Losing Masks

by Nicholas Metelsky

  We went, as it turned out, not to the warehouse, but straight to the shooting range. The range was small and nothing special. However, the fact that there was one right beneath the store level was pretty cool. The fact that the store was in a busy neighborhood made it even cooler. There were only two shooting lanes, and we approached the right one. I noticed something on the table there. It was clearly a gun, but it looked just too futuristic.

  “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

  “Exactly. The Khenzel plasma rifle, aka PPVH-1, or Product 108. Made 80 percent of ceramic-plastic, the rifle uses cartridges of caliber 7.62 with the rate of fire being 600 shots per minute. There is a stationary optical sight, a new GCU GC-2, an option for transferring data from the rifle to the helmet, and so on and so forth. The main thing in this monster is the plasma part. A new supercharger, cooler, and even a plasma container were developed specifically for this model. As you know, the principle of charges is commonly used, but here there is a single cartridge, in which cold plasma is stored. I can talk about it all day. You should go ahead and try it, though.”

  “M-yeah,” I said, taking the rifle in my hands and fiddling with it. “It's heavy. And not very comfortable.”

  “The safety is right here,” the old man pointed with his finger. “And the modes switch is here.”

  Putting on earmuffs and taking my position, I sighed: a round gunstock with a pistol grip suggested that the weapon was not made for people. The hand guard wasn't comfortable, the center of gravity was off because of the cartridge drum located in the center of the rifle.

  “Is she at least accurized?”

  “Of course.”

  Oh well. OK then. I exhaled and released a couple of bursts. Hmm. A couple more, and I could increase the speed and duration. Hmm. There was almost no recoil, but the center of gravity shifted forward still got in the way. Having my shooting experience, it was fine, but new recruits wouldn’t be able to handle this monstrosity easily. I lowered my weapon after four more bursts.

  “Herr Schmidt, I don't get it. How is it possible to have such a low recoil and such horrible dispersion?”

  “New cartridges, young man. I have a standard target, that's why you didn't notice. These new cartridges can basically put down Warriors like they are nothing.”

  “Not if they don’t hit the target. I take it, the price tag is pretty good?”

  “Unfortunately, not just that. The cartridges are made only for this rifle. You should switch to plasma.”

  Adjusting the earmuffs and clicking the switch, which was also located in a very inconvenient place, I got ready to shoot. Meanwhile, the old man raised new targets. These were metal.

  I liked the plasma shot. A fireball that was three or four times bigger than a bullet burst towards the target in a very impressive way. It left the fifty-millimeter armor plate with a hole that was twice as large as the charge itself. It went through the plate without actually shattering it. I assessed the result and fired a couple more times.

  “I think I broke something,” as I was trying to release the third shot, the rifle did nothing.

  “It's all right, young man,” smiled Schmidt. “It's just the speed of the plasma gun—one shot per second.”

  “Well, that's no fun,” I lowered the rifle. “I just got excited. What a bummer! It's not a weapon but a mockery. I can't even count all the disadvantages...”

  I looked at the rifle again.

  “Yes, in fact, all it has is disadvantages. Plasma of this caliber is, of course, cool, but shooting once a second,” I shook my head. “Same thing with cartridges. Well, yeah, it has power, so what? Can't even aim right. And everything else is one hundred percent junk.”

  “And you don't even know the rest,” the old man nodded.

  “So what's the catch?”

  “There's none. This machine is a prototype and, I'm assuming, a deadlock. Otherwise, it wouldn't be put up for sale.”

  “Way to shoot me down, Herr Schmidt,” I said, adding offense to my voice.

  “Did you think life is all beer and skittles?”

  “Well, all right,” I put my rifle down on the table “I'm sure you have something more useful.”

  “Of course,” the old man said. “Let's go to the warehouse; there's nothing else interesting here.”

  In the warehouse, where flint weapons were sitting next to large-caliber rifles, Schmidt went up to one of the racks and picked up something reminiscent of the hefty automatic G36C.

  “Here. This one is a novelty from the Russians. Assault complex 'Nail'.”

  Taking the weapon from his hands, I was surprised at how light it was—looking at it, it seemed that it would weigh much more. With a double optical and collimating view, the rifle distantly looked like the NK G36. Folding telescopic butt, grenade-launcher attachment—it looked like it was from the fortieth series—two laser designators, presumably grenade controls under the launcher attachment and data transfer to the user's helmet capability.

  “And what about the caliber?” I specified.

  “Seven. At first glance, based on the assessments, the weapon is very good. For all that, as you can see, it's also very simple and reliable. Everything shows that the Russians, once again, designed a masterpiece. Rarely, but aptly, as they do.”

  “I wouldn't say that they rarely make good models of hand weapons.”

  “Well, yeah, a couple of assault rifles, a couple of snipers and a pistol. Throughout their entire history.”

  “You're exaggerating. There have been a lot more rifles. Many nations haven’t achieved even this much.”

  “Okay, it's not worth arguing.”

  That's true. It is better not to argue with him on this topic. We have very different experience in the matter.

  “You'd better tell me what you think about this ’Nail’.”

  “It still needs to be tested. I think I like it so far. And the caliber ... It'll be easy to get cartridges.”

  “I don't get it. Are you recruiting an army? Otherwise, does it make a difference which caliber it is?” The old man smiled and I just looked at him. “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “Well, not an army, of course, but my own assault squad.”

  “How interesting. I'm afraid I'm not gonna have enough of these even for a detachment,” glancing at the weapons rack he added, “Five items, that's it. Sorry.”

  “Can you get more?” I asked cautiously, returning the weapon to the counter. The old Schmidt didn't do wholesale, and our relations hadn’t been put to the test yet.

  “I don't know,” he rubbed his chin. “It's a novelty and such. Here, in Japan, no one has this one yet. Hmmmm. Are you sure you don't want the AK-203? Why do you even need an assault squad? You're not getting yourself into anything serious, are you?”

  That's too bad. The AK-203, the analog of theAK-12 in my world, is certainly an excellent rifle, and I will take it for sure since the opportunity turned up. The problem is that the old man decided not to bother.

  “Don't tell anybody, but I might get involved in a war in the near future. Thank gods, it has nothing to do with Shidotamoru, but I can't avoid it anyway. Okay, the 203's are good too.”

  “True, but the ‘Nail’ is better,” the old fart was rubbing salt into the wound. “I'll have to engage my nephew. I simply don't have the necessary papers to transport such a large number of weapons. And the connections aren't the same.”

  “Oh my god, old man! If you were an old woman, I would have kissed you!”

  “Oh, youth,” he shook his head. “When is the military campaign going to begin? And how many do you need?”

  “In about three or four weeks. As far as the quantity...” I pondered since I still didn’t know how many people would accept my offer. “How much are they?”

  “Five thousand. And only if you take more than one hundred units.”

  “Wow, why so little?”

  “Russians,” Schmidt shrugged.

  Well, the price was good. And
the quantity, hell with it, I'd take more just in case.

  “Well, in this case, I’ll take a thousand.”

  “Khe, khe,” the German coughed. “Why do you need so many?”

  “Just so we have them.”

  “Shinji, do you really need them all?”

  “Well, okay, one hundred then.”

  “Take one hundred and fifty. By the time you need more, they will be cheaper. I'll introduce you to my nephew. So you can order big lots from him directly.”

  “Yeah, good idea. You know what, get two hundred. I'll feel better.”

  “You young ones... Forever in a hurry. Should I order ammunition? Keep in mind, the goods will come in about a couple of weeks.”

  “That’s okay. And yes, take a couple of zincs per barrel. If anything, I'll buy more here.”

  “I'll tell him. Is that all?”

  “What about ... Since we got into it...”

  “Hold on. Let's go and discuss everything in my office. Then I can write it down. You know us old people—our memory isn’t the best.”

  “No two old men are alike. But since you're so modest...”

  ***

  Monday turned out to be a good day in the sense that nothing exciting happened. That made me happy. However, Tuesday was memorable. It started like all other Tuesdays, but that changed during the first recess.

  “Sakurai,” Imubeh Kaede turned to me while I was sitting at my desk.

  “Class leader,” I lifted my head.

  “Did you pick out a club?”

  “No,” I said. “Still looking.”

  “Get on it then! You're the last in our class to decide ,” she said impassively.

  “Are you going to remind me every day?”

  “Every recess if I have to,” she replied indifferently.

  “Maybe you just like me?” I tried to get rid of her.

  “You flatter yourself,” she said without turning a hair.

  Then she turned and walked toward her desk.

  “Class leader!” I raised my voice. She turned, and I continued, “You do like me.”

  Imubeh just rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “It's not gonna work,” said Rydon, who was standing beside me. Seeing my confused face, he interpreted it in his own way. “She already has a fiancé.”

  This time I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

  “You, aristocrats, know everything.”

  “Oh yeah!” He straightened his shoulders. “That's what we are good at.”

  “I wish I'd get responses to my ad sooner.”

  “Well. There is not enough time for ...”

  “Sakurai Shinji! Is he here?”

  Turning around, I saw three guys standing at the door of the classroom. Judging by their red ties, they were freshmen like me. All three of them had short, black hair and were slightly taller than me.

  “Well, who's the king here?” I asked Rydon.

  “I admit,” he spread out his hands, “you're a lucky fellow.”

  “Hey guys,” I waved to the guys, “I’m over here.”

  “Are you Sakurai?” Asked one of them.

  “I am.”

  “Toyotomi Ken,” he said, shaking my hand. “And these are my brothers. Takumi is my blood brother, and Daichi is my cousin.”

  “You do not even know how pleased I am to meet you,” I said, standing up, stretching out my hand, which wasn’t a common gesture in Japan. “This is Ohayashi Rydon, my friend and classmate.”

  They said hello and Ken sat down at my desk. He must have been the oldest one in this company.

  “Do you mind?”

  “No, that's fine.”

  “So,” he said, “we saw your ad and just wanted to make sure we understood it correctly. Could you give us more details about it? The ad sounded kind of vague.”

  “Well,” I looked them over, “I want to make a club that doesn't require any work or any after school activities. I have enough things to do without clubs, but these stupid school rules don’t give me any freedom. I need an excuse for teachers, the school board, and that one—the class leader. Officially, the club will exist only on paper, and I’d just need your signatures as members. If anyone ever asks you, I need you to confirm that we do have a club.”

  “That's simple and clear,” Ken exchanged glances with his brothers. “We are in. But we need five people to start a club.”

  “I have the fifth one. Vakia Teijo. Have you heard this name?”

  “Sounds familiar. Alright. In that case, we're all set. Should we register today?”

  “Why not? Let's meet by the main office after school and talk about the details.”

  “Is there something else?” The guy looked surprised.

  “You bet. The name of the club and its official designation.”

  “Oh yeah, sure. If they don’t like what the club will be doing, they might not allow us to start it.”

  “Exactly. They can easily do that.”

  “Okay, see you later then. Main office after school.”

  “Deal.”

  As soon as the trio left, I raised my voice again.

  “Class leader! I'm going to join a club today!”

  “Don't forget to bring me a notice,” said Imubeh, without turning around.

  Rydon, who was standing next to me, smiled when he heard her answer. So did half the class.

  At lunch, we had our usual crew together. Rydon, Teijo, and I were there. Having imperceptibly blended in with our lunch crew, Shina, Kino and Aneko, were there too. Today's meal was different from all the others in that I had two bento boxes in front of me. One was from Shina, and the other one was from Aniko. I was sort of unsure what to do. My dilema didn't concern Rydon or Teijo a bit.

  “You know, comparing two bentos cooked by women is pretty dangerous,” said Teijo. “You won't be able to back out. Just saying.”

  “Good thing you have friends who will always help in a difficult moment,” Rydon continued. “Today, I think you should eat only my sister's bento—you haven't tried it yet. On our end, Teijo and I will pay tribute to Kagami-san’s cooking.”

  “Rydon,” Aniko said reproachfully. “Believe me, Shinji, I'm not trying to compete with Kagami-san, and I'm quite clear about what I'm capable of. Don't worry about those gluttons.”

  “Why does an evil commoner get it all?” Teijo muttered.

  I'd like to know too. I hope this is a hint of an invitation from Sean.

  Glancing at Shina, I noticed her curious gaze at Aniko's bento. It seemed like she was the only one who wanted to compare these bentos.

  “By the way, Okhayashi-san,” Kino asked, “what's the deal with this food? Is it leftovers from your dinner?”

  She just can't relax, damn it.

  “Do I need a reason, Kino-san?” Aniko smiled the kind of smile that's called social—she knew how to tell someone to back off in a discreet manner. “I was in a good mood this morning and decided to make one more bento.”

  Kino clearly looked curious as to why I was the object of such treatment, but she knew she'd have it coming, so she restrained herself.

  “Why Shinji?” Shina, on the other hand, didn't care.

  Aniko didn't reply right away, she first put a piece of fish into her mouth, pondering, and chewing it very slowly.

  “I don't even know, Koyama-san. I guess that deep inside I wanted to know how he would compare my cooking to Kagami-san's,” Aniko replied with an apologetic expression on her face.

  Nice save. If I was right, it was her brother who had given her the idea to prepare an extra bento. She couldn't say it though because then it would look like she didn't really care about me that much. In this case, she just thought of me before anyone else. What I thought was that she had created unnecessary problems for herself. She should have said right away that her brother had asked her. Even after Kino's question, she could have said that. All she had to do was phrase it a little differently.

  After school, I picked up Teijo and w
ent to meet with the brothers Toyotomi. As we got together, we flocked into the main office. And then the bullshit started. Okay, bureaucracy would probably be a better description. The vice principal told us that to create a club, one of us—the club's president—needed to get permission from the advisory teacher. Why? Personally, I didn't understand the purpose of this action. That wasn’t a problem because my advisory teacher was sitting right there and without any problems signed the paperwork received from the vice principal. After filling out the questionnaire, we had to go to the student council that was in charge of all school clubs. Having the gift of persuasion and having passed this test, we needed to get the signature of one of the curators who was in charge not of any specific club at school but of the entire floor in the club building. After that, we had to return to the school board, get a seal on the documents and go back to the vice principal, who would officially approve the new club.

  “Umm ... Do you need all five of us present?” Asked Toyotomi Daichi, Ken's cousin. “Could we just sign the forms?”

  To my regret, that's what I had thought too. Why torture my new club members? It was my idea, so I was the one who should take care of the formalities.

  “I think it’s best if all five of us go to the school board,” Ken replied. “And then, yes, I think, Sakurai and I can do the rest.”

  I wondered if he didn’t trust me or if he just wanted to support me. Judging by his behavior, it was the latter.

  “Personally, I have nothing to do, so I'll come with you,” Teijo said and Ken just nodded.

  The first thing that we got stuck on was the name of the club and its activities. It had to be something that wasn’t too crazy, but that would let us not have to do too much.

  “Butterfly amateurs club?” Suggested Ken's brother, who had been silent for a while. “I’ve never seen them on the school grounds. If anything, we can say that we are exploring. Where we do that is none of their business.”