Robot Warriors

by Zac Harrison

  Both his mum and dad appeared on the screen, waving.

  “Hello, dear!” his mum said. “Your dad was upset he’d missed you the other day, so we thought we’d give you a call! It’s not a bad time, is it?”

  “Don’t worry, won’t keep you long,” his dad said, smiling. “How’s life at school?”

  “Ace!” John said. “Mum, Dad, there’s something I need to tell you.” He took a deep breath. “I’m a finalist in a contest!”

  They both applauded. “That’s wonderful news!” his mum said. “What sort of contest? School sports day?”

  “Come off it!” his dad said, jokingly. “It’ll be some sort of video game tournament. You know how much practice he’s put in with those.”

  “Nothing like that,” John assured them. “It’s... um... it’s a science competition!”

  “Fantastic! That’s your lab, is it?” his dad asked, peering into the screen at John’s dorm. “Ooh. It’s very futuristic.”

  John realized he’d pointed the camera at the dorm’s high-tech drinks dispenser. “Oh, yeah. It’s all ultra modern, and stuff. Wortham Court’s got... um... millions of pounds. From the government.”

  “Well done, love,” his mother beamed. “We’re proud of you, aren’t we?” Then she frowned and looked closer. “John? What in the world is that thing?”

  John glanced behind him, sure they had seen Kaal. But his horror, Xyglurz had sneaked back into the room and was taking notes on his ThinScreen – about John’s parents, no doubt! The bathroom door was shut again, which explained where Kaal had vanished to.

  “It’s all blue and shiny!” his father said. “Is it some sort of metal?”

  “Yes!” John yelled, lunging for the camera. “It’s... er... my experiment! Lovely talking to you. Got to go now, bye!”

  Before they could ask any more awkward questions, John turned off the videophone. Thank goodness Xyglurz hadn’t said anything. A talking science experiment might have been one surprise too many...

  Chapter 9

  John found his crowds of supporters in the main canteen. He felt like a warlord at the vanguard of an army. All this cheering, banner-waving, and back slapping – a guy could get used to this!

  “Got a chair for you here, John!” shouted Light Bulb (whose name, it seemed, was Fluoron). “Come on through!”

  The rest of the canteen was already crowded with other students, but instead of the usual neat rows, they were clustered into five huge groups. Tables and chairs had been dragged over so that the groups could sit together. It was like a battlefield, flags and pennants waving, each group crowding around its commander.

  Between the groups threaded a few undecided students who hadn’t yet picked a champion, and the very unfortunate few who were too behind on their studies to join in the fun.

  Kaal had his crew, John had his, Quondass val Haq, Raytanna and Gredilah had theirs. Only Mordant Talliver sat alone, picking at his black gooey breakfast, with the ever-loyal G-Vez hovering over his shoulder. He had packets of Yoko Beans, Astron Crunchies, and Brucko Gums spread out in front of him, which he offered to passers-by. A few students had taken the bait, but they were talking among themselves, not even bothering to wave the Mordant Talliver Holo-Placards he’d given them.

  John considered feeling sorry for Mordant.

  Nah.

  “Hey, John!” Emmie called, from the halfway point between John’s group and Kaal’s. “Good luck for the finals today, yeah?” Her Holo-Placard beamed the message GO JOHN GO.

  “Come sit with us,” John offered.

  “I’m fine!” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ll just stand here. Don’t want to get in the way... Hey, Kaal! Good luck!”

  “Thanks!” Kaal said with a shy wave.

  John saw that the other side of Emmie’s banner read GO KAAL GO. He couldn’t help laughing out loud. Emmie noticed, shrugged, and gave him a big you-got-me grin. “What can I say? I can’t take sides, can I?”

  “Emmie, don’t ever change,” John said, shaking his head in wonder.

  “OK, well, best of luck to you both,” Emmie said quickly. “Got to go now. I’ve got, um... things to do.” With that, she was gone, bounding out of the canteen and leaving John puzzled.

  It must be rough, not making it to the final, he thought. Maybe Emmie couldn’t put on her brave face any longer.

  The ship’s nutrition system, as advised by Zepp, served John a big bowl of cornflakes. Instantly his fans crowded round him, eager to see what exotic Earth food he might be eating.

  “Can I try one?” Xyglurz asked nervously.

  “You can have the lot,” John said, pushing away the bowl. “To be honest, I haven’t got much of an appetite.”

  John didn’t want to say it aloud, but he was feeling sick with nerves. There were only ten minutes left until the semi-final was due to start. As with all the rounds, he had no idea of what to expect.

  Across the table, Xyglurz was turning a strange metallic green and spitting out chunks of soggy cornflake.

  The next few minutes passed in a blur. Before John knew it, he was standing in the main lecture hall once again, looking up at Master Tronic looming above everyone’s heads. All six of the finalist robots had been placed in a line at Master Tronic’s feet.

  The stage area had been remodelled overnight. Instead of the usual smooth, flat surface, there was a twenty-metre-wide crater of what appeared to be moon rock. It looked like a bomb had blasted it out.

  Is it real, or some sort of solid hologram? John wondered. He could easily believe it had been sliced out of an actual moon with mining lasers, then hoisted aboard the ship.

  “Up until now,” Master Tronic was saying (with what John could have sworn was relish), “we have gone easy on the contestants.”

  Could have fooled me, John thought.

  “Today, that will change!” Master Tronic boomed. “Welcome to the semi-finals, in which we remind ourselves why this is called the Robot WARRIORS’ contest!”

  The crowd became a frenzy of cheers and applause. Master Tronic strode back and forth like a drill sergeant, smacking his metal fist into his hand as he spoke.

  “This round is about weapons. This round is about power. This round is about destruction. These six robots are about to face their first real challenge: they must defeat an opponent in one-to-one combat!”

  With a low hum, six bland, dumpy-looking robots descended from the gantries above the stage, moving along columns of bright light. Each one came to rest next to a finalist robot.

  “This,” said Master Tronic, rapping his metal knuckles against the helmet-like head of one of the robots, “is a B-class. I designed and built these robots myself. They have only one function, and that is to be beaten up.”

  The audience laughed and cheered. They can’t wait for this to start, John thought. His palms were sweating.

  “But that doesn’t mean it will be easy!” Master Tronic warned. “Each B-class is built to take a lot of punishment, and they remember everything. The more damage you do to them, the more points you will get. But if you manage to damage your own robots, you will lose points.”

  John looked hard at the squat, barrel-bodied B-class robots. They reminded him of the dummies that martial artists use to for practising kicks and punches.

  Master Tronic spread his arms wide. “Each contestant has sixty seconds to attack their B-class opponent. The robots that do the most damage will go through to the grand final, to face off against one another. As for the others, there is always... the Junkyard!”

  “Junkyard!” some of the older students yelled, pumping their fists in the air. “Junkyard! Junkyard!”

  “Shall we see which of our contestants is up first?”

  “YES!” roared the crowd.

  Master Tronic opened a panel in his arm, revealing a screen. Characters flicker
ed randomly on it.

  “The first robot into the Crater of Destruction is... Laserdon!”

  Spotlights picked out Kaal in the crowd. He made his way to the front of the stage, looking nervous but determined.

  Behind him, John could hear some students asking why the robot was called Laserdon, and John realized he didn’t know, either. I guess this is the round where we find out.

  The first B-class waddled into the middle of the crater. With Laserdon perched on his arm, Kaal crouched at the crater’s edge. His whole body seemed tense as he waited for the signal to begin.

  A soft, synthetic female voice echoed across the crater: “Three. Two. One.”

  A buzzer sounded. The timer began to count down.

  Laserdon’s eyes burned with brilliant light. It spread its wings and soared into the air. Kaal hung back, controlling it with his remote pad, sending it in a wide swooping circle around the B-class.

  Laserdon’s head turned, tracking its target like a hawk.

  John watched, completely transfixed, and a little in awe of Kaal’s majestic robot. From Laserdon’s eyes came two parallel beams of sizzling light. The lights sliced into the B-class robot’s casing, and as Laserdon veered around it, they opened it up like a tin can.

  The B-class joggled about on the spot, as if something deep inside it had gone wrong.

  Laserdon completed its circle. Then the beams vanished. The upper half of the B-class fell off with a clatter, revealing its tangled wire innards. Laserdon swept in for the kill and sent a fresh blast of double lasers into the robot’s exposed core. There was a flare of blue light like an arc welder, the smell of burning circuits, and an abrupt bang.

  The smoking, blackened shell of the B-class toppled over and lay still.

  Master Tronic came over and carefully extracted a little black box from the robot’s remains.

  Kaal looked at it with a worried expression. “Sorry, sir,” he said. “I think I broke your robot.”

  The hall exploded with cheers.

  John heard someone nearby saying, “They give points based on damage, right? So how many do you get for blowing it up completely?”

  Next up was Charly, the robotic jellyfish. Raytanna had built it to respond to voice commands, but when she started yelling, “Strangle it! Use your tentacles!” in her squeaky voice, the audience burst out laughing.

  The more they laughed, the more frustrated and angry Raytanna got.

  Charly wrapped three of its tentacles around the B-class, squeezing with all its strength. The B-class struggled and exuded a groan of tortured metal, but John didn’t think it looked badly damaged at all.

  You can’t strangle something that doesn’t breathe, he thought. Big mistake, Raytanna.

  Raytanna seemed to realize this at the same time as John – but with only twenty seconds left on the clock.

  “Charly! Supernova mode!” she shrieked, jumping up and down.

  The roars of laughter from the audience changed to oohs of appreciation, as Charly flared up with a sudden surge of energy. A miniature sunburst of rays blasted from the robot, searing and blackening the B-class all over. Smoke began to curl from the crater.

  And then the buzzer went. Time was up.

  John felt sorry for Raytanna as she trudged back to her seat, shoulders sagging.

  She’s lost this round and she knows it! Maybe Super-Rover is in with a chance, after all...

  But then John saw Quondass val Haq stomping up to the crater, getting his heavy-duty drill robot, Rocky, ready to attack the next B-class. There was no question what the audience thought of his chances – as last year’s champion, Quondass had the largest fan base of them all, and they led a boom-boom-crash chant that shook the floor under John’s feet.

  The round began. Rocky’s gleaming drill began to spin, faster and faster, whirring in a blur. Quondass playfully backed Rocky up, charged forward, and then hesitated. He turned to the audience, like a gladiator asking the Roman Emperor what the fate of a defeated opponent should be.

  The audience roared, “Finish him!”

  Rocky’s powerful caterpillar tracks churned and the robot shot forward. The drill ground deep into the side of the B-class, tearing away slices of its casing like pencil shavings.

  Quondass val Haq punched the air, Rocky snarled and the drill bit deep, the audience whooped and hollered—

  And then the drill got stuck.

  A grinding screech came from the hapless robot. Quondass wrestled with his remote control, but smoke was already beginning to seethe from beneath Rocky’s plating. The drill bit was stuck fast in the B-class and couldn’t turn, and the engine was overloading.

  It’s just like that time Dad’s drill got stuck in the wall and tripped the circuit breaker, John thought. Except by the looks of it, Rocky didn’t have a circuit breaker. Flames had begun leaping from its back.

  The timer buzzed, and Master Tronic quickly ran forward with a fire extinguisher.

  Once Quondass had sadly removed Rocky’s smouldering remains from the crater, it was Gredilah’s turn. Her robot, Fop, shuffled forward, looking absurdly toy-like, its huge grinning head tracking from side to side.

  “Hope you put fresh batteries in that thing,” John muttered under his breath.

  Fop turned out to be just about as dangerous as a toy robot. It stayed well back, firing hissing sprays of sparkling light that seemed to do only a tiny amount of damage. Once or twice the B-class wobbled dramatically and its eyes flashed red, but when the final buzzer sounded, it looked almost completely unhurt.

  I guess she built her robot for show, not for fighting, John thought.

  Now there were only two contestants left: John and Mordant.

  John sat, every muscle tense, waiting to hear who would go next. He could feel Mordant’s gaze on him from three rows over, willing him to fail.

  “Next contestant: John Riley!”

  John’s crowd of followers slapped his back and cheered him as he stood up. He stepped up to the stage, grasping his remote control tightly in both hands. His heart was pounding as he lifted Super-Rover and set him down at the crater’s edge.

  Then he heard the voice counting down.

  “Three...”

  Everything and everyone else in the room seemed to fade away. The cheers became a distant roar, like waves on the sea. John’s world shrank to include only him, Super-Rover, and the B-class in front of him.

  “Two...”

  There could be no mercy. He had to destroy it, tear it to little pieces, or everything was lost.

  “One!”

  John pressed a control. Super-Rover crouched, ready to spring. A low growl came from his throat. He no longer looked cute.

  The buzzer sounded.

  Super-Rover bounded in, instantly on the attack. The beronzium teeth went to work on the B-class, tearing and ripping and shredding the metal.

  A section of the B-class came loose and John controlled Super-Rover to grab it between his teeth, causing him tug it free like a terrier pulling on a chew toy. He gave the exposed machinery beneath a whack with the razor-sharp tail for good measure. Severed wires sparked and fizzed, and oil spurted out in a black mess.

  Fifteen seconds had passed, and the B-class was already looking ragged. Feeling confident now, John sent Super-Rover to chew on the robot’s other leg. The teeth chomped down hard, sinking deep – and he could see, as Super-Rover’s jaws opened again, that some had been torn out!

  John fought to stay calm. It’s OK, don’t panic, he’s not too badly hurt. He still has most of his teeth. And there’s always the tail to fall back on.

  Super-Rover bit again, clamping on tight. John waggled a control. The robot shook the B-class without letting go, pulling it crashing down onto its side. John saw that the robot’s underside was hardly armoured at all, and excitedly he controlled Super-Rover
to tear and bite at it, lashing and lashing with its tail.

  When the buzzer finally sounded, it was like an alarm clock waking him from a dream.

  The crowd was chanting his name. The mangled wreck of the B-class lay at his feet. Poor Super-Rover wasn’t looking much better, with half his teeth missing and a grinding sound coming from his back legs. He tried to follow John out of the crater, but his legs were moving jerkily and wouldn’t carry him. John had to pick him up and hurry back to his place. A horrible thought crept into his mind and wouldn’t go away: I pushed him too far, and now he’s broken...

  “Final contestant: Mordant Talliver!” boomed Master Tronic.

  As Mordant took the stage, John saw that he wasn’t sneering at the audience. He looked deadly serious – and maybe even a bit nervous.

  Mordant set IFI down and stood waiting for the signal, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

  He’s so determined to make it through to the final, John thought. How’s this all going to end? Mordant against Kaal? Kaal against me? His stomach churned with nerves just thinking about it.

  The battle began. IFI’s eight arms extended from its middle, and it began to spin on the spot.

  At the ends of those arms, needle guns opened fire, peppering the B-class with high-velocity shot. John instantly saw what Mordant was doing. By keeping IFI spinning, every one of its guns got a chance to fire in turn. Constant bombardment.

  “Clever,” John said to himself. Mordant might be a slimy git, but John had to admit that his robot was pretty slick.

  Next, needler bullets ripped into the B-class’s body. They didn’t do a lot of damage individually, but taken all together, they were shredding it like buckshot. It soon looked more perforated than the edge of a postage stamp. Bits of armour were pinging off the hull and a spreading puddle of oil was forming beneath it.

  By the time the final buzzer sounded, the B-class looked like it had been put through a waste disposal shredder. One of its legs was gone and bits were hanging off by single cables.