C and I went last night to see The Eagle Huntress at a small downtown theater that's part of an arts organization. This was a documentary about a Kazakh girl in Mongolia, Aisholpan, being trained as a falconer using an eagle in hunting. The film shows her capturing an eaglet; scenes from her training it; and her competing in an annual festival and then going out to hunt foxes for their fur. The last set of scenes were especially striking, as they showed that foxes fight back and are difficult prey to kill. The main story was intercut with scenes of older men commenting on how inappropriate it was for a girl to be taking up a masculine pursuit.
But I began wondering about the film, precisely because it told such a readily understandable story of woman (girl) triumphing over ancient prejudice. Was this really what was happening?
A Web search turned up a document by Adrienne Mayor, whom I knew of from her book The First Fossil Hunters, about how the ancient Greeks interpreted fossil remains of prehistoric animals. Mayor traces a long history of women in Central Asia hunting with eagles and other raptors: mummified remains of a woman more than 2000 years ago with a falconer's gauntlet on her left arm; heroic epics about women warriors who tamed eagles; and photographs of other women who have done so in Mongolia in recent years, including two other girls who were at the same eagle hunting festival where Aisholpan competed! Mayor describes one woman, Makpal Abdrazakova, who competed in a festival in Kazakhstan in 2009; the filmmaker of The Eagle Huntress chose not to talk with her.
So it looks to me as if the film has reshaped Kazakh culture, and other Central Asian cultures, to tell a story that fits the assumptions of present-day Western audiences: Lone young woman bravely defying centuries of patriarchal tradition. The cultures in question certainly don't fit Western ideas of gender equality. But there's a different story there: Of a young woman joining a long line of women who've taken up a "masculine" pursuit, in a culture where women have been able to do this for a long, long time. What makes this possible might be an interesting question to explore.
But I began wondering about the film, precisely because it told such a readily understandable story of woman (girl) triumphing over ancient prejudice. Was this really what was happening?
A Web search turned up a document by Adrienne Mayor, whom I knew of from her book The First Fossil Hunters, about how the ancient Greeks interpreted fossil remains of prehistoric animals. Mayor traces a long history of women in Central Asia hunting with eagles and other raptors: mummified remains of a woman more than 2000 years ago with a falconer's gauntlet on her left arm; heroic epics about women warriors who tamed eagles; and photographs of other women who have done so in Mongolia in recent years, including two other girls who were at the same eagle hunting festival where Aisholpan competed! Mayor describes one woman, Makpal Abdrazakova, who competed in a festival in Kazakhstan in 2009; the filmmaker of The Eagle Huntress chose not to talk with her.
So it looks to me as if the film has reshaped Kazakh culture, and other Central Asian cultures, to tell a story that fits the assumptions of present-day Western audiences: Lone young woman bravely defying centuries of patriarchal tradition. The cultures in question certainly don't fit Western ideas of gender equality. But there's a different story there: Of a young woman joining a long line of women who've taken up a "masculine" pursuit, in a culture where women have been able to do this for a long, long time. What makes this possible might be an interesting question to explore.
C and I went to see Wonder Woman for her birthday. I wouldn't say that this is the best superhero film I've seen. But I'm happy to see that DC has managed to do a film that stands up against the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and that was a pleasure to watch all the way through. I've liked WW as a character for a long time; this version lives up to the character concept.
Part of this is Gal Gadot in the title role. Almost all of the few scenes I enjoyed in Dawn of Justice were the ones showing her; she's just as compelling all through this film. I also really liked Robin Wright as Diana's aunt Antiope.
Another big part of it is that this film doesn't do the standard "hero's journey" thing that seems to be almost inescapable in superhero movies (and a lot of movies in other fantastic genres): The thing where the main character starts out ordinary and a bit flawed, goes through some harsh experiences, and gains the resolve to become heroic. Diana starts out this story as a child already pure of heart and already wanting to gain the skills of a warrior. It's akin to the bit in Agent Carter where Peggy Carter takes out a photo of Steve Rogers and looks at it—and it's not the super-soldier; it's the scrawny kid who volunteered for an untested experience, because he was already a hero internally. I've seen too many films that are eager to assure the viewer that we're all "human, all too human"; by now I'm really tired of them. This was a happy change.
A small note is that the direction gives the viewer a nice sense of Diana's exponential growth in power, from a mere highly trained warrior to a titan.
I don't know if the DCU films in general can live up to this one, but it gives me some hope for the later films.
Part of this is Gal Gadot in the title role. Almost all of the few scenes I enjoyed in Dawn of Justice were the ones showing her; she's just as compelling all through this film. I also really liked Robin Wright as Diana's aunt Antiope.
Another big part of it is that this film doesn't do the standard "hero's journey" thing that seems to be almost inescapable in superhero movies (and a lot of movies in other fantastic genres): The thing where the main character starts out ordinary and a bit flawed, goes through some harsh experiences, and gains the resolve to become heroic. Diana starts out this story as a child already pure of heart and already wanting to gain the skills of a warrior. It's akin to the bit in Agent Carter where Peggy Carter takes out a photo of Steve Rogers and looks at it—and it's not the super-soldier; it's the scrawny kid who volunteered for an untested experience, because he was already a hero internally. I've seen too many films that are eager to assure the viewer that we're all "human, all too human"; by now I'm really tired of them. This was a happy change.
A small note is that the direction gives the viewer a nice sense of Diana's exponential growth in power, from a mere highly trained warrior to a titan.
I don't know if the DCU films in general can live up to this one, but it gives me some hope for the later films.
On a recent grocery run, I spotted ground pork from a supplier that also sells ground grass fed beef. C and I decided to pick some up and see what we could do with it. In discussing possible dishes, we thought of lumpia, which both of us have had in the past and liked. An online search turned up a number of recipes. So last night I tried one.
Neither of the groceries I visit regularly had lumpia wrappers on their shelves, but the online sources describe lumpia as a Filipino version of egg rolls, so I tried egg roll skins, which seemed to work reasonably well.
The recipe I found called for preparing the filling in three stages: frying the ground pork; removing it, draining excess fat, and frying onion and garlic, and then adding back the ground pork and chopped or shredded cabbage, carrot, and green onion, flavor with black pepper, garlic, and soy sauce. I was out of red onions, so I compressed this into two stages: frying the pork with garlic cloves, and then adding the vegetables directly. I let it cool a bit and filled it into the skins. The recipe called for three heaping tablespoons per skin, but the egg roll skins held two, so I went with that. I was able to fill 17 skins; I could have stretched it to 18—there was a tiny bit of filling left over—but one of the skins fell apart while I was taking them out of the package. Then I fried them in half an inch of oil.
I was pleased to find that they didn't fall apart! Moistening the inside of the last flap of skin seemed to produce a successful glue.
I'd call this a success: Everything came out properly cooked, and the flavor was good. And I think I understand the recipe now. I may want to research other lumpia recipes and see if they suggest any minor modifications to the filling or the seasoning, but that's adjusting something that seems to work. And today we'll conduct the final test by eating the leftover lumpia. . . .
It's been a while since I tried a new dish (the last one was pasta with a pesto-based sauce), and I'm glad to have done so again.
Neither of the groceries I visit regularly had lumpia wrappers on their shelves, but the online sources describe lumpia as a Filipino version of egg rolls, so I tried egg roll skins, which seemed to work reasonably well.
The recipe I found called for preparing the filling in three stages: frying the ground pork; removing it, draining excess fat, and frying onion and garlic, and then adding back the ground pork and chopped or shredded cabbage, carrot, and green onion, flavor with black pepper, garlic, and soy sauce. I was out of red onions, so I compressed this into two stages: frying the pork with garlic cloves, and then adding the vegetables directly. I let it cool a bit and filled it into the skins. The recipe called for three heaping tablespoons per skin, but the egg roll skins held two, so I went with that. I was able to fill 17 skins; I could have stretched it to 18—there was a tiny bit of filling left over—but one of the skins fell apart while I was taking them out of the package. Then I fried them in half an inch of oil.
I was pleased to find that they didn't fall apart! Moistening the inside of the last flap of skin seemed to produce a successful glue.
I'd call this a success: Everything came out properly cooked, and the flavor was good. And I think I understand the recipe now. I may want to research other lumpia recipes and see if they suggest any minor modifications to the filling or the seasoning, but that's adjusting something that seems to work. And today we'll conduct the final test by eating the leftover lumpia. . . .
It's been a while since I tried a new dish (the last one was pasta with a pesto-based sauce), and I'm glad to have done so again.
After several months of setup, the Libertarian Futurist Society has been able to complete the transition from a print newsletter to a blog. Prometheus Blog has its first two posts up: a welcome message from the managing editor, Tom Jackson, and an essay by Eric Raymond on the political history of science fiction. Several posts are lined up for coming weeks, including reviews of the various finalists for this year's Best Novel Award. I have a post in the queue and I'm working on another one.
My passing through LotR has turned up another bit that I think I should write about here:
In "The Mirror of Galadriel," when Galadriel meets the eyes of each of the Fellowship, nearly all of them find it uncomfortable and can't meet her gaze for long. And afterward, Pippin teases Sam, and Sam answers, in part,
"She seemed to be looking inside me and asking me what I would do if she gave me the chance of flying back home to the Shire to a nice little hole with—with a bit of garden of my own."
On first reading, that seems like something that can be taken at face value, with Sam just hesitating over choice of words. But I think that pause is significant. Over on
sartorias's journal, we discussed how Tolkien kept both Arwen and Rose Cotton largely offstage until they married Aragorn and Sam. But on this reading, it seems to me that Sam might well have been about to blurt out "a nice little hole with Rosie" and then though better of it. So there we have a very subtle hint about Sam having something more on his mind. And, in fact, it has a parallel: At the end of the previous chapter, Frodo sees Aragorn standing at the foot of a hill, holding a bloom of elanor, and looking many years younger, and Aragorn then says, Arwen vanimelda, namarië! (Fair Arwen, farewell!). So perhaps Lothlorien is bringing the true feelings of those hoping to marry closer to the surface?
It's a nice bit of subtle psychology on Tolkien's part, subtler than he often gets credit for—but that's something I've been seeing more than once this time.
In "The Mirror of Galadriel," when Galadriel meets the eyes of each of the Fellowship, nearly all of them find it uncomfortable and can't meet her gaze for long. And afterward, Pippin teases Sam, and Sam answers, in part,
"She seemed to be looking inside me and asking me what I would do if she gave me the chance of flying back home to the Shire to a nice little hole with—with a bit of garden of my own."
On first reading, that seems like something that can be taken at face value, with Sam just hesitating over choice of words. But I think that pause is significant. Over on
It's a nice bit of subtle psychology on Tolkien's part, subtler than he often gets credit for—but that's something I've been seeing more than once this time.
Over on her lj,
sartorias has been rereading The Lord of the Rings, and posting her impressions every few chapters, and I've been following along. Press of work kept me from starting to reread when she did, but more lately I picked it up, and I've just gotten to the Council of Elrod. And I noticed some things.
sartorias is more than half a volume ahead of me, so I don't think I should jump into her latest post; instead, I'm going to comment here.
1. At the start of the chapter, Tolkien names most of those attending the Council, and I believe all of those who speak there. In order, they are Gandalf, Frodo, Bilbo, Sam, Elrond, Glorfindel, Glóin, Strider, Gimli, Erestor, Galdor, Legolas, and Boromir. Boromir is the last to arrive, the last to be named, and the thirteenth. Was Tolkien deliberately giving us an omen? He talks about thirteen as an unlucky number in The Hobbit, and he was surely a conscious enough craftsman to count the names in his list. . . .
2. In Elrond's answer to Boromir's first quest, he explains why the Ring is called Isildur's Bane, having caused his death, and adds "Yet death maybe was better than what else might have befallen him." That's a really large clue, which Boromir fails to hear.
3. As a side note, the Ring betrayed Isildur by slipping off his finger, and did more or less the same to Sméagol. But when it betrays Frodo, which it does more than once, it's by slipping on to his!
4. In telling his story, Boromir says, "I was in the company that held the bridge, until it was cast down behind us. Four only were saved by swimming: my brother and myself and two others." That's strikingly like the climax of Macaulay's "Horatius." I've noticed before that Gandalf's defense of the bridge in Moria recalls "Horatius"; I'd never noticed before that Tolkien had a similar scene earlier, one that might have foreshadowed Gandalf's fall. I rather think that Macaulay must have made a huge impression on Tolkien.
1. At the start of the chapter, Tolkien names most of those attending the Council, and I believe all of those who speak there. In order, they are Gandalf, Frodo, Bilbo, Sam, Elrond, Glorfindel, Glóin, Strider, Gimli, Erestor, Galdor, Legolas, and Boromir. Boromir is the last to arrive, the last to be named, and the thirteenth. Was Tolkien deliberately giving us an omen? He talks about thirteen as an unlucky number in The Hobbit, and he was surely a conscious enough craftsman to count the names in his list. . . .
2. In Elrond's answer to Boromir's first quest, he explains why the Ring is called Isildur's Bane, having caused his death, and adds "Yet death maybe was better than what else might have befallen him." That's a really large clue, which Boromir fails to hear.
3. As a side note, the Ring betrayed Isildur by slipping off his finger, and did more or less the same to Sméagol. But when it betrays Frodo, which it does more than once, it's by slipping on to his!
4. In telling his story, Boromir says, "I was in the company that held the bridge, until it was cast down behind us. Four only were saved by swimming: my brother and myself and two others." That's strikingly like the climax of Macaulay's "Horatius." I've noticed before that Gandalf's defense of the bridge in Moria recalls "Horatius"; I'd never noticed before that Tolkien had a similar scene earlier, one that might have foreshadowed Gandalf's fall. I rather think that Macaulay must have made a huge impression on Tolkien.
As of today, C and I have been married for exactly a year. It's also a different anniversary: We picked May first because it was the thirty-first anniversary of the day she moved in with me, back in 1985. Thirty-two years haven't been nearly long enough.
As of last night, I've caught up with the current Agents of SHIELD storyline. In a lot of ways it's quite good, particularly the way it derives a grim dystopia from the undoing of several people's greatest regrets. But I've seen at least three bits that are pointed references to the current administration and its policies. And really, this is getting to be a bit much.
In the first place, if I wanted editorials, there are places I can go to find them. I don't watch television shows for editorializing, but for imaginative entertainment . . . and part of that, for me, is getting some distance from current issues and conflicts.
In the second place, if I do read opinion pieces, I want them to have some information and some analysis. I don't want one-liners that function only as partisan statements comparable to tweets. I'm not going to gain any understanding from that; I'm not going to feel any warm sense of being part of the angry mob that those zingers appeal to; and I don't particularly like being pushed into the other angry mob that opposes them, which is the way that sort of propaganda makes me feel.
If the writers and producers want to support the Democrats, let them write checks, or volunteer their time outside of working hours, or write opinion pieces for the newspapers. There are places for that sort of thing. But I'm tired of it.
In the first place, if I wanted editorials, there are places I can go to find them. I don't watch television shows for editorializing, but for imaginative entertainment . . . and part of that, for me, is getting some distance from current issues and conflicts.
In the second place, if I do read opinion pieces, I want them to have some information and some analysis. I don't want one-liners that function only as partisan statements comparable to tweets. I'm not going to gain any understanding from that; I'm not going to feel any warm sense of being part of the angry mob that those zingers appeal to; and I don't particularly like being pushed into the other angry mob that opposes them, which is the way that sort of propaganda makes me feel.
If the writers and producers want to support the Democrats, let them write checks, or volunteer their time outside of working hours, or write opinion pieces for the newspapers. There are places for that sort of thing. But I'm tired of it.
At the very end of 2016, I got an inquiry about copy editing for a science fiction novel—it came through one of my lj friends, actually, and I'm very grateful. I'm always glad to have work come in, and editing fiction makes a good change from editing scholarly books and journals, which the majority of what I do. In this case, though, it turned out to be not only professionally but personally rewarding. I got the manuscript as an e-file before the author was quite done revising it, and needed to stop editing when I got partway into the second volume, and wait for the revisions of the later parts to reach me—but by that time I wanted to know how things turned out, so after a couple of days I gave in and read to the end.
The Aristillus Series, by Travis Corcoran, is a pair of novels about a libertarian venture in lunar colonization in the middle of the current century: Powers of the Earth and Causes of Separation; like Ian MacDonald's Luna: New Moon and Luna: Wolf Moon, it's in dialogue with Heinlein's classic The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress. The "one impossible assumption" in this case is the invention of new physics that leads to an antigravity drive, one that a private entrepreneur can build and mount in a large cargo ship. When the story starts, there's an established city in the crater Aristillus, one that trades covertly with Earth—and that has become a target for an American politician, not only for ideological reasons but because the United States government is in financial trouble. This leads to a war, but also to an ideological struggle. Secondary storylines involve created intelligent beings—a hundred-odd sapient dogs and an AI—that were rescued and brought to Aristillus after regulatory agencies on Earth decided that their creation was irresponsible and they should be terminated; those are less radical "impossible assumptions," though certainly a good novel could be written about either of them in its own right.
This novel very definitely has a libertarian viewpoint, though a somewhat unusual one: It's informed on one side by David Friedman's version of anarchocapitalism, but on the other by Catholic doctrine on matters such as "just war." But at the same time, it avoids the tendentiousness that's a danger for ideological fiction of any stripe. Corcoran has decent, honorable people on the side of the United States (along with some seriously nasty ones, though even among them some are also highly competent); and he has substantial disagreements on the side of Aristillus, and some characters who are clearly in the wrong. Aristillus itself is a pleasure to read about, with a lot of complexity and messiness of the sort that Jane Jacobs taught us to value in urban life. Beyond that, the novel's central character, Mike Martin, is a believably flawed man, but he also emerges through the course of the story as what I can only call a True King (despite his belief in anarchocapitalism!): A man who, in a crisis, thinks of the good of his people and will pay the price he has to to protect them. And he's only one of a large cast of people I got involved with as I read about them. I used to review self-published fiction for the Libertarian Futurist Society, and a lot of it was dismal, written by people who had no idea how fiction worked; I felt when I was working on this that Corcoran had figured that out—these two volumes are, in effect, his first novel, but it reads to me like entirely professional work.
Anyway, he's now started a Kickstarter to fund release of hard copies of the two volumes, in addition to their being published electronically. You can see more about it there, if you're curious. I enjoyed this book as much as anything I've read in the past few years; I hope it finds a bigger audience and acquires sequels.
Addendum: At this point, the Kickstarter has reached three times its (modest) goal amount, and Corcoran has put three sample chapters up. Having edited the book, I can say both that they introduce the main things the story is about (though other significant things will show up later) and that the style is typical of the whole series; if you like or dislike this, you'll have a good idea if Aristillus is a book for you or not.
The Aristillus Series, by Travis Corcoran, is a pair of novels about a libertarian venture in lunar colonization in the middle of the current century: Powers of the Earth and Causes of Separation; like Ian MacDonald's Luna: New Moon and Luna: Wolf Moon, it's in dialogue with Heinlein's classic The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress. The "one impossible assumption" in this case is the invention of new physics that leads to an antigravity drive, one that a private entrepreneur can build and mount in a large cargo ship. When the story starts, there's an established city in the crater Aristillus, one that trades covertly with Earth—and that has become a target for an American politician, not only for ideological reasons but because the United States government is in financial trouble. This leads to a war, but also to an ideological struggle. Secondary storylines involve created intelligent beings—a hundred-odd sapient dogs and an AI—that were rescued and brought to Aristillus after regulatory agencies on Earth decided that their creation was irresponsible and they should be terminated; those are less radical "impossible assumptions," though certainly a good novel could be written about either of them in its own right.
This novel very definitely has a libertarian viewpoint, though a somewhat unusual one: It's informed on one side by David Friedman's version of anarchocapitalism, but on the other by Catholic doctrine on matters such as "just war." But at the same time, it avoids the tendentiousness that's a danger for ideological fiction of any stripe. Corcoran has decent, honorable people on the side of the United States (along with some seriously nasty ones, though even among them some are also highly competent); and he has substantial disagreements on the side of Aristillus, and some characters who are clearly in the wrong. Aristillus itself is a pleasure to read about, with a lot of complexity and messiness of the sort that Jane Jacobs taught us to value in urban life. Beyond that, the novel's central character, Mike Martin, is a believably flawed man, but he also emerges through the course of the story as what I can only call a True King (despite his belief in anarchocapitalism!): A man who, in a crisis, thinks of the good of his people and will pay the price he has to to protect them. And he's only one of a large cast of people I got involved with as I read about them. I used to review self-published fiction for the Libertarian Futurist Society, and a lot of it was dismal, written by people who had no idea how fiction worked; I felt when I was working on this that Corcoran had figured that out—these two volumes are, in effect, his first novel, but it reads to me like entirely professional work.
Anyway, he's now started a Kickstarter to fund release of hard copies of the two volumes, in addition to their being published electronically. You can see more about it there, if you're curious. I enjoyed this book as much as anything I've read in the past few years; I hope it finds a bigger audience and acquires sequels.
Addendum: At this point, the Kickstarter has reached three times its (modest) goal amount, and Corcoran has put three sample chapters up. Having edited the book, I can say both that they introduce the main things the story is about (though other significant things will show up later) and that the style is typical of the whole series; if you like or dislike this, you'll have a good idea if Aristillus is a book for you or not.
I've run the first session of my GURPS Mars campaign. Four of the five players showed up; I'm not sure what happened to the fifth—forgot, misunderstood the schedule, or decided he wasn't interested after all. One of the players who did show up has said he'll check with him, so I'm not going to nip at his heels.
In any case, the four who did show up did very well. One of them had never played GURPS before, but caught on very quickly, both to the combat mechanics and to the roleplaying, including asking for camera time for his character to act on one of his psychological disadvantages.
We had a team profile focused on seeking wealth in the ruins of Martian civilization. I offered the two players who were putting the venture together and sponsoring it four possible places to look. They chose Cydonia, capital of a theocratic state based on a heretical Martian religion that worships the Face on Mars.
We did some opening scenes of the arrival of the new people on Mars, followed by the putting together of an expedition with places in a caravan travelling to Cydonia by one of the canals, and then an attack of canal pirates. I had them meet the French renegade Arthur Rimbaud, one of the right-hand men of the new ruler of Melas, whom he had helped put on the throne with guns and ammunition imported from Earth; he recruited Horatio Mann, the businessman funding the venture, to bring him back intelligence on Cydonia, adding a little complexity to the venture.
The fight itself gave the GURPS combat rules a nice workout. The combat monster, Ivan (the one whose player missed the session), the anthropologist, Clara, and Horatio's servant, Manfred (an NPC), formed the front lines, while the rogue, Jefe, the engineer, Marcus, and Horatio himself lined up behind them—though Horatio found it difficult to take action, as he's not at ease with killing. Ivan was quite lethal, thanks to his impressive strength, and so was Marcus, firing a high-powered rifle along the lines of a Springfield M1 Garand, capable of getting off three rounds in a turn. Marcus's player and I had agreed that he could base his Guns (Rifle) skill on his amazingly high IQ rather than his merely adequate DX, if he took an extra turn to aim and calculate trajectories; I decided that since he was basing his shots on calculation, not reflex, his skill wouldn't be diminished by the change in gravity, and his being an Intuitive Mathematician helped make this more plausible. Clara did less well, having few combat skills, but toward the end of the fight she slashed the neck of one of the pirates and cut his head off entirely. At this point the spilled blood forced Horatio to leave the fight and vomit in reaction.
I'm happy with this group of players, and I hope they all keep coming back for more.
In any case, the four who did show up did very well. One of them had never played GURPS before, but caught on very quickly, both to the combat mechanics and to the roleplaying, including asking for camera time for his character to act on one of his psychological disadvantages.
We had a team profile focused on seeking wealth in the ruins of Martian civilization. I offered the two players who were putting the venture together and sponsoring it four possible places to look. They chose Cydonia, capital of a theocratic state based on a heretical Martian religion that worships the Face on Mars.
We did some opening scenes of the arrival of the new people on Mars, followed by the putting together of an expedition with places in a caravan travelling to Cydonia by one of the canals, and then an attack of canal pirates. I had them meet the French renegade Arthur Rimbaud, one of the right-hand men of the new ruler of Melas, whom he had helped put on the throne with guns and ammunition imported from Earth; he recruited Horatio Mann, the businessman funding the venture, to bring him back intelligence on Cydonia, adding a little complexity to the venture.
The fight itself gave the GURPS combat rules a nice workout. The combat monster, Ivan (the one whose player missed the session), the anthropologist, Clara, and Horatio's servant, Manfred (an NPC), formed the front lines, while the rogue, Jefe, the engineer, Marcus, and Horatio himself lined up behind them—though Horatio found it difficult to take action, as he's not at ease with killing. Ivan was quite lethal, thanks to his impressive strength, and so was Marcus, firing a high-powered rifle along the lines of a Springfield M1 Garand, capable of getting off three rounds in a turn. Marcus's player and I had agreed that he could base his Guns (Rifle) skill on his amazingly high IQ rather than his merely adequate DX, if he took an extra turn to aim and calculate trajectories; I decided that since he was basing his shots on calculation, not reflex, his skill wouldn't be diminished by the change in gravity, and his being an Intuitive Mathematician helped make this more plausible. Clara did less well, having few combat skills, but toward the end of the fight she slashed the neck of one of the pirates and cut his head off entirely. At this point the spilled blood forced Horatio to leave the fight and vomit in reaction.
I'm happy with this group of players, and I hope they all keep coming back for more.