By David Gerrold
As tenacious extraterrestrial beings rework the wartorn Earth right into a reproduction in their personal terrifying global, a handful of scientists, squaddies, and voters prepares to struggle again.
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Extra resources for A Season for Slaughter (War Against the Chtorr, Book 4)
What's the matter, Dr. " Ignoring the query, Forester peered sharply around the room. The few pieces of furniture were shabby but comfortable. A book printed in the strange characters of some ancient language of the first planet lay open on a little table, beside a tobacco humidor and a bottle of wine. Ironsmith himself, in unpressed slacks and open-collared shirt, looked guileless and friendly as the room, and Forester could see no evidences of his dealings with that inquisitive machine. " he insisted anxiously.
Swarming about the task in ever greater numbers, they began to remind him of some social insects. They worked silently, never calling to one another - for they all were parts of the same ultimate machine, and each unit knew all that any of them did. Watching, he began to feel a vague impact of terror. For they were too many. Glinting with bronze and frosty blue, their hard black bodies were too beautiful. They were too sure, too strong, too swift. Unlike any actual insects that he had ever watched, they wasted no time and no effort.
One was stirring a battered pot, which reeked of garlic. Ironsmith sniffed appreciatively, and the three made room for him and the child to sit on driftwood blocks by the fire. She leaned to warm her hands and Ironsmith smiled genially at the three, but Forester paused in the doorway, incredulous, as White presented the bold little band. For he could see no weapons; the three were only ragged vagabonds, in need of soap and barbering. The gaunt man stirring the pot was named Graystone. He rose stiffly, a gaunt and awkward scarecrow in rusty black.
A Season for Slaughter (War Against the Chtorr, Book 4) by David Gerrold