Last Chance: Myn and Lara - pt. 16


Leave is no reason to neglect my skills.

The shooting range was crowded with CorSec officers in various states of uniform. Some were seated in the soundproofed upper lounge or observing from behind the viewing gallery's transparisteel safety window, while others occupied their individual stations on the firing line itself. Fortunately for Myn, the stations at the far end of the line that were reserved for the longest target distances were also the least popular. After logging in with his ident card he carried his rifle case to the nearest of the long-distance stations.

Two of the other five were occupied, marksmen firing mid-range 'hunting' distances, one with simulated moving targets and the other on stationary marks. Laser hits were being racked up in point tallies above the first officer's head, her blonde ponytail bobbing as she picked off the target again and again. The second marksman's shots were more deliberate, but his tension just as he squeezed the trigger was causing most of his shots to go high and to the left.

Myn drew his rifle from its case, attached the plain sight, and adjusted the beam strength to target-fire. This was the least powerful setting, used almost exclusively for target practice, although when he flew with the Wraiths he'd used it to remote detonate explosives as well as communicate with the team. Once his weapon was prepped and the charge checked out of habit, Myn keyed distance and motion parameters into his station's terminal and assumed his stance to began his practice.

Every time he paused to adjust the parameters or change his stance, he took note of his shot to 'kill' ratio, and per shot speed averages, which were used to generate an arbitrary score. He ignored this final number, a score specifically designed for competition shooting, something in which he'd never had much interest. Initially, he started in the low 60th percentile of shots to 'kills' and with an acceptable average time between shots. It only took a few minutes of warm-up shooting and his eyes adjusting to the lower levels of lighting on the range before his S-K ratio reached its customary low of mid-eighties and continued to climb, and his between-fire times had diminished to a blistering 7/10 of a second.

His scores closer to their average, he adjusted the parameters to their most difficult, random and diminishing movement, a little faster than a man can run, and once again took his position. He felt the regular deep throb of his heartbeat as he brought his rifle up and sighted down the length. His target began its flight and with a quick succession of shots within every breath, Myn followed and fired.

When the target reached the end of its run, 16 seconds had passed, and Myn's rifle had released 20 shots, 16 of which had hit the rapidly moving target marker, 9 in a clear kill zone. With another even breath, Myn lowered his weapon and gave a nod of satisfaction as he eyed the displayed score. It had been a good session.

He keyed off his booth's soundproofing field and crouched to place his weapon back into its case when he was stopped by a strange, rising sound. Applause? he glanced out of his booth and met with the admiring and in some cases envious looks of the officers on both sides of him, as well as those in the upper and lower viewing areas behind the firing line. The man who'd been shooting distance in the farthest booth was grinning toothily and clapping as hard as he could for Myn's display of sniper skills. The young blonde next to him, though... she was glaring at him in frustration, her temper causing the colour to rise in her cheeks. She grabbed up her guncase and stalked down the corridor, even as Myn heard his assumed name announced over the range's address system.

"Ardmin Jidone, on leave from Centrepoint, ladies and gentlemen!" the officer in the sign-in booth declared, "I guess we know who to bet on in the InterPrecincts this year!"

The main wall displays showed a replay of Myn's last target run, even as the applause died down. Myn, chagrined, tried to smile and put on a brave face, all the while his heart sank. Not exactly good at keeping a low profile, are you? he asked himself silently as he made his way down the gallery, shrugging off the looks and attention he was getting from all sides. I'm not exactly cut out for this undercover stuff.

The realisation was startling, because Myn had never thought of himself as attention-getting. He was not too tall, not exceptionally flamboyant, and too round-faced to be considered great-looking. He had always been quiet in his demeanour, studious and careful. Even the Intel officers he'd worked with before his departure hadn't despaired of him going undercover, as they had his squadmate Janson, whom they'd feared was the Rogue they'd be prepping for this trip.

Myn came to the booth at the end and shook his head at the corporal who'd logged his entry. "I'm sorry, Officer," the man said, "I was just real impressed by those scores."

"I guess my mates at the Station are used to me," Myn replied with a shrug, "They never make such a big deal of target practice."

"Likely trying to keep you humble, for the Games later this year," came a voice from behind him. A handsome blond man wearing street clothes was approaching from one of the nearby booths, holstering his blaster without looking, now that he was leaving the range. Myn made a mental note of the man's ease and competence. "You heading out?"

"Yes, Sir," Myn replied.

"No, no 'Sirs' here," the man replied, catching up to Myn to await the lift beside him. "I wanted to apologise for my daughter's behaviour." He gestured to the stair exit doors which were still sliding closed after the young blonde's angry departure. "Thera's used to the guys here, who can't shoot their way out of a flimsi bag!" He said that last louder than the rest and received a couple of coarse laughs from some of the officers leaving the lift. He turned back to Myn and extended a friendly hand. "I'm Rithkin." The tag on his right breast read 'Larsen, R.', and his rank insignia showed him to be a detective.

"Ardmin," Myn answered, shifting his rifle case to his other arm to take the detective's hand in a firm grip. "What's this about Games?"

"The InterPrecinct Games, going to be held here in a couple or three months. Everyone's gearing up for 'em big time in these parts." He winked at Myn as they stepped into the lift, "They're all champing to make a good showing of the local talent, you know. They're not such a big deal up on Centrepoint?"

"Not that I've noticed. But I'm a fairly recent recruit, tapped from CPD." Myn said, using his persona's history to justify his unfamiliarity with the Games.

"They happen every three years, team sports and individual disciplines ranging from piloting to shooting. I'm waiting for the flimsi-shuffling category to make it in, myself," he gave a wry grin, gesturing to his somewhat thicker midsection. "I should warn the boys that Centrepoint's got themselves a ringer for the distance targeting."

Myn grinned, warming quickly to the man's gruff geniality. "Well, they did make me a sweet offer," he replied.

"Yeah, well, here they are a big thing, at least this year. My daughter's been tops in distance for several weeks now, till you showed up. Like I said, I'm sorry about her behaviour."

"No need to apologise, Rithkin." Myn lifted his shoulders in a shrug of sympathy. "She looks like a capable shot, but a little impatient, that's all."

"You should meet her mother!" the other man retorted with a laugh. "Well, she's been getting too big for her britches anyway, quite deserved a pegging, I'm thinking. I'd be happy to buy you a drink to make up for it."

Myn considered and then nodded. This man's warmth and honest gruffness reminded him of his own father, and he was enjoying the congenial company. "Thanks. It's not necessary, but I think I'll take you up on that."

~*~


part 17

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