to make sure there was no power cell inserted, Elliot handed the stubby weapon to Wade. “It’s an update to the LAS-5 design, the new J-model. I bought the schematics and manufacturing rights as soon as they became available.”
“Wow, this is light for a laser carbine,” Wade noted.
“Yep. More efficient cooling, too. It’s the first real update to the LAS-5 in a generation. I paid a pretty penny for the rights to build them but they’ve been selling well. Improved optics on the six-centimeter lens, improved throughput on the power cell, and it’s even a little more powerful. Four-point-eight kilojoules per shot now. Not too bad, hey?”
“Not bad at all,” Wade agreed. “But I’ll stick with my rifle. You got any more 12mm APHE in stock?”
Marcus absentmindedly browsed the store while his partner bought ammunition for his revolver. It was an odd weapon, based on the earliest repeating handguns from ancient Earth, but it was modern all the same. It fired 12mm rounds from a disposable, seven-shot cylinder that vigorously ejected upward away from the gun when empty, allowing for a rapid reload. Marcus stuck with his regular 10mm automatic, but the Marshals Service was pretty lax on duty weapon specifications. After a run-in with a psychotic cyborg with built-in armor plating, Marcus could certainly see the value of armor piercing, high explosive 12mm rounds.
Wade himself was an odd sort, a former Nuclear/Explosive Ordnance Disposal technician from the Concordiat Defense Force. He was a couple centimeters taller and a few years younger than Marcus, but was the best partner the marshal had ever had. He had a screwed-up sense of humor and a penchant for dry wit that made him tolerable on ten-hour shifts. Two of the fingers on his right hand had to be reattached, he once admitted, after an accident while making homemade explosives. He’d been thirteen years old at the time.
While Wade and Elliot talked guns, Marcus retrieved his handheld and browsed through its applications. There was a response to the profile he had posted on a professional networking job board. Interesting. He opened the message and read it quietly.
Mr. Winchester:
The Privateer Ship Andromeda is recruiting highly qualified and skilled personnel for an expedition to a remote system. We are looking for people of the highest caliber with extensive military experience. Unquestionable accountability, integrity and discretion is a must. Experience in the full spectrum of ground warfare operations is desired. The assignment will include protecting the ship’s crew while conducting business in an austere, potentially hazardous environment.
From your verified professional credentials, we believe you to be an outstanding candidate for this expedition. We are offering a generous pay package that we believe you will find to be more than competitive. This expedition is departing in a matter of weeks, so this offer is time-sensitive. If interested, please respond to this query and we will schedule an interview with you as soon as possible. Thank you.
Marcus looked up from his device and blinked hard. Is this for real? When he’d updated his portfolio on the professional networking board, he was hoping to be offered side-gigs as a personal bodyguard or some such, just to bring in extra money. He didn’t expect an off-world expedition to try to recruit him. He wondered if it was a hoax, that someone was playing a joke on him, but the network site screened and vetted its job postings. How generous is generous? Off-world. Holy hell, Ellie won’t like that.
“Hey, Wade,” Marcus said. “Come here. You’re going to love this.”
* * *
Marcus nodded to the man on the screen of his handheld. Broadbent, he said his name was. He was an imposing man with a dark complexion and a cybernetic ocular implant. Marcus couldn’t tell where his accent was from, exactly, but he was former Concordiat military.
“Do you have any further questions, Mr.
“Wow, this is light for a laser carbine,” Wade noted.
“Yep. More efficient cooling, too. It’s the first real update to the LAS-5 in a generation. I paid a pretty penny for the rights to build them but they’ve been selling well. Improved optics on the six-centimeter lens, improved throughput on the power cell, and it’s even a little more powerful. Four-point-eight kilojoules per shot now. Not too bad, hey?”
“Not bad at all,” Wade agreed. “But I’ll stick with my rifle. You got any more 12mm APHE in stock?”
Marcus absentmindedly browsed the store while his partner bought ammunition for his revolver. It was an odd weapon, based on the earliest repeating handguns from ancient Earth, but it was modern all the same. It fired 12mm rounds from a disposable, seven-shot cylinder that vigorously ejected upward away from the gun when empty, allowing for a rapid reload. Marcus stuck with his regular 10mm automatic, but the Marshals Service was pretty lax on duty weapon specifications. After a run-in with a psychotic cyborg with built-in armor plating, Marcus could certainly see the value of armor piercing, high explosive 12mm rounds.
Wade himself was an odd sort, a former Nuclear/Explosive Ordnance Disposal technician from the Concordiat Defense Force. He was a couple centimeters taller and a few years younger than Marcus, but was the best partner the marshal had ever had. He had a screwed-up sense of humor and a penchant for dry wit that made him tolerable on ten-hour shifts. Two of the fingers on his right hand had to be reattached, he once admitted, after an accident while making homemade explosives. He’d been thirteen years old at the time.
While Wade and Elliot talked guns, Marcus retrieved his handheld and browsed through its applications. There was a response to the profile he had posted on a professional networking job board. Interesting. He opened the message and read it quietly.
Mr. Winchester:
The Privateer Ship Andromeda is recruiting highly qualified and skilled personnel for an expedition to a remote system. We are looking for people of the highest caliber with extensive military experience. Unquestionable accountability, integrity and discretion is a must. Experience in the full spectrum of ground warfare operations is desired. The assignment will include protecting the ship’s crew while conducting business in an austere, potentially hazardous environment.
From your verified professional credentials, we believe you to be an outstanding candidate for this expedition. We are offering a generous pay package that we believe you will find to be more than competitive. This expedition is departing in a matter of weeks, so this offer is time-sensitive. If interested, please respond to this query and we will schedule an interview with you as soon as possible. Thank you.
Marcus looked up from his device and blinked hard. Is this for real? When he’d updated his portfolio on the professional networking board, he was hoping to be offered side-gigs as a personal bodyguard or some such, just to bring in extra money. He didn’t expect an off-world expedition to try to recruit him. He wondered if it was a hoax, that someone was playing a joke on him, but the network site screened and vetted its job postings. How generous is generous? Off-world. Holy hell, Ellie won’t like that.
“Hey, Wade,” Marcus said. “Come here. You’re going to love this.”
* * *
Marcus nodded to the man on the screen of his handheld. Broadbent, he said his name was. He was an imposing man with a dark complexion and a cybernetic ocular implant. Marcus couldn’t tell where his accent was from, exactly, but he was former Concordiat military.
“Do you have any further questions, Mr.
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