Excerpt: The Clockwork Robot

As he was pondering the situation, cursing the slowness of his new processor and the heat it was beginning to generate at the back of his head, a loud clattering noise, punctuated by the sound of a steam whistle, came from behind him. The robot moved aside as a large machine, its exterior bristling with metallic spikes, roared jerkily forward. Steam whuffed out of slits in the gargantuan thing's sides as it moved toward the enemy creatures. The Tani who were fighting at the outer wall fled to the side at the sound of the steam whistle, leaving the invaders to pour through a gaping hole toward the interior of the settlement and the giant machine.

A small explosion occurred at the front of the machine and it belched a great gout of fire. Enemy creatures standing sixty-four point four feet away from the machine were engulfed. They screamed, a reedy, pitiful sounding wail, and fell down or ran about in panic, their bodies being slowly consumed by the flame. The remainder fled haphazardly, some trying to climb over other sections of the wall, where they were cut or smashed down by Tani warriors. Others clambered back through the hole they'd made in the protective wall. Eventually there was silence, but for the sound of the flames licking at the fallen invaders' bodies.

Duror, the main Tani scientist who had been instrumental in rebuilding the robot, later explained the event. "The Schel raid us at irregular intervals," he said slowly, pausing for the robot to indicate he'd understood. "They seek to steal our food and supplies."

"Why do they not simply grow or hunt for their own?" the robot wanted to know.

The Tani shook his head. "They lack the sophistication to grasp even the simplest agricultural ideas," he replied. "They may hunt, but they find it preferable to seize our resources from us. It is their nature." Duror's words carried no malice; his face showed no anger.

"Perhaps if you offered to give them what they wanted..." postulated the robot.

"We have made the attempt," Duror responded. "They have refused it." He got up and began to walk slowly back and forth across the laboratory floor. "A group of our leaders met with the Schel at a neutral location only fifteen sun-cycles ago." He paused to look back at the robot, his bushy eyebrows lowering over his teal eyes. "Of seventeen of our people, only three survived. The Schel flatly denied the offer made, then set about to devour our people." He turned away and began to pace again. "They are savages. They know nothing but violence and greed. Yet they are our neighbors and we must deal with them."

"Surely you could move your people," the robot offered. "Take them somewhere safe from the Schel."

"There is no place safe from the Schel," said Duror. "They are physically adept, and their odd physiology means that they always have a segment of their population that can adapt to whatever environment to which we might choose to relocate." He sighed, sitting down at last on a short stool two feet from the robot. "I have heard reports that there are Schel who can survive for long periods of time underwater. They can adapt to freezing or boiling temperatures, scale sheer cliff faces, dig through the toughest earth. Our settlement was once located among the tops of tall, sturdy trees in the Geelaan Forest. It was difficult for us to adapt to life so far off the ground, but at length we settled in. Only ten sun-cycles passed before the Schel found us. Less than one cycle later, they were raiding us again. Many more casualties were sustained due to our people falling from the great trees. Many Schel perished that way, as well. But not enough." He paused and rubbed his eyes with his hand. "It seems there are always more of them. They do not give up. And so nor must we." He slumped on his stool, his gaze on the packed earth floor.

The robot was silent for a while, as was Duror. "I am sorry your people live such troubled lives," the robot said quietly.

Duror's head came up, a grin on his broad, bearded face. "Sir robot," he said with a chuckle, "it is the struggle which has forged my people, made us what we are today. We are strong and enduring because we have spent so long battling with the Schel. We have evolved to be physically powerful and highly intelligent. We are highly adaptive because we must be ready to make a change at any given moment."

The robot's processor whined alarmingly. "You sound as if you are grateful for the Schel," he observed, "even though they cause you grief and woe."

"Grateful is a word stronger than what I would expect," Duror replied, "but the sentiment is generally accurate. We are grateful for what we have, for our history. We are self-made, but the environment shapes all things, even the Schel. Our history tells up that the Schel were once not so clever as they are now." He hopped off the stool and came close to the robot. "Ancient records even suppose the Schel once attempted to befriend my people," he added in a low tone. "But the physical records of these tales are lost to us now and no one who wishes to be considered sane believes they were ever real."