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!!
Chapter 88
It doesn’t matter how much you research, how you prepare yourself or exert yourself — you won’t always see the outcome you expected.
“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!
Own your own copy of CHOICES
Brutal. How many cliffhangers is that???