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  “Oh,” said Zeke. “Which ship.”

  “No idea,” said the Sergeant. “Stewart?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Don’t call me, sir, I work for a…never mind. Sir, is fine. I watched you. Did you grow up on a station?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you work outside, in a suit?”

  “All the time, sir.”

  “Wait, your accent. Are you a Beltie?”

  “Belter. Yes, sir.”

  “Beltie, Belter. Whatever. So, no need for movement training. Ever fired any weapons?”

  “A shotgun. Once.” Jake shivered. He had blown out an airlock window and killed a friend.

  “Not enough. We’ll cover that. You two, LaFleurs.” The sergeant walked to stand in front of Zeke.

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “You’re ground pounders?”

  “From the surface, yes.”

  “Ever fired weapons?”

  “We come from the verge, Sergeant. We’ve shot rats.”

  “Revolvers or shotgun?”

  “A little of both.”

  “Okay, movement for you then.” He paced in a circle for a moment, hands clasped behind his back. “Here’s what we’ll do. Today I check you out on everything, movement, fighting, weapons, all of it. Any questions?”

  “Sergeant?”

  “Yes, LaFleur.”

  “What is a maggot?”

  The next few hours went by quickly. Jake clearly outclassed the LaFleurs on anything involving space movement, including, to his own surprise, zero-G fighting.

  “Don’t get too cocky,” advised Sergeant Russell. “You just understand gravity better. If you meet somebody with real zero-G experience, they’ll eat you for lunch.”

  The afternoon was not as successful. Shooting at things was clearly not Jake’s forte.

  “The target is over there, Stewart,” yelled Sergeant Russell, pointing.

  “I see it, sir.”

  “If you see it, why can’t you hit it.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Look, its easy.” Sergeant Russel took the revolver from him. “Just point the gun, focus on where you want to shoot, and gently squeeze…” BANG. Dust blew up form a dent in the middle of the target. “Try again, Stewart.”

  Jake raised the gun, squinted, aimed, and pulled the trigger. It jerked up in his hand. Dust spurted on the wall, well above the target.

  “Well, at least it was the right wall,” Sergeant Russell muttered.

  “Sergeant, why do the bullets explode? Is it because they are training bullets?” asked Suzanne.

  “Frangible. They are made out of concrete. They are frangible rounds, not training rounds.”

  “But why do they explode?”

  “Because we want to hurt people not spaceships. If you fire a solid bullet at somebody and miss, or if it ricochets, it might put a hole in your ship’s hull or destroy your navigation computer or puncture an H-line and cause an explosion.”

  “But how do they hurt people if they are just dust?” asked Zeke.

  Sergeant Russel sighed and shook his head. He removed his revolver from its holster, flipped the cylinder out, and dumped all the bullets in his hand. Then he reached in a pocket on his coveralls and pulled out a handful of bullets with green bands. He carefully loaded them into the cylinder and snapped it shut.

  It seemed to Jake that he didn’t even aim, but instead just extended his hand out about waist height. BANG. BANG. BANG.

  Jake felt an excruciating pain in his thigh and his leg collapsed under him. He landed on his hands but was unable to move his leg at all. It seemed paralyzed, and it hurt.

  “Merde,” yelled Suzanne, as she rolled on the ground, clutching her leg. “That hurts.”

  Zeke lay on the ground next to Suzanne, also clutching his leg and moaning. Sergeant Russell leaned down toward him and grabbed him by the shoulder.

  “That was a quarter charge. Did that hurt enough, or do you want the full one?” he asked. The he stood up and smiled for the first time. “Somedays, this job isn’t so bad.”

  ***

  The next few days were exhausting. They started every morning with a run around the station, moving from low to high gravity, up and down ladders. Sergeant Russel made the LaFleurs do it a second time while he took Jake to the shooting range.

  “You need more low gravity practice, and Stewart needs more shooting practice,” Russell had explained. He worked with Jake for an hour while the LaFleurs completed their second run, then they all shot together. In the afternoon, they donned the skinsuits and went out on the hull of the station. They climbed up and down the spokes, went along the rim, and moved in and out of airlocks, just for practice. They wore buddy lines, and Jake found himself yoked to Zeke for an hour, then Suzanne for an hour. Zeke had a tendency to jump at every opportunity and laugh as he spun and flailed around.

  “Zeke, what are you doing,” Jake said over the channel, as he hauled him back to the station yet again.

  “I don’t really know what I’m doing wrong, Jake. I’ve never done this before.”

  “You’ll get yourself killed.”

  “No mon ami. I will not die like this, I am sure.”

  “You won’t?”

  “No, I will not die in space. I will die in some sort of stupid drunken stunt. I even know what my last words will be.”

  “What?”

  “Hey everybody – watch this,” Zeke said, then laughed. Jake had to laugh as well.

  “Zeke, watch me. You are taking your second foot off the station before you first is locked, try this very slowly – unlock one foot, slide, lock the magnet, unlock, slide, lock the magnet, unlock the other…” Jake talked him through it as Zeke slowly began copying him. Suzanne flailed around as much as Zeke did at the start, but Jake didn’t mind helping her. When she was spinning around at the end of their tether, Jake had the perfect excuse to stare at her. She looked very good in a form-fitting skinsuit.

  The LaFleur’s tendency to leap before looking didn’t escape the sergeant. He never let the two siblings yoke to each other. “I don’t trust the two of you together,” he said. “Stewart’s had lots of outside experience. Just do what he does, and you’ll be fine.” Jake was pleased. At least he could do one thing right.

  An entire day was spent on firefighting—reading the signs, operating the foamers. Jake’s experience became a bit of a problem.

  “Stewart!” screamed the sergeant.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Why didn’t you foam that fire? Why did you flush the atmo?”

  “Well, as soon as you see a fire, sound the depressurization alarm, count to thirty, then vent the compartment.”

  “Stewart, we’re on a space station with 10,000 people, most of them dirtsiders who don’t have suits. If we vent the compartment, we’ll kill most of them.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is this a Belter thing?”

  “Sir?”

  “Do you sleep in your skinsuits?”

  “Well, in our emergency bubbles, yes, sir.”

  “Belters,” the sergeant said, shaking his head in exasperation. “Look, in the lower stations, first try to put the fire out, and only vent the O if it seems to be growing. It’s a last resort.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jake. The sergeant looked at him. Jake looked back, unconvinced. “Sir, people die in fires. A whole station or a whole ship could burn. Fires have to be put out quickly. If you blew out the O, the fire dies, and only the people too stupid to take normal space precautions will be killed, rather than everybody starving to death if the hydroponics get burned up. I still think it’s the best course of action,” Jake said, then immediately regretted it as the sergeant stared him down.

  “Lunch time,” Russel said after several minutes and stalked off.

  Jake relaxed. That’s was stupid. He was only making things worse for himself. Zeke patted Jake on the back as they all began walking to the mess hall for lunch.

 
“Thank you for your help with the zero-G, Jake.”

  “No problem.”

  “Jake, I am confused,” Zeke said.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t know much about the Militia, only what I have seen on the videos, but should not our training be longer than two weeks? Should we not do more military things? Uniforms and saluting and things like that.”

  “We’re in the Delta Militia not the Imperial Navy. It’s more of a police force than anything else. We’re civilians, really.

  “I thought we were in the Navy?”

  “No, we haven’t seen a naval ship in this system in over a hundred years.”

  “That long?”

  “Yes. Even before the abandonment Delta was off the main trade routes. We were more like a way station for ships jumping through the empty quarter. There weren’t enough resources for a full colony, just enough to establish some stations for local mining. That’s why we’re around a moon and not a habitable planet And, that’s why we have such a low population and can’t build everything we want.”

  “Is that why we haven’t seen any jump ships in so long?”

  “I don’t know. The Delta Corporation doesn’t know either. Technically, they’re not a government, just a bunch of companies running things till the empire comes back. But I don’t think the empire is coming back.”

  “Neither do I. But that doesn’t matter. We’re in the Militia now.”

  ***

  Sergeant Russel kept them busy. The LaFleurs continued to work on moving in different gravity and Jake continued to work on his shooting. Most nights he was too exhausted to talk even though the work wasn’t very physical. The necessary concentration was killing him. The sergeant doubled the LaFleurs' runs in the morning, and tripled Jake’s shooting time.

  Jake’s shooting got worse, not better. All three of them shot at the range in the mornings. Sergeant Russell walked behind them and watched.

  “Stewart! Stop trying so hard.”

  Jake looked up from where he was lying. Today they were working with a type of rifle, which sergeant Russell called a carbine. Jake was tired, frustrated, and angry. His shots were nowhere near the target.

  “Sir, I just don’t have the knack.”

  “Everybody has the knack. You just need time and patience. Don’t force it. Breath, relax, aim, squeeze.” Sgt Russel was relaxed, almost mellow, anytime they were using weapons.

  Jake tried. Breath, relax, aim, squeeze. BANG. The bullet smushed against the wall. Three feet to the right of the target.

  “Stewart, I’ve never seen anybody as bad as you.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Look, you have no problem with the suit stuff, zero-G, firefighting. You’re horrible at unarmed combat, but everybody you’ll be matched against is worse and you’re experienced enough in low gravity, so you actually look pretty good against anybody who isn’t.”

  “Sir.”

  “But your shooting sucks. Really, really sucks. I can’t sign you off on this. You’re a danger to yourself and others. You’re more likely to hit one of your boarding mates by accident than anybody else. I can’t let you pass.”

  “That’s a problem, sir.”

  “You only get this special deal of Militia service if you pass the training. If I fail you, you go back to jail. Do you want to go to jail, Stewart?”

  “No sir.”

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. First, you’re going to promise to never, ever, fire a rifle or a carbine at anybody. Not even in practice. You’d probably kill a bystander or even your captain.”

  “I can do that, sir.”

  “Second, you will be required to wear a revolver but you can never use it. Never take it out of the holster. You understand me?”

  “Wear it but never use it. Got it, sir.”

  “You have some skill with the shotgun. And by skill, I mean you at least shoot in the general direction of the right target. We’re going to use that.”

  “Yes, sir. Umm, how?”

  “I’ll teach you how to run the boarding course. You’ll go through a ship simulation and shoot at targets. It will be perfect for you.”

  “How so?”

  “The targets are bigger. It’s designed for new recruits who have never been in space, so they always mess up their movement. But you move fast and easy, so you should have a better chance. That is okay as long as you get through the course within the time limit.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “What do you think?

  “Back to jail?”

  “You may shoot worth shit but at least you’re not completely stupid. What’d you do to land here anyways, Stewart? You don’t seem like the type to get into trouble.”

  “I hurt somebody in a bar fight. Put them in the hospital.”

  “Huh. And they pressed charges.”

  “The Militia did. Felony assault, assault with a weapon, and disturbing the peace.”

  “Felony assault? Stewart, you’ve managed to surprise me. That’s a very serious charge. I wouldn’t have expected it from you. Not based on what I’ve seen here in training.”

  “No, sir. I…uh…I was drinking.”

  “Hmm. I see. Well you must have a good friend out there somewhere to land here. A friend of mine got sent south for felony assault few years back. You’re a lucky kid. Don’t waste the opportunity you’ve been given, here. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Take that rifle back to the checkout. I’ll see you there in a moment.” Sergeant Russel watched as Jake packed up and walked back to the armory.

  He shook his head stepped behind the LaFleurs and examined their targets

  “Not great, but good enough. At least all of your shots hit somewhere on the target. You two can pack up as well. Pass the rifles into the armory and you are dismissed for the day.”

  “Sergeant, I still have five shots in my magazine. What should I do?” Suzanne asked.

  “Just fire them off at the target, fast as you want. When you are done I’ll see you at the desk.” He turned and walked away.

  Suzanne laid down and carefully adjusted the rifle on her cheek. She fired five shots as fast as she could pull the trigger. Then she reeled the target back in. It was clear that all five had hit the target, because there were five distinct holes in the target paper. All within two inches of the center.

  Zeke winked at his sister, then helped her to pack up.

  Chapter 4

  The next day Sergeant Russell brought them together just before they got in the airlock to practice drills in zero-G. Today, he handed each of them a mop.

  “Hold on to these and don’t let them go. I want them back. If you lose them, I’ll take it out of your hide. Everybody, inside!”

  Jake looked at his mop as they entered the airlock and cycled through. What were they going to do with these? There was no water in space.

  They stepped outside the lock. Unusually, the sergeant didn’t insist on tethers. Once outside, he spoke over the radio. “Listen up, you maggots. You’re still completely useless screw-ups, but you occasionally show flashes of competence. Today training will be a little more realistic. Look back there.”

  He pointed anti-spinward along the station. A militia cutter was moored to a truss some distance back. It wasn’t attached to a hatch but connected with chains to the truss. The near-side airlock was clearly visible.

  He continued “You are the boarding crew and those mops are your weapons.” He pointed toward the Cutter. “There’s your target. Board her. Go!”

  He stepped back and waited.

  “What?” Jake said.

  “Clock’s running. You three board her. Get there from here. Keep your ‘weapons’ with you. Clock stops when all three of you enter the dorsal airlock and cycle in.”

  “Okay,” Jake said. He had jumped to ships before. “This is a little dangerous, so Zeke, Suzanne, we’ll just edge down the station, and look for a line, then we can send it across and…”

/>   Zeke didn’t wait.

  “Wheeeeaaaahahhahahha,” Zeke yelled, taking a giant push and launching himself off the station, spinning out into the void.”

  “Formmmidabblllle,” Suzanne yelled, diving off right behind him.

  Jake froze for a second. He’d forgotten that the LaFleurs were still inexperienced in zero-G, and their joint tendency to leap before looking. Or even after looking. He didn’t see a guard ship anywhere, none of their tethers were attached, and they only had a very basic thruster jet package on their back. If they missed the ship, they wouldn’t stop until they impacted Draconis IV after their orbit decayed.

  “Emperor’s balls,” Jake said out loud. He dropped his mop, demagnetized his boots, and began to run rapidly down the outside of the ring, doing a series of forward rolls to pick up speed but staying close to the station. As he spun, he rolled sideways to keep the LaFleurs in sight.

  They had leapt off the station with sufficient velocity to reach the cutter, but they had forgotten that they would spin. They hadn’t been able to correct for it, so they flipped end over end as they headed toward the cutter.

  They had also not properly accounted for the fact that the station was spinning below them. So rather than impacting on the airlock, they were going to hit somewhere in the region of the engines, splashing into the drive nozzles perhaps.

  If they hit at all and didn’t just go spinning out into space.

  Jake was able to pick up more and more speed as he hopped along the station. Every time his hands came into contact with a grab bar, he flung himself faster along the rim. He continued on until he was actually past the end of the cutter, and then pointed his feet at a grab bar and landed on it feet first. He felt his entire body compress as he took all the energy of his run into a giant crouch, compressing down as much as possible while keeping his head up. He sighted on the LaFleurs and exploded out of his crouch toward them.

  Now he was heading back with the spin of the station but faster. He crossed the distance toward them. They had done a single push off the station, and you can’t accelerate if you have nothing to push against, so their speed was constant. He timed it so that he intercepted them just as they would have slid past the ship at an angle. He opened his arms wide and grabbed both spinning forms in a sort of loose bear hug as he went by. They all collided, but his higher base velocity won the day, pushing them back toward the cutter.