It’s sad how much time we spend helping people in distant lands, when so many in need sit right at our doorsteps.

Wendell tried another step with the help of the makeshift crutches. Mal and Enid watched him in complete awe. Simon stood between them, clapping energetically.

“He shouldn’t be able to do that ya’know,” mumbled Mal under his breath.

“So we keep tellin’ him,” smirked Enid, “but he keeps doin’ it just the same.”

It was three days before Wendell could put substantial weight on his legs. He was going stir crazy, laying on the greasy cot day after day, until Simon showed up with what looked like some form of crayons and a handful of crusty newspapers. The papers had occasional mazes and cross-word puzzles in them and they’d sit there all day, trying to figure out the impossible. Simon couldn’t read and Wendell, well…wasn’t really a gnome, so none of the questions made much sense to him. What’s the most popular seafood dish in district three? Who’s the top mystery writer of all time? Who received the double-donkey alchemist award this year? He scratched his head, How the crud am I supposed to know this stuff? In the end, they ripped the papers up and made paper airplanes.

Wendell did read more than just the crosswords, however. Simon had brought several magazines as well, and one had caught his attention, called Dare Magazine. We ask the questions the rest of the media is too scared to ask? The covers all had someone yelling at the photographer or taking a swing at the reporter off to the side of the shot. Hmmm. Reminds me of the trash tabloid junk back home. But there wasn’t much else to do, so he read. One article had the headline that made him stop and read.

Is the government selling us out…or just selling us?

While Simon went off to help Enid find more food, Wendell pulled the magazine out again and read it. Suspicions. The forgotten of the city, known as muddles. Rumors of drug corporations buying the homeless as test subjects for drug trials too dangerous to use on normals. There were two fuzzy pictures of transports unloading gnomes and forcing them single-file into a warehouse.  He gulped. Since there were Centurions in the picture, the finger was being pointed at those in charge, namely the government faction…and in turn, pointed at the President. What kind of place have I gotten myself into? These sweet, little people aren’t turning out to be much different than the power-grabbing, money hungry people on Earth. It disappointed him.

He wondered if Chuck was aware about this side of his favorite little race and their huge technologically advanced civilization. The wizard was so fond of the gnomes, but Wendell was now walking proof they were capable of serious mean streaks. He sighed, his head falling forward, How am I ever going to get out of this place? He wondered if the Centurions saw his face, would they take him back up top? Take him home. He sighed again, Wherever home is.

Tearing the article from the magazine, he folded it up and slid it into his back pocket. I think the guys’ll want to see… something jabbed his fingers.

He pulled out the folded letter with the red seal. Have I had this with me the whole…? Like a cool breeze, a wave of hope washed over him. Looking around cautiously to make sure he was alone, he slipped the letter out and unfolded the paper. For weeks, all he could see was the word WIN in the center of the magical parchment. Obviously the encouragement and focus for the games. But that’s not what looked up at him.

With trembling hands, he read.

My Beloved Son,

If you’re reading this, then you will have made it to the island of Pävärios, homeland of the gnomes. It will mean that you have discovered the seal in Til-Thorin and if my calculations are correct, all is well and going according to plan.

Wendell cringed. If this was according to plan, then the plan was a screwed up one.

By now you have discovered some of the properties of this letter. A substantial amount of time, planning and extraordinary magic was used to craft these words—providing you with what guidance I could, knowing you would have to make vital decisions on your own.

Wendell coughed, almost choking on the words. It was almost too much, being yanked back into the personal life of the hero he was expected to be. The hero he wasn’t. Something pushed against his heart—and for a split second…he winced. His brows crunched together, a pain piercing the center of his skull.

His mind raced, trying to place the powerful aching inside him. It all felt familiar…too familiar…but he couldn’t understand why. Images flashed in his mind and he winced again. He’d awoken in Clockworks. Surrounded by gnomes, he’d recognized Deloris. She looked very familiar…but, why? We’ve never met before.

He was sure of it.

He shook it off and tried to focus he attention on the words.

The gnomes are vital to the survival of our world, my son. With all their inventions and unbridled genius, they have yet to realize their true potential. The role they are to play in the confrontation with evil. In time they will be given the chance to blossom as a desert rose…or forever shrink into the shadows. I can see it, even now.

You must lead them into the light. Lead them, my son, back into the loving embrace of the world they were once a part of.

He gripped the parchment tightly in shaking hands, his head falling forward. There’s so much to do. He gasped, clenching his eyes tight, I’m only one guy! How am I supposed to change the course of history, the course of a people when I can’t even control my own life!? He gripped the invisible bump on his chest, squeezing the Ithari with his fingers. Have you considered that you might of made a mistake? Even with the help of Chuck and Dax…this is too big!

There is a need within every gnome to be seen. To be recognized by a world that thinks little of them. Even as I write these words I can see this crippling their tiny souls. They have forgotten who they really are!

In the end their weakness will become their salvation…and yours.

One of the seals has been sent into their midst. Their natural fear of the bigger races will grant you time. This seal must be protected at all costs. Find it. It is the last chain binding Mahan to his prison. Once it is discovered, you must remove it from Clockworks forever.

I know the mantle weighs heavily upon you. It has been thus for every one of us before you. Remember to be patient with others, my son, for few will understand the path you will be forced to walk. Trust no one but the Gem. Through her, you will learn the truth of all things. This is your only true protection. Listen to that inner voice that whispers to you. Not your own, but that voice which prompts you to do only what is right, what is true and just. Ithari cannot lie and she will not falter, so long as you serve her with a pure heart.

At this moment I can reveal another key. Trust yourself and let go.

Wendell scoffed. Let go? Let go of what? I’m not even one of you! You have no idea how hard and insane this is for me… For a moment, he held the letter against his chest, ready to throw it into the sea of garbage around him. But he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Getting rid of the only true instruction he had wouldn’t release him from the duties he’d committed to. He’d made that choice of his own free will.

Let go of your anger and frustration and trust in the path before you. Let go of your fears, my son. You will make mistakes. You will fall. You will even fail. But you must learn to let it all go. Instead, trust your heart and in your relationship with the gem. For when your hearts become one, so will your power.

Accept who you are, my son, for only then will you be free.

…and when you are finally free, the answers will be within your grasp.

Through Ithari, my heart is always with you.

Your Father.

“Interesting read?” Mal interrupted and Wendell nearly fell off the cot. “Woah boy, just me,” he laughed, “Don’t want to break another bone, now do we?”

Heart pounding, Wendell let the magazine slide off his lap as he steadied himself. Mal turned his back, looking for something to sit on, and Wendell quickly folded the letter and shoved it back into his pocket. “No. Definitely not.”

Grabbing a bucket, he plopped it next to the cot and eased himself down. “I thought you might like to meet the community. Since you’re one of us now, that is.” He paused, staring at the young hero, waiting for a reaction to the good news. “You’ve been here long enough and some of the folks want to meet you, you know. To say hello? Hear your story? It’s not often we get to hear about the outside.” Noticing the magazine on the ground, he leaned over and picked it up. “Not the important stuff, anyway.”

“I’m not staying,” Wendell said cooly, though he regretted it the moment the words left his lips. He felt stressed, which resonated in his words. He sounded pompous. Besides, he didn’t exactly have a plan on how he was going to escape. But I can’t relax and fool myself into settling. “I have to get back to my friends.”

Mal frowned at him, “You do realize there ain’t no way back up, Wendell. ‘Cept in the back of the wagons, of course. You want to get beaten, zapped and carted off to who knows where? Not wise. Best make the most of what you have. Be grateful, if you want my advice.” He took a deep breath, “I know it ain’t paradise, but we’re all alive and safe, and, well…getting along well enough.”

Wendell looked up under heavy brows, “Until the Centurions round you up and take you away. Right? Until what—there’s no one left to cart off?”

The old gnome looked like he’d been slapped. His mouth hung slightly open, but he didn’t answer.

“Where’s Simon’s parents?” Wendell prodded. “How does a child—a tiny kid like that, find himself in a pit like this? Where’s his family, Mal—where’s his mother? Or are we just a substitute until we get carted off as well?”

Surprisingly, the gnome snatched up a small pipe from the ground and leaned close to Wendell. “You listen here…boy,” jabbing him in the shoulder, “that child’s been through more suffering than either of us. So shut it! He don’t need some snot-nosed hot shot from top-side who pissed off the wrong people, messing with what life he’s got—ya hear me!?”

“I didn’t mean…”

“I don’t care what you meant,” he snapped, “you arrogant little turd!” Jabbing hard with the pipe, Wendell winced in pain, “His mother knocked a guard over so that boy could escape an unknown fate.” Mal’s breathing sounded like hisses, saliva spraying from between his clenched teeth, “WE are his family now! Got it? The forgotten of this cursed city look after their own!” He threw the pipe over Wendell’s head and stood up abruptly. “Now, you comin’ so I can introduce you to decent folk—or you gonna sit here with the rest of the garbage and rot?”

Wendell rubbed his shoulder painfully. The smiley on his shirt whimpered silently, watching the old gnome walk away.

****

“The furnaces of Clockworks aren’t just used for waste management—they’re used to heat the city and create electricity. More than a dozen of the giant facilities line the outer rim of the city that houses the 1.5 billion population. Give or take a few million.”

“Wow.”

“They rotate the burning days, so there’s always two furnaces going at the same time. Keeps the boilers running for when they can’t use the hydro-plants to generate electricity.”

Wendell’s brows crinkled, “How do you know all this?”

Mal heaved his bad leg up onto a box and kneaded the stiff muscles in his calf. “Otger here worked the flow tunnels. Dangerous job. Slippin’ and slidin’ down those long tunnels, scrubbing the caked residue left by the sea water so it don’t jam the machines over time.”

Otger was overweight, full red beard and mustache and wore bright yellow rags for clothing. His skin had the same oily gloss each person possessed down here, but his eyes were clear and vibrant. They almost sparkled when he talked about the machines of the city. “I’m surprised you don’t know this yourself, Wendell.” He looked around at the other gnomes, “Just proves the public school system’s gone down the crapper, since the government took over.”

They all nodded agreement.

Wendell couldn’t help but stare. How could such smart people end up in a hole like this? Something is seriously wrong! As the conversation continued, he looked around him, taking in the small community these good gnomes had carved out of nothing. Nestled against one section of the wall, was a network of tents and huts. Crafted using what junk they could find, dozens of small buildings had been erected for small groups living together. Pieces of metal, cloth, thousands of shipping crates and pallets, all sewn or lashed together with wire, rope, twine, anything they could find. It looked like a post apocalyptic village.

At its center was a small solar still, collecting water from a salt water leak in the furnace tank. The salt water leaking in was collected and then heated under a plastic tarp. The steam would rise, collected by the plastic, where it would drip down into collection bottles for everyone to drink. Nothing went to waste. Small children seemed oblivious of the state of things, as they ran about playing tag or hide and go seek—laughing and giggling as if today were the best day in the world.

Not a care in the world, Wendell stared on amazed. The harshest living conditions I’ve ever seen and they’ve created their own version of an eden. Wow.

For nearly an hour Wendell had been shaking hands as Mal introduced him to the rest of the community as the ‘new arrival’. After trying several times to correct the old gnome, sharing his desire to leave, he simply kept his mouth shut and smiled.

They think I’m crazy…or maybe desperate if I keep shooting my mouth off. They don’t believe escape is possible. Better shut up for now and keep any plans to myself.

But the lack of resolve around him was disturbing. He could see the weight of living in such conditions on the faces around him. When he asked too many questions, most would kindly excuse themselves and walk away.

They don’t want to talk about it. To face what’s happening around them?

These were productive members of society. Dayl, with his engineering background and Otger with his amazing experiences in city maintenance. Trigg was a restaurant owner, Blane a cab driver…and Nichol, a school teacher.

Everyone here is intelligent, kind…and, he hesitated, it doesn’t make any sense to me.

There were hundreds of them—male and female and more than two dozen children—three of which had even been born in this filth.

All trapped behind doors that only opened from the outside.

How did they all get here?

It was almost too much to comprehend and the lack of resolve around him began to claw at his own feelings. His clothes hung heavily on his skin, as if someone had places stones in every pocket. Wendell quickly felt weighed down…trapped. Chuck and Dax didn’t know where he was. There was no way to let them know where he was, either. Wendell didn’t even know if they could come get him even if they did know he was down here. His hands began to tremble and he forced himself to lace his fingers together to keep himself in check.

One thing was for sure—he was on his own. If their was any hope of getting away…getting free, it was up to Wendell and Wendell alone.

Looks like you’ll have to stretch, Wendell. No comfort zone or box for you today, buddy-boy. He looked between several of the gnomes, all sitting around him with pleasant smiles upon their faces, chatting like old friends do.

Squeezing his fingers tight, he forced a small chuckle from his throat, “So how did you all end up in a furnace?” he blabbed, not sure how to even ask such a question. “Not to sound too weird here, but you’re all such likable people! I can understand one of you wandering off, maybe getting trapped down here during a job? Who knows, even a few of you—but this is a small town.”

“This ain’t everyone,” Mal added, visually irritated. “We’re just a few in this particular machine.”

“Wait,” Wendell gasped, “there’s more? Than us, right here?”

They all nodded soberly.

“We discovered a series of notes blown in from the ventilation shaft one day. Discovered there was a way to send messages between us. Discovered three hundred and six in furnace eight and a hundred and twelve in furnace six.” He slapped Otger’s forearm, “This brilliant boy worked out the system and keeps track of the messages. We’re furnace seven. Two hundred and….,” but he stopped. Swallowing, he said a little softer, “We’ll…have to do a recount.”

Wendell shifted in his seat uncomfortably. This is completely crazy! “How can a city like Clockworks allow its citizens to be trapped like this? It’s just…”

“It just is, Wendell,” grunted Otger. “You talk like a foreigner. You know the normals don’t care about muddles. You can walk down the street and if someone’s in a higher position in the city, you’re lucky if they notice you even exist.” He cocked his head to the side, staring at the smiley face on Wendell’s t-shirt—which had turned from a dull yellow to a near neon yellow with red cheeks over its frown. “If you’re not part of the system in place, you’re a freak. An outcast. No one likes variations from the norm. That’s why muddles are named after mud puddles—pointless and useless, ‘cept to be stepped in.” He sighed, “Or on.”

“Don’t call me a muddle,” Mal grumbled, “I may be forgotten and discarded, but I ain’t nobody.” He jabbed his finger outward, pointing around at all the others in the semi-circle, “An neither are you!”

Wendell stared at the red-faced gnome. He might not see eye to eye with Mal, but he couldn’t help admiring him. He cares about these people. Really cares. It wasn’t hard to see how a downtrodden people could survive under such harsh conditions with a powerful personality, like Mal’s lifting them up. Giving them strength. Wendell was anxious to fix his stupid outburst form their last conversation.

“What did you do up top, Mal?” The words didn’t sound right, and Wendell felt the words too casual. “I mean, what did you do as a profession,” he watched the old gnomes expression, “you know--before you found yourself here?”

Mal hesitated, his head snapping up. He stared back boldly, studying Wendell.  When he did speak, his tone was still sharp, “I worked for fools and hypocrites,” he said sarcastically, “and I pray they and everyone else like ‘em receive the same love and kindness they bestowed upon me.” He spat on the ground. “And I didn’t find myself here!” …and he stomped off.

They all watched the gnome hobble away until Mal rounded a gigantic mound of trash and vanished from view.

Wendell sighed. Well that went well. ShEEsh! You’re a moron, Wendell. You have to learn how to talk to people, or you’re going to make more enemies than friends and that won’t help anyone. He shook his head, disappointed. Some Wendellizer you are.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Wendell,” Otger said quietly, “Mal’s like that with everyone. Takes some getting used to—but I think he’s mad a lot ‘cause he cares.”

“Yeah,” but it still stung.

“To answer your question,” he continued, though just above a whisper, “Mal was a preacher,” just in case the old gnome might be listening. “For the Temple of TGII. He told us he worked for Father Noah.”

“Oh,” Wendell nodded, acting like he knew the name.

“He used to wrk with the poor in the city—but he was right there in the spotlight with all the leaders. Working with charity programs and youth organizations. Said he saw a demonstration first hand a few years back—a youth rally I think it was. That right Dayl?”

“Think so,” replied the engineer.

“He watched kids getting beaten just for opening their mouths. Said they weren’t doing anything wrong but expressing their thoughts—how things weren’t right with our city, with the leaders. So the Centurions came in and rounded them up. When they questions the officers, it went violent.”

Dayl nodded, “The moment Mal opened his mouth to defend the kids, Noah turned on him. Accused him of being in league with the Gnome Resistance, and he was put on trial.”

Woah, woah—back up. “As in the Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries?”

The chubby gnome nodded. Absentmindedly reaching up, Otger rubbed the back of his head, “I got clocked by my own shift manager over a similar,” he chuckled, “conversation. We were just talking about liberty. You know, being able to choose for ourselves, eat our own bread, keep the credits we make…instead of having the government always poking their snout where it don’t belong. I quoted something read by the G.R.R. and he got mad. I mean really mad.”

Looking upward, trying to remember, he repeated, “The greatness of a people lies not in their wealth or achievements, but in their daily pursuit of excellence, founded upon the bedrock of liberty.” He let his head drop—a huge grin upon his dirty face. The furnace kicked on behind them—the hot vapors and rank odor of burning garbage washing over them. “I remember saying that we should be able to do like the G.R.R. says—make our own choices, for our own lives. To help shape the future of our kids…and my manager started shouting, calling me a rebel and a troublemaker.” His head drooped low, then, his shoulders rounding forward, “I didn’t want any trouble—but he jumped at me. Took a swing with his wrench and hit me in the head. Knocked me out cold. When I woke up, I found myself here.”

Wendell stared at him, flabbergasted. This isn’t a bunch of accidents then. People are getting dumped in here. Cast off and unwanted. The thought made his stomach turn—but it also confirmed something that lent a shimmer of hope. There might be more than one ways in.

“Not that it matters much,” Otger said shyly, “the wife took our kids and left me long before this happened.” He sniffed, “Never could make enough credits to keep her in comfort.” He looked away, embarrassed.

“Hey,” Dayl poked his larger friend, “You did what you could. Provided for your family’s needs. That’s saying a lot these days, little brother. Maybe her expectations were more than they should have been, eh?”

Otger shrugged, but didn’t look up. “Sure.”

Wendell flinched as pain shot through his leg. Using his thumbs, he rubbed the top of his thigh, trying to work out the knot.

Maybe I’m looking at this all wrong. These folks being here doesn’t seem to be an accident. Someone has to know they exist. Has to know they’re down here…and either want these good people here on purpose, or they want to forget them altogether.

But it didn’t add up in his mind.

Why? Why would anyone want to cast someone off, unwanted or shunned? Because you disagree on political or social issues? That’s…stupid.

He pondered a moment and almost immediately, an idea formed. “If you could get out of here, guys, where would you go?”

Otger scratched his head, but Dayl smiled wide.

“Easy,” he chimed, “I’d get my butt off-island. Get to the free zones.”

“Free zones?” Wendell wasn’t sure how to approach the subject without exposing himself, so he decided to go with the truth. “I’ve never heard of a free zone.”

The engineer leaned back in his rickety hand-made pipe-and-cloth seat recliner and laced his fingers behind his neck. Two small children ran through the center of the group, squealing and holding up a frayed piece of rope attached to a tattered imitation of a kite. “I don’t think they teach about it in schools anymore, so I’m not surprised." Dayl watched the kite sail upwards the closer the children ran towards the furnace vent. “They’re the little islands surrounding Pävärios. They were colonized when our people discovered this cluster of islands—the biggest being used for Clockworks. But there are smaller groups who decided to moderate their advancements. Not so much as dominating nature as in working with it.”

His smile grew wider and Wendell could only imagine what the gnome must be imagining. “So you’d go there?”

Dayl nodded vigorously, “Definitely! Live free and among people who wanted me? Who wouldn’t want to go there? I could share my talents and not have to pay a fee every time I step outside my front door…”

“Or so you hope,” Otger said sourly. “You don’t actually know if those places really exist—cause we can’t get off the island to be sure! For all you know, you’d make the journey there and find a barren rock to starve to death on.” He shook hi head, “No, I’ll deal with what I have here. I just want a way to exist in Clockworks. Live my own life.”

Maybe that’s the key. It seems simple enough—a bunch of people, wanting to have their own lives. They just need to get out of here and off the main island.

Wendell lifted his sore leg up on a bucket. “Did you ever try going to the free zone before you ended up down here, Dayl?”

“Naw. Too expensive. You get taxed anytime you want to do anything in Clockworks, but it’s more expensive to get out than stay in. Cheaper to go down than up.” The words seemed to take the life from him as he said it and he ended up leaning forward, head hanging low. “So the poor get poorer and the rich,” he shrugged, “…well…”

“You don’t just throw people out like they’re garbage,” Wendell whispered out loud to himself—though everyone could hear him plain enough.

Both Otger, and Dayl stared at each other, then at him.

“But…isn’t that what happened to you?” Dayl. asked “You actually got thrown down the garbage chute, didn’t you?”

Though it was a sad fact, Wendell almost burst out laughing. That was exactly what his enemies had done with him. Thrown him out like he was useless, expendable junk. He felt his face flush, “Well,…yeah, but that’s not what I meant…”

“There he is!” cried Simon, running towards Wendell.

Enid was in tow, carrying an armful of goods. “This is our lucky day!” he grinned, “The rich have spoiled us from above, gentlegnomes.” With an exhausted grunt, he plopped down into the center of the circle and unloaded his treasure. Three small plastic bags contained bread covered in small sheets of fuzzy mold, and with it, four cans of…

“SPIM!?” squeaked Otger, “You found whole, unopened cans of lunchmeat?! Well snap my suspenders and call me fat!”

“You are fat,” smirked Dayl.

“Shut up,” and he stuck out his tongue.

“Sorry gents,” Enid replied, “Gotta feed the child first, then our new addition so he keeps his strength up. But I’m more than happy to share after that.”

Otger’s eyes were wide with excitement, “Think there might be more where those came from? I’m not afraid to dig ya know!”

Enid chuckled, “Do you know where the primary clothesline is? The one attached to the upright washing unit?”

“Sure do.”

“Stand at the back of the washer and walk out about twenty paces, you should see my hole. There are some baby toys and a bent blue wagon where I dug. This was all we could carry, but I think there was at least another can or two.”

“YUMMY!” squealed Otger, and he bounced away, Dayl close on his heels. They became a blur of movement, waving their hands over head. Neither of them looked back. “Welcome to the family, Wendell,” they cried out.

Wendell laughed and shook his head. Crazy, crazy…crazy.

“So,” Enid stabbed the first can with an old pocket knife, then worked the blade around the cans edge, “been meetin’ and mixing with the folks of the community, have you?”

Wendell accepted the opened can. With two fingers he scooped out the cold, blue meat. The clump was cold, small speckles of what he assumed were fat, wiggled on his fingers. He slid it into his mouth before he could think about it. The smells no longer bothered Wendell. Well, not as much, anyway. It did take some getting used to—but this was about survival. The SPIM tasted grainy with a plastic-type texture after taste. “Yeah,” he said between his chomping and slurping, “nice people.” He clenched his teeth and forced himself to swallow.

“They are at that,” Enid nodded agreement. He opened a second can and patted a small crate next to him. “Simon, you come sit down and eat this til it’s gone, alright?”

“Yes, uncle Enid.”

Wendell almost choked on his mouthful. Uncle Enid. Simon sat dow obediently and took the SPIM can from the old gnome.

What’s going to happen to this little guy? Is he going to spend the rest of his life down here, trapped, without a future? Won’t know a real school or a warm, soft bed, he looked at his own hands, or a decent home-cooked meal. The people of Clockworks don’t even know this sweet little boy even exists.

He glanced at Enid. The old gnome winked at the child, sharing a huge grin, like this was nothing more than the ultimate camping trip.

He’ll never have a normal life.

But that same thought shocked him. It didn’t quite feel right. It was a label that didn’t seem to fit.

What’s normal anyway? Running around with a diamond in your chest sure isn’t normal.

His fingers ran across his chest, the tip brushing against the surface of the gem under the mägoweave shirt.

Fighting inside twenty foot giant robots? Running from seven foot tall cannibals? Magic? Technology?

Besides, these people were more thoughtful, kind and appreciative than anyone else he’d met since he’d arrived in Clockworks. So who’s to say this wasn’t the right way to be and everyone else was screwed up?

I’m not too sure there is such a thing as normal anymore.

He went back to choking down the blue meat. Maybe there never has been an actual normal—just people’s personal or social definitions, according to what made them comfortable.

He ate in silence, his gaze wandering. The furnace provided warmth. Sustenance fell in various forms from above and the people here were kind and worked together…but it wasn’t where Wendell belonged. No. I have to get out of here.

Normal or not, one thing was for certain—staying here was not an option.

“Enid?”

“Yup?” he answered, slurping the blue flecks from his fingers.

“How often have those Centurions been doing their raids?”