Gun Runner

by B. V. Larson

  “Gorman?” a familiar voice asked.

  We’d been about to blaze away, doing what we could. Instead, I motioned to my crew to lower their guns. In turn, the guns pointing at our skulls were lowered as well.

  A big gauntleted hand came down, clasped mine, and hauled me out of the muck. I took the hand up and thanked the man. The rest of my soiled crew climbed out onto the deck behind me.

  The big hand belonged to Magnus, he was one of Baron Trask’s knights. Magnus served as the captain of a ship and led a regiment of fighting men. He had an odd accent and a simplistic way of talking.

  He was a big guy with rounded shoulders and thick limbs. He stood a head taller than me, and he was surrounded by at least a hundred of his troops.

  “You scared Brag, here!” Magnus laughed. “You came knocking up out of the sewer right under his feet. He pissed himself! Look!”

  There was what looked like a streak of blood on Brag’s spacer suit, but I didn’t make any comments or laugh. Brag didn’t look like he was enjoying the joke.

  “What’s happening?” I asked Magnus. “We were trying to make it to engineering to shut down the cannons.”

  “Great minds think together. We are on the same path. We’ve lost a hundred men, two hundred are staying on my ship in reserve—this company will take engineering.”

  “All right then, let’s go.”

  We turned and began to march toward engineering. Now and then, a team of model-Ks came to stop us, but they were always out-gunned and blown apart. A few of Magnus’ men were injured, but they wore armored suits that prevented shredder bullets from penetrating.

  “I’m glad to see a client who marches with my men. You impress me, Gorman. Most who hire us won’t even shake a sword-brother’s hand.”

  “I’m a gun runner, not a politician,” I explained. “I usually fight my own battles.”

  Magnus thumped me on the back, making me stagger. He grinned. “That is good! You are a good one—funny-man, too!”

  His men laughed roughly behind him. They were brutes, killers—but they seemed to like my tiny crew. I hoped it would stay that way.

  When we reached the outer airlocks protecting engineering, the resistance became stiffer. Automated turrets clattered, knocking down the front line of Magnus’ force and making them retreat. They groaned and crawled on the deck, shot in the ass and the back until they turned a corner and were back with the rest of the troops.

  “We don’t have much time,” Magnus said. “They must know we are attacking here, they will send reinforcements to the engineering deck. We have to storm them now.”

  “Wait a second,” I said, grabbing his big arm. It was like hanging onto an oaken branch, but he hesitated.

  “What is it, Gorman?” he asked.

  “Listen, we have Sardez rifles. We’ll knock out the turrets. Take cover and button your suits for vacuum.”

  “You’ll destroy the deck! The space station will be wrecked!”

  I shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t care. We need Baron Trask’s other regiments to board the station in order to win, don’t we? If we can’t take Engineering, we’ll have to retreat.”

  “Yeah…”

  Considering the matter settled, I had Jort lie low, while I stood. We nosed around the corner at once, aiming at the automated turrets.

  A wild grunting sounded behind me. To my surprise, Magnus had grabbed one of his men—the one he’d called Brag—and tossed him past us, into the center of the passageway.

  The automated guns had been tracking us, but now they had a new target. They aimed and blazed away, sending hundreds of rounds toward the hapless Brag. The man spun and went down, riddled with bullets.

  In the meantime, Jort and I sighted and destroyed the turrets. When they were nothing but a smoking ruin, Magnus laid his big paw on my back again.

  “Good shooting.”

  “Uh… I think your man is dead.”

  He looked at Brag, who twitched on his face on the floor of the passage. “Probably, but I did not like him. As I said, he pissed himself when you arrived. I like you much better.”

  “That’s great, Sir Magnus.”

  He grinned. I could tell he liked the fact an outsider knew the correct honorific to use when addressing him. That trick worked on him just as it always did on Trask. It was an easy way to any sword-brother’s heart. Most off-worlders made fun of men from the Sword Worlds—but only quietly, when none of them were around. It was surprising what a little respect and knowledge could buy you with most people—even blood-thirsty marauders like these guys.

  Magnus made a sweeping gesture with his big arm, and his men stormed the engineering section. Realizing they were defenseless without their automated turrets the technicians inside immediately surrendered. I walked in with Magnus, and we surveyed the situation.

  “Not much damage,” I said. “That’s good. Sosa, do you know where the cannon control center is?”

  “Up near the bridge, I believe.”

  I stared at her, but before I could open my mouth, Magnus roared.

  “Here! Here is the power-bank. Disconnect those couplings!”

  His men hastened to obey. I got the feeling that if you were in Sir Magnus’ regiment, you hustled every time he opened his big mouth. Otherwise, you might end up like poor Brag.

  The couplings were disconnected with flashes of electrical arcing. That couldn’t be good for the circuitry—but it handled the problem quickly.

  Magnus contacted Trask then, and the baron responded.

  “Good work, Magnus! You have again proven yourself as my best knight.”

  “I must give some credit to Captain Gorman. He took down the final defenses personally.”

  Magnus angled a handheld communication device toward me. I stepped up and held my rifle high.

  “You’re clear to dock and invade, Baron,” I said.

  “It really is Gorman,” Trask said in disbelief. “I never counted you as a fighting man.”

  “Only when I have to be.”

  “Apparently, that’s often. Have you ever considered mercenary work, Gorman? I could use a fourth ship.”

  I hesitated, and I smiled. He was complimenting me, I knew. “That’s quite an offer, Baron. We can talk about it after this mission is finished.”

  Satisfied, the baron disconnected. Magnus frowned at me. “Another knight? That is very unusual… you’re not even a sword-brother!”

  “I do have a ship.”

  “Not big enough for a regiment…” Magnus grumbled.

  “Don’t worry, I’m a gun runner—I supply you with weapons. I’m not horning in on your ranks.”

  Magnus seemed happier. “That is a good thing. You don’t want to make yourself too big among us too fast, Gorman. Our kind always notice the biggest man in the room—or the biggest talker. All eyes are drawn to such people.”

  It was a warning, but I took it in a positive light. After all, I didn’t really want to team up with these raiders on a permanent basis. The trick of being a long-lived merchant on the fringe was to be everyone’s friend but no one’s rival.

  That brought me around to considering Kersen. We had him in a box now. Baron Trask’s third ship docked swiftly once the defensive cannons were disabled. Using control systems that we’d captured in engineering, we were also able to get the umbilical elevator running again. The third regiment of troops used it to come up from the surface and join the fight.

  Against one regiment, the security forces aboard the station had been an even match. But against all three of Trask’s units, they didn’t stand a chance. Kersen had to know that, but he still ignored our calls to surrender.

  I had to wonder, as we surrounded the bridge and security sections, what tricks he might still have up his sleeve.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The station’s defenders had barricaded themselves on the command deck, and they seemed prepared to hold out indefinitely.

  Most of the merchants and civilians had fled th
e station by this time. We let them go, as they weren’t taking their cargos with them. There would be plenty of loot to plunder once we had Kersen’s forces under control.

  Trask’s top officers and my crew stood around, uncertain as to our next move. We’d gathered in a lobby area at the base of the main ramp that led to the command deck. The barricade at the top was welded together. Anyone who dared go up there would doubtlessly be blasted by the defenders’ guns.

  “A stubborn one…” Baron Trask said for the third time. “This Kersen of yours… He’s a stubborn man, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s put up more of a fight than I expected. Ninety good men have died on this campaign. Ninety! That’s a very high number, Gorman.”

  I didn’t answer. Lamenting with Trask would look weak. Laughing it off seemed inappropriate, too. Ignoring the slaughter was the best option. These men understood such an attitude. They weren’t big on whining about injuries and losses.

  Trask studied me for a moment longer, then turned back to the barricaded passageways. “We have two options at this point,” he said. “We could storm the barricades and lose more good men. Or, we could take all the goods we wish and depart.”

  “No,” I said firmly.

  “No?”

  “That is not what we agreed, Lord Trask. We came here not just to raid the station. We came here to kill or capture Kersen.”

  Baron Trask’s big face worked. His beard squirmed with his jaw. I knew he was trying to work out a way to back out on our deal. He didn’t want to lose any more men. He had what he wanted already.

  Around us were all three of the baron’s knights. They were watching closely. They were all weighing their sense of honor against their greed and the losses they’d suffered.

  “Perhaps we could starve them out,” Trask suggested. “We have all the food processors and life support systems—”

  “That will take too long. They must have sent a messenger to Prospero or somewhere else by now. A dozen patrol ships could arrive tomorrow.”

  “Still, I don’t think—”

  “Fine,” I said, snatching up my rifle and loading a short-range explosive shell. “Jort, we’ll handle this ourselves. Let’s use the smaller stairway that goes up into command deck.”

  “It’s barricaded like the rest, sir.”

  “Of course it is—we’re going to blast that barricade down.”

  I walked away from Trask without saying more to him. Sosa and Rose followed along. They looked like they were going to piss themselves—especially Rose—but they followed.

  “You see that!” Sir Magnus boomed suddenly. “Even his women follow him to the death! We are shamed!”

  At that, I had to turn around. I knew enough about Sword World types to know that was a challenge. I hadn’t expected Magnus to do it, but apparently he couldn’t stomach the sight of weak outsiders showing more courage than his own brothers.

  Baron Trask’s face was wreathed in hate. He glowered at Magnus. “I accept your challenge, Sir Magnus. The better man will prevail.”

  The rest of the sword-brothers present backed away, giving the two men room. They formed a circle, shoving away furniture and cargo.

  “Uh…” Jort said, tapping me on the back, “aren’t we going to the other passage?”

  “Shut up,” I told him quietly. “Stand and watch. Do nothing. Try not to gasp, even. The more stoically you view this ritual the higher your status will be afterwards.”

  Jort didn’t seem to quite get what I was saying, but he followed orders. He shut up and stood still, leaning on his rifle. Sosa stood firmly, but Rose was squinching her eyes a bit.

  Baron Trask noticed I had turned to watch, and his eyes narrowed to slits as he regarded me for a second. He gave me a tiny nod.

  Did that mean he thought I had engineered this challenge? That I’d somehow put this idea into Magnus’ thick brain and breathed life into an overthrow attempt?

  If he did think that way, there was nothing to be done about it now. At this point, honor must be satisfied.

  Magnus looked slightly worried, but he didn’t back down. Perhaps he was regretting his choices—but what was done was done.

  The two men shed their armor to their waists. Bare-handed, they circled one another. Magnus was the first to rush in, attempting to close with the smaller man. I guessed he meant to grapple and maybe crush the life out of the baron.

  Trask was too cunning for that. He swept up a chunk of insulation and twisted metal, throwing it into Magnus’ face. The larger man smacked this down, cutting his palm. Blood splattered the dusty deck and the crowd, who took no notice.

  Shouts from a hundred throats came up. The men watching were enraptured. They rarely saw duels between their top lords. It was a treat for them, and no one could tear their eyes away.

  “If we want to escape this rabble, now would be a good time,” Sosa said, coming to stand at my elbow.

  “You want to run?” Jort asked. “Why would we run now? This is a great show.”

  “Shut up, both of you. We’re not going anywhere.”

  Sosa looked sour, Jort looked baffled, and Rose looked scared.

  I knew why Sosa wanted to run. If the baron won, he might turn his wrath upon us. Really, it was the wisest move—but I didn’t want to leave here with Kersen still breathing. He would never stop hounding us after this direct attempt on his life.

  There was an old proverb to the effect that if you took a shot at the king, you’d better be damned sure you killed him. Otherwise, your future was bleak. At this point, I’d taken a shot at Kersen and now Baron Trask, at least in the baron’s mind. My position was therefore quite risky.

  The two men exchanged blows, but nothing definite landed. Then they circled again, but a bit of debris from the ruined lobby caused the baron to stumble.

  It was only a small misstep, but Magnus rushed in instantly. He managed to clasp his huge arms around the baron, and he began to squeeze. I thought I heard ribs crackle—or could that be vertebrae?

  Trask was desperate. He panted and struggled. He slashed and tore at Magnus, even ripping at his ear with his teeth. Blood flowed, and both men howled, but Magnus wouldn’t let go. The two men fell to the ground, they rolled once, then twice.

  Suddenly, Magnus stiffened and lurched away. He stood, swaying. He reached back and plucked a dagger out of his kidney. It was a silver blade, and it ran with both thick blood and other fluids. The tip was hollow, and it bubbled with some kind of injectable.

  Magnus made gasping sounds, but he didn’t fall. He just stood there, swaying on his feet, sides heaving.

  Baron Trask stood and made a flippant gesture toward him. “You have rolled over your own blade, Magnus,” he said loudly. “I have warned you many times about carrying such a dastardly weapon.”

  Magnus’ mouth fell open, but he said nothing. Maybe he couldn’t speak. Perhaps that was it—the poison was a paralyzing agent.

  Suddenly, with a jerking twist of his wrist, Magnus threw the dagger toward Trask.

  The baron danced away in a desperate effort to evade the weapon. It clattered against the wall, leaving a colored streak there.

  Then, Magnus pitched forward on his face. He was stone dead, and the duel was over.

  Baron Trask eyed the crewmen that circled. No one cheered. They were, in fact, muttering darkly.

  Showing his teeth, Trask stood tall. “Mercenaries! Knights, sergeants and all! We have taken this man’s payment.” Here, he pointed at me. “And therefore, we must honor our contract with him. Astrid, lead the charge. Take down that wall, and end this siege with Kersen!”

  They looked at one another, and they looked at the fallen form of Magnus. No one looked happy. I sensed that the moment could turn dark in a dozen different ways.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Astrid, a knight in Baron Trask’s service, wasn’t anything like Magnus. She was more like Trask himself. She wasn’t the largest nor the strongest in her regiment—
but she was definitely the most cunning.

  “Squires, sergeants,” she ordered, “organize the men into squads. Get out the shock-cannons and set them up. We’ll blow a hole into that barricade and soften them up first.”

  Baron Trask looked annoyed. He had clearly wanted a dramatic charge. Astrid didn’t look at him. She’d made her play, obeying Trask’s orders but doing it on her own terms. As Trask had just murdered Magnus, he didn’t have many cards left to play, so he let it go.

  Astrid was a smart woman. She didn’t assault Kersen’s walls like a berserker. Magnus might have done that, depending on his men’s weight and ferocity to carry the day. Instead, Astrid operated in a much more methodical manner.

  With a sudden thought, I realized her regiment had been the one stuck on the lift in the umbilical. She’d assaulted the ground station and taken it, but halted right there. Only when Magnus and my crew had taken engineering, and Baron Trask had invaded the station, did she come up to join the party.

  Had that delay been purely technical, or had Astrid decided to wait? Now I wasn’t sure. She’d remained down there for a long time, not committing until Trask had committed himself. They’d both really left the entire dangerous part of the mission to Magnus.

  Perhaps that was the way the lords of the Sword Worlds operated. After all, if you always charged into battle, it was much more likely you’d be killed at some point.

  Jort was my worst problem as we watched the sword-brothers work at breaking the siege. He couldn’t get over Magnus’ death.

  “That was wrong, Captain. Are we going to stand for this?”

  “What would you have me do, Jort?”

  “Challenge Trask yourself! The men from Magnus’ regiment are surly and rebellious. Just look at them! They’d follow your lead.”

  I shook my head. “Look at Trask’s personal regiment. No losses, no wounded, not even any haggard looks on their faces. We’d be outnumbered and Astrid would probably support Trask. No, this is for them to handle. We’ve just hired them—we aren’t sword-brothers.”

  Jort continued to glower and mutter. I couldn’t blame him, but I couldn’t condone rash action right now, either. Perhaps if I had a thousand loyal guns behind me it would be different—but I had a crew of four.