look away and actually blush when his eyes reached hers and he found himself caught out.
"Citizens of Home have rights of free passage and are entitled to follow their own law and custom transversing USNA territory," she explained. "That and a few other small things were imposed in the terms of their surrender. For example, my cargo being loaded has been declared to Customs, so they know what's on board if we have a fire or something. The emergency crews would know if there were any hazardous materials. That serves everyone. But they can't impose tariffs, or tell me I can't take anything through. Just a few small privileges, someone else might not have."
"So the gun?" the newbie hesitated, struggling to phrase his question politely.
"It's my privilege and custom on Home, so it's the same crossing NA territory. Our law supersedes theirs where Home citizens are involved. It's not really a firearm either, it's a laser. Here, take a look."
He took it gingerly and had been in zero G long enough that he wiggled it back and forth to gauge its mass.
"Wow. It's really light."
"Yup, but it's a half gram lighter when you shoot out the power pack."
He thought about that a minute and offered it back by the stubby barrel. "I'd hate to have an accident, better take it back."
"Oh, you can't fire it. Give it a try."
He looked dubiously at her and asked Cheesy, "What's behind the bulkhead there?" pointing at the surface behind the grill.
"All the vastness of space, unless the damn moon is in the way again."
Satisfied, he pointed it at the wall and squeezed the trigger. A tinny little voice said, "You are not an authorized user. If you persist this device will self-destruct."
"It has a DNA reader in the handle, among other safeguards," April explained, licking the corner of her mouth. "Pistol, accept the current holder for target power only, activate visible designator from trigger pressure and end authorization in one hour. Cheesy, what you got for him to shoot?"
Cheesy took another ball of meat without comment and pitched it overhand at the stainless covered bulkhead behind his equipment. It hit with an audible ‘plop' and clung to the surface with a domed red face to them.
"Touch the trigger very, very, lightly and it will give you an aiming dot and then blast that meat," she instructed with a chuckle, enjoying the impromptu arcade.
He touched the trigger and then steered the little red dot on to the target and squeezed gently. It was obvious he had some experience shooting from the smooth control. The center of the sirloin turned brown and sizzled rather quickly, a tendril of steam drifting away. He was pleased with himself and made to pass the pistol back toward her, but his buddy reached and took it.
"Now, it won't accept me firing it either will it?" he asked.
"No. It'll read and reject your DNA."
"So, what if I keep trying and don't understand English, what? - Boom?"
"Try it and ask," she suggested.
He pointed it at the safe wall carefully she noticed approvingly and squeezed the trigger. The same warning was repeated, but then he told it. "Je ne comprends pas. Je ne parle pas anglais." The same little tinny voice repeated the warning in perfect Parisian French. That seemed to impress him more than the firepower and he passed it back with a grin.
Meanwhile, Cheesy had scrapped the ball off the wall and popped it in a grill. When the two Frenchmen ordered, she was relieved to see he made theirs from fresh, but he soon made the targeted burger up for himself and joined them.
"So, if you had a load of 500 Kilo' of cocaine, the USNA Customs would have to just let you slide right through and you'd declare it to them? Right?" he inquired, skeptically.
"Yes. I'd never accept a load of coke. I don't need a law to make me not deal crappy street drugs, but if I did there's not a thing they could do about it," she told them dead pan. "A serious breach of our treaty could put us back at war. I don't think they want that -
"Citizens of Home have rights of free passage and are entitled to follow their own law and custom transversing USNA territory," she explained. "That and a few other small things were imposed in the terms of their surrender. For example, my cargo being loaded has been declared to Customs, so they know what's on board if we have a fire or something. The emergency crews would know if there were any hazardous materials. That serves everyone. But they can't impose tariffs, or tell me I can't take anything through. Just a few small privileges, someone else might not have."
"So the gun?" the newbie hesitated, struggling to phrase his question politely.
"It's my privilege and custom on Home, so it's the same crossing NA territory. Our law supersedes theirs where Home citizens are involved. It's not really a firearm either, it's a laser. Here, take a look."
He took it gingerly and had been in zero G long enough that he wiggled it back and forth to gauge its mass.
"Wow. It's really light."
"Yup, but it's a half gram lighter when you shoot out the power pack."
He thought about that a minute and offered it back by the stubby barrel. "I'd hate to have an accident, better take it back."
"Oh, you can't fire it. Give it a try."
He looked dubiously at her and asked Cheesy, "What's behind the bulkhead there?" pointing at the surface behind the grill.
"All the vastness of space, unless the damn moon is in the way again."
Satisfied, he pointed it at the wall and squeezed the trigger. A tinny little voice said, "You are not an authorized user. If you persist this device will self-destruct."
"It has a DNA reader in the handle, among other safeguards," April explained, licking the corner of her mouth. "Pistol, accept the current holder for target power only, activate visible designator from trigger pressure and end authorization in one hour. Cheesy, what you got for him to shoot?"
Cheesy took another ball of meat without comment and pitched it overhand at the stainless covered bulkhead behind his equipment. It hit with an audible ‘plop' and clung to the surface with a domed red face to them.
"Touch the trigger very, very, lightly and it will give you an aiming dot and then blast that meat," she instructed with a chuckle, enjoying the impromptu arcade.
He touched the trigger and then steered the little red dot on to the target and squeezed gently. It was obvious he had some experience shooting from the smooth control. The center of the sirloin turned brown and sizzled rather quickly, a tendril of steam drifting away. He was pleased with himself and made to pass the pistol back toward her, but his buddy reached and took it.
"Now, it won't accept me firing it either will it?" he asked.
"No. It'll read and reject your DNA."
"So, what if I keep trying and don't understand English, what? - Boom?"
"Try it and ask," she suggested.
He pointed it at the safe wall carefully she noticed approvingly and squeezed the trigger. The same warning was repeated, but then he told it. "Je ne comprends pas. Je ne parle pas anglais." The same little tinny voice repeated the warning in perfect Parisian French. That seemed to impress him more than the firepower and he passed it back with a grin.
Meanwhile, Cheesy had scrapped the ball off the wall and popped it in a grill. When the two Frenchmen ordered, she was relieved to see he made theirs from fresh, but he soon made the targeted burger up for himself and joined them.
"So, if you had a load of 500 Kilo' of cocaine, the USNA Customs would have to just let you slide right through and you'd declare it to them? Right?" he inquired, skeptically.
"Yes. I'd never accept a load of coke. I don't need a law to make me not deal crappy street drugs, but if I did there's not a thing they could do about it," she told them dead pan. "A serious breach of our treaty could put us back at war. I don't think they want that -
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