Gun Runner

by Larry Correia

  He stared back for a long moment, judging, and then smiled. “I believe you.”

  The guards visibly relaxed. So did Jackson, because he’d been ready to hurl Fifi at the third guy from the right and then follow her in.

  “I am glad we got that matter cleared up. The vast majority who come here are good, hardworking people searching for a better life. It’s the meddling governments and their agents who cause the problems.”

  “Amen,” the captain said.

  Another guard entered the room. “Sir, the inspection team says the inventory matches, and passes all their quality checks. We’re green.”

  “Splendid! I will let Djinn know. Holloway, if you would kindly contact your ship…docking permission is granted.”

  “I will do so.” The captain still sounded polite, but Jackson could tell he was angry about having his integrity questioned. They were a gang of thieves, but honest ones. Relatively.

  “And I will authorize the release of your payment. Another satisfying transaction! I think we should celebrate. Let us drink to freedom from the outside.”

  “I’m down,” said Bushey.

  “I don’t pay my folks for partying,” the captain said. “They get to do that on their off time.”

  “Work,” Warlord said. “Always the work.”

  “Work on staying alive,” the captain warned them silently.

  “He’s going to take offense,” Shade said.

  “Tough.”

  “Some peach brandy. It is delicious and distilled locally. I am rather proud of it.”

  “If he’s going to poison us, there are a hundred other ways to accomplish it. Just take the drink.” Even via text, Shade managed to convey her annoyance.

  “Sounds great.” The captain relented, most likely because he knew if the Warlord murdered them all and tried to commandeer the ship, he’d still have to deal with Jane. Good luck with that.

  “Franco,” Warlord summoned one of his guards. “Peach brandy with ice.”

  Franco prepared the glasses, then handed them out.

  The Warlord raised his glass for a toast. “To freedom.”

  “To freedom,” they repeated, then drank. Jackson had to admit that it was pretty damned good.

  They watched the Tar Heel maneuver into position on the displays. As soon as they received word from Jane that Djinn had released the funds, the captain gave them the go-ahead to dock and begin unloading.

  “Wonderful,” Warlord said as he sipped his drink and watched his new treasures arrive. He turned to Katze. “Is the tigress still raring to go to the surface? You don’t want to come all the way to Swindle and miss the surface.”

  She looked to the captain.

  “Say yes,” said Shade.

  “I don’t know,” the captain said. “It sounds dangerous.”

  “This is important. Do it.”

  Jackson was never quite clear exactly how the relationship worked between their captain and their broker. Shade wasn’t really part of the crew, and the vast majority of the time it was clearly the captain calling the shots, but in matters of business, he often deferred to her wisdom.

  “Thank you for the invite,” the captain said, “but I’ll need to supervise the unloading. If some of my crew want to take a little hunting trip for their R&R, I’ll allow it. Who wants to go?”

  There was no way Jackson was going to leave Katze alone with these people. “I’m in.”

  “I’ve heard the fauna is spectacular,” Tui said. “I have to see to believe.”

  Warlord looked at the others. “Ms. Thomas? Mr. Bushey?”

  “I’ll relax up here,” Shade said.

  “I’m by the pool,” Bushey said. “You know how long it’s been since I’ve been swimming?”

  “It looks suspicious if it’s the same three who got in trouble last night,” Shade sent.

  “But on second thought, I’d kick myself if I came all this way and didn’t check out the surface.” Bushey tried not to let his disappointment show. “I’d love to go…down to the nightmare hellscape filled with giant terrifying murder animals.” Then added silently, “I better be getting a bonus.”

  “Fantastic, my friends. Let us go to the docks, because I am eager to see my new treasures. Then you can gather your things, and we will take a dropship to the surface.”

  “Behave yourselves.”

  “Like angels, Captain,” said Katze.

  “If they get killed down there, Shade, it’s on your head.”

  Shade took a delicate sip of her brandy. “Keep the Warlord in a good mood. We want him loose and happy when we take his order for the next deal.”

  * * *

  Shade put the receiver to her temple. The connection here, for obvious reasons, was much quicker. There were so many secret assets in this system it was ridiculous. Everyone wanted a piece of Swindle.

  “The deal is finalized,” Shade said.

  There was the obligatory delay.

  “Well done,” Norman Johnson said. “You will be recognized.”

  “I don’t want recognition,” Shade said. “I want what we discussed.”

  “We’re working on that,” Johnson said. “Don’t get uppity.”

  Stiff me, Shade thought, and you’ll have more to worry about than an uppity agent.

  But to Johnson she said, “Please give the old man my regards.”

  * * *

  Jane sent another batch of piggies on their way. But she wondered if something wasn’t happening at the destination because none of her first piggies had reported back.

  Who do you really work for, Grandma?

  Chapter 15

  The team accompanied their host and his security detail to the cargo holding area in the arm of the port where all the containers they’d sold him were being offloaded. While the captain went to check on his ship, Shade to count their money, and Tui to grab their kit, Warlord perused the goods and started opening random crates. He picked up a warhead, put it down, went over and looked at the mango seeds. The man in charge of the Big Town docks reported that the inventory matched the order so far, and everything looked as good as promised.

  Warlord then walked over to the container that housed the Citadel, eager as a kid on Christmas. He opened the container, activated the skid, and slid it out. When he pulled off the wrap, his eyes lit up with delight. Jackson recognized that look. He’d worn it himself many times. Soon Warlord would link his mind directly with this badass piece of hardware to become an unstoppable god of war. Jackson had to bite back the sudden feeling of jealousy.

  “We need to set up administrative rights. I’m assuming that’s you?”

  “Yes,” Warlord answered. “I test every mech and determine if we can fabricate more here, or just keep it for my own personal use.”

  “Okay. The scanner is right here. Let’s get your credentials set up.”

  He then brought up the display to show what weapons and warbots the Citadel was currently outfitted with. The loadouts were modular and swappable, but Splendid Ventures had made some odd choices.

  Warlord gestured at one little cookbot and said, “That one’s going to die down on the surface. What did you include it for?”

  “Troops got to eat.” Bushey had followed them over to the Citadel. “That little guy will swallow Swindle and crap crème brûlée.”

  “Crème brûlée?” Warlord asked.

  “I swear I read it in a brochure somewhere,” Bushey said.

  “Do you ever go on multiple-day missions down there?” Jackson asked.

  “Sometimes. Usually we drop, harvest, and exfil, usually no more than twelve hours tops, because much longer than that the atmosphere starts eating through our seals. Though multiday scouting expeditions are sometimes necessary to find new groves.”

  “Well, for those days, that bot is a lot lighter than all the food and water you’d otherwise have to carry. It can purify water, and be taught to forage or scavenge for food, and then make it safe, if not palatable. Some things o
n Swindle are edible to humans, right?”

  “Our fundamental building blocks are not so different, though Swindle proceeded on a much different, and more aggressive evolutionary path. A handful of the animals are digestible to humans. It is a most unfair arrangement, since everything down there seems to find us a nice addition to their diet.”

  “Well, since the loadouts are modular, you can always swap out the space to carry more ammo.”

  “Crème brûlée or grenades,” Warlord mused. “I don’t know how I’ll ever make the decision.”

  “There’s training on how to integrate the Citadel into whatever system you have. Here in the orbital…” Jackson trailed off as he thought back to last night’s riot.

  “It could help with internal security.”

  “Well, it’s more a main battle implement than a peacekeeper—”

  “Ah, but Jackson, we both know the difference between the two is mere semantics. I suppose it could help our future guests avoid meeting confirmed killers in the bushes.”

  “Bush meetings,” Bushey said. “They’re just not civilized.”

  Warlord glanced over at him. “The funny man, eh.”

  “That’s what he thinks,” Jackson said, trying to draw his attention back to the goods. All of the Warlord’s biometrics had been scanned, and Jackson had set up a temp user account for him. “You’ll need to change the password the first time you drive it.” Jackson held out the Raycor medallion he’d stolen back on Nivaas. “And you’ll need to have this in your possession too. The Citadel is now at your command.”

  Warlord took the token. “Citadel, arise.”

  The powerful mech engaged its magnetics, rose silently, and stood on the floor, towering over them.

  Every worker on the docks turned to gawk at it, because it was truly an impressive sight, over five meters tall, sleek and gray. Like most mechs, it was bipedal, but only vaguely man-shaped. Each powerful limb was a bit too long, the body of the thing a bit too thin for its height, and there were bulbous weapons lockers mounted all over it. It looked like a skinny soldier weighed down with armor plates and pouches.

  Warlord used the tablet that came with it and swiped through the Citadel’s various battle configurations. He stopped on one. “Deploy security formation one.”

  A door popped open on the mech’s right leg. Three small scout bots flew out to take a position above Warlord’s head. They paused for a few moments as the Citadel made readings and calculated the dimensions of the space they were in. Then one of the sentinels went one way down the dock. The second went the other. The third remained where it was. Machine-gun barrels popped up out of the Citadel’s shoulders and rotated toward the crew.

  “They are all known friendlies,” Warlord said, “except that one.”

  The guns swiveled and pointed at Bushey.

  “So much for my standup routine,” he muttered.

  The tension stretched a little long, and then Warlord said, “This next joke had better be a good one.”

  Bushey swallowed hard. “What did they find in the toilet of the spaceship?”

  Jackson groaned inside. He’s dead.

  Big Town’s dictator waited for the punch line.

  “The captain’s log.”

  Warlord blinked, then grunted, then barked a laugh.

  “They clearly don’t get out much here,” Bushey said over Jane’s net.

  “He’s cleared,” Warlord said.

  The Citadel’s guns swiveled away.

  “Most impressive, Jackson.” Warlord swiped again. “Deploy security three.”

  Another door opened, and two larger bots flew out. Each one was basically a flying gun, housed in a body the size of a shoebox. Since the Citadel’s scouts had already scanned the entirety of the docks, the gunbots raced down the corridors to take up the best defensive position. In the distance, a crew of cargo workers in a hover cart approached, and one of the gunbots tailed them.

  Warlord smiled. “This one is going to be great fun.”

  “Do you want to take it down to the surface when we go?”

  “Oh, I’ve got special plans for this one. A lot of people are going to be in for a surprise.” He turned to the Citadel. “Shut down and stow.”

  The five sentinels came rushing back, landing themselves in the storage racks inside the Citadel’s legs. Then the housing doors closed, the shoulder guns retracted, and the Citadel squatted down and sat, its knees up, its butt on the floor, all nice and compact. However, even in this position, the top of its head was still two and a half meters high.

  Warlord motioned to one of his men as he unlocked the mech’s magnetics so they could move it. “Take it straight to my garage.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Katze and Tui were approaching and were each carrying a spare go bag of clothing and supplies for Jackson and Bushey.

  “A new day is coming. A new day,” Warlord said as he watched his latest acquisition being picked up by a hauler. He cocked his head as if receiving a message. “And it looks like we timed it perfectly. Our transport to the surface is ready.” He offered Katze his arm. “Would you do me the honor, my lady?”

  “Better take it,” Tui warned silently. “Shade doesn’t want us to offend him.”

  Katze smiled and slid her hand around his arm. “Ooh, he is surprisingly well-muscled,” she sent back.

  “Splendid. You’re all going to love this.” Warlord led her to the front seat of a waiting hover cart. The crew took the next rows. The security detail came behind.

  “Why does she get all the attention?” Bushey asked.

  “She is the pretty one.” Tui managed to sound sarcastic, even while typing with his retinas. “But I’m feeling a little left out. Hold me, Jacky, I think I might swoon.”

  Jackson just shook his head, because he was getting a bad feeling about this.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Jackson and the others were on a cramped and claustrophobic dropship heading for the surface.

  Swindle was up on the displays. Most of the planet was covered in green and white clouds. Here and there gaps showed the oceans and landmasses below.

  “It’s beautiful,” Katze said.

  “Yet unforgiving,” Warlord warned. “The air is breathable but caustic, you have about forty-five minutes before your lungs begin to bleed. Death comes soon after.”

  “A harsh mistress then.”

  “Indeed. It seems right up your alley.”

  Katze smiled mischievously.

  She was good, Jackson thought. Very good. Captain had hired her because of her face-shooting, door-kicking résumé, but it appeared she could play the honeypot when she put her mind to it.

  Warlord truly seemed to be enjoying her company, as he began to tell her the sad yet ultimately triumphant history of Swindle. It was as if he had rehearsed telling the story, the fraud the exploration company had perpetrated on them, the thug war, and now how much CX they harvested each year. It was a lot like the briefing Shade had given them on the way here, only with more dramatic flair, and of course, Warlord was the hero of the tale.

  That really set Jackson’s teeth on edge. He’d had myth grow up around him once, only he’d not done a thing to perpetuate it himself. It was more that people in dire circumstances really needed someone to believe in, and if no one was good enough, they’d exaggerate someone until they were.

  The hard part was when you inevitably let them all down.

  The dropship reached the deflection point and decelerated, entering the atmosphere smoothly. Wings deployed, and they were soon gliding, passing through the green and white clouds. A gap offered a brief view of the land below before closing again. They dropped lower and lower.

  “Why no engines?” Tui asked.

  “The sound riles up the big ones. I have teams of rangers down there checking on groves and hunting for new ones. I don’t want to cause them any trouble.”

  And so they glided in at a very high speed. The display showed a ridge
of bare, rocky peaks rising far above a dark forest. The pilot began to communicate with someone on the ground, as Jackson noticed something on the display—a landing strip in a tiny saddle between two high peaks.

  “That’s the base?” Jackson asked.

  “That’s the landing zone this week. It’s a challenge to actually keep anything in one piece here long enough to call it an actual base, but this one has lasted far longer than most. At nearly three thousand meters above sea level, it’s high enough altitude nothing too big climbs up here. Every once in a while, we’ll gets some screechers or other flying predators, but they’re easy enough to shoot out of the sky.”

  The shuttle juddered in a crosswind, but then they dropped below the ridges, and the turbulence lessened. Normally a dropship would just flare the engines hard and land vertically, but instead they descended to the runway, landed smoothly, and rolled for a few hundred meters. An electric pusher moved them into a hangar that had been partially dug into the side of the mountain. A boarding bridge extended from the side of the hangar and locked onto their craft.

  “Don your helmets. Make sure you’re covered.”

  Jackson had been issued a black full-body suit with boots, gloves, and all, but just in case, he’d worn Raj beneath. Not that he didn’t trust the loaner equipment, but as the captain liked to say, two is one, one is none. He pulled on a mask that enclosed the front of his face, and the heads-up display immediately showed the temperature and a number of other things, including a little green bar that signaled the air in here was good to breathe.

  “Respirator check.” Warlord went to each of his guests, making sure everything was on right. While he checked them, his bodyguards checked each other. “I used to do this with my teams in the old days. You won’t know you have a bad seal until it is too late, and you are either paying to vat-grow new lungs or suffering with the scar tissue for the rest of your brief and miserable life.”

  “Fantastic,” Jackson muttered as Warlord gave him a thumbs-up after confirming his helmet was on right. When their host wasn’t looking, Jackson checked it again himself because he didn’t trust the guy.

  Satisfied their equipment was working, Warlord gave the signal for the pilot to proceed. There was a small hiss of pressurized air as the door opened. Most of the security detail exited the shuttle first. When they were satisfied all was clear, they signaled for the rest to proceed.