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Part 1
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Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
The only ones I could see lay dead, in various stages of dismemberment, scattered around the three of us. Myself, Winston, and the metal Tyrant. Which stood frozen in place, claw still gripping the crushed windpipe of a Tyrant which dangled from the end of its outstretched arm. When I approached to see what was wrong, it turned out the damned thing had run out of oil. Had it happened sooner the battle might have gone very differently.
I went about helping the little fellows gather and bury their dead in quietude. Not only because of the tragedy of it, but because I was fairly certain I’d seen a familiar face retreating into the woods after we’d won the battle. It answered the question of where the Tyrants got armor from, but raised many additional questions of a more troubling nature.
All told, we’d lost thirty one out of a little over a hundred. Too steep. Something had to be done before the next battle. The least of which was finding some way to keep the metal Tyrant powered up for longer periods. After double checking that the fence was still working, that the main battery was still mostly full and that the injured were all within the perimeter and being tended to, I biked to the hobby store.
“Damn kid, looks like a raccoon got you.” I’d forgotten to clean up first. Didn’t feel like explaining what just happened to the owner. “I have a project I need lots of power for. It’s a robot. There’s this competition”. He’d heard of it, in fact. I asked about using an RC airplane engine as a generator.
“Oh no, dismal efficiency at that size, never heard of anybody generating electricity with one. There’s a reason camping generators don’t get much smaller than a toolbox. No point beyond that, better off with batteries. The hot new thing right now is Lithium Polymer. Flimsy pouch lookin’ dealies, fantastic endurance but you don’t wanna puncture or overcharge ‘em. If you do that, it’s basically a little bomb.”
I balked at the price, but thought of a way around it. As he knew of the upcoming regional competition and had heard from the father of another student that I’d handily won the first round, he agreed to gift me the batteries provided I put a sticker with his shop’s logo and URL somewhere highly visible on the robot.
The batteries were everything I hoped. I didn’t even have to install ‘em. By this point the little folks knew more about electrical engineering than I did. The day after handing off the batteries to them, I returned to find the metal Tyrant stomping around, carrying loads and performing various other endurance tests. By the stopwatch they were using, it appeared they’d been at this since morning.
The steam engine was kaput. They’d run out of oil, but water even before that, and wrecked the boiler. So much for my idea of a steam ship. Although it turned out that would’ve been a step backwards for them. When I visited the little pier and shipyard, I found what could only be a submarine under construction.
I gradually figured out it was for checking on the jugs still emplaced on the lakebed. Next to it sat a row of odd looking T-valves made from PVC pipe sections. A procession of what I figured for shipbuilders came out and unrolled drawings for me. I had to squint, but it was comprehensible enough.
The idea was that I’d bring up the jars one at a time, replace the cork with this T-valve, then sink it back to the bottom. Then I would daisy chain them together using flexible rubber tubing, from one side of each T-shaped juncture to the other end of the next. I could then flush out the water in the tube using whatever source of compressed air I was diving with before opening each valve one at a time.
The result would be to connect all the jars. And to make possible future expansion. I found tubing of the diameter necessary in the garage. PVC is a fairly widespread standard so there’s no shortage of stuff designed to work with it. The tubing was from when Dad saw a TV program about hydroponic farming. As he often did, he’d bought the supplies, begun to build it, then the project petered out until he abandoned it completely.
The tubing was transparent. A bonus, as they’d have quite the view while traveling between jugs. It was also filthy inside, such that I didn’t realize it was transparent until I flushed all the grime out. The plans called for two foot segments, so I located Dad’s jigsaw. Thinking better of it as I realized he’d hear the motor, I instead used a hacksaw to cut the lengths of tubing needed.
The next problem was that Dad hid the air compressor at some point. When I let Jennifer in on my plans, she excitedly informed me that her Dad had a vintage scuba tank and “mask” out in the shed. When I asked if he’d be angry if she borrowed it, she answered that her parents never paid attention and didn’t care what she did. Which was mildly concerning for its own reasons.
She brought it over in my wagon. Sure enough, a pair of faded yellow scuba cylinders with flaking yellow paint , and a regulator of the brand “Conshelf”. Like nothing I’d seen before, with one tube for delivering air to the mouthpiece and another for carrying away the exhaust so the bubbles wouldn’t get in the way of your vision.
Seemed like a good idea, I wondered why the modern ones don’t have that. As I’d asked her over, I set aside the scuba gear and spent the rest of the Saturday playing videogames with her. I had to unhook the VCR from the television, something I was under strict instructions never to do, but I knew Mom and Dad wouldn’t yell at me in front of a guest.
Sure enough. “What the hell is that shit plugged into the TV? Is that a videogame? Boy if I told you once I told you a trillion times, n-Oh. Hello Jennifer. Didn’t see you there. How’s your mother?” In a sudden reversal, Dad then took an interest in the videogame and even sat down to play a round with us. Some game about go-karts where you can throw turtle shells at each other.
As he left for the kitchen, Dad whispered “I want that thing unhooked from the TV when she leaves and the VCR plugged back in exactly how it was, understand?” I affirmed it, and he left. Once or twice Jennifer asked about the bite marks. Remembering the shop owner’s comments, I told her it was raccoons. Hated lying to her but it was never any use telling her the truth, just made her angry.
“Dan’s been asking about you at school” Jenny said. I lost interest in the game and asked her for details. “Stuff like where your house is, what part of the woods you usually go in, and collecting the rest of the drawings the other kids stole from your binder. Something’s up. I dunno what but I thought you should know.”
It wasn’t that surprising, but certainly cause for concern. I decided not to let it ruin my mood. Jennifer called her folks and got permission to stay over through Sunday. After dinner I took her up to the roof. I hadn’t been up there since last Summer, it’s miserable unless the weather’s warm. She was delighted to find I’d already unrolled a blanket up there.
Stay Tuned for Part 16!