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Arada can count on one hand the number of other people she's seen using the weapons range. It's a small space with an even smaller clientele, tucked into an intentionally nondescript building on the fringe of FirstLanding's grounds. Most people who pass it probably don’t even realize it’s there. In the months since she started her weapons usage certification, she’s only seen a few of the officers from the local Community Safety team and maybe one other person who’s practicing for their own certification evidently for their own reasons. They all come and go from a cramped pair of shooting bays and a limited armory, manned by a single attendant who doubles as instructor. Most days, the whole space seems to echo, hollow and cold with the silence of so few people pausing in a space most of them don’t want to visit to begin with.
That isolation, however, is only one of the reasons why the shadow hovering by her reserved bay is a surprise.
“Secunit! Hi!” She thinks she succeeds in keeping the question marks out of her tone, but doubts she can keep them off of her face for long. Arada focuses on prepping the energy weapon she’s just checked out of the armory instead, shucking the components out of the case and fitting them together in steady, methodical movements as Secunit moves to loom at her elbow. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Judging by the troubled look on its face, it may not be entirely sure why it’s here, either. Arada can feel its eyes following her hands as she locks the barrel into the stock. Clicks the battery core into the firing column. Tightens the recoil guard. She’s been practicing for months now, honing motion into muscle memory, but every step of the process feels slow and clumsy when it’s being monitored so closely by a real expert. Secunit is frowning—it’s almost always frowning, so that shouldn’t make her uneasy—but it does.
“Weapons training wasn’t in your file on the survey,” it murmurs as she toggles the weapon into active mode and waits for the tell-tale hum of a charged energy core. The rifle sits heavy in her hands as the seconds tick by. That had surprised her the first day…The weapons always weigh so much more than they look. They’d felt alien in her hands, the curves and angles unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Her palms sweat as if she's holding a real alien remnant the first few times she practiced.
“I didn’t think you read any of our files.”
“I didn’t. Then. I have since then.” Its jaw works as Arada lifts the barrel to take her first shot. She squeezes the trigger in a firm, steady pulse and a bolt of energy sings down the range. The center ring of the target crumples, smoking faintly, and Arada sucks in a breath. Secunit's jaw makes an odd, strained clicking noise. “I didn’t think Preservation did…this.”
“It isn’t common. And it is new for me personally.” So, so new. But then, so are a lot of things for her, most importantly the change in job title and the responsibilities that will come with it in a few short months. “But that last survey was—” Arada swallows hard. The last survey had been a sharp, sudden education. Like swimming just a smidge too far from shore and finding yourself with a yawning black gulf beneath your feet. They had been out of their depth. And they had almost paid dearly for it. “—enough to make me consider it.”
Arada hates the idea of using a weapon. But she hates the idea of being unable to help protect a team she is responsible for even more. She'd fretted over the idea for weeks when it first occurred to her, opening the link to sign up for the weapons classes and then closing it again a dozen times before the decision was made. But, eventually, one fear had outweighed the other.
“I don’t like it. There's a part of me that gets scared all over again every time I pick up a weapon,” she murmurs, squeezing off another shot. It lands within an inch or two of the first. The first few times she'd come here, her hands shook so badly that her groupings were wild, erratic, and frankly a little embarrassing. Now that she visits once a week, searing as much muscle memory as she can into herself, her scores are better. Not perfect, but…better. “But now that I know what the Corporation Rim can be like, I don’t want to lead a team into it without knowing anything about how to help protect them if I need to.”
“You've been to the Rim before without training,” Secunit counters quietly, its eyes lingering on the target as Arada's rifle punches another singed little hole near its center. Its brows raise a fraction.
“We have. And we were really, really lucky.” She's often wondered about their previous surveys, about how many close calls they'd had before now without even realizing it. About how incredibly fortunate they'd been to never wander into the way of someone else's profit margin until recently. Their last survey had thoroughly demonstrated how helpless they were against the rigors of the Rim and how effortless it was for that to be exploited. Secunit had been the only reason it hadn't worked. “Although, depending on how you look at it, it could be argued that we were even luckier the last time. Even with…everything.”
Secunit's head turns a fraction of an inch to shoot her a skeptical glance. It certainly didn't seem to consider any part of that survey's events lucky, but Arada can't help that. That trip is always going to live in her nightmares, but there had been one singular silver lining.
“Last time, we met you.” Arada smiles gently and turns away to let Secunit fix the way its face jolts at the words. “If that's the trade-off that had to happen, I'm glad it did.”
There's a rough, raspy noise that might be the Secunit equivalent of clearing its throat or it might be a noise of dissent. Arada can't tell, and she isn't going to ask. She can catch glimpses of it from the corner of her eye, where its cheeks are flushing a faint pink and it's shifting uneasily from one foot to the other.
“I don't plan on carrying a daily weapon on survey or anything—I just want to know how to use one safely. I promise I won't step on your security consultant toes,” Arada says. That thought had been in the back of her head from day one: she’d known Secunit would probably have some strong opinions about her new skills when she got around to breaking the news to it. She’d hoped that emphasizing how rarely—if ever—she planned to use them would help, but she’s not sure that it has.
Arada doesn’t think she can blame it, either.
She had thought about Secunit often when she practiced. About what it must feel like to carry that weight—that heavy, unnerving responsibility unique to holding a weapon—as a physical part of herself. Of never, ever being able to put it down. She can understand the anxiety it has about itself and the safety of people around it a little better now. It would be hard to ever fully relax, to ever fully trust—
“Thirty-four percent of the times I've been shot, it's been by my own clients.”
The muzzle of Arada’s rifle dips hard, as if her arms have stopped working altogether. Her mouth drops open with the horror of the abrupt revelation. She almost asks if those incidents were accidental or…intentional. But she isn't entirely sure she wants to know even if Secunit is inclined to answer. Her stomach rolls with sudden nausea as she considers what it would feel like to be shot by a colleague. Worse still, to be shot by a colleague and have no power whatsoever to stop it from happening again. Her reaction is instant, instinctive…and probably too small to mean much.
“I could quit…”
“No. I'm…not worried. Not about you.” It reaches out and lifts the gun muzzle back into proper firing position with a single finger. “But practice is good.”
There's a reluctance to the words, as if it still doesn't like them…but at least it means them.
And coming from Secunit, Arada knows that means a hell of a lot.