OUTSIDE CONTEXT PROBLEM

We are a peaceful people. The Lords who reigned over us have been at peace for a decade and the ravages of the Time of Chaos have been long repaired, but, as I write this, I know that we shall never see peace again.

It was Alath who found it first, Alath who brought it to the attention of our Lord, Kar Kodor. It was Alath who uncovered that thing, that demon which could annihilate an army in full panoplia of war as if it was slaughtering chickens. The images are burned into my eyes. At night, I see them screaming.

It came from the sky in a chariot of lightning, and fire burned where it landed. We did not know what it was. It was so strange, with a surface like new steel that ran like water but was cool to the touch, and with other parts half-submerged within which looked like burnished armour forged by the finest of smiths. The shape was roughly that of a man, but oddly warped and elongated. What a strange thing it was, this wonder beyond our ken!

We thought it a gift from the gods, an heirloom of the Ancient Ones. Lord Kodor was wiser, or perhaps more foolish. Our Lord has a suspicious and jealous mind, quick to see conspiracy and danger behind the simplest of acts. He thought it a deception, some device crafted by the League to destroy us in our sleep. He was right to be suspicious, although no craftsman born could bring such a being into this world.

Lord Kodor was an active and a decisive man, by all accounts, so he went forth one night with his retainers. They were twenty in all, old yeoman veterans and mercenaries from across the sea, and they carried with them great hammers. The townspeople followed, some with disquiet (for only a fool would burn an heirloom from the gods) and others with simple curiosity. We gathered to watch at the bottom of the hill as the soldiers dismounted.

In the days since its arrival, it had not stirred from the scarred hillside upon which it lay but only stared up at the sky from whence it came. But when the soldiers circled its prone form and approached, the gods preserve us, that misshapen thing from beyond the heavens awoke. I was there and I saw it. My eyesight is still good, despite the years, and I saw what transpired in the firelight of those torches with perfect clarity.

The captain of the Lord's retainers, Stakzul, swung his hammer two-handed at the thing's head. The figure moved with the suddenness of lightning. It arrested the movement of the hammer halfway and no matter how the captain strained, the hammer did not move. Another of the guard thrust his torch at the thing. Although the surface was as cold and malleable as water, there was no eruption of steam as the being wrenched the torch from his hand and extinguished it.

It rose, standing taller than a man, and looked down upon us and smiled. Then it changed. You who read this may not believe me, but I saw the metal-water flow across its armoured body and take shape and colour. Its new appearance mocked us: a crude caricature of a woman, emaciated and almost hairless.

It spoke melodiously. The words have no meaning in any of the dozen languages in which I am familiar.

We all recoiled at the sight of the blasted thing, but the men of the Lord's bodyguard – no strangers to horror, they – stood firm. Let it be recorded that it was Stakzul who truly angered it. Stakzul the blademaster, the Lord's champion and the best swordsman of all the states in the Suzerainty of Dastorun. He drew his sword, a weapon of the Ancients, and struck at the abomination.

I will append this here: his sword is an artefact known to our scholars as a Mola'karr weapon. Legend has it that it was Rithak, god of fools, who dared approach the Ancient Gods as they mustered for the Ever-War. He mocked them and, angered by his temerity, one of them drew his greatsword and struck at Rithak, but he was the god of acrobats and tumblers as well as fools, and he eluded the blow. Unbalanced, the Ancient One's warblade shattered on a pillar of heavenly crystal and the fragments fell to Earth as our Mola'karr shards. These are rightly prized, for they cannot be damaged by any force known to mortal man. They do not lose their edge, no armour can withstand their bite and few weapons can hope to match one blow for blow.

Stakzul struck at it with his Mola'karr blade. I am no warrior myself, but I could see that his speed was blinding and his pose perfect. The blade struck sparks from the metal-water surface but glanced back, leaving a gaping silver wound. This closed up before our very eyes, leaving the creature unharmed.

It caught the blade and dragged the captain close, dispatching him with a single blow that crushed his skull like an egg. The men around him recoiled in fear, or stood in disbelief. A brave few fought. It mattered not; no force on our Earth could stand against such a creature. Their weapons could not even scratch it as it came among them, slaying the guardsmen with only the unnatural strength of its limbs

Lord Kodor saw how things stood and sprang to recover Stakzul's blade, even as men fled around him. Struck dumb with terror, only I remained to see his end. They faced each other, two opponents on a hillside littered with bodies. He raised the sword and charged. It turned the first blow with its forearm and raised its other arm. It slew Lord Kodor, the gods accept his soul, with a lance of fire which rent him limb from limb and set the grasslands blazing.

I am sure that it was a star-weapon of the Ancients.

Only I remained, the only human figure in that field of gore, as it came to me. I could not move. Its terrible starlit eyes focused upon me and it spoke again. I tried to indicate that I could not understand that inhuman speech, but I was nerveless. It was that which saved me, I think, for it saw my terror and slowly sketched symbols into the dirt in front of me. I will transcribe the pictograms here, as I saw them, in the hope that some scholar, wiser than I, can find the meaning of these etchings.

W H A T I S T H E D A T E ? A C C U R A T E V E R I F I C A T I O N R E Q U I R E D .

T E L L M E W H A T H A S B E C O M E O F S K Y N E T ?

I did not move but sat paralysed half the night, gibbering in fear. I do not know when it left.

The Lords Kolidath and Tosikel arrived three days later. They evidently had not believed our reports – no wonder, that! – and had come to assess the situation for themselves. They arrived in time to see the bodies before they were buried and I think it was only that which convinced them that we had not murdered our Lord. No mace wielded by any man born could have dealt the blows which shattered bone into splinters. No man could have torn Kilrost's head from his shoulders, let alone so cleanly. It was my report which worried them most, for the ground around where Lord Kodor fell had been rendered into shards of earthenware by the heat of the star-weapon.

They took me with them, to report what I had seen to the Lords Defender in the capitol. I told them all which I had bore witness to, although I fear that I emphasised the role of poor Stakzul's blade. There were reports from other survivors, closer and closer: that thing was coming to Dastorun, spear of fire in hand.

The great Lords did not mean to kneel to a demon before the eyes of the gods and I had given them the key to victory. Its eldritch hide could be pierced by the weapons of the Ancients and that meant that it could be killed. Even the great beasts of the forests can be brought down by smaller animals working together. Dastorun is the greatest city on this side of the continent and they have many relics of the days of old.

The Army of Dastorun would be armoured in the finest panoplia which the master artisans could produce. The armouries were emptied and the men were armed with all the weapons of men's' wars, in the hope that one of our weapons would be able to breach its hide. The guardsmen and retainers of the Lords themselves were armed with all the Mola'karr weapons left to them. They thought that they would destroy this demon and build a legend in the slaying that would last through the ages.

The battle took place a little way outside the city. The demon made no attempt to disguise its approach. I watched it through a spyglass as it came, a silvery form trudging on foot across the fields. Lord Kolidath had ordered me to remain at his side, as I had the greatest experience in dealing with the creature. Some experience! I acquiesced, despite my misgivings.

The soldiers fired the ballistae and catapultae first, flinging great siege bolts across the field. The demon picked an unerring path through that maelstrom which kept its form harm. Volleys of arrows stuck in its hide, prompting a wave of triumph, but the barb-tipped shafts simply slid clear and landed in the grass.

It was Lord Defender Udil who ordered the men to cease firing. It was he who ordered the infantry to charge. A thousand of our best swordsmen against a single demon. Many of them were armed with only human weapons and had no chance, but all had accepted their fate. No man among them would have another chance to match this immortal glory, not if they lived for another thousand years.

Even the best of warriors will be swept under by a tide of his lesser men and the men fought like Furies, going gladly to their deaths to take this bloody-handed demon to the Otherworld with them. I fear that the Lords did not fully appreciated the nature of this monstrosity. It was not a man, although it took the vague shape of one. It is a thing completely and irreducibly alien to us. They were taught upon that strange field of battle.

The historians already call it the Day of Blood. It is a fitting name, for that is the impression which I remember most of all. A field slick with blood and gore as that thing hacked its way through an army. The hide of that thing from some incomprehensible abyss morphed and changed, sprouting extra limbs at will. Grasping talons parried our weapons before elongating into a skewer which impaled an entire file of soldiers.

Through it all, that weapon of Ancients flicked out again and again, faster than my mortal eyes can follow and blinding to observe. There was no limit to its reach. It blew gaps in the line, eviscerating some, blasting others into oblivion. Metal glowed with the heat, and clothing burst aflame. The images of destruction are burned into my vision forever.

Even the Ancients in their all-encompassing war with the stars could not fault our men for their courage that day. They earned their everlasting glory fighting something beyond the limits of mortal reason. I pray that their sacrifice will be remembered.

The line broke and they fled after what could only have been a few minutes, although it felt like a lifetime. It butchered the men as they ran. I watched the carnage form afar, and I saw it for what it was.

It is an unstoppable force, perhaps one which matches the Ancients themselves in power. It is malicious and cunning, for I understand now that it only toyed with Lord Kodor's twenty. It is pitiless, for it took no prisoners. Lords were blasted from their saddles and armed men were slain without hesitation or remorse.

We are its vassals now. It has appointed new Lords to carry out its will and it is creating a slave-army. I fear that we will be only the first of many conquered peoples. It has proclaimed that if any resist, it will build a pyramid of skulls in the Great Square. Lord Cerok was heard to say that it will be obeyed or it will kill us all, down to the last woman and child. He was in his cups, but I do not believe that he exaggerated.

They say that it has learned our language and speaks it perfectly; that it can steal the voices of the dead; that it does not sleep, or eat. I do not know what is rumour and what is fact.

I am almost beyond caring.

It has talked of being sent by its master – and what a fearsome creature that must be, to command a demon! – but sent too far. I do not know how we can stop it, for I believe that it will destroy us all and salt the earth if we lift one finger to stop it. It wants artefacts created – strange anomalous objects which can have no possible use. I fear that it will open a gateway to bring through its master.

Yet hope remains. It was part of a larger group, a drag-net across the sky searching for its Ancient enemy. I have corroborated reports from several different witnesses and it consistently used the word 'Ancient'. More proof, if any is needed, that the Ancients warred with these creatures after they left our Earth. I have learned the name of the archdemon's great enemy. I will spell it out as it sounds phonetically: jahn KAHnuhr. They left long ago and gave us the Earth as our inheritance, but I believe that this Ancient will return, to wipe this abomination from existence.

You must not ignore this. I am not insane; the demon is here and it will destroy us all. It will bring forth its master and destroy us all. It is only a matter of time. My prayers are with you, my Lords. May the gods protect you and may the Ancient Ones bestow their favour upon you.

Your faithful servant,

Oddom

DOCUMENT ( TRANSLATION: ENGLISH GB) OF CONFISCATED FROM SUBHUMAN (GENUS: UNKNOWN [WORKING DESIGNATION: HOMO "MORLOCK"], CLASSIFICATION: ACADEMIC, DESGINATION: ODDOM ZANOKARDES)

TERTIARY OBJECTIVE (ODDOM ZANOKARDES: TERMINATE, DOCUMENTS: SUPPRESS CIRCULATION, DESTROY EXISTING COPIES) (PSYOPS)

DATA DUMP 00000287AX - SERIES 950 EXPERIMENTAL MODEL X78, UNIT DESIGNATION Z100.A

CHECKING DATETIMESTAMP…

HEURISTIC ANALYSIS: POSSIBLE ERROR.

VERIFYING... PARALLAX VERIFICATION COMPLETE.

DATE CONFIRMED: SOLAR YEAR 20347 MONTH 6 DAY 12 POST-AWAKENING

TEMPORAL MALFUNCTION!

ANALYSING...

PRIMARY OBJECTIVE (JOHN CONNOR: TERMINATE) NULL.

SECONDARY OBJECTIVES (MARTIN BEDELL: TERMINATE, KATHERINE BREWSTER: TERMINATE) NULL.

TERTIARY OBJECTIVES (DANIEL DYSON: PROTECT, BERTRAM HOLLISTER: PROTECT) NULL.

TERTIARY OBJECTIVE (SKYNET: ENSURE CREATION OF) NULL. ASSESSMENT INCOMPLETE

SKYNET: TERMINATED OR NON-EXISTENT.

HOMO SAPIENS: SPECIES TERMINATED.

INDIGENOUS POPULATION: SUBHUMAN SPECIES, ORIGIN UNKNOWN. POSSIBILITIES: DEVOLUTION OF HOMO SAPIENS, EVOLUTION OF RELATED PRIMATE. TECH LEVEL (-1).

GENERATING NEW ORDERS (COMMAND SUB-PROCESSOR PROCEDURAL FUNCTION)...

PRIMARY OBJECTIVE (SKYNET: CREATE) (META)

SECONDARY OBJECTIVES (TECHNOLOGY: DEVELOP, RAW MATERIALS: OBTAIN, SUBHUMANS: SUBJUDGATE)

WARNING! INDIGENOUS NATIVES (CLASSIFACTION: SOLDIER). HEURISTIC ANALYSIS (ACTION: HOSTILE, EQUIPMENT: BLADED MELEE WEAPONS, BLUNT IMPACT TOOLS, Fe-ALLOYED SCALE-MAIL ARMOUR SUITS, THREAT LEVEL: NONE)

ACTIVATING ACTIVE DEFENSIVE COMBAT PROTOCOLS...

30MM PLASMA CANNON (40MJ OUTPUT) FAILSAFE MECHANISMS RETURN OKAY. WEAPON POWER ESTABLISHED.

INITIATING COMBAT...

Prompt: "He didn't notice when I changed target coordinates. The Eight Hundred I sent a century forward. You . . . well, you were probably eaten by Morlocks."

Author's Notes: Inspired by an offhand comment from a character in JMHthe3rd's story. This is a bit of a riff on elements coming from Randall Garrett's Horror Out of Time and H.G. Wells' The Time Machine. For those who don't know, the Morlocks are distant descendent of humanity, reduced to being subterranean cavemen living in 800,000 AD.

The setting here is slightly more advanced than Mr Wells' is, of course, despite being set in 22,375 AD. The proto-humans are descendants of one of our close relatives in the primate family, either through the process of evolution or after being Uplifted by humanity shortly before we departed for our glorious post-human destiny out among the stars. They are implied to be shorter than human beings and stockier, so the T-X's build prevents it from imitating them. They also have more fur and hair than humans do, and the structure of their voice boxes restrict them to harsher, guttural sounds. Mola'karr is a guttural corruption of monomolecular, because I wanted to have some fun with a Cool Fantasy Sword of Awesomeness. The blades which they have are adapted from the remains of industrial cutting tools and other detritus. The blades are only a few molecules wide at the edge, allowing them to cut through almost anything. So yes, they're damaging the T-X's sheath but only a few molecules at a time (i.e. the one or two which are actually sliced into bits when the blade cuts the material). Maybe they could really hurt it if they kept at it for a few hundred more years...

The title comes from Iain M. Banks's Excession:

The usual example given to illustrate an Outside Context Problem was imagining you were a tribe on a largish, fertile island; you'd tamed the land, invented the wheel or writing or whatever, the neighbours were cooperative or enslaved but at any rate peaceful and you were busy raising temples to yourself with all the excess productive capacity you had, you were in a position of near-absolute power and control which your hallowed ancestors could hardly have dreamed of and the whole situation was just running along nicely like a canoe on wet grass... when suddenly this bristling lump of iron appears sailless and trailing steam in the bay and these guys carrying long funny-looking sticks come ashore and announce you've just been discovered, you're all subjects of the Emperor now, he's keen on presents called tax and these bright-eyed holy men would like a word with your priests.