile I didn’t feel.

“Yeah,” I said, raising my hands in submission. “I know.”

The hallways throbbed under the crushing weight of bodies.

Fear had a smell.

It was sharp. Metallic.

It tangled with sweat and panic as fans shoved their way toward the nearest exits, scraping shoulders and skulls along cement walls.

Skin tore.

Blood smeared.

No one stopped.

Höbin watched gnomes trample one another, deaf to pleas and screams. This wasn’t a crowd anymore. It was a force. A single, mindless surge that demanded release.

The strong stayed upright, shoving their way through, noses barely above the tide, while the small disappeared beneath it.

Some gnomes drowned.

The Trench stadium’s white halls soon bled red.

…and there was nothing the historian could do about it.

Höbin clenched his jaw, ignoring the warm trickle down his own cheek. He reached up and adjusted the slider near where his left ear used to be, fingers slipping on blood. The connection to his cybernetic eye flickered, stuttered, then failed completely.

“Idiot,” he muttered.

There was no time to repair it.

He snapped the battery pack off and kept moving.

The mob thinned as panic funneled people outward. That helped. Höbin needed to travel in the opposite direction. He pushed against the flow, boots slipping, prosthetic foot clicking sharply against stone with every uneven step.

Click. Clack.

Click. Clack.

Click. Clack.

Too loud. Didn’t matter.

His heart hammered. Lungs burned. Time was gone. Whatever plan he’d had was already obsolete.

He spotted the stairwell too late.

By the time he reached it, he was wheezing, shoulders slamming into the railing as he caught himself from pitching forward. He leaned there, gasping, keeping a solid grip on the metal bars. His eyes watered as he looked down.

Three flights.

Below, the Trench yawned open. The arena floor churned with movement. Centurions dragged limp bodies toward pit doors, armor glinting under harsh lights.

Höbin swore softly.

Without his mechanical eye, he couldn’t tell who they’d caught.

“No, no, no,” he rasped, fingers digging into the rail. His legs trembled, threatening mutiny.

The authorities wouldn’t parade prisoners through the open. Not after this. Exposure caused the panic. Containment would be next.

Hidden. Quiet.

His lips twitched.

“Garage,” he grunted.

He turned and ran.

Each step jarred his leg, vibration rattling up his spine. His heart struggled to keep pace, old and stubborn and furious at him for asking so much.

“I’m too old for this nonsense,” he growled between breaths.

Plans came slowly now. That was the truth he hated most.

Gnomes were curious by nature. Brilliant at spotting patterns. That was why the situation had already spiraled out of control. They wouldn’t be fooled. They wouldn’t be reasoned with.

And he couldn’t negotiate.

He was an exile. Being seen in Clockworks City at all was grounds for execution.

“So,” Höbin muttered, skidding to a stop at the elevator bank, “shock and awe it is.”

He slapped the call button and dug into his vest. His fingers closed around a familiar ring.

“Well, Chuck,” he panted, slipping it on, “I sincerely hope you planned ahead.”

The elevator chimed.

Höbin smiled thinly.

“Please,” I begged again.

The word came out wet and wrong, blood spraying from the split corners of my mouth.

Forced to carry my friends to the seclusion of the underground parking garage, the Centurions closed off the exits. Transport trucks were sent for, and then the majority of the squad was sent to deal with crowd control. When the transport arrived, they put me and Dax in chains, and tossed Alhannah’s limp body aside.

We were left with the ‘fun’ ones to watch over us.

I’m guessing true bullies from the banter between them.

Class acts.

They beat Dax unconscious with batons first. Not because he was a threat, but because he wasn’t a gnome. Dax’s head bandage was solid red now; blood caked his face.

They also kicked Alhannah.

Repeatedly.

She never woke up.

When I tried to defend her, they all turned on me.

There wasn’t anything to do but protect my head as best I could and curl into a ball. Batons and boots to my back, ribs, stomach, legs and arms.

“I don’t… mean harm,” I pleaded. “…to anyone,” I choked out. “If you’d just listen, I…”

“Shut up,” a Centurion barked.

The rifle butt struck my chin.

The sound cracked through my skull, and the world snapped sideways. Pain flared white-hot for a heartbeat…then everything went dark.

My body sagged forward, chains catching me before I could fall. My head lolled, chin slick with blood, breath shallow but steady.

“Can you believe this guy?” one of the Centurions snorted. He nudged Dax’s battered face with the toe of his boot. “Didn’t know vallen came this small.”

“Naw.”

“How in TGII do you think it got this far into the island? Look at it. Ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The other guard scoffed. “How did they get on the island? You serious? They just won Trench Wars. That’s like some guttersnipe breaking into your house and out-baking yer mom’s secret bread recipe and serving it to you! They mocked all that’s good in us. These two, and that one.” He jabbed a finger toward Alhannah’s unmoving body. “A freakin traitor, she is. Who knows how long they’ve been here?”

Silence settled between them.

“You think there’s more?” one asked quietly. “Walking around. Pretending to be… you know. Like us?”

“Us as in gnomes, or us as Centurions?”

That made the other pause. He scratched the smooth curve of his mirrored helmet. “You ever wonder why all our helmets are mirrored?”

“So I can do my job and still have a normal life, idiot. Can’t exactly arrest my mother-in-law and have my own wife recognize me.”

“Huh.” He nodded. “Fair point.”

“The Captain’s always been a little off, though.”

“From your mouth to my ears.”

Boots echoed.

The commanding officer strode up in black and red, clipboard in hand. “Bentley. Cadson.”

Both guards snapped to attention. “SIR!”

“We’ve been ordered to control the panic outside. Minimize casualties after the prisoners are secured.” He didn’t look up. “Gassing the crowd is authorized, but if you hurry, I’ll allow a few taser applications for morale.”

The Centurions elbowed each other excitedly.

“The aliens are chained and ready for transport, sir.”

DING.

All three spun toward the elevator, hands dropping to sidearms.

The doors slid open.

Empty.

They relaxed.

The officer kicked Alhannah once, hard enough to draw a grunt from her throat. “Secure the trash and lock the transport. We need all hands on deck. Any trouble, call for backup.”

“SIR-YES SIR!”

The officer vanished down the corridor.

“Put him on the list too,” Bentley muttered, jerking his chin toward Wendell. “What a turd.”

“Quit whining and help me load the traitor.”

A tin can clattered across the cement.

It bounced once.

Twice.

Stopped between them.

“Oh cra—”

The darts fired.

Fifty thousand volts snapped through their armor, pop-wires crackling as both Centurions collapsed, limbs jerking violently. Helmets rattled loose and skidded across the floor.

“Sorry, boys,” Höbin whispered.

He removed the Shade ring from his finger, kissed it once, and tucked it away.

He went to Alhannah first.

Blood crusted her face, bruises blooming dark along her cheeks and throat. Höbin checked her breathing, then pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

Inside the transport, the smell of blood and metal made his stomach twist.

Dax was chained to the wall, jaw shattered, face swollen beyond recognition. Höbin’s fingers trembled as he traced the unnatural ridges beneath the skin.

“Those bastards,” he breathed.

Then he turned to me.

The smiley face on my shirt stared back at him. Frozen.

Höbin lifted my head carefully.

His breath hitched.

The Centurions had been gentle with Dax.

Höbin worked the lock anyway, retracting the tip of his artificial pinky to reveal the pick. It was useless. Gnome shackles were not meant to be opened by hands like his.

He leaned forward until his forehead rested against the chains. “I’m sorry, Wendell.”

“Höbin…”

The voice was barely there.

The gnome turned.

Dax’s lips moved. Eyes hidden beneath swollen flesh, searching for sound.

“I can’t get the shackles off,” Höbin said, voice breaking. “I have to move you to use the port key, but I can’t—”

Broken fingers brushed his knee.

“Go.”

Höbin hesitated, port key clenched in his hand.

“Take her,” Dax whispered. “And go.”

Höbin placed his flesh hand in Dax’s grasp and leaned in, touching foreheads. “I’m so sorry.”

Dax squeezed once.

Then let go.

Höbin stepped back, defeated.

He carried Alhannah away as the Centurions began to stir, anger and fear burning behind his eyes. The port key flared in his palm.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

Then he vanished.

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Author’s Note

Welcome to the start of SEASON 6!! I’m excited to get back into Wendell’s adventures and work toward the publication of the second volume in the Chronicles of a Hero series.

2026 is going to be a fantastic year, with many surprises and fun events, treats and if all goes well, some immersive merch for everyone =)

If you’ve enjoyed this series thus far, please let me know by telling someone about this story. I rely on word of mouth for all this to grow, so don’t be shy.

Here’s to a new year and a new season!!
Jaime

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell shows Dax his growing control of magic. The moment is quickly stolen by the news of a Bellows factory fire killing hundreds of workers. A fire that didn’t look like an accident.

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Chapter 71

“You want me to what?” Chuck sputtered, nearly choking on his own spit.

I tightened the zipper on my pilot jacket and stared at myself in the mirror. “I want you to give Morty the Lanthya Shard. The one you took from Til-Thorin. You do still have it, right?”

The wizard’s eyes went wide. “Well, of course I have it, but—”

“Then give it to him.”

Dax was perched on the edge of the desk, legs swinging as he puffed on a cigar like he owned the room. “Not sure that’s a good idea, kid.”

I turned, glaring. “Really? And why’s that, hmm? This is Morty we’re talking about—Morty, who’s done nothing but use his knowledge to help his people. If anyone deserves that shard, it’s him.”

“Oh, I ain’t disagreeing with the sentiment,” Dax said, waving his cigar. “I just don’t think anyone oughta have a shard, period. That’s too much power for one person.”

I snorted. “But he has it!” I jabbed a finger at Chuck. “And aren’t you the one always complaining about how dangerous it is when he uses magic?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And don’t you always say it’s a mistake every time he starts mumbling incantations and waving his hands around?”

Dax winced and glanced at Chuck, half-apologetic. “Well… yeah.”

The wizard gasped and clutched his beard like a wounded maiden. “Monkey!”

“So tell me,” I said, keeping my tone calm and level, “what has Morty ever done to hurt you? To betray you? To let you down in any way?”

Chuck’s mouth opened, finger lifted, ready for the usual retort—but nothing came out. He froze, looking like a frog caught mid-hop. Slowly, he turned to Dax.

The elf shrugged. “I got nothin’.”

Chuck sighed dramatically, beard quivering. “Fine! I’ll consider it. But that’s all I’m promising.” He puffed out his chest and glared at me. “I’m not about to hand over one of the most powerful forces in existence to a tinkering fool, Wendell. Now, you two—get out there! You’ve got a championship to win, and a wizard’s promise isn’t something I break lightly.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “Thank you, Chuck.”

The old man huffed, flicking his beard over his shoulder like it offended him. He flung open the library doors with a theatrical sweep. “Come along then, heroes. We don’t want to be late.”

As the transport rumbled into the underground garage, I caught a glimpse of Alhannah tugging her father’s sleeve to keep him from following the rest of us out.

Shamas was already at my side, his usual calm intensity back in full force. He guided Dax and me toward the elevator, then planted himself beside the doors like a stone sentinel while the others filed in behind us.

Morty and Deloris looked like they were headed to some royal banquet instead of a war zone. Morty had squeezed himself into a brown church suit that probably hadn’t seen daylight in a decade, and Deloris—well, she looked radiant, dressed in what could only be described as a bouquet come to life. The petals of her tea-length gown shimmered under the garage lights, giving off the illusion she was made of blossoms.

Then came Chuck. The old wizard strutted like a peacock in a tuxedo, twirling a dragon-headed cane with enough flair to make an entrance on any stage. His beard—braided, clamped with steel rings, and hanging like a badge of honor—swung with each step. I swear he’d spent more time styling it than the ladies had in doing their hair and makeup.

Beside him, gripping his arm tightly, was Lili.

She looked…breathtaking.

…though I tried not to make it obvious.

Her one-shoulder yellow gown flowed elegantly, perfectly matching her copper-toned skin. Her hair was braided into a crown that gleamed in the light, with a few rebellious curls brushing her cheeks and bare neck. She looked as though she’d been pulled out of a dream and dropped into this grimy gnome city—and somehow made it all seem less gray.

Behind me, I could hear Alhannah’s voice trembling slightly. “Dad, are you sure you want to do this?”

I turned just enough to see her clutching Höbin’s hands, the stubborn worry etched across her face. “If they find you here, they won’t banish you this time. They could…” Her voice faltered. We all knew what the government did to those it branded traitors.

The old gnome smiled, cupping her cheek with his hand, his missing fingers giving the motion a sort of delicate grace. “My sweet little girl…I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You’re making history tonight, and by TGII, I’m here to see it. There’s no way I’m letting this pass me by.” He gave her nose a playful tap. “Besides,” he added with a wink, tapping his chest, “I’ve got a backup plan if things get…sticky.”

“Red!” Shamas called from the elevator, his tone sharp and commanding. “Time to go!”

Höbin leaned in and kissed his daughter’s cheek. “Good luck, sweetie,” he whispered with a grin. “Rip their heads off.”

I couldn’t help but smile.

For all the chaos, danger, and impossible odds ahead of us…at least we had moments like that.

The hum of the crowd was deafening, even through the walls of the prep chamber. From where I stood behind the lift doors, I could feel the vibrations of millions of gnomes pounding their feet, clapping, and chanting in rhythm. It was enough to make the steel beneath my boots tremble.

Up above, the camera crews were already rolling, streaming to the hundreds of monitors attached to just about every surface around us. I could hear the muffled count through the stadium speakers.

“Live in four… three… two…”

Then the roar hit.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlegnomes,” boomed the announcer’s voice, echoing through the dome, “to the historic finals of W.E.T., INC.’s Trench Wars—Season Four!”

I could imagine the lens sweeping across that sea of faces—this new stadium packed to capacity. Two million screaming fans shoulder to shoulder, waving banners, throwing confetti, and lighting up the stands like a living fire.

“This epic arena,” the announcer continued, “is five times the size of the old one, crowned with a crystal dome that opens to the night sky!”

Monitors cut to the studio.

I’d seen these two before—Dusty Beckworth and his ever-grinning co-host, Pip Flocker. The perfect pair of talking heads.

“Thanks, Dusty,” Pip said, waving his cards. “And may I just say, this has got to be the event of the century! Every seat filled, every screen tuned in…over a billion pay-per-viewers across the city!”

“You don’t say, Pip!”

“I do, Dusty, I do!”

Even in the pit, I could hear the fake enthusiasm oozing through the speakers.

The feed switched to a clean-cut gnome in priestly robes, standing like he’d just swallowed a broomstick. “And of course,” Dusty continued, “we’re honored tonight by the presence of Father Noah himself, representing the Temple of TGII.”

The camera zoomed in on the gnome’s perfectly trimmed mustache and wire-thin beard as the caption appeared: Father Noah, Great Temple of Nothing.

Then came the clip.

“Though we are here to be pillars of the community and to fight for the faith,” Noah droned, “we cannot stand idly by or condone injustice…even in friendly competition. The Church acknowledges Armored Ensemble as the previous victor, but feels it only just to extend this match to Steel and Stone. Tonight will allow Mr. Dipmier to participate when he was cheated…and grant grace to Banshee when she had failed.”

He smiled—or tried to. The camera froze mid-frame, catching the twist of his lips that looked more like a snarl than mercy.

Pip shuddered audibly. “Well, that was a canned sermon if I ever heard one! Good thing we got some life out of the Steel and Stone camp earlier. Here’s their head programmer, Nathan Taylor.”

The feed jumped, showing Nat in his wheelchair, blinking at the camera like a deer caught in headlights. “Y-you caught me off guard,” he stammered. Nibbles leaned in beside him, her face smudged with grease, waving cheerfully.

“Hi, Mom!” she squeaked.

Then from off-camera, Tumbler’s gravelly voice barked. “Tell ‘em we’re gonna kick the butt-grease outta those S.L.A.G.s!”

Nat blinked. “Uh—we’re grateful for this opportunity to—uh…”

“To bury ‘em!” Tumbler hollered. The camera jostled, then fell sideways, catching the bottom of Nat’s chair and a lot of chaos.

“You’ll edit that, right?” Nat whimpered as a wrench clanged against something metal.

And then…silence.

The feed cut back to Dusty and Pip, both wiping away tears of laughter.

“You’ve got to love honest gnomes, don’t you, Pip?” Dusty said.

“As long as they want your autograph, Dusty!”

More laughter.

Then, Dusty ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair, smiling wide for the camera. “Well, folks, the pilots are locked in and ready to rumble! Let’s take a look at this year’s stats as they rise to the arena floor!”

The crowd erupted again, the sound of the chant starting low, building like thunder.

“GNO-LAUM! GNO-LAUM! GNO-LAUM!”

The lift beneath my feet started to move. My hands tightened around the controls.

Here we go again.

“…and that makes three. You’re all good to go.”

Nat’s voice crackled through the com-link, calm but buzzing with excitement. On my monitor, I could see him tapping away at the HD interface in the control booth. The new setup looked incredible—sleek, modern, and packed with more tech than I could wrap my head around. Honestly, I was just grateful he’d spent the extra time building out his programs and fine-tuning strategy.

“How we doing, Cryo?” he asked.

The shimmering blue face that lived inside the crystal disc flickered into view. “The corporate programmers have yet to fill all the holes in their system, Nathan,” he said smoothly. “There are still… opportunities we can exploit.”

Nat grinned, his hands flying across the keys. “That’s what I want to hear.”

Freak leaned into his own mic, cheeks jiggling with enthusiasm. “Alright, remember what I told ya! We’ve tweaked your systems and localized some functions. Turnpike’s arms and legs now operate independently, which means more agility, faster recovery. You probably won’t notice it until things get hairy, but trust me, it’ll save your metal hide.”

Dax chuckled. “Yeah? How’d you test it?”

“Deflected one of Alpha’s bullets, that’s how!” Tumbler bellowed from somewhere behind Freak, voice half-drowned by static and laughter. “I’m tellin’ ya, my blasted arms are still cramped from welding all day!”

“Nice,” Dax said with a satisfied growl.

Alhannah’s voice came through next, full of irritation. “You messed with my cushioning again, didn’t you? How am I supposed to fight if I can’t move right?”

“Orders from Wheels,” Freak replied bluntly.

There was a pause…and I could feel her glare through the headset.

Freak cleared his throat. “You could’ve suffered a lot worse than a concussion last time, Red. Take it as a sign we care, huh? We want you to finish the match alive.”

Grumbling filled the line. Possibly a few choice words in Gnomish.

Then came the thrum beneath my feet. The floor vibrated as the lifts under each of our S.L.A.G.s began to rise.

I smiled. “Here we go, ladies and gentlegnomes. Let’s make it fast, furious, and completely overwhelming.”

Dax’s laugh rolled over the comms like thunder. “Would ya look at that—our little hero’s turned into a fighting animal!”

Alhannah’s tone was smug. “Nice to have another one in the family.”

Above us, the announcers were practically salivating into their microphones.

“As we all know, Dusty,” Pip crooned, “there’s been some bad blood between these two teams…and tonight, it’s going to boil over.”

“Couldn’t agree more, Pip! If I had to pick one to watch, it’d be…WHAT IN CLOCKWORKS!??”

“What’s wrong, Dusty?” Pip chuckled, “Not ready for the main event?”

Then I noticed it through the monitors.

The entire stadium had gone silent.

…gnomes by the hundreds of thousands were rushing to the chained walls above the Trench pit.

Dusty’s face looked confused on the screen. “I think someone just fell from the stadium seating, Pip!”

Pip gasped, leaning in towards the camera, glancing at his own monitor. “You don’t say!!”

“I do say, Pip. I DO! A fat little gnome in a cape…LOOK, in between Hook and Beatdown!”

“Oh my!” Pip gasped again.

“He’s GETTING UP!” Dusty shouted, bouncing up and down in his chair. “LOOK AT THAT!”

The stadium exploded with cheers.

Pip laughed. “That is absolutely insane AND lucky! To fall from that height and to get back up?”

Dusty frowned again. “What’s he doing, Pip?”

It was Pip’s turn to frown. “Is he…challenging the S.L.A.G.s?”

“Not the wisest choice,” Dusty chuckled, “Trench rules specifically declare that participants are fair game in the pit.”

“Then again, he’s just an unprotected spectator, Dusty.”

Hook then leaned down onto one knee, bent forward, reached out with a single hand…

And flicked the gnome with a finger.

I sure hope he survived the impact, because that poor gnome flew across the stadium and out the hangar doors.

Ouch.

Dusty sat back in his chair, looked directly into the cameras and shrugged. “Not sure that matters.”

Without missing a beat, both announcers flashed their far-too-white smiles.

“As I was saying, Pip, if I had to pick one to watch, it’d be…Turnpike! Beatdown and Hook are both out for blood after getting humiliated by that flashy acrobat in round two!”

The music hit…thunderous, pulsing, and laced with electric bass. It shook the air like a living thing. The crowd roared back, a tidal wave of sound crashing against the glass dome as we rose into the light.

The second my S.L.A.G. cleared the lift, the brilliance hit me full in the face.

Spotlights.

Smoke.

Streaming banners.

Two million fans chanting, screaming, losing their minds.

I glanced down at my monitors…and froze.

This place was massive.

Unlike the previous arena, where obstacles and towers gave you cover, this was a battlefield stripped bare…a perfect, endless grid of light and polished metal. Above us, the crystal dome stretched higher than I’d ever seen, wide open to the skies. It was both beautiful and terrifying.

A pilot’s paradise…and a death trap.

“Heads up, boys,” Alhannah’s voice came through, calm as ever.

Across the stadium, lining the far wall, stood The Trinity. Beatdown. Armored Ensemble. Hook. All gleaming, rebuilt, and terrifyingly pristine—like they’d just rolled off a new production line.

“You seeing what I’m seeing?” Dax said. “Tell me it’s not just me…those S.L.A.G.s look…different.”

I zoomed in on my screen.

My stomach turned.

“Yeah…someone got a serious upgrade.”

Their armor gleamed like molten chrome under the lights.

No dents.

No burns.

Hook’s red optics flared like living fire under that tattered cloak.

My throat went dry. The sheer intimidation radiating from them was unreal.

Come on, Wendell. You’re a pro. Act like it.

But inside, I felt like a kid again—small, out of place, and painfully aware that millions were watching. Everything…everything…came down to this match.

I pressed my fingers to the Ithari embedded in my chest. “Are you ready?” I whispered.

Warmth spread through my spine, tingling from the base of my skull to my lower back.

The fear melted.

My pulse steadied.

Then let’s do this.

The instant the buzzer sounded, the arena erupted…two million gnomes roaring as the six titans of steel launched from the walls like bullets from a rifle.

“And there’s the buzzer, Pip—and OH MY GOODNESS, someone’s out for revenge!” Dusty’s voice cracked through the speakers like lightning. “All six pilots are out from the wall, but Beatdown looks more like a wildcat than anything else! Booker is pushing it tonight!”

“Turnpike’s no slouch either, Dusty,” Pip countered. “Look at that S.L.A.G. haul bolts! It may not match Trinity’s speed, but we’re about to see how it matches in pure prowess!”

Their voices faded as the battlefield filled my view. Beatdown tore across the open floor, claws raking against the metal panels, eyes glowing like twin furnaces.

Dax met him head-on.

The two S.L.A.G.s collided mid-air with a bone-jarring CRACK. The impact rattled through my cockpit like an earthquake.

“UNGH!” Dax grunted over the com, jerking his controls. Turnpike flipped backward, tumbled, then rolled up and over a shoulder in a perfect recovery. “I ain’t that easy, punk!”

Sliding one hand through the spiked knuckle slots on his console, he threw a virtual haymaker. On-screen, Turnpike’s arm pistoned forward like a freight train.

The blow connected.

“OH!” Dusty cried out dramatically. “Now that’s what you call a punch! A perfect hit to the head…sending Beatdown sliding toward the far wall!”

“Don’t forget the main event, Dusty,” Pip added, his tone giddy. “Here comes the clash of the night—The Gnolaum versus Armored Ensemble! Looks like both sides want to leave these two alone to duke it out…”