When the Devil Dances

“Don’t worry about it,” Wendy said with a smile. “We’ve got plenty of time to get the story. But can I ask one question?”

“Yuhhh.”

“Is that a weapons locker? Because if it is I’m really pissed. They took all my shit away when I got to this damned hole. I go to the range at least once a week, but they won’t even let me try out for the security force.”

“Yuhhh,” Elgars said with a quizzical expression. “A… Ah doooo.” She stopped and her mouth worked. “Ah… don’n… know wha…”

“You don’t know what any of it is?” Wendy asked. “You know the words, you just can’t say them, right?”

“Yaaah.”

“Okay.” Wendy hopped off the bed and walked over to the featureless polygon. It was about two meters high, with six “facets” on the side and no apparent locks or doors. “How does it open?”

Elgars slid off the bed and swayed over to the locker. Her speech may have left much to be desired, but her movements were efficient and graceful.

Wendy regarded her carefully and smiled. “Have you been working out?”

“Phy… skal ther’py,” Elgars answered, placing her hand on the face of the polygon. “A’ so’ o’r stu’.”

The front of the cylinder opened to either side with a blast of gun-oil scent, and Wendy’s jaw practically hit the floor. It wasn’t a couple of personal items, it was a damn arsenal.

The left door was hung with dress uniforms. The officer’s dress blues on top, with rank marks for a captain, were practically coated in awards and medals. At one point, besides being expert in rifle, pistol and submachine gun, Elgars had passed, in succession, the Army Advanced Marksmanship Program and Marine Corps Sniper School, the last of which was practically unheard of. She was a veteran of infantry combat, as denoted by her Combat Infantry Badge, and had apparently earned two Purple Hearts and a Silver Star along the way. But the capstone was the simple device on the right breast, a gold “600.”

“Oh, shit,” Wendy whispered. Besides the uniforms — the right door was hung with camouflage and Fleet Strike grays for some reason — there were a half dozen weapons in the locker. Taking place of prominence was something Wendy had only seen pictures of: a Barrett M-82A1 .50 caliber sniper rifle. It clearly had seen use, but before being put away had been factory serviced and sealed in PreserFilm. There also were two different submachine guns, with loaded clips dangling on harnesses, a couple of pistols, one a silenced Glock and the other something odd and bulky with a laser sight and silencer, and a “bullpup” style assault rifle. Hanging in the back was a combat harness with full loadout for a team sniper.

“How the hell did you get this in here?” Wendy asked. “The Sub-Urbs are zero-tolerance zones!”

“Uah… Ahmmm ’ct’ve… Aaaaactive…”

“You’re active duty?” Wendy said with a laugh. “Sorry, but…”

“Ahmmmm Ssssixssss…”

“Six Hundred,” the former resident of Fredericksburg said with a sober nod. “And even the dead of the Six Hundred are still listed as active duty.”

Elgars smiled and nodded. “Buuuu… wha’sssss,” she gestured into the locker.

“And you don’t know what this stuff is, do you?” Wendy asked.

“Nuuuu.”

Wendy regarded her levelly and green eyes met her blue.

“Okay, let’s find something out. Do you have something that shows you can have this?”

Elgars gestured at the uniforms, but Wendy just shook her head.

“No, for the shit-head panic children in Security we’ll need more than that. Any documentation specifically stating you’re authorized? You got a gun card?”

Elgars reached in and extracted an envelope. Inside, on driver’s license-sized card, was a simple note:

“Captain A. O. Elgars is a currently serving member of the United States Armed forces on detached duty and her right to carry weapons irrespective of type or caliber in any portion of the United States or its Territories for any reason she at her sole discretion shall deem reasonable and prudent shall not be infringed. Any questions regarding these orders shall be directed to the Department of War.” It was endorsed by the Continental Army commander and the commander of the Ten Thousand. The back had her picture and personal data.

The license was standard issue. At the beginning of the war the right of the Federal military to conduct maneuvers in and around non-threatened zones had been repeatedly questioned. Among the questions raised was whether military personnel should be restricted in access to their weapons, especially in and around cities which had anti-gun laws.