02/27/2020 Snippet, THE LAST RAYGUN IN THE WORLD.

It wants to be a novella, and it can’t be one. I think. Maybe?


Wilkinson wanted to see the raygun, but then everybody does. Since I don’t go waving it around, he had to satisfy himself with just seeing it holstered on my hip. He caught himself staring at it from time to time, but I’m also used to that.

Stagecoach rides are boring, so I decided to explain. “I know how to fire the raygun,” I said, “and I even know how to fix little things wrong with it. I don’t know how to fix it for real. So I don’t mess with it.”

“What’s it like to fire it?” asked Wilkinson. Everybody asks that question, too. I shrugged.

“Like firing a crossbow, but with no kick.” Wilkinson looked disappointed at that, again as usual. I shrugged again. “It’s a weapon, Mr. Wilkinson. It’s not magic. Regular people made it. We just don’t know how to make any more.”

Wilkinson opened his mouth to say something — and then, almost as if saying the word ‘crossbow’ summoned one, there was a meaty thunk outside and a yell as our driver got shot with a bolt. So he yelled ‘Ambush!’ instead and ducked down below the windows. So did I, because I’m no dummy.


  • acat says:

    Ummm, Moe? “Three novellas with a thread and at least some people in common is a fat novel.”

    • Moe_Lane says:

      Yeah, and I got one in the spout already, another on deck, and a third half-constructed thing that I think can be turned into a real book some day. I don’t know how long I can sustain, yet. 🙂

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