Guns.
Installation of the pore-pattern detonation device represented the final stage of Gun assembly. Therefore, Logan deliberately initiated his inspection just short of the area.
Logan was comfortable in his role as a Gun tech; his basic working knowledge of DS weaponry enabled him to pull off the impersonation without strain. He was smooth and professional, and the drone robots ignored him as he performed his duties, picking various weapons from the line, checking them carefully, making rapid notations in the minibook he carried.
As Logan moved down the line, the chief section robot approached him. He stared at Logan with faceted, lidless metal eyes.
“I assume you wish to test-fire one of our products?”
“Uh…naturally,” said Logan.
“Then select a weapon of your choice,” said the robot, “and please follow me.”
Logan was annoyed at this delay. He wanted to get the job over quickly, since his unauthorized position here was extremely dangerous. What if they contacted CIC? What if the Central Inspection Control office was asked about Prestor 8? No, we didn’t send him. No, he shouldn’t be at your factory.
Every minute wasted here placed Logan in deeper jeopardy.
He selected a weapon and followed the tall humanoid robot. He had not planned on firing any of the Guns, but apparently this was part of a normal tech inspection. It was expected. No way of avoiding it.
The test area, to the left of the main assembly floor, contained several targets of varying size, mounted at widely spaced intervals across the width of a sound-and-shock-insulated firing tunnel.
The section robot handed Logan a silver ammopac stamped with the factory’s black death-head design.
“Six charges,” he said. “Full pac.”
Logan armed the Gun, weighing it in his hand.
“You’ll note the balance has been improved,” said the tall robot. “Barrel-weight reduction, mainly. But with absolutely no loss of basic reliability.”
“I can feel the difference,” said Logan.
The Gun’s long barrel gleamed under the factory lights; its pearl handle was snug against his palm and cool to the touch. Seductive. The damned Gun was always seductive.
“I suggest you try a ripper,” said the robot. “You’ll find that we have increased its force considerably.”
Logan raised the weapon, set to ripper, and sighted the nearest target: a block of solid double-band durasteel.
He triggered the Gun.
The block instantly erupted into a snowfall of tiny steel fragments.
“Improved?” asked the robot.
“Improved.” Logan nodded. “Definitely an upgrade of overall destruct power.”
The robot seemed pleased. “Care to try a tangler?…The new stress-webbing is—”
“Thanks, but I’ve seen enough here,” said Logan.
“The tensile strength has been doubled . You really should try one.”
“I’m on a tight schedule,” said Logan, handing him the Gun. “But I’ll make special note of it in my report.”
The machine trailed Logan back to the Gunline, still talking about basic product improvement.
“We never consider any design totally perfected,” he declared. “Most Sandmen don’t appreciate that fact. They fail to realize that they have us to thank for a higher killscore each year.”
How do I get rid of him? Logan knew that with this overzealous robot watching his slightest move, it would be utterly impossible for him to remove a line Gun.
Even more unsettling, if he actually managed to steal a weapon, how would he get it past the scanners? All visitors, including techs, were scanchecked when entering or leaving the factory grounds. You didn’t just walk out with a Gun.
Or did you?
Suddenly, logically, Logan had the answer.
No scanchecks were made on section robots leaving the factory. That was why only machines were employed here: they could be programmed against theft. Exit checks were unnecessary.
Logan smiled at the robot. “You seem to be exceptionally well versed in Gun
Installation of the pore-pattern detonation device represented the final stage of Gun assembly. Therefore, Logan deliberately initiated his inspection just short of the area.
Logan was comfortable in his role as a Gun tech; his basic working knowledge of DS weaponry enabled him to pull off the impersonation without strain. He was smooth and professional, and the drone robots ignored him as he performed his duties, picking various weapons from the line, checking them carefully, making rapid notations in the minibook he carried.
As Logan moved down the line, the chief section robot approached him. He stared at Logan with faceted, lidless metal eyes.
“I assume you wish to test-fire one of our products?”
“Uh…naturally,” said Logan.
“Then select a weapon of your choice,” said the robot, “and please follow me.”
Logan was annoyed at this delay. He wanted to get the job over quickly, since his unauthorized position here was extremely dangerous. What if they contacted CIC? What if the Central Inspection Control office was asked about Prestor 8? No, we didn’t send him. No, he shouldn’t be at your factory.
Every minute wasted here placed Logan in deeper jeopardy.
He selected a weapon and followed the tall humanoid robot. He had not planned on firing any of the Guns, but apparently this was part of a normal tech inspection. It was expected. No way of avoiding it.
The test area, to the left of the main assembly floor, contained several targets of varying size, mounted at widely spaced intervals across the width of a sound-and-shock-insulated firing tunnel.
The section robot handed Logan a silver ammopac stamped with the factory’s black death-head design.
“Six charges,” he said. “Full pac.”
Logan armed the Gun, weighing it in his hand.
“You’ll note the balance has been improved,” said the tall robot. “Barrel-weight reduction, mainly. But with absolutely no loss of basic reliability.”
“I can feel the difference,” said Logan.
The Gun’s long barrel gleamed under the factory lights; its pearl handle was snug against his palm and cool to the touch. Seductive. The damned Gun was always seductive.
“I suggest you try a ripper,” said the robot. “You’ll find that we have increased its force considerably.”
Logan raised the weapon, set to ripper, and sighted the nearest target: a block of solid double-band durasteel.
He triggered the Gun.
The block instantly erupted into a snowfall of tiny steel fragments.
“Improved?” asked the robot.
“Improved.” Logan nodded. “Definitely an upgrade of overall destruct power.”
The robot seemed pleased. “Care to try a tangler?…The new stress-webbing is—”
“Thanks, but I’ve seen enough here,” said Logan.
“The tensile strength has been doubled . You really should try one.”
“I’m on a tight schedule,” said Logan, handing him the Gun. “But I’ll make special note of it in my report.”
The machine trailed Logan back to the Gunline, still talking about basic product improvement.
“We never consider any design totally perfected,” he declared. “Most Sandmen don’t appreciate that fact. They fail to realize that they have us to thank for a higher killscore each year.”
How do I get rid of him? Logan knew that with this overzealous robot watching his slightest move, it would be utterly impossible for him to remove a line Gun.
Even more unsettling, if he actually managed to steal a weapon, how would he get it past the scanners? All visitors, including techs, were scanchecked when entering or leaving the factory grounds. You didn’t just walk out with a Gun.
Or did you?
Suddenly, logically, Logan had the answer.
No scanchecks were made on section robots leaving the factory. That was why only machines were employed here: they could be programmed against theft. Exit checks were unnecessary.
Logan smiled at the robot. “You seem to be exceptionally well versed in Gun
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