Gun Runner

by B. V. Larson

  For a long ten seconds, I considered. Moreau called my mother every name he could think of during that time, then fell to pleading and offering me great wealth.

  “Destroy torpedo two,” I ordered Jort.

  “Fuck!” Jort shouted. “Dumb move! Stupid move!” But he did as I’d ordered.

  Moreau stared at me, his face pale. He was bathed in sweat. I wasn’t sure if the Tulk in his body had done that, or simple fear.

  “Thanks, Gorman. I owe you one.”

  “You owe me nothing,” I said. “A deal is a deal.”

  He nodded, and the console went dark.

  I turned toward Sosa. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We straightened out our course and applied maximum thrust. It made us lightheaded and caused our faces to contort, but it was a relief of sorts. We soon flashed past the two ships and headed on toward Ceti, leaving them to turn around and chase after us.

  “They’ll be hours late by the time we reach Ceti.”

  “Two less to worry about,” I said, taking a swig of water and lighting up a stim.

  Sosa wrinkled her nose. “Those things foul the air filters, you know.”

  I shrugged without looking at her. Sometimes, a captain’s small pleasures were more important than the fussy concerns of others.

  Sosa left the deck. Rose slid into the seat next to mine soon afterward.

  “That was well played. I thought we were dead, but you got out of it. You always get out of deadly situations, don’t you?”

  Laughing, I shook my head. “I’m a clone, remember? At least one time the old Gorman didn’t see it coming.”

  Rose’s face clouded, and she looked after Sosa. “I bet she did it. She claims she didn’t—but it was probably her.”

  “Could be.”

  Rose got up, looking a little shy. She slid her butt onto my knee and looked at me. I looked back at her, frankly.

  “Can I have some of that?” she asked.

  “Oh…”

  I gave her my stim-stick, and she took a long pull on it. The tip glowed orange and she coughed.

  “That’s good…” she said. “You can’t get these things on Prospero most of the time, you know.”

  I nodded. She was still sitting on my knee, and my mind was beginning to get ideas. After all, Sosa had been cold toward me for over a week. She’d probably been upset about the very scenario that was playing out right now, but I couldn’t help but think she’d misplayed her cards if she’d been trying to prevent it.

  Internally, I knew what had turned on Rose. The nearness of death. The role I’d played in her survival. These things never failed to stir strong emotions in the people who lived through them.

  She kissed me finally, and I let her. I kissed her back. After a few moments of this, she broke away. I was left sucking in deep breaths.

  Rose vanished below decks, and it was only then that I realized she’d stolen my stim-stick.

  “Damn…” I said to no one.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Clearly, Kersen knew we were coming. Accordingly, I decided that flying directly to Ceti was out of the question and took a detour. I set course for the region known as “the Sword Worlds”.

  This lonely string of nine stars, each with habitable planets, was outside of the ultra-civilized Conclave. The inhabitants of the Sword Worlds were aggressive and independent, yet still organized.

  Historically, a few hundred million separatists had colonized the Sword Worlds about a century ago. They’d rejected the highly restrictive society of the Conclave. In direct defiance to the social sameness of planets like Prospero, they’d invented their own feudal society that was based on cunning and merit rather than one’s station at birth. Their system of government involved every individual swearing allegiance to a lord, each of whom was struggling with the rest to climb their social ladder.

  The result was a dynamic and violent society. The people of the Conclave often said they’d chosen to regress, rather than progress.

  Regardless of politics, the Sword Worlders sometimes fought among themselves, but they usually raided less fortunate planets instead. Their lesser nobles made their fortunes by raiding, while others took a more legitimate approach and served as mercenaries. Sometimes a struggling colonial government out on the fringe would find it necessary to hire mercenaries from one Sword World to fight off invaders from another.

  Whatever the situation, the Sword World nobles always profited. Those who became the most wealthy and infamous rose in rank when someone higher up the line expired.

  “The Sword Worlds?” Sosa asked after examining my course change. “Are you crazy?”

  “That’s no way to talk to your captain,” Rose admonished her.

  Sosa turned a baleful eye toward Rose. The kid didn’t know what she was getting herself into, so I moved to intervene.

  “I know they’re dangerous, but if there’s one place that no one will look for us, it’s there.”

  “That’s true,” Jort said. “Smart Captain! No Conclave robot or even Kersen would dare fly a ship out there.”

  Sosa shook her head, but she didn’t argue further. Several days passed, during which I managed to defuse a few arguments that might have escalated and turned fatal for Rose. That was the normal job of a captain with a crew of riff-raff such as mine.

  “Gladius is giving us the green light to approach,” Jort said when we came near the stars.

  “Watch out, it could be a trick,” Sosa said immediately.

  I didn’t tell her she was wrong—as she might not be.

  As we approached Gladius, we watched warily for raiding vessels. Sometimes, the most desperate of the robber-knights would prey on anything that entered their system. Luring in potential merchants was frowned upon, but far from unknown. If a minor noble couldn’t afford the fuel to venture to a richer field, he took what he could find like a jackal feeding on scraps.

  Gladius was a large planet, but it was low on water. There was one brackish sea, with a few green forests and plains surrounding it. The rest of the planet was a stark desert. For all of that, it was a pleasant enough place if you had friends there—and I knew the old William Gorman did.

  “Hailing Baron Trask of Gladius,” I said, calling over an open channel. I knew all the pirate lords would be listening in. “This is Captain William Gorman. I’ve come to meet old friends and make profitable deals.”

  There was no immediate answer. We’d gotten a fast response from their traffic center—but that meant little. One year to the next, different nobles might control various parts of the infrastructure. Without knowing who you were talking to, there was no way to judge how much you could trust them.

  “Captain…” Jort said. He was operating the sensor station. “I’m getting contacts.”

  “How many?”

  “Three gunboats, sir. Each larger than this one.”

  I nodded. “Course and speed?”

  “They’re turning now… to intercept us. They’re accelerating.”

  My small huddle of crewmen looked at me tensely. I faked a smile to inspire confidence.

  “If they get too close, we’re in a good position to bolt. We can turn and run.

  “Fuel is getting a bit low, sir.”

  “I’m well aware, Jort.”

  Taking up a headset, I tried again. “This is Captain William Gorman of the Royal Fortune. Baron Trask, please respond.”

  The speakers spat out a blast of static. Someone was dialing into our channel. “Stop lying, intruder. William Gorman is dead—it’s common knowledge. Prepare to be destroyed for your insults.”

  Feeling a trickle of sweat, I engaged the cameras. I broadcast my image to the ship that had sent the response. It was positioned in the center, leading the other two.

  Leaning back in my seat and looking as relaxed as possible, I smiled at the camera. I was careful not to appear mocking, only confident. “Are you sure about that, Trask?”

  For nearly a minute, there was
no response. During this time, we sailed closer and closer to the trio of ships. I knew that soon I’d have to break and run.

  Finally, the console lit up. A three-dimensional hologram flickered above it and glowered at me. The floating head that appeared there was mean-looking. He had the features of a wolf and a beard that was shot with gray now rather than the jet black I remembered.

  “This is a trick,” he said. “I don’t like tricks. You should know that, whether you’re the ghost of Gorman or not.”

  Baron Trask was a minor noble, but a long-lasting one. He was too rough and undisciplined to be voted up in rank, but no one had yet managed to kill him, so he’d stayed a baron for two decades now. I hadn’t been sure that he’d still be here, haunting the same expanse of space, but I’d been lucky in that regard.

  “I’m not a ghost, Trask. I’m Gorman—or to be more precise, I’m Gorman’s clone.”

  Trask blinked and considered. “I didn’t know Gorman had a clone.”

  I laughed. “Discussing such a secret openly would kind of defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

  Trask huffed. “You sound like Gorman. You look like Gorman… but you’re too young.”

  “Exactly. I was laid down in cold storage a few years ago.”

  “Where?”

  “Prospero.”

  Trask laughed. “That sounds right. Gorman always had a strange attraction to that world full of rabbits. Thick with game for a sharp man, I’m sure.”

  Slowly, Rose turned her head to regard me. Was she having second thoughts as to the nature of our relationship? Possibly yes, but I didn’t have time to hold her hand. Not now.

  “So, what do you say Trask? Do you have a few minutes to talk to an old friend?”

  “Hmm… you’re not exactly William Gorman. But you share his memories and genetics… Do you remember the day you died?”

  My heart skipped a beat. Could Trask know such details? I hadn’t expected that. Up to now, only Major Hendricks back on Baden had given me deeper insight as to my death.

  “No,” I said as calmly as I could. “I don’t remember any of that. I wasn’t actually there.”

  “Of course not…”

  “Sir!” Glancing to one side, I saw Jort signaling me. He was waving toward the range-display, which laid out the tactical situation clearly. The three ships were still closing on us, and they weren’t slowing down. They would soon be within weapons’ range.

  “Lord Trask,” I said, using the correct honorific men such as him rarely heard from off-worlders. “I’d love to talk to you further, but business presses me. I’m going to have to leave Gladius if you aren’t interested in working with me.”

  “You’ve made no proposals!” Trask said, instantly becoming angry. He was a moody man.

  “No sir, but you haven’t slowed down your attack approach. You can’t expect me to let your ships come into weapons’ range without a deal. I could take down one of your dented boats—maybe two. But three is too much.”

  Trask laughed, switching moods again. “Three is too much, he says! And it’s clear you believe you can outrun my boats if you wish to right now… in fact, you’re confident of this, or you wouldn’t have let me come in so close… All right, then. You seem to be as good a version of Gorman as any I’ve ever met. I give you my protection, my word. Welcome to Gladius. Come down and land at my barony.”

  “Land?”

  “Yes! I’ll be insulted if you don’t.”

  I thought it over. Sure, he could stab me in the back and steal my ship once I landed. But that was unlikely. The nobles of the Sword Worlds had their own sense of honor. They didn’t go back on their word easily.

  Then again, he could make up some excuse. He might point out I was an admitted and illegitimate clone. On those grounds, he could claim I was not really his friend, just some doctored-up pile of meat and bone that pretended to be his friend—an abomination. A monster someone else had had the gall to grow in a tank. Killing me could be construed as a public service.

  But I had no better options. Sucking in a deep breath, I smiled at Trask and nodded. “Excellent! Let’s meet in person. I have an amazing and lucrative deal in mind, just for you.”

  “Eh? A deal… of course you do. Why else would Gorman—or even his copy—come to see Baron Trask? I look forward to hearing your proposal.”

  He closed the channel. His leering face no longer gazed at me from the console—and it was something of a relief.

  I felt a small hand on my shoulder. Rose was there, standing over me.

  “What an awful man,” she said. “He seemed positively evil. How could he be your friend?”

  Sosa snorted but said nothing.

  “You do understand what I do for a living, right?” I asked Rose. “Baron Trask is just the sort of man I have to deal with to earn hard credits.”

  Rose shuddered a little. “I’ve never seen anyone so sinister. I won’t be able to sleep if we land at his house.”

  “His barony,” I corrected. “Say it right, or they’ll get offended. We don’t want that.”

  Rose nodded in agreement. “Barony, not ‘pirate’s den’ huh? Okay, I’ve got it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Coasting into the atmosphere over Gladius, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the number of anti-space missile launchers that were tracking us automatically. None of them fired at us, but they all perked up, pinging away and plotting our destruction a thousand times a second.

  Every barony, duchy and knight’s lair on Gladius was occupied by pirates like Trask. The fertile land around the single sea was encircled by the estates of powerful lords.

  The bottom feeders were the individual knight-captains. Anyone who could afford a ship and crew was, by definition, a knight-captain. In order to stay alive, however, they needed to pledge their loyalty to one of the barons. These men led squadrons of ships, like Trask’s modest trio, each owned and operated by a hopeful captain. When the baron died—somehow… one of the captains serving him would in turn become the baron.

  These barons had lands, not just ships and vassal captains. Common folk worked these lands, a combination of captive slaves and freemen. When the freemen were recruited, they became either crewmen aboard barony ships, or they served in mercenary units. These ranged from companies of tough bodyguards up to divisions led by vassal knights.

  The barons in turn served dukes, then counts above that. There were no kings. A king was only chosen when the entire world was under attack and all the lords agreed to band together to save themselves. This was a rare, but not unknown, event.

  Baron Trask owned a small estate of hills and trees. His plantations were fruitful, but few in number. His ships weren’t much to look at either. But what he was famous for was his ground forces. He maintained over a thousand mercenaries who were some of the best in the cluster.

  “Sit down, sit down!” Trask said, offering us black steel chairs. The chairs scraped the stone floors as we pulled them away from the feasting table.

  The table was loaded with fine foods. I dug in, while my companion nibbled. I’d only brought Rose with me, leaving Jort and Sosa to man the ship. Rose was learning, but she was still less knowledgeable than a cabin boy. What she did bring to the table was a sense of class and sophistication which I hoped might impress Trask.

  Every few seconds, Trask slid his devious eyes from me, to Rose’s fine face, then back again. I could only wonder what he was thinking.

  “Good to have you back in my halls, Gorman. Do you remember this place?”

  I looked around. It had been years, but I nodded. “Above us, on the top floor, are your apartments. Above that are clusters of anti-air and anti-space turrets, as I recall.”

  “Your memory is exact in every detail. Now, tell me of this proposal you wish to make.”

  “I want to hire your army. I need to handle a… situation.”

  Trask eyed me for a moment. “My army? That doesn’t come cheap.”

  “I’v
e got a down payment. Six kilos of prime plutonium.”

  “Refined?”

  “Ninety-eight percent pure.”

  “Hmm…” he said, tugging at his shaggy beard for a moment. “That is a good start. But the price depends on the mission. What did you have in mind, exactly?”

  I smiled. I had a good feeling already. He must not have had many offers lately in order to be willing to consider mine. After all, it wasn’t in Conclave credits or some other easy form of currency. It was in the form of a base radioactive. Although refined plutonium wasn’t all that rare, it was always useful.

  “I want to take out Kersen,” I said, leaning forward and meeting his eye.

  “What? Mutiny? He is your benefactor. Your best source of work, Gorman.”

  “It wasn’t my idea. It’s a matter of survival.”

  “Assassinating a leader is never a path without pitfalls, not even among the Sword World brethren…”

  I proceeded to explain the grim truth of working for Kersen. I pointed out that I’d never been paid and was never going to be paid with anything other than an agonizing death. That part struck through to him. As I’d said, the baron and his brothers had their own sense of honor.

  “What you describe is despicable. While it is evil and low to assassinate one’s lord, it’s worse for the lord to strike down the vassal without good reason. Wanting to get paid… that is not a good reason!”

  “Then, we are in agreement?”

  “As to the just nature of the cause, yes. As to the payment, however… it is too little.”

  “Right. I figured as much. I’ll give you more: I’ll give you enough prime Sardez rifles to arm your entire force.”

  His bushy eyebrows shot up. “You have so many rifles? Of such quality?”

  I’d brought one with me, and I handed it over. He inspected it, trying to keep the greed from his face.

  “They are nice weapons… but you realize I have over twelve hundred men, correct? That means I would need fifteen hundred weapons to arm them all.”