| From: | "Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Hotel |
| Date: | Tue, 2 Jun 1998 01:02:01 +0100 |
>>>>>[He's not just settling in, it seems he's bedding down. Looks like
he's learning to live with his new job...
Wonder how his him-and-Lilith thing will go? Normally I'd say she'd rip
his nuts off for even trying, but with the way she's flashing back to
Bianca and the way she's missing Lynch so bad I think he might be in
there with a chance. Be interesting to see what happens. Wish he was
posting _footage_ instead of just stream-of-consciousness stuff, though.
+++++begin diary
A hotel suite. The Renton Regent, one of a chain catering to businessmen
and tourists. Nothing fancy, nothing out of line for how we look: two
corp suits here for a meeting. Separate rooms, which is kind of a pity,
but never mind.
Lilith rigs some security, then heads for the shower after the flight
from DC. That gives me the chance to pick the room with the better view,
and I unzip the bag she brought me.
Oh, momma.
The L7 is a _beast_. Not as bulky as I expected, it's well laid out and
well balanced. The carbine is a bullpup, simple and efficient, looks
like a modified AK action firing 5.56mm cased. Nothing fancy, but a
useful backup to the 'main ornament', that 20mm rocket launcher. The
barrel's short, helps keep the weight down I guess, because it's just
there to get the rounds out, spun, fuses arming, and pointed in the
right direction. All the controls fall right under the hand, except for
the mag release for the carbine: that's easy to reach during a
changeover, though. The only problem is it's set up for a left-hander,
but I can change that in a few minutes: just reverse the ejection port
and swap the sling over.
The rounds themselves are fucking _scary_. Vanilla HE, about the size of
a standard minigrenade, but with a lot more accuracy and velocity,
impact or range fused. HEAT rounds for anyone in heavy armour. And some
tungsten-cored ramjet slugs, pure AP, that look like they'd punch
through a tank. There's some canister for close-range work, too, but
that's just a glorified shotgun shell, I can't get too excited about
that.
I notice one add-on by the magazine port, a switchover clip holding
three rounds of canister for point-blank work where the HVAP won't be up
to speed and the HE rounds won't arm. New. Home-made, maybe? Of course.
Lynch, the gun nut, wasn't content with one of the most lethal infantry
weapon on the planet, he had to tweak it a little, show he knew best.
Nice work, though.
I fight the surge of overconfidence: just because this makes me a one-
man artillery battery doesn't make me any more bulletproof. And I'll
need to get to Lewis or Everett, burn off a few hundred rounds -
Lilith's thoughtfully packaged five hundred rounds of blue-anodised
training ammo in there, as much as all the other stuff put together -
before I take this out on the street.
Speaking of Lilith, she's in the doorway, damp but gorgeous, wearing a
hotel bathrobe. She's tall, it's short; and her legs aren't just good,
they're stunning.
"You know, watching you fondle that thing makes me start to believe in
Freud." she says sardonically. "It's big and hard and you play with it
every chance you get. What's it a substitute for, Mr Christian?"
"Freud was a fraud." I reply, hefting the weapon. "I like this because
it kills people thoroughly. We lost three cops because some Troll with a
headful of Kamikaze and a ceramic chest protector decided not to lie
down and die when we shot him. That sucked, especially because one of
them was female and good-looking and we had a date. With this... the
next drugged-up tough guy's gonna get cut in half. Adios muchachos,
motherfuckers."
"My, we are energetic." Lilith drawls. "So, you _are_ compensating for
your... weapon's inadequacy?"
"Look, don't mess with my head. I went in with a 227, as per SOP. It
wasn't good enough. People died. This should do better. And if I'd
thought of it a week ago, two police officers would still be alive.
Clear?"
"Very." She's smirking. That hasn't changed. You can really tell she's a
shapeshifter sometimes, she's got exactly the same I'm-smarter-than-you
expression that Kathleen's cat used to wear. Kath always hated the fact
that the cat liked playing with me more than with her, I was faster and
more patient and I didn't whine when I got my hand scratched. If I
hadn't been transferring to SOCOM and expecting some long out-of-area
deployments I'd have tried to keep the cat, I liked him better than
Kath... instead I bet that lawyer had him declawed or just threw him
out. Scumbag.
I got distracted, and before I can think of anything smart to say in
return she's gone. Damn.
Still, it's a start. At least she's talking to me now.
+++++end diary
_I_ get Lilith, reprogrammed to be mine, when we win.
Not him.
Right?
I can live with Mitchell screwing her, while we need him. But _I_ get
her when we're done.]<<<<<
-- Furrow <01:01:34/06-02-59>
