Use of Weapons (21 page)

'Zakalwe,'
the drone sighed. 'It would hardly be surprising if it isn't working. That
thing belongs in a museum. It's eleven hundred years old. We make pistols that
are more powerful, nowadays.'

He
sighted carefully, breathed smoothly... then smacked his lips, put the gun down
and took a drink from the goblet. He looked back at the drone. 'But this
thing's
beautiful
,' he told the
machine, taking up the gun and flourishing it. He slapped the weapon's darkly
cluttered side. 'I mean, take a good look at it; it
looks
powerful!' He gave an admiring growl, then took up his stance
again and shot.

This
firing fared no better than the others. He sighed and shook his head, staring
at the weapon. 'It's not working,' he said plaintively. 'It just isn't working.
I'm getting recoil, but it just isn't working.'

'May
I?' Skaffen-Amtiskaw said. It floated towards the gun. The man looked
suspiciously at the drone. Then he turned the gun over to it.

The
plasma rifle flashed from every available screen, things clicked and beeped,
the inspection panels flicked open and shut, and then the drone gave the gun
back to the man. 'It's in perfect working order,' it said.

'Huh.'
He held the weapon in one hand, up and out from his body, then slapped the back
of the stock with his other hand, whirling the big rifle round so that it spun
like a rotor in front of his face and chest. He didn't take his eyes off the
drone while he did this. He was still looking at the machine when he twisted his
wrist, brought the gun to a stop - already aimed straight at the distant black
cube of ice - and fired it, all in one smooth action. Again, the gun seemed to
fire, but the ice sat undisturbed.

'The
hell it's working,' he said.

'How
exactly did your conversation with the ship go, when you asked for your
"rubbish"?' the drone inquired.

'I
don't remember,' he said loudly. 'I told it what a complete cretin it was for
not having some junk to shoot at, and it said when people wanted to shoot at
real shit they usually used ice. So I said, all right then, you scumbag
rocket... or something like that; give me some ice!' He held out his hands
expressively. 'That was all.' He dropped the gun.

The
drone caught it. 'Try asking it to clear the bay for firing practice,' it
suggested. 'Specifically, ask it to clear a space in its trapdoor coverage.'

He
accepted the gun from the drone, looking disdainful. 'All right,' he said
slowly. He looked about to say something else, talking into mid-air, then
looked uncertain. He scratched his head, glanced at the drone and appeared to
be about to talk to it, then looked away again. Finally he jabbed a finger at
Skaffen-Amtiskaw. 'You... you ask for... all that. It'll sound better coming
from another machine.'

'Very
well. It's done,' the drone said. 'You only had to ask.'

'Hmm,'
he said. He switched his suspicious look from the drone to the distant black
cube. He lifted the gun and aimed at the icy mass.

He
fired.

The
gun rammed back against his shoulder, and a blinding flash of light threw his
shadow behind him. The sound was like a grenade going off. A pencil-thin white
line seared the length of the smallbay and joined the gun to the fifteen metre
cube of ice, which shattered into a million fragments in a floor-thumping
detonation of light and steam and a furiously blossoming cloud of black
vapour.

Sma
stood, her hands clasped behind her back, and watched debris fountain fifty
metres to the top of the bay, where it ricocheted off the roof. More black
shrapnel flew the same distance to crash into the bay's side walls... and
tumbling, glittering black shards slithered across the floor towards them. Most
skidded to a stop on the ridged surface of the bay, though a few small pieces -
blown a long way through the air before thumping into the deck - did actually
slide past the two humans and the watching drone, and clunk into the rear wall
of the bay. Skaffen-Amtiskaw picked up a fist-size piece from near Sma's feet.
The sound of the explosion echoed clangingly back off the walls a few times,
gradually fading.

Sma
felt her ears relax. 'Happy, Zakalwe?' she asked.

He
blinked, then switched the gun off and turned to Sma. 'Seems to be working all
right now,' he shouted.

Sma
nodded. 'Mm-hmm.'

He
motioned with his head. 'Let's go get a drink.' He took up the goblet, and
drank as he walked towards the traveltube port.

'A
drink?' Sma said, falling into step with the man and nodding at the glass he
was drinking from. 'Why; what's that?'

'Nearly
finished, that's what this is,' he told her, loudly. He poured a last
half-glass from the metal jug into the goblet.

'Ice?'
the drone offered, holding up the dripping black lump.

'No
thanks.'

Something
flickered in the traveltube, and a capsule was suddenly there, door rolling
open. 'What's this... trapdoor coverage, anyway?' he asked the machine.

'General
Systems Vehicle internal explosion protection,' the drone explained, letting
the humans board the capsule first. 'Snaps anything significantly more powerful
than a fart straight into hyperspace; blast, radiation; the lot.'

'Shit,'
he said, disgusted. 'You mean you can let nukes off in these fuckers and they
don't even
notice
?'

The
drone wobbled. '
They
notice; probably
nobody else does.'

The
man stood swaying in the capsule, watching the door roll back into place,
shaking his head sorrily. 'You people just have no idea of fair play, do you?'

The
last time he had been on a GSV had been ten years earlier, after he'd almost
died on Fohls.

'Cheradenine?...
Cheradenine?'

He
heard the voice, but wasn't sure the woman was really talking to him. It was a
beautiful voice. He wanted to reply to it. But he couldn't work out how to. It
was very dark.

'Cheradenine?'

A
very patient voice. Concerned, somehow, but a hopeful voice; a cheerful, even
loving voice. He tried to remember his mother.

'Cheradenine?'
the voice said again. Trying to get him to wake up. But he
was
awake. He tried moving his lips.

'Cheradenine...
can you hear me?'

He
moved his lips, exhaled at the same time, and thought he might have produced a
noise. He tried to open his eyes. The darkness wavered.

'Cheradenine...?'
There was a hand at his face, gently stroking his cheek.
Shias
! he thought for a second, then swept that memory away to
where he kept all the others.

'H...'
he managed. Just the start of a sound.

'Cheradenine...'
the voice said, close to his ear now. 'It's Diziet here. Diziet Sma. Remember
me?'

'Diz...'
he succeeded in saying, after a couple of failures.

'Cheradenine?'

'Yeah...'
he heard himself breathe.

'Try
to open your eyes, will you?'

'Try'n...'
he said. Then light came, as though it had had nothing to do with him trying to
open his eyes. Things took a while to gel, but eventually he saw a restful
green ceiling, illuminated from the sides by a fan-shaped glow of concealed
lighting, and Diziet Sma's face looking down at him.

'Well
done, Cheradenine.' She smiled at him. 'How are you feeling?'

He
thought about this. 'Weird,' he said. He was thinking hard now, trying to
remember how he'd got here. Was this some sort of hospital? How
had
he got here?

'Where
is this?' he said. Might as well try the direct approach. He tried shifting his
hands, but without success. Sma glanced somewhere over his head as he did so.

'The
GSV
Congenital Optimist
You're all
right... you're going to be all right.'

'If
I'm all right, why can't I move my hands or fee... shit.'

Suddenly
he was tied to the wooden frame again; the girl was in front of him. He opened
his eyes and saw her; Sma. A misty, uncertain light glowed all around. He
wrenched at his bonds, but there was no sign of give, no hope... he felt the
tug on his hair, then the thudding cut of the blade, and saw the girl in the
red robe looking at him from somewhere over his be-bodied head.

Everything
revolved. He closed his eyes.

The
moment passed. He swallowed. He took a breath and opened his eyes again; at
least these things seemed to be working. Sma looked down, relieved. 'You just
remembered?'

'Yeah.
I just remembered.'

'You
going to be okay?' She sounded serious, but still reassuring.

'I'll
be all right,' he said. Then; 'it's just a scratch.'

She
laughed, looked away for a bit, and when she looked to him again, she was
biting her lip.

'Hey,'
he said. 'Narrow one, this time, huh?' he smiled.

Sma
nodded. 'You could say that. Another few seconds and you'd have suffered brain
damage; another few minutes and you'd have been dead. If only you'd had a
homing implant; we could have picked you up days...'

'Oh
now, Sma,' he said gently. 'You know I can't be bothered with all that stuff.'

'Yeah,
I know,' she said. 'Well, whatever; you're going to have to stay like this for
a while.' Sma smoothed hair from his forehead. 'It'll take about two hundred
days or so to grow a new body. They want me to ask you; do you want to sleep
through the whole thing, or do you want to stay awake as normal... or anything
in between? It's up to you. Makes no difference to the process.'

'Hmm.'
He thought about this. 'I suppose I get to do lots of improving things, like
listen to music and watch films or whatever, and read?'

'If
you want,' Sma shrugged. 'You can go the whole hog and spool fantasy head-tapes
if you want.'

'Drink?'

'
Drink
?'

'Yeah;
can I get drunk?'

'I
don't know,' Sma said, looking above and to one side. A voice muttered
something.

'Who's
that?' he asked.

'Stod
Perice.' A young man nodded, coming into view, upside down. 'Medic. Hello
there, Mr Zakalwe. I'll be looking after you, however you decide to spend the
time.'

'D'you
dream when you're under, if you do it that way?' he asked the medic.

'Depends
how deep you want to go. We can send you so far down you think no more than a
second's passed during those two hundred days, or you can lucid dream every
second of them. Whatever you want.'

'What
do most people do?'

'Switch
right off; wake up with a new body after no appreciable time.'

'Thought
so. Can I get drunk while I'm hooked up to whatever the hell it is I'm hooked
up to?'

Stod
Perice grinned. 'I'm sure we could arrange it. If you want, we could give you
drug-glands; ideal opportunity, just...'

'No
thanks.' He closed his eyes briefly and tried to shake his head. 'Occasional
inebriety will be quite sufficient.'

Stod
Perice nodded. 'Well, I think we can rig you for that.'

'Great.
Sma?' he looked at her. She raised her eyebrows. 'I'll stay awake,' he told
her.

Sma
smiled slowly. 'I had a feeling you might.'

'You
sticking around?'

'Could
do,' the woman said. 'Would you like me to?'

'I'd
appreciate it.'

'And
I'd like to.' She nodded thoughtfully. 'Okay. I'll watch you put on weight.'

'Thanks.
And thanks for not bringing that goddamn drone. I can imagine the jokes.'

'...
Yes,' Sma said, hesitantly, so that he said:

'Sma?
What is it?'

'Well...'
The woman looked uncomfortable.

'Tell
me.'

'Skaffen-Amtiskaw,'
she said, awkwardly. 'It sent you a present.' She fished a small package from
her pocket, flourished it, embarrassed. 'I... I don't know what it is, but...'

'Well
I
can't open it. Come on, Sma.'

Sma
opened the package. She looked at the contents. Stod Perice leant over, and
then turned quickly away, holding one hand at his mouth, coughing.

Sma
pursed her lips. 'I may ask for a new escort drone.'

He
closed his eyes. 'What is it?'

'It's
a hat.'

He
laughed at that. Sma did too, eventually (though she threw things at the drone,
later). Stod Perice accepted the hat as an onward-gift.

It
was only later, in the dim red of the hospital section light, while Sma danced
slowly with some new conquest, and Stod Perice was dining out with friends and
telling them the story of the hat, and life went on throughout the rest of the
great ship, that he remembered how, a few years earlier, and very far away,
Shias Engin had traced the wounds on his body (cool slim fingers on the
puckered new-looking flesh, the smell of her skin and the tingling sweep of her
hair).