Society schools us to place ourselves first. We are trained and encouraged to take, get gain, compete, amass material wealth and beneficial connections…so we can defend against the evils that constantly besiege us.

…yet only the wise ever discover that the evil that constantly besiege us are created by the students of society.

“Gentlemen, we’d like some privacy please,” Shrub said loudly.

Without another word, the eight black suits vacated the room, disappearing through a far door—the last one pulling it closed behind them.

“I know they’re necessary, but it does get on my nerves, always having someone breathing over my shoulder. Watching my every move, if you know what I mean?” He looked up at Wendell, who remained silent. “Forget the sitting room. That’d for negotiations and formal arguments with other faction and guild leaders. This is something special!”

Kip grinned and started pushing the wheelchair, Buffy and Wendell in tow.

“Gretta!” Shrub cried out. A moment later, an old female gnome, dressed in a powder blue and white shoes appeared. “Would you get us some refreshments please?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

The further they walked, Wendell started to notice a slight curvature to the walls of the penthouse. They passed through an opening in a blue translucent wall…and Wendell nearly fell over.

“WOAH!” he blurted out, stumbling backwards. He hit the blue wall and started to slide down to his backside, arms flailing. The smiley flashed instantly from yellow to snow white, eyes as big as saucers. In desperation, Wendell gripped onto Buffy and clung to her.

She smiled triumphantly from ear to ear. “Now that’s what I’m talking abou…”

“Buffy!” Kip snapped.

“WHAT?” she yelled back, “He grabbed ME!” She softly caressed Wendell’s face, “He looks stressed—I’m just comforting him.”

The room opened up to the great outdoors…thousands of feet above the ground! Walls, floors, ceilings—the entire section of the penthouse, was made of transparent materials. At the center was a long, elegant table surrounded by a set of transparent chairs. The bowl of fruit, sitting plainly as a center piece looked like it was floating in midair. The only problem for Wendell, was the main tower was hundreds of floors high.

Clouds floated by the window.

“Are you alright, Wendell?” President Shrub asked anxiously. When the hero didn’t respond, he followed the hero’s line of sight, which was fixed on the mountain range thousands of feet below them. “Oh my. You don’t like heights, do you? Didn’t think about that possibility!” He turned the wheelchair around, “Come on Kip, lets go back to the sitting room.” Shaking a finger at his daughter, “Quit stroking the boys cheek, Buffy! Help him into the next room.”

It took a few minutes, but they eventually encouraged Wendell to crawl across the floor and propped him up onto the small couch. Being more than twice the size of the gnomes is human size, he made the furniture look more like an extra wide chair.

Buffy snuggled in next to him. “I’ll sit with Wendell. He still looks shaken.”

“That’s it,” Shrub grumbled, “You children are excused. I wanted to have you here, but this is quite enough. What I have to say to the Gnolaum is…”

“Wendell.”

The President looked up.

“Please,” Wendell choked, the color returning slowly to his face, “just call me Wendell. Not Gnolaum, not sir, Lord, sire, Mister…just plain old, normal Wendell.” He let his head fall backwards as the smiley silently gagged.

“…what I have to say to Wendell. So you two see yourselves out.”

“Seriously?!” bellowed Kip. “She mucks this up and I get punished too? That’s crap!”

His father frowned, “Out.”

As the twins shuffled away, Kip jabbed his sister in the arm. “Thanks a LOT, Gowan turd.”

“So sorry I’m late, your brilliant tubbiness!” Ian huffed, jogging into the room. “I missed the last elevator,” he gave Wendell a sharp look, “It seems the last one was full. What did I miss?”

Yup, he’s going to take it out on me.

“We’ve just sat down, so you haven’t missed a thing!” President Shrub beamed at Wendell. “I assume you two have already met?”

They both nodded.

“Good! Good! Then let’s get down to business here.”

Gretta walked in and set a small tray down on the coffee table between them. She curtsied and left.

A small pot of steaming liquid, four cups, four saucers and a bowl of sliced fruit. Cut in a similar fashion as you would an orange, these fruits had a deep forest green skin, a bright yellow meat on the inside with dozens of purple seeds at its center.

The room quickly filled with the scent of mint and chocolate.

While Ian poured the liquid into the cups, Shrub held up one of the fruits. “I’m so glad I was able to get these before you arrived. Uroshimät. Gander fruit. Very difficult to acquire—but I spared no expense for our first meeting.” He shook his head, “What am I saying? You probably have this often from where you come from.”

“No, actually,” he accepted the piece offered him, “I’ve never had the opportunity.” He forced a grin to his face, “Thank you.”

Shrub beamed and snatched up his own piece, popping the whole thing in his mouth. His eyes clenched tightly as the munching and slurping noises commenced. “Mmmm. Mmmmm!”

“You’ll have to excuse his brilliant blubberiness,” Ian said, setting the pit back onto the tray, “it’s not often that we are able to convince the Temple to part with their treasured fruit. They ask an exceedingly high price for this rare treat.” His tone stressed the word rare.

Wendell raised the slice cautiously to his lips.

“Not like that,” gurgled Shrub, trails of liquid escaping down his chin. “The experience is in the whole piece, skin and center. Pop the whole piece in your mouth and chew quickly.”

Put me on the spot now, why don’t you? Good grief. Smells sweet…almost like lemons. He glanced down, It’s pretty at least—so it should be just fine, right? Sure. Yeah. It’ll be great. His nose, however, was pulling his attention to the liquid that smelled like chocolate mint. Uhhhhhh….Alright—here goes… He popped the whole slice into his mouth, both Shrub and Ian staring on.

The first sensation sent a wave through his mouth so fast his head almost reeled backward. His nose crinkled up and his eyes clench tight, while his poor cheeks wanted to shrivel up and roll to the back of his throat. SOUR! Holy momma of….THAT IS SOUR!!

The smiley face shook violently across his chest, puckering so badly, the round head looked closer to an hourglass.

“Chew!” Shrub burst out laughing, “You have to chew it, Wendell, quickly!”

Forcing his jaw muscles to clench down, he fought the urge to spit. One bit, then another. The texture was muck like the skin of a lemon—firm with a pleasant crunch to it. Each grind of his molars changed the dynamics of the taste, from an overwhelming sour to a warm sweetness of sugar that subdued and balanced the sour.

Wow, Wendell’s eyes popped open. That’s…good! He stared at the president as he chewed more vigorously.

“Told you. A perfect experience when you know how it all works, don’t you think?”

Wendell nodded, “Absolutely. May I?”

Shrub smiled warmly, “Please, help yourself.”

Knowing to focus and create the mix of released flavors made the second bite heavenly. “That’s amazing.” He swallowed, “Thank you, very much, sir.”

The President beamed. “I…wanted to use this as an ice breaker, Wendell. Didn’t expect the laughs, but I’m glad. What I’d like to discuss isn’t an easy subject.

Wendell raised his cup to his lips and sipped. It was like a perfect liquid version of the chocolate minds left on the pillow of really night hotels back on Earth. Yum.

“I need your help.”

Wendell looked up to find both gnomes staring back and serious faced. He swallowed loudly. “My…help?”

“Clockworks is under incredible duress. You must have seen signs of it as you wandered about the populace, didn’t you?”

“You mean, like the factory workers, the strikes, reports of violence…”

“Exactly,” the president exclaimed.

“But the media doesn’t always tell the truth. In fact,” Wendell argued, “most of the stories about me and the Trench Wars pilots was flat out false.”

“We do have a problem with slight exaggeration,” Ian said with a smile.

Wendell glowered, “No, you have a serious problem with liars and ignorant people making assumptions, while others disregard the truth and fabricate what they want to sway the minds of others.” He shifted his gaze to the president, “Then you have gnomes like Twoface here. That’s a whole problem in itself.”

Ian snorted, “Now you wait just a…”

Shrub chuckled, “I see you’ve been talking to my children.”

“Good kids.”

“Thank you. I think so too.” Taking up his saucer, “You must understand that Ian has a job that few could ever perform…and even fewer would want.” He took a sip. “With what he’s required to do, there’s little fame and even fewer friends at the end of the day.”

“Quite right,” Ian muttered.

“But…,” Shrub smiled, “appreciated by me nonetheless.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Wendell set his cup down and sat upright in his seat, “So his job is to threaten and bully other gnomes into submission? Blackmail in exchange for cooperation?”

“What?” President Shrub looked to his assistant, openly appalled.

Ian sat upright, “I never!”

“No?” Wendell leaned forward, the smiley on his shirt revealing its curling grin—as sweet thoughts resurfaced…of punting the albino’s head out a window. “I sat there in Morty Teedlebaum’s warehouse as you threatened his wife and personally manipulated me to get me to cooperate on behalf of President Shrub.”

Now it was Shrub who frowned. “Is this true, Ian?” Fat hands gripped the side arms of the wheelchair and squeezed tightly. “You were asked to get me an update on the PROMIS device and to make an offer of government sponsorship to Mr. Dipmier here, nothing more, Ian.”

The albino shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Our records showed the tinkerer was lagging behind schedule! Teedlebaum was so close to success that our own engineers could likely finish the project if he couldn’t. I…felt he needed a little motivation, that’s all.”

“You felt.” Shrub sighed, his head dropping forward. With one hand, he rubbed the front of his forehead. “Leave us.”

The albino gasped, “L-leave? As in this meeting? You’re actually kicking me, your primary assis…”

President Shrub glared, “Now, Ian.”

Straightening his red tie, the gnome stood up abruptly, snatched his briefcase from the side of the chair and marched across the room. There was a quiet squeak of a door…followed by a slam.

“I’m…sorry about that, Wendell.” Arching his back, the president tried to shift himself, arms trembling. “Stupid wheelchair.”

“Would you like to sit in one of these, sir? It’s probably more comfortable.” At first Wendell couldn’t tell if the gnome was shocked…or confused. “I’d be more than happy to lift you,” but he hesitated, “Unless that would offend you?”

“No…not at all. I’d be grateful.”

Sliding a hand under his knees and placing the other around the gnomes back, Wendell easily lifted Shrub out of the wheelchair and placed him in the same spot Ian had been sitting moments ago. He weighed as much as an eight year old child.

“I’d forgotten how good that feels,” the President beaned, sinking back into the chair, letting his hands rest along the plush arms. “Very kind of you.”

Aside from who he had working for him, the President didn’t seem like such a bad gnome. Wendell watched him, lost in the change of perspective. Something has to change in this city—among this people, and Wendell realized his opportunity might still be on the table.

“I can’t speak for you,” was all that came out.

“I’m sorry?”

“If that’s what you want from me. To sway the people to follow and obey the government more, or to fall in line with whatever your agenda is. I can’ do that.”

Shrub laughed. “It would be stupid, too.”

Now it was Wendell who looked shocked.

“This whole meeting has been thrown off track because of others assuming they know what my mind and intentions are, Wendell. But Ian’s been wrong, the Centurions have been wrong—even the G.R.R. movement only knows me through my henchmen filters.” He struggled to sit forward and grab his saucer again, but nearly fell over. Wendell lifted the cup to him. “Thank you,…again.” He smiled warmly, “If for no other reason, I’m glad you came to see me. Just so I could meet you. To see if you were real with my own eyes. The Gnolaum of holy prophecy.” He took a sip of his drink and stared. “Wow.”

“You want to see it, don’t you?”

He shrugged, “I don’t need…,” but his grin widened, “well, yeah, I really do.”

Wendell laughed and lifted the shirt to reveal the Ithari. The natural light from the windows reflected off his chest and created a hundred rainbows in the room. Brilliant spectrums of colors danced off the walls and ceilings.

The gnome gasped. “You really are here…”

Wendell let the shirt fall and the lights vanished. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

Shrub blinked, “What? Why would you say…”

“I’m not sure I’m the one everyone’s talking about, sir. I mean, I do have the Ithari—that’s for certain, but maybe this Gnolaum is someone other than me. That’s all I’m saying. It would help incredibly, if you could please explain what this prophecy actually is. Everyone keeps mentioning it, but…”

“You don’t know it?”

Wendell shook his head, “I’m quickly learning that there’s a lot I don’t know. Take Clockworks, for example. You have writings and beliefs about this Gnolaum that I’ve never heard of—and believe it or not, I’m new to this myself.”

The gnome stared at him, puzzled. “Huh. I never would have considered that.”

“So, would you explain this gnome prophecy to me? It would be a great help.”

President Shrub handed the saucer back to Wendell and sat back thoughtfully. “It’s a bit complicated.”

“That’s alright, I’d rather know a little something, than nothing at all.”

“It’s also hard to convey—there are so many interpretations.”

Wendell paused.

“You don’t know what the prophecy says, do you.”

For a moment, Shrub held his breath. Then he exhaled in a quick huff, “Nope.”

The both laughed.

“The strange this is, our whole culture has been taught that the Gnolaum—this great, gracious being—would come back and save us. Whatever that means. The Church has taught this tiny snippet of lore for hundreds of years.” He motioned to the chair he was sitting upon, “And as I’ve seen thus far, you definitely are kind and gracious…but I remember, even as a boy, asking the priests of the Temple more about you. They told me it was only for those sanctified in the Church, to know the whole meaning of the ancient writings.”

“It sounds bizarre to me.”

“Your words, not mine, Wendell. I’ve always been a believer. My wife was also and that’s how we raised the twins. To believe that someday, we would right from this island and rejoin the world as equals. But now, with you here, I…”

Wendell popped another piece of fruit into his mouth and flinched.

“Chew,” Shrub chuckled, “remember to chew!”

“What,” he chewed quickly, “was it…you wanted of me, then?”

“Ah, well, thankfully not what you might have thought.” He drained the rest of his cup. “It’s a very complicated task, dealing with such a large population. Now that we’re in private, I can say that this is in fact, a burden. A city that is split along three, rather broad dividing lines. The Government, the Church and then the Revolutionaries. I believe all of them have their place. I know, I know—this isn’t a train of thought Ian or any of my constituents would condone, nor my supporters—but this is just us.”

Wendell relaxed more into the couch. Could he have been wrong about the government? How could a system become so corrupt with a decent gnome in charge? Then again, he was only one person. Shrub wasn’t a king and there were many cogs in the Clockworks machine that was government. This wasn’t a small town or a handful of people. This was one and a half billion in population. It was an entire country compressed into a single city—each with their own, distinct personality. “I’m listening.”

Shrub looked casually over his shoulder at the door Ian and the black suits had walked through. “There are good people in all three factions, Wendell. What I am seeking, is a way to combine the good of all and create a more united people. Not by force or by law—but to find a way to do it by choice. That’s the key. Create a common ground, a common vision and allow people to find a better path on their own.”

Wendell thought back to one of his conversations with Philburt Bellows. “People in power might not appreciate that, you know?”

“I do know!” Then pointing at the door, “You’ve already seen how convoluted my instructions get when filtered through an individuals own interpretation and assumption. But what if it was clear? Simple?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean going back to the basics of being a decent gnome. That everyone has a place. That everyone has a purpose. That every gnome has value. To find the common beliefs that cross all three factions and focus on those, instead of our differences!”

Wendell sat there for nearly a minute in silence. Shrub stared back, but let the words sink in. It sounds good. It even feels good. He’s not asking for…well, I’m still not sure what he’s asking for, but so far, I can’t see any reason why I can’t help… But he did. Wendell did know why he couldn’t help.

“You still have my friend caged and wounded, like an animal. A friend who has bled for me, protected me…”

“And you couldn’t possibly see your way in assisting me, unless he was safe.”

Wendell nodded.

With a deep sigh, President Shrub clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them. “It’s a difficult situation, I’m afraid.”

Wendell shook his head. “No, it’s not. We have both been tortured and questioned at your hand.” He paused, “It may have been at the hands of your henchmen, but they work for you and you’re responsible. The difference between my friend and I, is that I heal quickly—he doesn’t. Mr. Upshot, one of your white lab…people down there, threatened me, just before your twins showed up. Said I was a threat to this city and if I crossed him, he’d cut Dax into pieces.”

President Shrub listened carefully, showing little emotion other than raising an eyebrow at the mention of the mutilation. “You feel this Upshot will carry out this threat?”

“Absolutely. He’s a nut job with a scalpel.”

He sighed. “Then I’m already seeing two problems I don’t have solutions to. At least not yet. Your friend, as much as I believe you Wendell, is and will be looked upon as a danger to this community. I cannot, in good conscious, let him go.”

“But he’s NOT a vallen, which is what I’ve been trying to tell everyone…but no one will listen!”

“Precisely,” Shrub answered, “which is why I’m working to change the minds and hearts of the people. I do believe you, Wendell, please know that. However, Dax cannot be allowed to walk the streets of this city. The people still believe he IS a vallen, and as such, would kill him if they had a chance.”

“They’re killing him now.”

“Which is why I will personally get involved. You have my word on that. I’ll talk to this Mr. Upshot…and to his superior…”

“That’s not good enough.”

Shrub clamped his mouth closed.

“It seems to me you’re a bit out of touch with those working closest to you, Mr. President. That doesn’t exactly create confidence. Dax’s safety is key to you getting my help. It’s your only key. You’ll have to do better.”

Shrub nodded, “Hence my second problem—I’m limited as to my control over those in my administration.”

“Then sadly, I think our conversation is over.” Wendell stood up. “Your men can take me back to my cell.”

Shrub laughed, “Nonsense. You never have to go back.” His eyes grew as wide as the saucers on the table, “But I can bring Dax here.” A shallow laugh, deep from within his chest resonated, then grew in volume. “That’s it—the answer! I can help you, Dax AND this city by having Dax come and live, up here—with me!” He looked up to Wendell, beaming, “I could oversee his medical treatment—using my personal staff and keep him safe with my own private security. Would that be satisfactory?”

“You would bring a supposed vallen, up here, to live in your own home? Won’t that hurt the public’s view of you?”

Shrub offered his hand, “What? That I love my countrymen so much that I’m willing to take all the risks myself in protecting them? Because that’s exactly the spin I would put on this, publicly. If it would secure the support of the Gnolaum in saving my own people, then yes, I would do this…and I will.” He grinned gleefully, “All I’m asking you to do is speak your conscious. Speak peace, love, kindness and encourage the gnomes of this city to work together to build a better tomorrow by cooperation, collaboration and community.” Slapping the side of the chair, “THAT’S what I want to see!”

Well I’ll be. Wendell reached down and shook the gnomes hand firmly. “Then I would be willing to help.”

President Shrub beamed with delight and slapped his knee, “Then plop me back in that cursed wheelchair and let’s go meet the press!”

“Oh,” Wendell stopped in mid lift, “there’s one more thing I need you to do for me, Mr. President. Something very important was stollen from me by those lab coats…”

“Name it, my boy.”

Wendell sighed a breath of relief, “There was a folded letter with a red wax seal on it…”

****

Closing the doors behind him, the reporters questions faded to nothing as Ian walked silently towards the sitting room of the penthouse. He nodded to the black suits guarding the elevator.

“A moment of privacy, gentlemen, if you please.”

Both nodded and moved to stand in front of the conference room.

Snatching up the last piece of Gander fruit, he popped it into his mouth, then knelt down on one knee. Reaching up under the lip of the coffee table, he removed the the tiny transmitter.

“You wouldn’t know the first thing about saving this people,” he muttered to himself, “You fat, crippled, fool.”

Pulling a phone from his coat pocket, he punched in the number.

“It’s me. Yeah, it happened.” He snarled, “No, I couldn’t stop it! So it’s something we have to deal with now…and to make matters worse,” he looked over his shoulder at the suits, lowering his voice, “is he’s bringing the vallen to live in the penthouse!”

For a few minutes he paced, listening.

“I understand. Yes, I’ll make the call myself. You don’t need to be involved.”