It doesn’t matter how much to research, how you prepare yourself or exert yourself—you won’t always see the outcome you expected.

“This is absolute rubbish,” Höbin grunted again.

“You keep saying that,” Morty snickered, “and yet you keep reading it.” He put the mini screwdriver between his teeth and twisted the cable cover into place. It was almost done. So close…so close.

The historian scratched his head vigorously. He’d been at it for hours since he’d gotten back and his notes were scattered all over the desk and floor. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so frustrated. “The so-called facts that the FAF have gathered over time just don’t…add up.” It wasn’t that Höbin was unorganized—no, it was the exact opposite. He was trying to follow the systematic approach he’d always used in sifting through official documents, and it wasn’t working. The lists he’d copied from both the guilds and the tinkerer’s individual genealogy charts were identical. At least that was confirmed.

Höbin knew he was on the right track—so what was going on?

“It’s as if someone has been keeping two sets of notes. One for the official collection, where we have to use time stamps…and the other with the actual personal information I’m looking for. But that makes as much sense as  donkey in a dress. Why would someone care in the least about adjusting personal, lines of achievements? Why alter the personal notes, when you already have full credit in the official ones?”

Morty popped the cover into place and laughed to himself.

“This isn’t a laughing matter.”

“What? Oh. No, I’m sorry—that was just me being excited, not about your dilemma.” Setting the cable down, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. The PROMIS backup was finally ready for testing on a larger scale. His cheeks actually hurt from smiling. Well, he’d been out of practice. But now it was time to let the joy overflow. For some strange reason TGII had paved the way for success and Morty was going to not only take each and every blessing offered…but be grateful for it all. Success was so close he could finally taste it! Lifting his arms out to his sides, he stretched and stretched…yawning out loud.

“Stop that,” Höbin grumbled. “Your good mood is…annoying me.”

“Oh-HO!” the tinkerer laughed, “Upset that I beat you?”

Throwing himself back in his chair, the historian snorted. “We’re not in a race, you can’t…,” but he did a double take, “Wait, you’re done?”

Morty’s grin only grew wider. “I’m done. The device is complete, whole, intact…ready for full scale testing.”

Rising to his feet, the cyborg waddled over to the device. It really was a thing of beauty. Nearly eleven feet tall, the tinkerer had kept the original cylinder design for the lenses, allowing the light to be magnified and converted into energy.

Höbin patted the giant tube with a gloved hand. “You think it’ll work? The entire grid is more than sixty-thousand miles of cable you know. Plus, you don’t know what will happen once you start pumping juice into the system.”

Morty appreciated intelligent conversation. Even though Höbin was a fishis and not a tinkerer, he had a keen mind and comprehended things out side of the box as a matter of habit. It wasn’t hard for the historians imagination to stretch and accept something new, something unique or original. The foundation of a tinkerer.  He couldn’t help but admire that in the cyborg. “I believe, with the right power source, I can generate enough juice to make a serious dent in the electrical grid. As for what will actually happen when the power sources collide, well…” he had no clue. That’s alright. One problem at a time.

“Will anyone notice the drain from the grid?” Höbin walked around the circumference of the device, counting the cables. “I’m assuming here that the shift between energy sources won’t be instantaneous.” He paused, staring at the cables on the floor. “You don’t…have it all plugged in.”

“No, not yet. I need to run the final tests before I attempt the actual connection—just in case I missed something.”

The fishis peeked over the lower hump of the device. “Soooo…what’s your power source?”

Pointing to the top of the cylinder, “See that chamber? The one with the black sealing rings? That’s the infuser.” He beamed with excitement as he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a black velvet bag. “Where I will put…” pulling open the draw string, light escaped from within, shining brightly into the gnomes face. It was a warm, comforting light. Much like that of the sun on a cool spring day. Pulling his hand free, Morty stared into the shard and whispered, “this!”

Höbin nearly fell over. His hands grasped the edge of the PROMIS to steady himself. “WOAH there buddy! Is that…” he blinked, not sure he was seeing clearly, “wait a minute, that’s can’t possibly be a…”

Morty nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off the prize he held in his palm, “A Lanthya shard.”

“A shard!??” Höbin choked, astounded. “How in the world did you get your hands on an ancient artifact…and may I clarify her, a priceless and infinitely powerful artifact!”

Morty couldn’t stop grinning. His cheeks burned with strain and…well, delight. His problems—his worst problems, since he’d started this project, were now solved. It was always the power source. But now, even if the PROMIS rejected the first attempt—even the hundredth attempt…he could always try again. And again. The Lanthya shard was a source of unlimited power. He started laughing louder, almost hysterically. “I know.” Gripping the shard close to his chest, he looked up. “Chuck owed me a favor…and a promise.”

“Mahan’s Pink Panties,” Höbin swore.

Morty bobbed his head gleefully like a child with a new toy, “I can’t wait to plug it in!”

****

Deloris continued to ignore Nat’s pleas to rest. There was no place TO rest. Not after the events of the last two days. There were too many people, too many eyes on her all the time. Funny—it never seemed to bother her until today. It was…irritating. She was on edge and for once, she had to get out. Get away. So she decided to pace through the vacant warehouse. Alone. She didn’t want to lecture or be lectured to. She didn’t want to argue. She didn’t want to talk to another reporter. She didn’t want to give her views to Motherboard or to Bellows.

Clockworks City was tumbling into chaos.

She just wanted to be alone and think.

No. That wasn’t accurate. She wanted to go home. That was it. She wanted to be with her husband. Her silly, awkward, delightfully brilliant husband.

She shuttered. The husband who had pleaded with her to stay and help him complete his life’s work…yet supported her drive to serve the G.R.R.. To serve the cause.

Supported her leaving him on his own.

Again.

It’s funny how it took so much loss and so much adversity to see things clearly. They’d never had a chance to have children. No. That was another lie. They always had time, but Deloris decided to choose a career over offspring. Not that she’d regretted her accomplishments…but there was no family to leave any legacy to now.  No one to keep the name or the dreams alive—like she and Morty had done for their own fathers.

Morty had asked more than a dozen times to have children. Lovingly. Patiently. Never pushing…only waiting. He always waited.

She always left.

Now the world was changing. Faster than Deloris thought possible.

Wendell was supposed to deliver the carefully scripted speech. To cause people…specifically the normals, to reconsider their positions in society. To open their minds and hearts to new possibilities, new opportunities, for a more unified race. A race that could venture out into the light—like the Gnolaum prophecies said they would do.

But Wendell had changed the course of the focus.

Revolution. That’s all he had to say to those suffering. Those struggling and beset by the harsh conditions. A single word that set Clockworks on fire.

Revolution.

The flow of goods had stopped. Stores were quickly being drained by panicked citizens. Transport masters were demanding a raise in wages. Citizens were refusing to pay travel fees. Manufacturers were redistributing and selling to workers first,  at fair prices too. Customers, or the general public, were now second in line…because if they didn’t, workers stopped working and no one got any goods at all. The poor were learning that they had value in society—not because someone said they did—but because they saw the cause and effect. Technology allowed hundreds of millions of minds to connect and unite at the push of a button. Sharing ideas, sharing focus, coordinating open rebellion against a system that was not only broken…it was corrupt.

The sound of her soft shoes scuffled across the cold cement floor. A brisk wind whipped around the machines and over her shoulders. She shivered and pulled her sweater tight against her blouse.

Was it such a bad thing? To have the government pulled down by those it was built to serve? Pulled down by those it was abusing? Ignoring…or worse? She wondered. The Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries was about truth and choice. The belief was that if there was full disclosure, and the choices were set honestly in front of a gnome, her or she would choose the right more often than not. It wasn’t perfect—but freedom wasn’t about perfection. It was about choice.

Even the choice to struggle, ignore, refuse…even fail.

If the choice was plain and open, one would more likely seek freedom, not slavery. They’d seen it in the lower districts. In the slums, where poverty crushed the hope and light form so many souls. That is, until hearts united. Until people reached out to one another—no always by an idea, but through the sheer need to survive…and it grew. One good experience gave way to another, fostering the desire to create an organized body that did good for one another.

Peaceful coexistence. Not violence and certainly not war. If a neighbor was suffering, others would come to their aid—even if the government was not involved. Especially if the government was not involved. That was not the role of the government.

No. The citizens were already over taxed, over regulated, manipulated and forced to live a life that did little more than feed a machine to keep the rich rich and the poor utterly destitute.

And now Deloris didn’t want any part of it.

She sighed.

“I miss you Morty,” she whispered to herself. “I was a fool to leave. They don’t need me here. Not anymore. Not like you do.” She sighed again, this time so heavily her shoulders fell forward. “Like you always have.”

But like so many important issues in life, she simply put her husband on a shelf.

Now Wendell was gone. No one knew where, other than down a manhole. In a city with over a billion and a half people, that wasn’t a lot to go on. The media continued to spin the events into problems that didn’t exist and completely ignored the real change. The real events. Feeding lies to the people and making the Gnolaum sound like a terrorist.

Too much. Too big. Too fast.

“Deloris?” the buzz on the older com-link crackled in her pocket. She’d promised Nat that she would take the small communication device, so long as she was physically left alone. The device fell silent for a few moments, then, “Deloris, I’m sorry for the interruption, but we need to talk. It’s important.”

She pulled the bulky device out and held it close to her mouth. Pushing the blue button, “Go ahead, Nathan.”

“Cryo just picked up a distress alert. The furnace doors have broken down. I believe that’s where Wendell most likely retreated to.”

“Otger was with him.”

The device crackled, then, “Exactly. But that’s not all. We caught a secondary message. It was through the Centurion channel, directly from the Citadel…but they were trying to keep it quiet. Off the main waves.” The voice dropped off to a near whisper, “Someone broke into the Presidential suite.”

It was not the kind of news Deloris was prepared for.  She shook her head. “Chuck.”

“That’s what I’m guessing.”

“Great,” she said to herself. Then, lifting the mic to her mouth, “anything else?”

Crackle, “Yeah. Morty called for you. He said it’s urgent.”

****

“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” The squeak in Nathan’s voice made him sound like a teenage girl, “You can’t just…leave!” His hands trembled against the metal frame of his wheelchair as he searched her face.

Deloris lowered her head, her fists rested on her hips. “I’m sorry, would you like to say that to me again?”

Nat gulped and quickly raised his hands, “That’s not—wait. I didn’t mean…”

“You’re a valued asset and a skilled individual that we will greatly miss,” Bellows filled in. He grinned into the camera, “That’s what I believe our young friend was trying to say, Ms. Hinder.” The wealthy business owner turned slightly in his leather chair, striking a match along his desk and bring it to his pipe.

“Mrs. Teedlebaum,” she corrected him, though it was with a smile. It felt good to say that name out loud. Her name. “That’s been my name for most of my life, Mr. Bellows. It’s about time I start living up to it.”

Nat gasped, looking from monitor to Deloris, then over to Shamas.

“Don’t look at me,” shrugged the bodyguard and backing away, “I’ve never been married.”

“Guh-puh,” Nat sputtered incoherently.

“Wow,” giggled Deloris, “that’s the first time I’ve ever seen the computer genius speechless.”

Slapping his hand down on the wheelchair, “How am I supposed to get on without you?”

Leaning over, she gently gave the Nat a motherly kiss on the forehead. With a broad smile of confidence, she whispered, “Historically.”

Her bags were already packed and sitting outside the office door. Shaking hands with Shamas, she added softly, “Watch over him, will you? He get’s a bit uptight from time to time and tends to rub people the wrong way.”

He winked.

“Oh,” she added, turning back to Nathan. “I also believe there was a particularly adorable fabricator on the TNT crew who idolized you.” She blew him a kiss as she shut the door, “I’d look her up if I were you.”

And with that, she was gone.

For several moments the office remained quiet. The only sound heard was the pulse of the factory machines through the cement walls.

“I’m sunk,” Nat finally grunted, his chin dropping to his chest. His eyes grew wide with the realization of what lay before him. “We’ve incited riots all over the city and now, without Deloris to move them…sway them, they’ll run smoke.” He gasped, head popping upright, “Or worse—they’ll leave!” He let out a shuttering breath, “We’re doomed.”

“Nonsense,” Bellows chided him, “You have more willing followers than ever before! Look at the general population of my factories alone. With the right direction and encouragement, the G.R.R. will be unstoppable. That woman isn’t changing her loyalties, Nathan—just her focus. Teedlebaum is about to change Clockworks as we know it. You’ve said it yourself and so has Motherboard. If he succeeds in completing his device, that tinkerer will end up bringing a whole new level of freedom to our race.” He chuckled, “For goodness sakes, boy—it’s a great time to be alive!”

Shamas smirked. “Great time to be a gnome.”

****

“I don’t care how fast they are!” the Centurion barked, “Stun ‘em and bag ‘em. Every last gnome in this furnace is going with us…NOW!”

“SIR, YES SIR!!” the mirrored helmets shouted in unison.

“MOVE OUT!”

Children sprinted away, running for the main furnace, where they could hide under the piles of garbage. That was the last resort tactic—to hide closer to the furnace—but it was effective against  the uniforms. The heavy leather and armor of the Centurions absorbed the heat, quickly cooking the gnomes—so they stayed far from the machine. The air was also too hot to breathe, but the children seemed to be able to endure it better than the elderly. Certain spots were created, insulated pockets, along with cloth and small containers of filtered water. These would allow the children to stay cooler, longer, and outlast their pursuers.

Centurions fanned out, leaving nothing in their wake. Not a word was said to the muddles, either. Once in range, the gnomes were beaten with clubs until unconscious…or stunned. Short, shotgun-style weapons shot tiny wires at fleeing targets, piercing tattered cloth.

Muddles fell upon their faces, flipping about like fish, unable to control their muscles as they were pumped full of electricity. Centurions laughed wickedly. Several held down weapon triggers until foam covered the lips of their targets and faces turned blue.

Wendell was already on his feet and sprinting across the heaps. They don’t care. He caught sight of a female collapsing to the ground in a powerful seizure. Old or young, these Centurions just don’t care! The reality of the situation gripped his stomach—the smiley on his shirt hyperventilating. I have to get the kids away from these the vicious attacks.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

“There he is!” cried an officer, “The Gnolaum, just like they said we’d find him!”

Centurions broke off from the arch and pursued him. Wendell’s longer legs gave him the advantage, however, and he quickly put distance between them.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

They’re going to hurt these little ones. He clenched his fists tightly as he sprinted. He could feel the power surging through his veins. But a thought flashed in his mind. We have to go with them. It made his skin crawl—the thought of these good people being subjected to this violence—but he had to leave with this group of soldiers. Wendell had to find out where everyone was being taken. Find out what happened to Simon. It’s the only way to find out here they’re taking the muddles. He just had to prevent the violence. But how?

Something glinted in the firelight.

Skidding to a stop, he threw himself at the object and quickly yanked it free. A flattened filing cabinet. The drawer had been crushed into the frame, creating a small hand hold big enough for three of his fingers. A shield.

Not perfect, but it’ll do.

“There he is!” shouted a Centurion. Four of them were still pursuing, even into the heat. They’s determined.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

“Now boys,” he said loudly, standing upright. He held a hand up in a defensive posture, while keeping his makeshift shield close against his chest. “Let’s talk about this.”

“We’re not talking with you about anything, you heretic!”

“That’s not technically true, Bernie. You just talked with him about…well, not talking with him.”

“Shut up, Fennel.”

“Well, you did.”

“Just shoot him!” screamed the third, huffing as he reached the top of the garbage hill.

The two raised their weapons and aimed.

Wendell saw the tiny red lights flash from the ends. Infra-red for targeting. He stood there and let them focus on his chest.

One, two, he counted, then raised the crude shield in front of his chest and ducked.

There was a familiar ‘Thwip’ sound of the air canisters, followed by a PING! PING!

Needles bounced off the cabinet.

“You missed!”

“Do…we get another try?”

“You only get one shot, moron! Roll it back up…fast!!”

Wendell smirked to himself, Good to know. Reaching down, he snatched up the ends of the cables and shouted, “Säko!”

Skin tingling, he could feel the current being gathered from the air and pulled into his arms, pushed through his hand and into the wire. Like a wave of ice water that made all the hair on his body rise. He held the intent of the element, picturing the current running down the wires, through the weapon and into the uniform of the Centurion.

The gnome stumbled back, but did not fall.

“Woah—feedback!” the gnome yelled.

It’s not enough. Another uniform came into view. Wendell knew how to create arcs of lightening, but that could kill if he wasn’t careful. Have to figure out how to end this. He didn’t want to hurt anyone he didn’t have to. But then he heard it…just on the other side of the garbage hill.

Children screamed. Lingering and agonizing cries of pain.

…followed by laughter.

“Teho!” he roared aloud.

“AHHHHHHHH!” screeched the Centurion. Sparks exploded from the end of the weapon. The small frame of the gnome shook violently, small arcs of electricity pulsing across the leather.

Wendell calmed himself just enough to let the uniform, shuttering and twitching, collapse to the ground.

Without pausing, he stepped forward and snatched the second set of wires. “Säko teho!” he hissed, imagining the Centurion being blown back.

Sparks once again exploded…this time flipping the Centurion through the air. The guards helmet bounced against the ground as he landed, his body skidding to a halt.

“He’s armed!” cried the third, “Shoot him!”

Wendell didn’t have time to raise the makeshift shield to protect himself. The three remaining weapons fired at him simultaneously.

Needles penetrated deeply into his neck, arm and thigh.

“Argh!” he flinched. Then, gritting his teeth, he snapped,“Säko teho!”

Every muscle in his back and chest tensed as powerful currents were drawn from around him and funneled through his skin. Keeping his eyes wide open, he held the image of himself being a battery—and sending the current back through the wires he’d been shot with. Like grabbing an electric fence, his frame shook. The only difference was, Wendell was the fence.

The Centurions felt every bit of it.

Unable to let go, the three gnomes dropped to their knees,. trembling. One by one, they teetered and fell onto their backs.

“Läkätä,” Wendell blurted out. Still shaking as the electricity seeped from him, he fell forward himself. His face planted heavily into a wilted box. For nearly a minute he struggled to control his breathing, the muscles in his face and arms twitching.

Woah. Now…that was intense.

He blinked several times as he propped himself up. The screams of the children had stopped. Completely.

Oh no.

He glanced over at the scattered and unconscious Centurions. They’re out cold. Good.

Keeping low, Wendell crawled on arms and knees until he reached the top of the garbage ridge. Glimpsing over the lip, he could see the back of the transport. Small bodies were tossed into a pile, like dead animals. The children. You scum-sucking…but it wouldn’t help. The rest of the team continued their sweep outward. Every few feet, the Centurions would take long poles and stab them into the garbage. They weren’t taking any chances.

He counted the bodies he could see. Each child was thrown roughly into the back of the transport. It made Wendell cringe. I have to go down there. Make sure I go with them. Which meant he was going to get tasseled again. There’s no way they would let him ride conscious.

“Maybe I can lay here and pretend to be unconscious,” he said to himself. “Make it look as if this was a serious struggle and they finally caught me.”

“Oh, you won’t have to pretend,” said a cold voice from behind.

Before Wendell could turn around, he felt his body pierced by more than a dozen needles. The pinching sensation shot up his spine and then…

ZZZZZT!