by Tanya Huff
The surrounding vacuum had been why she’d handed the testing of the small gun they’d confiscated at Three Points to Binti. Just as Torin knew she could hit almost anything she aimed at with a KC-7, she knew Binti could hit anything she aimed at. Period. Corps sniper training after their “diplomatic mission” to Silsviss had honed a natural talent.
Binti’s first shot with the small gun hit the outer ring on the left side of the target at the fifty-meter flag. Her second moved right two centimeters. Her last three made a tight group a centimeter left of dead center.
“Honestly, Gunny . . .” She straightened, removed the magazine, checked the chamber, and laid the weapon on the table behind the shield. “. . . if you’re not me, I’d say maximum effective range is no more than seventy meters. I could maybe make the shot at a hundred, hundred and twenty, but the short sight radius on this thing is stupidly limiting.”
“And with practice?” They’d found nine rounds in the small gun’s magazine, a tenth in the chamber. They’d been lucky it hadn’t gone off again when Mack had thrown it to the floor.
“Meh. It’s just not very accurate.”
Torin reached past Binti’s hip and picked it up. Even considering it was missing the magazine, it was lighter than it looked, made of the same alloys as the familiar KC-7. Same alloys. Same firing mechanisms. So much smaller.
“It kicks,” Binti continued as Torin closed her fingers around it. “There’s no room for dampeners, and all the movement fuks with accuracy.”
“It doesn’t need to be accurate at distance. You can hide this. Get close.”
“Get close? While being shot at?”
“It’s not a soldier’s weapon.” It wasn’t a weapon for war, or at least not the kind of war both sides knew they were fighting. The implications were as ugly as the small gun.
“I think it’s a prototype.”
“Based on?”
“The three ways to improve it I’d worked out by the second shot.” Binti recorded the hits, then cleared the target. “I get why some people are into miniaturization, but I don’t get why anyone would make a working model of something like this.”
Torin did. “Violence has been spreading now the war is over. The Wardens have brought in specialists to deal with it.” That was the opening line of the vid Justice had put together to introduce the Strike Teams to the public. Torin had argued they should stay covert. Commander Ng had decided to use their existence as a deterrent. With no way to measure uncommitted crime, there was no way to discover if it had worked.
Arms folded, Binti stared at her for a long moment, both brows up, then huffed out a sigh. “You think this is for protection against a perceived rise in violence? At an effective range of seventy meters? Against what?”
“Other people with these.”
“Yeah, given the shit we have to go through before and after we use our weapons—and we’re the law—not going to happen.”
“Legally.” Torin set it back down on the table. The last thing the Wardens needed were easy to conceal weapons loose among a civilian population. Actually, fuk the Wardens; it was the last thing anyone needed.
“You have a suspicious nature, Gunny.”
“So I’ve been told.” It wasn’t paranoia if it kept people alive.
They turned together as the hatch opened and Dr. Deyell entered, high stepping over the lip, feathers ruffled, head twitching back and forth as he tried to see into all corners of the range at once. “This one isn’t mistaken about being allowed to enter?”
“Light was off. You’re good, Doc.” The young Rakva was the only member of Strike Team R&D who enjoyed interacting with the Younger Races. All other interactions were tainted with apprehension, as though R&D expected the Strike Teams to explode into unprovoked violence at any moment. The Rakva, like the Katrien and the Niln, weren’t among the original members of the Confederation, and, considered less Elder by some, were often referred to unofficially as the Mid Races. It had been a Rakva doctor who’d worked his feathers off to keep her desperately outnumbered platoon alive during the Silsviss attack and a Rakva doctor who’d saved her after severe radiation poisoning. Torin had a soft spot for the species.
Deyell’s rudimentary beak curved into a smile. “Ah, Strike Team Alpha Lead, this one finds it very convenient to find you already on the range.”
Torin suspected the station sysop had fingered her. Grabbing a handful of Binti’s shirt as the sniper began to move away, she muttered, “Where are you going?”
Binti grinned. “That one finds it convenient to find the Strike Team Alpha Lead on the range. As I’m not leading anything, I’m out of here.”
Teal-and-gray feathers smoothed out as Deyell crossed to set the case he carried on the table. “If we’re going to test fire the new prototype, this one will need you as well, Warden Mashona. You’ll put the dart exactly where this one tells you, removing a potential variable.”
“Damn.”
“Ah.” His crest rose and he poked at the small gun. “This one sees you have found a pistol.”
“A what?”
“A pistol. A weapon your species used in the past. Well, all the Younger Races had versions of it, but this particular example seems to be very Human in design, so this one uses the Human word. This one combed countless historical records in order to develop a functional delivery system for a tranquilizer and found a few remaining references to the pistol.” Feathers fluffed on his brow. “The implication was that all three species seemed absurdly fond of the design. But . . .” He gave himself a shake and the feathers settled. “. . . this one isn’t here for a history lesson.”
Pistol. It had a name. Torin thought the “name it, know it” belief was bullshit, but it would make it easier to write the report. In her single year as a Warden, she’d written more reports and filled out more forms than in fifteen years as a Marine and was in favor of anything that got her through them faster.
Deyell opened the case. “Now, to the new design for the delivery system.”
None of the other designs had worked, but Justice remained unhappy about their Strike Teams using lethal force, so R&D kept trying. “They’re using lethal force against us” had been considered, at best, an irrelevant argument.
“Unlike the previous attempt which fired compressed air from an HPA . . .”
“And had an effective range of fifteen meters,” Binti said, picking up a dart and flicking the green fluff on the blunt end.
Deyell plucked the dart from her hand. “. . . we used a rifle blank and a 1CC dart loaded with a new compound that guarantees an almost instantaneous result on Humans.”
“Almost?” Torin’s brows rose. “And what about non-Humans?”
“Or Humans who mass less than we do,” Binti added. “Collins, the pilot on T’Jaam, is barely a meter and a quarter.”
“We’ve calibrated for mass and metabolism and worked up a variety of darts. Not only for Humans, but for Krai and for di’Taykan as well.”
For the violent Younger Races brought in to fight a war the Elder Races were too socially evolved to fight themselves. The only races the Strike Teams were sent out to stop.
Torin shook her head. “A variety of darts that we’d need to load into a single-shot weapon . . .”
“The labeling is very clear.”
“. . . while under fire.”
“This one admits it continues to be a work in progress. If you could . . .” He held out the tranquilizer gun.
Binti took it, fingers wrapped possessively around the barrel and the grip. “Your turn at the pointy end, Gunny.”
Torin sighed and signed the KC that had been modified for the tests out of lockup. It shot dissolving rounds at a considerably lower velocity than the usual 953 mps. The rounds stung, but beyond a minimum of fifty meters would leave only bruising even if they hit bare skin. In the interest of no
t losing an eye, Binti pulled on a helmet and activated the visor.
So did Torin. Given that she was on the pointy end of the exercise.
“Effective distance?” Binti asked as Torin began to walk up range.
Deyell tapped his fingers against his beak. “Numbers suggest sufficient accuracy for testing at 80 meters.”
“Numbers suggest?”
“The lack of empirical data is why this one is here.”
“Go out to seventy, Gunny.”
“We can regrow arms and legs and organs, and yet this one wonders why we can’t equip our Wardens with nonlethal weapons.”
Binti snorted. “False comparison.”
“Humor this one. It’s been a long day.”
“Ready, Gunny?”
Torin turned at the seventy, feet braced, weapon hanging at her side, muzzle pointed toward the floor, her finger away from the trigger. Fighting both training and experience that demanded to know what the hell she thought she was doing becoming a target, she squared her shoulders. “Ready.”
The dart hit her in the meat of her stomach, to the right of her navel. She huffed out a breath at the pain of impact, and, as the cold spread, snapped up her weapon and got off three shots before Binti could duck back behind the shield.
Vision blurring, she heard Binti snarl, “Fukking ow, that stings!”
Then her knees buckled, and the last thing she heard as she made contact with the floor was a morose, “Still too slow taking effect. This one has to admit he expected that.”
• • •
“You’re drooling.”
Torin blinked, focused first on Craig’s face and then on the rest of the team gathered behind him. Either she’d rolled when she fell or someone—probably Craig, on his knees beside her—had flipped her onto her back. She attempted to swipe at a line of warm moisture running toward her ear, assumed that her unresponsive arm meant R&D had increased the paralytic, then she blinked again. Her eyelids felt like they weighed five kilos each. “Why are you all here?”
“You were out for a while this time.” Binti shrugged. “We worry.”
Craig took a deep breath and let it out slowly, not bothering to hide either his anger or his concern. “Allowing R&D to drug you is not part of your fukking job.”
“Actually,” Ressk broke in before she could respond, “it’s covered under cooperating with the continuing development of law enforcement techniques.”
“Seriously?” Werst snarled.
“Did you not read your contract?”
Alamber pushed between them, slate in his hand. “I talked to Dr. Deyell . . .”
“We all talked to Dr. Deyell,” Ressk interrupted.
Craig smiled. “Werst threatened him.”
Torin’s face seemed to be working, so she returned the smile. “You didn’t?”
“We thought it would be more effective coming from Werst.”
“I talked to Dr. Deyell,” Alamber repeated and Torin managed to raise a finger to keep anyone from cutting him off again, “and while you were napping did some research of my own on the pre-Confederation pistol. Their destruction was one of the conditions of the Younger Races being allowed onto the playground. It took almost a century before the last remnants were destroyed—little less for the di’Taykan, little more for the Krai—and another before the pistol was forgotten.”
“Concealed weapons, concealed anything that affects another person, is just wrong,” Werst growled.
“Yeah.” Alamber waved his slate. “That’s what they wanted you to think.”
“All things considered,” Torin sighed, flexing her toes as more feeling in her extremities returned, “they were awfully fussy about how we kill people.”
Craig lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “You’re still drooling,” he said.
• • •
Finds Truth Through Inquiry fluffed the long red-gold fur on her arms and sighed at Torin’s question, even though Torin had every right as Strike Team Lead to participate in C&C’s debriefing. Ng refused to make attendance mandatory, but Torin felt the whole point behind making informed decisions involved being informed. Craig had pointed out her control freak tendencies as an alternative reason, and Torin had pointed out in turn that anyone who could do the job better could do it with her blessing.
Most of the other leads had followed her example. The holdouts had fallen before her logic.
Finds Truth Through Inquiry sighed again when Ng indicated she should answer, showing the closest thing to impatience Torin had ever seen from a Dornagain. “No, the pistol . . .” She popped the ‘p’ of the Human word, “wasn’t stolen from the Marteau Industries warehouse in Sector Eight with the other weapons. According to the gunrunner, ex-Corporal Mthunz Mackenzie, he received it anonymously.”
“Anonymously?” Torin asked when the final pause continued long enough the odds were high Finds Truth had finished speaking. Although the Dornagain in the Justice Department continued using the unhurried cadence that matched their slow and deliberate movement, they’d grown more concise. Torin assumed it was at least partially in self-defense as all three Younger Races interrupted the moment they felt the point had been made.
Shifting the top third of her massive body, highlights rippling through her fur, Finds Truth Through Inquiry fixed Torin with an irritated gaze. “It means, Strike Team Alpha Lead, Warden Torin Kerr, that the agency through which he received it remains unknown.”
Torin had tried to get Finds Truth to drop everything but the Warden and the Kerr but the Dornagain, like a number of the Elder Races, asserted their individuality within the Confederation through verbal ticks. Like many of the Younger Races, who all spoke tick-free Federate, Torin found it an annoying affectation. It had taken a good ten tendays of argument before the Dornagains attached to the teams had agreed to the shortening of their own names in informal conversation.
“As he indicated on form AR77B . . .” A long arm stretched out, fringe of fur swaying, and the C&C lead lightly touched the edge of Ng’s desk with a blunted claw. Light flickered as the forms shifted. “. . . he found the pistol three tendays ago, in among his possessions along with a container of ammunition. He remained adamant during further questioning and while completing form AR78A that he has no idea of who might have placed either the pistol or the ammunition with his belongings. Although he was unable to correctly spell container, he refused to substitute the word box on AR77B and within the specific description of the item on AR77BX.”
“He was wounded.”
The corner of Ng’s mouth twitched. “Are you suggesting the injury may have affected his ability to spell, Warden Kerr?”
“No, sir, but it may have affected his willingness to cooperate.”
Ng allowed her a single nod of acknowledgment. “Granted.”
“We’ve confiscated the remaining ammunition from him,” Finds Truth Through Inquiry continued pointedly, her attention back on Torin, “and we’d appreciate the pistol returned to evidence at your earliest possible convenience, Strike Team Alpha Lead, Warden Torin Kerr. The chain of evidence has been irreparably broken. You know better than to have taken it from an active crime site without following procedure.”
True. In all honesty, Torin wasn’t sure why she had. She liked to think it was because she’d been appalled by the existence of the weapon, but she suspected curiosity had as much to do with it.
“And,” the Dornagain Warden continued, “Analyzes Minutiae to Discover Truth requires copies of all data gathered during the testing of said weapon in order to complete his documentation and has requested I mention that includes security recordings made at the range.”
“Commander Ng has the weapon . . .” Torin had never intended to keep it. “. . . and the data is available to anyone with Justice Department access.”
“He requires copies,” Finds
Truth Through Inquiry repeated, rising far enough off her haunches to tower over Torin, which wasn’t far given their relative sizes. “As well as new DNA samples from everyone who came in contact with the evidence. To be sent to his desk at your earliest convenience.”
“Of course.” If that’s all it took to smooth ruffled fur, Torin wouldn’t complain.
“Copies have already been sent to our analysts.” Eyes on his desk, Ng flicked the case files from one side to the other. It took a while. Dornagain, as a species, had an obsession with details; it made them excellent Wardens, as long as the crimes investigated were neither violent nor time sensitive, and they were neither once the Strike Teams had finished with them. “The analysts will apply the specifics to other, unsolved transgressions where weapons have been involved.”
“To determine if ex-Corporal Mthunz Mackenzie has participated in previous criminal activity, Strike Team Commander Lanh Ng?”
“That, and we need to be sure there aren’t more of these pistols in circulation.”
Finds Truth Through Inquiry’s small, rounded ears flattened against her head, and she rattled her heavy front claws against each other. “That would be . . . bad.”
The following pause was almost Dornagain in length. “Bad would be one way of describing it,” Ng said at last, voice dry enough Torin wouldn’t have been surprised to see sparks rise off shifting fur. “New DNA samples first, Warden Kerr. Discovers Truth Through Minutia . . .”
“Analyzes Minutiae to Discover Truth, sir.”
“Of course. Analyzes Minutiae to Discover Truth will run the weapon in question through a cleansing as soon as possible. I want the bio evidence narrowed down quickly.”
Finds Truth Through Inquiry rolled her eyes. “In two, maybe three tendays.” When Torin’s brow rose, she met her gaze. “We aren’t the only team using the lab, Strike Team Alpha Lead, Warden Torin Kerr.”
“Before you point out that one lab for six teams is five labs too few, under the mistaken belief I can’t count,” Ng said, before either Warden could respond, “I’ve spoken to the Strike Team Oversight Committee about it and have a guarantee that expansion will be discussed for the next budget. However, even working within our current restrictions, we’ll have the information at the end of a tenday.”
