And they never had to reload either, Darrin thought, as Austin patiently showed them how to reload the gun. What sort of weapons had infinite bullets? Somehow, he had a feeling that the depiction of unlimited ammunition was also unrealistic. What else did they get wrong? Or lie about?
It grew easier to fire as he practiced with the weapon, time and time again. Austin seemed pleased with their progress; he even picked up a couple of other weapons and demonstrated how to use them. Darrin discovered that he liked the pistol, but its accuracy – at least in his hands – was definitely awful. Austin, on the other hand, could hit the targets reliably with each hand.
“So,” Barry said, when they were taking a break, “what were you doing with the guns before you came here?”
Austin smiled. “I was taught how to use one as soon as I was old enough,” he said. “It was my job to pot rabbits and birds for my mother to cook. You never know when you might need a weapon to hunt, particularly when the food is running short. And besides, hunting teaches you to be cunning.”
Barry leaned forward. “Did you ever actually kill someone?”
“Not yet,” Austin said. He didn't seem alarmed by the question. “Having a gun doesn't give you a licence to kill.”
“But people are killed here,” Barry said. “Why?”
Darrin shivered. The line of questions bothered him – but, as far as he could tell, Austin didn't seem to find it anything out of the ordinary. Maybe it wasn't out of the ordinary for him, Darrin wondered; maybe he’d actually discussed killing with his friends and family, dissecting what had happened to others and learning from their experiences. Darrin had had to undergo a few such sessions himself in school, although they’d been tedious and consisted largely of the teachers telling them what others had done wrong. There had been no room for debate.
“Every so often, bandits attack farms and have to be beaten off,” Austin said. “Then there’s the immigrants from other worlds who don’t realise that no means no.”
Surprise sex, Darrin thought, remembering the jokes the boys had made about taking the girls by surprise. It had seemed funny at the time, a way of proving their dominance over the women. But if there had been a very real risk of death, he asked himself, would it have been so amusing?
They went back to the shooting range and tested several other weapons. Darrin found himself watching Barry carefully, noting how the boy’s entire demeanour seemed to change when he was clutching a weapon in his oversized hands. Silently, Darrin cursed the events that had conspired to throw him and Barry together. Maybe he should have made friends with one of the other boys, maybe even Gary. Sitting next to Barry was like sitting next to a tiger, desperately stuffing food in its mouth in the hopes that it would be too full to eat him next.
“Tell me,” Barry said, after firing off another six shots towards the targets. “How do you actually get a weapon?”
“You buy it, generally,” Austin said. He seemed rather puzzled by the question. “Take your money to a stall, buy the weapon you want and then take it away. My father threw a fit when I brought home the first rifle I’d purchased with my own money. I’d forgotten to buy ammunition to go with it.”
Darrin shook his head in disbelief. His mother would have been horrified if he'd come home with a live weapon – at least if she’d been sober at the time - although Fitz would probably have stolen it. The thought of shooting the bastard was very attractive; surely, Austin had to be joking. Didn't the colonials ever have homicidal desires against their fellow men? There were so many hatreds in the cityblocks that adding weapons would merely have led to a bloody slaughter.
Gary might take a shot at Barry, Darrin thought. If a gun gave anyone the power to kill, what would it do to Gary? There were weaker boys who fought like mad bastards when attacked, even though they couldn't hope to win. What would they do with guns? And would it really be a bad idea if Barry died?
The thought nagged at his mind. He’d known that Barry and Moe would always be there, at least unless they ran afoul of the gangs. But that was unlikely; they’d probably leave school at seventeen and go right into the gangs, serving as enforcers. He tried to form a mental image of them being killed by their superiors for molesting girls or otherwise threatening the protection rackets, but that was unlikely too. They were just too promising as thugs to be thrown away so easily.
“Really,” Barry said. Darrin had to think to remember what they were talking about. “What did your father do?”
“Refused to buy any ammunition and said I would have to wait until I earned more allowance before I could fire the gun,” Austin said. “And told me off for carelessness.”
He shook his head. “Dad was right,” he admitted. “A weapon is useless without ammunition and not particularly helpful unless you know how to use it.”
Darrin pulled his mind all the way back to the conversation. “How many rounds do you fire off?”
“Hundreds, every time I come here,” Austin said. “I’m practicing for the trials to become a Bush Ranger. You have to be an expert shot, as well as a hunter, a basic doctor and quite a few other skills. Being in the city isn't really helpful.”
“I can see why,” Darrin said. “Where do you normally live?”
“On my father’s farm,” Austin said. He shrugged. “It's fairly common for youngsters to take a year or two working somewhere else, just to give them a taste of other occupations. I spent four months on the boats and discovered I hated it. Fishing is the one sort of hunting I dislike.”
Darrin had to smile. At least Austin had some limitations. It was funny, but finding out that there was something Austin couldn't do made him like the other boy. He'd seemed too perfect, particularly since he'd cooked breakfast and then had the girls staring at him whenever he'd been looking the other way.
“Take your final shots now,” Austin added, glancing at his watch. “We don’t want to be here during lunch break.”
Barry laughed. “Why not?”
“Because a few dozen people will come here for lunch, eat their sandwiches and hold a small shooting contest,” Austin said. “And while I can take part, you two cannot – at least, not yet. You’d need months of practice before you were ready to take part in a shooting contest.”
“There are such contests?” Darrin asked. “Why ...?”
“Fun,” Austin said. “My sister Judy won the last sharpshooting contest for teenagers.”
Darrin blinked. Judy? No, the name was a coincidence; it couldn't be anything else. And yet, he remembered just how desperate his Judy had been to ingrate herself to him, even opening her legs as soon as he’d asked. She had been willing to offer him everything in exchange for protection. Somehow, he couldn't imagine Austin’s Judy doing the same. If she could shoot – and win a contest against others with a similar background – she had to be able to take care of herself. He’d never met the girl, yet he found himself certain that she was just like her brother. Everyone here had grown up in a very different environment.
Austin waited for Darrin to fire the final shots, then led them both back into the reception room and spoke briefly to the bored-looking man. Darrin watched him for a long moment, then jerked in surprise as Barry poked him with a long finger. He was still carrying the rifle, pointing it out the door towards a large vehicle. Darrin saw the grin on his face and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, just what Barry had in mind. He opened his mouth to say something, but it was already too late. Barry squeezed the trigger and the gun fired.
Austin spun around. “What the fuck ...?”
Darrin barely heard him, even though it was the first time he’d heard Austin swear. The bullet had struck the vehicle’s windscreen, shattering it. An alarm sounded a moment later, the vehicle’s lights flashing on and off in time with the honking horn. Someone started to shout in outrage, the words blurring together; several pedestrians were drawing weapons of their own and taking cover ...
Austin ran forward and grabbed the gun in Barry’s hand, forcing
it down towards the ground. Barry giggled and held on to the weapon, despite the clear anger in Austin’s face. The colonial boy didn't hesitate; he poked something that looked like a silver pencil into Barry’s arm. Barry jerked, as if he'd been zapped with something, then collapsed to the ground. Darrin opened his mouth to speak, then gaped as the bored-looking man – no longer looking quite so bored – pointed a pistol at his face.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” he snarled. The tiny pistol muzzle looked large enough to swallow the moon, a black hole consuming Darrin’s attention. “Up in the air.”
Darrin obeyed, shaking. He’d never felt so close to death, not even during his first real fight, when he’d been determined to win to force the older boys to find easier targets. He didn't even dare to move as his hands were yanked behind his back and something hard and plastic was wrapped around them, keeping him firmly trapped.
But it was the look in Austin’s eyes – a strange mixture of betrayal and disappointment – that left him feeling shaken and cold. They could have been friends, he saw now, friends and allies, even if they came from very different worlds. But Barry had ruined it, just like he ruined everything.
It took all his remaining determination to keep from crying.
Chapter Twenty
Worse, as teachers were no longer in charge of the schools (if they had ever been) they were not able to maintain effective discipline. Children need rules and boundaries; the teachers were simply not permitted to write the rules or even enforce them.
- Professor Leo Caesius. Education and the Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire.
The prison cell was a dark and dismal place.
Darrin had to admit, as he sat on the bunk, his hands still cuffed behind his back, that the architect was a genius in his own way. He’d designed a cell that made it very clear to the inhabitant that he or she was in deep trouble. The walls were made of dark stone, the front of the cell was sealed with iron bars and the bunk was firmly fixed to the floor. And the less said about the toilet, the better. With his hands cuffed, he wasn't even sure how he was meant to use it, when the time came to finally go.
He silently cursed Barry under his breath as he waited, knowing that there was nothing else he could do. The man at the shooting range had handed him over to a burly man in a blue uniform, who had marched him through the streets, into a smaller building and dumped him into a cell. Being exposed to so many stares had been humiliating, even if he didn't know any of them personally. It had been mere luck, he suspected, that none of the others from Earth had seen him. And then he’d been told to wait.
Time seemed to have slowed down to a crawl. Darrin had no idea how long he’d been in the cell, but somehow it seemed preferable to wait rather than face the music. They’d been warned that this wasn't Earth, yet Barry hadn't listened. And nor had Darrin, not really. They hadn't really understood what they’d been told. He tested the cuffs – again – and cursed inwardly as he realised they were unbreakable. There was no escape.
He looked up as he heard someone come into the room. Yates was standing there, his face grim. Darrin cringed inwardly, knowing that it was going to be bad. Very bad. If Yates had made them scrub the decks for months after a minor bullying incident – very minor, compared to some of the incidents on Earth – who knew what he would do to them now? And, coming to think of it, where was Barry?
“So tell me,” Yates said, as he unlocked the cell and stepped inside. “Just what were you thinking, really?”
Darrin swallowed. “I didn't mean to do anything,” he whined. “I ... it was Barry who fired the shot!”
“Yes, I suppose it was,” Yates agreed. “So tell me. Why didn't you do anything to stop him?”
Darrin swallowed again. He could have said something, or done something, but the truth was that he’d done nothing, that he’d been too intimidated by Barry to stand in his way. Maybe he could stand up for himself better than Gary, maybe he had beaten Fitz to within an inch of his life, yet he’d still been reluctant to risk Barry’s anger. But his failure to stand up to his ... acquaintance had cost him dearly. The memory of the look in Austin’s eyes made him shudder. They could have been friends.
“No answer, then,” Yates said. “Did it not occur to you that letting him vandalise property might upset people?”
“But the gangs do it all the time on Earth,” Darrin protested, finding his voice. “And the schools are vandalised regularly ...”
“That’s because Earth’s government doesn't punish the gangs for their actions,” Yates informed him, coldly. “And because the block residents don’t stand up for themselves, not even slightly. Do you think they know, I wonder, that quite a few cityblocks have been pushed to the limits by vandals, vandals who have smashed or damaged air circulation subsystems? You should be grateful that there are so many redundancies built into your block’s systems. Without them, you would all have suffocated to death by now.
“But this isn't Earth. You damaged a vehicle belonging to a resident of this planet, who is demanding recompense. And you will have to pay.”
“I want a lawyer,” Darrin said. Each of Yates’s words felt worse than a blow from Fitz, even the ones that had left him bruised and bleeding. “It wasn't me who fired the shot.”
He gathered himself. “I shouldn't even be in jail,” he added. “I’ll sue ...”
Yates laughed at him. “Sue who?”
Darrin found himself scrabbling for excuses, even though he knew what he was doing. “He shouldn't have parked the car there,” he protested. “And they shouldn't have given us guns. And I ...”
Yates strode forward, caught him by the collar and hauled him into the air. “Are you suggesting that the victim is to blame? Do you imagine that he hung signs all over his car inviting you to shoot it? Or that merely giving you the opportunity, without having the slightest idea that he was doing so, made him the guilty party?”
His voice became mocking. “Oh, it was such a tempting target,” he sneered. “I can't be blamed for taking a shot at it.”
Darrin winced as Yates dropped him back onto the bunk. “That is the logic of a coward, the logic of a man who cannot accept responsibility for his own actions – or his failures to act.”
“I’m no coward,” Darrin protested. “I ...”
Yates ignored him. “There’s a girl showing legs that go all the way up to heaven,” he continued, in the same sneering tone. “I didn’t mean to rape her; she seduced me into raping her by wearing such revealing clothes. That man’s wallet in his pocket was just begging me to steal it. The teacher whose leg I broke was such an unpleasant guy he was practically demanding to be hurt. It’s not my fault!”
He glared down into Darrin’s eyes. “That’s what I’ve heard, time and time again, from people just like you. People who are unable to admit that they were responsible for their own actions. Those people are cowards.”
Darrin gathered himself. “I am not a coward!”
Yates’s held his eyes. “No?”
Darrin hesitated. He hated the thought of being considered a coward, but ... the thought nagged at his mind. How many times had he chosen to go along with Barry, just to avoid the bigger boy’s dislike – or to avoid making himself a target? How many times had he surrendered to Fitz, in hopes it would save him from a beating? How many times had he seen someone smaller and weaker than himself get picked on and done nothing? And how many times had he picked on someone himself? He hadn't ever picked a fight with someone bigger than him.
“You could have stopped Barry,” Yates said, quietly. “Or you could have stopped talking to him on the ship. Why didn't you?”
“Because I was scared,” Darrin admitted. The words tasted like ashes in his mouth. “I was scared, all right?”
“We make progress,” Yates said. “Answer me a question. What do you want to do with your life?”
“I don’t know,” Darrin said. There was literally nothing beyond the end of his schooling. “I can find a job,
perhaps.”
Yates snorted. “You know, your teachers aren't really allowed to keep proper records of your progress through the school system,” he said. “On the face of it, there’s nothing to separate you from the thousands of other young brats in your class. But I can read between the lines – and I’ve been testing you on the ship. Your reading level is staggeringly poor; you cannot write at all.”
“But I don’t need to read and write,” Darrin objected. “The reader does all that for me.”
“Yes, in school,” Yates said. “But not being able to read makes it impossible for you to learn material your teachers don’t select for you. It also makes it impossible to hold down a worthwhile job. But even if that wasn't a problem, your maths skills are pretty basic, at least outside gambling. You can calculate the odds quickly, but little else. And your levels of general understanding of science, history, biology and current studies are almost nonexistent.”
“But those are boring,” Darrin said.
“And necessary,” Yates said. “In short, you lack even the knowledge to understand just how badly off you are. You may stay in the school system until you are twenty-one, unless you decide to leave early, but what will you do after that? You are not even thuggish enough to join the gangs. No, you’ll stay in your apartment, eat algae bars and start helping some poor bitch to turn out the next generation of CityBlock residents. And, if you are lucky, you’ll live long enough to see your grandchildren before you die.”
He stepped backwards. “You’re not the only one in the same boat,” he added. “Tell me, how much do you actually know about Kailee?”
Darrin considered it. “Ice princess,” he said, finally. “No one has ever had her.”
The Empire's Corps: Book 07 - Reality Check Page 18