My dad always told me to stand up for what I believed in.

“Don’t be a sheep, son. People eat sheep.”

It felt good to get away, even if it was only for a few hours.

Morty scooted around the group of giggling teenagers and handed Deloris her plate. Setting the silverware and his own plate down, he went back for the drinks. There was a bounce in his step as he slide from counter to counter, humming a soft tune. Yup, this felt good. When he got back to the table, he slid in beside Deloris.

“I love that you do that,” she cooed, through trying not to make a scene.

He looked at her perplexed, “Do what?”

She batted her dark lashes at him, unable to hold back the smile. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “You don’t even know you do it…which makes it even more precious.” She took a breath and sighed contentedly, “I’m talking about how you always sit next to me when we go out. Maybe it’s just silly, but it makes me feel good that you want to be near me like this. It…makes me happy.”

He poked the straw into his drink, “Who wouldn’t want to sit next to a lovely girl like you?”

She blushed, then pouted her lips in his direction, blowing him a mock kiss. “Oh yeah, you’re getting smooched something fierce as soon as we’re alone.”

Morty chuckled.

The food was fantastic, like always. Rocco’s Bottom BBQ was the best hole in the wall this side of the city. It had been their favorite for twenty years and even though Rocco had a string of eateries now—this was the original location. Rocco still worked his magic in the kitchen and he still served the best food anywhere. He took his first bite of his sandwich and realized he was wrong…it wasn’t a good day. It was perfect.

“Still good, Mort?”

The tinkerer glanced up from his personal heaven and wiped his mouth before smiling at the owner. “After twenty years, you have to ask me, Rocco?”

The silver haired gnome pushed his bifocals up over his nose and tossed another set of ribs onto the grill, “Just tryin’ ta make sure ya come back another twenty. Know what I’m sayin’?”

Rocco prided himself in supporting locals. Meat from the Barley Brothers, spices from Diggers and wood scraps from Tillman Crafts, a family furniture store two blocks over. He hung the slabs for several days to drain the blood, which naturally tenderized the meat. Then he’d apply his secret dry rub. No one knew how to prepare it but Rocco, but Morty could guess a few ingredients in each bite. Salt, black pepper, garlic, onion and spices to give it a solid kick…right before the sweetness enveloped your tastebuds. The smoke rolled out from the kitchen and into the eating area, so the whole building smelled like BBQ and caramelized brown sugar. Rocco’s daughter opened the front door to let the smoke escape…and to draw more customers in.

The girls at the next table giggled again.

Deloris stared at the pink nails and huge hoop earrings. They looked more interested in what they looked like than what they were doing. Open mouths, chewing gum like animals chew grass.

“Did I ever look like that?” She made a silent gesture with her hands as if she wee laughing at something humorous Morty said. “Act like a bubble-brain?”

He chuckled, “If you did, I sure missed it.” Morty took another bite of his sandwich, but paused, mid-chew. “I would of paid good money to see it, though.”

She hit him in the arm.

“You know what they’re talking about?” he grimaced.

“Let me guess.”

“You only get one.”

She took a sip of her tea and wiped her mouth daintily with a napkin. “The incredible winning streak of the handsome, yet aloof Trench Pilot, Wendell Dipmier?”

Just the mention of Wendell’s name caused the girls to whip their heads about and stare at her. They gave a unified gasp and giggled again.

Deloris blinked twice. “Wow. They really are.”

“Yup. This is absolutely insane. Wendell has his next arena fight tonight and I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole of Clockworks is going to show up. That kids face is on every channel!” He took another bite of his food and scarfed it down. “I don’t bother watching the news anymore—it easier to just as Wendell when he wanders into the kitchen.” He snorted, “They’d all be shocked if they knew he was human.”

She held a finger to her lips, “Not too loud, dear—we don’t want to be accosted by the fans.”

The laughed together.

A public transport pulled up to the stop light outside the eatery, letting passengers off. Advertised along the side were the faces of Dax, Alhannah and Wendell. They were smiling with their heads perched on the phrase, “Making History in Trench Wars.”

It was enough to cause Morty to cough. He hadn’t thought about it a lot, but this was getting serious. Wendell had returned to the warehouse, not only alive after being thrown into the city furnace, but hungry for any and all fights that could be arranged. During the first week, he took two side bouts, both fast victories. The hero had pressed for more fights and between Nat, Alhannah and Shamas—as well as pulling a few strings within Trench headquarters, week two was near back to back combat.

Four dual pilot events, one with Alhannah and three with Dax as his backup. The fights were against older veterans, looking to climb back up the latter of fame, but to no avail. Wendell and Dax worked so well together, the fights were usually over within minutes. The second set of fights, a total of ten in all, were one on one bouts between Wendell and common street challenges. They weren’t the best paying gigs—but the news crews were eating it up. Wendell was merciless…destroying each S.L.A.G. like they were standing still. After each fight, he took the time to answer at least two questions from every reporter, even if he talked into the night. It was an impressive strategy. Not only was Steel and Stone on more stations, and the preferred team of the anchors—Wendell was quickly gaining a favorable reputation with the media as a whole.

“Morty?”

“Wha….I-I’m sorry, dear. Did you say something?”

Deloris reached over and squeezed the tinkerers hand. “This is a date. Leave Wendell and the others at the warehouse, where they belong. Be here, with me. Ok?”

“I’m sorry.”

She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

“Proud?” his brows jumped upward, “…of me? For what?”

“You’ve been working so hard on PROMIS. Staying focused. Even if you don’t make the deadline Shrub pushed on you…I think you’ve made more progress this last few weeks than you have in over a year.”

“Wellll,” he hesitated, “I can’t take all the credit. Having you and Cryo64 helping me has been a huge boost to my productivity.” And it was true. Not being alone and having other points of view to share ideas was empowering, not to mention encouraging for the tinkerer. “It’s exciting,” he grinned, “having you there, working by my side again. I feel like I can do anything.”

He couldn’t tell if she was shocked, disagreed with him or what. Deloris sat there, staring at him, open mouthed.

“What?”

She clenched her teeth and rolled her eyes, “I’m thinking you need to get out more often! What a softy you are today—what’s up with you?”

“Just…thinking. About all of this. The team, the government closing in, what might happen if and when Wendell wins…and then there’s the PROMIS.”

Popping a french fry in her mouth, “What about it?”

“I’m so close. Using the box my father made as a model, I feel like I’m so close to actually discovering a perpetuating energy source. Something that can feed itself and produce energy for the whole city! The tweaks Cryo helped me make in the configurations will amplify a smaller energy source—but that’s the catch. We have to generate light, which gets amplified, to be converted to energy…then split, so the generator gets fed, while the bulk of the juice goes out to Clockworks.” He scratched his head, “Haven’t figured that part out yet.”

She patted his hand, “You will, dear. I know you will.”

“Sounds like I should take you out more as well. I like this encouragement, slash, support system.” Morty started to laugh, but Rocco was standing next to the table.

“You seeing this, Doc?” he asked, pointing up at the old TV hanging in the corner of the room. He waved his hand. “Gina—turn that up, will ya?”

“Yeah, pop.”

Rocco’s daughter pressed the volume button to give life to a scene with five Centurions and a maintenance driver, all being checked by a medical team. behind them, a transport was smoking—the front end looking like it had been charred. The anchorgnome was interviewing the Centurion officer, his visor flipped back to reveal his face.

“These terrorists are highly trained and extremely dangerous. We had them in custody…and were bringing them in for questioning. They have outposts in the underbelly of the city, but we’d tracked them down. Next thing we know we’re all being electrocuted.” He blinked a few times, rolled his shoulders back, “The whole vehicle overloaded.” Pointing back at the charred marks around the engine area, “Thing could have blown up and killed us all, but luckily the protective suits we wear, designed and provided by our illustrious government, saved our lives.”

The anchorgnome pulled the microphone to his own mouth, “So they got away?”

The officer reluctantly nodded. “Worse part is, one of my most valued soldiers, Leith Potter, was in the back, guarding the prisoners.” He looked into the camera, forcing a concerned expression across his face, “When we gained consciousness from the massive assault, we found they’d taken him hostage.”

“So where are the terrorists now, sir—do the Centurions know?”

Grabbing the mic, he turned into the camera, a scowl on his face. “They’ve fled back to the underbelly of Clockworks, to rejoin their diabolical cult!” Slamming his fist over his chest, “But I swear that we will find them and bring them to justice…or wipe them out before they can harm a single citizen of this great and noble city.”

Tugging the microphone away from the growling gnome officer, the anchorgnome smiled awkwardly into the camera. “Well there you have it Gene—there’s more going on in this city than the average gnome might realize. It looks like it’s not so safe to walk these streets, so keep your eyes open and phones ready. If you see anything suspicious, we urge you to call our Point-The-Finger Hotline at 444-121-88423, extension B. All calls are anonymous, so don’t be afraid to make that accusation! If we work together, we can put the unwanted behind bars for good.” Winking into the camera, “Back to you, Gene.”

Rocco shook his head, disgusted. “What is this city comin’ to I ask ya? Criminals, walkin’ ‘round like they own the place now? Assaultin’ our law enforcement?” He nudged Morty’s shoulder, “You believe this stuff, Mort?”

Wiping his mouth and shrugging, “We used to be a people of producers, inventors and a community that lived in harmony and peace. Now look at us. Our fundamental beliefs are split by factions and the thing that unites us is a mock combat by giant machines! It’s all gone crazy if you ask me.”

The cook stood there a moment, considering Morty’s words. “Hadn’t thought of it that way. Startin’ ta sound like the stories my grammy would tell.” He chuckled to himself as he walked back to the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway, he turned back, “It could always be worse, eh? The real Gnolaum could always show up and bring about the end of our way of life.”

Deloris started choking on her sandwich.

****

“But why are you holding back your portion of the money, Wendell, that’s all I’m asking?” Alhannah shuffled past Dax, trying to keep up. “Not like you haven’t earned it, of course—I just…”

Wendell stopped and spun around abruptly. “Just what?” He stared at her blankly, waiting for an answer. There was no hostility in his voice, no aggression in his posture or sign of anger on his face. He simply…stared.

Alhannah gripped the wall for support, her legs shaking. She’d lost a great deal of weight over the past two weeks, no matter what she ate or how much she slept. But she continued to refuse everyone’s help…including her own father. Her skin had become all but transparent and her cheeks sank deep into her face, while the white of her eyes had slowly turned a shade of yellow. “I’m just trying to help,” she said just above a whisper, “that’s all. I don’t trust Bellows and all your private meetings has me worried, Wendell.” She tried to swallow, but her dry tongue and throat made it near impossible. “He’s holding something back, I just know it.”

Reaching out, Wendell lightly gripped her elbow. “Alhannah,…”

“Ow,” she flinched, yanking back from his touch.

His expression softened, “I’m…sorry. Did I hurt you?” She looks so… “You need to rest, ‘Hannah. You can complain and argue all you want, but your last fight nearly did you in. Go to bed and leave this with me and Dax.”

She shook her head, “The S.L.A.G. wasn’t responding properly, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”

Yeah. Whatever. You look like death warmed over. He smiled tenderly at her, but the smiley face across his chest couldn’t hide the worry he felt. “It doesn’t really matter now, does it? You lost your Trench match. Now it’s up to me and Dax to win this. You have all the time in the world to rest now, so stop playing little miss accountant and…”

Without warning, Alhannah’s knees buckled. Her tiny frame fell forward and collapsed into Wendell’s arms—a soft exhale of breath escaped her lips. Her eyes fluttered and then rolled back into her skull.

“HELP!” he yelled down the hall. “Dax! Chuck! Höbin!” He quickly knelt onto the floor, holding her firmly.

She looked so small and frail, even though Wendell was the same size as the warrior. Hang on Alhannah. We’re going to get you some help now. You’ll rest up, get better and then kick my backside like you’re supposed to. “Hang in there,” he repeated in a whisper. She was completely drenched in sweat. He lifted the matted bangs from her cheek and forehead, pulling them away from her eyes and lips.

The hair came free, falling from her scalp. What the….? He held the hair close to his face, stunned.

Alhannah hacked loudly, her chest heaving tightly. Then again—her head flipping forward, phlegm sticking to her bottom lip, dangling down like spider webs. Wendell gripped her shoulders so she didn’t flip from his grasp, onto the floor. When her body finally relaxed and her head drifted back against his arm, he noticed blood trickling out her nose. With each passing moment, the flow increased. Running freely, it drizzled down her cheek and onto the floor.

Wendell’s heart raced as he sat in the hall, too scared to move her.

“SOMEONE HELP ME!”

****

“She’s going to be fine,” Dax reassured him again, but Wendell didn’t believe it.

He clicked his harness into place and lit up Gnolaum’s dashboard. All he knew was, too many people were counting on him and no matter what choice he made, it wouldn’t be the right one.

Dax’s voice buzzed over the speakers, “Come one kid—let me know you’re hearing me. I ain’t a shrink, but I know you’re worried. Höbin’s a genius with herbs and Chuck’s making a mägo brew that could probably raise the dead. They won’t let her out of their site—so she has the best care possible. You know that, right?”

“I’m not worried. I’m mad.” Wendell could see Dax  on his monitor, pacing around the S.L.A.G.s feet.

“Look, you don’t have ta…”

“I’m mad because she’s sick and we don’t know why. I’m mad because there are good, kind people in this city that are treated and cast out like garbage. I’m mad because…”

A pause, and then, “Go on.”

Wendell grit his teeth and gripped the console. This is all so useless. I’m not making a bit of difference! “…because I’m not able to change any of it.”

“You listen to me,” Dax said firmly, “I’ve been around a long time. Seen quite a bit of this world and been rejected by most of it. There’s one thing I discovered that feels like a kick in the teeth, but it’s as true as the sun shines.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Dax sighed heavily. “Affecting change takes time, Wendell. Things don’t happen in a day or a week or a month. With stubborn folk, it don’t change in years, either. I’ve watched cities grow and fall. Seen kingdoms born and flourish—ruled by evil cowards who grab at power until someone stands up and says ‘no.’ But it always takes time. Generations of time in most cases.”

Wendell scoffed, “I don’t have generations, Dax.”

“Yeah, you do. You’ll outlive all of us, Wendell, until your job is done…and you just got started. You keep forgettin’ that yer planting the seeds today, ta make a difference tomorrow.”

The cockpit door lowered and locked into place.

“I know you don’t like hearin’ it. Don’t think anyone does, Wendell—but when this is over—and I mean this whole gnome thing—and we can go home, we’ll form a plan. A generational plan to change the world. You, me, that senile old fart…and ‘Hannah.” The elf leaned against Gnolaum’s foot, resting his head against the metal. “We’ll do it together. No matter how long it takes, ok?”

He wasn’t too sure if Dax was giving him a pep talk or an actual commitment, but it sounded good. Sounded…right. He flipped the switch to start Gnolaum’s engine. Then he took a deep breath and whispered into the mic, “Alright.”

Dax rapped his knuckles on the metal and backed away. “That’s a boy. Now go rip some heads off.”

Wendell smiled confidently to himself, I plan to. “Nat, you copy?”

The cripple adjusted his headset, then reached over and squeezed Nibbles hand, “Loud and clear.”

Rotating at the waist, Wendell made a few basic moves and bends with the S.L.A.G., “Freak, how does Gnolaum look?”

The plump mechanic went down the checklist on his tablet. Adjusting his goggles, “We made sure you were prepped as soon as they opened the pit. It’s one of the perks when they force you to store the S.L.A.G.s in here. Besides—they also have all the cool new tools to add the final tweaks and oily kisses. So long story short, you’re good to go.”

With the exception of Alhannah’s condition, this felt good. Not great—but the events felt like they were falling into place. Just two more fights and I’ll have enough to buy licenses for all the muddles to get out of Clockworks. All he had to do was stay on top. Keep swinging and keep winning. It hurt, not sharing his plan with Alhannah, but Wendell knew she would have objected to what he was doing. She was fair minded, but rough around the heart. She hadn’t seen when he’d seen…or eaten garbage, side by side with children.

The walls shook with the cheers of the crowd.

No, tonight will ensure the survival of hundreds of gnomes. The thought gave Wendell strength. It excited him. I will have finally done something good. Done something right! Tonight will ensure Simon’s survival.

“Place your bets on Gnolaum for the win, ladies and gentlegnomes,” he muttered to himself. He grinned so wide his cheeks hurt.

“What was that?” asked Nat.

“Uhhhh, nothing. Just talking to myself, that’s all.”

Dax laughed, “You’re spending too much time with Chuck again.”

They both laughed.

The doors to the pit opened, a spotlight shining over the opening. The loudspeakers boomed, “GIVE IT UP FOR CLOCKWORKS FAVORITE UNDERDOG…THE GNOLAUM!”

Gnomes jumped up to the fence and rattled it like caged animals. Both male a female spectators screamed at the top of their lungs, waving signs like ‘We Love You Wendell’, ‘Steel and Stone will Break Your Bones,’ and ‘The Second Coming of Gnolaum is HERE!’ Some stood up and rattled their homemade version of Gnolaum’s weapons—a sword-mace and shield made from the door of a pressure cooker.

Wendell kept a small window open on his main screen, so he could see the reactions of the people. “I think we finally hit the big time, Dax.”

The elf gasped as the Trench camera swooped down over the spectators. “Who knew that having a temper was a way to gather like-minded psychopaths?” Chuckling, “Look at these people—they’re animals!”

Tumbler kicked his feet up onto a bucket and lit his pipe. “Naw, just healthy spectators.”

You’re both wrong, Wendell realized, as Dax’s words sank in. They’re the seeds of a better future. They just don’t know it yet. “Here we go.”

Gnolaum walked out into the light of complete hysteria. Fans cheered, screamed and some even cried. The other two pit doors opened, allowing Alpha Fighter and Armored Ensemble to emerge, but few seemed to notice or care. Instead the entire arena erupted to the unified sound of ‘GNO-LAUM! GNO-LAUM! GNO-LAUM! GNO-LAUM!’

To add to the fire, Wendell pulled back on the controls and Gnolaum waved to the crowd.

The buzzer sounded.

Gnolaum charged across the floor and jumped onto the first step. Spinning his sword into a reverse grip, it sprinted around the rim of the platform, looking for Alpha Fighter.

Dax tapped the ear-bud, “Ensemble’s on your trail, kid.”

“I see him…but Darcy needs to be taken out before he can use that super gun of his.” Jumping to the next step, Wendell pulled his shield in closer to Gnolaum’s chest and head. “But I can’t find him!”

Nat looked across all the monitors. “He’s hiding among the blocks on the far side of the platform. He’s in a semi blind spot where the two cameras can only view part of him.” He frowned, “That…doesn’t seem right.” Then grimacing, “Better hurry, Wendell—looks like he’s assembling his rifle.”

Something didn’t fit. Trench Wars was famous for their high actions and extreme camera work both inside and outside the arena. This was the first time he could recall having a struggle to see any part of the arena he needed to to assist his pilots.

Crap, crap, crap! Sitting upright, Wendell jammed the joystick forward. Gnolaum lunged from the platform and ran towards the outer wall of the arena. Keeping Armored Ensemble in his rear camera view, the S.L.A.G.s pistons kept distance between himself and the larger opponent. Swerving between the blocks, Wendell made a sharp turn, pushing off the wall and running along its edge…looking for Alpha Fighter. Come on Gnolaum, you can do this…RUN!

Within moments, he spotted Darcy. The pilot had his S.L.A.G. in a kneeling position, using the pillars as cover.

There you are, you…

The rifle was already assembled…and turning in his direction.

Gnolaum maintained speed and raised its shield slightly higher—leaving just enough to see over the steels edge. Don’t have time to stop. Wendell squinted, fingers twitching as they prepped for an emergency dodge and roll maneuver. Behind him, Armored Ensemble was maintaining its own pace.

Suddenly this didn’t seem like the best opening move.

If I turn and Darcy fires, those bullets will shred me, he thought. But if I can’t take him out, I’ll have Ensemble at my back in seconds. With all the fighting he’d done, his mind immediately went through the variables. A passing swipe—that’s what I have to do. Take out Alpha’s main weapon and keep moving. Without his high-powered rifle, Ensemble will most likely attack him and take him out for me. That was it. That was the answer. Let’s do this.

“You’re gonna get sandwiched,” Dax cautioned. “Swerve and run for the platform—get some distance.”

“Too risky,” Wendell replied, “I’ve got it.”

Alpha lifted the gun and fired. The bullet struck the upper edge of the shield, jarring Gnolaum, but it didn’t stop its momentum. Gripping the sword tight, Wendell rotated the joystick and dropped the S.L.A.G. into a kneeling position. Sparks fanned out as the steel plates ground against the cement floor, sliding up underneath Alphas stance.

With an upward arc, Gnolaum’s sword struck the long barrel of the rifle. Without the sharp edge, like a traditional sword, the barrel snapped and bent into an awkward ‘V’. The crowd screamed overhead, chanting the Gnolaum’s name once again.

Wendell grinned, Now to…

But the S.L.A.G. wouldn’t move.

“What’s going on?” he stammered. Jamming the joystick from side to side, the machine just sat there, unresponsive.

Dax yelled into the mic, “Armored Ensemble’s almost on top of you, kid, move!”

“I can’t! The controls are frozen!!”

Freak pushed his way onto the main computer and pulled up the monitoring program. All lights flashed green. “It’s showing you at full capacity on my end!”

Wendell gripped the controls and yanked, “They’re NOT!”

Alpha leaned forward, masking its face, so only Wendell could see. One finger lifted to where a mouth might be…then slowly slid the finger across its own neck slot.

Wendell gulped.

Ensembles sword severed Gnolams head in one fell swoop.