A Firm Grip

My optical sensors cleared. The surface beneath my boots felt solid and speckled. Two static figures stood directly in front of me, locked in rigid poses. I assessed the area. Nothing stirred. Slowly, I flexed my right hand. The compact blaster clamped in my fingers shifted half an inch downward. It moved because I willed it. I lowered the barrel deliberately, testing balance against the flat ground. Still standing. Operational.