“I think you're mashing the trigger studs. All your shots are going low right. You can adjust the sight to compensate, or rely on the smart-barrel, but you're better off drilling good technique.”
“These old-style trigger studs aren't what I'm used to.”
Jordahk wondered if Durn was used to anything when it came to marksmanship—or combat. He didn't seem that kind of guy. But he'd come a long way since opposing their crazy plan during Egress Incident. Jordahk knew it was crazy, even with Glick and Cranium at his side. Now Durn had transformed his exterior, including teeth made artificially white. One tip off that he might still be the same underneath was the subtle stain of a stimgar ring. His dark hair, with outdated gray fashion stripe, was long gone, replaced by shoulder length locks with metallic highlights. They seemed even more reflective than when Jordahk and Khai had encountered him at High Castle.
Khai… I hope you found a new life beyond the 'Vex.
Jordahk disciplined himself back to the here and now. “Why'd you pick an autobuss? Every other pistol out there is easier to use.”
Durn puffed out his chest. “It's the weapon of the exceptional.”
“Two centuries ago maybe.” Jordahk reprimanded himself for the sudden spike of cynicism.
Where did that come from?
Durn was right—about the autobuss at least. Then again, the man had somehow convinced others of his heroics at both the Egress Incident and the Incursion at Windermere.
“It's true though, about the autobuss,” Jordahk continued. “And perhaps not so long ago either. After all, Roy Hodges carried one.” The man, a founder of Adams Rush along with Jefferson Adams and supposedly, Thule-Riss Quext, was revered and lived a long life well into its establishment. “Anyway, try pushing your mental assent to fire to the end of the trigger stud squeeze.”
“I don't see—” Durn fidgeted.
“Just try it.” The shots still missed even as Durn tried to compensate by aiming higher and to the left. The tiny movement of the gun before recoil remained noticeable to the trained eye. “Let me try. Maybe there's something wrong.”
Durn was hesitant, but some were watching and he apparently didn't want to draw unnecessary attention. “It's just that, well…” He reluctantly handed the pistol over.
Jordahk's eyes grew wide with a start. “This isn't an autobuss!”
“Keep it down, adam.” Durn glanced back over their shoulders.
Breaking open the breach revealed holes for six cartridges, but in the center, where the large legacy shell chamber was supposed to reside, was nothing but metal.
“A scientum replica,” Jordahk said.
“Well, I'm told it feels like the real thing.” It didn't. “Besides, my link's scientum.”
A part of him felt obligated to defend the legacy of mystic, but Durn was trying to emulate it, not disparage it. And Jordahk was not about to appoint himself arbiter of all things mystic. People could do what they wanted in the Asterfraeo. And if not on their planet, they could find one that suited them.
He shrugged and squeezed off a few shots. They landed just off-center. It was a strange experience holding something with the form of an autobuss, yet as dead as an ingot of electrum. He had to draw on old skills to shoot it well.
“Max, check its specs and do an output comparison.”
“Its functioning within tolerances, but I'm more of an expert on the real thing. This is Highearn's department.”
“Send it over. Maybe he'll spot something.”
“Let's keep this to ourselves.” Durn said.
“It's just my father's AI. Believe me, it's a good bet Kord knew what this was the second you fired it.”
Highearn didn't take long. “Balancing three pairs of accelerators in an autobuss, versus two in most scientum gristers, strains different components.” The weapons expert in Highearn was coming out. “Throwing unaltered scientum accelerators into a replica without accounting for that will reduce accuracy as components wear. It's subtle, but it's there. I've uploaded a compensation program which should keep the pistol accurate, but after significant heavy use, it will lose effectiveness.”
“Thanks Highearn.” Jordahk handed the pistol back to Durn. “Consider it all part of our service.” Durn took a few more shots. At least the gun was more accurate. “Keep working on that trigger stud mash, especially for the final exercises.”
“Okay, line up for approach drills,” Kord said. “Let's see what you've retained.”
Approach drills put their clients under stress on purpose. They were entertaining because you never knew what would happen. It wasn't unusual to see a fine target shooter get rattled under the pressure, and an average shooter hold a steady hand to beat back the approach. The drill almost always highlighted areas in need of improvement.
“Group one, to the line,” Vittora said.
“I'm going to run the approach drill with the law enforcement façade,” Kord commed privately.
Solia shook her head not comprehending what that meant.
“Are you sure?” Jordahk sub-whispered. “With this bunch? You might scare them half out of their wits.”
“These people are looking for exhilaration,” Vittora commed. “They'll have a great vacation story to tell.”
“And those in the observation lounge are looking to be entertained,” Kord commed. “Don't underestimate word-of-mouth.”
To beat the drill, enough damage had to be put on the approaching target before it reached you. The target's speed and agility increased according to difficulty level. His father would likely run most people in this class at level one, with a few earning level two.
Kord asked Vittora to demonstrate level three. It would make the clients apprehensive, but stress on the practice range was a great way to keep them alive if ever confronted with the real thing.
A hard air wall closed behind Vittora for the protection of those behind. People did strange things under stress, not that his mother would, but they'd seen some wacky responses that made Jordahk grateful for the precaution.
From the far end of the range a combat bot hurled himself out of the alcove and started weaving his way toward Vittora. The clients gasped and the mouths of the two boys dropped open. She drew from the shoulder holster of her red bolero jacket and put accurate shots downrange. Because her grister was light, it took more impacts to pause the robot briefly before it bolted forward again.
The bot was beaten back three times, but now the range was getting close. Of course, in the real world, it was almost impossible to stop the things short of a combat rifle or sheller. His parents knew that, unfortunately, firsthand. Vittora switched to three shot bursts and let them rip. Sparks flew off the bot's head until it finally tumbled to the ground, still. His mother holstered and turned around, as unruffled as he expected. After all, she'd faced the real thing. The clients looked apprehensive.
Kord sent the robot back to the alcove. He didn't want the illusion broken and the participants to realize it was only a target ball simulation. The bot and the hitting effects were all VADs, generated by the grister resistant device. But their clients didn't need to know that. The more real it was to them, the better.
Some had never shot before this seminar. For them his father chose a custom beginner setting. The first to test it were the two boys. A rickety, out-of-control maintenance bot charged them with about half level one difficulty. The first yelped in fear, before getting a grip. With the parents yelling encouragements, the boys scored hits. At the end they both turned away as the bot lunged for them. It halted at the last second with arms menacingly outstretched.
The two long adolescent girls hadn't been serious during training. His father didn't appreciate it, and Jordahk understood why. They expected the maintenance bot scenario when it was their turn, but his father changed it up using the power of the high-end range.
As the first one stood ready the environment changed. It placed her at the end of an open field backed by woods. The distant whine of fans emanated from the
treeline, putting the girl on alert. Then everyone heard the loud roar of a rocket, and a seeker drone blasted out. The zigging and zagging was almost nil, keeping it half level one. The drone was slow and quite oversized to make it easier to hit, but still neither long adolescent did well.
The second one panicked, running away shooting blindly behind her. All the loaner pistols, like those the girls used, had overrides. Highearn immediately turned it off. The incident demonstrated the wisdom of the hard air wall. In an open range without similar protection, Kord would never allow those girls to do this drill.
Most of the others did well. The sempai couple were not fazed by fake danger. The wife successfully beat level one, and her husband, who was squared away, almost beat level two. They both got hearty congratulations from their fellows.
His father kept changing the enemy to keep attendees on their toes. No one ever complained about not getting value for their coin. Durn was the first to encounter an enemy that sent a chill into most people.
A loud howl echoed from the back of the range. Murmuring stopped short when a black DAWG raced from behind the alcove. Even knowing it was fake, seeing that thing charge triggered a reaction in the human mind. Its red eyes glowed extra bright and its claws made scraping sounds against the deck.
The pressure was more real than the DAWG. Durn was sweating and his hands trembled. A few shots hit the DAWG randomly, but they weren't in the target zone and its approach didn't pause. The former Orbital officer burned through ammo about as fast as possible for single-shot mode.
An autobuss didn't have burst mode or full automatic, although you could command one to shoot that way. Since it only carried six cartridges, each providing five standard shots, one could burn through all the ammunition fast. Durn did.
He failed to open the breach on the first try, and fumbled pulling cartridges off his belt, dropping one to the deck. He looked down at it—
“Don't retrieve it with pistol drawn!” Kord yelled. “Just grab another.”
The DAWG lost its footing and fell, no doubt his father's mercy, gaining Durn a few extra seconds.
“He's still got a chance!” one of the boys said.
The man got two cartridges loaded and was reaching for a third.
“Two will do,” Kord urged. “You don't have time for more. Just shoot.”
Jordahk couldn't bring himself to cheer, but something in him hoped Durn would at least pause the DAWG once. He flicked the breach closed, harder than necessary, and began firing. The shots came out fast considering he only had ten. Despite his trigger stud mash, which continued, the man managed to land enough hits to pause the approach once. That got him light applause. Then he was out of ammo and put his head down as the DAWG made a final lunge.
It wasn't the worst showing possible, especially considering the man's skill level coming in, and his peculiar weapon choice.
Was he expecting to be an expert just because he carried an autobuss?
Kord moved close, watching the man's post drill actions carefully. Durn got the hint and holstered the faux autobuss before retrieving his fallen ammo. His overall performance was enough to save face, and he received a handful of congratulations. Durn took them as if he'd aced it. Maybe that would soon be the story. And who knows, perhaps the account would eventually relate that he felled a real DAWG.
They were going to end the seminar with the confidence course. Runs through it always proved entertaining. After a brief discussion, his parents chose five shooters.
“Solia will now demonstrate level one,” Kord said.
The girl showed a brief hint of surprise, and met Jordahk's eyes. After a second she stepped to the line with confidence. Whether feigned or real, he didn't know. She checked her pistol like a pro. It was similar to Vittora's, just smaller with reduced magazine capacity. Then without preamble, the drill started.
“Ghost on,” Kord commanded.
A monochromatic, translucent image of a former participant appeared next to Solia as she ran to various stations, took required shooting stances, and picked off targets both stationary and moving. The range AI switched ghosts on the fly, displaying the one closest to Solia's progress. A number appeared showing what place it represented. The current ghost, in 102nd place, looked like a long adolescent male.
Solia gained confidence as she continued. The shooting stances had been so drilled into her that she moved through them automatically and was able to concentrate on her marksmanship. The ghosts switched numerous times, and she soon raced with 75th place.
The girl was light on her feet and a pleasure to watch. She wore light earth tones that clung to her slim contours, divided by a dark pistol belt. Jordahk realized he had taken the view for granted when he saw the close attention being paid by clients and observation lounge crowd alike. A new observer, a man in uniform, leaned against the crystal, staring with above average interest.
“Looks like the record holder himself has come to watch the finale,” Max said.
For some reason, Jordahk didn't like the man's attention toward Solia. It became quickly apparent, though, that it was more about the shooting than a pretty girl.
She was smooth through the technical portion and entered a projected shoot-house. At level one, she'd have to deal with standard targets and friend-or-foe decisions. It reminded Jordahk of their block house back on Adams Rush, although this one depicted stark walls instead of their old, wooden tiers.
Solia moved through with alacrity, taking corners by slicing-the-pie as they'd been taught. In real life, one might have a myriad of tech aids to help clear a structure… or one might not. The basic skills were always with you and provided a well-rounded foundation.
Most opponents were waiting for her, but a few began going on offense. That's when the simulation threw in a fleeing civilian. She almost shot the man, and it rattled her rhythm. She progressed too slowly after that and lost places, but at least took no hits.
“She's a slim, wily target.” Jordahk nodded approvingly.
The last room contained multiple emerging enemies. She was back on her game, displaying competence in eliminating them. It raised her score to a 79th place finish. She holstered and sought Jordahk's eyes before any others. Her face was flushed and she smiled, exhilaration infusing her countenance. She'd come amazingly far since Isadore's death.
The rest of the chosen clients took their turns, showing significant improvement from the morning, but none scoring above 300th place. The level one confidence course was the easiest and most popular. Even with scores rotating off after a year, with just about everyone taking a crack at it, sheer luck brought up its average.
Solia drifted to his side.
“Nice shooting,” Jordahk whispered. “I hope Dard doesn't put us head-to-head in a shoot-house anytime soon.”
The girl smiled self-consciously, trying to obscure it by adjusting her long braid. “So Vittora and I have shot. Does this mean you're next?”
Jordahk sighed. “Almost certainly…”
“Company has come down,” Max link-said to them both.
The first officer, flanked by two crewmen, entered and leaned against the back bulkhead, arms folded.
Chapter Nine
From the private correspondence of:
Decimus, Senior Commander,
Neumanus Vexillation, 26/2413
Janus my son,
Our Admiral, now appointed Field Commander of the Neumanus Vexillation, is anxious to get our ships to the baseworld of this so-called Freespace Movement. The technology of the Sojourner's has become a great influence on this war. The tide of many battles has rested on whether asymmetric mystic X-factors were successfully brought to bear. It's much worse at the hands of their dreaded Centurions. High Command is desperate to get their hands on prototypes and records before they disappear into the distant, barren worlds of the new territory many call the Asterfreao.
The battles getting us this close were dreadful slogs, but now that we're firmly ensconced at Lars Regilliu
m, the pressure from the Sojourners and their allies has diminished. They expended much slowing the establishment of this base. The Neumanus Argonav fields superior ships, but we outnumber them by greater extents every month. If the silly coddling of androids, a practice I'm glad to see has fallen into great disfavor, did anything for us, it was advancing our AI and robotics technologies. Every iteration of ship that comes off our lines has greater automation, and saves the lives of more crew.
The Field Commander has built up a considerable force. He's ready to make the final push toward Neumanus. Only their strange berserker champions can slow us, but even they can't stop us. A single ship, however mighty, only holds a speck of space, and their depleted Argonav can do little more. Their staryards are moved afar off, while our reinforcements from the Six Sisters egress out much faster. Indeed the production from Magnus Centar is considerable. I hear the whole yard complex is being called Umbria Magnus now. A grand name to be sure, but they have lived up to it.
I want to tell you more, but I cannot until we reach Neumanus with a surprise for the enemy. But it will begin the last chapter of this war. The Perigeum is bringing order to fractionated mankind. The Sojourners and their followers will disrupt that no longer.
▪ ▫ ▪
The displays pinged an update. The AIs had compiled a digest from government information dumps and spy reports.
Janus scanned it. “Drak.”
His freedom to emote was secure behind the First Cruiser's command chair privacy. Data retrieved at the last egress showed increasing symptoms of a deeper problem.
Regulators had moved in force to stem an uprising at Beuker. They made a temporary alliance with local criminal enforcers. Not good policy, nor the kind of thing he wanted publicized. But it was better than the military quashing the place. Cheaper too.
Besides, the Starmada was needed for flare-ups far from Beuker and that entire troublesome region. Two centuries after the costly victory over the Sojourner homeworld Neumanus, its neighborhood was still infected with nonconformity.
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