46. We Have Takeoff
“But am I good enough to compete with the pros?”
When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell.
Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may.
After all...I can't fix stupid.
Previously: After securing their slots in the Trench Wars, Alhannah and the crew dive into S.L.A.G. upgrades—only to discover that training Wendell may be harder than building the machines themselves.
Once in a while, the Universe steps back and just lets you do your thing.
…oh yeah, it feels awesome.
Week one was dedicated to training both Dax and me in the basic functions of the machines. How to move and pilot both standing and prone, troubleshoot small glitches, and communicate with the pit crew. When all else failed, how to escape the machine if something went critically wrong. Dax was a natural, but that was thanks to the modifications the crew made to mimic his own body movements. I was even more impressive, able to create my own combinations from the simple programming of a video game.
Yay for me.
Week two was hardcore fighting, with Alhannah and Dax rotating training sessions with me. It was no longer about making the Gnolaum move—but making it lethal.
From dawn until dusk, we trained in condemned warehouses owned by Mr. Bellows in district eighteen. Old storage facilities, at least a decade old, where no one had walked the roads in years. The surrounding warehouses were abandoned too, which was convenient—because the sessions were loud and rough.
Before the week was out, more and more people were getting ‘lost’ and finding themselves in the abandoned sector. Rumors started circulating among Bellow’s factory workers about sponsoring the famous Alhannah Luckyfeller and her new prodigy fighter.
More than once, Shamas had to chase off bystanders peeking into windows and hiding in doorways, trying to take pictures.
“Let them get a few before you chase them off,” Alhannah grinned.
By the end of the second week, even she was astounded at how good I’d become.
“You’ve got to roll up to your knees when you’re hit from behind like that,” she said over the com-link. “If you don’t, you’ll be an open target for a secondary attack.”
I growled, “I know, I know. Sorry—it’s not that I can’t make this thing roll…it’s just that I feel like I’m being knocked around like a piñata in here. My head flops around so hard, it’s killing my neck.”
“What’s a piñata?”
Sighing, “Never mind. Not important. This just hurts, a lot. If I can strap myself in more firmly, I’ll be able to do more. Something to protect my head.”
“Alright, Wendell—I’ll have Tumbler look at it. Maybe he can weld some support bars and pad it.”
“Thanks,” I said, slamming Gnolaum’s hand against Banshee’s in a resounding high-five—steel on steel.
She beamed. “You, young man, are ready for some action! Let’s call it a day.”
Both S.L.A.G.s knelt down and powered off. The chest cavities popped open. I tossed the ignition key to Freak.
“How’s it feel?” he asked, his face openly eager for a compliment.
All I could do was grin.
Freak adjusted his goggles and wiped his forehead with a dirty rag. “That good?” He looked over to Alhannah. “That's good…right? The grin? He ain’t saying much.”
My smile got even bigger. “Better than that. It’s freakin’ awesome.”
Strutting to the transport, the mechanic shouted at Socket, who was loading shelves in the back, “Hear that, hun? I’m Freak-in awesome!”
She rolled her eyes.
Alhannah grabbed me around the neck and rubbed her knuckles against my skull.
“Ow. Ow. Ow,” I complained. It still so weird to be the exact same height as my secondary bodyguard. That, and a whole lot more intimidating.
“You are amazing. Truly amazing, you know that?”
I wiggled my way free. “Whatever.”
“Seriously!” She hit me square in the arm. Which hurt. “Dax and Nat think so too. Chuck… even Lili’s impressed.”
I stopped short. “She is?”
“Oh, don’t start that again.”
We walked to the small vehicle Shamas had waiting for us. “But am I good enough to compete with the pros?”
She pondered for a moment, then looked back at the S.L.A.G.s being loaded onto the truck. “Well, we’re going to find out soon enough.”
Yeah, I thought, maybe too soon.
“We’ll know how to spend our last week in prep after the opening interviews tonight on WHRN. Tier one’ll be announced, which means we get to find out who you’re up against…and that should give us more information on how to prepare.”
“And if I can’t win?” I asked.
Alhannah stopped just shy of the doorway. Sliding her hands into her leather jacket, she cocked her head to the side. “Then we do what Bellows said to do. We create drama. A lot of drama.”
Chuck handed a bowl of popcorn to Dax and another to Nat, who had parked his wheelchair by the couch. The TNT crew had converted the kitchen into a lounge, complete with an upcycled couch, crate tables, and a TV mounted on a custom swivel arm. Tonight, it was just us pilots and crew.
“Aren’t they watching?” Morty asked.
Alhannah shook her head. “Freak and Telly are busy with last-minute modifications. They’ve got the radio going. Shamas took the night off—said he needed to make a few connections before going full-time as our bodyguard.”
“Then it’s just us tonight, huh?” Deloris patted my hand. “How do you feel? Excited?”
My stomach answered for me with a loud grumble. “Mostly nervous.”
I found my eyes drifting toward Lili. She sat apart from everyone, as usual, absorbed in a book. I was shocked to see it was a monster of a tome on gnome history. After a few moments, she glanced up but only briefly, giving me a half-hearted smile before turning the page. She’d grown distant lately, especially about Trench Wars. I mean, she wasn't exactly 'engaged' in what we were doing in the first place, but she was hanging around us more. She stopped watching practices and didn’t visit the hangar anymore. Instead, she spent most of her time with Morty and Deloris. Even Chuck had taken a liking to her, letting her help with research on the Demoni Vankil seals.
Deloris must have noticed me staring. She nudged my arm. “She’ll come around.”
“What?” I blinked.
“Lili.” She smirked knowingly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
I swallowed. “I—what?”
She chuckled, patting my hand. “You’ll understand in time.”
Dax saved me from having to respond. “Shh! It’s on!”
The TV boomed with a dramatic drumroll, followed by a blast of trumpets. It sounded like the Olympics! Stars flashed across the screen, spinning around a gold coin with “W.E.P.” embossed on it, along with the silhouette of a muscle-bound gnome.
“Welcome to WHRN’s premiere draw of Trench Wars, Season Four!” The camera zoomed in on a blonde-haired gnome with thick golden sideburns, beard, and an oversized grin. “I’m your host, Dusty Beckworth!”
Beside him, a gnome with a black mohawk, beard, and camo pants gave the camera a thumbs-up. “And I’m Pip Flocker, coming to you live from the Trench!”
The camera pulled back, revealing a gigantic Trench Wars poster between them.
“It’s that time again, fans,” Dusty said, grinning wider. “Time to reveal this season’s pilots and see who’ll face off in Tier One!”
Pip tapped a stack of papers. “With the Brothers Trench stepping in as pilots, that leaves thirteen open slots for those with the credits, courage, and crazy to compete in the most dangerous sport in Clockworks City!”
A picture of Alhannah and me training in the warehouse flashed onto the screen.
“And this season,” Dusty continued, lowering his voice dramatically, “we have a surprise contender. Reports confirm that former Grand Champion Alhannah Luckyfeller isn’t just returning to the games—she’s personally training a newcomer. Meet… Weeble Dipples!”
I choked. “Weeble?!”
Dax nearly fell off the couch, laughing. “Dipples! Oh man, that’s funny.”
I glared at him. He wasn’t helping.
The announcers continued, “Recent footage shows their destructive training—three buildings allegedly demolished in the lower districts!”
Alhannah rolled her eyes.
“What? We didn’t damage any buildings!” I sat forward, protesting at the screen.
“You don’t say, Dusty! Well, that only means we have explosive fights to look forward to this season,” Pip winked at the camera. “And watch out for this Weeble—he might just make a run for the championship!”
The show cut to commercial.
Morty whistled. “Didn’t know you were such a menace, Wendell.”
I gawked at him. “I’M NOT!”
He snickered. “Relax, son. I’m just teasing.”
I groaned, sinking into the couch. “This isn’t funny! People are going to think I’m reckless.”
“That’s a good thing,” Alhannah said calmly. “Dangerous means fans. Fans mean support. The announcers are hype machines. This is their job, Wendell—stir the pot, build excitement.” She smirked. “And put butts in seats.”
Chuck grunted and lobbed a piece of popcorn at the back of Alhannah’s head. “UNGH! You’re starting to sound like Cory ‘Fat Cat’ Bradshaw. One insane, foul-mouthed promoter is enough, thank you very much!”
She didn’t even flinch. “He’s good at his job.”
“Never said that fat tard wasn’t. I just wouldn’t let him into my house without napalming his mouth first.”
“Shhh!” Dax snapped. “They’re back!”
The music dropped off, and the camera zoomed in on both anchormen. Fifteen small pictures appeared between them on a black screen.
“Fifteen S.L.A.G. pilots,” Dusty intoned dramatically, his voice dropping an octave, “fighting for the gold medal and a grand pot of sixty million credits. That’s right! The largest prize ever seen in a public sport. That’s what this is all about, ladies and gentlegnomes.”
Alhannah choked. “I didn’t get more than ten thousand between both season one and two! Sixty Million?! When did the pot get so big?”
Nat popped a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “When the games went inter-faction. More tickets, more merchandise—more profit. It’s not just about the competitors anymore, Alhannah. The government and church are both involved now.”
Her mouth fell open. “You’re joking.”
Morty and Deloris shook their heads.
I barely registered the conversation. I was too busy staring at the screen, rubbing my hands together. It’s my time. Win or lose, this was something I could do.
“Let’s see who we have competing this year, Dusty.”
The camera zoomed in on the list of names.
“Fifteen pilots from six different sponsors, across all three factions! From Team Trench, we have the infamous Burton in IRONHOUND… and his portly brother, Ernie, in KING’S JESTER.”
“Oh, this is gonna be good, Pip,” Dusty chuckled. “Because as you know, the Brothers Trench don’t enter the games to win. They enter to cause chaos.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“Next, from Team DOA, backed by Tramhill Development, we have only one pilot this season… and it’s none other than the reigning Grand Champion himself—Darcy Dunnit! He’s looking to keep his title, but will ALPHA FIGHTER have what it takes to defend against its biggest rival?”
Dusty chuckled as Alhannah’s picture popped onto the screen.
“I don’t know, Pip, but this is what I’ve been waiting for. The ultimate comeback. Alhannah Luckyfeller—former Grand Champion of seasons one and two. No one could touch her fighting prowess. Then, season three? She vanished. But now, she’s back. And the game has changed.”
The camera shifted to Pip.
“And what’s even more interesting, Dusty? Luckyfeller isn’t being sponsored in the traditional way. Reliable sources say the workers of Bellows Mining and Manufacturing are backing their own team this season. Team Steel & Stone! That’s right, folks—the everyday worker now has a team in the Trench! Piloting BANSHEE, TURNPIKE… and get this—Weeble Dipples will be driving THE GNOLAUM.”
Dusty made an exaggerated gasp.
I launched a handful of popcorn at the screen. “It’s WENDELL, not WEEBLE!” I snapped. “You retard.”
Chuck and Alhannah burst out laughing.
“Oooo, that’s not good,” Dusty added with a smirk. “The Church is gonna have something to say about that. And my bet? Their response comes with bullets.”
The camera zoomed in on Pip, who put on his best worried face.
“More than you know, Dusty. Because the Church isn’t just involved… they’ve thrown their own champions into the ring. Three of the scariest pilots in the league. Hook, Panicswitch, and Booker. Team Trinity.”
Dusty shuddered dramatically. “Three ruthless pilots. They dominated season three. Nearly caused the downfall of Alpha Fighter. Their machines? HOOK, ARMORED ENSEMBLE, and BEATDOWN. Some call them The Last Judgment. Others… The Religious Hit Squad.”
“Doesn’t matter what you call them, Dusty,” Pip said, voice low. “If they have their sights on you? You better say your prayers.”
I groaned. “Do we have to watch these idiots?”
Nat grinned. “Not that we disagree with you, Wendell… but we have to know who we’re fighting. They may be dumb, but they’re on the biggest station. Which means…”
Alhannah smirked. “Which means… if these dopes say your name, your value goes up.”
I slumped deeper into the couch. Ungh. Even the smiley face on my t-shirt was growling at the TV. At least get my name right.
“So who do we have for our last six pilots, Dusty?”
The screen morphed again, this time splitting into two columns of three names.
“We have two wildcards this year—an all-female team and an all-aerial team!”
“You don’t say!”
“I do! I do say!”
I rolled my eyes. The smiley face rolled its eyes.
“First up, Pip—the ladies. Spindell, Faulkner, and Britney Gears. All political daughters and military brats. And who’s backing them? None other than Oooh-Lah-LAAHH Makeup Company! Introducing… Team Kiss This!”
“You don’t say!”
“I do! I do say!”
I wanted to die.
“Piloting PRINCESS, THE GIRL NEXT DOOR, and DREAM DATE!”
From the couch, Morty perked up. “Oooo, they sound interesting.”
Deloris smacked him in the face with a couch cushion.
“Last, but certainly not least,” Pip declared dramatically, “the Trench arena will be set ablaze with both ground and aerial combat as Team Inertia joins the fight.” The camera slowly panned back as he locked eyes with the viewers. “STREAMLINE, INC. is putting its best engines behind its best pilots: Ratchet, Vaughn, and Dunkan. So watch the skies, Trench fans, and get ready for SKYLINE, NOSEDIVE, and BETTY 4.0!”
“WOOT!” Dusty slapped the desk. “And we’ll be right back with the Tier One lineup, right after this quick commercial break.”
The screen faded to black, cutting to a commercial about two female gnomes discussing cramps. Alhannah hit the mute button.
“So now we know who we’re up against,” she said, tossing the remote onto the table. “And who’s the most popular.”
Chuck snorted, small kernels of popcorn falling from his beard. “You’re all in trouble. Those people look scary.”
Dax leaned forward on the couch. “How can you tell? Dusty and Pip hyped up everyone.”
“It’s the side notes,” Deloris said, glancing at Alhannah, who smiled knowingly.
Nat nodded. “It’s when they paused to focus on Gnolaum.”
Alhannah smirked. “Exactly. We’ve already got their attention. Win or lose, everyone’s watching what happens between Wendell and the Church.”
I frowned. “You got all that from ten seconds of banter?”
They all nodded.
Lili finally looked up from her book. Her voice was quiet but sure. “They’re going to try and crush you.”
The room went still.
She tapped the page she’d been reading. “From what I’m seeing here, the Church’s interpretation of the Gnolaum is absolute. He’s one of the most revered figures in religious ceremonies.” A faint smirk tugged at her lips, but her eyes gleamed. “Which means, Wendell… you just kicked the bully in the leg.”
I gulped. Great. I wasn’t even in the fight yet, and I was already being zeroed out.
“So what is this Tier lineup they’re talking about?” Morty asked.
Alhannah chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’re interested now.”
Deloris coughed to cover a laugh.
The tinkerer scowled at them both.
Alhannah bit her lip to keep from grinning. “Sorry. The League is made up of fifteen pilots. Tier One is three groups of five—solo fights. The first two disabled in each group are eliminated. The top three move forward.”
I grabbed the remote. “So that’s seven weeks of battle?”
She nodded. “Plus side offerings along the way.”
Dax frowned. “Side offerings?”
“Matches outside the official brackets. Promoters set them up for pay-per-view audiences. Usually in abandoned warehouses—no RAT teams, no safety nets. Just S.L.A.G. versus S.L.A.G. Winner takes all.”
Nat arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t that where you get a cut of the betting money, just for showing up?”
“Among other perks,” Alhannah admitted, “but it’s risky. Damage your S.L.A.G. too much, and you might not make it to the next round.”
The screen blinked back to life.
Dusty and Pip were gone—replaced by the Trench Wars arena.
I sat up.
The stadium was huge, empty. The floor was sectioned and scorched with hundreds of burn marks. Debris littered the ground—broken stone, metal scraps, jagged craters.
The walls stretched high, built from thick steel panels. The seating wrapped above and around the battlefield, but it was completely enclosed—encased in chain-link fencing, even overhead.
I swallowed. “Is that…?”
“Yes,” Alhannah said. “That’s the Trench Wars arena.”
I studied it hard.
She crossed her arms. “And don’t let the plain look fool you. It’s a constantly changing environment of tricks, traps, and treachery.”
Trumpets blared.
A leaderboard appeared, sparks flying from its sides.
Dusty’s voice dropped into his most dramatic tone.
“Round One, Tier One… BANSHEE, SPINDELL, IRONHOUND, BETTY 4.0, and ARMORED ENSEMBLE.”
Nat nodded. “So, Alhannah—you’re up first. You set the pace.”
The trumpets shifted to booming drums.
Pip’s voice nearly shouted.
“Round Two, Tier One… ALPHA FIGHTER, NOSEDIVE, TURNPIKE, BEATDOWN, and THE GIRL NEXT DOOR!”
“YES!” Dax cheered. “I wanna kick Darcy’s tin can!”
I turned to him, stunned.
“What?” he said, suddenly sitting upright, composed. “I can’t stand Alpha Fighter.”
Which meant—
I exhaled. “So I’m going last.”
Not altogether disappointing. I needed time. Time to watch Alhannah and Dax fight. See how this actually played out.
“And now… Round Three, Tier One,” both announcers said in unison.
“KING’S JESTER, HOOK, DREAM DATE, SKYLINE… and THE GNOLAUM!!”
A dubbed crowd roared through the speakers.
The media center came back into view, Pip grinning ear to ear.
“And there you have it, ladies and gentlegnomes! The Tier One lineup!”
Dusty dramatically crumpled up a paper and flung it at the camera.
“So don’t miss it!” His voice dropped to a rasp. “See you in a week.”
The screen faded to black.
The WET, Inc. logo glowed until the music cut out.
I clicked the power button.
Silence.
Then I sighed. “What utter crap programming.”
Morty stood, stretching. “Well, that was anything but educational.” He chuckled. “But I have to admit, I can see how this might be… addictive.”
Deloris smirked. “Wow. You sound like you just shed twenty years, old man.”
Morty wiggled his eyebrows. “Why don’t we go see if that’s true, oh lovely one…”
“ALRIGHT.” Dax made a face. “Gag reflex engaged.” Then, a little calmer, “Goodnight, you two.”
Deloris laughed as Morty escorted her out.
I turned back to Alhannah. “So, what’s our schedule?”
She stood, glancing at everyone. Lili put down her book. Chuck kept eating popcorn.
“We’ve handed the S.L.A.G.s over to Freak for final touches.” She nodded at Nat. “Meanwhile, we go over strategy, coordinate with our hacker… and then…”
Her smile thinned into something mischievous.
“…We introduce ourselves to the public.”
Dax and I exchanged a look.
He grunted. “Huh?”
“Yeah,” I added. “Huh?”
Alhannah rubbed her hands together.
Her grin widened.
“We’re going to work the circuit, gentlemen.”
Want to start at the beginning? Grab yourself a copy of book one in the Chronicles of Hero series!
