MEANWHILE IN ITALY
A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.
Thanks to Kiskaloo for the continued loan of Michele and Kara.
CH07 – Off the Main Sequence
"Draw."
At the command, Raych's arm dropped to raise the hem of her loose fitting top with a thumb and slide the pistol from its holster beneath in one sweeping movement. Lifting high enough to ensure it cleared the plastic sheath at her waist, she thrust the firearm forward, weak hand coming to meet it as she settled the little trapezoidal sight over her target, pausing half a second to ensure she was lined up, and squeezed.
Bang!
Sharp eyes were able to pick out a dark hole open up in the sheet of paper hanging from its track twenty-five metres away, near the range's backstop, joining a little group of similar marks in the human shaped silhouette. Her shot confirmed as on target, the cyborg lowered her gun again, letting it swing down so she could once more lift her garment out of the way. Her first attempt missed, and instead she was forced to clear fabric with her other hand, glancing down at the last moment to line up the weapon with its holster and lock it home.
That was disappointing. She had practiced this movement, both on the range and to distraction in her dorm room, repeating it over and over, but still she struggled to complete it efficiently.
"Draw."
Same drill: draw, aim, shoot, holster.
This time it went smoothly beginning to end. As she snapped the Steyr into place again however her upper arm twinged, a memento of the morning, but the quiet grunt accompanying it was lost in the reports of other firearms coming from further up the line. Her GIS hand-to-hand instructor had landed a solid punch there, slicing past her guard and ramming knuckles into artificial flesh. She couldn't remember the soldier's name: they swapped every time, seemingly in no particular order, but she remembered the impact.
"Draw."
Draw, aim, shoot, holster.
Those moments were becoming less frequent now, not in-frequent, but less frequent. Her early training sessions though had been an absolute disaster. The first GIS commando she met had been introduced as Major Salles, him she remembered: a giant of a man whom spent the afternoon throwing her from one side of the gym to the other. It had been terrifying, not for the physical impacts, but was she really that incompetent? She was strong, she knew she was strong, Danilo had told her she was strong, but somehow that had counted for nothing, and her handler's look of disappointment and anger had stabbed her to the core.
He had barely spoken to her that day.
Kara had eased the anguish later somewhat, informing her Triela had suffered similar indignity when she first sparred with the GIS. Raych had not known the senior girl once received similar training, but it made her feel a little less inadequate... and she was getting better now. She had to be, didn't she? But... it was taking a long time, and if she was getting better then why did Danilo seem increasingly annoyed with her? She was taking too long, that had to be the answer, but she was getting better. She would have to work...
"C. Raych! Draw."
The suddenly emphasised words made her start, she had drifted off and, wrenching her gun from its holster again, she hurriedly placed another shot.
Standing from the bench behind his charge, Danilo stifled a sigh as the cyborg's slide locked back and she ejected the spent magazine, before replacing it with a fresh one from the carrier on her opposite hip. He wouldn't know how well she was doing until the target was again in his hands, but he could already tell that last effort would be sub-par. Pressing the button to reel her sheet of paper back in, he quickly swapped it for a fresh example before taking once more to the bench.
"Draw."
Bang!
He could see the flier already, but the rest of the group should at least be acceptable enough.
"Draw."
Bang!
A pass with the compass confirmed that. She was improving, so he should probably count his blessings, but it was at nowhere near the pace he had intended. Unfortunately, the Agency barred handlers from accessing one another's training records without permission, but he had been here enough times by now to grab the occasional surreptitious glance at what some of the other cyborgs were managing, and what some were managing was to very nearly shoot a single hole.
"Draw."
Bang!
At C. Raych's current rate of progress however, it would take months to get her to that standard, and he was already a week past where his own reports had promised she would be ready to undertake her VdCO.
"Draw."
Bang!
Standing again, he shuffled forward to look downrange. From here could just be made out the black specks against white of his unit's shots, as they once more formed into a loose group. Given each cyborg represented the cutting edge of humanity getting in and fixing nature's mistakes, he had expected her performance to be better.
Perhaps what they needed was better parts of humanity itself to fix the mistakes.
"Draw."
Bang!
Right now, he would likely need to settle for her being assessed at seventy percent, rather than the perfection she ought to have been able to deliver. By all accounts, from what he had read, that should be enough to get her a pass at least. It wouldn't be pretty, or anything to be proud of, but sometimes losses just had to be cut.
"Draw."
Bang!
Shooting lulled up the line in a brief moment of respite, and through the quiet came the clack of a door latch opening. Looking around he saw Jose Croce enter, trailed by his cyborg. Pausing to survey the busy range, the younger Croce brother directed his charge toward a spare lane, two positions over from where Danilo stood.
"Draw."
No report of fire followed, instead a sudden clatter as C. Raych's pistol bounced off hard concrete and she dove after it, fumbling again before getting a hold of its grip and standing.
Bang!
The round still hit paper, but barely, and the handler only just managed to catch his own wince before it became too far advanced. From two lanes over, Jose shot a tight, commiserating smile through transparent, bullet proof barriers while his cyborg finished loading her last magazine, and Olivetti fought down the urge to make an indignant retort.
"Draw."
There was another hesitation before the report of C. Raych's Steyr sounded, and again its impact point was far removed from the groupings she had managed previously.
"Draw."
Bang!
This time, as he sat back down, the sigh did manage to escape. Honestly, for every step forward he took, it felt as though he were taking two back... and sometimes he didn't even know why.
The rest of the afternoon did not go much better, formerly acceptable groups degenerating into sprays of randomly placed shots, even after abandoning the draw-fire-holster drill.
Watching his charge load her last magazine and take aim, Danilo pinched the bridge of his nose. To go into the VdCO at seventy percent was one thing, but it would have to be a consistent seventy percent, and right now the unit seemingly could not even manage that. What could possibly have caused the sudden drop-off was beyond him, one minute progress was good, and the next... it was as if someone had flipped a switch in her head: perhaps she really was faulty, but he was damned if he was going to go through this all again unless he absolutely had to. In fact, if it came to a complete reboot, he would be sorely tempted to tell the SWA to take her back and find a new trainer.
Either way, he would need to go and have a word with the medical department... though it might be helpful if he could remember their general hours kept. The handler glanced at his watch again; probably not very much past now in all reality, not so long that he would want to risk time looking the information up.
Moving his gaze back along the firing line, it fell on Croce's fratello, still working in their own bay. As he did so, C. Raych's slide locked back for the final time and he turned to her. "Pack up, then wait here."
"Yes, sir."
It wasn't an ideal solution, but sometimes need had to trump image and, stepping from his own position, Danilo moved up toward where Jose stood.
Pistol still in hand, Raych watched him go: waiting until Henrietta emptied her own magazine before tapping Mr. Croce on the shoulder and motioning to a spot further along. Taking the hint, the other man walked a few steps more distant so the two halted together near the entrance, quiet voices masked by the hubbub of an active range.
That had been terrible, completely terrible. How could she possibly face Danilo after that? She had let him down. Again. She had tried to store everything he told her, everything she learned, in her head, she had been getting better, she really had: she had worked hard, concentrated hard, done everything Danilo said, and yet still she had failed, the moment...
Her eyes lifted from where they had been staring at the gun cradled in shaking fingers to glance at Henrietta, whom stood waiting for her own handler. Beyond clear panels, the neatly presented girl returned the glance briefly, before once more raising her nose and looking away.
She still had not apologised, but what was she supposed to say? She had no idea, and by now Henrietta's version of the story had to have made it to the other girls. She had not seen any of them enough to know for sure, but it had to have did it not? Kara was still nice, but Kara was always nice, and knew her side of the story… that did not mean the other girls would be so understanding.
The train of thought was interrupted as Danilo and Mr. Croce's conversation finished, and they broke away toward their separate charges. Realising she had not made any progress toward packing up, Raych dove for her pistol case.
It was a very quiet ride back to the cyborg warehouse, and Danilo deposited his charge at its doors with instructions to be ready again the next morning, not leaving one word more. According to Croce, the medical types were known to keep odd hours, so there was a chance he would be able to catch Doctor Bianchi before the man left for the day.
Possibly he could have saved some time by taking C. Raych with him, but the last thing he needed was her trailing around behind, who knew what she could hear through closed doors, and leaving her in the car wasn't really an option either as he had no idea how long he would be.
Ahead, the medical wing's squat, concrete form appeared, planted in the centre of tended lawns. Unlike some of the other buildings on campus at this time of evening, its boxy seventies shape was well lit, square windows displaying signs of life inside and, as the handler pulled onto carpark gravel, he found the spaces there still well populated.
Hopefully one of those cars belonged to Bianchi.
Stopping next to a silver Alfa estate, Danilo locked his own vehicle before moving quickly inside and out of winter cold.
The main foyer could have passed for the waiting room at any number of slightly aged hospitals but, bypassing the uncomfortable looking chairs, he made for a security check point, the one feature which set it apart from those other institutions. A flashed ID card got him past a bored looking guard and into the building's less sensitive areas. There wasn't much of interest here: administration, some general check-up and emergency rooms, intended to deal with scraped cybernetic knees and minor maladies of the Agency's human occupants, things one would expect to find in any hospital and rarely used.
Reaching the lift at the end of the corridor, he called its car, waiting as slow machinery lowered it to him. Doors ground open and he stepped inside to once more produce the ID card and swipe it against a reader, before punching the button for the next level up.
A short, jolting journey later, the doors rolled open again, a little freer this time and the man took a deep breath, before exiting into clean whiteness. One thing he could say about this place: unlike the rest of the compound, once you got past the low security spaces, it at least felt cutting-edge, and the deeper you went the more cutting-edge it became.
This was as far as his own credentials would take him, that those of any of the handlers would, at least not without a temporary extension issued for special circumstances. He had been given an extended clearance whilst C. Raych's build was underway so as to remain involved, which had required its own fight to attain, but that had been revoked with the unit's activation. Still, the standard pass gave access enough for his needs now: the dispensary to pick up his cyborg's supply of conditioning maintenance drugs, low-care recovery and observation rooms... doctors' offices.
And that month helping out with C. Raych's build had helped in one respect: at least he knew the way around.
Turning down another hallway, Danilo found the door of Doctor Fernando Bianchi and rapped smartly on it with his knuckles. There was half a second's pause then...
"Enter!"
Good, the doctor was still in.
The quarters inside were large for an office: part work space and part consultation room, with a long mirror down one wall allowing observers to watch and monitor whilst the cyborgs were interviewed by the SWA's resident psychiatrist. At the paper strewn desk, a man on the younger end of middle age, sporting short hair and a small goatee, now turned to face his visitor.
Not what one would generally picture the senior physician for a super soldier programme to look like.
It was the same thought he had every time he found himself in Bianchi's company, and the other caught his gaze, motioning to the stacks of documents and notes behind himself.
"'The Social Welfare Agency cares about the environment, please consider it before printing this email'," that was followed by a wry chuckle, "we're a paperless organisation, can't you tell?" Getting no response the man continued. "Take a seat Mister Olivetti, and what can I do for this evening?"
Avoiding the interview chair, instead pulling over one of those intended for a handler or other visible observer, Danilo sat down, before giving the doctor a hard look. "I'm having issues with C. Raych, she stopped working today."
That earned him a quizzical glance. "Well if it's problems with her cybernetics, I'm probably not the man you should be chasing..."
"It wasn't a mechanical issue, I wouldn't have come to you for that. One minute she was doing fine, and the next she wasn't... you explain that one to me doctor."
Silently, Bianchi stifled a sigh: this was going to be a longer evening than he had hoped. What he really wanted was to go home or, failing that, a coffee. Knowing Olivetti, whatever issue he had conjured into existence could probably be cleared by some very basic explanation, one he had simply missed through, frankly, failing to observe the world and people around him, interpret the material properly... or would be entirely imaginary. The man was a good soldier, his record spoke for that and it was why he had been hired in the first place, and it was why he, Bianchi, had been willing to give his stamp of approval, but in other areas...
"The human brain is not a mechanical device, it doesn't just throw cogs for no reason, not if you search hard enough. Walk me through what happened, from the beginning."
The other had apparently been anticipating the question, as he started speaking almost immediately. "I had C. Raych at the shooting range. She had been in unarmed combat training with the GIS this morning, one particularly hard hit to the upper arm and a few falls, but nothing unusual. It was pistol work for the afternoon and evening. I had her running drills: draw, shoot, holster, simpler ones she has done before with moderate success. I was there with her for two hours, and the cyborg was landing acceptable groups. Then, for some reason, she just went back to shooting like she did in her first week: rounds all over the place and moving like she did not know how to use the information in her head. I eventually abandoned the drill, but even then her performance did not improve. I left her at the cyborg warehouse and came directly here."
Bianchi pinched the bridge of his nose, picking up a pen and paper to show willing. "Ok. Now, take it from the top again. Did you notice anything unusual when you picked her up for training this morning, anything non-routine?"
Not that he would likely have noticed anyway.
"No."
"Her GIS sparring partner, who was it?"
"Corporal Rossini, she has sparred with him before."
"And you did not notice anything unusual about their interactions?"
"No."
The doctor nodded. He hadn't expected anything there, but it didn't hurt to quickly check. This though, to be honest, he did not want to drag out.
"Okay. At the range, when her performance degraded, were there any changes to her or the environment? Was the range busy?"
Now Danilo appeared to think briefly. "It was busy, it always is at that time of day and that has never effected her before. There were staff and fratelli, though I don't think I could tell you names... Jose Croce and his unit were there."
There was another pause, and Bianchi gave another internal sigh: as expected, simple answer.
"Did they arrive just before Raych... 'stopped working'?"
"Yes, they did."
The notepad and pen were put down again, unused. "Well I think I see where your problem is then. You're aware Henrietta and Raych had a falling out just after your girl was activated aren't you?"
"No, and why should it matter if they did?
"Why does it matter? If I was to take a guess I would say Raych was too busy worrying about her personal troubles, about Henrietta, to concentrate on her training."
That elicited a scowl from the other. "That seems counterproductive. I understood you designed these things to be fighting machines, built for a purpose, not to… play house. I would have thought part of that would have meant preventing this kind of issue."
"Some might see it that way," this time the sigh really did escape, and it was tinged with exasperation, "others might say the girls are a means to an ends, and ends which is not, necessarily, creating a perfect super-soldier."
"Then why are we even here?"
"Why? Call it idealistic, Danilo, but some here might still believe we could actually do some good with all this, beyond merely blowing things up." The sentence was accompanied by a sweeping gesture. "Some might view taking the fight to the Padania as just a pitch to sell it to the politicians. Either way, the simple fact is that there are some aspects of the core materials that simply cannot be changed, or are not worth the effort of changing. These girls may have mechanical bodies, we pump them full of drugs and brainwash them to do our bidding but, at heart, they're still just little girls, so of course having a blue is going to throw them."
Bianchi paused again, he should probably stop there, but fatigue and over two months of pent up vexation finally got the better of self control. "Raych is going to be having a difficult enough time settling in as is, particularly as you give her little chance to socialise and get to know the others, and getting one of the older girls, one with an established place in the social hierarchy, offside is only going to make that task harder for her. Frankly, I don't think the other girls are going to care all that much, but she has no way to know that, and if it was tough for her to come out of her shell before, it's going to be doubly so now. That would be bad enough if it were just a matter of her own mental well being, but one day she's going to have to work with her peers, and what happens if she freezes then?"
"Well maybe someone should have thought of that when they set out to make soldiers from children, and done it a bit more effectively." The retort was cold. "C. Raych has a job to do, that's what she was designed for, and she should be able to do it despite whatever else is going on around her. That purpose should be all she needs."
Silence.
"Lauro de Sica," the doctor's words were quiet and edged with ice, "I suggest you ask around... and don't just go reading the file."
"Lauro de Sica was a ciuccio who failed to look after his cyborg properly, and was killed for the trouble. I take better care of what is mine."
Bianchi paused at that response; did it mean someone had already quietly filled the man in on the dangers of neglecting a cyborg? Or was he just referring to the official line?
"Don't confuse these girls with pure machines, Olivetti, the human brain is a much more complex thing than I think you realise, and it needs more than just its physical requirements to be filled. Will that be all?"
"I think it might be."
"Then if you don't mind, I would quite like to go home at some point."
Turning back to his paperwork as the door clicked shut, the senior physician freed another sigh, propping elbows on the desk to rub at an eyebrow. The de Sica comparison had perhaps been a bit much, but the concern which prompted it was still a valid one. There wasn't much point in talking to Jean about Raych's situation, not yet, but from what he remembered, Pagani's cyborg shared a room with her. It was not really the done thing for one handler to pry into another fratello's affairs, but perhaps he could ask Michele, someone with a greater understanding of the subtleties of human interaction than the man whom had just left, to quietly keep an eye on the girl.
It was one to think over in the coming days anyway.
Glancing at his watch, he uttered a quiet curse. For now he just wanted to finish up and go home; if he was really lucky, dinner might even still be warm.
Under the desk lamp's cold light, Raych ran another swab through her pistol's barrel, not really noticing if it came out clean or dirty. She had failed, again. She had been getting better, she had been trying hard, but why couldn't she make Danilo happy with her? She was too slow, that had to be it, she had to get better faster, but today had been even worse. How was she meant to improve if...
There was the click of a latch behind her.
"You're looking down, what's wrong?"
Turning, the girl found Kara studying her from the doorway, dressed in her loose fitting Polo Ralph Lauren jumper and jeans. As she watched, the other closed the door again, placing down the bag she held, before walking across the room to settle into her own chair, sitting backward with arms folded across the back and chin rested on them. From there the study continued, but an encouraging smile curved her room-mate's lips.
"What is it? Did training not go well?"
She liked Kara, Kara was nice.
Raych shook her head.
"What happened?"
"I... I was not any good." The girl paused to sniffle. "Danilo took me to the range, and I did alright... but then Henrietta was there, and I just could not shoot. I was nervous, and could not shoot... I do not think she likes me."
"I take it you haven't apologised to her yet?"
Another head shake.
"And you're still worried about it?"
Head nod.
"Is there any reason why not?"
"Umm... I do not think she likes me... and I do not know what to say." Raych's eyes were pleading now. "What am I supposed to say?"
There was another pause, and Kara's features took on a quizzical look. "That you're sorry? That you didn't mean to oversleep?" Now her expression became more pensive. "I would say that, and that you didn't mean to insult her. It was a genuine accident, I mean: it's not like you intentionally set out to snub her."
"Is that… all?"
The Asian girl shrugged. "I don't think there's much else to say, sometimes the best apologies are just that, just 'sorry'."
"Umm..."
"Think about it." She was given another encouraging smile. "I need a shower right now, but if you want, I'll walk you down there after."
With that her senior stood up to start stripping off boots and the jumper, before rummaging around for a fresh set of clothes. She was going to have to do something, wasn't she? If she did not, if she continued on as she was, there was no way she could properly serve Danilo.
There was the click of a latch as Kara left.
She would have to apologise to Henrietta, she had to... but what if that just made it worse? What if the other girl didn't accept her apology? What then?
Could it be any worse than where she was now?
Could it be? Could it be worse than being frozen where she was: too slow to improve, unable to serve Danilo properly and, if she continued on as she had been, probably never able to serve him as a proper Agency cyborg?
No, she would have to do something. It could not be any worse. She would have to do something, and do it now. It couldn't be any worse, could it?
Maybe she should wait until Kara came back...
No, it had to be now.
Now.
Standing, she left the pistol where it lay, and headed for the door.
Never had the walk from dorm top floor to ground been so long and, reaching the bottom step, Raych hesitated. Maybe she should wait for Kara, it had been her advice that got her here in the first place after all. She could wait in the room, it would not take long for the other to have a shower. Maybe she should go for a shower herself while she waited. She was shaking, it would help calm her down.
No, she had to do this, or she would never be able to properly serve Danilo.
Now, get it over with.
Taking a juddering breath, she stepped down onto the flooring below and turned, corridor stretching away before her, toward the laundry.
Henrietta's door was closed, and the gen two paused for a moment, fighting down rising fear before knocking.
It wasn't a powerful noise, rather one that hoped it wouldn't be answered...
Its wish was granted.
Nothing.
Building up her courage, Raych tried again, louder this time.
Still no response.
Had Henrietta gone to Triela's room? Or was she out on a mission? If she was, she would just have to leave apologising until tomorrow, or the day after. One more day would not hurt would it?
Relief flooded through her: Henrietta was not here, she did not have to face up to her today, and could go back to her room safe in the knowledge she had tried. She had tried, she could tell Kara she had tried… but with that thought, doubt lanced through the happy idea of retreat, and the cyborg bit her lip. Really, she should try Triela's room... but if Henrietta was actually deployed, then she did not want to annoy the senior cyborg did she? Maybe she should just leave it, it would not be fair on Triela, or on Claes, to disturb them for no good reason.
No. She should check, and if Henrietta were not there, maybe Triela could tell her where she was, then she would be certain there was nothing she could do tonight... or she would have to go and find Henrietta somewhere else... maybe she should just leave them alone.
But then that would be one more day she would have worry weighing her down, preventing her from concentrating on her training, from serving Danilo properly.
Taking a deep breath, Raych continued her journey down the corridor.
At Triela's room she stopped again, listening, as from inside the sound of voices drifted out to her. There was another moment's hesitation, but she reached out quickly to knock, the strikes sounding hurried and jittery as she endeavoured to complete the task before her resolve gave out again.
"Come in!" That was Triela's voice and, comforted somewhat by the senior cyborg's bright tones, she pushed the door open.
Inside, the cinnamon-skinned blond was seated at her table, which was shared with Rico and...
"Hello Raych, what can I do for you?"
"Umm," she glanced at the table's third occupant, "Actually, I was looking, for Henrietta?"
What was she supposed to say next? She had no idea, Kara's advice evaporating from her head, and she stood there dumbly as the girl in question fixed her with a gaze, eyes narrowing slightly. Rico and Triela were also looking at her, and she wilted under their study.
Finally, blessedly, the elder first generation cleared her throat and turned to her other blonde companion, starting to stand as she did so. "Your washing must be just about done Rico, let's go and check on it shall we?"
"Okay, Triela."
Rising from her seat too, the young sniper beamed at Raych as she went past, ushered along by her senior, who also offered an encouraging smile, before exiting to close the door behind herself, leaving the latest visitor alone with their other sister.
Audience gone, the black-clad girl found some of her courage returning. "Umm... I, just wanted to say I was sorry, Henrietta, sorry for missing your tea party when I first arrived. Umm... I did not mean to insult you, it was... I was just really tired and... I'm really sorry."
Silence, and Raych felt the panic starting to rise again as she stood in the other cyborg's gaze. "Umm... I am really, really sorry. I was just really tired, and I overslept, I did not mean too... if there is anything I can do to make it up to you I will, I promise I will make it up to you."
More silence.
"Umm..."
Then the little brunette's brow creased. "Is that why I was angry at you?"
The elder girl paused, startled confusion crossing her features. Had the other really forgotten? "Umm... yes?"
"Oh, well... I guess, that is okay then."
There was another awkward pause, slightly tarnishing the happiness welling up inside Raych. It was okay, Henrietta had said it was okay! But why had she...
It was the gen two who blinked first. "Umm, I will just... I will just be going then."
"Okay, goodnight."
"Umm... goodnight. I really am sorry."
Still seated at the table, Henrietta watched as the other girl just about ran out the door: so that was why she had been annoyed lately. She had known she was angry, and that their new sister was somehow to blame, but she could not remember why. She was getting forgetful like that, she might have to start writing things like this down in the diary Jose had given her. She remembered it as one of Jose's presents, and she didn't want to spoil something Jose had given her with bad thoughts but, how else was she going to remember them otherwise?
"Draw."
Bang!
From where he stood just behind his charge, Danilo watched as another hole opened up in the neat group of similar piercings on C. Raych's target, her slide locking back in the same moment, and he pressed the button to bring the sheet in whilst she reloaded. Replacing the paper, he sent the mechanism whirring back out once more, and looked down to study the spent silhouette.
"Draw."
Bang!
They still weren't great groups, certainly not of the standard he would have preferred, but at least acceptable again, and he was out of time now if he wanted to even remotely meet his promised schedule. At least the cyborg had returned to shooting consistently: whatever had caused her to fail the previous afternoon had obviously yet to raise its head, or maybe it had just been a freak error.
Not exactly comforting either.
"Draw."
Bang!
The range was quieter this time, and so the handler looked up when he heard the door from the anteroom open. Through its portal stepped Jose Croce, cyborg once more in tow, and the man nodded an acknowledgement as the newly arrived fratello started to set themselves up in the same position they had occupied the previous day. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw C. Raych also glance around for half a second, before focusing back on her target.
"Draw."
Bang!
"Draw."
Bang!
"Draw."
Bang!
Her magazine's remaining ammunition was emptied into the hanging outline, followed by another. Reeling in the third volley's results, as Henrietta started to add her own shots to the echoing space, Danilo studied the pattern: another sub-standard group, but one still resting on that seventy percent mark his unit had managed so far.
He gave a little snort at that. Bianchi had thought Henrietta's presence had upset C. Raych, that somehow the memory of a disagreement between them had distracted her. Well, Henrietta was here, and C. Raych was doing no worse than she had been prior to the other fratello's arrival: patently the man was an idiot. How he had reached such a position of authority, Danilo had no idea.
Idiot or not however, Bianchi had been correct about one thing: the only variable to change between C. Raych's two performances had arrived again, without detriment to her shooting. That was good enough for him, at least her mediocrity was consistent: it was time to let Jean and Chief Lorenzo know his unit was ready for her Verifica della Competenza Operativa.