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.
Chapter 85
G.R.R. Tip #38
Do everything in your power to make plans idiot proof. Just keep in mind that the world usually finds a way to build a better idiot.
“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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