By Robert Repino
After the “war without identify” a cat murderer searches for his misplaced love in Repino’s unusual, relocating sci-fi epic that channels either Homeward Bound and A Canticle for Lebowitz.
The “war without identify” has began, with human extinction as its target. The instigator of this conflict is the Colony, a race of clever ants who, for millions of years, were silently construction a military that might ceaselessly eliminate the harmful, oppressive people. lower than the Colony's watchful eye, this utopia could be freed from the people' penchant for violence, exploitation and spiritual superstition. As a last step within the warfare attempt, the Colony makes use of its unusual know-how to remodel the outside animals into high-functioning two-legged beings who get up to kill their masters.
Former housecat grew to become warfare hero, Mort(e) is known for taking over the most threatening missions and scuffling with the feared human bio-weapon EMSAH. however the precise motivation in the back of his recklessness is his ongoing seek for a pre-transformation friend—a puppy named Sheba. whilst he gets a mysterious message from the dwindling human resistance claiming Sheba is alive, he starts a trip that may take him from the remainder human strongholds to the center of the Colony, the place he'll observe the resource of EMSAH and the final word destiny of all of earth's creatures.
From the Hardcover edition.
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Additional resources for Morte (A Morte Novel)
The torpedo started to spin and wobble. fortunately, it didn't tumble finish over finish. The strength of the revolutions pinned Mort(e)’s head to the hull. “Come on,” he growled on the parachute. He imagined the torpedo piercing the clouds. He considered his physique shattering whilst the gadget struck the water and not using a parachute. ultimately, the mechanism kicked: shunk, zzzzz, tick-tick-tick-tick. The chute published with a noisy pop. His physique jerked downward, and the gun hit him at the crown of the top. The machine stabilized. The descent was once slower now, and the spinning subsided. Mort(e) was once thankful that he used to be a cat. Few different species may have performed this with no overlaying the interior of the torpedo with vomit. Mort(e) breathed back. His watch confirmed mere fifty-six seconds had handed. and a part mins later, the torpedo splashed down. The sounds replaced. Sloshing water changed the wind. The high-pitched whirring of the propeller all started, by means of a chain of clicks—the sound of the fins redirecting the torpedo towards the Island. The intrepid little laptop used to be on its manner. Reclining at the makeshift seat, Mort(e) settled the gun onto his chest and checked his watch. merely seven mins till impression, if the people’ calculations have been correct. He fumbled for the St. Jude medal, simply to bear in mind that it was once now not there. Wawa was once most likely donning it now as she ready to parachute in together with her newfound pack. regardless of what he had acknowledged previous, he all of sudden ignored her. perhaps, he inspiration, he may well attempt to locate her while this used to be everywhere, allow her make enjoyable of him for attempting to be the cruel man. Ever because the switch, he had attempted to be left by myself, and had long past to remarkable lengths to carve out a bit spot for himself. there has been no happiness during this. in simple terms freedom. after which the torpedo hit its mark, rocking the tiny pill. throughout him, the sound of grinding steel and crunching stone made Mort(e) believe as though his personal physique have been being mashed to a pulp in addition to every little thing else. The canister slowed and got here to a cease. Mort(e) readied his gun and took a deep breath. The hatch opened. The troops covered up at the rocky seashores of the Island. clean off the Colony’s ships, the recent recruits had spent the day constructing a beachhead to shield the Island opposed to a human assault. Tents sprang up, trenches have been carved into the earth. Culdesac were ready decades for a straight-up struggle that might contain either the ants and the skin animals. it might be just like the outdated days of the conflict. not more of this administrative nonsense, not more politics, not more wiping civilian asses, not more smiling at Council individuals who had by no means picked up a gun or confronted down a rabid human. it might be him and his squaddies, and the Queen’s tune in his head, guiding him ahead. Culdesac advised the troops that the Queen wanted witnesses for this conflict. The final time the people got here right here, no longer a unmarried one used to be left alive. each inch of the Island have been scrubbed fresh. Even the craters were smoothed over. This time, the surfacers might see the ability of the Colony firsthand and unfold the notice to their comrades at the mainland.