The Armourer: An Opco Boone Adventure
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The Adventures of Opco Boone, Legal Ace™
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Hare looked the kid up and down. He was working on a handheld device of some kind. His eyes were wide. He had a hunger to learn. It aggrieved him to see this undirected, crackling energy.
“What? Give that here.”
Barberazza tossed over the piece. Hare inspected it. The workmanship was rough, but sound. Put together with a young man’s vigour. The structure was sturdy: defs were clean — zilch redundancies. Cross-refs dovetailed — field-embedded, auto-updating. The multi-level numbering was rudimentary but true. Hare lined up the counterpart assembly and took a sighter. Straight. Clean.
“Yeah, that’s not bad, but there’s not a lot that can go wrong on a calc agent appointment side letter. You got a bit to learn yet, lad.”
Hare tossed it back.
The boy looked at him with blazing, fierce excitement. “That’s all I want, sir — to learn. Whatever you got, I’m buying!”
The kid had it bad. Hare thought it was time to have some fun. He chuckled to himself, dug into the the hopper and pulled out a lightweight chro-moly engagement iron with a silencer.
He tossed it over. “What do you make of this one then, lad?”
The boy took it low, with his left hand. Reflex catch — he moved with graceful economy. You could already see he was a natural. He weighed the piece in his hands, flipped it over, locked his elbows, splayed and peered down the boilerplate.
“Well?”
The boy nodded “Nice pick-up. Handles smoothly, though a touch front-heavy — I guess on account of that front-loaded defs module.”
“Go on?”
“That extra weight lends the piece a certain confidence, sir, but really it isn’t necessary. I mean, it might be handy in a scrape at close-quarters, but over a prolonged engagement, that’s going to wear you down.”
This was quite the piece of analysis. Whatever they were drilling into him on the Eagle Cadet Training Programme was sinking in, fast. “Very good. And what about construction?”
The boy deftly disassembled the piece and lined up the parts, studying then for a moment. “Finance-grade, for sure. Seems a bit over-engineered.” His hands flew urgently but carefully over the reps magazine. He skittered through the standard confi playbook, a kid hopping on stones to cross a river. Nimble. He must have committed it to memory. He didn’t miss a beat. The boy was well-drilled: there was no denying it.
“Limited scope, no affiliates, need to know. It looks good, sir. Plus points: it’s sleek, measured, nice baffle quotient in the early phases. I like the elaborate construction phase up front. Diverts a front-on attack."
Hare purred. “See? That’s how you do it, lad."
“ — But the balance is off by quite a bit, and there are a couple of back-door security issues.”
“What?”
“No NOM or EA. It’s susceptible to a D.E.A.A., sir. ”
“Er, a D.E.A.A. —”
“Denial of Entire Agreement attack, sir.”
Cloyingly submissive, the little bastard.
“Significant parol vulnerability.”
Hare gritted his teeth. “That’s excellent work, soldier. You’ve picked all all of the issues with this one. Strong analysis. I’m impressed. You are learning fast.”
The boy continued to inspect the side-arm. “Oh, look at this. There’s a general indemnity. That’s mad! Who the hell fits one of those onto a confi?
Hare cleared his throat.
The boy flipped a catch. “What the hell ... A BOC indemnity!” He carefully set the piece down on the bench and started working at it with his redline. “That’s positively dangerous.”
He made a couple of careful incisions and slowly, delicately, withdrew the offending mechanism and dropped it in a sterilised waste receptacle.
Hare looked on, warily. “I —”
“That was close, sir.”
Against his better judgement, Hare heard himself blurt out, “What is a “bock indemnity”?”
“It’s an indemnity in the contract breach, sir. Someone has crossed the wires here and routed a reimbursement covenant into the breach mechanism. The terminals are close together, and it’s easy to do, but standard reference works cite an elevated risk of localised explosion from this configuration. High degree of indeterminacy, exothermic chain reactions possible.”
“Oh, a Bee-Oh-Cee indemnity,” Hare said, quickly. “Right.”
The boy snorted. “Who the hell drafted th—”
But at that moment the he saw the date-stamped authenticated signature below the serial number. “B.A.H.” The boy read the room. He flipped the piece over and inspected the handle. "Whoa: this destroy or return recoil is a nice piece of work. Sweet.”
Hare glowered.
Barberazza smiled back at him. “Gimme another one, sir. We got a lot to get through. The Eagle Squad needs these at the front line”
Hare snorted. “Meh. Take your time kid. Those peashooters don’t need nothing.” He thought for a moment, then brightened. “Oh, this bump-stock is off-balance. Lad, would you be a star and fetch me a weight?”
“A weight?”
“Yeah, a weight — a fairly long one, I think — to counterbalance this stock.”
“Fairly long?”
“Yeah, make it a long weight. Say a five. Or even a six. I can buff it down if need be.”
“You got it, sir. Where do I get one of those?”
“Commander Burke can show you. He runs the counter in the warranties depot.”
The warranties depot was a caged area recessed and towards the back of the warehouse. As Barberazza entered he ran his hand along the rail. A patina of dust lifted. Busy down here much? Barberazza got tot he counter. He pinged the bell. An older man in a yellow cap shuffled into the booth. He set down a cigarette and coughed softly. His eyes were red-rimmed but kind. He smiled, pleased of the visit.
“Sorry about that — I was, ah, distracted for a minute. Now, young man. How can I help you today?”
“Morning, sir.” The boy snapped out a salute. “I’m looking for a long weight. Commander Hare said you might be able to help me.”
“Did he, now? A long weight. Did he say how long?”
“A six, please.”
“Oh, a six. That’s a long one. No I don't want to be all ceremonial, but have you got your badge, son? This is a restricted area. Only credentialised Eagle Squad officers have access.”
The boys crest fell. But I — he fumbled with his pass but he knew it would not pass muster.
“Eagle Cadet EJ Barberazza,” the old man intoned, inspecting his pass. No access with this I'm afraid my son.
“But Commander Hare —”
The old man chuckled softly. Alright, alright. They talk about you in the officers mess, you know. They say you are a good one. Boone has his eye on you.
Barbarossa froze. What did you say?
Commander boon takes a keen interest in your progression.
“He does? He— he — he knows who I am?
“Oh, he knows all right. You’re one of our bright young things. Now, listen to me: as long as you don't touch anything, you can go inside. I know you respect it, but this is a sacred space, understand? There is much vital wisdom here. Catalogued and arranged carefully. Some of the scripts are extremely fragile.”
“Oh yes sir, yes! Yes, of course I understand it.”
“All right, lad. In you go. Head down to row five, column eight. I’ll be down presently. And don't touch anything.”
Barberazza navigated the stacks. The warranties were organised by trade association. The oldest ones were nearest the door.
Barberazza ran his hand along the the mahogany shelves, in awestruck wonder at the ancient wisdom they contained. A record of every conflict, every situation, every skirmish, every desperate last stand that the heroes of eagles quad head ever va taken part in. Here work manuals to deal with every situation. Punishments dating back decades carefully manuscript of, marked up, adjusted, rider inserts, side letters, variations, accessions. Everything was here: the sum total of eagles squad learning.