The rail gun was a mish-mash. While the design in his hands, and the capacitors to make it work, were well beyond earth’s current technology, the gun had the feel of the old Springfield rolling block guns Ben had in his collection. The plastic stock had been patterned to look like wood, and the curving lines made by the milling machine were visible in some places. He decided to wait on more examination until he’d gotten the ammo and was on the range. The instructor would be talking about them too.
“What all do you shoot out of these things?” the human asked the tiger behind the grate. Air Force base, federal agency, alien space academy five hundred light years from home, the effect was the same. The anthromorphic tiger in the armory was an Arcturian, and the genetically modified humans were the most militaristic of the races associated with the academy, and therefore the most common on the fighting departments.
“These are standard, tungsten carbide with nylon jackets.” Precision was needed to help the computers translate when needed, Japanese and German were the standard for earth, a story he’d only heard part of. “More advanced races, that need more stopping power use these-“He pulled a magazine from the stack and held it up “-plasma rounds. A bit of lithium deuturide generates a small plasma ball. More advanced versions have a gravitic effect. You get a bit of each for familiarization.”
Ben signed the form for the ammo and gun, slung the weapon and carried the small stack of magazines and capacitor cells to the firing line, where he sat on the ground with the other new recruits. To his left was a group of vulpines, more Arcturians, and to the right was a couple of three foot long spiders. The foxes had more rail guns, and were obviously more familiar with them. The spider guys had what looked like a small laser. There were three groups, the spiders, a group of Ewok-looking fellows, and the human and Arcturian classes. The “Ewoks” had a small, bullpup rifle that looked somewhat like a P90.
“Once you are in your firing position, keep your weapon pointed straight up until we tell you to commence fire.” The rangemaster was one of the Cassinni and sponsors of the academy, a long-limbed being with a long snout for eating their equivalent of tree ants. “Your section master will now give you the rundown on your weapon.”
The section master for the rail guns was another tiger, this obviously much older than the one back at the armory. “You have two types of ammo, and capacitors. I will now explain to you how your weapon is built, and how use it without breaking it. The capacitors are mounted in the sockets in front of the trigger…”
Ben went through the motions as he talked. Bugs in his ears were giving him a prerecorded English version of the lecture, by someone with a much higher voice—the plugs also served as hearing protection. The magazines, which had two double stacks back to back, were loaded into the stock, bullpup style, and were rotated to put the second stack in a loading position. The capacitors were mounted in front, where they fed into the firing circuit. Ultimately, the feeding mechanism was much like a Dardick gun, with a rotor rotating over the magazine to line up the bullets with the breech. A solenoid shoved the bullet into the rails. They didn’t go into the details of the firing circuit, but he could guess. The rails were a special conductive ceramic, and the alloys nicer than anything he could dream of on earth. He chuckled, and then had to let out a snort as he laughed at the thought running through his head. The rangemaster gave him a look, and he was glad this was a civilian academy—bursting out in laughter on a military range would have meant killer push-ups.
“What?”
He looked up from adjusting his sling to look into two golden eyes. Peach colored fur surrounded them, topping off the cream that went from her lower jaw down the front. A load-bearing vest covered a modest halter top—too much clothing made them itchy, he was told. “Just had a funny thought,” He told the vixen. *Just breathe,* he told himself. Being a mild furry fanatic hadn’t been bad, until he’d been introduced to a group that had taken aesthetic mods with the greater strength, better eyesight, and other enhancements. Originally individuals, the Cassinni had made the modifications inheritable, leading from some ancient warrior to this beauty. “We have a few different schools of thought on weapons design, and I had to think of what some people would think of this thing. It’s build to take a beating, and some people prefer guns with closer tolerances.” Compare the rail gun with an AK-47 and an M-16, and the AK would get paternity rights. Speaking of paternity rights…
“First fire is from the prone position! Ten shots at two targets! Commence fire on the buzzer!” The vixen was getting down first, having what was obviously a personal weapon already set up for her. It gave him an opportunity to get a good look at long legs and a bushy tail. Following their minimalist fashion, the bottom was a pair of short shorts, with an empty pistol holster and other gear strapped on. Broken by the gear, the line between peach and cream went down both legs. He shook himself with the first cracks of fire from the ewok-people and went down as well. With the capacitors already in, the drill was to insert the magazine, close the circuit breaker for the firing circuit, turn on the feed mechanism, and take aim through the holographic sight. The targets were paper, with telemetry to mark the score. Plates would be cool, but wouldn’t stand up to the hyper-velocity rounds, and the plasma to follow.
The capacitors, with heavy plastic over the contacts, made the gun front heavy. He made decent scores, not having to worry about sighting in and the ease of the holographic sight made it easier. The massive rifle also absorbed most of the recoil from the bullets, about the size of a 150 grain .270 bullet. All of the foxes were better, most of their groups less than an inch across, even at 500 yards. He congratulated the vixen, who told him her name was Touka. He’d have to look it up, most of the Arcturian ancestors were from Japan, so their language was related.
They went through kneeling and standing positions, then a brief fully automatic course of fire which showed the benefit of having the capacitors in front to keep the barrel down. They then had a free fire course to get rid of the remaining tungsten ammo, and then they pulled out the mags with the red tape. The projectiles weren’t projectiles at all—when fired, the power surging through the armature inside would start a magnetic field, holding the ball of plasma together and initiating a fusion reaction. The ball would burst on impact, exploding similar to a quarter stick of dynamite. There were only half a dozen rounds in the magazine, since this was just to show them what would happen.
They were shooting free style now, and Ben got down into a squatting position before taking aim at a wooden cutout two hundred yards away. He squeezed the trigger and the sight polarized for a brief minute to protect his eye from the brilliant pinpoint of light. The safety glasses polarized as well, but not as much, to let him keep using his eyes. He squeezed off another round, turning another piece of plywood into dust and vapor.
He lowered the gun, a stupid grin on his face after a double-tap and another single shot. The gun—to say nothing of the ammunition—would be highly illegal for civilians if the socialists taking over most governments had their way. He sat back for a minute letting the shockwaves wash over him. Funny how the worst situation of my life has led to this. Kidnapped in the middle of the night and a lucky wreck of the prison bus with the aliens’ car and he got dragged to the “Cassinni Academy of Advanced Civilization.” The libertarian inclination and strong focus on religion on the campus (which covered most of a continent) was Clinton’s worst nightmare.
He looked back at his gun, and examined the plate he’d noticed earlier. It covered the firing circuitry. The plate was clipped on with a spring strip, like so many battery compartments on electric toys at home, but needed the heavy steel lip of an empty magazine to get open after pulling the capacitors. A big relay was connected to the capacitor hookups by two large fuses, and what appeared to be resistors to control the power surge and spread it out. The resistors were apparently removable, in U-shaped clips on either end. The timing circuit limited how long the power flowed, and combined with the resistors the energy used to accelerate the projectile was controlled. Not so important for the solid projectiles, but the plasma rounds needed that limit to keep the yield down, he thought. One way to find out. “Hey boss!”
The tiger was at the other end, the Cassinni was closer. He squatted down to talk to the human. “I can be helping you, yes?” English grammar and syntax proved to be as weird in the universe as it was on earth.
“We’re here to mess around, right? I mean, I can try something, as long as I don’t blow myself up?”
The ant-eater face looked back, and down at the spent brass case Ben though might fit into the clips holding the fuses and resistors. “You want be not blowing yourself up, indeed. Gun will be taking discharge, yes. I be not recommending, of course.” The alien looked at the brass, and got up. He walked away, making sure that the tiger hadn’t noticed. The scene would be amusing, and would teach lessons all around.
It only took a few seconds to replace the fuses and resistors with the brass cases, which fit well enough. Reassembling the gun, he got down into a kneeling stance. The foxes had finished quickly, the plasma rounds being less novel to them. He sighted in pretty far away, not knowing how much power the modified gun would pump into the last round. The trigger clicked, and the light was brilliant. He grinned the dumb grin of a man that just did something stupid, but funny at the same time as he heard the boom. The shockwave knocked him flat, with the foxes yipping in surprise, but only stumbling. The earplugs let him in on the cries and profanity along the firing line over-spoken by the bellow of the tiger’s “CEASEFIRE CEASEFIRE CEASEFIRE!”
As he stood up, he noticed the foxes staring at him. The vixen had been watching the whole thing, and pointed when the tiger muttered something at them. He ignored the stream of drill sergeant’s profanity as he checked the gun. Something smelled burned.
“I would be having you silent, yes.” The Cassinni had returned. “Fault is mine, indeed. Told him he could, yes.” The tiger glared at him, but quit the butt-chewing.
“Regardless of permission, I know you have enough engineering background to know that was pretty stupid. I’ll be asking you to leave your weapon with me, and get back to the dorms to wait for your next class.” He held his hand out.
A futile gesture, as far as the human was concerned. “Heck no! You smell that? I broke the dang thing, and I’ll fix it!” Ben safed the gun, taking out the mag and capacitors and walked off, with the Cassinni talking fast at the tiger.
“That has to be the craziest thing I’ve ever seen someone do on this range. With the amount and types we get, I’ve seen a lot, too.” The tiger at the cage had a small box, which he gave in exchange for the empty magazines and capacitors. The box ended up being the replacement parts for the gun, and some gauges. He scooped it up and looked around. He didn’t really want to bother the tiger, considering, but he needed someone to help him get this repair right. The ant-eater would probably help, but was keeping the tiger busy so Ben wouldn’t lose his guts to his claws.
“You are insane.” He turned around again to look at one of the todds, standing in line to turn in his equipment. “What possessed you to overcharge a plasma round?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time. Thus far this place has been dragging way to slow to suit me. I can’t wait for the real classes to start up in a few weeks, but in the meantime I’ve been babied more than I can handle.” He set the gun on a table used for cleaning and maintenance, and pulled out the parts to look at. “I wanted a lesson in nuclear physics that teaches more than the old wolf in the science building thinks I’m ready for.”
“So you respond by blowing up your gun?” Touka was the second voice, and he looked up at her. She had been in the front of the line, and was already done turning her stuff in. “And I’ll bet that old wolf will get you quite the lesson when he hears about that stunt.”
It wasn’t good that she didn’t sound impressed. It was also the wrong time to try a different tact. “Well, if this is what it takes to get him to actually teach me, then I’ll do it again. In the meantime,” He held up the foil packet with the new circuitry in it, “I was wondering if you’d mind showing me how this works. Manuals kill me.”
She leaned on the table to bring her face closer. “You just tried to blow up the range.”
“I’ll buy you lunch?” She laughed at that. It was a marvelous sound, and it was good to see that I could make her laugh.
“Lunch is covered by tuition, remember? Buying me lunch means nothing.” She straightened and walked away.
“You’re from earth, but don’t have a Terran sponsor. How did that happen?” The todd was talking again.
“Long story. To make it short, my government didn’t like the idea that I thought it was turning into a tyranny, and did some tyrannical things to me. I thank God every day that I ran into the ambassador, and managed to save his life. The Cassinni are sponsoring me for now, but I’ve been told it’ll be easier if I sign up and get sponsored by the Arcturian Empire. I’m not quite sure about growing fur, but the perks seem worth it.” He glanced in the direction of the retreating vixen for emphasis. “Don’t suppose you can help me with this?”
The fox reached over and pointed out the connectors. “Take these out to open it up; you can’t get to everything through the field door.” As the human did so, he kept talking. “She’s good, but you’ll have to work to convince her—and almost everyone else—that you’re not crazy. Crazy makes a bad mate. On the other hand, you can opt for a seed, which is a partial and nano augmentation before actually getting transformed. You’ll then be eligible for the games, and being chosen as a mate.” The Cassinni were experts with the nanotechnology used to create the Arcturians’ current forms, and still knew how to perform the processes used to make the anthromorphs hundreds of years ago. “There are many who would take exception to you trying to court her.”
The Arcturians had an honor system set up for personal combat. “Well, the Cassinni have already given me some, so I know they can’t kill me, so they can’t do anything that could compete with the last few months of my life.” The fox changed the subject, and the rest of the time before Ben had to run off to his next class was spent talking about the weapon in front of him, and putting it back together.
“What all do you shoot out of these things?” the human asked the tiger behind the grate. Air Force base, federal agency, alien space academy five hundred light years from home, the effect was the same. The anthromorphic tiger in the armory was an Arcturian, and the genetically modified humans were the most militaristic of the races associated with the academy, and therefore the most common on the fighting departments.
“These are standard, tungsten carbide with nylon jackets.” Precision was needed to help the computers translate when needed, Japanese and German were the standard for earth, a story he’d only heard part of. “More advanced races, that need more stopping power use these-“He pulled a magazine from the stack and held it up “-plasma rounds. A bit of lithium deuturide generates a small plasma ball. More advanced versions have a gravitic effect. You get a bit of each for familiarization.”
Ben signed the form for the ammo and gun, slung the weapon and carried the small stack of magazines and capacitor cells to the firing line, where he sat on the ground with the other new recruits. To his left was a group of vulpines, more Arcturians, and to the right was a couple of three foot long spiders. The foxes had more rail guns, and were obviously more familiar with them. The spider guys had what looked like a small laser. There were three groups, the spiders, a group of Ewok-looking fellows, and the human and Arcturian classes. The “Ewoks” had a small, bullpup rifle that looked somewhat like a P90.
“Once you are in your firing position, keep your weapon pointed straight up until we tell you to commence fire.” The rangemaster was one of the Cassinni and sponsors of the academy, a long-limbed being with a long snout for eating their equivalent of tree ants. “Your section master will now give you the rundown on your weapon.”
The section master for the rail guns was another tiger, this obviously much older than the one back at the armory. “You have two types of ammo, and capacitors. I will now explain to you how your weapon is built, and how use it without breaking it. The capacitors are mounted in the sockets in front of the trigger…”
Ben went through the motions as he talked. Bugs in his ears were giving him a prerecorded English version of the lecture, by someone with a much higher voice—the plugs also served as hearing protection. The magazines, which had two double stacks back to back, were loaded into the stock, bullpup style, and were rotated to put the second stack in a loading position. The capacitors were mounted in front, where they fed into the firing circuit. Ultimately, the feeding mechanism was much like a Dardick gun, with a rotor rotating over the magazine to line up the bullets with the breech. A solenoid shoved the bullet into the rails. They didn’t go into the details of the firing circuit, but he could guess. The rails were a special conductive ceramic, and the alloys nicer than anything he could dream of on earth. He chuckled, and then had to let out a snort as he laughed at the thought running through his head. The rangemaster gave him a look, and he was glad this was a civilian academy—bursting out in laughter on a military range would have meant killer push-ups.
“What?”
He looked up from adjusting his sling to look into two golden eyes. Peach colored fur surrounded them, topping off the cream that went from her lower jaw down the front. A load-bearing vest covered a modest halter top—too much clothing made them itchy, he was told. “Just had a funny thought,” He told the vixen. *Just breathe,* he told himself. Being a mild furry fanatic hadn’t been bad, until he’d been introduced to a group that had taken aesthetic mods with the greater strength, better eyesight, and other enhancements. Originally individuals, the Cassinni had made the modifications inheritable, leading from some ancient warrior to this beauty. “We have a few different schools of thought on weapons design, and I had to think of what some people would think of this thing. It’s build to take a beating, and some people prefer guns with closer tolerances.” Compare the rail gun with an AK-47 and an M-16, and the AK would get paternity rights. Speaking of paternity rights…
“First fire is from the prone position! Ten shots at two targets! Commence fire on the buzzer!” The vixen was getting down first, having what was obviously a personal weapon already set up for her. It gave him an opportunity to get a good look at long legs and a bushy tail. Following their minimalist fashion, the bottom was a pair of short shorts, with an empty pistol holster and other gear strapped on. Broken by the gear, the line between peach and cream went down both legs. He shook himself with the first cracks of fire from the ewok-people and went down as well. With the capacitors already in, the drill was to insert the magazine, close the circuit breaker for the firing circuit, turn on the feed mechanism, and take aim through the holographic sight. The targets were paper, with telemetry to mark the score. Plates would be cool, but wouldn’t stand up to the hyper-velocity rounds, and the plasma to follow.
The capacitors, with heavy plastic over the contacts, made the gun front heavy. He made decent scores, not having to worry about sighting in and the ease of the holographic sight made it easier. The massive rifle also absorbed most of the recoil from the bullets, about the size of a 150 grain .270 bullet. All of the foxes were better, most of their groups less than an inch across, even at 500 yards. He congratulated the vixen, who told him her name was Touka. He’d have to look it up, most of the Arcturian ancestors were from Japan, so their language was related.
They went through kneeling and standing positions, then a brief fully automatic course of fire which showed the benefit of having the capacitors in front to keep the barrel down. They then had a free fire course to get rid of the remaining tungsten ammo, and then they pulled out the mags with the red tape. The projectiles weren’t projectiles at all—when fired, the power surging through the armature inside would start a magnetic field, holding the ball of plasma together and initiating a fusion reaction. The ball would burst on impact, exploding similar to a quarter stick of dynamite. There were only half a dozen rounds in the magazine, since this was just to show them what would happen.
They were shooting free style now, and Ben got down into a squatting position before taking aim at a wooden cutout two hundred yards away. He squeezed the trigger and the sight polarized for a brief minute to protect his eye from the brilliant pinpoint of light. The safety glasses polarized as well, but not as much, to let him keep using his eyes. He squeezed off another round, turning another piece of plywood into dust and vapor.
He lowered the gun, a stupid grin on his face after a double-tap and another single shot. The gun—to say nothing of the ammunition—would be highly illegal for civilians if the socialists taking over most governments had their way. He sat back for a minute letting the shockwaves wash over him. Funny how the worst situation of my life has led to this. Kidnapped in the middle of the night and a lucky wreck of the prison bus with the aliens’ car and he got dragged to the “Cassinni Academy of Advanced Civilization.” The libertarian inclination and strong focus on religion on the campus (which covered most of a continent) was Clinton’s worst nightmare.
He looked back at his gun, and examined the plate he’d noticed earlier. It covered the firing circuitry. The plate was clipped on with a spring strip, like so many battery compartments on electric toys at home, but needed the heavy steel lip of an empty magazine to get open after pulling the capacitors. A big relay was connected to the capacitor hookups by two large fuses, and what appeared to be resistors to control the power surge and spread it out. The resistors were apparently removable, in U-shaped clips on either end. The timing circuit limited how long the power flowed, and combined with the resistors the energy used to accelerate the projectile was controlled. Not so important for the solid projectiles, but the plasma rounds needed that limit to keep the yield down, he thought. One way to find out. “Hey boss!”
The tiger was at the other end, the Cassinni was closer. He squatted down to talk to the human. “I can be helping you, yes?” English grammar and syntax proved to be as weird in the universe as it was on earth.
“We’re here to mess around, right? I mean, I can try something, as long as I don’t blow myself up?”
The ant-eater face looked back, and down at the spent brass case Ben though might fit into the clips holding the fuses and resistors. “You want be not blowing yourself up, indeed. Gun will be taking discharge, yes. I be not recommending, of course.” The alien looked at the brass, and got up. He walked away, making sure that the tiger hadn’t noticed. The scene would be amusing, and would teach lessons all around.
It only took a few seconds to replace the fuses and resistors with the brass cases, which fit well enough. Reassembling the gun, he got down into a kneeling stance. The foxes had finished quickly, the plasma rounds being less novel to them. He sighted in pretty far away, not knowing how much power the modified gun would pump into the last round. The trigger clicked, and the light was brilliant. He grinned the dumb grin of a man that just did something stupid, but funny at the same time as he heard the boom. The shockwave knocked him flat, with the foxes yipping in surprise, but only stumbling. The earplugs let him in on the cries and profanity along the firing line over-spoken by the bellow of the tiger’s “CEASEFIRE CEASEFIRE CEASEFIRE!”
As he stood up, he noticed the foxes staring at him. The vixen had been watching the whole thing, and pointed when the tiger muttered something at them. He ignored the stream of drill sergeant’s profanity as he checked the gun. Something smelled burned.
“I would be having you silent, yes.” The Cassinni had returned. “Fault is mine, indeed. Told him he could, yes.” The tiger glared at him, but quit the butt-chewing.
“Regardless of permission, I know you have enough engineering background to know that was pretty stupid. I’ll be asking you to leave your weapon with me, and get back to the dorms to wait for your next class.” He held his hand out.
A futile gesture, as far as the human was concerned. “Heck no! You smell that? I broke the dang thing, and I’ll fix it!” Ben safed the gun, taking out the mag and capacitors and walked off, with the Cassinni talking fast at the tiger.
“That has to be the craziest thing I’ve ever seen someone do on this range. With the amount and types we get, I’ve seen a lot, too.” The tiger at the cage had a small box, which he gave in exchange for the empty magazines and capacitors. The box ended up being the replacement parts for the gun, and some gauges. He scooped it up and looked around. He didn’t really want to bother the tiger, considering, but he needed someone to help him get this repair right. The ant-eater would probably help, but was keeping the tiger busy so Ben wouldn’t lose his guts to his claws.
“You are insane.” He turned around again to look at one of the todds, standing in line to turn in his equipment. “What possessed you to overcharge a plasma round?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time. Thus far this place has been dragging way to slow to suit me. I can’t wait for the real classes to start up in a few weeks, but in the meantime I’ve been babied more than I can handle.” He set the gun on a table used for cleaning and maintenance, and pulled out the parts to look at. “I wanted a lesson in nuclear physics that teaches more than the old wolf in the science building thinks I’m ready for.”
“So you respond by blowing up your gun?” Touka was the second voice, and he looked up at her. She had been in the front of the line, and was already done turning her stuff in. “And I’ll bet that old wolf will get you quite the lesson when he hears about that stunt.”
It wasn’t good that she didn’t sound impressed. It was also the wrong time to try a different tact. “Well, if this is what it takes to get him to actually teach me, then I’ll do it again. In the meantime,” He held up the foil packet with the new circuitry in it, “I was wondering if you’d mind showing me how this works. Manuals kill me.”
She leaned on the table to bring her face closer. “You just tried to blow up the range.”
“I’ll buy you lunch?” She laughed at that. It was a marvelous sound, and it was good to see that I could make her laugh.
“Lunch is covered by tuition, remember? Buying me lunch means nothing.” She straightened and walked away.
“You’re from earth, but don’t have a Terran sponsor. How did that happen?” The todd was talking again.
“Long story. To make it short, my government didn’t like the idea that I thought it was turning into a tyranny, and did some tyrannical things to me. I thank God every day that I ran into the ambassador, and managed to save his life. The Cassinni are sponsoring me for now, but I’ve been told it’ll be easier if I sign up and get sponsored by the Arcturian Empire. I’m not quite sure about growing fur, but the perks seem worth it.” He glanced in the direction of the retreating vixen for emphasis. “Don’t suppose you can help me with this?”
The fox reached over and pointed out the connectors. “Take these out to open it up; you can’t get to everything through the field door.” As the human did so, he kept talking. “She’s good, but you’ll have to work to convince her—and almost everyone else—that you’re not crazy. Crazy makes a bad mate. On the other hand, you can opt for a seed, which is a partial and nano augmentation before actually getting transformed. You’ll then be eligible for the games, and being chosen as a mate.” The Cassinni were experts with the nanotechnology used to create the Arcturians’ current forms, and still knew how to perform the processes used to make the anthromorphs hundreds of years ago. “There are many who would take exception to you trying to court her.”
The Arcturians had an honor system set up for personal combat. “Well, the Cassinni have already given me some, so I know they can’t kill me, so they can’t do anything that could compete with the last few months of my life.” The fox changed the subject, and the rest of the time before Ben had to run off to his next class was spent talking about the weapon in front of him, and putting it back together.
