Freehold by Michael Z. Williamson

customs. He suggested that it was a good time to learn about guns and said he'd loan her one for the time being. She protested loudly, until he called up a picture from a news archive that showed an adult male ripper standing over the body of an Earth elk in Lakeside Park. She agreed with his logic on the only way to negotiate with such a creature and followed him next door to his apartment.
    He showed her the basics of weapon safety. He showed her his guns.
    "Are you planning on staging a revolt?" she asked.
    "No. Why?" he replied.
    Pointing at the hardware on the bed, she said, "All of this."
    "Well, let's see," he said, reaching for the first and explaining at length. "This is my military issue weapon. It stays here most of the time, unless I'm on an extended trip, in which case it goes with me. The Merrill is my primary sidearm, in public or on duty. The Colt is an antique. The Sig-Remington is for game—"
    "You kill animals with those things?" Kendra was really getting scared.
    "I'm not a sport hunter. I eat what I kill," he said. Kendra was disgusted that he thought that justification.
    "It is a truly sick society that kills helpless animals," she said.
    "Rippers, goddams and slashers are not helpless. And you seemed to enjoy your steak last night."
    "It came out of a vatory and you know it," she volleyed back. She stared at him for several seconds before understanding the expression on his face. "My God, that was an animal?"
    "Used to be, anyway," Rob said with a nod and a grin that was meant to be mean.
    Kendra ran for the bathroom and lay down on the floor. She'd hoped it would be cool, but it was heated for comfort. Right now she didn't care. She was afraid the roiling in her guts was going to turn to vomiting and just as afraid it wouldn't. Nausea washed over her, her pulse thrummed in her temples and she broke into a sweat. Rob was over her in seconds. "I'm sorry about that. I knew you didn't know, but I didn't think it would hit you that hard."
    Crying quietly, trying to keep her face taut, Kendra opened her mouth to speak and felt her composure shatter. "I don't belong here. I come from a civilized little town where people live normal, decent lives. And I want to go home," she wept.
    Rob pulled her head gently into his lap. "I know it's hard. I've had the same culture shock the other way. The difference being that I knew I was going home. This is a lot to throw on you all at once, but you have to learn it or you won't be able to cope."
    Nodding, she forced her breathing to normal. It was some time before her nerves quieted. "I need to go lie down," she told him as she rose carefully. "It's not personal, I . . . I've just had too much input today."
    His strong grip helped her to her feet. "Sure," he replied, voice still cheerful, if a bit forced. He walked with her and at the door he said, "Hey—"
    She turned to face him. "I'm sorry. I get very intense. Tell me to back off if you need to," he told her.
    With a smile that was only half forced, she said, "Okay," before turning to go.
    "Here," he said, and thrust a holstered pistol into her hand. "I hope you never need it."
    She replied, "Thanks." It felt odd in her hand and she wasn't sure what else to say.
    Back in her room, she resumed reading at the comm desk, ate a sandwich and soup for dinner, as that was still about the limits of her pantry, and made notes of other things she'd need. Everything she'd ever taken for granted had to be reassessed and considered. It was frightening in many ways. Everyone wants "freedom," she decided, but the more free one was, the more responsibility one had. She wondered again if she'd made the right choice of new homes.
    Periodically, she'd touch the holstered pistol on the corner of the plain polymer desk. Its presence bothered her in many ways, and yet it became more reassuring as she read about what was essentially a frontier planet. The fact of that reassurance bothered her even more. The gun was a tool, not a