“I don’t like guns, Paul. You know that.” Harrison Blackwood was being as stubbornly resistant as ever.

“These are dangerous times, and they’re only getting worse, Harrison. YOU know THAT.” Ironhorse stared the astrophysicist down. “I might not always be there to protect you, especially the way you keep sneaking off by yourself.”

“I don’t sneak.”

Ironhorse waved that away. “The point is, I’d feel better about not always knowing where you are if I knew you were armed and reasonably competent in the use of a firearm. If you’re worried about not being able to hit…”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t want to shoot anyone. I don’t want to be in a position where I HAVE to shoot someone, where I have to kill.”

“You’d only be shooting at the aliens, and we want to kill them.”

“How can you be sure about that?”

“What?” For a moment, Ironhorse thought Blackwood was objecting to killing aliens.

“How can you be sure I’d only have to shoot at aliens?”

“Because you’d be using your own judgement, and if someone’s firing at you, odds are they’ll be one of the aliens.” Ironhorse sighed. “Harrison, please. It’s for your own safety, and the safety of the entire project. How are we supposed to win against these aliens if one of our number refuses to carry a gun?”

“I’m not trying to be difficult, Paul…”

“Really.”

“Well, maybe just a little, but…” Blackwood shoved one hand through his hair. “I’m a pacifist, I don’t fight.”

“While I admire your determination to hold to your ideals, they’re not going to be much use to you if the aliens get hold of you.”

“You’re right, I know.” Shoulders sagging, Blackwood nodded. “Fine, you’ve worn me down. Teach me how to use a gun.”


The End