Page 39 of Gunslinger Girl
CHAPTER 12
Halcyon was waiting when she arrived at the arena the next day.
“We never hold rehearsals the day after a show,” he explained, “so it is the optimal time to begin your acclimation.”
Pity examined the deserted stands, hand resting on the satchel of bullets beside her gun belt. The ecstatic screams of a thousand voices sounded in her memory. Will they cheer for me? she wondered. Scream for her the way they screamed for Scylla and Beeks? Her eyes sought the spot where he had died, but all evidence of the previous night’s show was gone. Pushing the dark thoughts to the back of her mind, Pity drew one of her guns and aimed it into the seats. She spun around slowly, letting herself get a feel for it.
A head popped up in one of the boxes—Widmer, the mechanic from the garage. “Not quite yet, please!”
She flipped the barrel toward the ceiling. “Sorry. I wasn’t going to fire.”
“No, but the enthusiasm is appreciated.” Halcyon grinned his mad grin. “So tell me, what did you think of last night’s performance?”
“It was”—she chose her words carefully—“like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
“Of course not!” He scowled. “That’s because you can only see it here! Never mind, never mind, let’s get started. Widmer, how are we coming?”
“Almost done. Just a few more adjustments.” Widmer stood. “There!” He climbed over the lip of the box and lowered himself down to the stage floor. “Let’s give it a try.”
“Give what a try?” said Pity.
“The device that’s going to keep you from killing the audience,” Halcyon said. “As dramatic as that would be, I do believe it would affect the long-term viability of the act.”
Widmer fiddled with a display screen he carried. “I’ve always wanted a reason to use this tech. Sadly, the amount of power it draws doesn’t make it good for much.”
He pressed the display again. There was a sudden shift in the air around them, a low vibration, so faint that Pity wondered if she imagined it.
Widmer pointed at the stands. “Take a shot now.”
“There’s no target.”
“Just aim into the stands like you were before. Go on.”
Pity raised her gun.
Bang!
Sparks exploded midair, at the boundary where the stage ended and the boxes began.
“Brilliant!” said Halcyon. “Pity, do it again!”
She fired over and over, until her gun was empty. Every bullet detonated like the first. “That’s amazing.”
“Runs all around the edge.” Widmer smiled proudly. “And wait until you see what else I’ve got rigged! Get ready now.”
A tube appeared out of the floor and spat three glass globes into the air. Pity hesitated for only a heartbeat. She drew her second gun and fired. The globes exploded. At the opposite edge of the floor, another three launched. She felled two, but her third shot missed and a sphere landed on the floor, rolling to a stop a few feet away.
“Dammit.” She rubbed her eyes. “Guess I’m still a little worn around the edges.”
“Nonsense!” said Halcyon. “No performer is perfect all the time. Why, we used to have a young man who swallowed swords…” He stopped. “Actually, you don’t need to hear that story. Tsk—such a tragedy. But my point is that practice makes perfect!”
Pity reloaded. “So am I going to be shooting at launched targets all the time or—” She stopped. Halcyon was staring at her.
“Well, that won’t do,” he said.
“What?”
“That! It’s rather slow and dull isn’t it?”
