Calamity Jane as a child


Location: a desert near Court Seim

The child tossed her long curls away from her face as she bent over her discovery, chewing her lip in concentration. She was only eight years old, but her countenance was unchildlike in its focused thoughtfulness, in the very earnest expression that she assumed as she scrutinized her finding. The object that absorbed her attention was unfamiliar, but she sensed that, somehow, it was both familiar and special.

She ran her fingers across the curious shape of the machine, which rested on the hard ground of the old crate in which she sat. It was a vaguely cannon-shaped device, large, heavy, and full of catches that drew her eye because of their unusual formation. And yet the child knew that her father owned machines a little like this one, weapons that resembled it in their general appearance. No one but her father had such devices. She knew that she was not supposed to talk about it, so she never did, and neither did her older sister. But she had learnt to recognize them, and her avid curiosity always drew her to them, and the secret power that they harbored.

Her father laughed when he found her trying to lift and play with one of these devices, using her feeble child's strength. He called her naughty Jane and ordered her to desist and never touch it again. She obeyed only when she was in danger of being caught doing it. Otherwise she was irresistibly drawn to them. It was the smell of trouble, and of danger, that attracted her.

She wondered what this particular one is called. Is it like the Hand Cannon? Or does it have the ray light maybe? Or is it even better than all these? She was inexperienced, but by the touch and look of the object she knew that it must be very old.

She attempted to move the machine with her small arms. It was buried inside a groove in the cracked earth, and she was not really sure how big it was. It could be that parts of it were buried so deep that it would be impossible to extricate it. Stubbornly, she tried again. To her joy, the thing moved almost at once, with a smooth motion that seemed to promise well.

Heedless of the sharp, rocky edges of the groove, Jane threw herself across the weapon and used her meager strength to pull it up. It rose slowly. It was long, and rather thin; almost like a sword. Its basic structure resembled the cannon, and she recognized the hollow mouth through which bullets were supposed to shoot. It was, indeed, an ARM.

Wondering to herself whether it still functioned, Jane dragged the machine across her knees and sat cross-legged, examining it. Her fingers touched the steel form with reverence. She, a mere child, had found one of the ARMs that only her father possessed. Something like pride filled her, and she wondered to herself what her father's reaction would be if she came home and showed it to him. She wasn't quite sure what he would say. Sometimes he got angry at her at the things she did; she was always the troublesome Jane. She once heard her father sighing and telling her fifteen-years old sister that she, Jane, was just too much like him, full of stubbornness and curiosity. It was said with a tone of regret, but Jane also recognized the pride mixed with the regret, and it made her glad.

Now this, thought Jane, touching one of the switches, must be the part that shoots. I wonder what would happen if I tried to make it work. Bullets in these ARMs don't corrupt quickly, and if I'm lucky, maybe a spark remained inside that still works.

As she touched the switch Jane felt a curious clicking sensation. It was very odd, because that hidden trigger seemed to come not as much from the weapon as from within herself. All at once Jane knew that something inside her had changed. Forever.

She had no time to deliberate over this new emotion, because her thoughts were interrupted by a raucous screech. "Well, well!" it screamed shrilly. "What have we here? A lovely, delicious human child! Shall I call my sisters, or shall I feast on it myself?"

Jane raised her eyes. She never heard this voice, but she recognized it. It was one of the dirty, thieving, nasty creatures that the villagers called harpies, monsters that were half-bird, half-women. They were always hungry, and they were always hunting for things to eat. They ate unprotected children as well. Usually they did not dare to come close to human vicinity, but Jane knew she had wandered too far into the desert, in places where she was not as safe as she was near town.

It was only one harpy. The girl sat very quietly, her fingers tensing around the base catch of the ARM. She was trying to appraise the danger, and holding the ARM gave her reassurance, and a feeling of power. And that feeling of a very distinct alteration within her had lingered. Had the harpy come just one moment earlier, it would have been a different Jane, a Jane as she had been up to that time, and an unprotected girl. But Jane, child that she was, knew that this was no longer the state of things. From the moment that she had touched the ARM, she had power.

The harpy was apparently unnerved by the stillness of the child, and in her little mind she sensed danger. Children usually reacted with fear to the sight of her, often panicking, and usually attempting to run away. This child, with the strange expression in her wide blue eyes, was quite different. The harpy hovered against the hard blue skies, deliberating over her movements. The child rose very quietly, lifting the giant machine with her.

"Sisters, come hither!" screeched the harpy. "I have a feast for you! A human child!"

In the distance, she could hear the responses of two more harpies not far away. A few more moments, and she knew she would be certain of her prey.

Jane raised the ARM, and her small fingers forced on the trigger. The old mechanism moved very slowly, but she felt it responding to her pressure; some inner switch was set in motion. Her eyes took in the desert skies, in which the two incoming harpies were becoming dark figures on the skyline. The harpy that found her was hovering and screeching taunts. Soon, she knew, it would attack.

The trigger under her fingers was forced into a complete pull, and blue light flashed. It struck the harpy across the forehead, and the blue fire burned across it, spreading to wings and feathers. The harpy fell to the ground with an agonized scream.

The other two harpies were now close enough to see this display, and they halted. The small child, oddly frightening with her awesome weapon, turned and raised it towards them. They turned and fled with a terrified scream .

Jane slowly lowered herself onto the dry, rocky ground. She spread the no-longer white edges of her dress across her scraped knees, and with both arms she clutched the weapon. Into her mind came a saying of her father's, that had remained with her since the day she had heard it.

"To use it... one must synchronize... with an ARM."


? Written by Hadas Rose

Wild ARMs is ? Media Vision, Sony, 1996