| |
FEAR DROVE THE TRACKER, scalding and merciless.
The processors, the enhancements—nothing could dull the sharp edge of emotion. The awareness of additional units closing in only intensified its reckless obsession.
Its target appeared oblivious to its impending fate. The bio-form had neither changed course nor altered speed. The Harvest was imminent. The Tracker continued its frantic scanning, narrowing down the exact location.
The steady draining of its life-fluids, oozing sluggishly around the glass shards in its shoulder and head, was only a minor concern. The fluid loss was within tolerable limits.
This unit is reliable. If the inefficiency of the self-repair algorithm was connected to the Givers’ displeasure, a successful Harvest would restore the Tracker to their good graces.
The heat around its eye increased. Its target was near. This time, the Harvesting would be its triumph. Nothing could interfere. Including other units on the same Quest.
It would destroy any units that interfered.
The Tracker’s internal processors clicked in rapid succession, attempting to reconcile this deviation from protocol. Competition between units was a foreign concept, illogical and counter-productive. A distraction not to be tolerated. The Givers were concerned only with the success of the Quest. They cared nothing for which unit achieved the Harvest.
Fear drowned out the mental conflict. This unit is reliable. This unit would succeed.
The Givers would be pleased—with this unit.