It's the end of the weekend, and all I had is more Space Guys. This part is the kind of thing that usually overloads my stories. As usual, the table of contents is at the end.
The
voyage continued. Uranus grew larger in the portholes, without a perceptible
drift to the left or right. The grim feeling of the sideways planet and its
rings mounted. The crew grew all the more restless, including the married couples.
Arguments could be heard from behind partitions that were as often as not left
open. Sometimes, they were quite audible even when the partitions were closed. Donald and Anatasia were the loudest and most frequent offenders. Alek remained happy with her math, and Jason was happy enough with his books
except when Donald became unusually annoying.
He grew especially irritated when the engineer would begin repeating a strange pronunciation the
planet’s name as if it was a joke in itself, usually at least once a day. A
time came when Jason finally opened a partition he had pointedly shut. “It’s
simple,” he said. “Yurr-ah-nuss. Is that so hard?” Donald just laughed as he
closed the partition again.
“You
are sweet,” Alek said.
A ceremonial occasion came when the captain announced a change among the pilots. “Command has decided that there is a need for additional leadership among the pilots,” he said. “To that end, they have approved the field commission of 2 new officers. In light of the promotion, we will issue two additional sidearms, strictly as a reflection of rank, of course.” Everyone laughed; only the captain looked amused. Jason smiled as Jax accepted his sidearm. He was less pleased when the second was given to Jackie, whom the captain called by his legal name of Jonathan Fitzhugh.
“You slipped a bit, farmboy,” Moxon said in a stage whisper. “Don’t worry; you’re still the genius’s favorite. That counts for something.” He stepped to the front, followed by Harrison and the decidedly reserved Sergeant Lazarevic. He held up a survival carbine from the ship’s hold. “Just so nobody else feels left out, we’re starting weapons training!”
Moxon started with a demonstration of his sidearm. The only thing new came when he connected a paddle-like charging holster as a stock for rapid fire. He promptly drilled Sparky the Squirrel between the eyes with a three-shot burst. He then unlimbered a larger weapon that looked vaguely like a Wild West rifle. “This is a Tesla carbine based on the same technology,” he said. “We have approval from Command to issue them to pilots, senior crew, and unescorted personnel on the basis of need. They have three settings. The first is a stun charge. The second is a cutting beam, effective to 400 meters. The third is a plasma bolt, like ball lightning. We don’t mess with that.” Of course, the gathered crew clamored for a demonstration of the third setting. They were given a video of a fist-sized bolt blowing a hole in an airlock.
Lazarevic and two of her troopers came forward to demonstrate their primary weapon, a rifle that could be fitted with a bayonet or a grenade launcher cup. “This is a Carl Gustaf Hero Sniper 8mm medium rifle, the most powerful semi-automatic firearm in the world,” she said. She handed the captain a specimen that had been stripped of a firing pin, which was soon passed around. “It is manufactured in Sweden to the specifications of the Patriotic Army. It generates a muzzle energy of up to 4400 kilojoules. It would be light for an elephant. Against any other target, it is lethal at 600 meters range. Of course, we expect to do more with that 3.7cm projector. It will fire all standard 2-gauge pyrotechnics, demolition and gas shells. With further modifications, it can launch an over-caliber 5cm engineering rocket. That can carry a cable, a heavy demolition charge or an anti-tank warhead. I don’t think we brought one of those along.” That drew laughs, some nervous.
Finally,
she drew a revolver, clearly not for sharing. “Now this is a Nagant 95 revolver,
over 100 years old and kicking,” she said. She held up a cartridge that looked
like a blank. She turned it, revealing a slug seated deep in the casing. “It’s
the first vacuum-sealed sidearm. The cylinder holds seven shots. They offered
me a sidearm. I went with tradition.”
Donald
raised a hand. “Excuse me, maybe I don’t understand,” he said. “It was a big
deal when they thought they found protobacteria on Titan. So what do they
expect you to use this stuff on? Heinz Himmelmann?”
The sergeant smiled. “They said we were to be prepared for the unknown,” she said. “If anyone did know, I suppose it would be classified.”
Harrison presented their more potentially lethal survival gear, starting with an assortment of knives. The largest looked like a sawed-off machete, with a leaf-shaped blade that swept forward. Another looked less like a knife than an axe head repurposed as a knuckleduster. “The Martian crew may recognize these,” Harrison said. “This is a K20 survival knife. In the Corps, we called it a half-kukri, or of course, half-cocked for short.” He pointed to the knuckleduster. “And this is a Wusthof Esquimaux multi-purpose tool, based on the native ulu blade. A lot of people don’t know it wasn’t standard issue. They finally changed that for this mission. I understand this one was made on Mars. The manufacturer finally licensed it out, because Gaia couldn’t ship enough to meet demand.”
He got to the 2.6cm flare guns. They bore a range of attachments and modifications, including a version with a shoulder stock and what looked like a harpoon coming out of the muzzle. “These are 4-gauge survival projectors,” he said. “It’s partly interchangeable with the 3.7mm launcher, but it’s best not to fiddle either way. The standard rounds are flares and light percussive charges. There are shot cartridges available. Don’t worry about them. The carbine version will fire a range of over-caliber shells up to 7.5 cm, including the line-thrower you see here.”
Moxon stepped forward again. “I offered to do an extra demonstration,” he said. He picked up the half-K and the ulu. “Of course, these are issued to you for peaceful purposes as part of your duties as an exploration mission. However, there may be occasion to use them for other purposes. I have authorization to give lessons on their use in combat.” Donald raised his hand again, despite Anastasia's best efforts to discourage him. Moxon looked at him. “Are you volunteering?”
“Just
another question,” the engineer said. “Before you teach us about knives, couldn’t you
tell us something about that scar? Just, you know, to give us an idea of your
qualifications?”
Moxon turned his head, bringing the scar on the left side of his face into stark relief. For
the first time Jason could recall, he exposed his teeth as he smiled. “You should
have seen the other guy,” he said. “So, would anyone like to take part in a
demonstration.
“I
will,” Jason said. “I use an ulu in the kitchen at home.”
Moxon smiled. “Experience never hurts,” he said. “Go ahead, show how you’d use it back home to start things off.” Jason stepped forward and accepted the native blade. He idly pictured driving the Eskimo blade into his mouth.
The demonstration proceeded without further comment. Jason used the ulu as the tool it was meant to be, chopping and dicing a radish and a piece of canned ham. When he was offered a block of ice, he carved it into the shape of a bear. That drew a cheer from Alek. “Oh, you are so coming to my bunk tonight,” she said. Moxon promptly chopped the same block in two with the half-K.
They took turns with the larger blade. Jason flayed a fish. Moxon split a piece of bamboo the long way. Jason used it to open a second tin of ham. Finally, the officer said, “Say, ever try combat moves?”
“On Mars, they teach us never to use a weapon on anyone,” Jason answered. “But we have a guy from Edo who teaches kukrijitsu. He said I was the best in his class.” Moxon handed him the knife and drew another.
They both practiced moves individually, then proceeded to sparring with sheathed blades. It became evident that Jason was faster, but not quite enough to outmatch Moxon’s skill. “The instructor who taught me said one thing before anything else,” Moxon said as he intercepted Jason’s blade a third time. “He said it was from Mark Twain. `The world’s best swordsman doesn’t fear the second best swordsman, he fears the worst, because he already knows what the second best is going to do…’”
“Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur’s Court,” Jason said. “My instructor quoted it, too. `The person for him to be afraid of is some ignorant antagonist who has never had a sword in his hand before…’” He caught Moxon’s wrist with the trailing edge of his blade. “I only ever got about halfway through.”
Moxon
gave his barking laugh. “It’s not exactly true, though,” he said to the
onlookers. “People who don’t know anything about edged weapons usually try one
or two, maybe three things before anything else. The real trouble is, they
don’t know how to hide what they’re going to do, or make it look like they’re
going to do something else. If they try it at all, they usually do it with
their hands, when the real tells are in the eyes…” Jason thought of unsheathing
the knife and driving it into his face. Instead, he swung at Moxon’s neck. He
felt a surge of euphoric surprise as the blade connected… just before the point
of the officer’s trench knife tapped his throat. Moxon grinned again. “Of
course, Mr. Freeman is a long way from the worst.”
That
very night, Jason and Alek had what they both agreed to be their most memorable
encounter to that time and for some time after. A while later, Jason emerged
from the partition around her cabin, leaving Alek lying face down with a sheet
draped indifferently over her hips. By then, she had put on her lower
undergarment, but any bystander would have seen only her completely bare upper
back. Jason froze in mid-step at the sight of Moxon playing the target game. As
the other man turned, he found that he felt much as he had the time he had got
up in the night at home and discovered the airlock had vented while they slept.
“Sorry,”
Jason said instinctively.
“Don’t be,” Moxon said. “I remembered I had left a few things here, so I came back.” Jason saw that the box from the closet was indeed at his feet. “I decided to give the game another go while I was here. As a matter of fact, I just broke my high score.”
“I’ll
talk to the captain, I’m sure he will move the cabinet wherever you want,”
Jason said. In his peripheral vision, he could see Alek squirm as she tried to
look over her shoulder without exposing any more of herself.
“Oh,
there’s no need for that,” Moxon said. “Anyway, we’re all friends here, aren’t
we?”
“Jason,”
Alek said. When he looked, he found her shaking her head almost violently. “I
want him to go. Make him go.”
“I’m here with my wife,” Jason said. “She wants you to leave.”
“Oh,
I won’t make any trouble,” Moxon said. “I’m not that kind. She knows that. I’m
not the other kind, either.”
Alek
finally spoke directly. “I don’t no care,” she said. “Go.”
The
officer only smiled. “What, are you making that an order?”
“If you don’t, I can call my people back home,” Alek said in her flattest tone. “You would be surprised what they can do!”
Jason
shut the partition. “Was there something you needed?” he said.
“As
a matter of fact,” Moxon said, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“About
what?” Jason asked cautiously.
“There
was talk that you were talking about, let’s say, history,” Moxon said.
“Especially with Mr. Fitzhugh.”
“Was I not supposed to?” Jason said.
“To
be honest, there are rules, as far as what goes back to Gaia,” the officer
said. “There are things the Union designates `sensitive’, and the press and the
networks mostly set their own guidelines so the Fed and the Administration
don’t need to get involved. The ones people know about are the morals codes; I
gather a few people talked to you about that. There’s also ones for religious,
racial and ethnic relations. They were modelled on rules from Jugoslavia. Those
are the ones that are followed most strictly. It’s not that people can’t talk
about things, of course, on the air or in print or anywhere else. It’s just a
matter of doing it the right way at the right places. The same goes with
talking about it. Always think about how you ask, who you’re talking to, and
especially where you are. For now, I’d say it’s better to talk to me or Yates.
Harrison could tell you quite a bit, at that.”
“Okay, thanks for telling me,” Jason said. “Is there anything you wanted to tell me?”
“I
was in the Intervention,” Moxon said. “I wasn’t at Baton Rouge, my team was
further north. It went a long way north. I know, your father was, too. Just so
it’s understood, we aren’t the ones who talk.”
Jason
looked at him with real respect. “I can understand that,” he said. “Now, please
go.”
“No problem,” Moxon said. “I know when youngsters need privacy.” He walked out, carrying the box with him. Jason untensed as the steps receded. He opened the cabinet, and froze again.
On the top shelf, just above the line of sight for anyone but him, lay the flame knife from Moxon’s box.
