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Wanted Hero
Wanted Hero
Category:
Science Fiction
Publisher: On The Fly Publications
ISBN-10: 161463050X
Type: Fiction
Pages: 397
Copyright: Oct, 26th, 2013
ISBN-13: 9781614630500
Price: $6.97 (eBook)
A dead hero, forbidden magic, 40’ robots, politics and 1.5 Billion gnomes =Trench Wars. Crap, it’s not even Monday!
It can be a bit discouraging when your hero dies his first time in the field, but hey—what’s death anyway? Think of it as an extended nap without a wake up call. If the great wizard Morphiophelius refuses to give up on Wendell--even if he has to use forbidden magic, why should have a little more faith.
It’s up to Dax, Alhannah and Lili to sneak the senile wizard Morphiophelius (a.k.a. Chuck) into Clockworks City, home to 1.5 billion gnomes. Did we mention the city has a ban on outsiders? No? What about the penalty of execution? Huh. Sorry about that.
Getting in, however, is going to be the easy part.
Not only do they have to save Wendell's life, the group will be forced to negotiate with rebel alliances, avoid a government seeking to kill them and find the last Demoni Vankil seal…without a clue as to where to look. To have any hope of succeeding, they will need win the greatest competition on the planet. A sport where pilots are strapped into 40 foot fighting robots!
What? We didn’t mention the 40 foot robots?
Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
MORTY’S SURPRISE
Sometimes life redirects your attention, just to keep you busy…so it can deliver the missing pieces to the puzzle.
The faint rumble of the tramcar vibrated the walls, ripples disturbing the stagnant pools of water mixed with oil. Even a dozen levels below, you could hear the screech of brakes as the machine pulled into the station. The long, metal, lidless beasts that opened their stomachs to ingest the normals. People waiting on platforms, to be carted off and carried to work. Mindless drones ready to start their labors to support the great machine that was Clockworks City.
No one paid much attention to normals down here, though. Not in the abandoned manufacturing sector. This is where the poor and the forgotten lived out their days of despair and poverty.
“Oy, Marrol, you bettin or what?”
Marrol flinched, his attention on the noises above him. “What? Oh, yez..soory man.” Holding the bloodsticks tightly, he considered the points against him. Grungy fingers with broken, soiled nails, scratched the tattooed scalp around his mow-hawk. He wasn’t having much luck. Mook had thirty-two points, Gerry had twenty-seven. Benny would be lucky to reach twelve points total at this rate, but who cares—he lives off daddy’s credits anyway. If Marrol didn’t win the game, he’d have nothing to eat for the rest of the week.
He sighed quietly, blowing the air through his teeth, so it looked more like strategy than panic. It was stupid to bet his paycheck, but it was too late now.
“You in ta the mushrooms again?” chuckled Gerry and ending with his annoying snort. “Cause if ya have…ya better be passin ‘em around. Know what I means?”
Benny frowned, “He’s pissin around wha?”
Mook slugged the pale-looking gnome in the shoulder, “He said PASSIN, ya doyt! Not pissin…PASSIN!” Shaking his head, “Move it on, would ya Marrol? That or fall out, mate. Places to go, peoples ta mug.”
They all laughed. That is…until the windows exploded.
BOOM!
Glass and fragments of metal framing ricocheted off pipes and railing. The force of the blow knocked both Mook and Benny against the bars. Marrol flipped up against the railing with a resounding thud—a sharp pain shooting through his neck and down to his left shoulder. Stray shafts of sunlight, peeking down between the rows of buildings created a rainbow effect in the air. The dust from the shattered glass reflected the sunlight over their prone bodies.
“What the tic-toc was THAT?” cried Gerry aloud, his ears still buzzing. He blinked a few times until his eyes focused.
One by one, the gang members struggled to their feet. The deep grey smoke from the explosion continued to billow out the window and up into the morning air.
“I don’t know,” chimed Benny, “but I don’t thinks I wants to be here no more.”
Marrol spat on the ground and wiped the blood from under his nose. He didn’t care so much what the trouble was, because the bloodsticks had been blown off the platform. They’d never find them now. Probably dropped another twenty floors down for all he knew or cared. The guys’d be angry…but Marrol would eat until next payday.
He was alright with that.
The oversized doors on the front of the building swung open. Through the thick haze stumbled a silhouette. Back and forth it swayed, until the figure pushed out into the light of day.
“ACK! BAHAH!!” coughed the old gnome, his white lab coat now charcoal black. He pulled the goggles from his face and snapped them up onto his forehead, over his bushy eyebrows. “So much for test number 322. Ptooey!” he spat.
“Hey YOU!” barked Mook, “Ya nearly got us killed!” Pulling his leather gloves tight against his palms, Mook strutted towards the old gnome. One by one his cronies followed him, forming a semi-circle around their intended target.
“Another cell down the toilet,” the old gnome sighed, scratching his black and white striped beard and ignoring the gang altogether. Instead, he pulled a small vial from his lab coat and inspected it carefully. Satisfied the bubbly liquid was safe under glass and cork, he grinned to himslef. “At least I didn’t lose it all.”
“I’M TALKIN TO YOU!” yelled Mook. He took the rim of his hat and turned it around, ready for the physical confrontation. “Ya gonna PAY for that old man!”
Blinking twice, the old gnome looked up. Squinting at Mook, he blinked again, then at Gerry, then the rest of them, one by one as if he finally noticed he was not alone. “What are you boys doing loitering out here? Didn’t you read the trespassing signs? This place is dangerous! Now GIT…before I call the Centurions!”
Mook snarled, the poor attempt at a mustache growth sticking out from his top lip in open rebellion. “I think the Sewer Rats need ta teach you old people a lesson about who’s in charge of these platforms!”
Benny chuckled and stepped closer.
But before Mook could blink, the old man slid in close, an unmistakable grin on his hairy, scorched face. Raising the vial in his hand so the gang member could see it close and clear, he whispered, “Listen kid, you go on and bark all you like, but let me give you a heads up first, alrighty? You see this vial? You know what those sparkly little bubbles are? No. Of course you don’t. You’re a stupid child that probably dropped out of school to show how smart you are, flushing a brighter future down the crapper.” With a haunting grin, he leaned in until their oversized noses nearly touched, “This is my latest invention. Could be good, could be bad. You just saw what happened to my lab. Either way, you’re gonna find out as soon as I douse you and your pet friends behind you.” With a flick of his thumb, the cork flew off with a POP.
The bushy white eyebrows rolled forward, masking the cold stare. “I’m hoping it makes your winkies fall off and turns your innards into goo.”
Without looking back, the gang dashed for the ladders, pushing and shoving one another out of the way. Marrol didn’t wait for any of them and lunged over the edge, gasping the railing of the next platform over. He wondered as he ran, if his mother would let him move back in if he promised to return to school.
Within seconds the gang was gone. The hallways and scaffolding were deserted, scraps of paper and garbage rolling across the rusted metal surface and broken glass. Smoke continued to roll out of the warehouse, the heavy scent of sulfur burning nose and throat.
The old gnome shook his head. Some people’s children, he scoffed. Tipping the vial against his lips, he drank the liquid deeply, draining the container. He smacked his lips. Hmmm. Not too bad. Sweet, peppy and fizzy. It wasn’t the best batch of soda pop he’d ever made, but it hit the spot.
Staring back through the smoke, he did his best to bury his emotions. But he was closer. Shifts in the smoke revealed occasional glimpses of the fried keyboard and the streaming sparks arcing from the relay terminal.
More paperwork, he thought, and another six million credits down the tubes. At least it lasted ninty-FOUR seconds this time. But none of it was comforting. If he didn’t get some results soon, it wouldn’t be long before the government would close him down. Well, cut off my funding, anyway. He cringed at the thought. This project had taken more than four years of his life. Day and night he’d worked to secure the funding and make arrangements for this facility. A warehouse in a deserted area of Clockworks. Abandoned because it was too difficult to get reliable power down here for people to use and live on.
But gnomes did continue to live down here, in the grime and filth, groveling and clinging to the excrement of society. The poverty-stricken, desperate ones did anyway—willing to live under the harshest conditions if it meant a chance of survival and to be left alone by the authorities.
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