Tod "The Blaster" McQuinn
25 Dec 2018Commander-Wingnut
Trophy Camp Trus Madi , Wolf 397
24 DEC 3303
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"So... it's a mini-gun. Definitely not what I asked for."
Tod "The Blaster" McQuinn looked almost hurt by this claim, and shot a sideways stink-eye along at Wingnut.
"On paper, we call them Multi-Cannons, and I'd like you to remember that, Commander English. But fundamentally, you're not wrong."
The two of them were examining the bristling cluster of barrels mounted to a bracket on the targeting range at Trophy Camp.
"So if this is a Multi-Cannon we're looking at, what makes this one so different that I could be right and wrong at the same time?"
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Tod scratched his nose. "Well, the damage output and accuracy are significantly lower than what you would expect from a typical machine like this straight from the market. Kind of to be expected since we're working with sub-caliber munitions better suited for anti-personnel fighting. This'll drain shields in a hurry, but won't exactly shred hull-plate.
... but with the addition of a higher horsepower belt-drive motor and some tuning to the mechanism, I was able to almost double its rate of fire. This, combined with its turret mechanism, effectively makes it a semi-autonomous point-offense weapon at the cost of a more significant power draw.
But that's not the part I wanted to show you."
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McQuinn pressed the safety switch, and the weapon spun to life - once the barrels were up to speed, tracers lanced out and sliced into the targets downrange with the sound of Velcro in a blender.
After several moments, he then keyed the switch again and the noise ceased. The barrels continued to spin.
"In order to help the system with the aiming, we had to mod in red tracers and stagger them at 1-in-10 instead of the usual 1-in-5. So that means for every tracer you can see, another nine rounds you can't are already in the air. And those tracers come out at the same rate, so do the math."
Wingnut's expression remained surprisingly placid. "So it shoots fast. Really, really fast. But that's still a ridiculously undersized weapon. Class 2F, small hardpoint. What's the big deal?"
"Just shut up a moment and listen."
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The two of them listened.
Wingnut became subtly aware that while the Multi-Cannon's cluster of death pipes were still spinning, it was clicking rapidly with the sound of a card shuffler.
"What is that we're hearing?"
McQuinned smiled. "Take a guess."
Wingnut continued to listen, then realized as he watched that the "bullet hose" was filling with brass, one fresh round at a time. Once there was no empty space left, the barrels clicked sharply to a parade-square halt.
THIS gave him pause.
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"You magnificent son of a bitch - the damn thing is reloading itself!"
"That's right. Whenever you stop shooting, the conveyor uses the belt-drive to shuttle more ammo from the ship's interior magazines. It's all automatic. The longer you wait, the more you get. The system only quits when you're completely out of ammo - or dead. No reloading downtime, unlike the usual Extended Magazine mods people ask for. I'm pretty proud of my work, Commander."
"So if I had two of these on a ship, theoretically I could -"
"Yep. Assign them to different fire groups. You can keep up a light rain practically forever just by playing gunslinger, or focus your most intense fire into a single target on command. That's pretty cool by itself, granted, but here's where your present from AEGIS Research comes in."
Wingnut's eyebrows were already aloft. He was impressed enough as it was. "What's that?"
"You're actually getting three."
The former bounty hunter gestured over at a second mounted weapon in the next testing stall. Its menacing silhouette was blanketed underneath a white drop-sheet.
"And wait until you see what THAT one looks like."
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Then Wingnut twigged on to what Tod had just said.
"Wait a minute. What do you mean, a present?"
The Engineer paused a moment. "From AEGIS Research Corp, the owners of the Titan's Daughter. What, you mean you don't know? Here, shoot me your API key and I'll show you on my handbrain."
Wingnut authorized the key and took the tablet.
His eyes scanned up the list and stopped at the very top. From behind his normally implacable mirrored aviator glasses, eyebrows peeked up in alarm.
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"This is... greasy onion-nog down on Chacobog! When did this happen?!"
"Yeah. Your name's out there now, Commander.
Now everyone who's packing a cargo scoop on their ship is gonna be looking to beat that score.
Welcome to the Rescue Rangers, kid."