Spots: Distance-No Distance

A Web Serial by M.C.A. Hogarth

52. Seniority.	54. The New Guys.

53. Distance-No Distance

Practice Room. Spots and Scythe are in physical training uniforms; the former has a test glove on with the second-generation shield generator. Spots is showing Scythe the variable sizing, the types of cuts and the sliding function against some foam dummies.

Scythe. "And this is all based on gesture?"

Spots. "Yes. It takes some practice."

Scythe. "I'm a little concerned about power usage. It seemed to give out pretty quickly out there."

Spots. "I'm not sure holding a ceiling between us and that many dead crabs was how it was intended to be used...! But it's a prototype, I'm guessing this is the kind of thing Samuel-Colt needs data on. The next revision should be better."

Scythe is silent, studying the foam targets. Then: "It makes a clean cut. I wonder how sharp it is."

Spots, sitting down. "The edge of the shield? As sharp as a molecule? An atom? Who knows. It's magic as far as I'm concerned."

He glances at her sharply. "You sound pretty attached to it."

Spots. "I love it." At his raised brow: "I do. Guns are... kind of impersonal."

Scythe. "Are you sure you're a Marine, Guitart?"

Spots. "I know, I know. I'm supposed to love my rifle next to God. But you shoot someone so they don't get close. It's about keeping a distance. This is... less about distance and more about being able to punch something in the eyes."

Scythe laughs. "I never would have figured you for so violent."

Spots, uncomfortable. "Not violent. Just... if I'm going to kill something—someone—I want to have made that connection."

Scythe. "We don't kill someones, Guitart. The crabs aren't people."

Spots. "Are you sure you're a Marine, Scythe? We haven't always been alien-killers."

Scythe. "Point." He looks at the targets again.

Spots. "I can get Samuel-Colt to issue you one."

Scythe. "Yeah... yeah." He straightens. "If two of you are going to be getting into trouble with it, I should at least know my way around the thing."

Spots. "You'll be slicing the heads off practice dummies in no time. Faster than I learned, I bet."

Scythe. "You think?"

Spots. "You do a pretty good job with your sword." She smiles a little. "No distance, right?"

He glances at her. Chuckles. "No distance."

"So if you like swords, why did you choose 'Scythe' for a call-sign?"

He grins, wry. "There's a section in the Book of Five Rings about weapons on the battlefield. It discusses spears and scythes, and notes that the scythe is good only for the battlefield, being not suitable for taking prisoners. But that it is inferior to the spear because it is a defensive weapon only."

A long pause. Then Spots leans back and laughs.

Spots. "So all this time I've been preaching to the choir."

Scythe grins. But: "There's a time and place for everything, Guitart. Distance and no distance. That's part of being effective in combat, not just here—" Taps his fist. "—but here." Taps his heart and then his forehead.

Spots. "I'll think about that. And I'll get Samuel-Colt to make you a new glove."

Scythe. "Thanks. And for the demo. Go get some sleep."

Spots. "You too, boss."

Scythe, smiling. "Yes, mom."

Spots, on her way out. "Oh boy. No, you're not allowed to say that... if I'm old enough to be your mom I'll cry myself to sleep!"

52. Seniority.	54. The New Guys.