The created can never be greater than its creator.

Can it?

“I wasn’t expecting this many.”

“We can’t turn them back. Not now. Look at them. Look at their faces. They know what’s going on.”

“But they don’t know what is at stake here.”

“Don’t they? Most of these people have lived in poverty their whole lives. Through this company they’ve had an opportunity to see what can be done when people work together. When there’s a common goal, drive and focus. When there are leaders who actually care about them…and leaders prove it through their actions, not just empty words.” He smiled, “The rest of Clockworks might feel that society is breaking down, but these folks’ve seen a spark of a better life. A chance to be seen and heard.”

“Careful…you keep talking like that and you’ll find yourself standing up here giving the speeches.”

Shamas laughed, “Not on your life.”

“Which, I might add,” grinned Bellows, “you’re supposed to be protecting.”

“Having doubts that I can do my job?”

“Well…look at this place. A drafty warehouse? I’m feeling a bit exposed—especially after what I’ve watched happen to Wendell.”

Wendell. No one had heard from him or about him in too long. It wasn’t a good sign and gnomes were getting antsy. Centurions were on the move in force, swarming about Clockworks City like ants. Gnomes were being arrested for the smallest violations. The prisons would soon be full and another option would have to be used.

What that option was, Philburt Bellows didn’t want to know.

“I suggested the warehouse on purpose. It’s about controlling the environment. Not only can we bring more people together to talk to them in safety and numbers, we can manage the flow. The benefit here, is they’re your own people. They love you. We can contain a situation if we have to—and if someone tried anything here, your fans will most likely assist us. Trust me, this is a good idea.”

Bellows backed away from the bay window over looking the factory floor. What’s done was done. He turned to the monitor perched on the desk. “Where are we, Mr. Taylor, with the other factories? Are they linked?”

Nat looked up from his keyboard and into the camera. “Not quite. Getting there. We only have ten out of the twenty five on the list so far. The government’s trying to reroute the signals.” he smirked, “They hacked into the feed, but they don’t pay their civil servants enough to provide a significant danger. I’m just guessing here, but I think the last thing the government wants is to have an organized people opposing them.”

Shamas laughed, “Isn’t that what the G.R.R. is?”

“Yes and no,” Nat replied. “We’re organized, but the G.R.R. isn’t nearly as big as most people think. The government never paid us much attention because we didn’t pose a significant threat until Wendell showed up. We didn’t have a reasons to use our full gambit of tools.”

“I don’t think they want an organized people, period. The Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries or anyone else. It frightens them,” Bellows smirked, “TGII forbid we actually have a say in the way we live our lives!”

“Who needs to be up in front of the people giving speeches now?”

“Shut up, Shamas.”

“You know this has never been done before,” Nat added. “This is literal history in the making here, gentlemen.”

The wealthy business owner scratched his beard. “Now we just need Motherboard as the grand orator and we’re set.”

“Yeah,” Nat piped nervously. “about that. I’m…not sure he’s going to be up to this. You may have to take the lead on this one.”

“That is not acceptable,” grumbled the business owner, “I’m not the leader of this movement, Mr. Taylor. I have placed significant resources behind your organization because of what it represented and what your boss said he was willing to do for the people!”

Shamas frowned as he watched the color slowly drain from the programmers face. “You alright?”

Bobbing his head, “I’ll be fine. Mr. Bellows is right.” Running his fingers through his hair, he swallowed roughly, “I’ll get Motherboard online immediately.”

****

Within the hour, twenty-five of Philburt Bellow’s production factories had been connected by private communication links, and the factory floors converted to meeting halls. Each building was chosen to be a key spot, to spread and influence citizens with the message they were about to hear. Now was the time. Now was the opportunity the G.R.R. had been looking for, longing for. Philburt Bellows, the single richest gnome in Clockworks, had influence over millions of poverty stricken citizens. Gnomes taken from the streets in which they were left, to struggle, survive and even starve…and given a measure of hope. Today would be the first time he put those connections at risk.

Pacing the floor of the managers office, the round-bellied gnome fought the urge to bite his nails.

Each building was equipped with a giant projector, so training films could be played to the product line workers as they labored. Hovering over the bay doors, these monitors now had the smiling face of one of the most famous—and elusive—gnomes alive: the G.R.R. leader known as Motherboard.

His black hair was slicked back over a perfectly round scalp. The pale, clean shaven face had one adornment—the signature mirrored sunglasses, which always covered the calculating eyes that seemed to see all possibilities…and all conflicts in Clockworks. Motherboard reached up and adjusted the double button collar around his neck, then looked into the camera—peering out over crowds he could not actually see.

“My fellow citizens of Clockworks City,” he began, “I am known by many as Motherboard, leader and originator of the Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries…and I come to you today to give you a gift of truth.” Like a bomb, the factory floors erupted with thunderous applause. Smiling faces beamed up at the monitors, hands waving high into the air.

Motherboard held up his hands for silence. “Thank you. Thank, my good friends, but our jubilation must be held close to our hearts a bit longer. Our journey is not over. In fact, it has only begun. I have called upon my dear friend and associate, Mr. Philburt Bellows, and asked his permission to speak to each of you on a most pressing issue. Your freedom.”

Looks of concern and confusion jumped between workers, unsure.

“Do not fear,” Motherboard smiled, “…erk.”

Shamas and Philburt stared from the managers balcony.

“Did you see that?” the bodyguard asked.

“See what?”

Shamas pointed at Motherboards image. His pale skin rippled across the screen. For a moment, his cheeks turned blue, as if all the warmth in his body had fled. Then it vanished.

“What’s happening, Nat?” Bellows snapped, “What’s wrong with him?”

Nathan was darting glances between his own monitors, frantically typing away. “I….uhhh,” was all he could volunteer.

“We m-m-m-must s-s-s-stay the course!” Motherboard stuttered aloud. “K-k-k-keep our f-f-f-focus ONLINE!” Factory workers began to chuckle as the G.R.R., leader whistled out loud and then flickered his eyebrows into the camera. Some of the audience laughed out loud, while others frowned and muttered how inappropriate the rebel leader was behaving.

Philburt watched the mood shift dangerously fast on the factory floor. “Mr. Tanklestein,” he snapped, “get a camera prepped…and do it quickly.”

The plant manager dashed to the cabinet, pulled out a briefcase and yanked the tripod free. There wasn’t much room or light, so he turned on the desk lamps and aimed them at the window to the factory floor. He was convinced it would make a more convincing and professional backdrop.

“What are you going to do?” asked Shamas, helping the factory owner, who was struggling to take off his sweater.

Straightening his hair and then his tie, “What I should have done a long time ago.” Philburt stared at the monitor, watching Nat frantically work a control board just out of view. “It’s time to be who we were meant to be, Mr. Taylor. No more, no less. No excuses. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Like a child caught with his hands in a cookie jar, Nat looked up. “Mr. Bellows, I…” he pleaded nervously.

Bellows cut him off, grinning, “Did more than anyone could properly thank you for, Mr. Taylor.” Then nodding, “But I thank you nonetheless.”

The young gnome took a deep breath as his eyes flirted about his controls. “I never thought it would happen this way, you know.”

Shamas frowned, “What would happen? What are you talking about?”

The ignorance made Bellows grin even wider. “Today is a good day to make history, don’t you think, Mr. Taylor?”

Cracking his knuckles, “Yes, Mr. bellows, I believe it is.”

Mr. Tanklestein dragged a free chair in front of the factory window. “The camera is ready for you, sir.”

Shamas folded his arms abruptly, “Anyone mind telling me what the tick-tock is going on here?”

“I think, Mr. Wrenchturner,” Bellows smirked at the use of the bodyguards full name, “we are about to employ you full time.”

Nat let out an uncharacteristic belly laugh. “Rerouting the lines to your office. Camera goes live in 4…3…2…”

In a sea of confusion, the factories connected across Clockworks City fell silent as the familiar face of Philburt Bellows flashed over the image of Motherboard. more than half a million gnomes stared into the face of their employer and humble benefactor. He looked back through the camera like an old friend, each line in his worn, care-laden face displayed years of commitment to the people. The laughter, the pride, even the concern and sorrow, held together by the stress and determination of a true leader. His wrinkles bunched together as the sides of his mouth raised in a wide, jovial smile.

“My first impulse was to call you my friends,” he said casually, “but that would be inaccurate.” Pulling his glasses from his face, he lifted a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and cleaned the lenses. “Each of you are more than that to me.” Swallowing to control his emotions, “Much more than that.” Wiping his eyes, he placed the glasses back on his face. “I would go so far to call you my family.”

Shamas and Mr. Tanklestein peeked out over the factory floor—the workers mesmerized in silence.

“What is family, I wonder? Is it not people who work, laugh, eat and struggle together in common? Those who look out for one another and lift each other up when we run out of strength or stumble?” Wiping his bulbous nose, “Maybe you have a different definition, but that is mine. Though I do not know all of you personally, I hold each of you dear to my heart, regardless. You…are why these factories exist. Many of you know this to be true—through your managers, through our social programs and through our transparent accountability policy.”

A wave of nodding heads rippled through the crowd.

“That is why today is so important. Why this moment is so important…and why I have asked for the members of this family to gather together.” Taking a deep breath, Philburt Bellows emotionally stepped across the threshold. “Because it is time a question was asked…of each of you. Something important that will, I believe, determine your future, my future and the future of this great city and people.” Leaning his head forward ever-so-slightly, he looked over the top rim of his glasses. “That question is: Are you ready to be something more?”

It took a few moments for the question to sink in. Factor workers stared blankly at the screen, not quite sure what was being asked. Before long, a low hum of murmuring erupted through the crowd. Questions of their own jumped from one member to another—each new, unanswered thought feeding off the last. The sound rose louder and louder until it reached through the glass of the manager’s office.

“Let me clarify,” Bellows said softly, “So we can all come to the same understanding in this most important matter.” He paused to smile into the camera, like a father talking to his intelligent child, “You see, I used to flatter myself about being an educated gnome. I had the opportunity to receive the finest schooling, which fed my drive and focus to build a financial empire. I assumed that my actions, were in fact, the norm. That those around me were of like mind and disposition. My mind and heart were convinced that given the tools and the opportunity, any gnome would live so as to take every advantage placed before them. That they would naturally achieve what I had already done. Possibly more.” Shaking his head, “In this, I was sorely mistaken.”

“My own mother taught me from when I was very young, that there is always an opportunity to learn more. To be more. And I took it upon myself, while my own children were yet alive, to foster that same belief in them. It was important to me that they realized, regardless of time, circumstances or degree of intelligence, one could live to be the ancient age of the Gnolaum himself…,” he paused for effect, “or older, and yet you’d still be able to add to your store of knowledge. Progression is never-ending.

“Yet as I built these factories,” his voice took a sad undertone, “I learned that once workers had their basic needs met, they seemed fulfilled and their souls were satisfied. You…stopped reaching.”

Many gnomes in the sea of onlookers cast about uneasy glances at their fellow workers.

“I watched you, observed and learned from you. A pattern emerged, plain as the rising sun. Regardless of the circumstances, a new worker would do whatever it took to learn the job assigned them. Just enough knowledge to be proficient in the requirements at hand, to obtain the comforts you sought. Food, clothing, shelter. Then it stopped.” He shook his head in disbelief, “It all stopped! The reaching, learning, growing—and you remained in your present state. Yes, you still had food, clothing and shelter—but what you did not realize, is that over time, if not fostered and encouraged, our minds and hearts become empty, faint, wearied, dull, and stupid. Before we know it, we have to be woken up to the reality before us. There is an ache within us, almost like a hunger. You may not be able to identify it, but I can! It is the knowledge that you are meant for more and you deny yourselves. That innate drive to grow and progress that we hide or ignore until we rot from the inside!”

It was hard not to grit his teeth, or give himself to the fire building in his chest. He focused on the camera, pleading to it like an old friend. “We need a fresh manifestation of our awful state and circumstances to stir us up and waken us from our sleep. To remove the scales from our eyes!”

Shamas turned from the window. He’d never thought of it before. It made more sense now—why he jumped from job to job, taking what paltry employment he could. But why? Why take the scraps when he knew he was capable of so much more? He had the knowledge and skill to rise to the top of his industry. He also had the respect of others of his profession—those dedicated to preserving the lives of clients. Fighters. Warriors. Some honorable, others not so much. The question that started to haunt him now was, had he waited too long? Was there still hope for a better future? He stepped back to watch the factory owner.

“Have none of you noticed my every waking moment—focused on your welfare? Not simply to provide for your worldly needs—but to empower you, by offering countless opportunities to improve your minds, your skills, even your connections?”

His expression then changed. Eyes peering into the lens of the camera, brows rolling forward to meet the bridge of his glasses. Philburt’s anger pierced every factory across the city, giant eyes looking down at each and every worker. “If the majority of you had taken advantage of the opportunities offered, when set before you, this group would control the wealth of the nation! Each of you would have the tools, knowledge and resources not only to live out your lives far beyond your greatest expectations—but you would have the sheer power to lift up others around you.” Leaning forward in his chair, “And have any of you been deprived of this privilege? No, not one. Have I or any manager in the sound of my voice, cast a single obstacle in the way of any individual, to deprive him or her of rising above their current station? No, not one.”

The speakers echoed through each factory without resistance. Not a single voice was raised against his loving, yet cutting accusation. Bellow’s voice continued to ring painfully in every ear.

“I do not say these things to wound you, my family,” he dropped to a lighter tone, “but to be that voice. To wake you up to the reality before you. My hope is to shine a light on the awful state we are now in—while showing you the opportunities that are still offered—IF YOU WILL ONLY SEE THEM!” He paused to collect his thoughts—his shoulders heaving with the pent up frustration of years past. “Look upon your managers. Those who run these factories. Each gnome, both male and female, have the knowledge, skill and practical experience to leave my employ and start a business of their own. To make fortunes of their own, should they wish to.” With a smile, “And some have done just that.”

Gasps echoed across the factory floor. Eyes eagerly looking amongst themselves.

“There is not a manager or floor leader that does not know the name of Mr. Tanklestein. A manager who is ever the first to arrive, the last to leave and comes to the aid of any worker if the need arises. Mr. Tanklestein is the perfect example of what my fondest hopes have always been. His relationship alone with BTS Fabricators, has allowed us to employ tens of thousands of workers. He has designed an entire line of rivets for their use and added them into our own product line. Tens of thousands of gnomes now have food on their tables and a roof over their heads, because of this good gnome!”

Workers cheered and applauded. Tanklestein was well known and adored by all. Many looked up at the office window.

The factory manager moved out of view.

“Yet none of you would likely guess that BTS Fabricators actually stands for Bruce Tanklestein Fabricators. That your beloved manager still works here, among you, in the fond hopes of helping one or more to rise to a similar advantage! No, you would not have guessed this—but now you know. There are dozens of leaders here, mixing among you on a daily basis, who have come to me over the years with ideas and passions of their own. Intelligent gnomes, who saw possibilities and needs, to which they could apply their intelligence, their experience and fueled with the right resources, elevate the whole!”

“Well I’ll be a…,” chuckled Shamas, staring at the factory manager. “So you’re…rich…and you still work here? Why?”

“I have enough for my needs,” Mr. Tanklestein replied quietly with a shrug. “Running my business is important, Mr. Wrenchturner,…but helping these people…” He nodded at Bellows as the factory owner continued to perform for the camera. There was look of admiration in the old gnomes eyes. A gratitude and loyalty in the way he held himself to the ready. “Helping others be what they have the potential to become—that is the most important thing I can do.”

It was impossible not to admire them. Shamas had met kind people, but this was something different. It was more than kindness or a desire to relieve the suffering of another. These gnomes were literally trying to change the country, through one relationship at a time. The thought seemed crazy—but the proof was standing here, right in front of him. Bellows had changed Tanklestein’s life by holding out an opportunity. He didn’t do the work for him—this was not a handout. It was educating a gnome on how to build his own foundation and teaching him how to build his own future.

By setting the example, the love and compassion had ingrained itself. The factory manager had followed Bellow’s example and improved upon his own sphere of influence. One gnome’s efforts, in turn, changed the lives of thousands.

“Now look out over this city,” Philburt challenged, “because I am not the only one with a plan or a desire for you. There are those now, in power, who have crafted a plan. Leaders who have worked together for generations, plotting, planning, conspiring, to steal away your freedoms. To put you down and hold you down!” The words were bitter, but they had to be said. It was critical to put a face upon the growing evil.

“I have done everything in my ability and with what resources I have, to put each of you in possession of the opportunity and power needed, to rise above your circumstances in life. To resist and even battle this growing evil, placed upon us by unjust laws, crafted by corrupt leaders, who no longer care about us. Leaders who seek only their private and personal gratification—to satisfy their lusts for dominion and control.” Again he frowned into the camera, “The specific control over each and every one of you, to keep you as slaves.”

Like a powder keg, the factory exploded. Shouts and curses rumbled the windows. If the gnomes were angry before, they showed their fury now. Shamas ran to the window. Fists raised high in the air, followed by loose boards, miscellaneous wrenches and arm-length pieces of scrap metal.

“What the tick-tock are you doing, Bellows?” Shamas gasped under his breath. “You’re creating a frenzy!”

But the owner never heard his words. Philburt Bellows continued to stare into the camera, his thoughts far from the place where he sat. Instead his mind traveled to the past, latching onto experiences which had led him to this point in time. To all the conversations he’d had with mentors of his own,…and to the counsel his beloved wife had given him before she passed away.

He went back to the beginning.

“So where does this leave us?” he asked the camera plainly, allowing the words to distill upon the gnomes that watched him. His suggestions and hopefully, his plan quickly formulated in his mind. “If I were to walk among you now, would I see anger upon your faces? Rage?” Shouts rose up from the factory floor, booming through the thin windows of the managers office. They thought his words were spurring them on—encouraging them to feel the injustices of life. But they were wrong. “Yes, I can feel the anger in you,” he said, “but why are you angry? Can’t you see that the path before us is clear and sure? That the future is bright and lovely for not only those within our factories, but the whole of the gnome race?” He grinned, “Of course not, because most of you are blind!”

Again voices shouted back. This time, however, it was towards their employer.

“Look about you!” he cried aloud, “Look at your managers! Do they look angry?”

Mr. Tanklestein walked past Shamas and calmly through the door and out to the factory balcony. Without a word, he stood there, smiling down at the people he served day after day.

“Do they look afraid?” Bellows shouted into the camera. Then softer, “Of course not. They grasped onto the opportunities placed before them. They held onto them with all their might. And these opportunities changed them. Uplifted them. Empowered them! Whereas each of you are ignorant of what transpires outside these walls to a great degree. You are forced to rely on others to do the thinking, the planning, the guiding and directing. Because you do not act, you must be acted upon…and what is the end result? You are left to your own imaginations. left in darkness, unable to understand the things of society, forced to go groveling and feeling your way through this world. You have no light to shine on your path! Oh, you hope for the best. You hope there is a TGII out there, and if it truly does exist, that It will grant mercy to you and your situation in life.”

Bellows waited for a moment, then yelled fiercely, “AM I RIGHT?!”

Again the fcatories fell silent.

Now it is time to shine the light, he grinned to himself. Time to show the hope he’d waited decades to provide. To wake the people up once and for all.

“Now let me ask you a question before I go further.” Scooting to the edge of the chair, he cocked his head to the side and looked over the ridge of his glasses. “How did you feel when you first came to work for this company?”  Pause. “How did you feel when you stepped out onto that factory floor, completely ignorant—but with the assurance that you would have all the help, instruction and encouragement needed to succeed?”

“It was the best day of my life!” someone yelled out.

“And mine!” screamed another.

These bursts of exultation were followed by many shouts of affirmation.

Philburt already knew their answers, because the hiring process was specifically engineered to be meaningful. Specific reasons why he hired the souls he did. “Did you think it was possible to have such feelings?” More shouts. “And when you came back, day after day—were treated with kindness and respect? In fact, did you ever doubt that you had value?”

“NO!” boomed dozens of voices in unison.

“Of course not! You learned what could be done when working together, binding minds and hearts, focused as one. You learned that to partake of these opportunities, you must become the friend of he or she who had provided that opportunity. Isn’t that so? Is there any gnome here, in their right mind, that would choose to be the enemy of their supervisor or manager?”

“NO!” boomed voices again.

“This is why you see only peace and love in the faces of your managers. Those who encourage you, assist you and hold out opportunities for those willing to take them. To learn is to know, to know is to understand, to understand is to have peace! For one with knowledge can navigate a dangerous environment…and use circumstances to their advantage and benefit.”

Standing up, Philburt motioned to Mr. Tanklestein. The older gnome dashed in and detached the camera from the tripod. Following his employer, Bellows led them back out to the factory floor.

The workers cheered. Screams and shouts of joy and happiness, raising hands high, waving at the individual who had ended poverty for so many and given hope to all. It was nearly a minute before he could calm them down enough to talk.

“We have a situation before us that affects every gnome of this great city,” he shouted out over the factory floor. Mr. Tanklestein stood to the side, trying to film both Bellows and the reactions of the crowd he was speaking to. “A revolution has begun. One that has the potential to lift this people up…or plunge us into darkness. So far, the people of this city have raged against the change. They fear it, because they do not understand it. But change is here. Change must happen. Because of the evil choices of our leaders,” he lifted his voice to a shout, “and our own ignorance and complacency, we now walk upon the edge of a knife!”

He leaned heavily against the railing, “If we can remember the principles of working together…of lifting one another up, we have an opportunity to change the way Clockworks will be run from this moment forward!” He lifted his hands high into the air, to the scream of his followers, “Not by violence or in fear…but UNITED!”

He could not help but smile. With all his might, Bellows shouted,“WHO IS WITH ME?!!”

The windows shook with the thunderous applaud of thousands.