Mazer unholstered his sidearm. "And if I tell you to take this and go north..."
"I thought you weren't going to teach me how to shoot."
"I'm not. Not really. This is a last resort. This is when all other options have failed. But if I tell you to take this gun and run north, you take it and protect yourself and run north. Understand?"
"But why would you give it to me?"
Mazer made a move to speak, but Bingwen continued, cutting him off.
"I wouldn't question you in the moment," said Bingwen. "If you told me to do it, I'd do it, no hesitation. I'm asking the question now, when you can still answer it. If you're alive enough to give me the gun and give me the order, then aren't you alive enough to keep fighting with it yourself?"
"If I give you the gun and tell you to run, it's because it's the only way to keep you alive and get you away."
"Me ... but not you."
"I don't want to die, Bingwen. I will do everything to get back home. But more important to me is that at least one of us survives. If I can hold them off long enough for you to get away, I prefer that than something happening to both of us. Do you understand?"
Bingwen waved his hands. "No. That can't be how it works. That's wrong. If you were by yourself, you'd fight for as long as you could. You'd stay at it. And who knows, because of perseverance or luck or skill or desperation, maybe you would survive, even if you didn't expect to. But giving me the gun is guaranteeing failure. That's giving up. You'd be dying because of me. I can't allow that."
"Listen to me, Bingwen."
"No. I'm not letting you do that. If you have it in mind to give up your weapon, you will do it at the wrong time. You would hold off for as long as you think is necessary to ensure my survival instead of yours. And you would overcompensate. You would give me more time than I needed and therefore give up sooner than necessary. You can show me how the gun works, but I'm only going to use it if you no longer can."
Mazer was quiet a moment. "In the military we call this insubordination. People are stripped of rank and imprisoned for it."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not in the military."
"You're making this difficult, Bingwen."
"No. I'm making it the opposite. I'm removing a consideration from your mind. I'm letting you fight with a clearer head. That's in my best interest, too. The more focused you are on staying alive, the better my chances are, too."
Mazer considered then nodded. "All right. No giving up the gun."
"Good."
"But if I can no longer use it, you pick it up." He showed him the weapon. "You see this light? Red means it can't fire, the safety is on. Flip this switch here, the light goes green, it's ready to fire." He flipped the safety back on. "Don't run with your finger on the trigger, even if the safety is on. That's the fastest way to shoot yourself. Keep your index finger flat against the receiver like this until you're ready to fire. And use the wrist brace. Here." Mazer tapped a button on the grip, and the wrist brace extended backward, found Mazer's wrist, and wrapped around it. "It will tighten automatically to fit the diameter of your wrist and help steady your aim."
"Where should I aim?"
"Center mass. Middle of the chest. Two rounds. One right after the other. You'll feel a recoil, but it's slight." Mazer stood, noticing the disquiet in Bingwen's expression. "It won't likely come to that though, Bingwen. You'll probably never have to use it."
Bingwen nodded, but Mazer could still sense his unease. I shouldn't have brought Bingwen south, he told himself. We should have pushed west, away from the patrolling transports in the north and away from the lander. What was I thinking to bring a child here?
"You're reconsidering," said Bingwen. "I can see your gears turning."
"I'm reconsidering because what we're doing is lunacy, Bingwen. This isn't a game. This is war. It's one thing for me to go. It's quite another for you to come along. Soldiers don't take eight-year-olds to war."
"I'm eight and a half."
"I'm not joking. This is wrong. My training says so. Common sense says so. The law says so."
"We've been over this. This is my decision."
"You're not old enough to make that decision. You're a minor. There's a reason why we don't take recruits until they're eighteen years old."
"I'm not going as a soldier. I'm going as a guide. I'm taking you to the lander. If I hadn't course-corrected us already, you would have missed it by a few kilometers."
"I would have found it eventually," said Mazer, tapping the side of his nose. "Just follow the stench."