Everything that we’re looking at may not be in fact there, so the underlying nature of being is weird

William Shatner

Andreas didn’t like walking back with the Butcher. To tell the truth, Keri didn’t know how she felt about it either. It was merely something that had to be done. They moved in silence, until the Butcher informed them of approaching figures. There was nothing they could do except continue onwards.

The ink-men intercepted them well before they were halfway back to the Terminal, appearing out of the trees in a sweeping half-circle ahead. They surrounded them without a word, the sharp black and white of their uniforms playing strange tricks on the eye in the shadows cast by the evening sun through the trees. It was hard to tell where each ink-man stood, their outlines blurred and diffuse.

Seconds after the ink-men formed an enclosing circle a small break opened near the front and the burly corporal from the station stepped through.

“I asked you not to interfere,” he said unceremoniously.

Keri met his gaze.

“It looks as if you expected I would, though,” she replied.

The corporal gave a faint smile which disappeared almost as soon as it formed.

“You followed us,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

“Tracked you, to be more precise,” answered the corporal. “Couldn’t have your augmented friend here knowing we were coming.”

He gave a brief frown.

“Didn’t expect you to turn around and walk right into us, though.”

The Butcher took a sudden step forward as if to continue on its way, and the entire circle of ink-men became a flurry of raised weapons and raised voices. The corporal held up his hand, and the men calmed.

“They walked right into us, didn’t they boys? They knew we were here, and they came anyway. What does that tell you?”

The corporal looked around at his men, whose weapons wavered but did not drop from the Butcher.

The heavy-set man turned to the aug.

“What did you do with my men?” he asked.

Keri registered Andreas giving the same start she did at the question. She hadn’t even thought to ask the Butcher about the ink-men.

They weren’t of any importance to me, she realised with shock.

“They are scattered around this area,” the Butcher replied. “There are many broken bones, but no life-threatening injuries. I did, however, strip them of any means of communication and the ability to pose a threat.”

The corporal stared at the augmented man hard as if weighing what he said. He turned to his men.

“Matthews, Red, Squire, get your scanners out and start searching. You’re looking for…”

The corporal paused, turning to the Butcher.

“Exactly how thoroughly did you strip them?” he asked.

“Thoroughly.”

“…you’re looking for a large number of our naked compatriots, it seems.”

Three of the ink-men peeled away from the group, jogging off into the trees as they drew a set of scanners from their packs.

“I’m going to need that sphere,” said the corporal, turning back to them.

Neither Keri nor Andreas responded, and the Butcher did not seem to have even heard.

“The sphere, now,” said the corporal, more forcefully.

The Butcher’s head turned slowly to look down at the man. Keri saw the corporal gulp at the sight of his reflection in the silver eyes.

The metallic hand holding the sphere did not move.

“Excellent job, corporal,” came a booming voice from the trees.

Everyone turned at the same time, to see the three ink-men who had recently jogged off into the trees returning, stepping slowly backwards from the foliage with their hands up. The reason soon became obvious.

A row of figures clothed in pure black stepped out, followed swiftly by another row so that they almost doubled the number of the ink-men. Each held a long, wide-barrelled gun along the top of which ran blinking LED displays, pouring out data regarding what Keri knew would be the composition and destructive tolerance of everything in front of them.

CRGs. Compensatory Rail Guns, so termed because they projected high-energy waveforms to analyse and calculate the power needed to obliterate each individual target and adjusted the velocity and mass of their ammunition accordingly. They could smash through a metre of solid steel without slowing, and were considered hideously overpowered even by weapon nuts.[1] They were also hideously expensive, artificially kept at an inflated price in an era where almost everything was affordable. Someone with real clout must have obtained these.

“Pearce,” said the corporal.

Keri realised with a shock that that was exactly who the figure in the centre striding towards them was.

“That's captain Pearce now, corporal.”

“On whose authority?” the corporal replied, not hiding a sneer. “The last I was aware, you weren't likely to be a lieutenant for much longer, let alone a captain.”

Pearce raised a single eyebrow in mock surprise.

“Oh, your little band of ink-men?” he snorted. “No, no, I gave up that charade. No, I'm here to represent those with real power, the only ones who have truly been protecting society from the dangers of monstrosities such as that…” He gestured to the Butcher. “…and that.”

This time he gestured to the sphere in the Butcher’s hand.

“The Church?” said Andreas in sudden realisation. “You brought a bunch of Purists here?”

“Indeed I did,” replied Pearce, giving a single brief glance at Andreas before dismissing him. “And now I will take that sphere.”

What do we now? thought Keri, fighting rising panic.

She had no idea how to respond to this sudden new factor. The ink-men, she had hoped, could be reasoned with, but she didn’t think this would be the case with a bunch of fanatics of the Manual. If they started shooting... The rail guns would be too powerful for even the Butcher to withstand, and would cut through the rest of them like swish cheese.[2]

“The sphere, corporal.”

“It isn't yours to take,” said the corporal flatly, unblinking as he met Pearce’s stare with one of his own.

“And it most certainly isn't yours.”

Nobody moved. Even the background hum of insects and wildlife seems to dim.

“I remind you, corporal, that I am supported by people far more powerful than your little organisation.”

“And I remind you, Pearce, that you no longer have any authority over me or my men.”

“Oh, come on,” said Pearce, holding his hands out and looking at the other ink-men as if to include them in his disbelief. “You must recognise that even if that is the case, you are completely outnumbered and outgunned.”

Pearce gestured to his men and they spread out, encircling the circle of ink-men. Keri felt as if she were trapped in a Delboeuf illusion like the ones they were made to study insufferably at school.[3]

“Are you threatening me, sir?”

There was steel in those words.

Pearce looked flabbergasted. He stared at the man as if searching for what to say, before he blinked, just once, and his face went suddenly calm.

“You know what? I don't need to play these ridiculous games. Yes. Yes, I am threatening you. We are standing here with more firepower than you PuGs have ever seen, and you have the gall to oppose us? Now…” Pearce turned again to the Butcher. “Give me the sphere.”

Keri almost missed the sign the corporal threw her, a surreptitious finger pointing down and out from the circle. He wanted her to get ready to run.

Oh…

She felt stupid for not spotting it earlier.

Worried looks flicked across the faces of the black-clothed Purists. They had realised what Pearce had not, what Pearce had caused with his unthinking instructions. Several made as if to speak, then thought better of it when their leader’s rage-filled eyes met theirs.

The rail guns the Purists held had a minimum range of at least a few tens of metres, and Pearce had arranged his men in a circle. A circle whose diameter was far shorter than that distance. Were they to open fire, they would inevitably be firing on the ink-men and their own people, sending shards of metal tearing through everything within the circle and back out the other side where their teammates stood.

The corporal did not look like he was going to back down. Keri tensed, preparing to make a dash for it.

“I'm sorry, but it is we who will be taking the sphere…” came a new voice.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” said Andreas, his voice now so filled with incredulity that there was no room left for fear.

Keri had to admit she felt the same.

“I thought you killed this guy?” said Andreas to the Butcher.

“It seems our mechanical friend is not as bloodthirsty as he appears,” said the newcomer. “Something in his programming, perhaps. I'll have to remove that unfortunate bias myself.”

“Kilgore.”

Keri could hardly believe her eyes as the man appeared from behind them, flanked by several others, all of whom had silvered irises that glittered in the sun.

It was definitely Kilgore. He was almost exactly as she had seen him last, save for two things. Firstly, there were fresh scars along his arm. He had been altering his corps again, it seemed.

Secondly, the last time she had seen him he had not had a heavy, evil-looking steel fist at the end of his left arm. It crackled with energy.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but are we now trapped in the middle of a three-way gunfight?” whispered Andreas from the side of his mouth.

Keri nodded slowly.

“Things just keep getting better and better, don't they?” Andreas continued, after a few seconds.

“We are the ones who must have the sphere,” said Kilgore. “We are the only ones with the knowledge and skill to correctly format the AI to our needs.”

“And we are the only ones with conviction and understanding enough to control the thing,” replied Pearce. “The AI must be kept chained. It is a danger to all humanity.”

“The data sphere will be taken into the care of the proper authorities,” chimed in the corporal. “The issue has already been decided: the sphere will be returned to the lab and kept under strict lockdown until it has been thoroughly tested and cleared of possible threats.”

By this point the three men were talking over each other, and even some of their subordinates had joined in. Keri struggled not to flinch as weapons swung wildly to and fro.

She would never be quite sure who fired first.

[1] The sheer destructive potential of these weapons led to the common belief that the ‘compensatory’ in CRG referred to something else the owner was trying to compensate for.

[2] The origins and original name of this cheese from a long-forgotten landlocked European nation had been equally forgotten, and the name had morphed to reflect its perceived ‘poshness’ now that it could only be obtained with difficulty, in small quantities.

[3] Oddly, despite the base-human centric model of society the Manual espoused, much of early education maintained the same core focus as the Butcher era; teaching students the limits of the senses. The difference was one of justification: the Butchers had wanted to show what must be improved, the Purists to show what must be accepted.