“Norn no move,” whispered Coolcut to Wizkidd. “Grendel.”
Wizkidd stopped gawping at the screen and threw a concealed glance over 
his shoulder. It appeared that “grendel” was a slight understatement. 
Coolcut knew what to do in this sort of situation. He had to call for help. 
But the only way in was through the dangerous exhaust port! Nevertheless, 
the Norns were all prepared for this eventuality. Subtley, he pressed the 
small button that he carried on the palm of his paw.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Renegades were standing outside.
“No time! NornRunner minute late. Something wrong!” said George. Then 
his attention was drawn to the beep on his chest-set.
“Norn Alarm! Norn Come Now!” yelled George to the rest of the team, 
and headed off down the tunnel at what seemed to him like lightspeed. He 
knew he only had two minutes until the next exhaust fumes of carbon 
monoxide and sulphur dioxide passed through. The rest of the Renegades 
picked up their weapons and followed suit, every one of them speeding 
down the circular tunnel as fast as their legs would carry them. Without gas 
masks, they were almost inevitably doomed - no Norn can run a mile in 
two minutes, surely?

George glanced at his watch. Only thirty seconds until the gasball would fly 
towards the advancing Norns and kill them.
“Norn hurry! HURRY!!!” he yelled. The exit was just coming into sight, 
but it was still a good thirty or forty seconds away…

“Urgh! Grab bokk yick!” yelled the grendel sergeant. Two android Norns 
advanced towards Coolcut with handcuffs at the ready.
“Norn hands up! Drop gun!” commanded one of the android Norns in a 
lifeless, robotic voice.
Coolcut dropped his gun by his feet, and then he and Wizkidd raised their 
hands. Shut their eyes.
And prayed.

Suddenly, the room was full of the most blinding light. The grendels were 
too slow to react, and before they knew it, the room was seething with the 
rebels as they used all manner of weapons to take out the stunned grendels. 
Using the distraction well, Coolcut grabbed his gun and let rip on the 
crowd of grendels.
“Run Norn! RUN NORN!” he commanded, and the Norns, covering their 
backs as they went with sporadic bursts of gun, sling and arrow fire. Before 
they knew it they were speeding back down the exhaust port. But some of 
the Norns who had made the first run were too tired; they wouldn’t make 
it. Nevertheless, Coolcut urged them on as the Renegades surged down the 
tunnel.

“Grendel ick barn! Furgh!” commanded the grendel sergeant into his 
mouthpiece. The exhaust port also let out other gases, like methane. And it 
quite often burnt them while it did.

“Norn smell!” shouted George.
“What Norn smell?” asked Coolcut.
“Fire!”
The exit was still some way away. Coolcut glanced over his shoulder, and 
noticed orange and red colours dancing their way down the tunnel at an 
alarming rate.
The Renegade Norns stretched every muscle in their bodies as they ran 
down the exhaust port, but the fire was catching them. Very quickly. 
Coolcut could see the exit, though he was sure he wasn’t going to reach it 
in time, and he certainly wasn’t the slowest Norn running. He felt the 
onrushing warmth as the fire licked and danced its way down the hall. 
Surely the Norns were doomed?, he reasoned.

Just as he had that thought, the blast wave from the fire sent him flying, 
literally. He sped down the hall faster than he had ever travelled before, 
flapping his arms in a vain attempt to gain some control of his trajectory. 
The mouth of the tunnel loomed. He felt his tail getting painfully hot. He 
thought he was going to die. But as the fire was almost upon him and his 
fellow Norns, he flew out of the exhaust port and landed thirty feet away 
on a metal heap of scrap. He was all right, but his tail was gone, he had 
singed fur, and he wasn’t sure about the other Norns. One by one, he heard 
little “Ouch!” and “Ooh!”’s followed by clangs of metal as the Norns 
landed on the heap. In the distance, he could see the fire burning at the 
mouth of the exhaust port.
“Norns! Who Norns!” he asked as he scurried over the scrap heap. Soon 
the Norns were assembled in a group as he took names.
“One Norn no here!” he exclaimed as he finished counting heads. “Who 
Norn?”
“Fysh know,” said Fysh. “Norn George no here. George gone.”
Coolcut couldn’t believe it.
“How Norn know?” he asked.
“Norn saw George, too slow. But…”
“But what?”
“He said… the motto.” Fysh collapsed in a sobbing heap. He was evidently 
devastated by the loss of his friend. Coolcut, too, was blown away by the 
news. But George knew the risks, and he certainly did know the motto. 
And he had lived by it. Coolcut recalled the plaque in the main hall; “We 
succeed, or we die trying.” And then, sighing heavily, he and the Renegade 
Norns began the journey back to their headquarters. The mission was a 
success, and that at least was some consolation for the death of George. 
The saddened Norns walked slowly into the sunset.

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