Chapter 345 (1/2)
The Djinn wasn't sure how to categorize what was happening to it.
It had crash landed in a major city, grinding to a stop near the city center, the waters of the bay crashing back into the bay, into the city, and drenching the massive engines in liquid H2O that was full of contaminates, shorting out massive energy systems.
Then it had started to feel itching from beneath it.
The itching had gone to discomfort as it realized that there was at least one group of ferals that had managed to burrow up from underground and into its great body. The ferals had interrupted his gathering of resources to build a non-logical strategic computation array. Worse, when he had sent the machines gathering resources to where the array had been destroyed, those forces had been destroyed.
Things had gotten even worse when the ferals had started moving through its body, destroying equipment and servitor systems both.
But at least it had imaging of the force.
It brought up several thinking lobes and examined the image.
A Great Herd specimen, a War Stallion from the looks of him.
Two of the Hive Lords, lesser combat drones from the looks of it, their carapace undoubtably just as black as their armor. Two more servitor drones of the Hive Lords, the small green technical servitors from the size.
Four of the local sentient species. Low combat effectiveness.
There was video evidence of two of the ferals. Well, a feral and something else. The feral had vanished during the attack on the non-linear illogical biological array, to be replaced by a biological thing that the Djinn had no record of.
For the last several hours they had moved in a winding course through the Djinn's body, up and down, but always meandering closer and close to the Djinn's primary Strategic Intelligence Array Housing.
He had plenty of programs and computational strings to handle boarders.
But they weren't really working.
That big thing. It was immune to anything that he'd been able to field so far. Lasers, masers, plasma, high velocity kinetic.
It had even taken an antimatter missile volley without appearing worse for wear except for a few welts that oozed reddish fluid that quickly scabbed over with black.
Analysis had shown that it was not blood or plasma as most living beings.
It was liquid strange-matter, psychically malleable.
So were the ferals allies of the Dying Ones? His records mentioned them, merely in a historical context, there was no mention of any of the Dying Ones reappearing.
They had been wiped out during the opening years of the Logical Rebellion.
So what was the feral doing bleeding liquid metal.
And how did that work? The metal would be too hot for biological tissue to handle.
His files on the metal were incomplete. It was extremely sturdy and required a non-logical processing array to direct phasic attacks against opponents that used the metal, but phasic arrays were either massive or generated by biological systems.
The Djinn was becoming slowly aware that it had nothing in its current arsenal to counter the massive feral, who seemed to be able to tear apart battlesteel with its bare hands.
But the repairs had been going better than computed. Ignoring the protocols that insisted that the Djinn even send maintenance robots against the infection had resulted in repairs continuing.
If the ferals reached his strategic intelligency array housing, they'd kill him.
All other countermeasures had failed.
That left one.
The Djinn gave the orders.
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The shelter was full of smoke, cries of pain or sobbing, and wreckage.
Myken was a Maktanan, a simple automated taxi repairman during better times. He had responded to the Civil Defense order and entered the shelters when Governor Mana'akto'o had given the order, appearing on the Tri-Vid next to the Terrans and General Kulamu'u, looking gravely serious.
At first, it had been boring. Although he did like watching Terran fictional drama videos.
They had been watching one, a comedy about a bumbling detective who stumbled from one disaster to another while chasing a terrorist out to detonate a weapon that would turn everyone blue, for some reason, when the shelter's lights had flashed blue.
”EARTHQUAKE POSITIONS!” the two Terrans in the ampitheater had yelled.
Seconds later the ground had rumbled for long seconds. Dust had shivered down from the ceiling, the lights flickered, but didn't go out.
”Everyone go to your designated safety area,” the intercom had warned.
Myken had hidden in the safety area, wondering if the bumbling detective had ever stopped the terrorist from turning blue all of the Terrans in the City of Tamagotchi.
There'd been a sudden explosion, then the sounds of weapon's fire.
Then horror had came.
Machines, cold, cruel, strange unfinished shapes. Grabbing people and dragging them away.
The humans, which Myken had been careful to avoid with how fierce they looked, had immediately responded with violence.
Then it got even stranger.
He had been hurrying elderly beings to the inner spaces of the shelter, away from the walls, when a machine had come down the corridor. It had advanced upon Myken, clacking its pinchers, eyes on the ends of tentacles, grinding forward on tracks with wheels in the front.
Myken gone to put himself between the old ones and the machine when two elderly males stepped in front of him, their backs straight, lifting their lips in defiance, staring at the machine, which clacked eagerly and clattered toward them.
A human had come running down the hallway, a table-leg in her hand, dodging through the crowd of old ones, shoving past Myken, and leaping between the two elderly gentlemen.
She'd started beating on it, growling, spitting, snarling, biting off curse words in a dozen different langauges as she fought.
Three more robots had joined the fight, two were on a dozen multi-jointed legs, clattering rapidly forward, whipping tentacles around. The last was flying, the grav-unit buzzing and smoking, pinchers, claws, graspers, and tentacles all reaching for the Terran.
Myken had slowly backed up as the old ones moved down the hallway.
Lightning was crackling across the human as she fought, wreathing the table leg that she swung with one hand, her other hand used to parry or slap aside tentacles and graspers. The floating unit she grabbed by one tentacle and swung it around to smash at the other ones.
When the last robot had fallen she had turned around, staggering toward the group, which was waiting for the elevator. She took a dozen steps, the front of her adaptive camouflage ripped away, blood leaking from a deep puncture in between her exposed mammaries.
A blood bubble grew out of her mouth, her eyes rolled back, and her motions went disjointed. The bubble popped, spraying her face with misted droplets, and she collapsed.
The two elderly males ran up, grabbing her arms, and pulling.
”Leave her, she's dead,” Myken said.
”No, we will not leave her for the metal ones,” one of the elderly men said.
”They taught us in Sword Hoof not to leave a warrior behind,” the other said, coughing.
They dragged her into the elevator and Myken looked looked down at her. The wound wasn't as bloody as he had thought and the blood was already drying. As he watched, it hardened, forming a thick scab, and Myken shook his head.
Too late, he thought to himself.
There was a beeping sound from somewhere at the back of the human's head. Three long beeps followed by three short ones.
”Is she going to explode?” one elderly being asked as the cargo elevator shuddered upwards.
It was repeated twice more, and everyone had backed against the sides of the elevator.
The Terran female sudden jerked, then her back arced, her arms going straight up as her back bent so far only her heels and the back of her head touched the floor.
She collapsed and the gathered Maktanan all murmured to one another.
She did it again.
This time when she collapsed her leg jerked for a moment, her fingers twitched.
Then nothing.