Out of sight. Out of mind.

…if you’re lucky.

“Come ON!” Höbin grunted. The numbers ticked across the screen, but he couldn’t remember the last time it had taken so long to pick the lock on the Guild files. It made him even more curious to know what the FAF was hiding from their own staff. The professionals that were charged with collecting, organizing and presenting facts, figures and lore to the rest of the gnome race.

BEEEEP!

“Finally,” he hissed, yanking the cables free. In the background, the monitor whispered the events of Wendell’s escapades. The media continued to spin the story so it sounded like he’d hired an assassin to kill the Centurion. It sickened the fishis to see the bold lies and corruption in the media. You just couldn’t believe a word said over the airwaves anymore.

With so much excitement tonight, gnomes would be coming back to work to get the drop on the other divisions of the government faction. That included the news media. “Times’ tickin old man,” he sighed. There wasn’t time to do the research needed. That meant a download.

Pulling the drawer out, he stared down at the hard drives organized and backed up by years. Which one would he need? With a flick of a lever, he pulled a cable from his forearm—the custom creation he’d kept a secret all the final years he’d worked here. The administration would never have approved of the hacked database software he’d obtained. It was a crime.

He smirked, “Not like they can exile me.” Picking two of the drives, Höbin plugged in the cables protruding from his arm and initiated his crack program. It was a custom piece of code he’d developed years ago—a combination of secret agent meets the plague. Once in place, the virus would infiltrate every aspect of the enclosed network, creating subtle back doors for his remote systems to find. If he didn’t get the information on this trip, he’d be able to tap into the database at a later time. Small blue lights lit up, glowing out from the drawer, showing the proper connection had been made. He was in.

“That’s my girl,” he said with pride, patting his own forearm. Now he just had to wait as the program did her job…and pray no one found him during the process. If he was lucky, he’d be able to get out before…

His head popped upright, eye wide open.

“Stupid, stupid, STUPID!” he cursed aloud. “You prep and work out the minutest detail to get in here, Höbin Luckyfeller,” he let his forehead drop forward, banging against the drawers edge, “but never thought of how you would get your crusty old butt out!”

His long, exasperated moan echoed throughout the darkened office.

****

There’s no way I could have found my way back here, Wendell admitted. Otger, on the other hand, seemed to know everything there was about the tunnels under the city. For hours they had walked with few stops. The gnome navigated through mazes of cement tubes and metal hatchways, pushing through sludge and gook, until they were forced to stop.

Looming before them, jutting out from the mountains of dry, stale garbage, were the huge, metal doors of Clockworks furnaces. The heavy steel design made the surface look like a giant smile on the chamber wall. A creepy smile.

“Can you get them open?”

The gnome crinkled his nose. “Uhhh…maybe?”

“Is that a statement, or a question?”

Another pause. “Yes?”

Wendell laughed, “Either you can,…or we just had a lovely walk for nothing, because I certainly can’t get us in.”

Otger bit his bottom lip, “Don’t you have super strength, or something like that?”

“What?” he laughed.

“Well, you’re the Gnolaum, aren’t you?” he looked over sheepishly, eyeing Wendell.

“What does that have to do with anything? This isn’t a comic book.”

“Comic book?”

Wendell sighed, “Never mind. No, I don’t have super strength or anything else super. Except maybe my appetite. I’m starving.”

Otger sighed, “Me too.” With a grunt and the crunching sound of compressing garbage, he climbed up the dried pile of junk next to the doors. Cans and glass, cardboard and wire-frames of who-knows-what flew over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Digging!”

Wendell shook his head and chuckled, “I can see that, Otger. Why are you digging?”

A second later, he lifted up a cable. “To find this.” Tugging and yanking, he loosened a portion of the black snake from its den. “Help me find the controls. It should…be on the end of this. I’ll see if the doors can be hot wired.”

“Now that’s an idea.”

The cable was nearly as thick as Wendell’s wrist. With a few more yanks, they uncovered a long black box with two dozen buttons across its surface. They both reeled back momentarily as a sour smell accompanied the discovery. Caked with crusted bumps and something blue and furry, the box was wet and hot from being buried under the mound of garbage.

Wendell coughed, “Is that mold, or what?”

Otger nodded. “Looks like it’s been under that pile for awhile. The vehicles use a remote, so they wouldn’t need this box.” He took a closer look, sniffed at the fuzz, then scratched a piece off with a nail. He put it in his mouth.

“Don’t...” Wendell gasped, but it was too late. He’d forgotten who he was with.

“Yup,” Otger said without flinching, “fruit mold.” He broke off a chunk and popped the whole of it into his mouth. After a second of chewing, he glanced up. “I’m sorry, that was rude. Do you want some?”

Waving, “I’m good. Enjoy.”

The control box was as long as the gnomes chest. The buttons were all intact, each glowing a soft orange. “Drat.”

“What’s the matter?”

Lifting the opposite end of the box, Otger pointed to a small hole with a rubber plug. “Admin key. We need one to make the buttons active.”

“So….”

“We can’t open the doors.”

Kicking a can into the air, “Seriously? All this way and we can’t…”

The gnome cocked his head to the side, “Unless…”

“Unless?” Wendell knelt down next to Otger, “Unless what? We like unless.”

“Well,” turning the box over on its head, he scrapped the mold off to reveal a set of numbers engraved into the metal. “This is a 34C-TTT-890b24 model.”

Wendell nodded, “Right, a 34C….yeah. Of course.”

“Which means it doesn’t have a secondary bolt mechanism.”

Wendell’s smile sat there, stuck on his face. “You know I have no clue what you’re talking about, right?”

Laughing, “This is a 34C-TTT-890b24 model.”

“You said that already.”

“That means it’s not a 34C-TT-890c24 model.”

The smile vanished.

Otger grinned wide, patting the box, “The difference being that in case of a power outage or a short in the system, the locking mechanism is designed to open the doors, to let the workers out.”

“Oh!” Wendell exclaimed, “good news! Right?”

Nodding, “Definitely. All we have to do is short out the main motor, which is right over there.” He pointed to a human sized, box jutting out from the wall. “Once that motor stops working, it should send a signal to the main panel and trigger the doors to open.”

“Way to go Einstein!” Wendell cheered, tussling the gnomes hair.

The gnome froze. Looking up at the hero, slightly hurt, “But…I’m Otger.”

Beaming, “That’s a compliment, buddy! Back home, where I come from, it’s something you say to someone when they figure out something amazing. It means you’re really smart.”

Considering for a moment, the gnome finally looked up at Wendell and beamed.

“So, how do we short the motor out?”

“Well, we have to find a way to get the cover off of the motor.”

“Ok.”

“They we need to pull this box apart and get to the raw cables.” Flipping the device back over, he quickly located a set of clamps. “These get damaged easily, so they’re made to be replaced easily. This won’t be a problem.”

“Fantastic. Then what?”

“Uh.”

“What?”

Scratching behind his neck, “Well…” Otger’s eyes lingered to the motor on the wall, “Then we need to put the cables into the motor.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

The gnome gulped. “Could be. Never…actually done this before.” Forcing himself to smile, “But it should work.”

Wendell looked down at the control box. “That has electricity running through it?”

“Yeah.”

“A lot?”

“Well…,” he shrugged, “enough to control the giant doors, so…yeah, probably.”

“And we have to take the live wires…and…”

Otger tensed up, squinting as he did so, “Yeah. ‘Fraid so.”

Wendell took a deep breath and let it out all at once, “Oy.”

“Yeah.”

“So we can do this, but we’re likely to get fried by the electricity.”

“Well, not exactly.”

Now Wendell frowned dow at the gnome. “Would you please BE exact, Otger?”

Sheepishly, “There shouldn’t be much of a problem, so long as the cable is applied directly to the circuit board above the motor.”

“That doesn’t sound that bad. You know where it is, then? The place to fry?”

Otger nodded, “But I can’t reach it.”

Wendell’s stomach sank. Silly me. Why did I think this would be easy. “I have to do it.”

“Sorry.” Then softer, “We can start walking back now, if you want?”

Staring up at the giant doors, Wendell couldn’t help but think of Simon trapped behind it. All these people. Good people. Trapped down here with no way out. It’s time someone did something for them. Time someone made the effort to change what’s wrong around here.

He stood up. “Show me what I have to do.”

Though it was simple enough to get the cover off of the control box, the motor cover was another matter. It was more than an hour before they found a scrap of metal strong enough to be used as a screwdriver. One by one, they struggles with the rusted bolts. After another two hours, drenched in sweat and not a few cuts, the engine was exposed.

The gears spun rapidly in their carefully crafted cage, purring like a metal cat. A smaller box welded to the top section held the collection of wires and circuits.

Wendell gripped the cable tightly and gulped nervously. Why do you end up doing all the crazy stuff around here? But he knew the answer to that. Looking down at his own chest, You have my back if anything goes wrong, right? He shook his head. Stupid question.

Sparks popped from the end of the cable. This plan suddenly didn’t sound too smart after all.

“So I jam the end of this,” he shook the cable slightly, “into the wires on top?”

Otger bolted for the nearest pile of garbage, his hand held high, thumb up.

Lovely vote of confidence, there, buddy. Squinting his eyes and with a deep breath, Wendell raised the black cable over his head. Might as well make this quick. Lowering the wires, Here goes noth…

A fountain of sparks arched high overhead.

Wendell was out cold before his body hit the far wall.

****

“Because I want to get a jump start on these other idiots, that’s why,” the gnome snapped. “There has to be some lead out there on the Gnolaum!” He looked at the fat gnome, disgusted, “Besides—look at you, Mr. hypocrite. Why are you here, Jake?”

“Because I’ve already had too many sick days, Lewis. If I don’t get these shipments out tonight, other people can’t do their jobs. People depend on me.”

“Whatever, snot wipe.”

Both gnomes skidded to a halt.

“Why are all the lights on?” frowned Jake. But that wasn’t the only odd thing. The monitors were programmed to mute during the night hours—and yet several of the wall-mounted screens were spewing out news feeds loud and clear. Several of the neat and tidy desk formations were also off.

Two desks in particular were askew. Rotated at odd angles. Between them, a small pile of boxes…all set on top of one large, metal crate.

“How the TGII am I supposed to know why the lights are on?” scoffed Lewis, “I’m not normally here, like the rest of you morons from the mail room.” Knocking a set of papers off a desk in passing, he laughed out loud. Strutting away, he called over his shoulder, “Nighty-night, loser.”

Jake stood there, fuming and hurt. “Why do they always have to be such jerks?” he said quietly to himself. He never understood the ingratitude of some employees. Nothing would get done around the FAF without the loyal and efficient workers in the mail room. They were the life blood of the organization outside the fishis themselves.

Kneeling down, he collected the research papers and organized them. “We collect and verify, copy and deliver everything of importance in here,” he reassured himself. It was an exciting job, being trusted to transport information of new discoveries, important theories and making sure the greatest minds of Clockworks could exchange physical data freely. So what if only a handful of the six thousand employees knew his name? It was a start. The government wouldn’t let him go to University. He wasn’t smart enough, they said. But he knew numbers. He understood the delivery grid.

“I might not be smart enough to be a fishis,” he said aloud, “but I can become the best router in the mail room.” He grit his teeth. “Someday I’ll become the Route Director. You’ll see.” Then, just above a whisper, “I’m not a loser.”

Jake stood up silently, wiping his nose across his sleeve. With great care not to wrinkle the documents, he set the papers back onto the desk. It was June Campbell’s desk. Mechanical statistics and manufacturing history. He knew every desk’s name—even if he never actually met a face. June was an important lady, sending and receiving a great deal of mail to field workers and correspondents. Jake shifted the papers lightly with his fingertips, making sure they were offset from the corner by two inches and aligned with the outbox tray.

“Now why are you sitting here like an eye sore?” he asked the huge crate abruptly. The stamps on the side said it was outgoing, but it hadn’t been delivered to the sorting room. Odd to leave something that looked so important just squatting between the desks. Walking around the package, Jake looked for a note or some other directions as to what the contents might be and where he was to deliver it. Finally lifting the smaller packages on top, he discovered a handwritten note. Detailed directions in.

“Red ink,” he cooed reverently. Eyes scanned each line with professional accuracy. Jake’s face exploded in glee.

“LEWWWWWIS!”

“What!??” the young fishes echoed back from down the hall.

Huffing and puffing, Jake rounded the corner, pushing the giant crate into the office, waving the papers in his hand. “I…have…something for…you.”

“Then put it on my desk and go away.”

“No, I mean,” shaking his head, “something for you to deliver.” He nodded down at the giant package.

Lewis looked up from his desk, irritated. “Has the sugar from your obscenely huge doughnut consumption gone to your brain instead of your belly, tard-boy?”

Frowning, “Don’t call me that.”

“What do you WANT?”

Shuffling over to the desk, Jake dropped the paper on top of the computer keyboard. “Read it,” he said coldly.

Snarling like a bear woken from its hibernation, Lewis snatched up the paper and scanned it. The lines in his face immediately smoothed out. “Is this for real? A set of listening and photo devices? An actual tip and sighting of the Gnolaum?”

Jake nodded.

“Sweet!” Jumping to his feet, “I’ll take it off your hands, dweeb, and…”

A palm shot up, knocking the fishis back into his chair. “NOT so fast.” Jake’s expression shifted from hurt, to angry. “I’m thinking now, that you shouldn’t go after all,” he pouted. The corners of his mouth curled slightly upward. “You’ve been mean to me.” He considered the statement. “No, that’s not right. You’re always mean to me, Lewis! I’ve done nothing but help you, serve you and even made you a priority around here, hoping you’d put in a good word for me eventually. I never asked for favors…only that you’d write me a kind recommendation like others do for the lower positions. But I can see you’re nothing but a bully.”

Lewis started laughing.

“You think this is funny?” Jake slammed his fist on the table, which only encouraged the fishis to laugh even louder. “You blamed me for things that I’m still paying for! You wrote my name on disgusting notes and placed them in places I can’t go—and now I’m not allowed to deliver to the executives! Just because you have power around here,” but the anger vanished instantly. “You lied about me, Lewis. I’ve never told a lie or done anything dishonest since the day I was hired, but you changed all that.”

“Yeah?” he chided, “so?”

Jakes expression shifted to a coy smile. “You’re not the one with power. I’m responsible for the mail. I’m responsible for the deliveries and I’ve never let the FAF down.”

“Whoop-dee-DO!” Lewis scoffed, “You’re going to do what? Deny me stamps?”

Jake shook his head. “I’ll hand this crate over to McCoy instead.”

Choking, Lewis nearly flipped out of his chair. “What!??”

Folding his arms, “At least he talks politely…and brings me Doughnuts.”

Jumping up from his chair, the fishis smiled awkwardly, gripping the paper tightly in his fist. “Now look, buddy—there’s no need to act hasty, you know. I’ve been a little harsh, I realize that now, but I was just conditioning you.”

“Conditioni…”

“To make sure you were ready to go into the field as a fishis.”

Jake’s eyes grew wide a saucers. Slowly unfolding his arms, he lowered them to his sides. “A fishis? Me?”

Seeing the opening, “Of course a fishis! Dude! Are you kidding me? With your attention to detail and spotless paperwork? I know I made everyone believe the copier fire was your fault, but hey—that was a test! To see how you’d handle scrutiny. Cross examinations.”

“They docked me eighteen hundred credits.”

“The pressure of the field can get pretty intense! Not everyone’s cut out for this kind of work.”

Jake studied the smile, the bright blue eyes. He blinked hard, “But…you think I am?”

“Absolutely!” Moving around the opposite side of his desk, Lewis shuffled towards the giant crate. “And as soon as I get back from this assignment,” nodding, “with your permission, of course—I’m going to write my personal recommendation for you! I mean, why wait any longer? Right?” He set his hand lovingly on the metal package.

The chubby gnome had to lean against the side of the desk for support. All his life’s ambitions…all his fondest dreams were about to come true? His mother was going to be so proud!

“You start filling out your application,” he paused, trying to recall the mail boy’s last name, “Mr. Blake…”

“Blick.”

“Blick! Of course, Mr. Blick—I’m sorry, I’m just so excited for you…”

Jake looked up at the clock on the wall. “You’d better hurry—you’ll need time to get to the sight and set up before the Gnolaum appears.”

“You’re letting me take it then?”

Jake nodded. Taking the papers, he signed his name to the official stamp at the bottom of the note. Pulling his route-key from his pocket, a small device that time stamped all his paperwork, pressed the end over his signature. “You can take van #202. Just need your thumb print.”

Lifting his hand, Lewis shoved his left thumb into the route-key.

Jake smiled. “Done. It’s all yours.”

****

Morty sighed, “Now that is a great cup of tea.”

It felt good to have the front door back on the warehouse. Even with the whole place being torched, he’d felt over-exposed with the front door missing. Like it was an open invitation for to wander in. It was still his home and he still lived here.

He took another sip…

BANG! BANG! BANG!

…and spilt it all over his beard.

“What the…” he growled, standing up abruptly from the lopsided kitchen table.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Alright,” he said aloud, “ALRIGHT!”

With a grunt and a tug, Morty yanked the newly welded door open.

“Here,” Höbin snapped, shoving a bag into the tinkerer’s arms, “hold this!”

“Höbin—you made it back!” he beamed. “I just made some Arlong Tea, would you…”

“Hold that thought!” he snapped, and ran off into the darkness.

“Where are you going?”

“Be right back!” he replied, the tap-tap-tap of his metal leg echoing through the night.

“Morty Teedlebaum, you have undoubtedly the strangest associations in Clockworks City.” He shook his head and chuckled. It had been a good day. Highly productive with breakthrough’s at every turn. There wasn’t a thing in this city that could…

The night air exploded in flame.

From around the corner, a small mushroom cloud of orange and red billowed up in between the buildings It was followed by the smoke and sound of the shockwave.

Morty’s mouth flopped open.

He watched the flames ascend until the tap-tap-tap of Höbin’s metal leg sounded again. The historian shoved the gnome inside and slammed the roughly-fit door shut. He bolted it into place, just to be sure.

“Yes,” he replied with a broad, happy grin.

Morty blinked, then looked over Höbin’s shoulder at the door. “Yes, what?”

“I’d love some Arlong Tea.”

“Right,” he replied dully. Handing the bag back, he then turned and wandered back to the kitchen.

Höbin plopped the bag down onto the table and pulled up a second chair. “You put a door back on. Good idea. Don’t want just anyone walking along being able to…”

“What just exploded?” he asked, setting a chipped cup down onto the counter.

“Oh, just a FAF delivery van. #202 I believe. Don’t worry, there wasn’t anyone in the van.”

“So you stole a Fishis Archive Foundation vehicle?”

Höbin looked up, shocked. “I would never!” Then grinning, “I was the cargo, that’s all.”

Setting the cup down on the table, Morty poured the tea. “Cargo?

Unzipping the bag, the historian pulled some loose files and then dumped out a small set of electronic keys, security tags and other odd personal items. “Silly me, I made it into the FAF, was able to get into the restricted database and even upload my own program for future use. Problem was, I hadn’t thought of getting out.” He laughed as he examined the level 3 access card with Lewis’s picture on it, “So I decided to create an outgoing delivery.”

Morty stared at the charred and dirty gnome, “But you only had the one air canister…how could you…”

“Drilled holes in the bottom of the crate, that’s all. I was making all this too complicated.” Nodding satisfaction, he set the card down and picked up the key ring. “When I saw all the hyper activity concerning Wendell, I left an urgent package—which was me—revolving around a bogus tip. Labeled the crate fragile equipment, along with the address around the corner and down the street. Said there was a sighting of the Gnolaum, who was hiding in the warehouse district.”

Morty shook his head, “That’s crazy.”

“Oh I know—but the FAF is a curious crowd. I should know. But my best hope was for someone to find me in the morning…or at best, someone from the mail room doing night deliveries. Looks like I hit the jackpot.”

“What’s all the stuff?”

Höbin smirked to himself. “The personal belongings of Lewis Robert Natonek.”

Morty choked on his tea. “T-the research and report Natonek?”

“Yup.”

“The…girls and the…”

“The same.”

The tinkerer shuttered. Of all the famous fishis historians, Lewis was known, not for his results, but for the casualties he left in his wake. Always in the publics eyes, he was a thorn in the side of those truly in love with history. “I’m not a history buff, mind you, but even I can recognize that bad of an egg. The gnome is an embarrassment to your noble profession!”

“Thank you.”

“Why haven’t they thrown him out of the FAF?” Morty’s eyes went to the rattling keys, “Wait…and what are you doing with his personal belongings?!”

Höbin looked up with a grin that sent a sudden chill down the tinkerer’s spine. “Throwing him out of the FAF.”

They stared at one another without blinking. Morty was the first to fold.

“Ok. Tell me.”

Leaning forward, “No one’s been able to pin him to anything worth firing him over. He’s always alone…or he’s covered his tracks too well. He doesn’t take risks unless he knows he can make those willing and able to point the fingers, disappear.”

Morty nodded, “Right, We already established he’s a butt.”

“Well he happened to threaten a kind young kid from the mail room. After this fictional assignment was over, he planned on ruining the simple existence of a good person. So I decided to make sure it didn’t happen.” Sliding a tiny lever in his cybernetic arm, a mini flap popped up. Carefully using his fingernails, Höbin pried the data chip free. “I recorded the entire conversation. Both with the kid from the mail room…and his plotting, backstabbing words while he thought he was alone in the van.” He held up the precious little chip and looked at it closely. “I’ll mail this to my contact inside the FAF and Mr. Natonek can change his name to mud. The administration will be able to take his credentials, prosecute him and send him home with the Centurions.”

Morty sat back in his chair and gasped. “Wow, Höbin. I know you’ve done some incredible things in your career—and I know you’re a protective father, but…” he trailed off.

The historian set the keys down and finally snatched up Lewis’s personal travel license. A vulgar smile on the blonde gnome’s face glowered back at him. “But?”

“I didn’t think you were vindictive.”

Höbin flinched, like he’d been slapped. With a deep sigh, he set the I.D. back down on the table. “I’m not,” he replied in a softer tone.

“Then why would you go to such lengths that you’d blow up a company vehicle and, I’m assuming here, blame it all on Natonek?”

Sitting up straight, he tapped the table with his metal hand. “Two reasons, actually. One—because that gnome has not only tarnished a profession I love dearly, he’s used the trust of the public to manipulate them for his own selfish desires.” His fingers slowly rolled under his palm into a solid fist.

Morty took a sip of his tea. “And two?”

The glare from under the wild eyebrows was unmistakable. It was recognition. Anger. Resolve. The cold blue eye reflected the light from the single bulb overhead.

“I started my career in the mail room.”