Clarence wiped down the glass counters in his little weapons shop as he got ready to close for the day. He was proud of his little shop. It wasn't a "gun shop". It was a "weapons shop". He had everything…

Well, everything legal anyway…

He even stocked a limited selection of energy weapons. Being as close to the starport as he was, he did a brisk little trade with travelers who wanted to pick up something that, while perfectly legal here, might not be where they were heading.

He looked up as the strangest "vehicle" pulled in.

It was an old beat-up electric van, throwing sparks from one of its wheels as it miraculously moved under its own power into his parking lot. It had a huge solar panel on its top, and someone had cut the cutest little windows in the sides, complete with curtains and little window boxes that were filled with cheerful flowers.

It was clearly someone's home and probably didn't move around that much. It probably couldn't. It looked like it was on its last legs, but it was an old Crawltec, and those things were built like little battleships.

The strangest little critter hopped out and made its way into his store. He smiled. It looked like one of those "Pokedudes" that his great-grandson loved so much. He should get a picture with it. His great-grandson would get a kick out of it.

The little thing looked entirely at a loss as it wandered around the place, looking at various instruments of death and destruction.

It reached for a "small" carbine. Before he could cry out a warning (those Tornadoes were compact but much heavier than they looked), the xeno had dislodged the weapon, and it came crashing down, almost on top of her and clattered to the ground.

"Eeek!" the little thing squeaked. "Sorry!" it cried in heavily accented Terran.

It was a Fed.

Great, Clarence thought as he rolled his eyes and walked over. Yep. She scuffed it.

"Oh my gosh!" it (she?) squeaked as he inspected the damage. "I'm so sorry! I'll… I'll pay for it," it said and then let out a little pained squeak as it saw the price tag. Imperial military fully automatic assault blasters don't come cheap, even beat-up war surplus ones.

Fed plus beat-up ride means this thing is probably broke, and it clearly doesn't know arms. I should shoo it out and just close up, he thought as he looked down at it disapprovingly…

Then he looked in its eyes. It was lost… And scared… It didn't want a gun. It needed one… He remembered that feeling, hiding, praying that the raiders just wanted your stuff as you clutched an old knife you found in a picked-over supermarket, hoping that you could buy enough time for your wife and kid to escape if things turned ugly… Watching helplessly as they took your only hope for survival with a laugh...

Goddammit...

He sighed.

"You can't even carry it," Clarence said gently. "' Sides, it's plenty scratched up as it is. That's why it's out front. I don't have anything within arm's reach that I'm too worried about."

The little "pokedude" sighed with relief.

"Some people want a gun," Clarence said with a calming smile, "Others need one. I'm guessing you are somebody who needs one."

It nodded as its little mouth quivered. All of it quivered, actually.

"Have a seat while I close up," he said. "I have a feeling like this will take a minute."

***

"Alright," Clarence asked as he carefully examined the little critter, "What's your name?"

"L-Littlefoot," the thing replied.

"Ok, Littlefoot, what's going on?"

Littlefoot looked up at him and started to let out a long low wailing sound as she buried her face in her tiny hands.

Clarence cautiously reached out and laid his hand gently on the critter. Littlefoot grabbed him and started to really wail.

"… and then they burned down the whole place!" Littlefoot wailed. "Hurt Ploxni real bad an' then the boss… she..."

"Wait," Clarence asked, "you worked for that frog thing?"

"Her name is Sheloran," Littlefoot said with a little edge in her voice. "And she saved me!… Saved all of us… If it weren't for her, I would… They would still be..."

Clarence's face darkened. The universe was pissing him off again. He looked over his inventory appraisingly.

The universe pissed him off a lot. Fortunately, he had an answer for it, a whole lot of answers.

"… an' now they are trying to make us go back to… to what things used to be like… An' we aren't going to go back! We're tired of getting pushed around… An' if the Harkeen comes back, we're gonna… we're gonna..."

Clarence nodded and smiled. Not a Fed… not anymore…

"I've been around for a long time," Clarence said quietly, "Since before the Sol Wars."

"Reeeely?" Littlefoot asked, amazed.

"Yeah," Clarence said. "And I know what it feels like to be tired of running. I think I can help you. You ever use a gun before?"

Littlefoot shook her head.

"And how much do you have to spend."

"E-everything that I have..."

Clarence sighed.

"And how much is 'everything'?"

"T-three thousand..."

"Huh!" Clarence said in surprise. "I think… I think something from the children's line," Clarence said.

"Children?"

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"We put a gun in someone's hand as soon as they can hold it," he replied. "Here, you start shooting as soon as you can tie your shoes, maybe before."

"Reeeeely?"

"Really. Every Terran knows how to shoot, or at least they should. Red Sunday showed you guys why."

Littlefoot flinched.

"Hey, it's cool," Clarence said reassuringly, "I know you didn't have anything to do with that… did you?" he said, looking at her with mock suspicion.

She giggled and shook her head. Actually, she twisted her body back and forth. Her kind tends to swivel the whole spine instead of just the neck.

"Red Sunday was won by the civilians," Clarence said proudly. "Civilian pilots in space and in the air and civilian guns on the ground. On the ground, the military barely had time to get in there before we got them all. Everybody pulled out a gun. That's how we won the Sol Wars, and that's how we have protected our society ever since. It's hard to take a people when every single motherfucker pulls out something."

Every single motherfucker... Littlefoot felt a little thrill.

"Anyhow, we have guns specially designed for young shooters," Clarence said as he walked behind the counter. "Someone might have ordered a birthday present for their grandson," he said as he pulled out a brightly colored box with the picture of a young human child holding an assault rifle.

He tore open the box and pulled out a small carbine.

"This is the Armagen's 'Little Buddy'," he said proudly as he handed it to her.

"But doesn't this belong to someone else?" she asked as she carefully took it.

"I'll get him another one," Clarence said. "If I don't get it in time, he'll understand… or he won't… whatever," he laughed. "It's chambered for .22 Long Rifle, one of God's perfect rounds. Virtually no recoil and 'accurate enough'."

"But it's a kid's gun," Littlefoot said. "I might need to… you know..."

"The .22 gets underestimated, but it hasn't been in continuous production and use since 1884 for no reason. It's surprisingly dangerous. In fact, I would much rather get hit with a nine millimeter," he said as he opened up a box of ammo and pulled out a single .22 LR round. "These little fuckers are evil right out of the box, and with the right rounds, the .22 is as deadly as anything else. I just happen to stock .22 slivers and .22 gutworms. You hit one of those Threen fucks with either one of those, and they WILL go down… hard!" he exclaimed. "A mag full of those might wind up costing more than the gun you shoot them out of, though."

Littlefoot looked down at the carbine in surprise.

"Reeeely?"

***

After Clarence took some measurements, he fired up his old 3-D printer.

"While the new stock is printing," he said, "You probably also need a little something to keep on you."

"Keep on me?"

"Concealed," he replied. "Something you can have with you all the time," he said as he gestured over at the pistol case.

She looked at the large blocky pistols.

"I don't think any of those will-"

"Not those!" he laughed. "Over here, on the end."

He led her over to some tiny pistols. He pulled out the smallest of them all.

"This is a .22 single-action revolver," he said. "It will use the same ammo as the carbine we are fixing up, and as you can see, you can hide this little guy anywhere… even in your line of work."

She easily held the pistol in one hand.

"Here, let me show you how to use it," Clarence said as his phone rang.

"Oops," he said as he answered.

"Hi, Hannah," he said, wincing, "… Yeah, I'm held up at the shop… I have a customer who needs a… Heh. You know me… I don't know. I have to teach them to shoot, so it could be a while… Ok, See you soon. Love you, bye."

He hung up.

"Ok," he said, "The range is right over here..."

***

Littlefoot stood uncomfortably in front of a paper target.

"Ok," Clarence said patiently. "Now, you pull the hammer back. That's the little thing there," he said, pointing at it. "Pull it back with your thumb… or whatever."

Click

"Ok, good!" Clarence said. "Watch it! It's ready to fire! Keep it pointed downrange… That means towards the fucking target!… Jesus!"

"S-sorry..."

"It's ok. Just remember that the little hole in the end is where the death comes out. So don't point that hole at anything you don't want to die, ok?" he said. "Now line up the little post on top with that notch and then press the."

Bang

"Eeep..."

"Ok, that's… ok, I guess. I mean you...."

Click… Bang

"Oh!" Littlefoot squeaked. "That was..."

Click… Bang

"Hee!"

Click Bang

"Ooo!"

Click Bang Click Bang

"Wow!"

Click… snap

"That means you're out," Clarence said. "You need to keep track of how many you've shot. Because."

Littlefoot started to reload surprisingly quickly.

Click Bang Click Bang Click Bang Click Bang

"Woo!"

Click Bang Click Bang Click snap

"Aww."

She started to reload again!

"Looks like you got the shooting part down," Clarence smiled. "Now, let's try to get them actually on the target.."

Littlefoot looked up and grinned.

"This is fun!"

***

As Clarence was bent over the "Little Buddy", his phone rang.

"Yeah, I'm still here," he answered. "The little thing is (bang) still trying to figure out (bang) how to shoot (bang). Yeah, it's a xeno, a Fed, so it has absolutely no idea how to… Yeah… Little thing's hopeless, but she is getting better."

"I hit it!!!" an excited squeak echoed through the shop. "I hit it!"

Clarence smiled.

"Well, I'm going to stay here with the thing as long as it wants to throw lead… Yes, I'm charging it for the ammo!… It's just a little thing, so it's shooting a .22. Those lead slugs are cheap… Yeah, don't wait up. I still have to fit the stock to the little pokedude… I swear it looks like one!… Heh… I don't think you want our great-grandson to have a 'play date' with this one, at least not for a few more years… Let's just say you know that place that just got burned down?… Heh, that would be the one… Ok, see you soon. Love you. Bye."

He laughed, hung up, and returned to work.

If that little thing wanted to fight, it was going to have the best.

***

Clarence looked at the target. A lot of the holes were actually in the seven-ring!

"That's a lot better!" he said approvingly.

"Can I come here again?" Littlefoot asked. "This is fun!"

"Sure," Clarence replied. "Just rent a lane. You can even bring your own rounds and target, though I sell both. Now here," he said as he handed her the "Little Buddy", "This works a little different..."

Brraaaap!…. Brraaaaap!

“Wooo!” Littlefoot squeaked.

Braaaap!… Braaa- click

"Full-auto goes through the rounds pretty quick," Clarence smiled. "I just wanted to see if you could handle it. It's better to fire single shot or three-round bursts, especially if you are firing the good stuff. Slivers are fifteen credits a round, and gutworms are twenty. You don't want to be just spraying them everywhere."

"Fuck!" Littlefoot squeaked.

Clarence laughed. Such a cute little thing cursing was adorable!

"Yeah, .22 long-rifle is the cheapest cartridge you can get if you are just throwing lead, but the specialty rounds are just as expensive as any. In fact, the most expensive round you can buy is a .22."

"It is?" Littlefoot asked.

"Because of the miniaturization," Clarence replied. "A .22 magmatap or mark twelve armor-piercing explosive anti-personnel round can get pricey on the grey market."

Bang… Bang Bang Bang...

Littlefoot looked at the target and gasped.

"That's a lot easier!"

"That's the difference between a tiny pistol and a real gun," Clarence smiled. "The pistol is just when you get caught by surprise. This is what you bring to a party!"

Littlefoot grinned.

"Nobody will push me around now!"

"Careful," Clarence chuckled. "Don't get cocky. A lot of people are no longer breathing because they got overconfident. You just have something if you need it, ok?"

Littlefoot nodded.

"Now put a few boxes through this thing, and then I'll show you how to clean them."

***

"Thank you ever so much!" Littlefoot exclaimed as, much later, Clarence was ringing up her purchases.

"No, thank you," Clarence smiled. "The total will be two-thousand, eight-hundred, and thirty-eight credits."

Littlefoot gleefully handed him a data crystal.

"Can I send my friends over?" she asked.

Clarence smiled.

"Absolutely."