effort, and straightened his back, staring across the fire at Jarji. She sat still, the weapon lying a meter ahead of her, and less than that from the edge of the campfire. Jef's eyes focused on it. The dark wood of its polished stock and frame was of some kind he did not recognize. A backward-curving length of metal was set crosswise near the front of the frame; an arc of metal, like a short bow, with a wire for a bowstring.
The wire crossed the frame at a point where a metal groove ran down the length of the stock. There, guides caught it, and the guides seemed to be fixed to a pulley arrangement running back along the side of the stock to a drum holding eight metallic cartridges perhaps three centimeters in diameter, so that one cartridge at a time engaged one end of the pulley system through a slot in the cartridge's curved side.
"Never seen one of those before?" asked Jarji. "Called a crossbow."
"I... guessed that," Jef said, remembering illustrations of devices like this in his history books on the wars of the late middle ages in Europe. "But what are those?"
He pointed to the cartridges in the drumlike part of the weapon.
"Spring-pulls," she said.
As Jef watched, she leaned forward, picked up the crossbow and rotated the drum so that the next cartridge in line took the end of the pulley into its slot. She punched the outer end of the cartridge with a quick stab of her thumb, and the cartridge whirred abruptly, like an angry rattlesnake. The pulley wire spun back through the slot in the cartridge and out again; and the guides swiftly pulled the wire bowstring back the full length of the stock.
"Lucky for you I just rewound a full wheels' worth of spring-pulls," said Jarji. "Wouldn't want to spare one, otherwise."
She took one of the short arrows from her belt quiver, laid it in the groove along the top of the crossbow stock, and nocked its feathered end into the wire bowstring. Casually, she lifted the heavy weapon in one hand, pointed it off to one side, and fired.
There was the sharp, musical twang as the wire released, followed in almost the same instant by the sound of a solid impact.
"You see?" said Jarji, laying the crossbow down again. But Jef was still staring off in the direction the arrow had gone.
"What—what did it hit?" Jef managed to say.
"Hit? Oh, I shot the quarrel into a willy-tree trunk," she answered. "Don't mind showing it off to you; but I'm not going to go hunting all through the woods at night for a quarrel, just to demonstrate."
She got to her feet, walked off into the darkness and returned after a moment sliding the short arrow she had called a quarrel back into her quiver. She sat down again.
"Could you see that tree you shot it into?" demanded Jef unbelievingly.
"Of course not," said Jarji. "But I knew it was there. This is all my place, these woods. Didn't I tell you?"
She laid the crossbow down before her feet once more. Jef pulled his gaze away from it with an effort.
"Why do you use a thing like that?" he asked.
"Well, now—" Her voice was abruptly bitter and mocking. "You know none of us law-abiding upland woods ranchers would go using a real energy weapon."
Jef blinked across the fire at her. Jarji stared back, hard-eyed, for a moment. Then the tight line of her jaw relaxed.
"I guess you really don't know anything, do you?" she said. "There's a law against carrying regular weapons, any place but down in the city. Never mind... you were going to tell me about this brother of yours."
Jef pulled himself together. As briefly as he could, he told her essentially what he had told Martin about Will's death, disappearance and the difficulty his family had encountered getting details about it from the E. Corps.
When he was finished, Jarji sat without saying anything for a long moment, frowning and poking at the fire with a piece of pine branch from which the twigs and needles had been singed away. Finally she threw the stick aside, as if she had come to some decision, and
The wire crossed the frame at a point where a metal groove ran down the length of the stock. There, guides caught it, and the guides seemed to be fixed to a pulley arrangement running back along the side of the stock to a drum holding eight metallic cartridges perhaps three centimeters in diameter, so that one cartridge at a time engaged one end of the pulley system through a slot in the cartridge's curved side.
"Never seen one of those before?" asked Jarji. "Called a crossbow."
"I... guessed that," Jef said, remembering illustrations of devices like this in his history books on the wars of the late middle ages in Europe. "But what are those?"
He pointed to the cartridges in the drumlike part of the weapon.
"Spring-pulls," she said.
As Jef watched, she leaned forward, picked up the crossbow and rotated the drum so that the next cartridge in line took the end of the pulley into its slot. She punched the outer end of the cartridge with a quick stab of her thumb, and the cartridge whirred abruptly, like an angry rattlesnake. The pulley wire spun back through the slot in the cartridge and out again; and the guides swiftly pulled the wire bowstring back the full length of the stock.
"Lucky for you I just rewound a full wheels' worth of spring-pulls," said Jarji. "Wouldn't want to spare one, otherwise."
She took one of the short arrows from her belt quiver, laid it in the groove along the top of the crossbow stock, and nocked its feathered end into the wire bowstring. Casually, she lifted the heavy weapon in one hand, pointed it off to one side, and fired.
There was the sharp, musical twang as the wire released, followed in almost the same instant by the sound of a solid impact.
"You see?" said Jarji, laying the crossbow down again. But Jef was still staring off in the direction the arrow had gone.
"What—what did it hit?" Jef managed to say.
"Hit? Oh, I shot the quarrel into a willy-tree trunk," she answered. "Don't mind showing it off to you; but I'm not going to go hunting all through the woods at night for a quarrel, just to demonstrate."
She got to her feet, walked off into the darkness and returned after a moment sliding the short arrow she had called a quarrel back into her quiver. She sat down again.
"Could you see that tree you shot it into?" demanded Jef unbelievingly.
"Of course not," said Jarji. "But I knew it was there. This is all my place, these woods. Didn't I tell you?"
She laid the crossbow down before her feet once more. Jef pulled his gaze away from it with an effort.
"Why do you use a thing like that?" he asked.
"Well, now—" Her voice was abruptly bitter and mocking. "You know none of us law-abiding upland woods ranchers would go using a real energy weapon."
Jef blinked across the fire at her. Jarji stared back, hard-eyed, for a moment. Then the tight line of her jaw relaxed.
"I guess you really don't know anything, do you?" she said. "There's a law against carrying regular weapons, any place but down in the city. Never mind... you were going to tell me about this brother of yours."
Jef pulled himself together. As briefly as he could, he told her essentially what he had told Martin about Will's death, disappearance and the difficulty his family had encountered getting details about it from the E. Corps.
When he was finished, Jarji sat without saying anything for a long moment, frowning and poking at the fire with a piece of pine branch from which the twigs and needles had been singed away. Finally she threw the stick aside, as if she had come to some decision, and
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