Evening Maintenance

I set my boots onto the narrow masonry ledge beside the wall bracket. The cable traverse had accumulated fine mortar grit across my joints. Operational rules mandate downtime before the zero-hundred watch. I sat flat against the red brick face, extending my legs straight out, and rested my heavy blaster across my lap. A stiff synthetic bristle lay trapped in a mortar seam nearby. I pried it loose with my left hand and swept the dust out of the cannon muzzle grooves. Tool secured in the wall gap. Stance stable. Sector quiet.