[Original Novel] Champion of the Little People, Part 8

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No sooner than I'd noticed the metal Tyrant was missing, it stomped into view just beyond a small hill. It must’ve come from the lake as it pulled a wheeled cart piled high with minnows or some other small fish. What the devil? Winston got up, the little fellows diving off his back as he did so, and he slowly backed away from the strange walking machine with his tail between his legs.

In fairness that’s a bit much to ask of a dog. As I watched it at work I discovered they were using the metal Tyrant for the kinds of tasks they used to need my help with, owing to my relative size. Lifting whole houses to relocate them, placing bridges, clearing large rocks from a path and so on. Made me hopeful that if ever something happened to me, they would now be able to continue indefinitely on their own.

When I headed off towards the lake, in the direction the metal Tyrant had come from, I discovered they’d built a pier and a shipyard. I had mixed feelings. By comparison with the settlement this was out in the open. Still, if someone happened upon it they’d think it was simply the work of an eccentric hobbyist.

In the distance I could see little sailboats navigating the waves. Even on a calm day like this they struggled somewhat due to their size. I wondered about the possibility of a steamboat before remembering they’d already used that to build the metal Tyrant. One of the sailboats came in to dock with what, to a Homunculi, is no doubt an ample haul of fish. Which is to say, four of them.

As each minnow matched or exceeded the size of a Homunculi I expected that even after they’d salted or smoked the meat, it made for a week’s worth of meals for a family of three to four. Even so I resolved to at some point teach them about sustainable fishing, lest they rely too heavily on fishing and one day find that there are no more fish to be had.

I returned to find the metal Tyrant fighting off a cat, which had been attracted to the settlement by the smell of the fish. This was an application of the versatile little robot I hadn’t considered. It flinched as the cat batted at its head and chest, then the metal Tyrant landed a blow to its shoulder. It hissed and backed away. Winston jumped into the fray before I could stop him.

I have no idea how far he chased that poor cat. Just that it took him two hours to come back. The cat’s probably in Mexico now. I looked at my watch, remembering I was supposed to meet with Jennifer today to work on our robot. On a whim, I negotiated for a bit with the little representative and once I had his okay, I picked up the metal Tyrant and brought it with me.

“What the heck is that?” she demanded as I heaved it up onto my desk. “This,” I explained, “is how we’re going to win the competition.” She whined for a bit about how much work we’d already put into the scarab until she saw what the metal Tyrant could do. After that, it was an easy sell.

“You’re really good at building stuff like this, aren’t you. Look at the detail. If you were this good at robots you should’ve just told me so we didn’t waste time building the old one.” I told her it wasn’t my work, that the little ones built it. She scoffed. “You don’t have to be humble. This is incredible, take credit where it’s due.”

I gave the same explanation when she asked how it knew what to do without the processor module installed. Again, she dismissed it. That was beginning to bug me. But really, the less she knew, the less danger she was in. So I let it slide. Arriving at school with it was electrifying. Nobody elses robot came close.

Trevor, absent for the rest of the project, was all too happy to share the limelight now that it was complete. I spotted Dan scowling at me, face scabbed up where he’d been cut. His partner, who I assumed had done all the work, produced a four legged robot with a single pivoting arm dangling from the underside.

That proved to be a pattern. Each group had one or two people who’d done nothing, leaving the remaining member or members to complete the project alone. Most were little more than wheeled boxes. The metal Tyrant drew not just awe, but suspicion. Mr. Conrad asked me repeatedly if my parents helped with any of it, each time I insisted they hadn’t. Which was true.

Most of the groups failed the first challenge and seemed relieved more than anything. It meant they were finally done and could just spectate the rest of it. That left just three groups in the running. Mine, Dan’s and Bianca’s.

The four legged robot built by Dan’s partner proved surprisingly capable, in particular at climbing the blocks set up like stairs. The impression I got is they’d designed it mainly for that, anticipating it would be the most difficult part.

There was also something like a crab which walked sideways, making it up one side of the stairs then tumbling down the other. It landed upright though, and so qualified to continue. I didn’t figure Bianca for someone who could build a capable robot, but to be fair I’m not an authority on reading people.

The next challenge was to pick up a foam ball from a pedestal, carry it through a simple obstacle course, then place it in a paper cup at the end. The other two groups looked on in consternation as the metal Tyrant completed the challenge as easily as a human that size might’ve. Simply walked up, grabbed the ball, stepped over the obstacles and dumped it in the cup.

I beamed with pride before remembering I wasn’t the one who’d built it and that I was royally pissing off two people with a history of targeting me for humiliation. Right now was my time to shine but undoubtedly at some later date I’d pay for it. For some reason, Jennifer looked more worried than I was.

The rest of the competition continued like that, with Dan and Bianca growing visibly more and more irate. At the end my team was awarded a ribbon and selected to continue to the regional event. For me, aside from rescuing the little folks and setting them up in their colony, this was the high point of my year.

At least that’s what I thought until Mr. Conrad took me aside as class let out. Once everyone else was gone, he explained. “Look, I’m not stupid. There’s no way a kid your age could build something like that. I don’t know where you got it, and I can’t prove anybody helped you, but that’s irrelevant. The main thing is, I was never interested in the competition aspect. I thought participation in this program would be a good self esteem booster. I expected every team to perform pretty close to the same so I could just give you all Bs, pat you on the back and call it a success. You ruined that by pulling so far ahead. Do you see what you’ve done? I’m still going to give everyone the same grade. I don’t want to hear any whining from you or Jennifer about that. You’re lucky I didn’t disqualify you outright. Please don’t pull a stunt like that again.”

It put somewhat of a damper on things. Jennifer didn’t care. She whooped and danced down the hall as we headed for the parking lot to be picked up. “I can’t believe we won! You’re amazing! I still think we could have won with the Scarab, but did you see their faces? Blown away!” Her happiness was infectious and soon enough I’d forgotten Mr. Conrad’s lecture.

Instead my thoughts turned to the settlement. I hoped they were alright without the metal Tyrant. It was just for one day, after all. There was the cat to contend with now, and I doubted the fence would stop it. High as it was I wouldn’t put it past a cat to simply leap over it, wrecking the village once inside the perimeter as it searched for the fish.

I found the village just as I’d left it. Taking great care not to touch the fence, I hoisted the metal Tyrant back into place, and shut the service tower around it. The little fellows immediately set about inspecting it for wear and tear. The cockpit hatch opened and a very nauseous, weary looking pilot stumbled out. There were no steam engine tenders during the trials as I’d used some of the oil to power it.

I didn’t look forward to subjecting him to more of it when Jennifer and I went to the regional competition. But I reasoned having done so much for these little dudes, it wasn’t unreasonable to ask for a favor now and again. This time as I studied the settlement for additions, I found that they’d worked out how to build ballistas.

I thought to save them some trouble and point them to the formula for gunpowder, but wondered if it wasn’t better to let them follow their own path of development from here on out. The arrowheads, when I looked closely, were X-acto blades. They were really getting a lot of mileage out of those. Not surprising, extremely sharp blades are industrially quite difficult to make. The way things were going I expected they’d be manufacturing their own before long, though.

Winston came galloping after me in that signature happy, reckless gait all dogs seem to exhibit when they run. Head bobbing, ears flapping around, tail spinning like an airplane prop. I imagined him bellowing “DURRR HUR HURRR HUR” as he ran, and laughed. Really though, I also sort of envied him. Who enjoys life more than a dog?

Thinking about that made me realize we’d both been through some shit. I remembered how he recoiled from attempts to pet him when I’d first brought him home. Despite the gulf between our different species, I felt he had the same understanding of the world and what sort of people inhabit it that I did.

Although ever since I met Jennifer, that understanding had grown increasingly untenable. She was no ogre. If someone like her existed in the world, it couldn’t be as bleak as I imagined before. Not entirely.

To some degree it was uncomfortable having such an entrenched view of the world shaken like this. But I also felt cautiously hopeful. She’s like the first ray of light breaking through cloud cover as winter ends. Can life really be this way all the time? It felt delusional to seriously hope for such a thing, yet I persisted.

Studying the hustle and bustle of the settlement before me, I spotted a couple curled up together on a park bench. Seemingly oblivious to the frantic preparations for what, by now, they all knew would soon occur. Lost by their own will in a world where only they existed.

To see how they carried on, it was hard to believe anything could disrupt it. The first warning was when Winston set to growling. This was the first aggression I’d seen from him. I expected it was just the cat, but turning around, instead I was confronted with several rows of Tyrants. At first I shielded my eyes by reflex, but they wore armor which covered their faces.

Where had they gotten armor? Come to think of it I didn’t have a solid sense of Tyrant intelligence either. Behind me, the support tower swung away from the metal Tyrant. The door in the fence opened, and it stomped out between my legs, the fence closing behind it. Above me a frenzy of activity could be heard around the aerial outposts.

Sparrows darted between the trees, surveying the battleground. With no other weapon handy, I pulled out my pocketknife and folded out the largest blade. As if waiting for that, the Tyrants charged. Once they spread out I got a better sense of their numbers, no more than twenty. Winston lunged for one, seized it between his jaws and shook it violently until it began to come apart.

Another two rushed in, too late to save their comrade but intent on jabbing Winston. He yelped as their spears sunk into his shoulder. I spun around towards the sound of his cry, ran up and punted one of the Tyrants as hard as I could. His armor flew apart in pieces as his broken body sailed off into the woods.

The other latched onto my leg and climbed up it. I seized him with one hand only to cry out in pain as it sank its teeth into my wrist. I brought the pocketknife blade down directly on its skull. Too thick, it deflected the blade, a long strip of its scalp coming off instead. It let go of my wrist from the agony and as soon as it fell to the forest floor, I stomped on it until it burst.

Turning towards the battle proper, an incredible sight unfolded. Ballistas launching javelins into the fray, one piercing the eye of a Tyrant who fell to its knees clawing desperately at its mask while blood gushed out of the eyehole. The electric fence arcing loudly, flashes of blue light issuing forth as the smoking bodies of Tyrants fell backwards, limbs frozen in whatever position they’d been when the little fools tried to scale the wires.

All around me birds divebombed the battlefield, in some cases taking off entire limbs with their blades. A Tyrant snatched one of the birds out of the air and, in a single bite, took its head off. The rider fell off, scurried back, then was impaled as the Tyrant brought its spear down. In the middle of it all, landing blow after devastating mechanized blow, stood the metal Tyrant.

Blasts of thick black smoke rose from the stack, the steam engine running at full capacity as the clockwork dreadnought taught the invading horde the true power of Homunculi ingenuity. Motors whined as its angular metal fist plowed into the face of an attacking Tyrant, leaving a deep fist impression in the thin metal mask it wore and knocking the vicious creature unconscious.

As another charged from behind, the torso spun 180 degrees and let loose with a blast of aerosol from what I recognized as Aunt Lina’s pepper spray. Devious little dudes must’ve filched it from her purse at some point. The Tyrant tumbled backwards, clawing at its mask and screeching. A shoulder mounted triple-ballista unloaded a volley of javelins into the chest of the next Tyrant, who nonetheless kept coming.

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