Firstborn of the Frontier

Much as I’d love to talk tech with Danny all day, I got a schedule to keep, so after convincing him to look into the defensive properties of spidersilk, I herd everyone out right quick.

It’s got nothing to do with avoiding Josie now that I know what’s what, or Errol and Sarah Jay’s growing impatience. Well, not entirely nothing, which is why I take a moment to address the elephant in the room as we head on over to our next destination. “Tell me something,” I say, speaking over my shoulder at the two surly prospects in the back of my wagon. “How those new flashbangs work again?” My question is met with silence as I imagine Errol and Sarah Jay trading puzzled glances, and it’s hard to keep the mirth out of my voice as I tease, “C’mon now. Danny just explained it, and I’m sure two eager prospects like yourselves were hanging onto every word, seeing how you might soon come to rely on those flashbangs to keep your hides in tact.”

I can almost make out Sarah Jay’s surly grumbles, no doubt something about how she didn’t know there was gonna be a test. That’s what she don’t understand though. There ain’t gonna be no written exams in the Firstborn’s school of hard knocks. You either learn enough to stay alive, or you die because you didn’t know enough. Turning around to look them in the eyes, I explain, “You need to know your tools, because knowledge is power. Back in the day, Spellslingers were called wizards, because much like a drunkard is a drunk man, a wizard is a wise man, and only wise men could use spells.” Tapping the side of my temple, I say, “Spells and guns are great and all, but ain’t nothing compared to what you got up here. The more you know, the more options you have at your disposal, and you never know what might come in handy.”

To catch them up, I go over everything Danny said about his flashbangs and ask, “So what’s that tell you?”

Prize student that she is, Sarah Jay replies, “That they won’t work against anything that don’t use eyes to see or ears to hear?”

“Good, but say it with more confidence. You tellin’, not askin’.” Flashing a grin to take away the minor sting of the critique, I ask, “What else?” Neither one answers, which is fine, but I encourage them with a little nod and say, “Think about the Cantrips used. Light and Daze right? So?”

The little bit of emphasis on the word Cantrip is all Errol needs, and his eyes light up in understanding. “If it only uses Cantrips, then it can’t be all that powerful,” he says, but then he falters just short of home base. “So uhh… you can probably counter it with higher level Spells?”

“Right on the money,” I reply, giving them both a big thumbs up in encouragement. “A Darkness Spell will counteract the flash, while a Silence Spell should neutralize the bang, but those are both Second Order. Not a bad trade off if you the one throwing the flashbang.”

Turning back around to face forward, I continue to speak over my shoulder so they don’t feel like I’m lecturing them all the time. “You never know when some piece of information might come in handy, so best you get in the habit of hoarding all that you can. Even a passing knowledge of how things work can prove useful out there.” There’s more to it, but I leave it at that for now, because I don’t want to overwhelm them. Knowing how a flashbang works might also allow them to modify it in some ways. For example, Danny said the suspended alchemical amalgam inside the flashbang doesn’t preserve the Light and Daze Cantrips, but absorbs them in a more or less stable configuration. So what would happen if you cast a different Cantrip on the amalgam, like say Shocking Grasp or maybe even a stronger Spell like Frost Nova?

Probably nothing. The amalgam is likely tailor made for the Light and Daze Cantrips, but who knows? I would’ve brung it up with Danny, but I was worried he’d run off and test it without thinking things through. I’d hate for him to lose a hand over some hare-brained idea he got from me, so I figured we’re both better off if I bring that particular idea up with whoever the Rangers put in charge of manufacturing the flashbangs.

Having teased my prospects long enough, I decide our next stop is the fabled gun store of New Hope, owned and operated by Armand Kalthoff himself. A gunsmith so famous and influential, Ron was tempted to take me hostage just because I had a personal connection to the man. Almost everyone around these parts has heard of the man’s name, but what most don’t know is how he credits my mama for his success. Not because of her bricks or the carbonized steel that came from them, but rather because my mama filled five whole notebooks with information about Metamagics before she passed.

Like I said, my mama was smart as a tack, with her fingers in a whole lot of different pies. Even though Mr. Kalthoff already knew how to make guns based on blueprints he memorized before coming to the Frontier, he claims her notes helped him reach a new level of understanding. That’s why he’s so valued by the Rangers and respected by others, because he can do more than just follow instructions and churn out the same few Aetherarms by following blueprints folks memorized and brought over. Instead, he makes his own blueprints, many of which are much improved because he understands the available materials better than the old world ‘experts’. Armand Kalthoff is a true craftsman, an artist in every sense of the word, and thanks to my mama, he’s always had a soft spot for me, even if he don’t ever show it.

Not Marijke though, his sixteen-year-old daughter manning the shop today. After I hit the buzzer to be let in, the homely blonde looks up and hits me with a grimace similar to the face I make when Cowie leaves a patty out on the street. Downright hurtful is what it is, and after coming up and unlocking the door, she heads right back to work on whatever it is she got going on behind the counter. No ‘good to see you’ or ‘how can I help’, just a soft grunt as she points at the rule board on her way back. Terrible customer service, but if anyone can afford to pick and choose their customers, it’d be Mr. Kalthoff.

Breaks my heart to be treated this way by Marijke, because I bet we’d make great friends. We grew up together, and while she ain’t the prettiest gal in town by a long shot, she’s got a big heart and shares my love for Aetherarms and talking specs. Ain’t met no one else like her, man or woman, but she won’t give me the time of day unless I’m here as a customer, much less stop out on the street for a chat. No idea why, as it ain’t like I ever wronged her before, unless you count asking too many questions about Aetherarms over the years, or calling her ‘Mary’ for a good eight years before she finally corrected me. ‘Ma-rye-kuh’ ain’t the easiest name to pronounce, and I still can’t get it right, which is why I simplified it. Don’t see what all the fuss was about either. My name ain’t technically Howie, but teaching folks how to pronounce ‘Hao Wei’ gets real tiring real fast.

Putting the rough reception out of mind, I leave Chrissy to Tina and turn to Errol and Sarah Jay. They both all wide-eyed and excited from being here, and truth be told, I’m a little awestruck myself. Mr. Kalthoff’s gun store is like Uncle Raleigh’s gun safe only dialed up to thirteen, with all manner of Aetherarms mounted on the back wall. There are pistols, rifles, carbines, and even support weapons all laid out to look at, but those last ones are display only. Nothing like my Big Stick either, and custom jobs like my dubsie Doorknockers are a rare sight these days, as Mr. Kalthoff is too busy streamlining the mass-manufacturing process to take any individual orders. Marijke’s a competent gunsmith in her own right, but she only do work for her daddy as he says she ain’t ready to strike out on her own. I disagree, but Mr. Kalthoff got high standards and strong ethics, which is how he earned his reputation to begin with.

Once I have their attention, I bring Errol and Sarah Jay over to wander through the shelves of equipment on either side of the store, telling them to grab stuff whenever I see something they might need. Goggles, Light-tubes, canteens, entrenching tools, knives, ammo pouches and more, all stuff we could get elsewhere if we really cared to, but Mr. Kalthoff has an eye for quality which can’t be beat. I take a bit longer in the stacks than I really need, mostly just to tease Errol and Sarah Jay a bit more, as I gotta amuse myself somehow. Turns out, spending cash ain’t as fun when you ain’t spending it on yourself, and I still have a lot more spending to do, so I don’t feel bad about keeping them in suspense a little longer.

Seems a little odd to spend so much on people I just met yesterday, but Errol showed me the kinda man he is during the harpy attack, and I reckon I owe Sarah Jay’s daddy big.

Once I’ve tormented them enough for my amusement, I head over to the counter where Marijke has been hard at work the entire time, checking and double-checking a whole array of gun parts which are neatly laid out on the countertop. She’s got a little metal rasp in hand and a whole mess of other tools she’s using to put the finishing touches on the parts before fitting them together into a working Aetherarm. A real big‘un, which draws my interest, though I know better than to touch anything. “Hey there girlie,” I say, which earns me a fierce glower for interrupting her. Ain’t fair, considering this here is her place of business, one that is open and ready for commerce. Rather than ask about tricks, I quail before her dark glare and thick brows. “Your daddy around?”

“No. He is at zee factory,” she replies already looking back down at her work, her accent so thick just like her father’s flat intonations and separated syllables. “Come back anuzzer day if you vish to vaste his time.”

Glancing at the piece in her hand, I recognize it as a gas tube for a fully automatic weapon. “Ooh, your daddy finally get the stamp for that machinegun working?” I ask, ready to part with my whole stack of cash and let Errol and Sarah Jay ride out with nothing but sticks if need be. “What did he call it again? The BAR?”

“Blackstaff Assault Rifle.” Still gently filing away at the gas tube, Marijke rattles off the specs like a song for my heart. “8.8 kilograms in weight vith 610 mm barrel. Total length with wooden stock, 1.19 metres, with rear leaf and front post iron sights, as vell as built in bipod for stability. Gas-operated vith rising bolt lock, this veapon is built around ten First Order Bolt Cores used in rotation. Take 40 round detachable magazine of 7.62 - 60 ammunition. Fires up to 600 Bolt per minute, at effective range up to 1,000 metres. Extended use vill varp the barrel and crack Cores, but is most efficient and economical full-auto Bolt rifle Papa can make.”

If she says so, then it must be true. In the old world, most fully automatic weapons use Second Order Bolt Salvo Cores, which fires three First Order Bolts in quick succession. Thing is, we ain’t seen many of those around these parts just yet. While fully capable of making Abby with fancy, higher Order Cores, Proggies gotta pay more mind to bang for buck out on the Frontier because we got lower ambient Aether concentration levels here than in the old world. That’s changing by the day, but until we hit the Watershed, I doubt any Proggie got enough Aether and Biomass to spare for cranking out Second or Third Order Spell Cores in numbers enough to matter. If any Abby do have Higher Order Spell Cores, it’s usually something with utility, like Shatter for digging tunnels or Fireball for maximum effect.

Course we also gotta consider efficiency on our end. Using a modified Cantrip Core as the base example, it costs four times more Aether to power a First Order Spell Core, nine times for a Second Order Spell Core, and sixteen times for a Third Order Spell Core. So while 10 Grain ammunition is the sweet spot for a Metamagicked Bolt Cantrip Aetherarm, it’s 40 Grain for a First Order Bolt, and 90 Grain for A Bolt Salvo. That’s per shot mind you, so even if we had a Bolt Salvo Core, it’d be more efficient and effective to fire a Metamagicked Bolt Cantrip Core nine times than a Bolt Salvo Core once, which is something we all got to consider given our limited reserves of crystallized Aether and how difficult it is to come by.

That being said, I sure would love to get my hands on one of these bad boy BAR’s. “7.62-60 ammo, huh?” I ask, grabbing one of them big brass bullets she got sitting off to the side, a real monster of a bullet compared to the tiny .22’s I favour. Means the Spell Core is bigger, which in turn means it’s more robust and less likely to crack due to repeated use. A bit of mental math tells me that this has the same proportional Grainage as a fatter .45-15, which is what Tina’s 1911’s use, so it’s a decent bet that the Metamagics will be similar. Wanting to impress Marijke, I make a show of looking over all the parts, with their Metamagic Etchings all dark and unpowered. “Hmm, Distant. Extend Duration. Intensify. Empower. Prime. Efficient. Quicken.” While going through the list, I realize that Silence and Toppling wouldn’t make sense on a weapon like this, so I take a wild guess and say, “…Penetrate?”

Which isn’t really a terrible guess, as most other Metamagics would be silly or too costly for only 60 Grainage of Aether. To my delight, Marijke looks up from her work and gives me an almost approving nod. “Difficult to Etch and keep barrel disposable, but Papa, he say Penetrate more useful than Moderate or Precise for recoil and accuracy. Rangers’ have strong arms. Sharp eyes. No need Metamagic to help shoot.”

Which is how I’d go about it, because even if the Abby you shooting ain’t armoured, Penetrate Metamagic gives you a decent chance of hitting a collat, or a collateral shot where your Bolt pierces your first target to hit a second behind it. Learned that firsthand in Pleasant Dunes, didn’t I, as a normal, non-Penetrating Bolt would’ve spent itself on the table, leaving nothing to hit me through my Shield, duster, and Mage Armour besides splinters. Course, if a regular Bolt hits your armour, the force of the impact can still hurt you real bad, if not kill you outright. As for the Blackstaff Assault Rifle, I reckon it’ll chew up Abby in chokepoints for sure, especially if it’s modified to be belt fed, which is something even I could rig up. “About time we got something fully-auto. How much to get me one of these bad boys?”

“Not for sale.” Any goodwill I might’ve won with my earlier performance all melts away as she goes back to glowering. “Military veapon only.”

Something in my expression gives away my inner turmoil, because Marijke’s scowl softens just a bit. She knows my daddy deserved better, and she knows she ain’t American either. Trying to play it off, I smile and ask, “Any chance of a civilian model getting released anytime soon?”

“Nay.” After muttering something unintelligible under her breath, Marijke says, “Civilian semi-auto only. Full-auto too much. Need standardized parts, very difficult to machine.” Picking up two metal nuts from her carefully arranged pile of parts, she places them on the counter in front of me and says, “See? Look same, but different.”

“Yea, this one got a threaded centre, and the other got more weight. Lead?” Blinking in surprise, Marijke nods and furrows her thick brows, no doubt wondering how I could tell without touching either nut. “Analyze Object Spell,” I reply in answer to her unspoken question. “Use that plus the Appraisal Cantrip and Identify Spell enough times and you sorta get a sense for things. Helps eyeball stuff like height, weight, distance and such.” Sort of like my rustling jimmies. I can just tell round-about how much small objects weigh and sometimes what they made of, though with people it becomes mostly guesswork. Mostly has to do with the scale of things, so who knows. If I use those Spells enough, there might come a day when I can find ranges without the Rangefinder Cantrip, among other things.

“Mh.” Marijke grunts and gives me an even look, likely trying to decide if I’m pulling her leg. I’m not, but my innocent appearance ain’t helping, and she’s immune to all my modest charms, which really breaks my heart. I bet we’d have a lot of fun together. Sure, she ain’t what you might call conventionally attractive, but I like a woman who knows her guns, because I like knowing much as I can, and Marijke knows more than anyone besides her daddy.

Deciding it ain’t worth it even if I am yanking her chain, she sighs and says, “Much vork still to be done.” Meaning on the Aetherarm in general, not right this second. “The steel, too weak, but Darksteel too heavy and expensive for disposable barrel. Too many Cores also, and if one crack, then gun is kaput without maintenance.” Because if you keep cycling Aether through the cracked Core, it could explode. “Jams often, not only ammunition feed, but Core chamber.” Which uses the same principle as the gatling, except instead of giving each Core its own barrel, you cycle through them with every shot. Must be a nightmare ensuring the Core, bullet, and barrel line up precisely right at such high rates of fire. “And this is best ve have. Other full-auto Bolt Aetherarms, garbage after seven, eight-hundred rounds.” Like the AK-47 models I been hearing about, but those are single Core guns originally designed for Bolt Salvo. The scaled down Bolt 1 versions are inaccurate, prone to jamming, and have mediocre stopping power on top of their short shelf life, though they only got to hit you once to really ruin your week.

Since getting a BAR is out of the question, I switch tack and say, “Well, we’re looking to fit ourselves with some armour-penetration Aetherarms.” Marijke’s gaze is just full of suspicion, likely because the Rangers have already been by and requested the same in preparation for their trip to Pleasant Dunes. “Nothing too heavy. A Blastgun for Errol, and sidearms for the rest of us, unless you got a carbine worth picking up for cheap.” Emphasis on the cheap. I can’t spend all my remaining bounty cash outfitting Errol and Sarah Jay, else I won’t be able to afford to buy anything for selling.

“You buying me a sidearm?” Appearing out of nowhere once Marijke shuffles off, Tina grabs my arm like Chrissy would and rests her head on my shoulder. “For realsies? You ain’t pullin’ my leg, are ye?”

“Yea, I’m buying you a sidearm.”

“You the best Howie,” Tina says, throwing her arms around my shoulders for a hug. After a moment, she looks up without pulling away and asks, “Why armour penetrating though?”

Because I can’t in good conscience let her head out to Pleasant Dunes without an armour penetrating weapon. I’m sure the Rangers will supply her with something for long range, but Tina’s training to take point in a strike team like her daddy, meaning she likes to fight up close and personal. While I doubt they’ll bring her down into any Abby burrow, I still won’t feel right letting her go off without a proper sidearm to defend herself.

“Well, you know what they say,” I rattle off, trying to play it casual and ignore how good she smells. Who likes flowers anyway? I prefer gun oil and Aether. “Better to have and not need, and all that.” Not wanting to answer anymore questions, I hand Tina the shoulder harness I picked out for her and smile as she frowns and runs off to pick out a prettier one. She’ll put all the pieces together eventually, but the Rangers’ll keep the boots in the dark until they hit the Coral Desert at least, if not longer. Operational security and whatnot, so Tina won’t start worry about what I’m fixing to do for at least another week.

It doesn’t take long for Marijke to come back with a selection of Aetherarms to choose from, and I let her explain each one in turn. The standard Dresden Forzare don’t come as no surprise, but Marijke also brought a second choice for us to look at, a fat, stubby, single barrel Aetherarm with a cylinder, wooden stock, and vertical foregrip. Too short for a carbine and too big for a pistol, it’s got a real hefty look to it which I like, and its hard to beat revolvers for reliability. Seeing my interest, Marijke hands it over and rattles off the specs. “MK 412, armour penetrating variant of the 410. Nickname is Vhumper. Revolver double action Blastgun with five Cores for five cylinders. 2 kg in weight and 585mm in length from barrel to stock. Takes standard 12’ gauge 40 Grain shell, and has rail for installing sight at front or midsection. Have same Metamagic loadout as Forzare. Adjustable cone of fire give effective range up to forty metres with most narrow spread. Better to buy compressor, turn Spell into solid shot vith up to eighty-metre range.”

The Whumper ain’t new, but the compressor is, and I listen carefully as Marijke explains how it all works. Sounds mighty interesting indeed, the full force of a Blast packed into a single solid projectile thicker than my thumb. It’ll hit hard, that’s for sure, great for picking off armoured bugbears or worse, and the Whumper makes a fun and distinctive noise when it fires, which is how it got the name. Still, I like simple, and while revolvers work fine for sidearms, things get a little more complicated for bigger guns which need two hands to use. The MK 412 is smaller than the Forzare, but still about twice as long as my dubsies, which makes it difficult to use one handed. “The vertical foregrip,” I say while testing the feel of the Aetherarm, “That’s to keep your hand away from blowback?”

Marijke nods, but Errol asks, “What’s that mean?”

Always happy to show and tell, I hold up 412 and show him the revolving cylinder. “Since this here has to turn, the barrel don’t sit flush with the chamber. The gap is paper thin, but it means that not all of the force from the Blast or Bolt will always make it into the barrel. Some of it could escape out to the sides of the cylinder in the form of a gas discharge, which we call a blowback. Not a problem with a pistol which you hold with one or both hands on the grip, but if you put your hand by the cylinder while you shoot, like you holding a rifle, well then there’s a chance you could lose a finger or three.”

“Foregrip is for contingency only,” Marijke interjects, scowling up a storm. “Chamber have sealing mechanism, see?” Directing me to pop out the cylinder, she points at the cap on the front end and works the trigger to show how the barrel retracts and extends to connect with the rotating chamber. “Put ammunition in and press tight. Create seal between Core and cartridge. Tube here connect chamber to barrel, create second seal between Core and barrel. Gun fire. Tube retract. Cylinder turn. Tube reconnect. No blowback. Hand machined ball bearings. Very precise.”

“And easy to foul,” I reply. “Be a real mess keeping it clean in the desert.” Realizing I messed up as soon as I say it, I avoid meeting Marijke’s suspicious gaze and pretend to look at the mechanism some more. “Or if it gets muddy. Does this cap come off?” Thankfully, no one calls me out and Marijke just nods. “Me, I prefer simple is as simple does, and it don’t get more simple than the Forzare. Can that take a compressor?”

Marijke scoffs in response to my question, and I immediately understand why. “No threaded barrel on Forzare,” she says, leaving out the obvious bit about how two compressors wouldn’t fit side by side anyways.

Passing the Blastgun to Errol so he can look it over, I move on with Marijke to the next item on the list, a stubby carbine with a thick, sturdy blackened barrel. “Dresden Fuego,” she says, tripping over the Spanish with a scowl. “44-40. Not Armour Penetrating, but Elemental Piercing. Firebolts, yes?” That’s one way to get around armour, by spraying them down with Fire instead or Force, which I don’t hate. Acid would be better in Pleasant Dunes, but Fire more useful overall. “No Ignite Metamagic,” Marijke says, which means we won’t be accidentally starting any fires with the carbine. Always a concern when playing with fire, especially with how many buildings I seen which are mostly made of wood. “Have Burning damage, immolate anything you hit to hurt more, without fire spreading.” Pursing her lips in a grimace, she adds, “Is revolver double action, but older model. No sealing mechanism. Be careful vith hand placement.” Shrugging, she adds, “Elemental Aetherarms, not popular. Papa have better things to vork on.”

That clinches it, as I ain’t ready to risk losing no fingers, especially since the Fuego don’t got no foregrip. No wonder she didn’t go into full detail, as she figured I wouldn’t take it, since I’ve always been somewhat risk adverse when it comes to my fingers and my Aetherarms both. “Anything else?”

Muttering something unkind again, Marijke takes the Fuego back and strokes it like she’s soothing her baby, which is fair. Not like every shot is gonna clip your fingers off, nor is it even likely, but it ain’t a risk I’m willing to take. After putting it aside, she grabs another carbine, this one sporting a slightly longer and thinner barrel than the Fuego. It’s also all black, the wood and steel both dark as night, though not without a bit of shine to it. Not Darksteel then, but still pretty as a peach. “Kagemusha, Type 44,” Marijke says, without adding anything else, because she knows I got the specs all memorized. A Nipponese blueprint, which don’t make me feel too great about it, but Mr. Kalthoff wouldn’t sell anything he thought was sub-par. A 22-10 carbine with a ten-round clip, but even with Penetrate Metamagic, the stopping power on the gun leaves a lot to be desired. It’s a stealth weapon, made for silent assassinations when you can’t get a proper rifle to where you need it, and not at all my style.

In response to my sour expression, Marijke gives me a pointed look and explains, “Rangers come in, buy up all Soviet SKS Type 56.” She knows something’s up, but I ain’t confirming nothing. “Best armour penetrating carbine available.” Which ain’t saying much, as the Strelky is a loud and inaccurate mess of a gun, largely due to the fact that it’s a blueprint brought to the Frontier by the Qin Republic. Meaning the design choices are all catered to ease of mass manufacturing rather than silly things like safety and reliability. It’s got problems with accidental slam-fires and jams frequently when loaded with magazines, meaning you better off sticking with the internal 10 round clip. It’s also no good for anything over 200m, which I suppose won’t be a problem for tunnel fighting or defending a wall, but I’ll stick to my Ranger repeater, thank you very much.

Guess no new carbines then. Handing the Kagemusha back, I move on to sidearms without a word and let Tina look over her choices herself. In the end, she settles for a Szass and Tam Model 45, a semi-automatic pistol similar to her boxy 1911’s. Same .45-15 ammo, similar weight, bit more recoil, and a slightly lower rate of fire, with Penetrating Metamagic instead of Silent and Toppling. In black instead of steel, so she can tell them apart, and I pick up a second one for Sarah Jay because I could always give the extra pistol to Tina if things don’t work out. Not a great mindset to get into things, planning for failure, but it is what it is.

When it comes my turn to pick out a sidearm, Marijke only has a single option for me to choose from. I take a good look at the pistol sitting on the counter, then give her my best neutral expression. “Girlie,” I begin, keeping my tone cordial as can be without any actual cheer, “Your daddy has been good to me, so please know I don’t mean to offend, but I gotta ask. Are you having what the Brits would call ‘a laugh’?”

Behind me, Tina, Errol, and Sarah Jay all giggle behind their hands while Chrissy stays quiet as always, but Marijke doesn’t bat her eyes one bit. “You vant armour penetrating. You like revolver and 22-10 ammunition. Zhis is only option.”

So I take another look at the offering she picked out, and I can’t help but sigh. Pulling my Rattlesnake out by the frame, I eject the ammo out the cylinder before placing it down next to the pistol in question, a blued-steel, short-barrel, snub-nosed affair that is so small it could be my shiny steel Rattlesnake’s adopted black baby, and my Rattlesnake ain’t the biggest handgun either. Set side by side like they are, the others can’t help but burst into laughter, and Marijke’s lower lip even twitches a bit. “Is powerful sidearm,” she says, unable to look me in the eye. “Szass and Tam Model 10. Nickname Military and Police model, as favoured for easy carry and self defense. N-frame revolver vith 101 mm barrel and only 1.4 kg in weight. Perfect size for average adult male.” The laughter behind me was starting to die down, but it kicks back up over how Marijke stresses the word ‘average’. “6-chamber, 6-Core, double-action revolver, vith Maximize, Empower, and Intensify. Just like Rattlesnake, but less range and much more recoil. You can handle, yes?”

Which all sounds good on paper, so I pick up the gun to see how it feels and to my surprise, I instantly fall in love. It’s got a good heft and snap for its compact size. Fits my hand like a dream too, though I ain’t gonna admit it out loud. Seeing the look on my face, Marijke allows herself a little smirk and says, “Can hide in pocket or pouch. Reach in and fire from inside.”

“You devilish girl,” I say, giving her my best smile and getting nothing in return. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

In the end, I settle on getting the S&T Model 10, two S&T Model 45’s, and two MK 412’s with bulky mechanical compressors that screw onto the end of the 12’ barrel. It all costs me a pretty penny too, which I pay without crying too much about it inside, as I figure they’ll be useful either way. Wish I could give myself a breather after spending so much, but there’s still a lot more to go, so we bid Marijke farewell and head out to the stables. Can’t have Errol and Sarah Jay riding in the back of the wagon when it’s full of cargo, and the front is crowded enough with two, so we gotta pick out some horses. Four of ‘em, because if things get ugly out there, their best chance of surviving is to outrun whatever’s after them. For the most part, I let Errol do the picking, mostly to see what he knows, and also because I don’t know much. Sarah Jay ain’t much for horses either, but she does seem sweet on the brown filly Errol picks out for her, making all sorts of doe eyes at the beast, which’ll only make her hurt all the more if it gets gunned down from under her.

“Don’t get too attached,” I say after I pay the stablemaster but before I can think better of it. Too late to take it back, and I ain’t about to comment about dead horses, not with Chrissy here getting friendly with them all, so I switch tracks to cover up my macabre thoughts. “If this works out, I’ll probably keep a pair of Cowie’s calves and order up two more wagons from Danny instead of having you ride all day every day. Figure two more prospects to round out our crew ought to do it, giving us enough hands and cargo space to haul plenty of goods and Abby corpses to make it worth our while.”

Which means I gotta earn even more to pay for those future expenses, as well as at least two more prospects for a crew of five. It never ends.

In for a penny, in for a pound, so I ignore Sarah Jay’s sheepish expression and push on, telling myself there ain’t nothing I got to apologize for. “Also keep in mind that none of this stuff I’m buying is yours. Well, the clothes you can keep,” I say, correcting myself mid-lecture, because my two prospects are looking mighty poleaxed by my sudden shift in tone. Didn’t mean to switch from happy-go-lucky spending spree to stern, gruff sergeant, but some things need to be said. “Those are a gift. The gear and horses are an investment, because you can’t earn without it, and earn you will. I’ll work you hard and expect the same discipline you’d give the Rangers, if not more, so if you don’t measure up, you won’t be keeping nothing when we part ways.”

Eager to please as ever, Sarah Jay nods and says, “You got it, hoss.” Even gives me a cheeky wink to try and salvage the mood, adding, “Is what I would say, once we see our first month’s pay.”

Errol ain’t as nonchalant about it all, but he defers to his girl’s lead, which is gonna be a problem one of these days. “That’ll come soon enough,” I say, looking away to pretend I can’t see Tina’s stern glare, silently scolding me for being so unneighbourly. “One more stop after this, then its off to town hall to see about getting you carry licenses and a contract for you to sign. Make the employment agreement we got all official and whatnot.”

The stop in question is at the armoury, where I pick up four armoured plate vests packed with darksteel plates, one for each of us except Chrissy. I typically avoid wearing obvious armour because it sends the wrong message. I’m already a stranger rolling into town with a Big Stick strapped to my steel-plated wagon, so adding body armour into the mix always felt like a bit too much. No such thing when it comes to fighting Abby though, so while Cowie brings us all over to town hall, I make a note to buy a few bibles to stuff into my vest for extra ballast. Regular paper works just as well, but I like bibles because I feel it incentivizes the big guy upstairs to pay little old Howie a bit more attention, assuming he’s even there at all.

Ain’t no Atheists in a fox-hole as they say, so even though I don’t put much stock in religion, I still go to church every Sunday I can. Sure, the sermons a bit boring and the stories all silly, but if there is a heaven up there, then I figure it’s better to be safe than sorry. Worst case scenario is I waste an hour a week sitting in church, which sure beats the alternative of eternal damnation. Good gamblin’ man always knows to cover the spread, and this ain’t no different.

After sending Errol and Sarah Jay off to do their written tests for their carry licenses, Tina turns on me in a huff. “What was all that about Howie?” she asks, her lips set in a scowl while keeping her voice down to a whisper. “They was picking out horses, which are pretty much gonna be their partners out there, and you just came along and stomped all over their parade for no real reason.”

Not for no reason, just not a good one. I panicked a bit, thinking about how fragile life really is, but I ain’t about to admit it. Instead, I say, “Wanted to remind them that this ain’t no charity, nor is it all fun and games. If they ain’t up to snuff, then they’ll be lucky to wash out and part ways with the clothes on their backs.”

Because the alternative is much, much worse. Can’t tell if I was vague enough to keep Chrissy out of the loop, but Tina picks up on it right quick. More to the point, she takes a moment to waggle her fingers and mutter a chant. A much longer one than usual, and the reason becomes clear as she conjures up an illusion of a hopping wally for Chrissy to play with. A real life-like projection it is, and Chrissy conjures one to match it, two illusions hopping about and behaving as if they’re real, while the best I can do is a passing facsimile of a smooth, round rock. Lots of folks look over as Chrissy skips alongside the illusory wallies, but Tina waves them off with a smile. Once she’s certain Chrissy won’t overhear us, she turns to me and asks, “You alright Howie?”

“Course I am,” I reply. “Right as rain.”

“Are you?” Tina’s question hits harder than it should, mostly because of how worried she looks. “Because you ain’t been yourself lately. You spent most the festival last night hiding scowls and interrogating folks about all their business. Where they from, how they get here, how long they planned on staying, that sort of thing.”

“Was making conversation with strangers,” I reply. “What else am I supposed to talk about?”

“It ain’t about what you said,” Tina fires back, and I roll my eyes knowing what comes next. “It’s about how you said it, like you was a lawman interrogating a suspect. And it ain’t just with strangers. You didn’t ask Uncle Art about Aunty Rita, or Danny about his family neither, just walked right in and jumped straight to business. Now you dragging Errol and Sarah Jay about, buying them horses, Aetherarms, and armour like you mean to have them out fighting Abby next week. What’s the rush, Howie?”

Well… because I figured on having them fighting Abby by next week, but I ain’t about to admit it. “You know how it is,” I drawl, trying to sound all casual and laid back. “Spring’s when I make the biggest margins, trading to folk who been cooped up all winter. I told your mama I was fixin’ to set off to the Emerald Plains right quick, and I figured it’d be a great trial run for my new prospects.”

“You just got shot. Can’t you take a moment to decompress or nothin’?” I don’t have an answer for her, but Tina ain’t expecting one, as she moves on to ask, “That ain’t all, is it?” Thinking things through for all of a second, Tina figures it out right quick. “You planning on taking them out into the Coral Desert, ain’t you? That’s what all that talk about sand was, wasn’t it? Really Howie? Just gonna throw them right into the deep end, just like that?”

“No, the deep end would be the badlands,” I say, though I’d have been better off keeping quiet, because now Tina knows her hunch was right. “Okay, I admit the Coral Desert ain’t no kiddie pool neither, but it ain’t the worst place to see how they measure up.” And if they don’t, then I can park ‘em in Meadowbrook for a few days while I head out to Pleasant Dunes solo without having lost too much time. Won’t have much need for them there anyways, especially if I can convince Marcus to let me have a crack at tracking down the Proggie. I like Errol and Sarah Jay well enough, but I ain’t ready to trust them with everything just yet.

“That’s a terrible idea and you know it,” Tina says, but I can tell it ain’t just concern for their safety that has her speaking out. She’s ready and raring to go hunting Abby too, but I’ve never offered to bring her. Nor would Aunty Ray allow it, not unless there was a full company of twenty Rangers riding alongside us, and truth is, neither would I. What Tina don’t know is that she’s about to embark on her first Abby hunt though, which is why I got her that new sidearm and armoured vest. Would’ve gotten her a new horse too if it weren’t for her affinity with old Tux. That irascible piebald might be getting on in years, but he knows how to handle himself in a fight, so it’s best if Tina didn’t replace him until after this business in Pleasant Dunes, when she’ll have time to familiarize herself with a new partner.

Not to mention how Old Tux deserves a break. He’s family, no different from Cowie, and I’d hate to lose him before his time. Damn miracle he’s survived this long, what with all the scraps he’s been through, so it’s high time he retired to live out his days in peace.

“Look,” I begin, cutting off all of Tina’s arguments before she can get started. “The truth ain’t pleasant to hear, but it is what it is. Errol and Sarah Jay are an investment, so it’s best we see if they got the stomach for this sort of life sooner rather than later. I’ll do what I can to keep them safe, and won’t bring them in too deep or nothing, but gotta plan for the worst, you know?”

Rather than double down and bicker with me like she used to, Tina gets real quiet and real sad. After a long minute of silence, she looks me in the eyes and asks, “How bad is it out there?” The question hits me like a hammer, and much as I’d like to deny it, Tina ain’t no fool and already knows the truth just from seeing my reaction. “I figured it wasn’t pretty after seein’ how you beens, but I suppose it’s worse that I thought.” she says, turning to look over towards where we’d left Errol and Sarah Jay, “You think they got the chops for it?”

“I do. Wouldn’t bother with all this if I didn’t.” What I don’t say is how having the right skills ain’t enough. If it was, both our daddies would still be alive and well, but Tina knows as much. The Frontier ain’t been any kinder to her than it has been to me, but we still love it all the same.

“Okay.” Trusting my judgement, Tina hesitates just a bit before adding, “Just make sure you don’t do nothing stupid. Got that, Firstborn?”

Stupid like getting her friends killed, or getting myself killed saving them? Not sure which she means, but I ain’t about to ask. “C’mon now Songbird,” I say, giving her a bright smile. “You know I can’t promise that. Might as well ask Cowie to sprout wings and fly.”

“Yea, you right.” Giving me a soft punch on the right shoulder, Tina gives away the fact that she noticed how much my left shoulder been hurting. “Though you giving yourself too much credit. Wouldn’t be all that surprising if Cowie ever sprouted wings, what with him being a Transmuter and all.”

“Keep talking and see if I don’t take your new sidearm back for a refund.”

“Didn’t you read the sign? All sales final!”

After a bit more joking around, I send Tina and Chrissy to grab me a couple copies of a standard mercenary contract from the notary office. All pre-written and everything, meaning all I gotta do is fill in the blanks and sign. While everyone else busy with all that, I head over to the Sherrif’s office for a quick chat. Nothing serious, just covering my bases and making copies of last night’s recordings in case little Dick tries to press charges, and it gives me a chance to pick up copies of all the latest warrants. Sheriff Patel and his deputies are used to it by now, and probably sick of seeing my face, but it is what it is. Once all that’s wrapped up, I meet back up with everyone at Town Hall to talk shop and sign papers, which is a whole hassle to say the least, but a necessary one as it gives our partnership a veneer of authenticity, one notarized by a government official no less. Paying my prospects puts a smile on their faces at least, and one on mine when I see all $160 go into Sarah Jay’s pocket.

Because if that ain’t love, I don’t know what is.

With all that behind us, we head on home for lunch with Aunty Ray and make plans to head out to the gun range right after, but throughout it all, I can’t help but feel like I’m taking advantage of my prospects. Don’t get me wrong, a third of Ranger wages is a fair chuck of change, not the best pay around for a month’s work, but not the worst. Could hire on experienced guards for less than half the price, since they’d only be paid for time spent on the road, and they’d come with their own gear too. Course, hired guards won’t set one foot off the Highway to hunt Abby and are mostly there for show, but you get what you pay for. Given Errol and Sarah Jay’s current skills, their pay seems fair enough at first glance, but hardly worth it if they lose their lives on their first run out. Should they bite the Bolt sometime in the next four weeks, then they’ll have sold their lives for pennies on the dollar, a poor trade all things considered, especially since they’re counting on me to keep them safe and make the reward worth the risk. That last bit is a heavy burden, especially considering how I ain’t the soldier my daddy was, a harsh truth I’ve been avoiding for too long. Means I might well be leading these two good people to their deaths, but what can I say? I been honest from the start, and they made their choice, the same one as me.

Go big or go home. Takes on a whole new meaning now, because if they can’t make it big, then it’s my job to make sure Errol and Sarah Jay make it home safe and sound, instead of carried back in a box for burial. Should be simple enough all things considered, as not every trip results in a close brush with death, but Pleasant Dunes was a rude awakening that did a real number to my confidence. Promising as my prospects might be, I got no guarantee of success when it comes to keeping them both alive long enough to realize that potential. At least Errol and Sarah Jay are going into this with both eyes open instead of heads buried in the sand. That’s not to say they know what they signing on for. They don’t know the first thing about what it takes to survive out on the wild Frontier, but they’ll learn soon enough.

Or die trying I suppose, which is really the root issue I’m dealing with here. Warned them not to get attached to the horses, but maybe I should’ve taken my own advice and not gotten so attached to my prospects.

Cold is what it is, but that’s the world we live in, whether we choose to accept it or not.