Hopeless Harry: In the Land of Biiig

by Matt Medlock

  Finding himself on the verge of nodding off, Harry rubbed his eyes and hissed back at Brantmusberger, “What the heck is she rattling on about now?”

  Brantmusberger muttered, “Dude, I don't even know anymore. I stopped listening ages ago. Just give her a 'Rutabagas 3, Associates to the Executive Managers of Marketeering and Conservation Efforts 1,' I guess.” This translated to “Yeah, then what happened?” which unfortunately compelled the queen to beam brightly and keep talking for 142 minutes.

  Day turned to night and night became day. All the while, the bellies of the giants above rumbled and griped. Chuugik returned to the area and circled overhead a few times, but was deterred again by his target's proximity to the fearsomely-sized queen sitting in the pit. Needing to conserve fuel (and predicting correctly that Harry was going to be there for a while), Chuugik slipped away to wait. But even great hyper-assassins like Chuugik have limits to their patience.

  Harry's patience, meanwhile, had long ago abandoned all hope. Unbeknownst to him (and a gently snoring Brantmusberger), the queen had been talking about shoes and shoe accessories for the last fifty minutes without pause.

  He was beginning to drift off when the queen noticed his attention was wandering. She suddenly slammed a fist into the rocky ground and yelled, “Warthog-Faced Buffoons 6, Miserable Vomitous Masses 2!”

  Harry and Brantmusberger both jumped in alarm. They saw the displeasure flashing in the queen's eyes. Harry meekly whispered aside, “What did she say?”

  “I didn't hear it all!” it hissed back.

  The queen demanded, “Goliaths 318, Davids 0!”

  Brantmusberger quickly told Harry exactly what to say, which Harry did. “Aaaaba Beetles 6, Zyzzyva Weevils 4!”

  She glared at him.

  He repeated the words, whatever the heck they meant.

  Regardless of what they meant, it seemed to do the trick. The queen sighed contentedly and leaned back. But her peace was interrupted a moment later when she suddenly suffered a brief but sharp spasm and began grunting and howling. Alarmed, Harry staggered back and, seeing her legs start to kick, beat a hasty retreat up the slope of the pit.

  “What's happening?” he exclaimed, clawing at the stony ground to get away.

  “How should I know?” Brantmusberger wailed, nipping at Harry's heels.

  At the crest, they both stopped and turned to see the queen flopping around, arching her back, and yelping animalistically. The other giants had stumbled over to the edge of the pit to look down. Harry was terrified, thinking that he upset the queen and that at any moment, she was going to cry out for the males to squash the insensitive interlopers.

  But then the queen began yanking at her parachute-toga and revealed her mid-section. She was covered in large bumps all around her stomach and lower back. Harry and Brantmusberger watched in horror as the bumps pulsated and engorged, bubbling out and then even elongating. At the heads of the dozens of emerging growths, the skin split open, and in a grisly, slippery mess of fluids, a wet, wrinkled, rasping creature fell out of each one. They all landed in the sticky ground around the queen with a plop. Forty to fifty little, writhing monsters, each no more than twice the size of Harry, sprawled out at the bottom of the pit around an exhausted and sore queen.

  The giants outside the pit cheered and celebrated as they spilled over the edge and rolled down the slopes, whooping frantically and throwing elbows trying to get to the bottom first. As soon as the encircling wave of creatures converged upon the queen and the fresh litter, they began grasping the newly born infants and lifted them up high. The rays from the nearest sun bathed the ugly, little brutes in light, as if the Tripponimish giants were showing them to the distant gods and declaring, “Behold! Give these children your blessing and they shall serve you!”

  Then the giants lowered the newborns and ravenously devoured them all. Lips smacked, flesh ripped, teeth crunched, bones snapped, tongues slurped, blood splashed, throats belched. Harry and Brantmusberger watched the splatter scene with disgust. Brantmusberger thought it was going to be sick, its icosahedron head rolling around on its spindly neck. Harry just closed his eyes and pretended he had just witnessed a feeding frenzy at a county fair, which is only slightly more horrible to witness, but is at least a more familiar sight.

  After the gorging, the giants pounded their feet in an odd, polyrhythmic dance and began shouting, “Flock of Seagulls 13, Barge of Hippos 7!”

  “They are cheering you on, Harry,” said Brantmusberger. “You have saved them.”

  “So you think they'll help me now? Help save me from Chuugik?”

  “There's only one way to find out.”

  VI: Only a True Hero Can Taste the Difference Between Ketchup and Catsup

  Having one of the Tripponimish giants swat Chuugik's ship out of the sky like a pesky wasp would have been the obvious choice (and the satisfying one). But it also would have been shortsighted, because there was also an opportunity here. Harry wanted to get off the planetoid, but the craft he arrived in was incapable of launching into space. There was only one known ship on the planet that was capable of such a thing, and that ship belonged to Chuugik. So, rather than crash the hyper-assassin's craft and leave Harry stranded, it was resolved to try and get Chuugik to exit his vehicle before attacking (this had to be explained to Harry at least sixteen times before it finally sunk in). Easier said than done, of course.

  During the strategy session (roughly between the eighth and ninth time Brantmusberger tried explaining why it would be best to kill Chuugik outside of the ship rather than inside), one of the Tripponimish giants stepped over and thanked Harry again for his help. The huge creature even brought Harry a gift. It seemed like the queen had managed another “birthing” marathon and the giant had snagged up a slimy, severed leg from one of the babies and wanted to give it to Harry to thank him.

  Initially, Brantmusberger was worried that he'd have to covertly convince Harry to accept the repugnant gift in order to be polite (and diplomatic). But to its astonishment, Harry eagerly accepted it and gobbled it down voraciously right there on the spot. Brantmusberger just stared at Harry in horror. While licking the shin bone, Harry notice and said, “What? It's not like it was my baby. I was hungry, man. Besides...it's actually not bad.”

  Brantmusberger just shook its head numbly, its skin slowly turning green.

  Harry shrugged, “I think I would've preferred a wing, but I thought it probably rude to ask.”

  A while later, a plan was finally reached and Brantmusberger talked it over with the giants and gave his human companion the green light to proceed. Belly full of baby meat, Harry set out on his mission. The giants scattered to get into formation and Brantmusberger slunk around in Harry's vicinity. It was time to set the trap.

  Phase one: the giants would each collect an armful of rocks and then fan out into an enormous ring. If Chuugik was spotted, it would be reported. Otherwise they were to just keep spreading out.

  Phase two: Harry found himself a defensible position, but one where he was visible. There he would keep a look out for Chuugik

  Phase three: Brantmusberger would use his chameleonic talents to fade into semi-invisibility not far from Harry. There he would wait motionlessly.

  Phase four: Chuugik would be lured in. If he was first found by one of the giants, rocks would be hurled as “warning shots” to keep him from trying to go over, and arms would swing to keep him from trying to go through. Chuugik would be stuck inside the ring of Tripponimish giants. If he was first found by Harry, the giants would close the circle tight and make their presence known.

  Phase five: Harry would vocalize a challenge. Chuugik would listen and, of course, be tempted. The challenge would be a fight—hand-to-hand, mano a mano. And Chuugik would agree to it because he had little other choice. The giants were blocking him in, but they were far enough away that Chuugik wouldn't feel threatened to expose himself for a moment.

  Phase six: After Chuugik landed and disembarked, there would be l
ittle doubt that Chuugik would try something underhanded. He was, after all, a hyper-assassin (not exactly the most honorable of professions). That's why Harry would lure him out away from the ship, but before anything unscrupulous could go down, Brantmusberger would materialize from his surreptitious position and strike Chuugik down in a flash.

  Phase seven: Much celebration, congratulation, appreciation, followed by Harry boarding Chuugik's ship and taking off.

  Phases one through four went off almost flawlessly. Chuugik resisted being ensnared at first, as his ship was much faster than any giant, and he bounced and slipped away from all threats. But Chuugik was still stuck without a way up (save for breaking for the center of the circle and taking off straight up into the upper atmosphere). But Chuugik worked for the Neptunian Yakuza. He had his orders, and he wasn't leaving without eliminating his target. So Chuugik accepted the restraint and swung about in elliptical loops near the middle of the playing field. Until he spotted Harry.

  Harry (timidly) shouted out his challenge, and then repeated it because he wasn't heard the first time. Or the second, for that matter. Harry was halfway to mocking up some Semaphore flags before Chuugik finally understood what was being said.

  “A fight to the death! One on one, no weapons, skill against skill. Unless you're a coward!”

  It worked, but Chuugik wasn't stupid. Nor was he the sort to play fair. As Brantmusberger predicted, when Chuugik landed, he came out and marched straight for where Harry was hiding amongst some tall boulders, all the while he was concealing a ray-gun to take Harry down from a hundred paces as soon as a clear line-of-sight was established. This was all expected, so Brantmusberger slid across the pale-ochre ground unseen, ready to strike from behind. But then Brantmusberger paused. The little alien discovered something that it definitely was not expecting.

  Chuugik, the great hyper-assassin employed by the Neptunian Yakuza to liquidate high-profile targets with extreme prejudice, was about three-point-two inches tall.

  Harry gaped at the tiny killer. “Uhhhh...”

  “Come closer, nemesis,” squeaked Chuugik. “Come to the great hyper-assassin Chuugik.” He held out his tiny hands. “I am unarmed and only wish to settle this fairly...like gentlemen.”

  Harry squinted and leaned forward, still hardly believing his own eyes.

  “Yes...Harry...I am keeping it on the level...yes...”

  Harry took a few steps, cocking his head back and forth and muttering to himself.

  Suddenly, Chuugik's hands became a blur and he produced the hidden ray-gun from underneath his shirt. “Surprise, dickface! Mwahahaha!” Then Chuugik started blasting.

  Small shards of light erupted from the itty-bitty ray-gun, so small they were barely even visible. When they hit Harry, the reaction ranged from mild tingle to faint pin prick. “Hey,” Harry complained, “stop that.”

  “The day is mine!” yelped Chuugik. “Die, Harry, die!” The little laser gun kept chittering away underneath gales of chirpy laughter.

  “Come on, now!” snapped Harry. “That tickles! Knock it off.”

  “Your day began in terror and now it ends in blood! Eeheeheehee!”

  Brantmusberger's camouflage drained away. It no longer seemed necessary. The alien looked utterly bored by the recent turn of events. Throwing up its hands, it turned and stalked away, muttering, “This is just ridiculous...”

  Harry called out to Brantmusberger, “I must be looking at him the way those giants looked at us. Does this qualify as irony?”

  “No,” Brantmusberger grunted back, still wandering off. “It qualifies as absurd and really, really dumb.”

  “Okay, well, it's starting to get annoying now, so...”

  Harry lifted his foot and crushed Chuugik underneath it. It took several minutes of dragging his shoe on the ground to scrape the mess off. What he wouldn't have given for a good stick or water hose.

  “Well,” muttered Harry, “that was easy, wasn't it?”

  “Yes. Easy...and pretty absurd.”

  “Uh-huh. A real letdown, really. You know?”

  “Anti-climactic,” nodded Brantmusberger.

  “Yeah, that's it. That's what I was going for. Anti-climactic. Build up and pffft...nothing. An. Tie. Cly. Mat. Tic.”

  “So much so that if I was, I dunno, watching it in a movie or reading it in a book or something, I'd be royally pissed. Like, what, that's it? Are you kidding me? I'd want my money back, y'know?”

  “Absolutely. I'd say of the person who came up with the story...you know, the writer or whatever...and be like, 'Never again...never bothering with anything else that dipshit does ever again.”

  “Totally. I'm with you.”

  There was a long silence where Harry and Brantmusberger just sort of looked around, scratching their heads and shifting their feet, still both very disappointed by how this conflict was resolved.

  Finally, Harry said, “So...”

  Brantmusberger piped up, “Anyway...”

  “Yep.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Spaceship?”

  “Sure, let's look.”

  Despite Chuugik's surprising revelation, the spaceship he piloted was not especially undersized. It was on the small side, no doubt, and a bit of a cramped fit, but Harry had no trouble climbing aboard and taking a look. He found the cockpit and looked over the instruments. The pilot seat was naturally way too small, but Harry moved it out of the way and just used the tiered floor as a makeshift chair. Harry was puzzled when he found a small basket clipped to the edge of the console dash that was full of jeempies (very small creatures that resemble baby harp seals). He paused to pet them with his finger, because he wasn't such a bad guy, not the sort that might devour one alive just to appear even more monstrous.

  After cuddling them with the tips of his fingers, he noticed a display on one of the ship monitors. It was cast in bold lettering, and was as spare, blunt and to-the-point as possible. It was Chuugik's mission orders. It simply said: KILL HARRY.

  Brantmusberger had followed Harry inside, and he calmly placed one of his large hands on Harry's should and told him, “They're not gonna stop...the Neptunian Yakuza, I mean. You took out one of their chief cleaners, but there will be more. You're gonna have to run, Harry. You're gonna have to run and hide, and if you can't find a place to hide, you're gonna have to keep running forever.”

  “Thanks for the reminder, Captian Bringmedown.” With a sigh, he turned and asked the alien, “So, what about you? I might not be the safest or most pleasant company to have, but this might by your only chance off this rock.”

  “No, that's all right. I'll just wait for my comet to come back. My people tend to live for two, even two-and-an-eighth hours.” Conversion-wise, that's math that shouldn't even be bothered with—it's a whole lot of years, rest assured. “So I'm in no rush to get anywhere, y'know?”

  “Okay, then. Best of luck to you, Brantmusberger.” He held out his hand to shake.

  Not understanding the human custom, Brantmusberger rubbed its icosahedronal head against the open palm while flapping its arms. It was a very awkward moment for both of them. “And to you, Harry.”

  “Thank all those big guys in the land of biiig, would'ya?”

  “Sure. And as they would say, 'Smoking Hot Beef Piles 7, Wacky Waving Inflatable Flailing Arm Tube Men 3.'”

  “That language thing really is incredibly stupid.”

  “I know. But no more than that assassin turning out to be pocket-sized.”

  “Maybe, but—”

  “Or when you ran off into the woods to fashion the queen a giant—”

  “All right! We can agree, a lot of stupid stuff happened! Let it go, man.”

  After Brantmusberger stepped off, Harry fired up the ship's engines, checked the toggles and gauges, fashioned a rudimentary harness for himself in the name of safety, and took off. The ship soared into the sky, swollen streams of dark smoke trailing in its wake. The Tripponimish giants all stood erect, towering high, and hel
d up solemn hands of farewell. Still resting and recovering in her pit, the queen stared bittersweetly at the vanishing craft, grateful for the mysterious stranger having cured her melancholy and perhaps even saving her entire race from starvation.

  Harry came to the planet of Tripponima as a reject, a victim, an imbecile, a nobody. He departed it a hero. And everyone in the land of biiig watching him ascend into the celestial heavens above knew it.

  Once it reached outer space, the ship veered abruptly and launched itself into a collision course for the nearest sun and exploded. So what if Harry left as a hero? He came as an imbecile, he left as one, too. Some things never change. That's just who he is. Not to mention also being completely and irredeemably hopeless.

  The End

  Thank you for reading, I hope you had a good time. Feedback is always appreciated, so please leave a review on Amazon or drop me a message on my author blog at mtmedlock.wordpress.com.

  If you'd like to read more by Matt Medlock, the following books are also available in paperback and Kindle:

  The Blood-Dimmed Tide Part One: Alive, Aware and Dangerous

  The Blood-Dimmed Tide Part Two: Federation of Wolves

  The Blood-Dimmed Tide Part Three: Sinister Motives

  And, of course, the first (very silly) Hopeless Harry adventure is also available for the Kindle:

  Hopeless Harry: Cadet Second Class