Tell me what you think. I don’t write humor very well…so if this is funny at all, please tell me.
Marade tossed the model into the air. Tenner brought up his pistol like he had been trained, in a smooth motion following the model’s rise and fall. He fired once.
A small peal of fire blossomed around the model. It was blown away, one of the small metal wings flying into a corner of the lab. The rest was no where to be seen.
Marade stared. “Fantastic.” She marked a note on a notepad nearby, her metallic ink splattering all over the page in her haste.
“What? What was that?” Tenner set the gun down gingerly. No regular bullet would have blown the model apart like that. It was nearly solid steel—a bullet would have merely left a hole in it or sent it spinning across the lab, not have blown it up.
Marade was calculating something at lightning speed. The numbers made his dizzy. She spoke over her rapid calculation. “That was a scale test. Nice shot…carry the two. Brilliant. Ah, yes, that bullet—it was only the first one, don’t worry. The gun won’t explode—it can’t be that…oh, forgot to convert. Sorry, the bullet wasn’t a proper bullet at all. It was shell, a pet project of mine. It was loaded with iode and exploded on impact—flippin’ metric, it’s viable!”
Marade looked up, her eyes shining. Tenner met her stared uncomprehendingly. Marade’s face fell. She collapsed into a chair. “Do I have to explain everything… Cadet—”
“Deucebaron,” Tenner corrected automatically.
“Deucebaron Tenner then; you have just helped me make a very important discovery. I’ll be sure to put in a recommendation you be moved to Rech.”
Tenner winced. “Thanks for the honor, but—”
Marade laughed. “I’m kidding. You’re doing just fine in Cardinal Squad, from what I’ve heard. I don’t hear much down here, but what I do is usually important. Your squad’s progress has been circulating my people for a month now.”
Tenner nodded, his cold sweat disappearing. Marade was as unpredictable as Aukalet…maybe even more so. “Thank you…Mech Meade?”
It was Marade’s turn to wince. “Just Meade. Or Marade. Considering you’re the third Baron to want to talk to me, I think you can handle using my first name.”
“Third?” Tenner asked picking up the wing of the model from where it lay, half-melted.
“Someone you don’t know was first. Someone you do know was second. Withus Check. He’s told me about you. I’m sure he told you about me.”
“He may have mentioned something. But the gun? The bullet…I mean shell?”
Marade rolled her eyes. “Just think a bullet that explodes. Any more complex or technical than that and your head might.”
Tenner picked up the gun and ejected the magazine, checking to make sure the rest of the bullets were regular, non-explosive darts. “Might what?”
“Explode.” Marade tossed him a bullet from a box on a nearby table. “Here. Your gun is now the second best in the tower. It’ll fire faster, hold more shots, and’ll have less kickback. Don’t shoot anyone I know.”
Tenner slipped the pistol—now fully functional and useful—back into his holster. “I won’t.”