"Not just yet." Knight unloaded the short barreled smart shotgun and made sure it was safe. "You still need to learn how to use smart weapons without a HUD."
"Oh… yeah. That's kind of important, isn't it?" I looked around sheepishly. "So, how exactly would I learn to do that? I don't even know if my wetware is compatible with hund smart weapons."
"That is an interesting point." Knight conceded. "Your aunt Nemeria favored martial weapons or her own innate abilities. I do not remember seeing her use hund weapons. However, human wetware is famously adaptable. Tell me, have you ever used a nano-blade or any of the katzen monomolecular wire based weapons?"
"I used one of those wire cheese cutters once. That's about it." I wasn't even sure what a nano-blade was. I figured it wasn't just a very small knife like the name suggested.
"Oh, interesting." Knight seemed to take this in. "Have you ever struck someone with the intent to harm?"
"No, there really hasn't been much of a reason for me to. We did hand to hand and self defense in the academy, but it was pretty basic." I admitted.
The hot pink sighed. It was obvious that he had a normal way in which he worked and I was fucking things up for him. "I would ask you a question, and I would like you to consider it very carefully before you answer. Do not just say what you think you should, or what you believe I would want to hear."
He looked me in the eyes, his blue irises standing out against the pink of his fur. "There are many ways to divide up the population, male or female. Rich or poor. Lazy or hard working. I can teach you how to shoot, but to you it would just be a game. It would be something else for you to be good at."
I wasn't hearing a question. He wasn't wrong, but what was he getting at?
Knight continued. "I have spent decades training soldiers and I am incredibly good at it, perhaps one of the best. Those who I have trained tend to survive situations where others crumble. But before the training it all starts with one question. Are you a killer? Not will you kill, not have you killed, but are you a killer? Because if someone came into this room who was a threat, a killer would put them down without hesitation. So, are you a killer?"
I considered this. "No. I don't think so. I don't enjoy hurting people and I know that I would hesitate if I was put in that situation. Does that mean I failed your test?"
"No. Not at all." Knight sat down on the chair next to the shooting bench. "Sociopaths and psychopaths make poor soldiers. They steal, murder, rape, and when the tide of battle turns they run. They are not trustworthy. That is why they are screened out of the special forces selection process."
"So my next question is, do you wish to become a killer? I'm not asking if you want to kill people, I'm asking if you want to become someone who would."
"No." I replied, relieved that I had declined and it hadn't felt like a lie. "I would never want that. If I have to cross that bridge someday, I will. But I am not a killer and hopefully I never will be."
"Ah, but consider what you just said." Knight pointed out. "You said that you would cross that bridge if you had to, not that you would find out. You committed to killing if you had to."
That was my demi-human heritage rearing its ugly head again. I wasn't a killer and would never be one. "What's your point?”
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"My point is that perhaps you see the value of being able to kill, if the situation requires it, you just don't want to see yourself as a killer. This is actually the best possible starting point. You have empathy and a resistance to killing but also you are pragmatic enough to understand that it may become necessary."
"So what? I learn to become a killer just in case someday it becomes useful?" I shook my head. "That's crazy."
"Is it?" Knight asked. "I can teach you to shoot but if you treat it like a game it won't be enough to save you or the people you love when something bad happens. Because you will hesitate, and that will put you at a disadvantage, possibly getting you or someone else killed."
"If something happens where you need to defend yourself, you want to be aiming for vital organs and off switches, not rings on a bullseye."
Knight pulled up a three dimensional anatomical drawing of a hund on his tablet. The vital organs were colored red so they would stand out against the green of the muscles. “Where you aim depends on what you are trying to hit. Punching paper does not teach you to take terminal ballistics or angles into account.”
He pointed at his chest dead center at nipple height. “If we were face to face on even ground I would aim here for a heart shot. But if I were firing down on them from a few floors above I would aim higher on the body.” He tapped a point five centimeters higher on his chest. “Angles matter in real fighting, less so with paper.”
I looked at him with disbelief. Was he really talking about targeting specific organs in a fire fight? Was that even possible?
Knight sighed wearily when he saw my confusion. “Perhaps my trauma is showing through.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, grateful for any signs excuse to steer the conversation in a less psychotic direction. I didn't need any help becoming a monster, thank you very much.
Knight took a moment to choose his words. “All of us are victims of extreme violence, GG, Rook, even your father. We view the world as a dangerous place because of our traumas, and when someone experiences trauma they tend to see things differently afterward. What we see as possible, or even probable, dramatically changes.”
“You see a bag of trash by the side of the road and don't think anything of it. But Rook and I see a possible IED ready to blow us up. It only has to happen once for your mind to forever associate that plastic bag of trash with danger. It only takes once for your switch to get flipped and change what you think is possible.”
“My trauma tells me that teaching you how to fight is important, vital even. I wish to keep you safe and I believe that teaching you these skills is the best way to do it. But your experiences have been much kinder than mine. To be honest, I envy you.”
“You envy me? For being sheltered?” I asked. Was this some kind of reverse psychology?
He smiled sadly. “I envy you because it must be nice to never wonder if your lover is going to murder you, or to see a pile of trash and not expect it to explode. It must be so wonderful to be able to sleep without dreaming of dead friends, to never wake up and feel that sense of crushing loss as you experience the realization that they are dead and you will never see them again.”
“It must be nice to not wish for those dreams because the brief happiness and the fantasy that everything is fine hurts less than what you feel when you open your eyes and look over to see an empty bed. I envy your soft, safe life.”
I considered this. “It is a pretty good life, isn't it?”
“Yeah. It is.” Knight looked at me and let out yet another sigh. “I don't want a life like mine for you, not now, not ever. But I feel that if I don't prepare you then I'm letting Simon down, especially after what happened at your apartment.”
“I'm not a killer.” I replied. “That's not who I am or who I want to be. I'm becoming a cop to help people, not kill them. I'm just not wired that way.”
“Well then, I suppose I will teach you the basics of things that hopefully you will never need. Perhaps we should start with the carbine and see if your wetware is compatible.” He unloaded the weapon and set it down on the bench once it was safe.
I hesitated, knowing in some strange impossible way that I was standing at a crossroads. I could just say no and be done with it. Using a HUD was fine. I had already passed the academy tests. I didn't have to go any further.
But then the little serpent of doubt crept in. What if someday I needed to know? What if someday years from now I was in a situation where I needed this knowledge and someone died because I was stubborn and didn't take the opportunity to learn?
I stood there, not sure what to do.