And the cost of such an attack on the land! What general in his right mind would lay waste to a place for generations? How would people eat? And what good was a land without people? Even keeping Plus-Gnomium in the armory would be folly, because it could be stolen, or-worse yet-duplicated.
If it worked at all. Could you base an entire military campaign on a gnome’s promise?
Moros shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Boom,” he said, trying to let the crazed gnome down gently. “But I don’t think your idea meets our present needs. I’m sure that your reasoning is very sound, but the whole idea of cutting tiny rocks and small faeries producing big explosions sounds like so much moonshine. I mean, I have great respect for your obvious personal talent, but gnomes in general, well, you know …”
The wing captain’s voice trailed off.
The gnome’s face had the complexion of a ripe turnip. The gnome’s eyes were wide and white against the purple background of his apoplectic face. The gnome’s entire form shook, vibrating with rage. Moros feared the twisted little creature would ignite in a small fireball all his own.
“Of course, I can file a report with my superiors, and if they are interested . . .” Moros began, but it was too late.
The gnome shot a stubby arm forward, accusing finger pointed at Moros. “You’re just as bad as the fools at Nevermind! Wrapped in the past, afraid to see the future! But this time, I’m ready for you!”
The twisted creature’s other hand shot into its left coat pocket. It pulled out a cube the size of a man’s fist. The cube was smooth and reflective on all sides, and had a thick, grayish rod jutting from the top. The end of the rod was flattened into a grip, like that of a key.
A pound, the gnome had said. This looked as if it might weigh a pound …
“I built a working prototype!” cried the gnome. “I can prove my theories are fact!”
He pulled the key from the box.
Moros dove beneath the table, as if a slab of oak would protect him from the promised explosion. As he fell, he saw the innkeep dive behind his bar, and realized both of their actions were futile in the face of the coming fireball. The sergeant, thick-headed and only half-comprehending, was charging toward the gnome, figuring the creature had lit some type of grenade.
The bomb did not go off.
Ignoring a sharp pain in his shoulder, Moros pulled himself to his feet. The sergeant and the gnome were wrestling in the center of the common room. The sergeant had three feet of height and one hundred twenty pounds of mass on the small creature, but the gnome fought with the strength of the insane. The sergeant’s face was already gouged with deep scratches, and the mad gnome kept slipping out of his grasp.
Across the room, the innkeep was slowly recovering as well, his wide face appearing cautiously behind the counter. Between him and Moros were the brawling man and gnome, and the scattered contents of the gnome’s pockets-gears, bits of string, notepads with pages half-torn out, the mysterious rock, chewed-on pieces of chalk, and the insect-automaton.
The insect-automaton, which eagerly counted atomies, was active again, and chirping loudly. The chittering increased with each passing moment.
The sound made the wing captain freeze. More noise meant more spare atomies were in the area. As far as Moros could remember, this meant that the Plus-Gnomium was already caught in the reaction the gnome had described, the chain of events leading to an explosion. The atomie pile was starting to ignite.
They weren’t safe. The cube-shaped bomb was about to go off.
Moros looked frantically around the room. He could find no sign of the cube. It must have fallen from the gnome’s hand when the sergeant tackled him, and rolled to some corner like a thrown die. He had to find the cube before it consumed them in a fireball.
An idea cut through the cloud of buzzing now kicked up by the insect-device. Moros grabbed the unliving creature by the thorax, and began to wave it back and forth. If the gnome spoke true, the insect would chatter loudly when it drew nearer the cube.