Locate Black Bart's gunner.

Brenan couldn't return to his ship until the comotion on the dock was forgotten. The last thing he needed was the entite Veer fleet patrolling the waters of Pandora looking for him.

This was as good a time as any to locate Bart's crazy gunner, Brenan decided. He had his concerns about hiring any of the pirate's crew, but if the man was as good with cannon as local lore had it, it was worth the time to talk to him.

As Brenan walked through the crowded streets he wondered how he could convince this Gun Genius to join his crew. His two six pounders were midsized guns, enough he hoped to scare off any potential pirates looking for easy prey. He could never go alongside even one of the frigates from the Cryn or Veer navies that patrolled the sea, not to mention any of the heavier ships of the line from either nation, but those ships he could out sail. It was the raiders, who like him preferred schooners and sloops that were the threat. If he chose to carry extra cannon and boarders instead of cargo, his ship could double as a pirate raider. The captains who made their wealth by closing and boarding merchantmen knew all the same tricks he did, he was less sure that his shallow draught and ability to sail close to the wind would be enough to shake one of these ships.

If he was going to stay safe with his limited guns, every shot had to count, and Brenan knew enough about big guns to know he knew not nearly enough about firing cannon. Would a gun chief be willing to sail on a ship with only two cannon? And if so why? As he wondered how much pay a lieutenant on a small ship would expect he neared the boarding house Davy mentioned. Suddenly a loud ‘bang’ blew the shutters of an attic widow open and nearly off their hinges and smoke billowed out into the sky. Shortly after, the shrill screaming of a woman’s voice filled the stunned silence of the busy street.

Judging by the reactions of the nearby peddlers and shoppers, this was not the first time something similar had happened although a swordsman with wavy chestnut hair and a scarlet sash across his white shirt seemed as surprised as Brenan was. Brenan looked around with a growing understanding as objects started flying from the loft window. Clothing, notebooks, and other random objects that Brenan could not even hope to identify all rained from the house as the screaming continued unabated. Picking up one of the notebooks Brenan confirmed his suspicion when he read ‘Michaels’ embossed in silver on the upper right corner of the leather bound book. A brass object roughly the shape and size of a telescope dropped nearly at his feet, and he stacked all the objects he could find in a neat pile near the odd piece of turned brass that looked more like a bed post than anything else Brenan could think of.

Soon, as he expected, a man appeared dragging a heavy seaman’s chest that had wheels attached to the end of it. His clothing was tattered and had an odd collection or burns, tear marks and stains. Looking hopefully up and down the street he grinned in surprise when he saw all his belongings neatly stacked and waiting for his arrival.

“Thanks.” The man muttered as he knelt by the pile looking over the collection of paraphernalia that was collected, “hummm, what’s this?” He asked himself as a small glass vial of liquid rolled out of one of the many pockets.

“Let me help you Mr. Michaels.’ Brenan suggested before the odd ‘Genius’ blew something else up.

“Much obliged my friend, much obliged.” Together the two men packed the assortment of objects haphazardly into the large chest. “I believe the civilized response to your help is to buy you a drink, but …” Michaels patted his pockets hopefully “… I seem to be without the means, at the moment.”

“Allow me Mr. Michaels.” Brenan said as he steered the man to a local watering hole. “You are a gun officer?” Brenan asked not sure if he wanted Michaels to deny it or not.

“Guns, yes, Guns I understand.” He looked about the bar as if for the first time “Its people that are hard to gauge.” Despite his best intentions, Brenan found himself nodding in agreement. This poor sole seemed to have even less a grasp on how he world worked than he did. He was at least as old as Brenan, probably his senior by a dozen years or so, a senior officer on a ship and still seemed as helpless as a child. It took a couple beers and patient redirecting of the conversation each of the many times Michaels became distracted by a random thought, but by the end of the conversation Brenan was pretty sure that Michaels knew more about firing big guns than any man he had ever met.

“But guns are not the future, I’ve been working on something that will make guns seem tame.” Michaels looked around and leaned closer to Brenan conspiratorially “I am working on a way to use the power of lightning from the sky.” He chuckled “Imagine shooting bolts of electrical **** across miles of open sea.” Brenan could see the potential, but really needed a gun chief who was interested in guns, not electrical bolts.

“I have a twenty meter schooner with two six pounders sitting amidships.” Brenan wondered not for the first time why the caliber of the guns was measured in the weight of the ball thrown using a system of measurement that was archaic even before humanity left Old Earth for Pandora. Ignoring the thought, Brenan described a little more about the schooner what he hoped to use it for. “What would you recommend.”

Michaels pulled a sketchpad from his pocket and outlined several ideas for increasing both the actual and apparent firepower of the ship. By the time two more beers had been consumed along with a bucket of steamed clams, Brenan understood what was meant by the ‘Genius’ in ‘Genius of Guns.’