There are times when the only thing that matters is freedom

Freedom from pain, anguish, sorrow, control and the list goes on.

It’s at those times when we find a renewed sense of ourselves. That inner being willing to do whatever it takes to obtain that freedom. At the same time, we wonder where that person within us went—that such evils were allowed to happen in the first place?

Mr. Upshot pushed the rest of the chemical through the syringe. The sea-green liquid rolled down the tube, mixing with the clear fluid in the I.V.. “There you go. he’s all set for another 24 hours.”

“And Dax?”

The scientist flashed a wry smile. “I’ll look in on him now. Make sure he’s acceptably comfortable.”

Ian frowned, “Not too comfortable.”

Mr. Upshot stopped at the door, but did not turn around. “Of course not.”

With a quiet click, the albino and his employer were left alone.

“It’s all about to come to an end,” Ian whispered, the faint, sour smell of his his unbrushed teeth and last meal on his breath. He reached over and patted the prone hand reassuringly.

Everything was going according to plan, more or less. Yes, there had been hiccups, but through it all, new opportunities had presented themselves. Delicious opportunities. The kidnapping of the Shrub children was a perfect example…the albino couldn’t have planned anything better than that. Now he had control of the government, the media and the military forces of Clockworks. The Gnolaum couldn’t be controlled, he’d proven that—but his rants made in public, especially his declaration of revolution, had set the city on fire. Emotions were running amuck and crimes were being committed left and right as riots surged in every district.

It was the perfect diversion.

The violence and rebellion would mask just about any moves Ian cared to make. Even the Church had fallen into silence. Ian didn’t know where Wendell was at this point…but he no longer cared. The people were exactly where the albino wanted them and it was time to make his final play.

“Just one more pesky detail and I can usher in a new age for our people,” he smiled. There was an air of pride and triumph in his voice, but President Shrub couldn’t hear a thing.

Sweat beaded across his brow and cheeks, sickly green rings around his eyes. The only sound that could be heard in the room was the faint hissing sound of oxygen pushing through his nose tube. Ian watched the rapid eye movements under Shrub’s lids, the sign of deep sleep. “I hope you’re dreaming of better days, my old friend,” he whispered again, leaning back in his chair. “because those days are almost here. That’s why I did this, you know. It had to happen. We’ve become weak, tolerant of the despicable ways in which we are seen by the other races.”

Ian stood up abruptly, shoving the chair from him. Spinning on his heel, he paced the length of the Presidents bedroom. He was so close. So very close. Had he missed anything? For several minutes he pondered his glorious plans—the steps he’d been forced to take and the alliances he’d made. No one would understand the horrible sacrifices he’d had to make to get this far. Would it be worth the risk?

“It’s worth the risk,” he said to himself.  His mouth curled into a devious grin. So what if there was confusion violence or loss of life. “It’s all worth it,” he said louder, “We deserve to be so much more. We are the one who have technology! Our people work on computers, develop lasers and build combustion engines…while we cower to the people around us,” he sneered, “the people we fear, who still use quill pens and parchment! They use horses…while we use monstrous S.L.A.G.s!” He laughed out loud then. It was such a preposterous thought—to fear races that were so obviously beneath the genius of the gnome race.

“I will turn this around to our advantage, Potifur.” He stopped pacing, and laced his fingers behind his back. “The people won’t care what we had to rise out of this dung. In the end they will praise your might and determination to bring them into the light…even if I have to kill half the population to do it.”

There were things to do. Plans to put in motion.

Without another word, Ian stepped out and closed the door quietly behind him.

Not once did he notice the weak, yet conscious eyes of Shrub upon him.

****

“You couldn’t throw them in the garbage can? The trash is ten feet away!” Freak kicked the empty cans of Jolt-Juice out of his path, “I’m going to add this into the workers rules and regulations of the company.”

“Oh my,” Nibbles snorted out loud, “Listen to the business owner—wanting to regulate how we work now?”

Telly laughed, holstering the drill at his hip. Grabbing the sides of the ladder, he flipped his boots to the outer edge , squeezed his legs tight and slide down. “Maybe he forgot that he got this contract with the help of his friends, huh?”

“No,” Freak teased back, jabbing the tall gnome int he ribs as he passed by the ladder, “but the managers should know what won’t be acceptable work behavior in their individual shops.”

“Managers?” Telly gulped, “Like, being in charge kind of managers?”

Freak laughed.

“Individ—you mean we get shops of our own?” Nibble squealed with glee. She watched the TNT owner change from a stride to a bounce, a sly grin on his face.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot…ever since Chuck delivered on the first part of his promise. Just on the off chance that he can pull the rest of this off, what would I actually do? How would I want the company to run?” He shook his head, “I couldn’t just offer you guys a job. That would be stupid. Besides, Telly’s completely right—I couldn’t do this without you. Not just this crazy opportunity—but for years of help. You’re all brilliant. The best talent I’ve ever seen…and I thought—this might be a good time to think about expanding. On this opportunity, I mean. If the contracts are as big as we think—why not make departments, so you can do what you love the most. After all, you deserve it—and you guys are like family.”

Tumbler flipped up his welding helmet, “If we don’t get this thing in the air, there ain’t gonna be a business!”

“Awww, Tumbler,” Telly complained, “you’re ruining the moment.”

“I ain’t doing no such thing. We have to keep our side of the deal, remember? So get back to work!” But the old gnome grinned to himself. He stared up at Freak until the fat gnome noticed. Tumbler nodded, “But I like yer thinking, Craig. A lot.”

“How close are we for a test run?” called Ernie from the S.L.A.G. pit. He wandered out into the stadium with the Shrub twins in tow. “I’m done.” Strapped to his shoulders and chest was a mini console with two joysticks. “The software is loaded and I’m itching to try this out.”

“You really know your stuff, Mr. Trench,” said Kip, “I’ve never seen someone build electronics that fast.”

Ernie adjusted the dials on his device. “When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, Kip, some things become a matter of habit.”

“…and he’s rich,” Buffy whispered to her brother.

Kip pushed her back and rolled his eyes.

“The last of the reinforced plate is in place,” Tumbler banged the machine with a gloved fist. “Nib—what about the pods?”

Welded to the thigh plates of the machine were two egg-shaped containers. Nibbles tightened the bolt holding the door securely in place. “I’m good here. The pods should be big enough to carry Dax and the President, but I’m a bit nervous about the chutes. These aren’t standard deployment devices—there’s no knowing if they’ll work correctly.”

The Trench Brother grinned, “I wouldn’t worry about Chuck, he’ll be fine.”

“I still think you’re crazy,” she pressed, “There are a dozen things that could go wrong with this. Why can’t we weld another tank on the back—double the fuel…”

“Because,” he cut her off, “we would have to rely on the old bird knowing how to maneuver for a landing—which is, I assure you, far more complicated than aiming him at the tower and shooting him towards it.” He softened his tone and forced a smile onto his face to calm her fears, “Besides, the bigger the fuel load, the bigger potential for a bomb. Burton is getting him up to speed—and with this as the main backup,” he patted the device strapped to his shoulders, “we’ll be able to get hims to the penthouse. Don’t worry.”

Kip frowned, “You sound like you’ve done this before, Mr. Trench.”

“Well,” he smirked, flipping the power switch on. The mechanics backed away from the S.L.A.G. as the machine rumbled to life. Ernie’s smirk transformed to a wide mouth grin of satisfaction. “I wouldn’t say I’ve done this exact thing, Kip—but my brother and I did go to prison for something similar. This isn’t that much of a stretch.” Winking, “This should be fun.”

The twins looked at one another dubiously.

“It won’t solve all the challenges, but if I have it calibrated correctly,” Ernie stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth as he turned the dials on the mini console, “I should be able to pilot the basic functions of the slag should anything go wrong.” Gripping the two joysticks tightly, he pushed them forward. The machine, which had been repainted from a neon blue to striped gradients of silver and grey, took a step forward…then another. Ernie sighed, “It’s a bit slow on the response time. That’s not good.”

“Not good?” grunted Tumbler, throwing his gloves to the ground. “If ya can’t take over, these boys can get killed!”

“I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice,” Ernie replied soberly, “If the old bird is right, we’ve run out of time.”

“You could always change your mind and pilot this bucket for me,” Chuck said from behind them all. He strode out from the pit with Burton and Lili. They both looked extraordinarily nervous beside him.

Ernie shook his head, “I’m grateful and all for the deals you’ve made and what you’ve done, Chuck, but I’m not going back to jail for anyone. Breaking into the Citadel is not an option. It’s just not smart.”

“Goodness boy!” the wizard blurted out, “No one claimed to be smart, just desperate.”

Nibbles put a hand to her mouth to hide her smile. “What are you wearing?”

Chuck snapped the goggles over his face and zipped up his bright orange jump suit, which made him look more like a fruit popsicle than a pilot. He wore large black boots, laced up over his calfs and black leather gloves. Across his chest in big, black letters was the slogan: Old Men Shoot For The Moon. He ran a thumb under the words and grinned. “Cool, huh?”

“Cool is not the word I would use,” Tumbler chuckled. Telly jabbed him to silence.

“How did he do?” Ernie asked his brother.

Burton stared back, numbly.

“Well?” Ernie prodded.

His brother scratched his cheek, averting his eyes, “He did learn how to turn engines the on.”

Telly gulped. “And you want him to fly thousands of feet into the air?”

“Well…,” Burton scratched his head, “No.”

“Then how is he supposed to get this machine up there and rescue Dax?” Freak gasped, “We made all the alterations…and Nibbles even made him some special goodies for the security, but you still have to pilot the darn thing…”

“Bah!” snorted Chuck, “Just aim me at the penthouse and shoot me up. Traveled the Barkum and Buntley Circus for ten years back in the day. Colby Barkum was a clever gnome—used to shoot me out of a huge cannon,” he jabbed Burton in the shoulder and winked, “Kids loved it. Landed in whipped cream.” His face froze, “Course,…I never liked waiting for them to eat me free.” He shuttered.

“This is hardly the same thing as propelling a person through the air.”

“Oh I know that,” the wizard balked, “we’ll need a bigger cannon. That and a whole lot of whipped cream.”

They all sighed.

“Why do I have to know all the silly details about piloting anyway? I have brighter people down here who can do that for me,” and he patted Ernie on the back.

Ernie bit his bottom lip nervously, “Chuck, the controls…”

“So, we ready to go?” the wizard cut in, clapping his hands together eagerly.

“Not quite,” said Burton. “We can’t launch from the stadium. The trajectory is all wrong. If we aim you from here, you’ll smack the backside of the building and miss the penthouse altogether.”

“Right,” Chuck said thoughtfully, “It wouldn’t be proper to smack anyone’s backside.”

“Stop it,” Lili poked him. “You need to listen carefully—they’re trying to help.”

“Sorry.”

“Because of all the riots breaking out in the city, I think we have a great opportunity to get this machine into a key position. The government has Centurions posted all over the place as extra eyes and ears, so we’ll need to use one of the parts trucks instead of a S.L.A.G. carrier. If you launch from here, all the fingers will point to us.”

“Can’t let that happen,” Ernie said plainly, “They’ll shut us down.”

“Right,” his brother nodded, “which…”

“What about coming back down?” Lili asked. “Won’t the Centurions be watching?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Burton assured her, “Chuck knows what to do.”

She snapped her head around at the wizard, “You do?”

Chuck tapped the tip of his nose.

****

“This doesn’t make sense!”

“Calm down, sweetheart,” Deloris whispered, giving her husbands shoulders a light squeeze, “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

“But I’m so close!” he clamored.

“Which is why this is all so exciting,” she almost laughed. Morty hadn’t had much sleep—only cat naps, attacking him at moments. As soon as his eyes would open, he was back at the side of the PROMIS. Fine tuning, rewiring and retesting the device to make sure the energy output was even and stable. She ran her fingers through the wild and now matted white hair, intertwined with his prescription goggles.

Morty rubbed his red eyes and shifted the papers on the kitchen table. With the city in such an uproar, no one seemed to be paying attention to the warehouse. It was nice to sit out in the open. Three boxes with notes and diagrams were opened next to the black generator his father had left him. He looked at the intricately crafted metal container, tapping his fingernail on the tables warped surface. “That thing is starting to annoy me,” he grumbled.

“You’re just tired,” Deloris encouraged him. “You need to taker a nap and come back to this. Pushing beyond your limits isn’t going to do anyone any good. You’re close, darling, so very close.”

“Then why can’t I see it!” he snapped. Deloris stepped back, which was enough for the tinkerer to notice his mood. “I’m sorry Del. That was…rude.” His head dropped forward with a thud into the table. “I just can’t see it. The missing piece. It’s eating away at me.”

“It could be so much worse.”

“I know,” he sighed.

The front door opened and slammed shut, causing them both to jump.

“Stupid, fat, ignorant…pig!” Höbin swore, stomping past the kitchen.

“What happened to you?” Morty called out.

Höbin skidded to a halt and shuffled back to the doorway. The historian had a huge handkerchief held to his nose, splotched with red stains. “Stupidity!” Dropping the cloth, Deloris and Morty gasped. His right eye was swollen and black, the bridge of his nose split and his top lip fat as a grape.

“Wow,” Morty’s brows jumped high. He looked up at his wife, “You’re right. I could end up like him.”

“Har. Har,” Höbin mocked, “You were right. I should never had gone out to find the seal.”

“Did you get caught?” Deloris asked, concerned. She moved to Höbin’s side and inspected his broken nose. “This is a nasty cut.”

“I’ve had worse,” he grumbled, “but no. The Shade ring did the job—it was the sorry excuse for a gnome I met once I got there that did this to me. A fat swine, named Adrian.” He snorted, then flinched, his hand going back to his nose. “If he’s a tinkerer, then I’m a troll.”

“Didn’t find the seal, I’m assuming?”

Höbin slid into the chair next to Morty. “Not even close, but I don’t believe they have it.” He touched the broken bridge of his nose with a finger and flinched. “He thought I was a bill collector after his…inventory.” He laughed, “Inventory.”

“So what happened to your face?” Deloris asked, checking the freezer for ice.

“Apparently I wasn’t the first person there, asking questions.”

Morty’s jaw dropped open, “The seal?”

Höbin nodded, “That’s my guess. So he locked the door to the shop when my back was turned and hit me when I spun around. Never saw it coming.”

“Well I hope you popped his back,” Deloris muttered. She took a handful of ice and placed it in a dirty rag.

“Deloris—that doesn’t sound like you!” Morty said, but he chuckled. “Condoning violence like that.”

“Don’t worry,” Höbin replied, “there wasn’t any violence involved.” He held up his cybernetic arm and pulled back the bottom two fingers. Small needles protruded from the tips. “I tasered him before he could swing a third time.”

Morty laughed louder, “Third?”

The historian shrugged, “He was faster than he looked.”

Deloris handed Höbin the cloth. “So the seal is gone.”

“Oh I wouldn’t say that. I don’t think fat boy ever had it. If he did, he’s too stupid to know what or where it is.” Slowly, he touched the cold, wet cloth to his nose. “Oooo. Ow. I…think I’m missing a puzzle piece here.”

Morty snorted, “That makes two of us.”

His attention went back to the black box.

****

“Which way!” Buddy hissed, checking the silencer attached to the end of his rifle.

Tabbermain looked down the multiple corridors. They didn’t look at all familiar.

“Here,” Doddle whispered, “I’ll do it.” Without explanation, he stepped out in front of the group, hugging the wall. Guards and unarmed monks continued to wander the halls, forcing them to duck into side rooms.

“We need to keep moving,” Buddy hissed again, training the rifle back onto the hallway, “And I’m plugging anyone who sees us.”

“What if it’s another fan?” Wendell added, hoping to evoke mercy in the assassin. He kept the wooden box filled with artifacts clenched tightly to his chest.

“I’m already going against my gut,” he warned, “don’t push your luck.”

“Shhhh!” Vin whispered.

Doddle close his eyes and whispered something Wendell couldn’t discern. Cupping his hands together, he blew lightly between his thumbs. A few more words and he opened his palms. A tiny light, the size of a pea, jumped up, into the air. Twirling and flipping about the gnomes head. “Take us to the Gate.”

Off the light buzzed, whipping around the first corner.

“Let’s go!” Tabbermain encouraged, patting his fellow mägo on the back.

The three old gnomes found it challenging to keep pace with the tiny light as it flickered around corners and down deep hallways. It tapped against closed doors until opened for it, which usually led to stairs leading further down into the ground. It wasn’t long before the sounds of other life tapered off to silence.

“How far are we going?” Wendell asked, now feeling more uneasy than sure of himself. The air grew colder as they descended, the gnomes shivering—including Buddy.

“I’m giving you ten minutes,” he said bluntly, “not a second more.”

Tabbermain nodded. “I remember where we are now. It’s just beyond this door.” He nodded to Doddle.

The tiny light vanished.

“Be careful and quite,” Vin added, “They keep this area well guarded from the rest of the temple.”

“It’s because they shouldn’t be doing any of this!” Doddle growled. He bobbed up and down in place, raising his fists up like a boxer. “Someone needs to deal with them…”

“That,” Buddy said matter-of-fact, “would be me.” Sliding to the front of the line, he put a hand on the doorknob.

“No killing,” Wendell reminded him.

The assassin paused, then slowly turned around. He glared at his fellow gnomes, “Do these monks down here work for Noah?”

They nodded.

“They know what he’s doing with these people? Knows where the Gate opens and what will happen to the citizens when they step through?”

They all nodded again.

Buddy looked up at Wendell, his jaw set firm. “Right.”

Yanking the door open, he quickly slipped through.

All four crowded at the door, pressing their ears to the cold metal surface. At first there was nothing. Then a faint sound like compressed air being released. It was promptly followed by screaming. First one female, followed by many others. The outburst was immediately followed by gunfire. The explosions echoed. Something heavy then dropped against metal—like a metal grate, vibrating the door. There was a rattling noise—running—more gunfire. Another rattle. The series of noises repeated three more times as the screams continued.

Wendell grimaced, fingers pressing and clawing at the door. No, no, no, Wendell panicked, He’s killing everyone!

“We have to get in there!” he whispered frantically. “Tabbermain, please—Buddy is…”

But the door suddenly opened. A small hand pushed it wide open. “I’m what?” he eyed them all. Then, “Come in, come in my friends,” the assassin waved, performing a slight bow. “Threat eliminated, dear gentlegnomes.” Buddy looked up smugly, “…and Wendell.”

The chamber looked like a warehouse, made of cement and metal. Attached to the hallway door was a catwalk, suspended ten feet above the floor. Narrow and made of weaved metal strands, it stretched across the length of the room, ending at another door in the cement wall. It was open, reveling computer consoles and several chairs. Two bodies lay at the end of the catwalk. One robe crumpled over, gun in hand, at the top of a staircase. The second body lay just inside the far room. Wendell could only see up to the monks waist, but the trail of blood ran across the floor and under one of the chairs. His stomach turned.

Down below were a series of large cages, three on either side of the warehouse.

Gnomes filled every container.

Wendell gasped. There has to be nearly a hundred gnomes in here…or more! His eyes wandered over the faces, dressed in white clothes, all huddled together. That…bastard is sending… he choked on the thought. Women and children were common among the faces peering back up. These were not just those forgotten from the furnaces below. Three more guards, all with weapons, lay sprawled on the cement floor, dead.

“Wendell!” someone called out.

The hero turned around. “Enid?” Wendell gripped the railing, searching the dozens of faces below him. “Enid—is that you?”

“Yes,” the old gnome cried back, pushing his way tot he front of the cage. Enid’s hand was firmly on the shoulder of a child.

“Simon!” Wendell cried aloud. Simon. He’s ok! Thank goodness…he’s ok. “Are you guys alright?”

Buddy jabbed him in the leg with the rifle. “The stairs are over here. Let’s get a move on—we have no idea when others could show up or check in.”

Hoods draped over faces, hidden in shadow—each of them had a stream of blood running down their chests, like crimson ties. Wendell stepped over them, cautiously.

“Lucky thing I popped the last one,” Buddy grunted, nodding to the body just inside the doorway. His words echoed his facial expressions—cold, calculated and unfeeling. “He almost got to the phone. Could have sent for backup.”

“He could have lived,” Wendell whispered, disgusted.

“He could have gotten us all killed,” the assassin sneered back, but he quickly adjusted his demeanor. Nodding to the cages below, “Including the kid you came for, so stop your whining and let’s get going. Move it!”

Tabbermain, Vin and Doddle were already at the cages, six boxes of weaved steel, filled with wearied faces which reflected their fate. Though their bodies and clothes were clean every pair of eyes carried with them the terror of the tortured soul. Tabbermain whispered into a lock, as if imparting some great secret and one by one, levers turned and doors popped open.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Buddy snapped, “We’re here for a boy and I’m assuming that old one—for Wendell, that’s all!”

“But,” Tabbermain stammered, “what…about the rest of these people?”

“Not my problem.”

“Mr. Keisler, please..” started Vin.

“I don’t know what these folks did to be stuck in here…”

“They didn’t do anything,” Wendell cut in—the anger rising in his voice, “That’s the point, Buddy—they’re completely innocent. Snatched from their homes, kidnapped, brought here…and now they’re going to be fed to Täuku through the Prime Gate!”

Several of the women and children let out a terrified shriek.

Blood drained from the writers face. Slowly the rifle lowered in his hands as the assassin looked around at the captive faces. “They’re…what?”

Wendell lowered his voice, “These people, all of them, are going to be given as sacrifices to the Täuku.” He leaned closer, so only Buddy could hear him, “As food.”

“Hey,” cried a caged gnome, “Isn’t that Buddy Keisler? It is!”

The writer’s head popped around as a murmur washed through the prisoners.

“Wow!” cried another, “The greatest writer of all time came to save us? Three cheers for Buddy!!”

“WooHAW!” they boomed in unison, “WooHAW! WooHAW!!”

Wendell turned around just in time to see Doddle whispering something to the gnomes through the bars. Noticing the hero’s attention, he stepped back quickly and a started whistling.

“You’re the greatest, Buddy—we love you!”yelled the gnome closest to Doddle.

Wendell bit his lip to keep from laughing.

The assassin seemed unable to control his emotions. Spinning on the balls of his feet, he let the rifle slide back on the sling strung over his shoulder. Arms open wide, he yelled, “What kind of a horrific world do we live in when my loyal fans are treated like animals?!” Tears streamed down his cheeks. This did not last long. Eyes narrowed and lips curled back into a vicious snarl. For a moment, Wendell though the writer had discovered the ruse.

“I will not let this happen,” Buddy vowed. “We’re getting out of here.” He blinked out the wetness and pushed the thick glasses up with a gloved finger. “All of us.”