Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) (14 page)

As I unpacked the loading supplies, I took note of several security cameras. “Don’t try to hide them in here,” I said, looking up. O’Vorley nodded in agreement while I listened in on some of the local conversation. The most prevalent were stories about training, combat, and women, focusing on expertise and subsequent exploits. I didn’t see any female marines. Standard routine, as the military generally kept male and female units segregated.

I didn’t have a stand for loading the Dragoon, so I signaled to O’Vorley and we pulled the bench out and straddled it. “Quick lesson, O’Vorley. How to prepare and load one of these old, old-style revolvers. Always check to make sure it’s clean and clear.” O’Vorley was attentive, so I continued my instruction.

Half way through we’d attracted some attention, so I spoke a little louder. “See how I’ve set it on half-cock so that I can rotate the cylinder?” I then adjusted my wrist dampener to absorb most of the sound before firing off all six caps in rapid succession. “Even with just caps, make sure it is pointed away from anyone or anything you care about.”

A couple of marines led by the guard outside the storage bays moved our way. I continued with my explanation after removing the spent caps. “Next, you add the powder. For this percussion revolver?” I looked up at O’Vorley.

“Fifty grains,” he said without hesitation.

O’Vorley absorbed information. I stood up and removed the powder measure from my pocket, and attached it to the small powder flask. “Preset to fifty grains.”

“Security Specialist Keesay, right?” interrupted one of the marines.

I recognized the voice as that of the marine guard in Green Sector. “Correct, that’s me,” I said, looking at his patch, “Private Yizardo.”

“What kind of archaic piece are you fooling with there?”

“It’s a century-old replica of a Colt Dragoon. A percussion revolver.”

“Black powder?” asked Yizardo.

I nodded. “I was just instructing Specialist O’Vorley here in its loading before we try some target practice.”

“What’s it fire?” asked another marine. He was on the thin side with dark hair and blue eyes.

I reached over and tossed him a lead ball. “A .45 caliber round.”

“Is that old thing safe to fire?” asked Yizardo.

“He’s R-Tech. I’m sure he knows his stuff,” said the marine with the lead ball. “If it’s unsafe, it’ll be his friend, O’Vorley, who shoots it first.”

“You’re right there, Corporal Smith,” said Yizardo to his fellow marine. “We might just hang around to see who fires first.”

I smiled, sat at the bench with the Dragoon, and began pouring powder into one of its chambers. “Probably not another one of these within fifteen light years.”

“Probably true,” Smith agreed. “You’ll need to seat this next.” He tossed me the ball.

“You ever fired one of these?”

“Nothing exactly that old.” He laughed. “Took an ancient weaponry course. We learned about medieval crossbows, flintlocks and muzzle loading rifles.” He pointed. “Same principle as your revolver.”

“Correct,” I said, beginning to seat the balls. I looked back at O’Vorley. “You place one of these over each chamber. Rotate it under the loading plunger here. Pull this lever here from under the barrel and seat the ball. They’re a little oversized, so some shavings may peel off. See?”

I handed the Dragoon to O’Vorley and set five other balls on the table next to him. “You try it.” He was nervous but eager and went right at it. As he worked I got out a tub of grease. “Smith, you know what this is for?”

“To lubricate the bore and chamber and to keep the powder fouling soft.”

He knew his stuff. “And,” I said, “since this isn’t a perfect procedure, to avoid chain firing.”

Yizardo and a very young marine standing to his left, Private DeLark, looked puzzled until Smith clarified it for them. “See, if you shoot and a spark catches some stray powder in one or more of the other loaded chambers, it could cause them to fire.”

“Correct,” I agreed. “Doesn’t matter how old the gun is, you won’t like the results.”

DeLark, looking at his right hand, said, “Cut down on pleasurable activities other than combat.” His voice was higher pitched than I expected from his muscular frame.

“You could get a cybernetic replacement,” Smith said.

“I wouldn’t want that! What good is that—and what woman would want an artificial hand caressing her?”

“Good point,” said Yizardo, “or before long all men would have at least one appendage replaced with an artificial one, if women had their way.”

A good round of chuckling ensued while O’Vorley finished. Then, using a pocketknife I showed him how to seal the chambers with grease. Setting the tub down and pocketing my knife, I added, “And it’s edible in a pinch. Barely, except for you tough guys. Of course, it may have other potential uses,” I added, winking to Private DeLark.

Yizardo laughed, then asked, “Isn’t all that stuff expensive?”

“Lead isn’t. Out here the powder and caps are unheard of. The grease can be too, depending. It all could be fabricated, but...” I checked my watch and looked around. Ringsar and his three pals were still busy near range one. “But if you know where to shop it isn’t too bad. Still, on my compensation I don’t bring it out too often.”

I started gathering my equipment. “O’Vorley, can you get the shotgun? You gentlemen are welcome to share the range with us. Smith seems to be knowledgeable enough, so after we’ve fired off this set, you’re welcome to give it a try.”

O’Vorley looked a little disappointed, but said nothing as I continued. “You might want to check with the range master to see if he has a sound dampener and some eye protection.”

“Thanks,” said Yizardo, “I wouldn’t mind giving it a try.”

“I’ve got thirty-six caps and balls. I’ll probably be busy, so let Smith inspect before reloading. I didn’t bring everything down to clean it, but you should be able to fire thirty-six rounds before powder fouling gets too bad.”

“DeLark,” said Smith, “go check on the dampener and eye gear.”

“That relic firearm may be interesting but not much use out here in space,” Yizardo said. “Thirty-six rounds before cleaning wouldn’t last long in a firefight.”

“It was state of the art two-hundred and fifty years ago and wasn’t built with a four-hundred pound charging Crax in mind. Your MP pistol will be equally obsolete soon enough,” I said. “And although not recommended, just like your pistol, this baby could fire in space. The powder and caps contain oxygen enough for the chemical reaction. The cold and the recoil could be a problem.”

“Never thought of that,” said Smith. “But you’re probably right. I don’t think the metal would hold up.”

We headed for the range. O’Vorley asked, “Don’t we need to put on the percussion caps?”

“I figured it’d be better to do that just before firing. Standard safety,” I assured him.

The area lit up as we entered. It was small, but had room for four people on the line. The range extended for only forty or so yards, but the computer generated holographic targets simulated greater distance.

O’Vorley sat at the computer console. “What would you like me to program, Kra?”

“Standard round target, non-moving, fifteen yards, O’Vorley.” I hoped he caught onto the appropriate use of last names in present company.”

“Is that all?”

I held up the Dragoon. “This isn’t a precision instrument. Iron sites. No scopes, lasers or passive targeting assistance.”

“Good point, Keesay,” said O’Vorley.

Smith asked me, “How well can you shoot?”

“Well enough. I’m accurate, but not fast.”

Yizardo whispered something into Smith’s ear, which evoked a snicker.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Yizardo here says that you’re better at pounding targets with your gun than shooting them with it.”

“Very funny. I’m sure you could’ve done better, but I haven’t had the privilege of Colonial Marine training. And since you weren’t there, I had to manage despite the handicap.”

My tone must have signaled to Smith that he’d struck a chord. “You got the job done,” he said. “Something we’re all expected to do.” He looked over his shoulder, through the transparent wall. “Here comes DeLark.” The door slid open. “Did you get the gear?”

“Yes, I did, Corporal.” He handed each marine a dampener chip and miniature power source. He brought one over to O’Vorley. “Just stick it on your sleeve. Adjust it by tapping here.” Then he looked at me. “Figured you had one.” He looked around tossed a set of eye visors to everyone except me, seeing I had my own.

I handed O’Vorley the Dragoon and the tin. “Half cock and place the caps.”

O’Vorley’s nimble fingered worked fast. After we advanced to the line, I drew and held my duty revolver in a two handed stance. “Thumb the hammer back and hold it out like this.” He did. “Next, line up your target. The V notch on the hammer should be lined up with the sight blade at the end of the barrel. Align them so that the point of aim is just above. Exhale and slowly depress the trigger. There’ll be recoil, but the gun’s heavy and will absorb most of it.”

I stepped back. His first shot was stiff and wide, but he handled the recoil. Standard MP firearms have little recoil in comparison. His second attempt was smoother but still off.

Smith approached. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all, Corporal. My next bit of advice was on how to clobber your target with the butt.”

“As heavy as this thing is,” O’Vorley said, “I’m sure it’d be enough.”

While Smith instructed O’Vorley, I returned to the bench and pulled out the old double-barrel. “Ever seen one of these, Yizardo?” I tossed it to him.

“On flat-screen westerns. Doc Holiday had one.” He broke it open and peered down the barrels. “Is this what you carry on duty?”

“No. I’m a little more modern than that.” I winked, handing him two boxes of 12-gauge shells. “Fifty number four shot. Good for small game, and okay for target.” I stood up and caught a glimpse of Ringsar watching from a distance. “Yizardo, do you think you and your friend can figure it out while I check to see how much Smith has screwed up my trainee?”

“We’re Marines,” Yizardo said, turning to DeLark. “Punch up some small game targets.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never hunted small game with a shotgun before. How ’bout a duck?”

“Is that small enough?” asked DeLark. “Says quail on the screen. What’s quail?”

I ignored their little debate. Smith was supervising O’Vorley in reloading the Dragoon. “How’d he do?”

“Pretty rough. Maybe above average for a security specialist.”

“Does he have potential, Corporal?”

“Not as an expert marksman, but with training and practice, and a real weapon, he’d be competent.”

I looked at Smith. “Problem is, his corporation sent him here with no training. From what I’ve seen he isn’t likely to get it. You can learn only so much from holographic instruction.” I shook my head. “It’s the best he’s likely to get. You’ve seen things around here.”

“Not really. I’m on a short layover. Been assigned with DeLark and a few other marines for a transport coming in tomorrow.”

“The
Kalavar
?”

“Yes,” said Smith. He examined my company logo. “You mean I’m going to have to share air with a true hard-core R-Tech?”

“That could be the case.” I watched DeLark and Yizardo blasting away. Shifting my focus down range, I spotted a holographic pile of birds and other vermin. “Good shots,” I said to no one in particular before looking back at Smith. “I saw Yizardo on duty in Green Sector. Like all Marines, I’m sure he’s good man. You think he might be willing to work with O’Vorley here?”

“Maybe,” said Smith. “What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing really. I nearly got killed in a crossfire today.” I nodded toward the listening O’Vorley. “If he’d been in my place, he’d be dead. His sponsor won’t even issue him a sidearm yet.”

Smith leaned back, evaluating what I’d said.

“I’d train him myself,” I explained, “if I had time. But I have orders like you.”

“So all this old firearm demonstration and friendliness was meant to sucker us in?”

“Corporal,” I said, “do you really believe I think that little of the Colonial Marines?” I pointed to the Dragoon and looked over at the other two marines having a good time. “But if I hadn’t caught your interest with this stuff, would you have even exchanged pleasantries with us?” I pressed on before Smith could respond. “And even if nobody was here, or interested, O’Vorley would’ve gotten some range time under his belt.”

“No,” agreed Smith, “we’d never have learned what wonderful fellows you two security types are.” Then he shook his head, grinning. “Well, maybe you, Keesay. Yizardo told us about your morning.”

I looked to O’Vorley with eyebrows raised.

“Do you think,” O’Vorley asked, “maybe Private Yizardo would take the time to train me in firearm proficiency?” His voice was quiet. “Our current schedules would seem to permit it. I couldn’t pay him much—but I’m well trained in routine network systems and report filing. Our duty report formatting is almost identical.”