Paragon ✓

VIII. Man from Machine

Strive to discover the mystery before life is taken from you.

If while living you fail to find yourself, to know yourself,

how will you be able to understand

the secret of your existence when you die?

- Farid ud Din Attar

The following morning after breakfast, they practiced assembling guns for the first time. For once, Katia was at a disadvantage. Most of the men were already skilled marksmen, and only a few would fall short of the standards for the elite team. On the other hand, apart from Greg Louis' hunting rifle, Katia had never even seen a gun up close, and she suffered doubly from having no desire to touch one. Now she was faced with dozens, of varying shapes and sizes. Unlike the hunting rifle, these firearms were designed to do one thing, which was to kill other human beings. Biting back the aversion that crawled up her throat, threatening to coil into words that might slide out into sound; she reprimanded herself for being so weak and tried to focus on Holden's instructions.

Holden, for his part, was a surprisingly patient teacher. He showed her how to assemble each type of gun, and how to take it apart. He showed her the difference between submachine guns, pistols, and rifles. He demonstrated how to hold each one, and more importantly, he taught her how to handle them safely. In fact, before he let – or rather, forced – her to touch a single weapon, he sat her down at the table and swept his hand over the array of weapons.

"First, always assume that a weapon is loaded, no matter where you find it, or if you unloaded it yourself. Got it?" She nodded. He never had to repeat anything with her. "Okay. Second, never point a weapon at anything you aren't willing to shoot. Third, never put your finger on the trigger unless you are going to shoot. And fourth, know what your target is, and know what's behind it."

"So that you don't accidentally shoot someone?"

"Exactly. Now repeat what I just told you."

She did.

Jackson was there, watching her with hawk eyes and conferring occasionally with Aldous. She began to notice that whenever possible, Jackson spoke preferentially with Aldous over King. The latter had left them alone for the morning. It seemed that they had given Katia and Holden some degree of freedom for the time being, for perhaps they recognized that the two worked best together, without the hindrance of other instructors.

By the end of the morning, she knew from memory the inner workings of an M4 rifle, a Sig Sauer P226, the more powerful FN Five-seveN, a Steyr TMP, a PP-2000, and a Magpul PDR. According to the excited exclamations of the brown-haired young man she'd advised in the icy ditches, the Magpul wasn't supposed to be on the market yet. They gathered around the table, cooing and exclaiming as if the Magpul was their firstborn.

Katia pushed down her contempt and focused on learning the use of each one, the disadvantages of each, which type of ammo they required, how they were to be cleaned and maintained, where every single bolt and nut was placed. She learned to care for these objects she hated in a way she'd never cared for anything before. Within two hours, she could take any one of them apart and put it back together in less than thirty seconds, and she could change magazines in less than two. She accomplished all of these things in the course of a single morning, but she felt no pride.

The first session of hand-to-hand combat came after lunch. The remaining twenty mercenaries were there, along with a number of other graduated specialists who were to oversee the fights, giving feedback on technique afterwards, and preventing the men from going too far. Cassius and Samson were there also, calling out the names of those who were to fight next. Katia suspected that their presence was purely to frighten the mercenaries. It was effective, and she wondered if there was more to the Epsilons' gift than simply inhuman strength.