Long Sun 03 - Calde of the Long Sun by Gene Wolfe

Author:Gene Wolfe [Wolfe, Gene]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780812534207
Amazon: 0812534204
Publisher: Tor Science Fiction
Published: 1994-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

remain behind, My General," the captain told her, "though I dared

hope. You must not risk yourself in this fashion."

She nodded, too breathless to speak, and ducked into the floater.

It was cramped yet strangely roofless, the crouching Guardsmen

clearly ill at ease, trained to snap to attention but compressed by

circumstance. "Sit down," she ordered them, "all of you. We can't

stand on formality in here."

That word _stand_ had been unwisely chosen, she reflected. They

sat anyway, with muttered thanks.

"This buzz gun, you see, My General," the captain patted it, "once

it belonged to the commander of this floater. He missed you, so it is

yours."

She knew nothing about buzz guns and was curious despite her

fatigue. "Does it still operate? And do you have," at a loss, she

waved a vague hand, "whatever it shoots?"

"Cartridges, My General. Yes, there are enough. It was the fuel

that exploded in this floater, you see. They are not like soldiers,

these floaters. They are like taluses and must have fish oil or

palm-nut oil for their engines. Fish oil is not so nice, but we employ

it because it is less costly. This floater carried sufficient ammunition

for both guns, and there is sufficient still."

"I want to sit there." She was looking at the officer's seat. "May I?"

"Certainly, My General." The captain scrambled out of her way.

The seat was astonishingly comfortable, deeper and softer than

her bed in the cenoby, although its scorched upholstery smelled of

smoke. Not astonishing, Maytera Mint told herself, not really. To

be expected, because it had been an officer's seat, and the Ayuntamiento

treated officers well, knowing that its power rested on

them; that was something to keep in mind, one more thing she must

not forget.

"Do not touch the trigger, My General. The safety catch is

disengaged." The captain reached over her shoulder to push a small

lever. "Now it is engaged. The gun will not fire."

"This spider web thing." She touched it instead. "Is it what you call

the sight?"

"Yes, the rear sight, My General. The little post you see at the end

of the barrel, that is the front sight. The gunner aligns the two, so

that he sees the top of the post in one or another of the small rectangles."

"I see."

"Higher rectangles, My General, if the target is distant. To left or

right if there is a strong wind, or because the gun favors one side or

another."

She leaned back in the seat and allowed herself, for no more than

a second or two, to close her eyes. The captain was saying

something about night vision, short bursts hitting more than long

ones, about fields of fire.

Fire was eating up somebody's home while he talked, and Lime

(if Teasel had found her quickly and she hadn't been far) was

looking for her right now, going from sentry post to post to post to

post. Looking for her and asking people at each post whether they

had seen her, whether they knew where the next one was and

whether they would take her there because of the fires, because

Bison had known, had rightly known that the fires must be put out

but had been afraid to say it because

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