Gun Runner

by Larry Correia

  “Roger that,” the captain replied. “We will resume departure.”

  Jackson held his breath because that “clear to proceed” business could simply be a ruse to keep them complacent while the Kolkata maneuvered in to get a clean shot on their bay doors. If those were disabled then they wouldn’t be able to pull a jackdaw, and they’d be caught red-handed. Jackson was a damned good mech pilot. Nothing phased him while driving, no matter how hairy it got, but he sure hated being a passenger. Remarkably enough, even though his livelihood and potentially his freedom were at stake, the captain wasn’t so much as sweating. The man was cool enough under pressure to impress a pilot.

  “Nivaa’s cutter’s breaking away, Captain,” said Alligood. “We’re clear.”

  “That was a bribe well spent, Shade.”

  “It should come out of Jackson’s share,” she said.

  “Hell no, it’s not. I’ll be damned if—”

  “Good thing that decision isn’t for either of you to make.” The captain shut that argument right down, even though afterwards their broker was still staring daggers at Jackson.

  As they engaged the secondary thrusters again, the ship began to move forward, slowly leaving the Kolkata behind. The minutes ticked by. Once Tar Heel reached the border of the port’s control area the captain initiated the command to turn the ship so its thrusters were pointed toward the dead zone, away from all the other traffic.

  “Engaging main engines and heading for the gate.”

  “Safe travels, Tar Heel,” the port controller told them.

  “Thank you,” Captain Holloway said. “Have yourself a wonderful day.”

  And then the ship began to accelerate.

  “Stand down, Mr. Hilker. We are good to go. There’s no need for you to vent my retirement savings into space.”

  The cargo master’s voice came over the intercom. “Cancelling jackdaw protocol.” And the entire ship breathed a sigh of relief.

  Jackson looked at Shade, who was floating there with a superior look on her face, and wondered once again how a fixer for one smuggling ship managed to have that much clout.

  Shade said, “Call me if Nivaasian Security decides to change its mind.” And then she ghosted off the bridge.

  The captain slowly ran both of his hands up and back over his bald head. “I think I might be getting too old for this.”

  Chapter 7

  Once they were underway, the captain told Jackson to join him. His office was just off the bridge.

  “Have a seat.” He clapped Jackson on the shoulder as he clomped past in his magnetic boots. “I think Shade was about ready to sell you off to the highest bidder.”

  “And you weren’t going to stop her?”

  “Nope.”

  “Thanks for all the love.”

  “Lots of love.” He chuckled. “This is a big ship full of love.”

  “Did Shade put something in your drink?”

  “She didn’t need to.” He touched a display on his desk. A woodland image appeared. “You see that?”

  “Trees and a pond.”

  “I own those trees. I own that pond. That’s actual, old-fashioned real estate.”

  “On Earth,” Jackson said.

  “Of course, Earth. There are deer on that property. Raccoons. There are fish in that pond. There are women in that town who are looking for a husband like me. Lot of lonely widows on Earth. When this job is done, I’m going home.”

  “You’ve decided for sure this time?”

  “I got the property. I got the permits. And once we sell that Citadel, I’ll have enough money to never have to work again. Hell, I might even get some treatments and set this body’s clock back a few decades.”

  “Got to look good for all those widows.”

  The captain sank into his chair and pulled out two small globes of amber liquid from a drawer on his desk. “Have a beer, Jackson.” He floated one over.

  Jackson caught it. “You’ll miss the fun.”

  “No,” the captain said and looked at his little spread. “I don’t believe I will.”

  Jackson didn’t blame him. The captain had got his start fighting a war on behalf of his home planet, and a bunch more for hire since, commanding everything from barges to gunships to cruisers. He had fought the good fight. But it made Jackson a bit melancholy thinking about him leaving. The captain had been like a father, the kind who goes into hell to save a son.

  “So Hilker told me about the sorry state of your air when he picked up that crate you were riding in…Except you never broke radio silence to call for help.”

  “They would have been watching closely by that point, and I didn’t want to endanger the whole crew if I got picked up.”

  “But if the cops had found you, they’d at least have oxygen.”

  Jackson shrugged. “I had plenty of time.”

  “Sure…Sure, you did.” The captain grinned, shook his head, then took a drink. “You know, of the many characters flaws you may possess, a lack of loyalty is not among them.”

  Jackson cracked open his beer and changed the subject. “You’ll get bored with that pond and all of those widows. I give you six weeks, and then you’ll be sending an interstellar, wanting to get back in the game.”

  “Not on your life.”

  “If you don’t call, then I’ll suspect it’s because the law finally caught up with you.”

  “Nah, that’s what the money’s for.”

  The two of them sat there and drank their beers in silence for a time, because it had been a really stressful day.

  “I tell you, Jackson, what we do is necessary…we both know that. But I’m getting worn out.”

  Understandable. It was tiring, having to stay one step ahead of the authorities and to do business with people you could never really trust. The things the captain had seen had given him a peculiar code, which he stuck to like the most devout stuck to their religion. He’d bought this ship to practice that religion. “You’ve been like a modern-day Robin Hood. Stealing from the rich to give to the poor.”

  “Only I steal weapons for embargoed worlds, and I don’t exactly give them away.”

  “Okay, I’ll admit the analogy needs work. But if my people had had a mech like that Citadel back on Gloss, things might have turned out a whole lot different for us,” Jackson mused.

  “Exactly. The powers that be said you weren’t allowed, no military grade hardware for the proles. That kind of dangerous firepower only belongs in the hands of the state. Monopoly of force, blah, blah, blah. Except when the law is two systems away and doesn’t give a crap about protecting you, the little guy gets stomped. Every. Single. Time.”

  “Gloss sure did…”

  The captain nodded.

  “To running guns,” Jackson said and raised his beer in salute. “You’ve done the Lord’s work, Cap.”

  He snorted. “When’s the last time you cared about what the Almighty wants?”

  “Eh,” Jackson shrugged. He’d been raised in a faithful community, but his faith had died along with most of his people. “Just phrasing it like you or Tui would, I suppose. The universe, God, karma, whatever you believe in, some things just aren’t right.”

  “Meaning it’s unfair for regular people to be disarmed just because some sheltered bureaucrat said they ought to be. I’ve armed the defenseless and helped the helpless.” The captain laughed. “And gotten well paid doing it.”

  Jackson knew that the mercenary schtick only went so far. Most of the crew was in it for the money, but the captain himself had a code. Once he could no longer abide seeing people get pushed around, he’d broken the law, and started supplying those people with the tools needed to push back. Jackson had a code too, though his was a little more pragmatic. Growing up in a refugee camp would do that to you.

  “Serious talk time though, Jackson. You’ve been a valuable part of this crew for a few years now, but you need to think about your future. You’ve got valuable skills. You’re a smart guy, you could g
o far. Maybe even get your own ship someday or pick a colony and settle down. Right now, you need to think hard about what you’re going to do when I’m gone.”

  “That depends. Are you selling the Tar Heel to Shade? And if so, is she going to make Javi captain?”

  Javier Castillo was their XO. He was a very competent spacer, but also a stern, deadpan, nearly antisocial man with the emotionally stunted personality of a synth. He and Jackson weren’t exactly besties. The XO had some real problems with things Jackson had done in the past. Things which the captain understood and overlooked, but which Castillo made no secret he would not. A few times he had referred to Jackson as the captain’s “rehab project.”

  “I know you’ve got issues with Castillo, but he’d take good care of this crew. Shade’s Shade. She’s got the capital and her business needs experienced runners.”

  “She’s already made you an offer, hasn’t she?”

  The captain took a sip of his beer. “Yep. I’m considering it.”

  “There’s no way you would’ve let Shade hand me over to the cops.”

  “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, son.”

  “Six weeks,” Jackson said, “and you’ll start feeling your old age and decide retirement’s overrated.”

  “Well, I ain’t there yet. So why don’t you get back to work and let me continue my slow descent into decrepitude and senility in peace.”

  “I was heading down to the tech dungeon anyway to thank Jane for saving my bacon.” Jackson got up and headed for the door.

  “There’s an old Earth saying, Jackson, that you shouldn’t fish off the company dock. Although I don’t think you can call it fishing if there’s a zero percent chance the fish will take the bait.”

  “It’s not like that. Jane’s just one of the few people who appreciate the sacrifices I make for this crew of ingrates.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s purely platonic.”

  “Well, good. Here I was thinking there’s something like ninety billion women out there, but you had to be sweet on my chief specter, who you also just happen to have insurmountable baggage with.”

  By that he meant that Jane had seen him at his worst, since she’d literally poked around inside his brain and then put him back together again. But that couldn’t be that insurmountable. “Is this the part where you get out the employee handbook and lecture me on the dangers of crew fraternization?”

  The captain gestured around his office. “Does this look like the sort of outfit that has a handbook? Carry on, Mr. Rook.”

  * * *

  Some time ago someone on the crew had spray-painted Specter’s Domain and a stencil of a cutesy cartoon skull and crossbones on the wall next to the door to the tech department. Jackson pulled himself through the open door. Jane was there working, a schematic on one wall display, with the guts of a robot in her hands. Stowed neatly against one wall were about half-a-dozen other bots of various sizes. They were Fifi’s companions. There was Dora, Squeak, Waterboy, Sam, Chachi, and a number of others.

  All of them killers in their own right, capable of autonomous actions. But when they were linked to Jane, they became a coordinated cloud of death-dealing monstrosities. Which made it unnerving that she’d designed them all to be cute.

  “Hey, how’s our demigoddess doing?”

  Jane turned to look at him. “Jacky!” She was the only person on the ship who routinely called him that. And she got away with it because Jackson thought she was hot. Today her hair was in pigtails, which were turned up in the zero G. She had blue lipstick, blue eyes, and a little blue heart on her cheek.

  Though she had joined the crew a year before he had, she was about his age, or maybe a year or two older. Not that Jackson knew that for sure, since Jane’s background was as mysterious as Shade’s. The captain seemed to enjoy collecting people who liked to pretend their pasts never happened. Like they were one big crew of blank slates with bad memories. Jane never said where she was from, nor dropped any hints, but it was obvious that it had been one of the more advanced worlds and she’d been the recipient of a top-tier technical education there.

  She smiled at him, her teeth a luscious row of white.

  “How’s your leg? Still bothering you from that hornet?”

  “Nah,” he lied. Those nasty things hurt. But Jane probably knew that. She knew more about bot-related tech than anyone he’d ever met.

  She nodded. “And how’s my little girl?”

  Jackson fished in his pocket and brought out Fifi. “Spectacular.” He held his palm up, allowing Fifi to spring over to Jane.

  “You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” she said in a cuddly voice.

  Fifi said nothing.

  Jackson said, “I got something for you on the surface.”

  “Oh?” Her brows knit in question.

  He lifted the bag of sausage.

  “What is that?”

  “A bit of Nivaasian heaven.”

  He unwrapped it, but, to his disappointment, all his derring-do had mushed it. The top half suddenly broke off and fell out of the wrapping. He caught it before it floated away.

  “So that’s heaven, huh?”

  “Don’t let the sad appearance fool you. Warm it up, and you’ll thank me. It got irradiated in decon, but that’s not supposed to change the flavor.”

  She took it and sniffed, then crinkled her nose. “This doesn’t smell like the others.”

  “What others?”

  “Tui picked up a case of these at the port. He’s throwing a party in the mess tonight.”

  Jackson sighed as he looked at his cold, mushed sausage. It had been a good plan. A tremendous idea. Damn you, Jeet Prunkard.

  She sniffed again. “It smells a bit like Raj.”

  He took the sausage back and smelled it. And it had indeed picked up some of the funk-smell of his space suit. “I guess I should have wrapped it better.”

  “It’s the thought that counts.”

  “And I was thinking of the death goddess in the sky.”

  “That’s sweet.” And Jane was the kind of person that when she said that it wasn’t in the least bit patronizing. “You know who would still want that? Shoe Guy.”

  That was one of the crew assigned to her tech team. He had reddish hair, a hobo beard, and ate constantly. “I’ll put it in his dog bowl,” Jane said.

  “You do that, I’m going to finish fixing Ron.” Who was an adorable little robot teddy bear that could assassinate you with his chain-saw paws. She turned back to her workbench and he got the impression she was blowing him off.

  “Well, I just wanted to say thanks for the help down on the surface.”

  “All part of the job.”

  He never could get her. Jane was always nice, and often seemed as interested in flirting with him as he was with her, but then just when things were going well, it was like a switch got flipped and she’d get awkward. He was never quite sure if it was something he’d said just then, or something from the past that he had no control over. It was a little exasperating at times.

  “Okay then.” That woman had to have a crack in that armor somewhere. “Well, goodbye, Fifi.”

  “What do you say, girl?” Jane asked.

  Fifi suddenly sprang from her shoulder onto Jackson’s neck. There was a pinch, and he startled. That’s what you did when a little flying razor blade hit the spot with all the arteries. Then Fifi leapt right back.

  “What was that?”

  “A thank-you kiss.”

  Jane was looking at him, watching his reaction. As were all the other robots in the room. And he had to admit that weirded him out. He gave her a two-fingered wave and said, “Headed for the mess.” And then he pushed off and floated out into the corridor.

  Jane smiled after Jackson left. She really did like the guy. He was like a gooey chocolate dessert. So tempting, but indulging would only lead to regret. Of course, what could one nibble hurt?

  No, she stopped herself.

  No, she
reaffirmed.

  The block she’d installed wasn’t a perfect solution. It could fail. It didn’t matter if it had been years. And he should know that.

  If it failed, his old military command could take him over again. Or something worse on the net. And then the bloodlust would come upon him and Jackson would become their tool, just by flipping a switch.

  Should that occur, it was Jane’s job to execute the protocol that would end it. She held the key to shut him down if necessary.

  So she couldn’t get entangled with Jackson emotionally, no matter how enticing that path looked. Because if she gave into her feelings, it could cause her to hesitate when that dark moment arrived. And that could mean many other deaths. And a betrayal of her promise to Jackson.

  No, she thought. That piece of pie is not on your menu.

  And so Jane put it out of her mind and turned back to Ron the teddy bear to finish servicing his saw blades. And maybe give one of his ears a little pink flair.

  * * *

  Jackson put the riddle of Jane out of his mind. What he needed was food, and if Tui was giving out real, made-from-actual-animals Nivaasian sausage, he was going to enjoy one for a job well done…even if Shade refused to recognize it had actually been done well at all.

  He grabbed a catch rail and pushed off toward the mess hall. A few moments later, the captain’s voice came over the corridor intercom. “Starting spin.”

  Jackson oriented himself to what would soon be the floor. In front of him the corridor had a slight curve that gently rose until it disappeared upward in the distance. He engaged the magnetics in his shoes and started to walk. Soon enough the ring would be traveling a little over a hundred and sixty kilometers an hour. At that time, he could turn the magnets off. Until then, they would allow him to move and accelerate with the spin. By the time he made it to the mess hall he was feeling about half a G.

  Since the crew’s work schedule was broken into three eight-hour blocks, a third were at their posts, a third were asleep, and the rest were here for dinner. They were an eclectic bunch. When the captain had first bought this ship out of surplus a decade ago, he’d hired nothing but Earth Block Navy, like he had been. Over time many of those had moved on, quit, or gotten killed somehow, and their gradual replacements had come from wherever the Tar Heel had been working at the time. And since they ranged back and forth across most of known space, the captain had picked up crew from basically everywhere.