The tide of Tarr flowed ever closer. A cruel mutation made the Tarr tougher than ever, stronger, more insidious. The Tarr, horrid manifestations of greed and hunger, were once a manageable menace to any rancher on the Far Far Range. When a largo consumes a plort beyond their usual physiological make up, they would be turned from a smiling and happy slime to an inky black menace, one that wishes to consume and propagate. Some believe the Tarr are instinct distilled to its base essence: to feed and to reproduce. That desire replaces any other thought or desire for anything else. Some wonder if the individual Tarr slimes are simply individuals, yet with the recent change to their behavior others believe that there is a gestalt intelligence, a single hive mind that commands the Tarrs.

If the Tarr only preyed upon the other slimes, that would be one thing. With the change to their make up however they started to have wider appetites. Before they were a danger to ranchers, aggression written deep in their slime DNA. Yet after the mutation they will actively attack humans and ranchers, disrupting the ranches of those on the Range as well as actively attacking visitors and interstellar workers. Ranch after ranch fell beneath the tide of Tarr and ranches became trapped, an oasis of color in a sea of inky black. The other slimes, hardy little creatures, manage to survive where they did. Natural foods seemed safe from the iridescent Tarrs since they preferred to prey upon other slimes. Yet the ranches were beleaguered, and many fled rather than be trapped with little help or support.

One farm seemed to survive against the tide. The land around farm was a war zone, of slimes fleeing from the tendrils of Tarr and reasserting dominance in safe areas. Some say the farm was safe since it was the legendary farm of Hobson Twillgers, that his presence lived on in the farm and even the Tarrs could be held at bay. A few begrudgingly admit that the current resident of the ranch could be the reason, yet how could one relatively new rancher be responsible for preserving the ranch and a wide swath of the Range? Perhaps she was not alone, and that while unsung, there were those that defended the ranch, the slimes, and their master with unwavering loyalty.

The ball of shimmer black substance hurled itself forward with a snarl, careening off the rock hewn fence. A fanged maw open wide, iridescent eyes gave off baleful light as it slithered towards a pen made of metal and light. The slimes within screamed, bouncing off each other wildly. They could feel the Tarr, they saw it coming and they began to panic, trying to escape the corral keeping them safe. The Tarr slid closer, drool dripping from bared teeth and in its hunger it did not register an angry buzz.

A jet of water struck the Tarr and it recoiled in pain. It turned, eyes searching for a target and it snarled at the floating metallic object. It could not eat it but the Tarr could certainly damage it. It tried to lunge but another blast of water struck it. The fresh water destabilized the molecules of the Tarr, and it wavered as its cells struggled to hold cohesion. Another blast of water and the the Tarr dissolved, the lingering traces of its blackish ooze scowling disappearing. The corralled slimes immediately became calm, cooing and chirping at the floating object in thanks.

The drone buzzed back at the slimes, shooting another stream of water at the dissolving remains with distaste, Its green and red striped chassis reflected the sunlight, and the holographic scowl it held moments before reformed into a pleasant smile. With the traces of the Tarr fully gone it buzzed again at its slimy wards, before floating back to its flower petal charging station. The drone settled down on the flower, almost sighing with relief as it felt power transferring from the station to it. A pinging noise aroused it, and it looked at the low water levels with fatigue, before another drone came flying over, shooting water into the station. Thank you, the green and red hued drone messaged the yellow and brown drone. I spent considerable water reserves to deal with the Tarr.

I had noticed. I have already finished plort collections for the day so I am going around to replenish water supplies, replied the yellow and brown drone. The Tarr become more aggressive, coming onto the ranch grounds proper. Tonight you will be rotated off Tarr Repulsion while I and Beethany will guard the front gate.”

The first drone bristled. I am still operational for Tarr Repulsion. I have performed my duty without error for many days.

Exactly Beetoven. The yellow and brown drone gave him an admonishing zap of code. You have been on aggression protocols for too long. To recover your balance you should spend some time in other duties.

Beetoven settled slightly. He knew what was said was true, but he did not necessarily agree with it. Perhaps you have been the administrator for too long. Your desire to control has grown beyond original operational capacities. Another zap came from the other drone and he knew he had buzzed too far.

I am the administrator because I was the first Drone. A hint of pride filled the message, just barely noticeable through the cool machine speak. The Queen Bea created me, she then created the others. When the Tarr rose and changed, she reprogrammed all of us, again starting with me. I am her second in command, I am trusted. Is that a problem?

A look of contrition flashed on Beetoven’s screen. No, it is not Beelinda. Perhaps you are correct in saying I have utilized my aggression protocols for far too long.

Beelinda splashed Beetoven in the face with more water before filling his charging station to maximum. Perhaps. Tonight you and I will defend the gate then. You can instruct me on Repulsion protocols and I will renew your peaceful ones. Beethany will take over for now. You better recharge fully, the Tarr grow more troublesome at night.

Beetoven watched her float off before he started to shut down into rest mode. The Tarr were certainly more dangerous at night. They were not the only ones however.