MEANWHILE IN ITALY

A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.

Thanks to Professor Voodoo|Elio and Marisa, Kiskalo|Kara and Michele, and theprodigalson|Nikias and Anastasia, for the loan of their fan-characters.

CH17 – Lorem Ipsum

Like the office in which he spent his Agency days, Pieri Lorenzo's Rome townhouse found itself furnished in sumptuous style, dark leathers and woods belying the limited dimensions to which its owner was constrained. Comfortably slumped in one of the lounge room's deep armchairs, Elio Alboreto extracted the last few droplets of whisky from a glass tumbler, holding the vessel high to inspect warm fire light flickering through its heavy base, before looking over at his long time friend.

"You want another?"

There was a pause as, ensconced in his own seat, the SWA chief studied his also finished drink.

"At least here it won't attract the ire of your nanny."

Another second's thought.

"Why not."

Extricating himself from soft leather's embrace, the old spy collected his host's glass before stepping to a dark wood credenza set against set against one wall and, more specifically, the crystal decanter atop it. Removing its frosted stopper, Elio poured out two measures of their chosen poison, before turning back again, restored tipple in hand, with all the surety of a regular visitor.

Regular visitor... Permanent resident.

Not many in the espionage game made it to an age where retirement could present itself as an option, and those who did became a tight knit group... even had they not always necessarily found themselves on the same side of all arguments. So, when one retired SISMI cold-warrior had called a fellow retiree from MI6 with a job, the latter had accepted, along with the additional offer of a room for half the bills.

Ricci and Blacker were not old enough to have reached that understanding yet, Pagani was verging on it...

...and speaking of whom.

Placing his housemate's glass in easy reach, he retook his own seat. "So how do you call the general mood right now?"

"You're closer to the coalface than I am, you tell me."

Taking a sip of his drink to buy time, Elio considered his next words. "Bearing with it for the most part, but you can't keep people in limbo like this forever. Those fratelli who are still effective will need a break eventually, but they at least have something to do. Tying the remaining handlers up with other departments is keeping them occupied for now, but most have figured out it's just make-work, and you hired do-ers: they're not comfortable behind desks at the best of times, let alone without something to distract them. It doesn't help cooping the cyborgs up either, especially with some of the girls still getting missions."

"Unfortunately we don't really have a choice," lowering his own drink, Lorenzo pushed thin rimmed spectacles up to squeeze at tired eyes, "though shortly we'll hopefully have something else to keep the other fratelli out of trouble at least."

"The re-stream."

"You don't sound enthralled."

"I'm not."

"I'm listening."

There was another pause, and Elio again drew at his glass, glancing around painting-plastered walls, firelight picking out each piece's topography of brush strokes in flickering shadows. "I'm not enthralled for two reasons: the first is that retraining is taking up people needed to keep operations going. Fio's fine, she's not as deployable right now, but Ricci and Pagani are flat out just covering their field work."

"Unfortunately they've the skills we need to teach, to both fratello halves. Blacker has taken his girl and vanished already, and your Marisa isn't exactly the last word in subtlety, so for espionage they're it."

"I realise that, and I'm helping out where I can," another sip, "but the other problem is I'm just not convinced the whole scheme is going to work, otherwise I may well be less concerned about the hit Jean's taking. The sniper side stands a chance, that's theory into practice, but you know as well as I it takes more than a few night classes to turn out good, useable, intelligence agents. That's an aptitude that can't simply be taught in a classroom, and perhaps more dangerously, you're risking creating fratelli who think they know what they're doing, but really don't."

"So what would you have me do, Elio?" There was challenge in the words.

"Ideally? Bin the retraining programme, the espionage side at least. Keep the snipers if you really have to give the politicians a show, who knows, even everyone receiving some basic pointers on Moscow Rules may prove useful, but scrap the full espionage re-stream. If you want more fratelli who can play spy properly, recruit handlers and build them from scratch, it will be far easier and far safer."

"Recruiting takes time, and I don't think you realise just how much time gets ploughed in to finding suitable handlers."

"Not as much as it takes to create a good spy, one with the aptitude to be left on their own without need of a minder, I'll wager. The only real teacher for that is experience, and that experience is the issue, because it's an area most are sorely lacking in. If doing the job well were merely a matter of training people, you wouldn't need so much time finding suitable handlers in the first place: the girls learn fast enough, the handler's only responsibility would be managing them. You hire a handler for his experience, someone who's already been through the wringer so his cyborg doesn't have to make the journey. That's true enough for the combat types, but doubly so for those of us expected to go out in the cold."

There was another pause, and now it was Pieri who bought time by sipping at his drink.

"You weren't at our last round of leadership meetings Elio, but as I pointed out there: we're between a rock and a hard place, very much of our own doing. We've gained a little political momentum right now, but people are going to start picking on the weaknesses Anasetti turned up, and we need to have something in place to counter those voices once they do. I don't think anyone expects one hundred percent success from retraining people, but if I can get seventy, or even fifty, I would call it a good deal."

"You'll be lucky to get even that."

"Don't count our people out just yet..."

"I'm not doubting the people, I'm doubting the programme."

"...and any successes we do get will be useful in plugging gaps desperately in need of filling. Worst case we'll have trained people, with some idea of what to look out for, available to pick back up with normal operations a bit sooner, and we can use the issues of retraining as leverage to approve another build run," the Chief's voice suddenly turned dry, "presuming of course we can skirt any questioning around our not having foreseen the future last time through."

"I would be cautious touting ideas of the SWA becoming an intelligence agency too heavily: that's wandering away from where the cyborgs can play on their strengths and into territory just as easily filled by fragile humans." Gaze leaving his friend for a moment, Elio's eyes flicked across the paintings again, over one he knew to be signed by Claes, and onto what appeared for all the world, including to some of its finest galleries, to be an original Degas. "It's one thing to ensure we have our bases covered, but start moving core roles away from where the cyborgs' advantages have the most impact, and someone will start wondering why they're paying for a cyborg programme at all."

Following his companion's gaze, Lorenzo nodded at the painting. "We keep the Blackers out of our official reports as much as possible, certainly by name. That 'Magny-Cours' did play such a central role through the whole Anasetti escapade however means we can't reasonably pretend those skills aren't needed, either directly for our own use, or as show for the bureaucrats." He took another sip of whisky. "Besides, the Blackers are an effective pair, difficult to keep track of at times, but effective, and they've escaped plenty of binds and resolved plenty of issues only as a result of Monty's cybernetic nature."

"I think you'll find there are more scrapes the Blackers have got through though because they happen to be the Blackers. That fratello is effective because of the individuals involved and the relationship they've built, not something that can be taught or purposely created."

"Maybe, maybe not... but we don't need to put that in the spin." Emptying his glass, the Chief looked over at his guest. "Either way, the die is cast now. We can't back out without potentially making things worse for ourselves, and I personally still like to think we'll see some practical benefit too. Would you like another?"

Inspecting his own nearly empty tumbler, Elio glanced at the clock and shook his head. "No, I'll finish this then call it a night: need to be in early to help Pagani and Ricci again... but think on it. We may be unable to back out completely, but it's certainly possible scale things down and limit the damage should they blow up in our faces, for all we know we're simply making mountains out of molehills."

Like many of the SWA's outdoor facilities, the long rifle range lay hidden from prying eyes behind thick evergreens, marching down Apennine foothills to meet plain lands below. Above their needly tips, heavy clouds had again rolled in across the landscape, deepening shadows over the road winding between rough trunks, its cracked and rutted surface long succumbed to the rigours of time and weather.

Guiding his Lexus along the washed out track, Danilo uttered a curse as another tyre disappeared into a lurking pothole. If the Chief expected him to come up here on a regular basis, then something needed to be done for those not blessed with a four wheel drives.

He had been up here regularly too, every day since his interview with Jean. Hopefully it would be enough.

Rounding the final bend, the handler pulled out into a small strip of cleared ground between the trees and a low earthen bank, atop which was located the firing line. He was not the first to arrive however, two cars already parked against its base: a dark green Land Rover Defender, recognisable as belonging to Fio Asti and, beside the short wheelbase four wheel drive, a silver 1-series hatch of unknown origin.

Nosing in beside the little BMW, Danilo glanced up toward the embankment's crest, searching for its owner. Fio was already there, the short, blond form of Soni standing attentively in her shadow, from where she glanced down at the new arrivals. Across from them however, carrying out a conversation through puffs of misted breath above the cyborg's head was...

...what the hell was Ferro doing here?

It was not a question he particularly liked, but pausing too long to wonder on it would not be a good look. Popping the car's boot, he ordered C. Raych out into the freezing morning.

Extracting his charge's loaner rifle from the hatchback's rear, he handed it off to her along with ammunition and a shooter's blanket, before also removing the spotting scope and aluminium case behind for his own use. Equipment in one hand, the other was used to slam the tailgate shut, and he turned for a flight of rudimentary stairs cut into the embankment's side, their shape retained by wooden sleepers nailed into frozen earth.

"Good morning Fio, Ferro."

At the sound of his voice, both women halted their conversation, turning to the newcomers, the former's well made up face at odds with her dress for today of a heavy parka and hiking boots.

"Good morning Danilo. Get yourself and Raych set up, then there's coffee if you want it while we wait for the rest of them." Following her nodded direction toward the solitary table, he sighted two large thermoses, surrounded by an assortment of mugs, beside an open laptop. "You can thank Ferro for those."

He let a smile crack his lips. "Thank you Ferro."

"It was enlightened self-interest."

With that the two returned to their previous talk, and Danilo motioned his charge to the embankment's far end. With the table taken he would have to spot from the ground, which was something he would have rather avoided, not that he would be ungrateful for a warm drink either.

Instructed and catered for, like a kid on school camp or a fresh recruit.

Glancing down at C. Raych, he pointed close to where raised earth dropped away. "Put your gear down over there, then load your magazines, all of them."

"Yes, Danilo."

Which still left the question over Ferro's presence, surely Lorenzo and Croce could give their trainees a few weeks leeway before starting to evaluate them, or was she just here to monitor him? Either way, he would need to make sure C. Raych put on a good show.

The embankment was not large, and reaching its end only required a few steps. As the cyborg knelt to lay out her rifle on its bipod, a crunch of tyres signalled the next vehicle's arrival. Abandoning setting up his spotting scope momentarily, Danilo glanced over the mound's rear slope to see a white Skoda wagon pull in beside his own car, the long-haired crown of Lupa Dinapoli emerging from its driver's door, joined momentarily by a second handler in the form of Gaspare Spada, and their respective charges.

So now he knew who he would be sharing the line with at least.

Sparing a moment to give both a nod of acknowledgement, he turned back to his own work.

Beside him, C. Raych had started loading magazines from boxes of 7.62mm rounds. Leaving her to it, he rolled out the shooting blanket, lifting the black MSG90 to set it upon tough fabric, before extracting his spotting scope from its protective bag and locking it onto the top of a short tripod, aiming both downrange. Unfortunately he had counted on the table being free, so devoid a blanket of his own he would be lying directly on hard-packed ground.

Twisting the eyepiece in by its bayonet catch to mate it with the optic's body, he dropped down on frozen dirt to peer through, settling the mil dot reticule over the farthest target and adjusting it into focus.

Not an entirely comfortable arrangement, but for now it would have to do.

From the equipment case was then lifted a tablet computer, on which the handler booted an app to start plugging numbers into: the last thing he needed was to forget what he was doing, and the fastest refresher was to try. Eventually the ballistics program spat out a distance to target and, picking up a laser range finder also from the case, he confirmed the calculation, giving a small smile as he did so. 'Long range' was perhaps misleading terminology: the SWA campus was large, but not limitless, and the ever present need for concealment meant the slender clearing he now peered the length of would only allow targets to be placed out to six-hundred metres, before they disappeared into the tree line. He would need to talk to the boffins about trying to create some sort of simulator, something to let him push shots farther.

To one side of him came the crunch of boots on gravel, and Gaspare's freckled cyborg set down her own rifle to begin rolling out another blanket. From his prone position, Danilo eyed the weapon: one of the bolt action Accuracy International designs, he lifted his head to look a little farther, as was the one for Lupa's charge. They were welcome to those.

"Umm, Danilo?" His head turned to look at the cyborg on his other flank. "I am finished, Danilo."

Indeed she was: four, ten round magazines laid out neatly beside her weapon. Glancing around those handlers and staff now present, his eyes returned to her. It couldn't hurt to keep up appearances a little.

"Come on then, I'll get you something hot to drink."

Lifting himself up, the handler brushed at the front of his heavy black trenchcoat, dislodging a few bits of dead grass and gravel in the process. One upside of the frozen ground at least was that he did not have much dust to contend with, but he would want a second shooter's blanket before trying this again.

Lupa and Gaspare were already standing by the table when he arrived, respective cyborgs seemingly left to set up on their own. Swinging around beside them, he separated two white mugs from those remaining and poured hot, black coffee from an already open thermos into both. Handing C. Raych one, he grasped the other and turned to his fellow trainees, just as Gaspare opened his mouth to speak, catching his eye in the same moment.

"So what do you think?"

"What do I think of what?"

"Of all this..." the other handler gave a sweeping gesture with his own mug, "...the retraining deal?"

Danilo paused, taking a sip of coffee to cover his thinking. He wanted to vent, perhaps not the best thing to do, but he could surely not be the only one less than impressed at...

"You want to know what I think?" continued his opposite, interrupting any reply, "I think it's a waste of time. If Lorenzo wants snipers, then they need to find handlers with sniping experience, not try to smack square pegs into round holes."

That earned a wry smile. "I'm glad I'm not the only one then, it's nice to hear someone talking sense for a change. We're supposed to bring the experience the cyborgs lack, but how is that supposed to happen if we don't have relevant experience in the fratello's role to begin with?"

"Exactly." A pause, another drag of coffee. "Could be worse though: Clement tells me he and Brian have been told to report for intelligence training."

There was a pause in the conversation as Lupa's cyborg finished what she was doing and, standing up, dusted herself off to move toward the group. As she did so, her mentor turned around to pour out another mug of coffee and hand it over to his tall charge as she arrived.

"You're done?"

"Yes sir."

"Go see how Fleccia's doing."

As she headed away again toward her counterpart, Danilo glanced down at C. Raych, her gaze following the other two. He could feel his fellow handlers' eyes boring into him: it was easier to talk without the cyborgs present, but by the same token he did not want her picking up any bad habits. Letting her go was not a particularly palatable option, especially considering Ferro's presence...

He gave an internal sigh: at least leaving C. Raych with those two should be safer than with some others he may care to mention.

"Go with her, C. Raych."

"Yes Danilo, thank you Danilo."

With that she trotted off.

"Where were we?"

Gaspare took another swig of his drink. "This whole exercise being a waste of time."

"I'm not so sure..." two heads turned to Lupa, who gestured toward where his charge knelt beside her sister, C. Raych standing awkwardly over them, "...Gattonero's been picking this up quite well. We'll find out more today of course, but going by this last week of running her solo, she may well be decent."

"Glad someone's having success." Gaspare's tone was dry. "Fleccia's alright, but it's an uphill battle. She'll get there given long enough, but she was never great much past a hundred metres, so it's pushing all the way. How about you, Danilo?"

What to say? Fleccia was having trouble, that made him feel better, but if the other was somehow ahead...

"Good, good... C. Raych's doing good..." Damn, the words had come out too fast, too sudden. "...she's fine."

Gaspare's eyes narrowed. "If she's doing good, then why do you think this is a waste of time?"

Shit. The coffee mug came once more to his lips. Think. Correct the mistake.

"I said she was doing okay, I didn't say the result would be effective as bringing in someone with actual sniper training and experience. The cyborgs can learn, can be trained, but if we have to learn with them, why bother recruiting handlers in the first place? As I said: we're supposed to be the ones bringing experience, and right now we're barely less green than they are. This was not what I was hired for."

His last words hung in the air, the conversation fizzling out as its three participants fell seemingly into contemplation. Finally the crunch of a boot on gravel shooed the silence away as Fio and Ferro arrived. Stepping clear, the support manager positioned herself behind her open laptop, while the other woman joined her fellow handlers.

"So, surprise, surprise, we're just waiting on Stavropoulos."

Taking a moment to empty his mug, Gaspare leaned toward the conversation's new participant. "And what do you think, Fio?"

"Of what?"

"The retraining programme."

The female handler paused, eyes darting quickly to where Ferro now sat, seemingly intent on her computer. "Fuck if I know, I just work here. If the Agency wanted my opinion they'd promote me to Chief and give me a pay rise."

This time it was Lupa's turn to empty his mug. "Now that's one thing you can't complain about, the pay."

Another pause, through which wafted the noise of an approaching vehicle, and five heads swivelled to the access road as their final arrival bolted from the tree line before slithering to a stop, nose to the white Skoda's passenger door. From the car leapt Nikias Stavropoulos, followed from its other side by the bulky, red headed form of his cyborg, both hurrying to the freshly halted VW Scirocco's rear.

"The prodigal son returns." Fio's tone was dry, pitched for those close by. Putting her mug down, the woman turned, hands resting on hips, to look on the final fratello below. "You're late, Nikias!"

Pausing under his car's tailgate, the young Greek looked up at his addressor, throwing her a grin. "Car troubles. I hate to make a lady wait, but they do also say being late is fashionable!"

"Get yourselves squared away quickly, you're holding the rest of us up!" With that she turned back to the group, wavy hair swaying as she shook her head, and Danilo felt a sly smile cross his face: It would be nice to have someone else to draw fire for a change.

Late as he may have been, Nikias did not, fortunately, take long to set up, and soon the cyborgs were being marshalled back, Soni taking up next to her own handler as the latter began to talk, facing away from the range proper.

"Now that we're all here, welcome to sniper training. I presume you know the basics, how to use a mil dot reticule and the like, so speak now if you don't." That drew nothing from those assembled, and she rolled on. "Today I really just want to get a feel for where you are all at. To that end, for now, I'll call out targets to the group and we'll see how you go hitting them, two attempts for each. Soni here," she placed a hand on the blonde cyborg's head, "will work with the shooters, while I'll work with both parties, but primarily the spotters. Your first official evaluation is in a week's time, and we should have you bedded in by then, anyone showing promise will keep going, anyone not will return to normal duties."

Danilo twitched: a week was not long at all... and it would be nice if someone were to tell him where the cut-off was, so he knew what to aim for.

"Anyway," Fio continued, "that's all from me for now, so take up your positions and we'll get started."

Breaking away from the group at those final words, Danilo directed C. Raych down behind her rifle with instructions to ensure any previous corrections were spun off the scope.

Be explicit.

Shuffling ear protectors into place, he kicked a few of the larger looking rocks from his own patch of ground, then settled again onto freezing earth, placing the tablet computer within easy reach and the rangefinder close beside that.

"Load and chamber a round, C. Raych."

From beside him came the sound of a magazine being seated, followed by the sharp clack of a bolt closing. Similar noises emanated from up the line, and as they did so he tapped at the tablet once more, flicking through the ballistics program's options to lock the screen on. It was, after all, a critical piece of equipment, he couldn't afford it to drop out at an inopportune moment, not if he wanted to have any chance of this working... and it had to work. Like hell he was going to let the others see him fail, not to mention going back to an "increasingly redundant" role would not bode well for any future career prospects.

There was the crunch of a footstep behind him.

"I'll have those."

Twisting, he found Fio squatting beside him, and she reached down to scoop up the tablet and rangefinder. "Toys are fine, but technology breaks, so for now everyone will be working from first principals."

For a moment the prone handler was speechless, not only was he to be thrown into a job in which he had virtually no prior experience, but they were going to take away the tools he had acquired for said job as well?

"So how am I supposed to run corrections for C. Raych without those?"

This time it was Fio's turn to pause, before digging in a pocket of her parka to extract a thick, spiral bound book, which she dropped in front of him. "I want it back, but use that for now. Doesn't need batteries or a password, won't freeze up or lock you out accidentally. Each of the torso plates out there is about sixty tall. That should be everything you need."

Then she was gone, and Danilo flicked morosely through the book he had been offered: tables, tables and more tables. Technology was there to be used, why make life purposefully difficult? If the Chief wanted fratelli trained up quickly, then make the job as easy to master as possible.

Twisting around, he watched as his instructor dumped tablet and rangefinder on the table, before picking up a set of binoculars. "Ready on the firing line?"

"C. Raych, are you ready?"

"Yes, Danilo."

Affirmatives came back, and the handler added his own voice to their chorus, one hand reaching up to wriggle an ear-cup more comfortably into place.

"Range is live! Alright gentlemen and ladies, your first target is target mike."

Cranking the spotting scope's magnification down to its barest minimum, the former Guardia di Finanza commando began a rapid search of the cleared field before him. It did not take long to find the torso plate in question, stood atop a small mound, a large "M" roughly sprayed onto its face in bright orange paint. Passing its location off to C. Raych, he received confirmation of her own acquisition almost immediately, and zoomed the scope in, focusing it to read the target's height against mil dot markings. Sixty centimetres Fio had said, so...

The cracking report of a rifle echoed from up the line, and his eye welded itself back to the eyepiece in time to see a puff of dirt kick up just behind the steel.

"Miss!"

That was Lupa's voice. Miss or no, how had the man got a shot off so quickly using... he looked down at the book before him, flicking through again to get a range off his own reading... using this shit?

Another report, this one rewarded by the ring of metal seconds later.

"Hit!"

Lupa's voice again.

At least he had a distance now, and Danilo flicked through to the book's next section to find the required correction.

Another shot, another ring of steel.

"Hit!" Gaspare's voice: that just left him and Stavropoulos.

"C. Raych, come up a mil and..." he had no way to judge wind, but the air was moving, "...left half a mil."

"Yes, Danilo." The cyborg dialled in his correction before resting back on the scope. "Ready."

"Fi.."

The rest of his words were drowned out by the report of another rifle, not next to him though, but from the embankment's farthest extremity, and its shot was rapidly followed by the crack of his own cyborg's firearm. Two puffs of dirt leapt up from the ground beneath the torso, the second slightly right, and he burned their locations against his crosshairs into his mind.

"Raych, come up another half mil and left a quarter. Fire when ready."

From Nikias' position resounded another rifle shot, this time succeeded by a clang bouncing back through winter air, just as C. Raych also fired, the second ring of bullet on steel unfortunately not doing much to remove the sting of having been last. He had been slowest, least able to work like this, and therefore most likely to be first back in his 'increasingly redundant' role.

"Well done," Fio again, "Your next target is target kilo."

"C. Raych, zero your scope."

Beside her handler, Raych looked across her optic's top, keen cyborg vision quickly finding the target marked 'K'. Twisting adjustment knobs back to zero as instructed, she set the rifle's butt back against her shoulder and, peering through her eyepiece, dropped the crosshairs over it.

Wait for Danilo, don't say anything, only do what Danilo says to do.

Seconds wound by in silence, until her handler spoke up. "Far right hand side, about three quarters of the way back, in front of a mound."

"Yes, Danilo."

As she spoke she glanced sideways. Danilo was flicking rapidly through the book Fio had given him, running a finger down its page to type a number into his phone. More rustling, and she turned quickly back to her own scope before he could see her watching.

"C. Raych. Adjust plus..."

The rest of his words were lost in another rifle's crack, followed by the ring of steel.

"Hit!" Lupa again.

Danilo restarted his instruction, and she was dialling in the adjustment as two more reports sounded. Only one rung on its target though, and beside them Gaspare uttered his own triumphant words. That just left Anastasia now, she could not let Danilo be last again, she couldn't. Settling crosshairs over the black torso, she took a breath, held it, and pulled the trigger.

The noise almost didn't register, or the kick of the rifle's stock into her shoulder, but a puff of dirt flew up behind the steel.

"Miss." Danilo's voice. He was disappointed, he had to be.

But she was following his instruction exactly, so why was she missing? Maybe she was not executing them correctly?

"C. Raych, adjust down a third of a mil and fire when ready."

Eye leaving her optic she wound the knob back, before welding her cheek once more to the MSG90's stock. Settling the crosshairs again she breathed in, held it, and squeezed.

Two bangs, one from her own gun and one more distant, two new marks on the painted target... but hers had not been the first. It was only by a fraction of a second, but she was last. Again. She had let Danilo down. She had done everything he said, and still come last.

The sound of boots caused her to glance backward, in time to see Ms. Asti halt behind her, Soni standing quietly by her side. Apparently the handler noticed her look, shooting a quick smile of encouragement. Were they here because she had missed? To check on Danilo and herself? Or both? Had she done something wrong?

"Next target will be target Foxtrot!"

It took her a moment longer to find this one, right back against the tree line as it was, and her handler's confirmation of its position was also delayed arriving. It would be good to dial up the magnification of her scope a little, but she had not been instructed to do that, and if Danilo had not instructed her to, then there must be good reason not to.

When he did speak, it was again to only give her elevation and windage adjustments, and she dropped her crosshairs into place once more as the first shots from up the line started. None received a ringing reply however, instead ending in a chorus of misses. This was it, this was her chance to beat them.

Breathe in. Hold. Squeeze.

Her rifle bucked but, at the target area, nothing changed, no telltale puff of dirt or splatter against steel. Surely the bullet could not take this long to travel the distance.

"Miss."

Danilo's voice confirmed that it could not. She had not even been close, and her heart sank as she waited for his next instruction. She was getting worse.

Two seconds, five... ten. Raych glanced over at her handler. He was flicking through the book once more, pushing pages back and forward as rifle reports sounded again. One hit, and another.

"C. Raych, come down a mil and shoot."

Dialling in the correction she lined up again, before settling in comfortably behind her weapon once more, and fired.

Nothing. She didn't dare look at Danilo, he would have to be furious, but he had not said anything yet, which was almost worse.

"C. Raych, you zeroed the sight after your last shot didn't you?"

Raych froze: she had not, had she? That was something she should do every time, but...

"Umm no, Danilo."

A pause. He was going to yell at her wasn't he? She should have known, he told her every other time, she should have known.

"Zero it now and get ready for your next target."

That was it? That was all? Was he not going to do get angry?

Reset the scope, she was supposed to reset her scope. Do as Danilo said.

Reaching forward, Raych spun it back to zero.

"Bad luck Danilo, Raych. Try slowing down a bit, particularly on difficult shots: sniping isn't a race, it's about precision and being ready with what you can ahead of time. There's no pressure right now, so make the most of it." Ms. Asti's voice was quiet, but her following words were addressed to everyone. "Your next target is..."

It was a very quiet Raych whom trudged up the dorm stair that evening, boots hanging from one hand. She had struggled to hit anything today. She could be better, should be better... she knew she could shoot better from her training with Danilo leading up to this. She should have been able to land more shots and, even if Danilo had not said anything, today had been a disaster. She hoped that would not reflect badly on him.

Pushing open her door, she found Kara lying across a fluffy duvet, and the elder girl looked up from the magazine she had been reading to throw her roommate a bright smile. "Good evening, Raych."

"Hello, Kara."

"You missed Chiara, she came by to say she was heading out again."

Chiara had a mission, another one, and she, Raych, had yet to leave campus since her time in the van. Training was important to of course, of course it was, but... why was she not being sent out? Why Chiara and not her? She was just as safe, had been just as hidden as Chiara had been.

"She must be busy."

"She is, she's one of the few who can still be deployed with some level of safety. Plus Triela's still away and Jean is needed here, which just about does it for the usable generation ones."

Raych started at that. "Triela is still gone? She was only meant to be a few days."

"She and Mr. Hilshire may be having more trouble than usual." Now Kara closed her magazine, rolling up to sit on the edge of her bed and leaning forward to study her companions' face. "You look down."

There was a question in that, and Raych paused: did she want to tell Kara how badly she had done today? It would be nice to talk to someone, but how would Danilo react if he found out she had said something? Said something which might make him look bad? Besides, had he not specifically said for her not to go to other cyborgs for help? If she needed help, she was to go to him.

"No, nothing."

"Are you sure? I'm a trained sniper too. If you are having trouble, show me what you're doing and I may be able to give you some pointers."

"I cannot, Danilo has taken my rifle for cleaning."

"Well at least talk to Soni when you're training, she's quiet, but good..." the Asian girl's head cocked to one side as if in thought, then she gave a small smile, "...it might be better that way anyway, Petra and I are sharing the load for anything requiring a spy's touch, including the Espionage 101 classes, and the re-stream, so we are busy as well."

"Espionage 101?"

"No-one has told you?" Kara's eyebrows rose. "We're supposed to teach you how to play by Moscow Rules."