Developing a following may seem like fun, but it can be a pain when trying to escape a temple, being pursued by psychotic monks with automatic weapons.

“We have to go back!” cried Tabbermain again, his shrill voice carrying over the mass of bodies between himself and the assassin.

“He’s not going to listen,” Wendell said soberly. “I know you feel it’s important and I agree with you—but waiting could have gotten us hurt…or killed,” though he knew that wasn’t the real reason Buddy pushed forward. The assassin was skilled and could easily take care of himself. No, he was annoyed and felt inconvenienced by the entire chain of events that led up to this point. He couldn’t wait to get away.

“But we can’t leave a Prime Gate in Noah’s hands,” the gnome pleaded, “he’ll find others! He’s going to round up more unsuspecting or helpless gnomes and send them to the enemy to be consumed,” his eyes watered, overcome with fear and guilt, “…and it’s my fault.”

“Our fault,” Vin added, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“Well don’t look at me,” Doddle mumbled, “but I don’t agree. This isn’t your fault. You helped to give Noah the tool—but you didn’t throw the switch. I knife can be a tool and a weapon—it’s the user who determines that, not the knife maker.”

I hadn’t thought about it that way, Wendell pondered. Doddle’s words made a lot of sense. People were responsible—or should be, at least—for their own choices. Shouldn’t they? It brought back flashes of his conversations with Chuck concerning intent. Intent was key in the choices we make, especially when others might not understand what we are doing. Was it really the gnomes fault that the Prime Gate was being used for evil if they constructed it through force…?

“This better be worth it!” Buddy growled just above a whisper. He reloaded his rifle, thrusting in the spare clip with irritated force. “…circus was out of hand,” he added and spat on the floor. It was never his intention to leave with a sidekick—he didn’t want extra baggage. After all, he was hired to locate Wendell and execute him, not rescue him. The plan was simple—sneak into the temple, pop him, return to his employers with proof of the kill, get paid. Easy as can be. But there was a hitch. A serious one: No one told the bestselling author that he was being hired to kill his own fan base! The very thought sent his mind reeling, evoking strong urges to ‘educate’ his employers as to proper assassination etiquette. Killing his own fans? That just wasn’t…civilized.

So he’d spared Wendell’s life and the lives of his fellow captors—three techno-mägo.

Four tag alongs were bad enough.

“But it wasn’t long before the assassin learned of a darker plot,” he said aloud, zoning into his writing mode. “The nefarious activities of Father Noah had spread throughout Clockworks, poisoning the pure in heart and jeopardizing the lives of hundreds. To his utter horror, the assassin discovered fans…trapped within the cages of doom, awaiting a fate worse than death.”

A handful of gnomes watched Buddy closely, already entranced in his verbal tale.

“They were to be sacrificed to the most retched enemies of the gnome race…,” he cleared his throat, noticing his growing audience, “Insert suspenseful music…Täuku.” The gnomes gasped and one started clapping with excitement, which made Buddy grin. He raised his narrating voice a notch, “Didn’t anyone stop to think of the consequences? Of the sheer weight of such a crime? How this evil would turn hearts from the sacred Church of TGII, but even more horrid…what it might do to word-of-mouth sales? If it ever got out that readers of the Acid Rain series were being systematically hunted down, kidnapped and used as bartering fodder for evil religious purposes…well…who would want to buy another book?” Lowering his voice to a near whisper, he dropped his tone to a deep base, “Buddy could actually lose his #1 position.”

The gnomes gasped openly around him.

Bang-Bang!

Two more of the prisoners fell to the floor at Buddy’s feet as bullets ricocheted. Guards appeared around the far corner of the hallway. The assassin reactively dropped to one knee and plugged the three monks in the head. They collapsed to the floor in a splatter of red silence.

This was frustrating.

“I’m losing readers at ever turn,” he whispered. It was near impossible to navigate these narrow hallways, guarded by Noah’s henchmen, without fans getting hurt. The assassin wasn’t trained to be a bodyguard.

“Keep moving,” Wendell shouted from behind. “Lead us to where you broke in!”

He held up a thumb to signal he heard. Buddy was impressed with the human boy. Sure everyone called him the Gnolaum…and maybe he was. The writer didn’t actually care—Buddy wasn’t the religious sort. Just give him a good book, a good gun and a target to terminate and he was happy. But this kid—who, by gnome standards, should just be getting out of school, had his whole life was ahead of him. Yet look where he was: defending people of another race, in another land, with nothing to gain and everything to lose. This wasn’t his fight. It wasn’t his problem.

Wendell might make an interesting character in a fiction series.

Buddy got back to his feet and charged the next corner, weapon at the ready. Worn and tired prisoners kept close on his heels. There was no reason to be concerned about what lay behind them. Not with four mägo at their back. That was another interesting part of this whole adventure—Buddy had heard about them, read about them, but never considered whether or not the odd class was real. Magic users? People who mastered something other than technology? Yet there they were, three gnomes and the Gnolaum, blasting renegade monks with lightening, fire and ice.

Tabbermain, Vin and Doddle took turns using their magic, while the two resting played lookout. It was far more taxing on the gnomes to use spells of this caliber. Wendell, on the other hand, seemed to be getting stronger as he went and had no problem keeping up.

Five guards dashed down a side hallway, spotting the group.

“You there!”

Doddle raised his hand, forming a symbol as he clenched his eyes tight…but nothing happened.

A large hand shoved him aside just as gunfire exploded. A giant arc of lightening jumped through the air, crackling and electrocuting the monks where they stood. The robbed bodies crumpled to the ground, their brown clothes smoldering.

“I’ve got you,” Wendell said, lifting Doddle back to his feet. He gritted his teeth to hide the pain, forcing a smile to his face.

“T-thank you,” the gnome gasped, leaning upon Tabbermain. “I’m…a little exhausted, I think.”

Wendell nodded and kept his hips twisted away from the mägo. No reason to worry anyone. Blood was already seeping down his leg from the wound. Ungh, he winced, but pushed forward. They couldn’t stop now. There was no time. Noah has to know that we’re escaping by now. Gripping the wooden box tightly to his chest, he pushed on with a limp.

Simon pushed away from Enid, shooting Wendell a concerned look, but the hero shook his head and waved him on.

Buddy led the group up several flights of stairs and to a final checkpoint.

Though the section looked impervious to escape, the assassin had already dealt with this threat on his way in. The station, which was a two door entry, attached to a security booth. It was empty. Both the door guard and the operator were curled up on the floor of the hallway. A few of the children started to scream, but an adult hand was quick to silence them, muffling their cries.

So that’s why there are so many monks with guns about, Wendell sighed. Buddy created a trail he never thought he’d have to deal with! They must be combing the entire complex, looking for whomever did this…

Propping the door open with a body, the assassin held a finger to his lips…then ran to the last door. Pressing his large ear to its surface, he waved. “Come on!” he urged them forward, “Quickly!” When Wendell reached him, the assassin grabbed his forearm. “The loading dock is on the other side of this door. If we get through, we’re home free. We can hijack one of the delivery trucks. Get everyone out.”

But something was wrong. “What are you not telling us, Buddy?” Wendell asked.

The assassin shrugged, “This has the smell of a trap. I obviously wasn’t worried about getting out myself,” he nodded towards the bodies on the floor. “This area should have been discovered, an alarm sounded and the guards replaced by now. We’re being set up.”

Wendell stared at the door, his stomach turning. “They’re on the other side of the door.”

Buddy shot a glance at Tabbermain, Vin and Doddle. “The Church isn’t equipped for violence like this.”

Wendell sighed, “So we’re about to walk into Centurions.”

The assassin stared back without saying a word.

“One way to find out,” Vin said with a wheeze. Doddle and Tabbermain both nodded agreement.

Buddy smirked. “I like you guys. You’ve got spunk, but I don’t think going out there is going to help us at all.”

“And I can see why your action scenes are so fantastic,” Doddle huffed.

The assassin looked elated at the compliment. “Lets’ do this, Wendell.”

“Me?” he gulped, but it wasn’t long before he realized everyone was staring at him.

“You’re the Gnolaum. The champion of the people, right?” The assassin couldn’t help but smirk, his tone almost mocking, “So if you’re not going to do this, who is?” he placed a hand over his own chest, “The murderer?”

Why you little…he got me. There was no telling what would happen on the other side of that door, but Wendell was determined not to be the one to shed blood. He turned his thoughts inward. Ithari, help me. Please. So many have died today and it’s not necessary…is it? Help me get these people to safety…

“Watch your heads,” Buddy whispered to the group. Lifting his riffle, he shot out the overhead lights. Children whimpered as he fired, exploding the next four bulbs down the hall and leaving the group in a dim glow. “There,” he sighed, content, “that should help.” Turning the knob silently, Buddy opened the door a crack, and slipped through.

Wendell gave both Simon and Enid a firm look. “Stay with Tabbermain.” Then, handing the wooden case to Vin he quickly followed after the assassin.

If it was indeed a warehouse, Wendell couldn’t tell—other than the open chill of the air. It was so dark, he didn’t dare to step more than a few feet without having some from of reference to gauge where he was.

“That’s quite far enough,” boomed a voice over a megaphone. “Place your rifle on the ground and place your hands on your head or we will be forced to fire.” There was a pause, and then, “It would be a shame to kill you for murdering so many monks.”

“Just like you said,” Wendell whispered.

Buddy dropped his rifle in front of him, cursing. he raised his hands in submission. “They’ve got infra-red on us.”

“What?”

“That’s how they can see us,” the assassin replied, “They can see us in the dark, but we can’t see them.”

It gave Wendell an idea. “Wait. Those devices are sensitive to light, right?”

“Extremely.”

“Are you as good with your pistols as you are with that rifle?”

The assassin grinned. “Better.”

“Then close your eyes and clench them tight.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me,” Wendell stared to raise his hands into the air, “and don’t open them until I tell you.” I hope you’re listening, Itahri. Then he added, “Try not to kill them, Buddy. Please.”

The assassin muffled his laugh, but closed his eyes. “Whatever you say, kid.”

Recalling the words to his mind, Wendell held the image of a flaming sun, blazing over his head.

No, Wendell. Not Välo and Teho. Combine them. Speak from the heart. Join them with your desire.

Vä-Teho!

The image grew, drawing so near he could see every detail, the brightness and warmth of the celestial sphere. I can do this. You have the ability Wendell, you just have to accept it for face value and believe!

He roared, letting all his fear and anger and frustration to permeate the words as they came to his lips.

“Vä-Teho!”

In an instant, it was noon day. An explosion of brilliant white light flared over Wendell’s head. A white star, piercing every corner of the warehouse with its radiance. No sooner did the light flare, screams emitted from all around them. Centurions in full assault gear, shrieked and dropped their weapons, clawing at their faces to tear the infra-red devices from their wounded eyes.

Wendell shifted the image in his mind from a sun to a lamp, letting his anger and frustration go. The white star immediately diminished. “Now,” he said sadly.

Buddy Keisler opened his eyes. Like a cowboy quickdraw, he flipped his pistols from their holsters. Without pausing, he fired in rapid succession, stepping forward and spinning in heels. Officers in the rafters, hiding behind trucks and cargo lifts, three a top a set of pallets and finally the Captain of the group, reeling behind an official cruiser. With each bullet fired, a gnome fell.

Wendell cringed with each shot. I did this to them. All this killing and blood shed is because of me.

Out of ammo, the assassin did a speed reload, walking among the isles as he searched for stragglers. Satisfied, he holstered the firearms. “That should do it,” Buddy said smugly. “Let the rest out and I’ll find us a van.”

Wendell stood there frozen, staring at each of the wounded Centurions. I’m so sorry. I’m so very…wait a… One of the Centurions on a pallet moaned. As did the officer next to him. Wendell’s head whipped about, searching…hoping. Every one of the wounded grasped at a body part, bleeding…but all of them were conscious—and alive!

Buddy had not taken a single life.

“MOVE IT!” the assassin snapped, “They won’t be down for long!”

Sprinting to the door, Wendell yanked it open and ushered the captives into the warehouse. The mägo lead the way.

“Here!” yelled Buddy, “The bread truck!” He threw and kicked the racks out the back with a clatter. He waved to the group, “In here, quickly!”

In less than two minutes, the DoubleDip Doughnut truck was peeling out of the delivery parking lot.

****

Morty marched past Höbin in a whirlwind, neither of them taking notice of the other. Deep in thought, the tinkerer could not shake the nagging feeling that he was missing something small. Something simple. All his calculations worked on isolated tests. The PROMIS worked. It would charge a battery. Any battery he’d attached to the machine. The Lanthya Shard was an amazing source of continual energy, which the PROMIS could then capture and amplify. The problem was that the battery would overload and crack. There was too much energy for the cells to contain. Not necessarily a bad thing—but Morty couldn’t gauge what it might do to the main network should he attempt to plug it into the city lines. It was as if the energy from the Shard wanted to grow—to reach out. It didn’t want to be contained. He shook the thought fro his head. It was crazy. Energy couldn’t be alive. That was…stupid. He was certain it had something to do with the varying current or magnetic flux in the PROMIS transformer core.

Or did it? Maybe it had something to do with magnetic coupling?

“RARRR!” he bellowed, annoyed at the whole line of thinking.

“Shhh!” snapped Höbin, his nose planted in his book.

“Did you just shush me?”

“Shhh!” Höbin snapped again, this time writing something quickly on a scrap of paper.

“You did,” the tinkerer growled, “You actually shushed me…in my own warehouse!”

“Leave him be, sweetheart,” Deloris cut in. She shook her head from the doorway, “He’s under a lot of pressure, just like you. Have some heart.”

“Don’t take sides,” Morty protested.

“I’m not taking sides,” she reassured him, “I’m only trying to be respectful to both of you. Now grab your tool box and leave him be—you don’t have anything  left in this room anyway, do you?”

“Well,” he pondered, desperately trying to think of something so he could be right. “Grrrr…” was all he came up with. Pulling the heavy box from the dresser, he thundered across the floor. As he passed the historian, he banged the tools against Höbin’s cybernetic arm. The metal against metal rang out loudly.

“Nice,” Höbin scoffed, “maturity at it’s best.” He kept his face in his book, but shook his head slowly.

Deloris smirked but said nothing as her husband scooted past her.

Morty wobbled down the hall and dropped the tools at the foot of his greatest creation. The think he now wanted to blow up.

“You’ll get it,” she said, snuggling up behind him. It only took a single kiss on his cheek to make him sigh and let the tension go. Deloris had that effect on him and she knew it. He was a good gnome with a good heart. Everyone had up days and down days—the point was having the grit to keep going when it all looked like it was about to fall apart. She smiled, “You know what my dad used to say…”

“The worse things get, the closer you are to the breaking point,” he completed her words. It made her smile, but Morty frowned. “I loved your dad—but I never could get that saying of his. Did he mean that when it got worse, you were closer to finding the answer…or closer to giving up?”

She kissed his cheek again. “Yes.”

Rolling his eyes, “Wonderful. Another definite answer.”

But he frustrations just made her laugh out loud.

“How can you be having such a seemingly good time, when this is one of the most frustrating points of my life?” he grumbled.

“Because I finally made the right choice. I came home, to the gnome I love and I’m excited to see you succeed. All I ever wanted was to make a difference…and it took me all these years to realize that what I really wanted was to make a difference to you.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Isn’t that limiting yourself?” he chuckled.

“Oh no,” she smirked, stroking his furry white cheek with her fingers, “you, my dear sir, will change the world…you just don’t know it yet.”

He winked and leaned in for a kiss.

“Eeek!” Deloris squealed as he dropped her on her rear end. “Morty Teedlebaum!”

“That’s IT!” he cried, his white teeth shinning out from behind his giant mustache. Dashing to the far side of the machine, he grabbed the ladder and pulled it up to the PROMIS. “I know exactly how to fix it!”

****

The mob activity continued to spread, but he dared not honk the horn and draw attention to himself. The fights had grown and the military was out in force. S.L.A.G.s were being unloaded along the runways. Things were becoming desperate.

“It was a lucky mistake,” Freak said reassuringly, turning to take another side street. “If you’d been in any of those pods, you would have been caught. The authorities were watching you the moment we launched you at the penthouse. We even had to ditch the truck and grab a cab to get back. The government thought it was a renegade group taking desperate action against them. In minutes they had teams on the ground, ready to arrest whomever came out of that tower.” He chuckled, “No one could see you two floating down in the dark.”

In the back of the ‘borrowed’ cab, Lili held Dax’s head on her lap. The evolu continued to shudder, his skin ice cold, eyes flickering rapidly under closed lids. She adjusted her jacket over his shoulders.

Chuck sat quietly beside them. The wind seeping through the cracked window blew his beard about, masking most of his face.

The mechanic looked through the rear view mirror. “Is he going to be alright?”

Lili reached over and laid a gentle hand on the wizards sleeve. “Chuck?”

Weathered hands coddled a slender strip of wood.

“Chuck,” she said again, patiently.

“What?” he said distantly. Sliding the object into the sleeve of his robe, he cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’m here now.” Forcing a weak smile to his worn and dirty face, “Sorry about that.”

Lili gave his arm a squeeze. “Don’t apologize, you almost died. I’m just glad you’re safe…and we have Dax back. What you did was amazing.”

Freak shook his head, “What made you decide to land in Oster’s Park?”

“I wouldn’t call what I did amazing…,” he took a long breath, “and I didn’t have much of a choice. The protesting in the park provided a good target, what with all the fires going. Figured hit the trees to break the momentum, and hopefully the grass was soft.”

The mechanic shook his head again, chuckling, “Crazy.”

Chuck stared out the window numbly. He hadn’t paid much attention to what was going on around him. Not until now. It had all been about Wendell, the seal…and getting Dax back safely. Now that he had the monkey at arms length, he would make sure they stayed together. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he breathed, catching a glance of graffiti sprayed over a billboard. It had a gnome face, dirty and with fangs, which read Muddles Are Monsters.

“What’s that?” Freak asked.

“Nothing.” Looking down, the wizard patted the pale green arm of his companion. His dry, bloodshot eyes then looked up at Lili, “Now we need to find Wendell and get out of this city.”

****

“The government has pulled out S.L.A.G.s to stand the lines with the Centurions.”

“You think they’ll actually use them? On actual citizens? That’s completely…”

Shamas cut Bellows off, “Clockworks is burning. The people are out of control and the youth of the city aren’t listening to anyone. Not you, not the workers from the factories. Certainly not the government. Those without decent morals or respect in the first place are using this chaos as an excuse to fuel their own anger and agenda. All the underlying frustration and fury is coming out. The government’s presence just feeds that hatred. They’ve started a time bomb.”

With a single nod, assistants closed laptops and started breaking down the mobile station. “That’s quite an insight for a lone bodyguard.”

“No,” Shamas corrected, “that’s what the streets tell me. The actual people who live and work and die here, Bellows. You’ve done amazing things with the poor in the lower districts—but it would be a terrible mistake to lose touch of what’s actually going on around you, even if it’s just the other side of the fence.” He turned back to the scene of the streets below them. The streets that he walked and roamed since he was a boy. The neighborhood looked like the ruins of a war zone.“You can’t stop this. No one can. It’s a wound that was never addressed by our leaders and it’s too late to do it now. This anger has to run its course.”

The wealthy gnome frowned heavily. It wasn’t something he wanted to hear—but he couldn’t ignore it. Already the lower districts were withdrawing and preparing for a siege. A division was taking place, between the wealthy and the poor…and the result would be nothing less than a civil war.

“Then we pull back and fortify our position,” he said finally.

Both the bodyguard and Nathan Taylor nodded.

“This is going to bring the fight to our doorstep,” replied Nat, “you know that.” He wiped his hands over his face, “A lot of people are going to get hurt before it’s through.”

“Like Shamas said, we can’t stop this. So I suggest we do our best to prepare to endure and overcome.” He smiled at the programmer through the laptop camera, “We’ll meet you back at the main factory.”

“See you there,” Nat replied. The picture vanished.

“We’re not just going to get hurt, Bellows—we’re going to get slaughtered.” The bodyguard pulled his leather jacket on. “The government has the military, the S.L.A.G.s, the ammo and…”

“You forget,” Philburt cut him off, “where those things come from, Mr. Wrenchturner. It is we who manufacture the S.L.A.G.s. It is we who manufacture the ammo and refine the fuel, produce the energy, supply and purify the water. To add to this, we have two thirds of this city’s population dwelling below.” His expression was calm and comforting, “We, Mr. Wrenchturner, hold all the cards.”

****

The doughnut van screeched to a halt between the abandoned buildings to provide cover.

“This is it,” Buddy sighed, relieved.

“You really are more awesome that I could have imagined,” Doddle beamed.

“Not often I get to mingle with fans,” the assassin said, almost bashfully, “you know…”

“Well you should take the time,” Tabbermain added, “because I think you’d get a lot more readers if they got the chance to meet you.”

“I’ll second that!” cheered Vin.

“Awww.”

Wendell lifted the rolling door at the back of the delivery truck. Small hands patted his back, legs and arms as he hopped out. He grinned wide, shaking hands and patting tiny faces. We did it. They’re free.

Enid pushed through to the door, pulling young Simon behind him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Wendell asked as the old gnome started climbing out.

“We’re going with you, boy,” Enid said boldly. “Wherever you go, I’m following.”

“You can’t just…”

“What?” the gnome cut him off, “Walk away from my life? Desert my family? Leave my wealth behind?” He laughed then, “What do I have to go back to, other than to look after this little boy—whom, if you recall, you promised to watch over!”

The mägo and Buddy wandered to the back of the truck.

“I’m ready for that favor,” the assassin said bluntly. “You gave me your word.”

Oh boy. “Yes,” he said, his mind scrambling, “I did.”

“You know,” chimed Doddle, “it would be incredible, with as many gnomes know about Wendell, for him to be in your advertising, Buddy. Think about how popular you would be if you had pictures of you two together!”

Wendell and Buddy both grinned.

“One more, just to make sure,” chuckled Doddle.

Wendell held the book close to his face and leaned closer, keeping his arm wrapped around the assassins shoulder.

“Perfect.”

“And I can use this for…” Buddy prodded.

“Anything you like,” Wendell assured him. “You saved my life and the lives of my friends, Buddy—it’s my absolute pleasure to help like this. You are THE best fiction writer I have ever known in Clockworks.”

Buddy quickly pulled a notepad from a pocket and produced a pen. “Can I quote you on that?”

Wendell laughed, “Every word.”

The gnome scribbled furiously.

“So what about the rest of the captives?” Vin asked, handing the wooden box back to Wendell.

“We need to get them to Bellow’s warehouse. They’ll be safe there.”

Buddy looked up, “I just have one more stop to make before I head home myself…I’ll get them there safe. After that, I think I’ve had enough being the good guy. Your life is rough.” Sirens echoed nearby, causing the assassin to plaster himself against the side of the truck. “Time to go, gents. No one here wants to get caught.”

“We’re going with you,” Tabbermain said, tugging at Wendell’s pant leg.

“But,” he started to protest, but they all looked up at him expectantly. He sighed. “Come on, then.”