CONDEMNED TO THE FUTURE

Chapter 33.

 The initial attack came seven hours later. A deep rumbling awakened him from the first good sleep he'd had since this latest journey had begun. A high-pitched squeal added to the alarm. Telling the Captain he could not remove the "mark of God" had forced rearrangement of some room entries, and he could now rush through the same type of wet-curtain door as had led to the central chamber where the Georg-image lay.

  Orrts were actually running, and slithering and hopping, along the corridor in both directions. Battle stations. Since they ignored him, he went to the control room. Out the front transparency he saw a plague of true nightmares. Their herd of mundra were being enveloped by hundreds of moving things that bore no resemblance to any Orrt he knew. They appeared to consist largely of long limbs and big jaws, all sprouting thornlike claws and teeth, and moving too fast to be seen clearly. They rushed up and leapt onto the red flanks as tigers onto elephants. A churning motion and chunks of mundra began to fly into the air. And when these buzzsaws were inside...

The Captain had been observing the attack impassively, but now spoke without looking back at him. "An old Orrt method, to stop the mundra. But they can regenerate quickly. We have to kill these neeshra, however."

Georg looked back from the spreading destruction. He had expected Dark Circles to swallow them, maybe. Not this. "The 'neeshra?' Kill them? I thought the Synergy just said 'no' to that!"

    All four arms waved out and back. "It does. But the neeshra are not sentient; they are just constructs that will die soon anyway. We used to send them simply to frighten the Meeths at our boundary."

A big grin spread across his face. "I'd like to help. Gimme one minute, then meet me at the ground level near my room." The odd nod. He trotted back to grope inside his pack, then spun around to find the Captain awaiting to take him through the sidewall. It carried a new weapon, not a stunner, long and deep blue and multi-barreled.

  They came out into the strangest battle he'd ever witnessed. Not a single cry or scream rent the air, from the attackers or the victims. Of course the mundra had no actual voice, but even the other Orrts that came tumbling outside around them were rather busineslike and quiet. So were the attackers. He watched one ravening neeshra, at work across from them on the nearest red flank, tear out a huge chunk it had just cut free and push its pointed head deeper into the wound to start again. An huge Orrt, humanoid and gray-green-skinned wearing a gray metallic skinsuit, stepped up behind it and deliberately shoved a long spear completely through the attacker. Thrown similar to a harpoon, it was tethered by a thin filiment, which the Orrt drew back on, removing the dying beast. It hit the ground, twitching a few seconds only.

 Now he saw it clearly. All mouth and thorax supporting legs, without even a stomach; for cutting only. Orrts nearby were performing the same tasks, like fishermen, only some used other tools. The Captain cradled its rifle in the elbow of one thick arm and pointed it at waist level, swung it in a long arc, not even aiming it with much care. It must have been preset to fire only when focused on an enemy, sensing that flesh alone, because it sent out a penciled beam of rippling air only then.

  Sonic! That ancient tech had been retained to this day. It worked well still. Each target it tapped swelled and burst like a cheap party balloon, spraying sinew and a purple plasma-blood over the lichen-coated ground. It took him several moments to waken from this hypnotic view and enter the fight himself. He dashed around the other side of their carrier, out of the Captain's sight, and made the shield emvelope him, then picked up the Noikoi.

  Even before the black totally covered his head he had spotted another animated buzzsaw, at work on his own mundra about two paces up. It had jumped up and attached itself with six hooked legs like a giant tick and was slicing away with rotating jaws, sinking inward as if it were a folding umbrella. Georg stepped back for a better shot; his aim through the snooperscope had to be good. The rifle was slippery, and he had to squeeze at just the right pressure for control. The muzzle flare was brief, the kick perfectly absobed to a nudge, and the impact without effect for one second. Then the entry pock burned with a blue tinge in the twilight air. When the popslug expanded into shrapnel, the neeshra dissolved to a near mist, along with several inches of the sidewall to which it had been attached.