doubt if collector trivia interests you at this point," he allowed. Then he changed the tone of his lesson and showed her the procedure to load and cock, unload and safe it.
She picked up the bottle she suspected was the source of the odor because the paper label had an oily stain. Yes, it reeked when she brought it close and it felt slick. A glass bottle with a paper label was something rarely seen above the atmosphere. Hoppe's #9 it said on the bright yellow label and described it as powder solvent. She wondered if Hoppe's # 1 through #8 smelled as strongly? Her dad took the bottle back and put it in a hollow in the fitted case after checking the cap was snug.
"April, I hope to never need this. Protection is Security's responsibility. I'm a manager not a politician and thank God, we don't have the crime everybody takes for granted Dirtside. In most any case I would walk away from an argument long before it became a fight, but sometimes there are irrational people and crazy circumstances and if it comes down to a man's family and friends being threatened with harm, you sometimes are left with no choice but to use force. It's the last ditch thing I'd do, literally backed in a corner. If you ever see things have gone so completely bad and I am not here to use this, then it would be better to leave it to someone like your grandpa who knows how to use it. Using it skillfully, while at the same time quickly weighing all the decisions and consequences of why you are doing so, or if you should use it at all, is a difficult skill set to acquire and you're smart enough not to use equipment you are not trained on, aren't you?"
"Sure, Dad. When have I ever skimped on safety?"
"You've always been a careful one," he agreed. "This is a bit much gun for you anyway. Check it out," he offered and presented the grip to her. He was right, her hand was too small to even get a decent grip on it and it was uncomfortably heavy.
"I am going to put this back in my bottom drawer and I have no worries about it now we've discussed it." He tucked it away, gathered the case up and headed back to bed with no further comment.
* * *
What else smells like that? Nothing she ever smelled was remotely similar, it was as distinctive as vanilla and her nose was very discriminating. She was left with the inescapable conclusion the young man was carrying a firearm, which was definitely against all regulations and seriously worried her. He had already seemed unforthcoming and given the way she felt about deceptive people, she'd gladly bet everything else he said was suspect, until proven true. She finally composed herself enough to decide she needed to go back home. She had to talk to her dad and maybe he would send Security to see what this Art fellow was up to, before someone was hurt.
Going back home hubwise and against spin, she came out on her residential corridor. It was an open through arc, with none of the partitioning like the corporate country to hide the up curve, but it still had soft lighting and carpet.
Because it was the Director's home, they had a heavy-duty door just like a maintenance or equipment area. When she laid her hand on the entry pad to allow it to taste her, it gave a solid 'chunk' of six dogs retracting instead of a single latch. The hall she stepped into was also an airlock, but just a safety lock. The inside door was always retracted, unless it sensed a pressure drop, or you overrode and manually shut it. The cabinet in the short lock contained a pressure suit for each of them, just sized not custom and a couple SCI one-size-doesn't-fit-anyone p-suits, also for emergencies, rolled up into an orange cylinder.
When the door was audibly latched tight behind her, she felt tension ease she was unaware of holding and let out an unexpected sigh of relief at being safely home. She went into the kitchenette to put the banana peel in her mulcher, bag and all, as it was digestible. The green light showed it was safe to open, so the
She picked up the bottle she suspected was the source of the odor because the paper label had an oily stain. Yes, it reeked when she brought it close and it felt slick. A glass bottle with a paper label was something rarely seen above the atmosphere. Hoppe's #9 it said on the bright yellow label and described it as powder solvent. She wondered if Hoppe's # 1 through #8 smelled as strongly? Her dad took the bottle back and put it in a hollow in the fitted case after checking the cap was snug.
"April, I hope to never need this. Protection is Security's responsibility. I'm a manager not a politician and thank God, we don't have the crime everybody takes for granted Dirtside. In most any case I would walk away from an argument long before it became a fight, but sometimes there are irrational people and crazy circumstances and if it comes down to a man's family and friends being threatened with harm, you sometimes are left with no choice but to use force. It's the last ditch thing I'd do, literally backed in a corner. If you ever see things have gone so completely bad and I am not here to use this, then it would be better to leave it to someone like your grandpa who knows how to use it. Using it skillfully, while at the same time quickly weighing all the decisions and consequences of why you are doing so, or if you should use it at all, is a difficult skill set to acquire and you're smart enough not to use equipment you are not trained on, aren't you?"
"Sure, Dad. When have I ever skimped on safety?"
"You've always been a careful one," he agreed. "This is a bit much gun for you anyway. Check it out," he offered and presented the grip to her. He was right, her hand was too small to even get a decent grip on it and it was uncomfortably heavy.
"I am going to put this back in my bottom drawer and I have no worries about it now we've discussed it." He tucked it away, gathered the case up and headed back to bed with no further comment.
* * *
What else smells like that? Nothing she ever smelled was remotely similar, it was as distinctive as vanilla and her nose was very discriminating. She was left with the inescapable conclusion the young man was carrying a firearm, which was definitely against all regulations and seriously worried her. He had already seemed unforthcoming and given the way she felt about deceptive people, she'd gladly bet everything else he said was suspect, until proven true. She finally composed herself enough to decide she needed to go back home. She had to talk to her dad and maybe he would send Security to see what this Art fellow was up to, before someone was hurt.
Going back home hubwise and against spin, she came out on her residential corridor. It was an open through arc, with none of the partitioning like the corporate country to hide the up curve, but it still had soft lighting and carpet.
Because it was the Director's home, they had a heavy-duty door just like a maintenance or equipment area. When she laid her hand on the entry pad to allow it to taste her, it gave a solid 'chunk' of six dogs retracting instead of a single latch. The hall she stepped into was also an airlock, but just a safety lock. The inside door was always retracted, unless it sensed a pressure drop, or you overrode and manually shut it. The cabinet in the short lock contained a pressure suit for each of them, just sized not custom and a couple SCI one-size-doesn't-fit-anyone p-suits, also for emergencies, rolled up into an orange cylinder.
When the door was audibly latched tight behind her, she felt tension ease she was unaware of holding and let out an unexpected sigh of relief at being safely home. She went into the kitchenette to put the banana peel in her mulcher, bag and all, as it was digestible. The green light showed it was safe to open, so the
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