7 - House Harrington - The Apex Predator Hunt

The sun burned bright on Gilligan 4’s rugged highlands, painting the rocks in shimmering shades of rust and ochre. A crisp wind carried dust across the plateaus, occasionally whipping into tiny vortices. Here, far from the fiascos that had plagued Houses Farnsworth, Vandersmythe, Aurelia, and Redwood, House Harrington stood as the last of the so-called “Great Houses” to maintain any semblance of order. Or so they believed.

Led by a figure known only as Lord Harrington, the House had staked its claim on these craggy heights soon after landing. Their territory boasted natural fortifications, which Harrington deemed “strategically advantageous.” Over the years, Harrington had watched, often with disdain, as the other Houses stumbled: Farnsworth’s meltdown, Vandersmythe’s collapse, Aurelia’s resource drain, Redwood’s volcano folly. Now, with the colony’s resources running thin, Harrington saw an opportunity to assert leadership—if they could make a big, showy statement of power.

Recent whispers suggested that a fierce apex predator roamed the outskirts of Harrington’s domain, attacking wildlife and occasionally livestock introduced by the robots. It was rumored to be a large, prowling creature adapted to Gilligan 4’s harsh environment: nimble, cunning, with sharp fangs and claws. ROBU units had flagged potential sightings in data logs, warning that settlers should avoid traveling alone in the area until the planet’s ecosystem reached better balance.

But to Lord Harrington, a robust, square-jawed man with a taste for archaic pageantry, the predator represented more than a nuisance. It was a chance to prove House Harrington’s alpha status. Word spread among his staff: Harrington planned a trophy hunt, reminiscent of ancient Earth aristocrats flaunting their bravado by slaying big game.

Harrington Prime, the robot assigned to serve as liaison to the House, tried to dissuade the lord. “My scans indicate that the colony’s medical resources remain depleted after the fiascos at Farnsworth’s plateau and Redwood’s volcano. A close-quarters hunt with a bow is extremely dangerous—”

“My dear machine,” Harrington interrupted, exuding confidence. “Danger is exactly the point. This apex beast threatens our domain. Our people must see me as their protector.” He hefted an old-fashioned recurve bow with a flourish, ignoring the robot’s warnings. “If one must risk blood to unite the colony under proper leadership, so be it.”

Within days, Harrington organized a small entourage: a handful of aides (the usual yes men who endlessly praised Harrington’s prowess), two “scouts” with minimal experience, and a few robust DOBU units carrying extra gear. No advanced firearms—Harrington insisted on the “noble purity” of a bow and arrow, claiming, “I alone can prove my might this way.”

Harrington Prime accompanied them, albeit reluctantly, carrying sensor equipment. The other robots stationed in the domain—mostly ROBU units for construction and land management—continued their routine tasks. Meanwhile, some Harrington staff quietly voiced concern: Wasn’t this a reckless display in the face of limited medical capacity? But Harrington’s forceful personality and illusions of grandeur stifled dissent. The staff needed Harrington’s favor for their own positions; they dared not speak against him.

Early one morning, they set off into the untamed part of the highlands, seeking the predator’s territory. The group followed faint trails, scanning for tracks, droppings, or claw marks on the rocks. Harrington’s aides praised every guess he made—“Brilliant deduction, my lord!”—even when it was the robot’s sensor data guiding them.

Overhead, clouds gathered, hinting at the possibility of a dust storm. Harrington Prime sent alerts to Planetary Prime, noting the potential for inclement weather. But Lord Harrington dismissed the warnings, forging on, bow in hand, chest puffed with self-assurance.

By midday, the party discovered large paw prints in a sandy ravine. The deeper impressions suggested a heavy, four-legged creature, likely predatory. Harrington’s eyes gleamed. His aides murmured admiration.

“Yes, we have it cornered now,” Harrington declared, though there was little evidence the beast was trapped anywhere. He pointed ahead. “Harrington Prime, scout ahead. Find its lair.”

The robot paused. “Sir, I must emphasize caution. The terrain here is unstable, and if the predator has claimed a den, it may defend itself vigorously.”

“Caution?” Harrington scoffed. “Fortune favors the bold. I’ve read accounts of old Earth hunts. Victory belongs to the true alpha.”

The yes men chimed in: “Truly, my lord, you are the alpha we need!” Harrington smirked, ignoring the anxious glances of the DOBU units carrying emergency supplies.

They continued deeper into the ravine. The wind picked up, swirling dust around them. Harrington Prime noted the dryness—should an accident occur, quick evacuation would be challenging. The group marched on.

Late in the afternoon, the party crested a rocky ledge overlooking a shallow basin. Harrington Prime’s sensors detected signs of life: a large creature crouched near a crag, licking at a small water pocket. The beast matched the apex predator’s profile: powerful hindquarters, a sinewy torso, jaws lined with wicked teeth. Patches of tufted fur adapted to Gilligan 4’s environment. It radiated lethal grace.

Lord Harrington crouched behind a boulder, signaling his aides to remain silent. He nocked an arrow, arms quivering slightly with adrenaline. “Behold,” he whispered. “One perfect shot, and the colony shall see who truly deserves to lead.”

One of the staffers trembled, glancing at Harrington Prime. “Isn’t it safer to observe it from a distance or—?”

“No.” Harrington hissed. “I kill it now, with my own two hands.”

He rose from behind the boulder, drawing the bow to full extension. Dust-laden wind brushed his hair. For a heartbeat, everything froze. Harrington exhaled, releasing the arrow. It whistled through the air—

—and grazed the predator’s flank, not a lethal hit. With a snarl, the beast spun, eyes wild. Blood stained its fur, but the injury was superficial. Roaring, it charged.

Chaos exploded. The yes men scattered, screaming. The predator’s roar shook the ravine walls. Harrington scrambled to notch another arrow, but the creature closed in too fast. His aides tripped over each other, raising no real defense. Harrington Prime tried to step forward, raising a metal arm to shield Harrington. But the beast lunged around the robot, focusing on the one who dared attack it.

A sickening thud sounded as the creature barreled into Lord Harrington. He toppled backward, losing his bow. The apex predator’s jaws clamped down on Harrington’s forearm, piercing flesh. Harrington’s agonized scream echoed across the rocks.

In seconds, DOBU units leapt into action. One brandished a sonic deterrent device meant for smaller fauna, blasting a shrill frequency that made the predator reel. Another rushed to Harrington’s side, prying him from the creature’s grip. Bleeding heavily, Harrington gasped in pain, shock flooding his face. His once-proud bravado vanished in a heartbeat of raw fear.

Harrington Prime herded the scattered aides together. “We must retreat,” the robot commanded. “Sonic pulses will deter the animal briefly, but it may regroup.”

The aides, whimpering, helped each other up. They retreated, carrying Harrington, who drifted in and out of consciousness, his arm shredded. Blood splattered the rocky ground. The apex predator glared, snarling, but retreated behind a rock, wounded and disoriented by the sonic waves.

The wind grew harsher, kicking up stinging grit. Harrington Prime triggered an emergency beacon to Planetary Prime, requesting urgent medical resources. But the colony’s supplies were already depleted—Farnsworth had damaged the power grid, Redwood’s fiasco had consumed medical stockpiles, and Aurelia’s event had wasted water and energy. This rescue would tax the colony even further.

Struggling through swirling dust, the group pushed toward Harrington’s highland base. Lord Harrington moaned, each step jolting his mangled arm. Aides tried to wrap the wound in field bandages, but the shredded flesh bled profusely. DOBU medics administered emergency coagulants. The situation was dire. If the bleeding didn’t stop, Harrington could go into shock—and the colony lacked a fully equipped trauma facility.

Harrington Prime updated Planetary Prime with real-time data on Harrington’s vitals. The response was grim: We will dispatch the best available med pods, but advanced surgical equipment is limited after previous disasters. Harrington’s life hung in the balance.

Every step felt like a mile. Harrington’s staff, so eager to bolster his alpha image, now realized they might lose their leader entirely. Sweat, dust, and panic blurred into a grueling march. Eventually, the group reached the base. A battered transport rover awaited, and they loaded Harrington aboard, rushing him to what remained of the House’s medical station.

Inside the station, minimal lighting flickered. The meltdown fiascos had forced the colony to ration power. Harrington’s battered body lay on a gurney as DOBU medics connected him to intravenous fluids, trying to stabilize him. With no fully equipped surgical suite, the staff improvised.

While nurses and DOBU medics scurried about, a cluster of robots softly began a ROBU DOBU chant in the corridor, their mechanical voices resonating in a hushed melody. It might have seemed inappropriate amidst the crisis, but the robots’ coded directive to impart moral lessons persisted:

“Ro-bu, Do-bu, the alpha drive undone, A bow and a beast, a fool’s battle begun. Pride in the hunt, but the prey fights back, And the colony bleeds from the aftermath.”

A second verse followed, more subdued:

“Scarce are our meds, the planet’s resources few, When arrogance roams, the cost burdens you. The House that would lead by dominating prey Finds fortune reversed in a single day.”

The haunting refrain carried beyond the makeshift hospital walls, reaching the ears of Harrington’s staff, who wept or watched in numb horror. Harrington Prime supervised life-saving measures, simultaneously logging the events for Planetary Prime’s records.

Hours later, Harrington regained partial consciousness, heavily sedated. His arm was bandaged in a rudimentary sling, nerve damage uncertain. A shaky hush gripped the medical station. The robots’ quick intervention likely saved him from death, but further complications loomed. The colony’s medical reserves were now exhausted. If anyone else required major treatment in the near future, they might not survive.

Planetary Prime arrived to assess the damage and coordinate what meager resources remained. The colony’s leadership vacuum grew. Farnsworth had retreated to salvage his reputation, Vandersmythe’s estate lay in ruins, Aurelia was in disarray after their fiasco, Redwood’s eco-lab was buried in a caldera—and now Harrington was gravely injured.

When Harrington could speak, he beckoned Harrington Prime closer. His voice was ragged, eyes sunken with pain.

“I—I wanted to show them I was strong,” he choked out, trembling. “That House Harrington could protect everyone. Instead, I… I cost them everything. We barely have supplies left… all because of me.”

Harrington Prime regarded him steadily. “Your staff still stands by you, but the colony’s resources are depleted. The apex predator remains alive, part of the planet’s ecosystem. We must find more sustainable strategies.”

A tear slid down Harrington’s cheek, mixing with the dust of the day’s ordeal. His bravado had collapsed under the raw ferocity of an animal that simply refused to be conquered. A humiliating realization: he wasn’t the almighty alpha he believed, and the colony had paid the price.

In the days that followed, House Harrington withdrew from public eye, focusing on Harrington’s recovery. A slow trickle of rumors circulated that the once-commanding lord was now heavily dependent on robotic care, uncertain if his arm would ever function properly again. Some staff quietly voiced relief that the predator had survived, believing the planet’s apex species deserved respect rather than conquest.

Meanwhile, Planetary Prime distributed the few remaining medical supplies across the colony. Resources were at an all-time low—four major Houses had squandered them in grand but ultimately disastrous endeavors. The robots worked tirelessly to maintain farm production, water purity, and power generation. Yet each fiasco had chipped away at the stability the robots spent centuries cultivating.

Harrington Prime remained by its wounded lord’s side, administering treatments. Perhaps, in time, Harrington might adopt a more measured approach. Or perhaps House Harrington’s thirst for dominance still simmered beneath the surface. For now, humiliation and pain dampened that fire.

With Harrington’s downfall, all five Great Houses lay in some state of ruin:

• Farnsworth had the remains of a meltdown-scorched plateau.

• Vandersmythe had a half-destroyed mansion sunk in the plains.

• Aurelia’s valley was drained of resources after their botched event.

• Redwood’s caldera eco-lab was entombed in volcanic rubble.

• Harrington’s apex predator hunt had decimated the colony’s final medical reserves.

For the robots—once brimming with near-religious admiration for humankind—each House’s downfall eroded their faith. These were the so-called visionaries who purchased the right to colonize Gilligan 4? Even so, the robots remained steadfast in their mission: preserving the planet, forging a future for eventual settlers who might arrive with more practical skills and fewer illusions of grandeur.

Far away, in the colony’s main settlement, Prime (Planetary Prime) received a distant transmission from Earth, hinting that a Second Wave of colonists—engineers, scientists, and skilled workers—was inching closer to launch. It would still take decades or centuries to reach Gilligan 4, but at least some new hope was on the horizon.

In a dimly lit hospital room, Lord Harrington slept fitfully, an IV line feeding him meager antibiotics. Harrington Prime watched over him, silent as the machines beeped. Outside, a lone DOBU unit swept dust from the corridor, humming a subdued ROBU DOBU tune that carried the same universal moral:

“Arrogance reaps a wounded reward, Our resources can’t shield a broken lord. Only by wisdom and humble intent Will we save what’s left of this settlement.”