Jewels of the Dragon

by Allen Wold

"I've shot it before."

  "That's not enough, unless you just want to wander around seeing the sights. But you're going to be talking to strangers, prying into other people's business. People around here take exception to that. The chances are that at least once you'll be in a situation where your skill with that megatron could mean the difference between life or death.

  "But more than that, if you know how to use the gun, if you have any ability at all, it will show in your manner, in your confidence, and people here can read things like that. If somebody confronts you and you don't know you can defend yourself, they'll know that and try to take you out. But if you feel confident that you can put them away first, they'll know that too and they'll leave you alone. The better you are with a gun, the less often you'll have to prove it. And that's important."

  "Okay, I believe that. So when do we start?"

  "This afternoon. I called up a friend of mine last night, and he'll meet us here."

  "Aren't you going to teach me how to shoot?"

  "I could, but my friend will be better than I am. I'm a better shot, but he's a better teacher."

  "Is he safe?"

  "You're learning fast. Yes, he is. I've trusted him with my life a couple of times. He's not easy to get to know, but he's one of the best people in the Federation."

  Rikard had been watching the other patrons as he and Darcy ate their lunch and talked. The people in the restaurant represented a complete mix of ages and types, though all wore leathers and guns. Nobody paid any attention to him, so he assumed that he did in fact look as if he belonged here.

  Just as they were finishing he saw Leonid Polski come in.

  "There he is," Darcy said, and waved to the policeman. Polski saw her and came over to their table. He, too, was wearing leathers, but the gun on his hip was a police blaster.

  "Hello, Darcy," Polski said, sitting beside her. "How are you doing, kid?" he asked Rikard.

  "You know each other?" Darcy asked.

  "We met up on the station, and I happened along once when he was in a tight place. You're looking pretty good," he said to Rikard. "Is he your pupil?" he asked Darcy.

  "He is. You know his story?"

  "A bit of it. So you want to learn to shoot?"

  "Darcy says I have to."

  "She's right. Well, this is neat. If you've got Darcy Glemtide for a guide, you may live to see your father after all, if he's still alive. How'd you two get together?"

  Rikard told him briefly about his visit to the Troishla.

  "I'm impressed," Polski said. "I didn't think you could do it. But so much the better." He turned to Darcy. "So how are you doing?"

  "Okay, under the circumstances."

  "Get caught opening tombs again?"

  "Not caught, or I'd not be here."

  The policeman laughed. "Darcy's got quite a reputation. She's 'contributed' more archaeological artifacts to private collections than anyone else alive."

  "I take it you two go back a long way." Rikard felt oddly ill at ease.

  "Quite a few years," Darcy said with a smile. "And not always as friends."

  "We first met on Total Foam," Polski said. "She and a couple of others had just opened a prize archaeological site and made off with about six million in jewelry and artworks. I was supposed to bring her in."

  "Nobody else even got close to me," Darcy said, laughing. "Dozens of clucks all over the place—after the fact, mind you—and we still had all the stuff in our hot little hands, and not one of them could even touch us. But Leo knows a thing or two, and I completed the sale half an hour before he came in. Tightest squeak I've ever had. But at least all those pretty things are where people can see them now, not locked away in dusty storage bins, where the local authorities wanted them."

  "That's her soft spot," Polski said. "She can't stand to see those treasures hidden away. She wants them out where every­body can enjoy them."

  "Well, hell, if you're going to violate the past in the first place, why keep what you've found out of sight?"

  "She's good," Polski went on. "She's a suspect in about a dozen cases, but nobody can pin anything on her."

  "Look who's talking. It's Leonid Polski here, the youngest colonel on the Force, who broke up the smuggling ring on Zendar. That had been going on for twelve years, and even Captain Eleyo couldn't touch it. I'm just glad I wasn't in­volved in that one."

  "It wasn't your style, Darcy. They were taking out con­temporary artworks and robbing the artisans blind in the process. Darcy, on the other hand," he said to Rikard, "was the first person to enter the Tower at Vel Daren, and I mean the first since it had been sealed some forty-two thousand years ago."

  "How'd you hear about that?" Darcy asked, surprised.

  "I know Meylin. He's the one who bought the Throne."

  "Wasn't he involved in the Lea Rashkovan kidnapping?"

  "He was indeed. That's how I know him. I'm the one who put him away."

  "Now there was a kidnapping," Darcy said.

  "I know," Rikard said. "I've heard of it." He was beginning to feel very much the "kid" indeed. He'd heard of all those exploits. "It seems that I've made the acquaintance of some rather impressive people."

  "More than you know," Darcy said. "I was on Fartax when Leo and a suicide crew of Goons took out the Warmonger."

  "While Darcy made off with her private collection of bronzes."

  "Well, she wouldn't need them any more, and after you got through with the place, it was easy."

  "Find any buyers?"

  "Not yet. They're still too hot."

  "I'm wired."

  "I know. So you can be sure none of them will show up for at least half a standard year." They both laughed.

  "Maybe you could tell me one thing," Rikard said. "What's the difference between a Gesta and a police officer?"

  "Her 'salary,'" Polski said, "is erratic and large. Mine is regular and small." He and Darcy laughed again.

  Rikard felt very young indeed.

  7

  An hour later the three of them stood at one end of a deserted warehouse. At the other end was a target, leaning against several rows of sandbags. Pockmarks on the wall around the target testified to this place's frequent use, as well as to the inaccuracies of some of its users. Rikard was sure he'd add his share to the total.

  Polski had locked the door after them when they'd entered to avoid any interruptions.

  "If somebody comes in while we're practicing," he ex­plained, "they may want to have a little duel. It's happened more than once."

  They moved up to the target until they were only ten meters from it.

  "No sense shooting any further," Polski explained, "until we see how both you and the gun work. That's a big old clunker, and I want you to get used to just shooting it before we try any real target practice. I take it you've fired it before."

  "A couple of times, at a range on Pelgrane. Their setup was a lot better than this."

  "Sure, a regulation field-stop, never any strays or ricochets, self-masking targets. But we're in the backwoods now; we have to make do with what's available. How much ammunition do you have?"

  "Four boxes."

  "Ninety-six rounds. Great. You can buy more later, Darcy will show you where. Let me see your gun for a minute."

  Rikard handed him the weapon, then took off his gloves and tucked them into his belt. Polski took the pistol and turned it over and over.

  "It's a good gun," he said at last. "Old, but well made. I'm not familiar with the manufacturer, but then you hardly ever see a megatron these days." He aimed it at the target and squeezed off three rounds in rapid succession. The noise was loud. Three large holes appeared in the target, clustered in the middle of the bull's-eye.

  "Very smooth." Polski handed the pistol back to Rikard. "You've got yourself a good weapon there. Can you strip it?"

  "My father taught me."

  "Good enough. Now you've got three live rounds yet. The target's almost healed. Take your time and shoot. Don'
t try to hit the bull's-eye. Just shoot and get the feel of it."

  Rikard raised the gun and aimed. He squeezed the trigger gently. The gun roared and jumped in his hand, and a large hole appeared at the edge of the center spot.

  He glanced at Polski and Darcy. Their faces were blank. He aimed and fired again. Another hole appeared, a bit farther off, on the other side of the spot. He relaxed for an instant, men fired the third round. It hit almost dead center.

  "Are you sure you need practice?" Polski asked dryly.

  "Well, maybe I was just lucky."

  "Could be. Or you've shot a lot more than you admit. Or you have a natural talent."

  "I've shot this gun three times, six rounds each time. My father also let me try out some of his other guns once."

  "Okay, you're a talent. Let's back off to twenty meters and see how you do."

  They went to the next mark back and Rikard reloaded. This time he didn't hit the center spot at all. Polski's relief amused him. For a while the policeman had thought he was being put on.

  "Okay," Polski said, "you are human after all. But you're still good. Six months' practice and you'll be able to hit anything. Let's back up again."

  At thirty meters Rikard felt he was lucky to hit the target at all.

  "At least you're not flinching," Polski said. "You'll do all right. Now watch." He drew his own gun. "Hold it like this." His left hand supported and steadied the right. "You're squeezing properly, that's good." He didn't fire—a bolt from the blaster would have taken out the whole target and put a hole in the back end of the warehouse.

  Rikard held the gun as he'd been shown, steadied his breathing, and for a moment was distracted by the sense of concentric circles as the butt of the gun pressed against the scar on the palm of his right hand. That was supposed to have helped him shoot. All it did was distract him. He relaxed. The sensation faded. He took careful aim, and this time he got all six rounds within the third circle.

  He fired another six rounds, and then they went back to forty meters.

  "You learn fast," Polski said. "It will take more than one afternoon, of course, but when we finish today, you'll at least know what you can do and what you can't. Now here's another thing." He proceeded to give Rikard more advice on how to stand, how to hold the gun, how to aim.

  Rikard reloaded and fired all six rounds. He hit the target every time, even at this range. With every shot he felt himself relaxing more, growing more confident, growing more aware of just what he was doing.

  When they'd emptied the second box, Polski called for a break. They went all the way back to the far end of the warehouse, a hundred meters from the target, and sat on the benches there.

  "Think I'll ever be any good?" Rikard asked.

  "You're already better than half the people on Kohltri," Darcy answered. "Just because they all wear guns doesn't mean they all know how to use them. Of course, at the point-blank range of your average mugging or gunfight, that hardly makes any difference."

  "Where the hell did you find those leathers?" Polski asked, non sequitur.

  "At Tandy's," Darcy said. "They're a little odd, but they're what fit him."

  "Odd's not the word for it. Sorry, Rik, I'm not picking on you, but when I first saw that outfit of yours some kind of bell began tinkling in the back of my head, and it's driving me buggy."

  "They don't make me too conspicuous, do they?" Rikard asked.

  "A little, but not badly. There's quite a variation in the style of leathers, and nobody should pay any attention— unless they'd seen that cut somewhere before."

  "They weren't made on Kohltri, now that you mention it," Darcy said. "Have you seen anything like that elsewhere?"

  "Yes, I remember now, on a man who was a representative of the Anarchy of Raas. His were specially made, and the equivalent of light armor in protection. I think it had other qualities too, but I was in no position to ask, and the body didn't offer the information. I really didn't pay much attention at the time, but that particular shade is what reminded me. So it looks like you got yourself a better set of leathers than you thought, Rik."

  "That's good to know. How about this armor?" He unbuttoned his shirt. "Darcy says it's odd too."

  Polski's eyebrows went up when he saw the copper-colored light armor Rikard was wearing. "Ah, Darcy, any more of those where that came from?"

  "No, Leo, sorry."

  "Too bad. You don't recognize it?"

  "Can't say I do."

  "That stuff's made in Abogam for their secret police. You can't buy it anywhere in the Federation, and even civilians of the Abogam Hegemony can't obtain it. I wonder how it got here."

  "Is it special?" Rikard asked.

  "Let's put it this way. What you've got on now, leathers and light armor as a combination, is as good as heavy armor. Only a magnum machine pistol, a megatron like yours, or a blaster could penetrate it. Unless they aim for your head, of course. A shotgun blast wouldn't feel good, but you could walk away from it. And you got this stuff at a discount?"

  "That's right," Darcy said with a grin. "Quite a bargain, eh?"

  "I'd say so. The leathers might bring a thousand from someone who knew what they were, the armor two thousand easily."

  "And I laid out five eighty-five total," Rikard said, "including the underwear."

  "You'll never find a bargain like that again," Polski said. "Did those boots come with the leathers?"

  "They did. And the gloves. Want to see them?" He took the gloves from his belt and handed them to the policeman.

  Polski took them, examined them, then held out the right one, palm up, for the others to see.

  "Look here." He pointed with his finger. "That fine mesh by the thumb. That's a bionic switch. Whenever this guy drew his gun, it completed a circuit between the gun and a surgically implanted sighting device connected to his eyes."

  "That's really weird," Rikard said. "How did it work?" That was what the operation his father had had done on his hand was supposed to have accomplished.

  "I'm not sure," Polski said. "I mean, I've never examined a setup like that firsthand. All I know about it are fourthhand reports in journals and so on. But as I understand it, the gun produces an image in the user's eye, showing exactly where a bullet fired at that instant would hit, while another system in the user's eyes spots the target and adjusts for range and movement, showing him where to point the gun. How it all looked to the user, I have no idea."

  "The guy must have looked awful weird with all that stuff wired to his body."

  "Not at all. I'm wired, for example, but only to a transmitter. Everything I see and hear, whether I'm awake or asleep, is recorded. If I want to be private, I just give the word and the monitor switches off. But the recording goes on. If I want witnesses, I just give another signal, which you'll never see, and the monitor comes back on. I can call for help, receive orders, and so on. I'm always in contact. And none of it shows on me"

  "Same for whoever was wired to wear this glove. All you'd ever notice would be a small scar on the palm of his right hand, where the bionic switch made the connection through this glove, between the gun and his own surgically implanted system."

  "A scar like this one?" Rikard said. He suddenly felt short of breath. He showed Polski the palm of the right hand.

  "How did you get that?" Polski asked quietly.

  "When I was ten my father took me to a hospital on Dasopreen. It was supposed to make me a better shot, but it didn't work. When I get tense or upset, the scar itches, and I have a habit of rubbing it. When I do that, I sometimes get a sensation of concentric rings floating in front of my eyes."

  "Let me see your gun," Polski asked. Rikard handed it to him. "Your father wouldn't have had a range finder planted in you if there was nothing you could use it with. Right there, see, on the butt, that plate. Did you get any sensation of rings while you were shooting?"

  "Once or twice. They distracted me. Like I said, the system didn't work."

  "And did your father
leave you any gloves like these when he left?"

  "I don't think so. Mother sold a lot of his stuff after the second year. We were running awfully short of money. She even sold his guns, but I kept this one, since he'd given it to me before he left."

  "I want to see you shoot this gun with that glove on."

  Rikard felt his chest contract. It was too much to hope that this was the missing connection, which even his father hadn't known about. He put on both gloves. Then he stood, took the gun back from Polski, and at a hundred meters from the target, raised the gun to shoot.

  Time seemed to slow down. Without a moving target it was hard to gauge the effect, but from his own movements he guessed the slowdown to be about ten to one.

  The concentric circles formed in front of his eyes. He could see them clearly for the first time. There were three fine rings centered on the center of his vision. Off to one side and down a bit was a small red spot. It moved when he moved the gun. The red spot moved toward the circles as he brought the gun up. He didn't have to sight along the barrel. Every­thing was being done for him.

  The circles in his eyes haloed the target. The red spot, adjusting for range and movement, showed him where the bullet would hit.

  When the red spot centered on the target, he squeezed the trigger. He could almost see the huge slug arcing out to strike the target exactly where he had aimed. Just to be sure, he put five more rounds in the same hole.

  He lowered the gun. The circles disappeared. His time sense returned to normal.

  "He didn't even aim!" he heard Darcy cry.

  "Like hell," Polski muttered. "The guy's a wired-on killing machine."

  Part Five

  1

  During the next three days Polski continued to work with Rikard until he was comfortable with how his built-in range-finding targeting system worked. Moving targets proved more difficult to hit, but Rikard's native talent was real, and he learned quickly.

  Meanwhile, Darcy continued to coach him on the way of life on Kohltri. They spent a lot of time out in public, observing the people, absorbing the feel of the city.

  At last she decided he was ready to start asking his questions in the right places. They had breakfast in Rikard's rooms, then went out into the city. "We'll be going into some strange places," she said. "Kohltri has a secret, and we're going to see part of it."