82. DIRTY SMILES

Morty froze…and tried not to wet his trousers.

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

Don’t judge a book by it’s cover, they say.
Well, yeah—just look at the book your reading! But that’s not my point.
Don’t judge people by their appearance. That man in the fancy car may be successful—but the repo man might be two cars behind him. The same goes for a persons character. Clothes does not make the man…or woman.

Take the time to find out what’s inside the packaging before you judge.
You might be pleasantly surprised.

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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Own your own copy of CHOICES

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