(First posted on a Google+ SF Nanofic community for a competition.)
The green army stretched into the distance, three feet tall.
“You see the problem?”
“You wanta greenjack-fab, you gotta. By them, works, innit?”
“And you don’t see any flaws here?”
“Works. More ‘an, not part of the deal. You come to Bozzet for cheap, you get…” The azayf shrugged. “Works.”
The linobir gripped his gun. “Deal’s off, ratcha. I paid for prime meat, not for selffucking midgets.”
“You skip? This estrev’s turf, and you be breathing deep.” A grin. “Free word?”
“What?”
“So short. They only using half the feed t’make, innit? You make twice as many, stack ‘em up.”
I wouldn’t be so quick to knock an army of midgets; I’m no expert, but I’d imagine the need for consumables follows the square-cube law. Think of the life support margins!
And even if they end up failing as shock troops, you could always use them for infiltration work. Lots of inconspicuous tight spaces you could fit a three-footer into.
And, of course, if anyone laughs at you and your midget army, you can always make a magnanimous offer to “ensure we can see eye-to-eye” — and then cut them off at the knees :p