Walter Williams - Conventions of War

He locked the rifle case and turned around. His eyes were hard. “The thing is, I can’t sell these weapons. But there’s nothing in the new regulations about mygiving them away.”

Sula stared at Sidney in stunned surprise. A self-conscious look crossed his face, and he took his pipe from his mouth. “I’ve been remiss,” he said. “Would any of you care for a smoke?”

“Umm,” PJ began, on the verge of accepting, but Sula answered for them all.

“Not right now, thanks,” she said. She looked at Sidney. “You’re going togive us all these guns?”

He gave her a hard look. “If you’ll makegood use of them.”

Sula’s mouth went dry. “That’s …very generous.”

Sidney shrugged. “They’re worthless now. I can’t return them to the manufacturers-the makers have been forbidden to do business too. I’ll have to break my lease; I can’t afford to keep this place and I can’t afford to store the weapons. I could sit here waiting for the government to confiscate them, but why?” He shrugged again. “I’d rather see them put to use.” He began to say something, then shook his head and clamped the pipe between his teeth again. “Not that I want to know what you’re going to use them for, of course.” He turned again and laid a hand on the metal case beside him on the counter. “There are only a few pieces I can’t let go-the true custom work. If any of them were found after a…misadventure, the trail would lead straight to me.”

He stepped back a pace and swept a hand along the glass of the counter, indicating a row of gleaming pistols, each adapted to the Lai-own hand. “All sporting weapons, of course,” he said. “Of limited use for military purposes. But in the right hands…”

He sipped on his pipe, and exhaled a dense cloud of smoke. Sula made the mistake of inhaling, and burst out coughing.

“Sorry,” Sidney said politely.

After the coughing ceased, Sula made an effort to collect her thoughts from the mist that swirled through her head. She knew she was going to need fresh air very soon.

“Mr. Sidney,” she managed, “do I understand that youdesign guns?”

“That’s right,” Sidney said. He puffed another cloud of smoke, and Sula took a step back.

“Perhaps you can help me,” she said, and had to cough again. Tears dazzled her eyes as she recovered her voice. “I’ve been looking for a particular kind of firearm.”

Interest glittered in Sidney’s eyes. “Yes?”

“Not at all the kind of work you usually do. The opposite, in fact. Something that could be put together without great expense out of components that could be acquired very easily.”

Sidney gave a snort of amusement, then affected to consider the problem. “Computer-operated lathes can do some amazing things, given the right programming.”

“Let’s just say that my own lathe-programming skills are limited.”

Sidney smiled. “I seem to have a lot of free time at present. Let me put my mind to it, then, Miss…Lucy, was it?”

“Lucy. Yes.”

“Well,” Sidney said. “If you’ll give me a call in a few days, perhaps I’ll have something for you.”

“Fantastic!” Spence said as they took the first of several truckloads of firearms from Sidney’s place, on their way to store them in PJ’s basement. “I can’t believe he’s giving us all this stuff! And the ammunition too!”

“He’s quite brave, isn’t he?” PJ asked. His smile was sillier than usual after an hour of hauling crates through Sidney’s smoke cloud.

“He’s not brave,” Sula said. “He’s suicidal.”

The silly smile faded from PJ’s face. “My lady?” he said. “I mean, my Lucy. I mean-” His mouth opened fishlike for words but failed to find any.

“Do you think the manufacturers haven’t kept a record of the serial numbers of all these weapons?” Sula asked. “Not to mention the ballistics tests they’re required to do before the weapons even leave the factory? The first time we use one of these, they’ll track it to Sidney and tear his ribs out trying to find out who he gave them to. And that would lead toyou, PJ.”

PJ turned pale. “Oh,” he said.

“Maybe Sidney hopes he’ll take a few Naxids with him when he goes. Maybe he doesn’t care about himselfor about you. Or maybe he thinks he’ll be able to hide. But until we know what he means to do, we’re going to store these guns in your basement and never use them, not unless we know Sidney is safe.” She contemplated the road and the overcareful driving undertaken by Macnamara, who was no less affected by hashish fumes than anyone else.

“Besides,” Sula said, “I’ve got other plans for our Mr. Sidney, and they’d be spoiled by his committing suicide.”

By the end of the day, she’d talked Sidney into reopening his gun shop exclusive to a Naxid clientele. “Only the elite can afford your guns anyway,” she told him. The tax of one hundred zeniths on every firearm sale-half a year’s wages for the ordinary person-raised them entirely out of the range of the ordinary consumer. “When you deliver the guns to their new owners, you’ll get through their security.”

Sidney gave a grim smile. “You see me as an assassin?” he asked.

“No,” Sula said. “We haveother people for that.”She hoped. “Instead I need you to take careful notes on access, on what guards are stationed where. On any routines that might be useful.”

“I can do that,” Sidney said. “How do I contact you?”

Sula hesitated. She had declined to give PJ a way of communicating with her on the grounds that he might accidentally give himself-or her-away. For her to give Sidney such a means while PJ was present might offend PJ. And while she didn’t much care if PJ’s feelings were hurt, she didn’t want him made despondent or careless.

“We’ll have to let you know about that later,” she said. “In the meantime, we’ll have to contact you.”

For the present, she gave him the simple communications code she’d given PJ, to use the phrase “first-rate” if he were ever compromised by the Naxids. He nodded with what appeared to be sage comprehension, though considering how much hashish he’d smoked over the course of the day, Sula wondered that he could stand upright, let alone understand instructions.

She supposed she’d find out.

Now, returning to the communal apartment, she checked Gredel’s comm unit and discovered that Casimir had logged three calls asking her out for the night. She took a long, delicious bath in lilac-scented water while considering an answer, then turned off the camera that would transmit her image before she picked up the hand comm to call him back.

“Why not?” she said at the sullen face that answered. “Unless you’ve made other plans, of course.”

The sulky look vanished as Casimir peered into his sleeve display in a failed search for an image. “Is this Gredel?” he asked. “Why can’t I see you?”

“I’m in the tub.”

A sly look crossed his features. “I could use a wash myself. How about I join you?”

“I’ll meet you at the club,” she said. “Just tell me what time.”

He told her. She would have time to luxuriate in her bath for a while longer and then to nap for a couple hours before joining him.

“How should I dress?” she asked.

“What you’re wearing now is fine.”

“Ha ha. Will I be all right in the sort of thing I wore last night?”

“Yes. That’ll do.”

“See you then.”

She ended the call, then ordered the hot water tap to open. The bathroom audio pickup wasn’t reliable and she had to lean forward to open the tap manually. As the water raced from the tap and the steam rose, she sank into the tub and closed her eyes, allowing herself to slowly relax, to let the scent of lilacs rise in her senses.