Chapter 9

Families R&D Center

“It’s a new blast cannon,” the physicist said helpfully, “an improvement on the standard-issue energy weapon.”

Robbie Sinclair looked at the weapon schematic in her hand and compared it to the thing on the lab bench in front of her. The blast cannon looked like a large power pack with a tube sticking out each end. The power pack had a control panel and sighting reticule on each side. The operator could, in theory, adjust the strength of the blast, the width of the beam, and even pulse it.

“All right, Philantha, I give up,” she told the physicist. “Why two tubes? The energy blast only comes out one end. Please tell me it only comes out one end.”

“The second tube is for balance,” the physicist said patiently. “When we first tried it, anyone who carried it could only point it at her feet.” She smiled. “Not knowing any small animals that needed incinerating, we decided to fix that. We tried a bipod, but we thought a counterbalance would make it handier. We’re always thinking of the girls in the field.”

“And you claim it can be carried and used without powered armor?”

“Aye, ma’am,” Philantha said. She picked up the blast cannon. “This is the inert model we used for testing the balance. You can try it if you want. The real one is out on the testing range.”

“Good place for it,” Robbie said absent-mindedly, studying the schematics. After her experience with the imploder grenades, and after demonstrating them to other officers, she’d had a real test range built. Now weapons were tested in meaningful ways without very much risk to the tester or any observer.

“Here,” Philantha said, handing the model to Robbie. “Try it.”

After hefting it judiciously, Robbie decided the blast cannon weighed in at about 15 kilos, an acceptable weight if you didn’t carry any other gear and had another gal helping you. It seemed balanced, and the bipod was an improvement over standing upright.

“You’re holding it backwards,” Philantha said. “You’re aiming the dummy end.”

“Make a note,” Robbie said. “You’ll have to label the ends so a trooper knows which end she’s supposed to point at the enemy.”

“Good idea,” Philantha said, jotting that down. “Shall we try the actual weapon out on the test range?”

“Sure.” Robbie put down the mock-up and followed Philantha to the test range.

Three months before, the test range had been an open field sprinkled with burn spots, blast pits, and a few safety walls. Now it had bunkered monitoring stations, safety equipment, an emergency trauma center, as well as a large number of craters and a few random burn marks. So far, none of the emergency equipment had been used ... so far.

The real blast cannon was set up pointing at a small bunker specially constructed for the test. After making sure the power pack was not connected, Robbie inspected the target bunker. Everything looked familiar. There was a firing slit, concrete walls, a crew weapon, three dummies in full combat gear, and an escape hatch. She’d attacked a bunker built exactly like this at K-303, which was how she had hurt her leg. The only thing out of the ordinary was an array of television cameras placed to monitor the insides of the bunker.

“All right,” Robbie said when she got back to the blast cannon. “Let’s try it.”

Philantha slipped the power pack into its pocket, clipped the leads in place, and tightened them with a screwdriver. Robbie made a mental note to replace the leads with plugs instead of clips, but said nothing. Philantha picked up the cannon, extended the bipod, and rested the muzzle in the test cradle that would let them fire it from a distance. She attached the remote control to the trigger assembly and connected a cable that led to the observation bunker.

“Ready,” she said when she joined Robbie in the bunker. They observed the test site through video monitors.

“What power setting did you give it?”

“Level two of the five we have on this test model.”

Robbie looked at the Marine Senior running the monitoring equipment. “Ready?”

The Senior nodded and threw a switch. “All cameras are at speed,” she said after a few seconds. “Go ahead, ma’am.”

Robbie squeezed the remote control. A blast of orange flame washed out of the rear of the cannon, incinerating a few weeds and scarring the concrete of their own bunker.

Robbie released the remote control and stared at the burning weeds. “Clearly label which end points towards the enemy,” she told the physicist. She looked at the scene in front of her. “And I won’t even ask why there’s a bipod on both tubes.” She looked at Philantha. “That wasn’t on the mock-up.”

“Noted,” Philantha said, writing in her lab journal. “Let me go get it turned around.” She hurried out of the bunker. Robbie sighed and carefully disconnected the remote triggering device.

“What did you do to get assigned here?” Robbie asked the Senior.

The Senior flexed her shoulder. “It was something to do while I was recovering from a wound,” she said. “It sounded interesting. And you, ma’am?”

“The same. This isn’t a safe place, you know. Some of the people here are a little beyond their own hyperjump limit.”

The Senior grinned. “I’ve heard stories, ma’am. But it beats sitting in the hospital and waiting for my muscles to grow back.” She gestured at Philantha, who had turned the cannon around and was trotting back to the bunker. “And it’s a lot more entertaining than sitting in a hospital trading lies with the other Seniors.”

“That it is,” Robbie admitted. She looked at Philantha. “Got it pointed the right way?”

“This time for sure,” the physicist said. “And I increased the field strength from two to three.”

“All right. Cameras, please?”

“At speed,” the Senior replied a few seconds later.

Robbie connected the firing control and then squeezed the trigger. A blast of orange flame licked out towards the target bunker. The cannon slid backwards, searing the sky before Robbie released the remote control.

“Forget something?” Robbie asked the physicist. It was amazing how these gals could play with subatomic particles and gravity shear waves, and forget action and reaction.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” Philantha said. “When I fired it yesterday, it didn’t do that. I felt it push against my shoulder, but that was all.”

“You just stood there and fired it?” Robbie asked softly.

“Why, yes? How else would I know how it would do on this test?”

There was a gap in Philantha’s logic that Robbie couldn’t quite bridge. “So why have this test?” she asked at last.

“Why so you could see it, of course. I didn’t want to disturb you yesterday. You looked like you were busy, and I didn’t want you to see equipment that didn’t work.”

“What would you have done if there’d been a problem?”

“Well, there wasn’t.”

Robbie pursed her lips and looked at the Senior, who was staring at Philantha like she would a strange creature. Robbie looked at the remote control. She looked at her hands. She tried to look everywhere but at the physicist. Somebody needed to teach this girl that she was mortal like everyone else.

Finally, because she had to say something, she asked, “What was the strongest setting you tested it at?”

“This one, three. That’s why I wanted to run the test at this strength,” she added. “I knew it would work.”

“What’s the inside of the bunker look like?” Robbie asked the Senior.

The Senior used her controls to pan the cameras around the inside of the bunker. “Looks a little charred, ma’am, but if they were in armor, it wouldn’t bother them. It might keep their heads down, though.” What we have now would do pretty much the same thing.”

Robbie wiped her hand nervously down the side of her uniform. Why did this weapon scare her? What was she missing? Quietly, she asked the Senior, “Do you think this bunker would survive a direct hit from one of our usual weapons?” The Senior gave her an odd look, then eyed the distance between the cannon and the bunker. She glanced at the camera images of the scorched interior of their target bunker and nodded slowly.

Robbie turned to the physicist. “It may be pushing things, but set the field strength to five and let’s try it again.”