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pike NCO. But everything seemed to have worked out. Erkum protected the captain’s back, and that wasn’t long-range work. As long as Fain’s enemies came within five meters or so, the hulking private could usually hit them. And even if he hit them only with the butt of his weapon, they tended to stay down. More than that, he had acquired what was probably the perfect tool for his chosen spot.
    The weapon was more cannon than gun. It was the brainchild of the same inventor who’d come up with the standard Mardukan rifle, and it used metallic cartridges similar to the ones developed for the bolt action rifles that had replaced the Marines’ bead rifles as their sophisticated ammunition ran out. But its barrel diameter was nearly three times that of the standard rifles, and it fired “semi-automatically.” A barlike magazine protruded vertically from the top of the weapon. It held seven short, stubby cartridges, each as long as a Mardukan hand, and as each round was fired, the bar slid downward to expose the next cartridge to the firing mechanism and hammer. The weight of the dropping “magazine” both cocked the weapon and brought the next round into position.
    It had been originally intended as a quick-firing swivel gun to mount on the schooners’ bulwarks as an anti-sea monster defense, but in the end, it had been replaced for that function by the pintle-mounted harpoon cannons. As part of its original design concept, however, it had been designed to fire either buckshot or conical slugs, and Erkum carried a pair of reloads for each ammunition type on his person at all times.
    The breech-bar reloads were a meter long by themselves, and could be lifted by a human only with difficulty. Erkum, on the other hand, reloaded one-handed, and fired the rounds as fast as he could pull the trigger. Of course, being near his line of fire was rather unhealthy. But it was a decent weapon for a combat-environment bodyguard. Even one who couldn’t hit a mountain if it was falling on him.
    Unfortunately, he had the damnedest time admitting his lack of marksmanship.
    “These youngsters, they don’t know how to hit nothing,” the big Mardukan growled. If he were a season older than most of the recruits and privates, Fain would have been astonished.
    “It’s okay, Erkum,” the captain said, knowing what was coming. “Really. They’re doing fine.”
    “They need to be showed how to really shoot,” Erkum rumbled, taking the semiportable cannon off his back.
    “You don’t have to do this,” Fain muttered. But although Erkum was easy to control in most areas, he was inordinately proud of his lack of skill with the damned gun.
    “None of you biset could hit the side of a temple!” he yelled to the riflemen lining the rail. “I will now show you how it is done!”
    The gun had a double shoulder rest with a lower support/stock that rested on the hips. It was held and “gross” aimed with the lower false-hands and “fine” aimed with the upper true-hands. Now the private shouldered the weapon, dropped in one of the magazine bars, and opened fire.
    The gun really was a small cannon, and emitted the smoke level of one. But even with the smoke, the slow-moving shot could be tracked visually as it lofted through the air and fell beyond the barrel. The private wasn’t able to use that information to adjust, however, because he’d already triggered two more bruising, smoke-spewing blasts from the weapon during its time of flight.
    Fain coughed on the stinking cloud of smoke and tried not to laugh. Judging by the splashes, the rounds were falling all around the barrel and even tracking far enough off to be a hazard to the longboat that had dropped the target. None of them, however, were coming within a reasonable distance of the barrel itself.
    He glanced over his shoulder at a semi-sensed movement, then clapped his lower hands as one of the humans surreptitiously hefted her own bead rifle and cracked off a single,