Sacrifice

Ben was transfixed. It was just a dummy, just a clever piece of training technology. He checked it in the Force—yes, it was just a machine—but he still felt awful about it.

"That's pretty yucky."

"You know how much those things cost?"

"What happens when I shoot . . . it?"

"It gets up and repairs itself."

"Okay." Ben found it disturbing to watch the figure walking around in the small bay at the end of the range. Through the rifle's optics, it was clearly a featureless, translucent gel figure with the shadowy framework of artificial bone within. "You sure it doesn't feel anything?"

"It just moves, Ben. It doesn't think. It's not even a proper droid. More like a puppet." He looked at the chrono display on the wall.

"You've got less than nineteen hours to get up to speed."

"No pressure, then . . ."

"In your own time, fire when ready."

Ben recalled his recent training. "Why not center mass?"

"That's the army way—kill or wound, you've still put the target out of action. Police snipers have to worry about hostages and stuff, so they're trained to incapacitate instantly—head shot. Assassination doesn't have to be as instant, just dead. But a head shot's still best."

Lekauf crooked his forefingers and thumbs five centimeters apart and made a gesture as if he were putting on a blindfold. "That's the zone you're aiming at. A five-centimeter band around the head at eye level. Put one in there and you've got a kill. But with the kind of frangible round you'll be