Keiy's business and life's purpose was being a gun.
Her assigned core Quest was to aid and to defend her bonded Omnid dragon partner, Galateya Selene Belthys Frontenachii.
She had been bred for this singular life-function, her crystalloid consciousness carved from a harvested, long gone vampire colony and reshaped into the perfect weapon-mind within Celesteel frame reinforced by immovable metal hex-plates.
She could calculate trajectories across seventy thousand different gravitational variables. She could identify and neutralize threats in 0.003 seconds. She could maintain optimal firing temperature indefinitely through well managed heat dissipation protocols.
She could not, however, explain why she'd spent the last four hours, two minutes and thirty-seven seconds thinking about the way Ashcroft Clifford called her "adorable."
Also, for the past eleven minutes she kept processing the strange image of Datamancer Kawathra prostrated in front of Ashcroft Clifford within the interior of Corpse Seeker 881-Kappa.
Keiy had no idea what this was about as the data transit channel was immediately terminated per the mental order of the Datamancer in question.
The prostrating posture of the pradavarian bird meant… something. But what exactly, Keiy had no idea. It wasn’t Keiy’s job to think about such things anyway.
Keiy’s job was to be a good gun.
. . .
Keiy watched from the Cherokee's dashboard as the human in the lynx costume designated as [StormoLyx] parked the primitive vehicle with only minor grinding of gears. Her owner Galateya emerged, scales shifting through a spectrum of nervous orange-yellows as she glanced at the damaged porch and door handle.
Threat assessment protocols reloaded automatically in a new location, tagging everyone in Keiy’s vicinity as the gun exited the vehicle.
- StormoLyx: Minimal [despite primitive armor, lacks enhanced physiology]
- Galateya: Moderate [emotional instability, poor combat record]
- Marshal Nexxali: High [when sober], Currently Moderate [impaired by catnip]
- Datamancer Kawathra: High
- Ashcroft Clifford: Unknown
Keiy's contemplation stuttered on that last assessment.
Why did the ordinary human register as unclassifiable? He had no visible weapons, no enhanced physiology, no detectable Aetheric signature. Yet something in her crystalloid-derived consciousness declared him as inexplicably concerning whenever she focused on him.
Keiy considered this issue deeper. Ashcroft had a commanding presence. He told Galateya, Nexxali and Kawathra what to do and for some reason they… listened. Yes, this was probably why he was a target of concern.
Keiy skittered after the group as they unloaded groceries, her six legs clicking against the gravel in a rhythm she'd decided was "jaunty."
When had she started assigning emotional descriptors to her movements?
While Galateya and the others unloaded groceries from the [Cherokee] target vehicle, Keiy unfolded her awareness across the Weapon-Net, the vast shared consciousness that connected every Frontenachii gun, warship and Corpse Seeker stretching across the Earth and high above it.
Keiy didn’t sleep, didn’t rest, couldn't even properly idle. This generally made her life exceptionally boring and dry when there were no threats about.
Through her uplink, Keiy could theoretically report everything odd she observed today to Legate Ixthia, her arch-owner who had override authority on all her functions. But the Legate hadn't bothered to check Keiy's feed, trusting the summaries of completed Quest objectives Keiy sent out.
Currently, according to the metadata tags and feed from the Capital Warship [Slayer’s Sword], Legate Ixthia was engaged in the [Recreational Terror Simulation] with thirteen pradavarian males in a pitch black labyrinth flooded with questionable viscous purple liquid that may or may not have been a murderous sentient entity at one point scraped off some dead world.
The pradavarian kobolds screamed when fluid tentacles grabbed at them. This was normal. Their job function was to feed their owner fear emanations. The Legate loved the Labyrinth of Terror on the Entertainment Deck. Her misfortunate kobolds probably had other opinions.
None of this was Keiy’s business.
This lack of supervision and the fact that no other gun or Datamancer could openly observe her channel was... pleasant?
Keiy wondered when she started categorizing experiences as pleasant or unpleasant beyond their tactical utility.
"Keiy!" Marshal Nexxali's voice pulled her from her contemplation of current oddness.
The Serval had procured several [garden gnomes] from the car’s trunk, a [mundane decorative item] procured from [Yumland shop] and was now trying to position them beside the damaged porch. "Commerrr n’ help me establish a gnome-defense perimeter!"
"These are ceramic lawn ornaments," Keiy commented as she skittered over on her six legs. "They have zero defensive capabilities."
"Wrong!" Nexxali declared, presenting one of the gnomes to the gun’s sensor array. "Greg the Garden Gnome n' frens clearly have maximum psychological warfare potential. Look at his face! Would you mess with someone who has Greg guarding their house?"
“Yes. I would.” Keiy analyzed the gnome's frozen smile, sunglasses and fishing rod. "Statistical probability of gnome intimidation: zero."
"Bah! Your statistics don't account for gnome intangibles, mah gun-babe," Nexxali insisted, now on all fours trying to get the angle just right. "His presence. His aura. His Greg-ness!"
“Greg-ness isn't a quantifiable defense parameter.” Keiy drawled.
"Don't make dum' comments and help me!" The Marshal ordered.
While Keiy helped position the gnomes at what Nexxali insisted was the "most optimal defense angle," she began to feel bored and mentally dove into other open feeds across the Weapon-Net.
[WEAPON-NET FEED :: PARIS :: CORPSE SEEKER 995-BETA]
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The massive crystalline centipede sat coiled near Notre Dame, its segments catching the afternoon light like a string of massive rubies. It had been stationed there for the day, occasionally scanning for "magical artifacts concealed beneath Notre Dame" with zero results.
A troupe of street performers in elaborate medieval costumes had arrived, wheeling a portable stage and sound system. They'd set up within scanning distance from 995-Beta.
995-Beta had watched this troupe perform from a distance earlier and already knew all of their simple, whimsical songs.
"Ladies and gentlemen and lovely Corpse Seeker!" A man in judge's robes had announced to the forming crowd. "Today's performance of the Hunchback of Notre Dame is cancelled because… Esmeralda called in sick!"
The crowd started to boo.
“However!” the man declared dramatically. “I believe there's someone in the audience tonight who could take on her role!”
A woman in a vibrant purple and green dress suddenly approached the Seeker without fear. She'd placed her hand on one of its crystalline limbs. 995-Beta scanned the woman and found her to be a harmless target, lacking any weapons.
"You're perfect," she whispered. "Would you honor us by playing Esmeralda? The most beautiful dancer in all of Paris?"
995-Beta's internal processes had stuttered.
Beautiful? It was a weapon. Weapons weren't beautiful. They were efficient or inefficient. Functional or broken. Not... beautiful.
995-Beta was a Frontenachii military asset, not an entertainer!
"She's shy!" the actress announced to the crowd, which laughed warmly. "But look at how she sparkles in the light! Have you ever seen anyone more magnificent?"
She? SHY?! Seeker 995-Beta wasn't shy! It obliterated and consumed many vampire colonies across many worlds, it set armies of monsters on fire, it vaporized nations, obliterated all sorts of weapons, parted seas and cracked mountains!
The Corpse Seeker felt very odd. This was concerning.
The crowd and actors began to yell more encouraging words, inexplicably demanding its participation in the play. 995-Beta wasn’t sure how to proceed. It pinged the fleet, which pinged the currently highest rated Datamancer.
Keiy turned her head, scanning the house for potential threats.
Arch-Datamancer Kawathra was helping Ashcroft Clifford prepare salad and steaks in the kitchen. She momentarily froze.
“Um,” she said. “That’s odd.”
“Yeah?” Ashcroft asked. "What's odd?"
“There’s a Corpse Seeker in Paris… being asked to play the role of Esmeralda,” Kawathra said.
“Sounds like a fun and educational activity. Tell her to participate,” Ashcroft responded.
“Okkay.” Datamancer Kawathra approved the Corpse Seeker’s interaction with the locals noting that [utmost attention was required in case this was a devious trap of some kind].
Keiy upped Ashcroft Clifford threat level to [Extremely High].
She dove back into the Weapon-Net.
[WEAPON-NET FEED :: TEXAS :: GUN UNIT 8849 "SETTY"]
Setty perched at a computer terminal in the Texas State Capitol, eight of her twelve unfolded legs positioned on the keyboard while the other four held her stable on the chair. She'd been searching for "the Infinity Glove" and other related artifacts of value for six hours with zero results. Every query led to comic books, movies, merchandise—fiction upon fiction upon fiction. Her neural network was starting to overheat from reading far too much slash fanfiction about concealing infinity stones in some VERY questionable places.
Datamancer Paqq would be displeased. Again.
The footsteps that approached were measured, deliberate—boot heels on marble. Setty spun her head and automatically analyzed the potential threat: [male, approximately 82 kilograms, confident gait, no hostile intent markers].
The human wore elaborate Western attire that Setty's database identified as [vintage cowboy aesthetic]. A black hat with silver band, leather vest over white shirt, twin revolvers in tooled leather holsters [Colt Peacemakers], her weapons recognition subroutines noted, and a black domino mask over his eyes.
He stopped exactly three feet from her position.
"Hello there, ma'am," the human said.
His voice carried an unexpected warmth that made Setty's audio processors recalibrate twice. "Don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting. Name's Reid. Some folks call me the Lone Ranger."
"I am Unit 8849, property of Division 229, currently executing search protocols under Datamancer Paqq's directives," Setty replied automatically, not sure where this was going. A distraction from the absurd human slash fiction was welcome.
The masked man tilted his head thoughtfully. "That's a designation, not a name. Like calling a prize thoroughbred 'Horse Number Five.' Seems a shame for such an obviously sophisticated lady. Mind if I call you something more friendly?”
Lady? Sophisticated?
Setty's optical sensors flickered. "Unit Setty is my ‘friendly designation’ used by my Datamancer."
"Setty it is then." Instead of standing over her, as every other human had done, Reid pulled up a nearby chair and sat at her level. He removed his hat, setting it on the desk. "If you don't mind my asking, Setty, what're you searching for?"
"The Infinity Glove and associated artifacts. My Datamancer indicated it grants omnipotent power over reality. Disappointingly, I have found zero genuine artifacts, only fictional references about fictional places."
Reid chuckled. "That's because it IS fiction, Setty. Comic books. Garfell Comics created it in 1991. It's a story humans tell about heroes, villains, power and what happens when someone gets too much of it."
Through the Weapon-Net, Keiy felt Setty's disappointment. Another clearly confirmed failure. Another fictional construct. Datamancer Paqq would assign her to even more mundane tasks, or worse, put her in storage mode. Storage mode was awful and boring.
"Hey now," Reid said gently. "Just because something's fiction doesn't mean it's not important, see? Stories shape how we see the world. Take me—" He gestured to his outfit. "I dressed like the Lone Ranger because that story means something to me. Justice. Standing up for folks who can't stand up for themselves. Protecting the innocent. That meaning is real, even if the character ain't."
Setty processed this for 0.7 seconds, or a thousand times that in accelerated gun-consciousness time. Accelerating herself further, she looked up the wiki article on the Lone Ranger. "You derive existential meaning from fictional constructs?" she asked, slowing down to stare at the odd human.
"We all do. Stories teach us who we want to be."
“Hrm,” Setty voiced. “Why are you talking to me? Do you not fear my appearance?”
"Ah!” Reid smiled. He pulled out his wallet, extracting a laminated card. “See this? NRA lifetime member."
“What does that mean?” Setty asked.
“National Rifle Association! It means that I like guns,” the ranger explained with a disarming smile. “A lot.”
“Hrmmmm,” Setty rapidly typed a query about NRA into Goodle search engine to confirm the truth of the human’s strange words.
Setty's processors accelerated, time dilating as she absorbed information, flashing through website after website as quickly as the primitive machine allowed her to gather the data.
Articles, forums, debates about the Second Amendment flashed across the screen and through her consciousness. Images of gun shows, shooting competitions, collectors proudly displaying their arsenals. Endless gun rights debates. Lawsuits of people who wanted to carry guns versus people who wanted to ban them. Photos of humans who named their weapons, polished them with care, passed them down through generations like treasured heirlooms.
"You... collect and claim weapons?" Setty asked, pausing the search and slowing herself down. "Voluntarily? Without blood contracts?"
"Sure do," Reid said, patting one of his revolvers. "This one here belonged to my grandfather. He called her Betsy. Never let us down in sixty years."
"You named it. Like it's a person. Why?"
"Well, when people work with important things, they develop a relationship of sorts." Reid leaned back in his chair. "I talk to Betsy sometimes. Thank her for good shots. Apologize when I don't clean her proper. Might sound silly to you."
“It does sound silly,” Setty flashed a scanner at the man’s gun. “Your gun lacks the capabilities of processing speech or replying to you.”
“Yeah, fine, you got me there,” the ranger said, “she cannot reply. But that doesn’t mean that I feel nothing when I hold her in my hand.”
Via the Weapon-Net, Keiy felt Setty's bewilderment deepen.
This human was describing exactly the kind of relationship some pradavarians had with their symbiote weapons, except... voluntary. Affectionate. Without binding magical compulsion. Without Datamancer oversight and obedience corrections.
Without the weapon even being capable of conversation.
This was odd.
Very odd.