Mort(e)

by Robert Repino

Overview

After the “war with no name” a cat assassin searches for his lost love in Repino’s strange, moving sci-fi epic that channels both Homeward Bound and A Canticle for Lebowitz.

The “war with no name” has begun, with human extinction as its goal. The instigator of this war is the Colony, a race of intelligent ants who, for thousands of years, have been silently building an army that would forever eradicate the destructive, oppressive humans. Under the Colony's watchful eye, this utopia will be free of the humans' penchant for violence, exploitation and religious superstition. As a final step in the war effort, the Colony uses its strange technology to transform the surface animals into high-functioning two-legged beings who rise up to kill their masters.

Former housecat turned war hero, Mort(e) is famous for taking on the most dangerous missions and fighting the dreaded human bio-weapon EMSAH. But the true motivation behind his recklessness is his ongoing search for a pre-transformation friend—a dog named Sheba. When he receives a mysterious message from the dwindling human resistance claiming Sheba is alive, he begins a journey that will take him from the remaining human strongholds to the heart of the Colony, where he will discover the source of EMSAH and the ultimate fate of all of earth's creatures.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781616954277
Publisher:	Soho Press, Incorporated
Publication date:	01/20/2015
Series:	War with No Name Series , #1
Pages:	368
Product dimensions:	5.60(w) x 8.30(h) x 1.20(d)

About the Author

Robert Repino grew up in Drexel Hill, Pennsylvania. After serving in the Peace Corps, he earned an MFA in Creative Writing from Emerson College. His fiction has appeared in The Literary Review, Night Train, Hobart, The Coachella Review, and more. He lives in New York and works as an editor for Oxford University Press.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One
The Story of Sebastian and Sheba

Before he took his new name, before the animals rose up and overthrew their oppressors, before there was talk of prophecies and saviors, the great warrior Mort(e) was just a house cat known to his human masters as Sebastian. It was a time that now returned to him only in dreams and random moments of nostalgia that disappeared as quickly as they arose. All of it except for Sheba. The memory of her was always digging at him like a splinter under a nail.
      Sebastian’s mother, a nameless stray, gave birth to her litter in the cargo bed of a pickup truck. If he tried hard enough, Mort(e) could see brief flashes of those days spent suckling with his brother and sister. He could recall the warmth of his mother’s fur, the rough surface of her tongue, the sound of her cooing, the smell of his siblings as they climbed over him, the wetness of their breath.
     He could not, however, remember the circumstances that separated him from his family. There were no records for him to consult once he became sentient. All he could do was imagine the truck driver—most likely a friend of the Martinis, his eventual owners—discovering the destitute brood while loading the vehicle one morning. Sebastian’s mother probably hissed and scratched when the humans removed her kittens. But in the end, she was most likely grateful to be relieved of them. Instinct told her that she had fulfilled her evolutionary role and was still young enough to have more kittens.
     From that morning on, the days dissolved into one another for little Sebastian. Janet and Daniel Martini were a young couple then. The newlyweds spent their first year together renovating their house for the children they planned to have. Left to himself, Sebastian believed that he owned the place. He crept into the rafters and slunk through the newly constructed ceilings and walls. The workmen covered up the wooden beams, shooing Sebastian away from his favorite hiding spots.
     Once the living room was complete, Sebastian would recline in the square of sunlight on the carpet, drifting in and out of sleep, watching the dust motes floating around him. During the day, while the Martinis worked, the house was quiet. At night, Sebastian would visit his masters at the dinner table, sometimes reaching his paws up to Daniel’s lap. The man wore jeans that carried the scents of his print shop: chemical cleaners and metal and ink. The manufactured odors would sting Sebastian’s nostrils if he inhaled too deeply. Daniel would then lead the cat to the basement stairs, where he kept the water and food, along with the litter box.
     Sebastian rarely thought of his siblings or his mother, until one morning when a family of strays marched in single file across the front lawn. The mother led two kittens who obediently hopped behind her. Sensing they were being watched, the mother stopped and pointed her tail in the air. She eyed Sebastian, who stared at her in return, his paws propping him up on the windowsill. She hissed. Sebastian hissed back, mimicking her. Then she extended her paw, and three sharp claws merged from the tips. Sebastian flinched. Satisfied, the mother cat kept walking. Her young ones gave Sebastian a final once-over before following.
     A dog’s bark sent them scurrying out of sight. The dog was Hank, a brown mutt who lived across the street. Hank seemed to have no purpose in life other than barking until he was hoarse, while his red nylon leash strained to keep him at bay. He often focused his anger on Sebastian, who slept on the windowsill when he wanted to feel the cool glass on his side. On this day, Sebastian let Hank holler for a little while before stepping away from the window. It was an act of mercy.
     Sebastian gazed at his own paws and noticed for the first time that the toes were not as long as those of the other cats. The digits had been sheared off. That seemed impossible, for he should have remembered such an incident. Regardless, this observation produced a moment of clarity for him. There were probably many things he did not remember about his past, living by himself in this house, sleeping away the time. Moreover, there were cats and other creatures beyond the walls, and he had been one of them. But now he was here, separated from others like him. He knew there was no way out, even though he had never searched for one.
     Though it may have been terrifying, the moment drifted away, along with most other memories. There was warmth and food here, along with other wonders and distractions. A new plush carpet in the living room was even softer than his mother’s furry belly. An enormous gaudy mirror took up nearly an entire wall of the living room, leaving him baffled for weeks after its installation. Not only was there another room, but another cat! This stranger had a white chin with an orange streak that draped over his forehead, extending along his spine to his tail. Though Sebastian was relieved to discover that the other cat was an illusion, he still had to remind himself of this fact every time he walked by the mirror.
     He dedicated entire days to the new television, with its flickering screen, endless looping wires, and whirring circuitry. When the Martinis left the attic door open, Sebastian had a new world to conquer, filled with toys, cardboard boxes, holiday decorations. His first expedition lasted from one sundown to the next. From the window he could see grey roofs, green lawns, streets that glistened in the rain, and a never-ending stream of cars rolling along the horizon, the edge of the known world.
     And then Janet brought home a young one of her own. A few days later, Daniel picked Sebastian up—something he never did—and carried him into a bedroom where the baby boy lay on a towel on the mattress. Daniel spoke softly to Sebastian, rocking him gently before placing him on the bed. Sebastian sniffed the baby’s soft, clean skin. The baby gurgled and waved his arms. Daniel let Sebastian sit there for a long time.
     Sebastian liked the child, whose name was Michael. And he was happy when, perhaps a year later, Daniel brought him another infant, a girl named Delia. These were his people, and he belonged with them. This was home. He was safe here. There was nothing else to life. There didn’t need to be.

For many animals, things began to change when they were first exposed to the hormone. For Sebastian, the real change began when Janet started sleeping with the next-door neighbor.
     The neighbor appeared out of nowhere in the Martinis’ driveway one day. Janet chatted with the man while the babies were asleep upstairs. Sebastian observed from the window. The neighbor was tall, with long hair that flopped behind his ears and a pair of round glasses that reflected the light in brief flashes. Beside him, fidgeting at his knees, was a dog. Large brown eyes. A white coat with an orange patch extending from the hip to the shoulders. Mysterious and exotic, a creature from another world. The man would occasionally grasp her collar in order to hold her still.
     Sebastian was convinced that the dog was about to attack Janet. He pawed at the window in an attempt to warn her. If only he had those sharp claws like the stray cats, she would have heard the scratching. The neighbor gave the dog a whack on her side, and she sat down and remained still. This animal was clearly the man’s property, and posed no threat. The use of force to subdue the dog surprised Sebastian, for the only time he could recall being disciplined was when he sat in the recliner. Janet had swatted him out of it so many times that he began to believe that the chair was somehow connected to the woman, and could summon her instantly.
     It wasn’t until the neighbor was saying goodbye that the dog finally spotted Sebastian. She cocked her head, trying to figure out what this little creature was. The man yanked her collar one more time, and she left with him.
     Her name was Sheba. A few sunrises later, the man and the dog performed an odd ritual in their yard. He tossed a fluorescent green ball, which the dog would chase down and return to him, over and over. Both of them seemed so pleased when the task was completed that Sebastian again wondered if the dog somehow ruled over the man. But then the man dangled a piece of food until she sat and waited for it.
     Sebastian once dreamt of the dog invading his house and taking his family from him. He saw himself on the other side of the window, in the forbidding cold, while the dog stared at him from his spot in the living room.
     Some time later, the Martinis invited another stranger to the house. A teenage girl named Tanya. The couple dressed up in new clothes—Janet in a long silvery dress, her sandy hair tied in a bun, and Daniel in a jacket and tie. They kissed the children goodbye and left the house together for the first time since Delia had arrived. Tanya sat on the couch watching television. She smelled weird, like candy, flowers, and mint. Every once in a while, she would go upstairs and check on the children. Sebastian kept his distance, spying on her from behind a chair or underneath a table.
     Something had happened to the family. Tanya had split them up somehow. She was clever. She said hello the way all guests did, with a smile and a gentle hand. Sebastian ran away from her. She could not be trusted. A predator was in his house. Sebastian was on his own. He had to protect this place by himself.
     Each time Tanya visited the children’s room, Sebastian stayed on her tail while still remaining far enough away, in case she pounced on him. In case she had claws. It went on several more times until he could barely stand it.
     She went in once more, and he waited in the hall. He could hear the girl speaking softly, her palms sliding down the fabric of the sheets. The lights dimmed. Something was happening.
     Furious, Sebastian charged, butting the door with his head. The sound of the collision was like an explosion. Tanya was the first to scream. Sebastian began screeching as he never had before. He pawed at the door. Inside the room, both children were crying. Tanya whispered in response, trying to soothe them. Sebastian would have none of it. She was trying to trick them, the same way she had tricked the Martinis. Don’t believe her, he tried to say. I am here to protect you.
     Eventually, the Martinis’ car pulled into the driveway. Sebastian stopped yelling, relieved that he was able to summon them so quickly. While the children continued to cry, the babysitter stuck her head out the window and called to the Martinis for help. She was loud enough to get Sheba barking from next door. Janet arrived first. Sebastian let her walk by, proud that he had held off the intruder long enough for his masters to see. She tried to open the door, but it was locked from the inside. She banged on it for a few times before Tanya let her in. The girl’s face was slick with tears, her eyes red and raw. Janet hugged her, then went to the children’s cribs and rocked them to sleep. Defeated, the girl sat in a chair and wept.
     Sebastian walked downstairs, where he found Daniel leaning against a wall. The man’s tie was undone, his skin yellow and wet. Sebastian noticed a new scent on him, a putrid version of Janet’s perfume. Daniel stared at himself in the great mirror, a line of drool hanging from his bottom lip. Sebastian went to him, hoping for some kind of explanation, but the man nudged him away with his foot. Sebastian stood there, stunned. Meanwhile, Janet walked the traumatized girl to the door. She and Daniel exchanged angry words. Years later, Mort(e) imagined her saying something to the effect of, “Your cat showed more concern for your children than you did.” And then she must have said something about his drinking. She ignored his angry reply. Tripping on the first step, Daniel managed to drag himself to his room, where he promptly fell asleep.
     The house fell silent. Sebastian was alone to contemplate what had happened. It was he who was the enemy, the intruder. He was a prop for this house, not to mention its prisoner. They had mutilated him so that he could guard the house in name only. He pictured the days stretching endlessly before him. He realized that he would die alone in this place.
     When the moment passed, he wandered over to the window. Tanya was gone, and Janet stood in the driveway speaking to the neighbor again. The dog was with him. This time, Sebastian did not have to wait for the dog to make eye contact. She stared at him, her tail wagging. Dogs seemed incapable of controlling their tails. Minutes later, the neighbor and the woman sat at the kitchen table sipping tea and laughing the way the Martinis used to years earlier. Sebastian did not have the energy to stand up to yet another stranger. Besides, he was content to stay by the window. Sheba remained in the driveway, her leash tied to the doorknob.
     The glass separated them. Sebastian drew closer. Sheba pressed her paw to the window and licked the glass in a vain attempt to get to his face. Sebastian sniffed the trails of saliva but could smell nothing. This continued into the night, while the two humans shared stories and jokes. It was not long until all the evening’s events were forgotten, replaced with Sheba’s warm brown eyes and lapping tongue.

Editorial Reviews

★ 10/13/2014
With sly references to Orwell’s Animal Farm, debut novelist Repino puts a nicely modern postapocalyptic overlay on the fable of animals taking over the world. Enraged by the anthropocentrism of humans, ant queen Hymenoptera develops a race of super ants while simultaneously releasing a pheromone causing all animals to become humanlike. Former house cat Sebastian, now over six feet tall and capable of handling firearms, adopts the name Mort(e) and becomes a ruthless soldier for the revolution. Steering clear of allegorical artifices, Repino effectively harnesses animal emotions within the anthropomorphic context, using Mort(e)’s quest to rescue a canine playmate from his former life to introduce the all-too-human messiah complex that will doom Hymenoptera’s vision of a posthuman world. This is an affecting, intriguing shift from the traditional “power corrupts” destruction of utopia, allowing an empathetic melancholy to rise along with Mort(e)’s disillusionment as supposedly free animals begin to commit suicide. Even horrific Hymenoptera, ferociously single-minded in the face of endless unpredictability, reveals an aching loneliness in her absolutism. This ambitious debut falters a bit at first, but quickly becomes an engrossing morality tale with unexpected depths. (Jan.)

Publishers Weekly

12/01/2014
This intriguing debut starts out as a simple pet's-eye view tale; Sebastian is a neutered and declawed housecat who befriends a dog named Sheba. Into their world comes an army of giant ants, led by an omniscient queen intent on destroying humanity. Using tailored chemicals, the ant queen has caused animals to grow hands and to become larger, self-aware, and bipedal. As a result, most pets, including Sebastian, rise up and kill their masters, though the cat loses his friend Sheba in the resulting turmoil. Sebastian takes the ambiguous name Mort(e) and joins the war against humans. In an interesting twist on George Orwell's Animal Farm, Mort(e) becomes disillusioned with the revolution but is drawn back in because he learns that the ant queen doesn't have the animals' best interests at heart. Yearning to be reunited with Sheba, Mort(e) finally gets his wish as he becomes pivotal in the final battle between ants and humans. VERDICT Animal Farm set in a postapocalyptic world based on interspecies rivalry rather than communism, with a little religion on the side, this imaginative story can be taken as a somewhat satirical examination of the role of the individual in society. Highly recommended.—Henry Bankhead, Los Gatos Lib., CA

Library Journal

2014-11-06
A war novel/religious allegory about cats, dogs and giant ants driven by a hive mind. Yes, really. So, let's imagine W. Bruce Cameron's silly and maudlin A Dog's Purpose recast as a violent and frightening post-apocalyptic global battle for the souls of Earth's survivors, layered with a messiah prophecy that makes The Matrix look simplistic by comparison. If that's a bit much, maybe just think Animal Farm re-imagined by Orson Scott Card. Either way, you end up with this devilishly entertaining debut about anthropomorphized animals caught in a conflict between an invading army of insects and the planet's few remaining humans. The novel begins from the point of view of Sebastian, an aloof but observant house cat whose only true companion is a dog named Sheba. Through animal eyes, he describes Earth's descent into chaos as giant ants—that's Hymenoptera unus to you—break through the planet's crust to wreak havoc on human civilization. At the heart of their plan is the decision to release a virus that gives all animals self-awareness, a bipedal structure and better-than-human intelligence. After the change, Sebastian recreates himself as the cat-warrior Mort(e), the hero of a breakaway army called The Red Sphinx. "Don't you all know who this is?" says his superior to a new crop of recruits. "This is Mort(e). The hero of the Battle of the Alleghenies. The Mastermind of the Chesapeake Bridge Bombing. The crazy bastard who assassinated General Fitzpatrick in broad daylight. This choker was killing humans before some of you were born." After a while the story gets kind of messy with a memetic virus called "EMSAH," the aforementioned prophecy and the preordained battle to end all wars, but it's still awfully good sci-fi that imagines a world where humans are no longer at the top of the food chain. A wild riff on interspecies warfare sure to make pet owners think twice the next time their tabby cats dart by.

Kirkus Reviews

Praise for MORT(E)

An io9 Very Best Science Fiction And Fantasy Book Of 2015
A February 2015 Indie Next List Selection
An Amazon Best Book of January 2015
An IndieBound January 2015 Bestseller 

"Mort(e) is complex, beguiling, and often bloody . . . [An] utterly absorbing debut."
—The Boston Globe

“Mort(e) catapults the reader into a wild, apocalyptic world . . . [Mort(e)’s] journey, set against the backdrop of an ideological war between pure rationality and mysticism, makes for a strangely moving story.”
—The Washington Post 

“With poignant flashes of a morality tale, this debut novel makes us rethink our relationship to all of Earth’s creatures (since they may someday turn on us).”
—Time Out New York

"Marvelously droll . . . This novel is all kinds of crazy, but it wears its crazy so well."
—Slate
 
“Mort(e) is funny, smart, well-written; it’s already among the better debuts of the year.”
—Flavorwire

“[A] first novel of notable depth and invention.”
—Las Vegas Weekly 

“[N]ot your ordinary kitty…”
—Ft. Worth Star-Telegram

"An epic science-fiction thriller . . . Mort(e) will stick with you long after you close the pages."
—Tor.com

"Robert Repino’s Mort(e) is, page after page, an infectious tale."
—Electric Literature

"[A] twisted, insane We3."
—io9.com

“In Repino’s capable hands, Mort(e) is entertaining and intelligent science fiction that can be read as an adventure fantasy, but goes much deeper than that.”
—The Missourian 

“What unfolds is told in a sarcastic and sometimes caustic style by a young writer of promising talent—by which I mean, a talent that is promised on the first page and then, after a series of ant mythologies, feline war tragedies, and inter-species friendships, firmly established by the end.”
—The Rumpus

“Dealing with matters of dominance, loyalty, destiny, and justice, this engaging novel might have taken as its epigraph Alexander Pope’s famous couplet, “I am his Highness’ dog at Kew; / Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?” In the life of an uplifted cat, the reader sees his or her own quandary as a creature suspended uncomfortably halfway between nescience and angelic wisdom. [T]hought-provoking and tragedy-laden . . . Completely poignant and satisfying.”
—Barnes & Noble Review

“[A] delightful mix of alien invasion and Orwellian parable.”
—KQED.org

"This is a wonderful book . . . ambitious, unusual, unclassifiable."
—Barnes & Noble Science Fiction and Fantasy Blog

"This is science fiction at its best. Repino gives us a wild, imaginative and wholly original tale without any trace of sugar-coating. He takes our current war-addled, religion-dominated, decidedly divided society to task."
—LitReactor

"Repino has a knack for seeing life through non-human eyes."
—Open Letters Monthly 

“Absolutely incredible . . . The apocalypse has never, ever been this entertaining."
—BookRiot

"We get all the genres on the color wheel mixed together, but instead of producing a single black, we get a brilliant prism of varying hues and saturation."
—Pixelated

"This is the brilliance of Mort(e) as a novel. There are parts that make you think, that lend courage to ask questions against the grain. It touches on things like morphic resonance theory. It sneaks in observations similar of linguists like Noam Chomsky, who claims language learned by small children takes place so fast that it can’t be explained in terms of imitation alone; that the structure of language must be inhereted in some way. But by no means is his story didactic. Yes, it will compel the lending of a greater kindness to pets, ants, pigeons, whatever."
—Fanzine

"If you’re looking for something a little different, Mort(e) will deliver."
—GeekDad.com

"With sly references to Orwell’s Animal Farm, debut novelist Repino puts a nicely modern post-apocalyptic overlay on the fable of animals taking over the world . . . an engrossing morality tale with unexpected depths."
–Publishers Weekly, Starred Review

“Devilishly entertaining . . . awfully good . . . a wild riff on interspecies warfare sure to make pet owners think twice the next time their tabby cat darts by. Imagine W. Bruce Cameron's silly and maudlin A Dog's Purpose recast as a violent and frightening post-apocalyptic global battle for the souls of Earth's survivors, layered with a messiah prophecy that makes The Matrix look simplistic by comparison.”
—Kirkus Reviews

"Animal Farm set in a postapocalyptic world based on interspecies rivalry rather than communism, with a little religion on the side, this imaginative story can be taken as a somewhat satirical examination of the role of the individual in society. Highly recommended."
—Library Journal

“After a fantastical leap into an apocalypse of sentient animals, Mort(e) never looks back. Read this novel and you will never look at your pet the same way again."
—Daniel H. Wilson, author of Robopocalypse and Robogenesis

"A beast of a novel that exposes just how beastly we humans really are. Robert Repino's Mort(e) is smart, engaging, and kick-ass."
—Ismet Prcic, author of Shards

"That a novel about the war between ants and humans with house pets as warriors would be so stunningly believable and, above all, affecting, is a testament to what a wonderful book Robert Repino has written. Mort(e) is one of the craziest, most inventive novels I've read in a long time."
—James Scott, author of The Kept

"In our age of first person diary-like-entry novels, Mort(e) is both stunningly original and wonderfully heartfelt. It's a wild ride of a book from a skilled writer I will now be following."
—Shane Jones, author of Light Boxes and Crystal Eaters

"Mort(e) is wonderful and weird, never saccharine and always startling."
—Cat Rambo, author of Near + Far

"Combining elements of Orwellian parable and sci-fi/action thriller, Mort(e) is a tautly constructed indictment of much that is wrong with society, and a celebration of much that is right."
—Matthew Gallaway, author of The Metropolis Case

"Get ready for a post-apocalyptic adventure like no other in this tale of animals being transformed into two legged creatures that rise up to kill their masters. This is all the master plan of intelligent ants that have been building a Colony and plotting for years to start a utopia free of humans. Mort(e) is a former cat turned war hero but his true motivation is searching for his friend, a dog named Sheba. Will the Colony win the war against human violence, exploitation and religious superstitions or will the human bio-weapon EMSAH help all the earth’s creatures?" 
—Barbara Theroux, Fact & Fiction (Missoula, MT)

From the Publisher