Ballad of the Integration Movement
by Mr. Scade
Part 1: War is Declared, and Opportunity has Come
Balthaza stood some six floors above, on the balcony of the apartment overlooking the town centre. He had a double on the top floor of a building to the right, overlooking the same scene but with seven times more pomp and boasting. Balthaza hoped that idiot would get killed at some point today, if only to get rid of that slobbering lickspittle. Only that would make the whole expense worth his while. If it also proved to lure some assassin out for blood all the better.
“Everything seems to be going according to plan.” He said into the wind. He put his elbows on the balustrade, giving his feet some respite. Why had he decided to have puppy heels as part of his ensemble? Outright impractical. The thought was somewhat funny, giving the context of the situation and who he had thrown his lot with. Impractical, beautiful, sexy looks. Part of what he stood for nowadays. Well, that is the point, isn’t it? Perfection? On the town centre, people were running from side to side. Screams sounded but where quickly cut short as they were Integrated into Balthaza’s twisted utopia. But, is it really mine? He wanted to sigh but he couldn’t let his minions see him in doubt.
“Integration of the town’s population will be complete in two days, Great One.” The Secretary said behind him. “Although, pockets of resistance are springing all over the place.” She sounded worried.
He quenched those doubting thought as he turned around. His Secretary was just that; her blue and white hair tied back in a bun, glasses that saw more than just letters sitting comfortably on an angular face, which was painted in blue and white chequered pattern. Her nearly cartoonish bosom was nearly squished against her chest by an incredibly tight and shiny skintight blouse-corset with a plunging neckline that reached all the way into her equally skin tight pencil skirt, which strained to keep her bubble butt in place. Both pieces of her uniform were in light blue and white stripes. Her legs were clad in the same material, but black in colour. Her stilettos were towering and dangerous, and, indeed, they were. Balthaza had seen those heels do more damage than guns, in Secretary’s hands. Everyone involved in the Integration was dangerous in some way.
“What is it?” Balthaza said, putting as much authority as he could muster into his voice.
Secretary tried to cringe but such responses had been removed from her mind. She looked at the tablet in her hand. “Reports say that some people have proven... immune to Integration.”
And everything had been going so smoothly, Balthaza thought. Not to betray his emotions, he turned back over the balcony. A squad of Interns was marching up the street. He smiled at the sight of all the beautiful women, all in the pinnacle of female fitness; with the same long legs, same ample bosoms and buttocks, and same height as Secretary. Their uniforms, however, were in shades of reds and pinks—red for the vanguard, pink for the rearguard—and instead of skirts they wore skintight slacks that flared at the ankles, hiding their somewhat crash heeled boots. He was proud of their creation. At least those are doing wonders. Good idea to ignore beauty over practicality. He frowned at the thought. He was Commander of Integration, he shouldn’t be thinking about practicality over aesthetics. It was... wrong. Everything had to be beautiful! Everything needed to be pleasing to the senses. That imperative was above everything else. People needed to be beautiful, deliciously pleasing, and erotically eye-catching, practicality came second. What was the point of living if you weren’t perfect? And yet... wasn’t the whole point of Integration to increase productivity? He wanted to ask Secretary about those somewhat conflicting ideas, but he didn’t. He didn’t trust her so much, not yet at least. If ever.
“What’s the demographic of those pockets of resistance?” Balthaza said finally, focusing on the present.
“Mostly art students, musicians, some charity people...” Balthaza heard some typing behind him. “And engineers. Seems an odd group to resist Integration. Scientist, hairdressers, corporatives and department store clerks are the easiest to fall. We’re capturing the... oddities and preparing for transport.”
Balthaza frowned. Odd group but... He heard someone scream and he looked to the southeast. There, a group of three men had just been spotted by the squad of Interns. They began to run, but the front file of Interns caught up to them in no time. With their long legs and training they could catch up with a man speeding on a bicycle. Three young men who seemed to ignore leg day at the gym? Bah! Indeed, I believe High Command will overlook my preference of practicality over Aesthethics, he thought with a smile as the three men were rounded up and brought back to the bulk of the squad. I wonder what they’ll become, he thought. No matter how often he saw the process, and how much of it he had actually designed, Balthaza was still fascinated by it. To most in the Integration, the process seemed random; people that clearly were Secretary material turned into Maidstresses, and people who had experience as Workers turned into Enforcers. But Balthaza knew that it wasn’t so much about the person’s looks, skills, or history, but something more... intrinsic. He wasn’t quite sure what it was that the machines latched onto—that was a sore spot for him, as designer of the process—but he knew it was more about spirit than anything else. No wonder others in the Integration didn’t recognise it—how to recognise something that wasn’t visual? It went against the Credo.
All Intern squads carried two Integrators. They looked like cast moulds of a human body, one male and one female, each attached to a small cart holding a box and a sphere. They were made out of aluminium, for lightness, and could withstand anything short of a bomb. The Vanguard Interns brought the three trashing males forward. Efficiently the women opened the two Integrators and using sheer force pushed two of the men into them. It didn’t matter what gender they were, the Integrator would do its designed job. Meanwhile the third man had slumped to the ground—he was crying. Balthaza imagined the process in his mind: the vacuums sucking in all the air, pulling in the coating of oozouchn—the beautiful material half-way between latex and the blood of a god—on the inside of the casts, completely coating the person inside. The oozouchn would then be electrified and come alive, working its delicious, perfectionist magic on their bodies. At the same time the spheres would start rotating, bombarding their mind with the Credo, engraving it into their very beings.
Above, his double kept ranting about his exploits, about his plans to bring the town and then the world the perfection. People were cheering him, mostly cronies of the High Command, people who had seemingly joined the Integration but hadn’t gone through any process to ensure they understood the Credo. They were useful, however. Useful to an extent, that was why Balthaza had commanded them to “be with him”. Luckily, no one knew it was a double. Those will be Integrated once their usefulness expires, he thought.
Below he saw the squad, which had organized itself in a defensive formation around the machines, start to spread out in rings. A basic defensive-scouting formation. Balthaza looked at the machines and smiled as the female cast opened with a puff of pink steam. A woman very much like the rest of the Interns stepped out. So far out he couldn’t see her face, which was a shame. Face conversions was one of his favourite details. The male cast opened with a puff of red steam, but the body inside tried to run away, stumbling some steps before falling. Rearguard Interns quickly caught up with him and held the man, who looked as if he had run the distance of Glasgow to Venice in a day. Balthaza frowned. Shame but... interesting. He looked at the new Rearguard Squad and then looked at the sheer numbers that specific Intern Squad had.
“They got a new Intern.” He said, idly.
Secretary was standing next to him, back straight, eyes surgically inspecting the scene. “Yes. They’ve done very well, better than others.” She tapped her tablet. “In fact, out of all the squads sent in, the Fourth Intern Squad has nearly tripled their numbers. It seems they have a knack for finding Interns-in-training, Sir.”
“Yes... that seems to be the case.” Balthaza said, a thought forming. He saw how the third man was pushed into the male cast and, after some minutes, a man covered from head to toe in a skintight, chequered-pattern green suit stepped out. That one will have to be guarded and sent to the Workers. Waste of time and resources, as he won’t know what to think or do with the Interns. It was a problem with the design: no matter how much the Squads tried to push their particular directives into the machines, they always turned the victims into what the machine felt they had to be. If only there was a way to make it so that Workers created Workers, Interns created Interns and so on. Though, this squad seems to be adept at it, if they’ve tripled their numbers.
Balthaza smiled as, from the outer ring of Interns, some five new victims were being hauled. Balthaza breathed in, feeling his skin come alive at the excitement. He loved the thought of Integration—it excited him. How couldn’t it, considering that it was perfection, it was the way things should be. And it was in part thanks to him. Efficiency, beauty, perfection, all brought to the world thanks to Balthaza’s work. And that of lesser people.
“Secretary,” Balthaza said after he got off the high. “I want the data from every single Integration done today to be sent to me, personally. I aim to find a way to make the process more efficient.”
The woman turned to stare at Balthaza, eyes wide. “Sir... you... is that possible? To make us even more efficient would be...” The woman shuddered, growing excited. As she should: efficiency was an arousing thought.
Balthaza fed off her own excitement, making his own grow. He turned away from the squad of Interns, suddenly bored with their work. The Secretary’s gaze fell down between his legs, looking at what his excitement has made his body do. Her gaze remained there, nearly blank. It wasn’t the flesh that had made her stare, not really. Such things had been purged out of the Integration. But, like him, she knew that he was aroused because of the Integrations, because he wanted to make everything more efficient and beautiful. And being aroused at that was in itself arousing.
Balthaza allowed her to look for a minute before calling her attention. “How long before the authorities and the ADHA show up?”
Secretary quickly returned to her programming. She quickly tapped on her tablet. “Half-an-hour. A squad of Human Resources wasn’t able to capture all the police officers in the area at once. Some escaped. ADHA is en-route, our spies say.”
Balthaza frowned. “Where is Anti-Robotica, exactly?”
“Inbound.” She said.
“Where, Secretary?” Balthaza asked, letting some exasperation cling to his tone.
“The spies didn’t say, Sir.” Her face was still placid, but Balthaza could see a tick in the corner of her eyes. She was worried about something.
They found the spies, he thought in alarm. Balthaza stood up. “Quickly, send word to all Squad Commanders. We’re pulling out. Now! We cannot risk letting any of our machines fall into the enemy’s hand.“
Secretary gasped. She shook her head, eyes worried. “Sir, you cannot mean that, can you? Look, Integration is coming along so nicely in this place. Our numbers will be doubled by the end of the day! Surely ADHA cannot get here so—”
She didn’t have time to finish that sentence as a deafening sound filled the air, followed by a rumble that shook the building. Balthaza stood up, not even remembering when he had fallen. He waited for the debris to stop falling to look at where the other building had been, now only rubble and fire. At least those cronies are out of my hair now. He thought. He found the Secretary trying to stand up in a corner, her hair and glasses were perfectly placed, but she had soot stains and some of her clothes were ripped in places. That pained Balthaza.
“Send the orders. Now.” Balthaza said.
The Secretary seemed dazed for a moment. She quickly tapped some things on her tablet which had, blessedly, escaped harm. “Done, Sir.” She said, quickly standing up.
Balthaza was already on the balcony. “Intern Squad!” He shouted. “Take the Integrators back to transport. Send out one-third of your numbers to inform stragglers. We’re pulling out!”
The women all saluted. Smoothly and efficiently, they started to obey.
Balthaza turned and faced Secretary. She was shaking, and couldn’t meet his eyes. “You knew.”
She didn’t answer.
“Why?”
“I...” She began, shook her head then straightened. “Sir, I still believe we have superior numbers and equipment. If ADHA sends a clean-up crew we could capture some of them. Finally have an inkling as to what they know and how they function.”
Balthaza stared at the woman, his face cast from iron. “Who gave you that order?”
“No one.”
Is she trustworthy, Balthaz? She went around protocol, He kept looking into those eyes, so full of life and lifeless at the same time. Didn’t you try to push the idea of creativity into High Command to bring in individual perfection and efficiency into the Integration?
“You’re with me from now on. Leave my sight, and I’ll have you demoted.” He said, walking past the secretary and walking out of the building.
On the way down he realised something that he had missed: for the first time in their week-long campaign, ADHA was committing resources.
“Sir, why are you smiling?” Secretary asked when they came onto the street, joined by some of Balthaza’ personal Interns.
“Because, dear, ADHA has just declared war.” He breathed in, growing excited once more. The sun was shining brightly overhead. “We’ve doubled our numbers today and, as you say, the chance to take in some of the enemy will come soon. Not today, though, but very soon.”