Gun Runner

by Larry Correia

  Fain thought not. He turned to one of the men in the command center. “Get a patrol ready. Full gear. Gate seventeen. We have something we need to investigate.”

  Chapter 24

  Jackson was taken back to the mountain base, deconned, searched, and sent to the medics. He cringed when they gave him a cursory med scan, knowing they were going to find or accidentally set off the nano implant, but they didn’t act like they found anything. Surely, a proper scan of his spine would have set the thing off. Or was the spine-melt story all a big lie?

  He immediately discarded that idea. Big Fox did not seem like the type to take chances on her security with a bluff.

  When the medics finished, Jackson asked where the rest of his mates were. The rangers told him that Tui and the others had been sent back to Big Town. They’d wanted to search for him, but Warlord—who had been certain that Jackson was dead—hadn’t wanted any more of his guests to perish needlessly. Jackson asked to make a call up to the Tar Heel. The rangers were polite enough, but they also wouldn’t let him call until their superior signed off.

  Said superior came down to the medic bay. It was the head security guy from Warlord’s palace. What was his name?

  “I didn’t expect to see you again, Mr. Rook.”

  “Sam Fain, right?” Jackson stood as Warlord’s righthand man entered the med bay.

  Fain looked like a tough guy, but still fairly normal. Only Tui had warned them, this guy was at least as combat modded out as he was, if not more.

  “Leave us,” Fain said to the medics.

  They all seemed very happy to do as they were told. On the way out, the last one suddenly squished himself against the wall in a fearful manner. As if to avoid something coming down the hall. That something appeared in the doorway a moment later. It was some kind of dog analog Swindle nightmare. Maybe four feet tall at the shoulder, thin, almost skeletal. It had two eyes on each side of its head and a long muzzle full of teeth. There were also what looked like feelers all along its mouth.

  The hair on the back of Jackson’s neck rose as the thing trotted into the room.

  Fain waited for the frightened medic to scurry away, then turned back to Jackson. “I hear you had a little campout.”

  “Communing with nature. I figured after almost being eaten alive by kinsella and caliban, the perfect thing would be a relaxing stroll through the woods…” But Jackson just couldn’t take his eyes off the death dog. “What the hell is that thing supposed to be?”

  Fain looked over at his animal companion. “Oh, that’s just my grendel. Think of him like a loyal hunting dog. Pay him no mind.”

  Easier said than done. The terrifying beast looked at Jackson, curious…and possibly hungry.

  “So what’s his name? Fido?”

  “He’s intelligent. You don’t want to offend him.”

  “Right,” Jackson said.

  Fain picked up the medic’s pad and scanned the findings. “Three days with only a Wakal and a waterjohn. I’m impressed.”

  Fain was good, but Jackson knew this was yet another interrogation. “I’m an impressive guy,” Jackson said. “You wouldn’t by any chance have more toxin pads? I climbed a tree to get my bearings and was attacked by a mob of little black devils. Their bites have just about driven me nuts.”

  “Wollards?” he asked.

  “What?” Jackson said, feigning ignorance of the word.

  “About this big.” Fain spread his thumb and trigger finger wide. “Nasty fangs.”

  “That sounds about right.”

  “Yep, wollards. They’re mean, but they’re actually digestible if you remove their poison gland, then boil the hell out of them, then dry them in the sun, then boil them again. Minimally nutritious, but they still taste like rancid garbage though. Chicken of the trees, you might say.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind for next time. So—any extra pads?”

  “The medics didn’t give you some?”

  “They did, but the bites are still itching like crazy.”

  Fain shook his head in amazement and walked over to a cabinet. “What’s crazy is you survived so long, not even knowing the basics like wollards, or being familiar with this place at all…I’m sorry my men shot at you.”

  “Well, it’s not like I had an appointment for tea,” Jackson said.

  Fain opened the cabinet and pulled out a wrapped package. “You can’t live on Swindle without toxin pads.” He tossed them to Jackson. “You don’t want those bites to fester, believe me.”

  Jackson caught the package of pads, and the sudden movement made the grendel make a low, clicking noise, that was probably its version of a growl. Jackson slowly unwrapped it, peeled the back, and stuck another pad on his chest.

  “I don’t believe your boss gave you much of an introduction,” Jackson said.

  “I’m the chief of security for all his operations. Worked for the Russian Syndicate for a while before Warlord made me an offer to move to beautiful Big Town. Now I make sure everything here goes according to plan. No biggie.”

  The Syndicate was known for its ruthless, no-nonsense methods. The only reason Fain would tell him that was to make a point. The death dog walked close to Jackson and sniffed.

  This thing was obviously dangerous as hell, but Jackson tried not to show any fear. “So the rumors are true. Swindle does have werewolves.” He noticed the creature had a big collar on it with some metal and thin electronics attached. Controls maybe. Or something else.

  Fain grinned. “I’m beginning to like you, Rook. Grendel likes you too.”

  “Oh, good,” Jackson said. “At last something here isn’t trying to eat me.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  The hell hound finished sniffing and looked up at Fain. And Jackson swore some communication passed between them. Then the creature sniffed the spot where he had been sitting on the examination table.

  “You must be exhausted,” Fain said. “Please, sit. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving, but one of the rangers gave me a ration bar already.”

  “Good, good. You don’t want to eat too much all of a sudden after a long fast. Let’s have a look at those bites.”

  The bites were red with squiggly black lines running out from the center. A few were as big around as a golf ball, with the black lines extending inches beyond.

  “Hoo. Another twelve hours out there, and I think you would have been toast. We’ve come up with a salve for those, should make life bearable.” Fain got a blue jar out of a different cupboard. “How about you tell me exactly what happened while I help you with those?”

  Fain was acting kind, but somehow that made him even more threatening. So Jackson told his fake tale, and Fain asked all sorts of questions as he went along, shaking his head in amazement like he believed every word. Except Jackson didn’t trust any of it.

  “Did you see anyone out there?”

  Jackson had thought about this question, and he’d figured half-truths were better than outright lies. “I thought I did once on the second day. But it was far away and obscured by mist, and I couldn’t tell if it was a man or some Swindle blessing looking for food, so I kept quiet. I never saw it again.”

  Fain nodded. “You’re very lucky. Our sentinels only picked you up the last klick or so.”

  “And yet your guards still shot at me.”

  “Of course. What would you think when the suit of someone reported killed in a skirmish shows up on the network?”

  Jackson saw his point. “On this peaceful planet? I’d figure the enemy had stolen it.”

  “You can’t hold it against them.”

  “Nope,” Jackson said. “I guess I should be grateful. They wanted to detain me for the pinkers to play with instead of shooting me outright.”

  “Tell me again what happened today. Retrace your steps for me from the moment you came out on the road. It’s concerning that we only picked you up so late. We’re going to need to improve our security.”

  He said
it innocently enough, but Jackson’s friendly little alert system went off in his mind. One of the best ways to spot a lie was to have the suspect tell you the story forward with as much detail as possible. And then have them repeat it backward. It’s hard to remember all the details of a long lie. Hard to keep everything in the right sequence.

  But Jackson didn’t hesitate. He began at the end and told the story backward. Perks of being a professional criminal. Fain listened and tended the wollard bites, nodding and asking innocent-seeming questions.

  When Jackson got to the part about crossing the stream over a downed tree, Fain said, “Tell me about this tree.”

  “I don’t know, I was trying to get across it.”

  “Uh-huh…” Fain pulled up an aerial picture of the area on the wall display. “Where was the tree?”

  “I have no idea. I was lost.”

  “Here’s a fallen tree.” A yellow circle appeared around one spot on the map. “Is that it?”

  Jackson shrugged. “No idea.”

  Fain said, “And you just scampered across?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Usually such trees are infested.”

  Jackson shrugged again.

  Fain motioned at the area Jackson was supposed to have passed through. “It’s a remarkable feat, getting through that. Did you know that waterjohn wasn’t assigned to anyone at the skirmish?”

  “Well, assigned or not, it was there.”

  “Can you remember who you pulled it off of?”

  “I was just trying to put some distance between me and the caliban. I didn’t study the body.”

  “Male or female?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Do you remember the exo?”

  “I can’t remember if the body had one.”

  “Think back.”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “We have traitors in our midst. You can’t be too careful. Details like this can sometimes crack open an investigation.”

  Jackson was sure they could. “Sorry. Wish I knew. I’d just gotten clobbered.”

  Fain gave him a fake laugh. “Yeah, it isn’t often someone gets to see one of the big ones that close up and live to tell the tale. How are those pads working?”

  “Great,” Jackson said. “I can already feel the relief.”

  “Your orange wristband looks busted. Why don’t you give me that one, and I’ll get you a replacement?”

  Jackson held his wrist up. “Sure.”

  Fain removed it. He went to the storage area and came out with a new one. This one was black. “That one should get you the same Big Town access you had before.”

  Same access, Jackson thought, but probably far more intense surveillance.

  “So when is the next bus out of here?” Jackson asked. “I’d like to get back up in orbit before my ship leaves. I hope they’re still in port. Can I at least let my friends know I’m still alive?”

  Because if his people knew he was alive, it would become a lot more complicated for Fain to simply feed Jackson to his pooch. But after only a moment’s hesitation, Fain spoke aloud to be patched through to the orbital port. “Connect us to the Tar Heel.”

  They waited a moment, and then a familiar voice said, “This is Captain Nicholas Holloway. How can I help you, Swindle base?”

  Fain motioned at Jackson to speak.

  “So were you fixing on ditching me?”

  “Wha—? Jackson?”

  “You tell Tui and Katze I’m disappointed they didn’t come rescue me.”

  “You’re alive? He’s alive!”

  He must have been with others because a few excited exclamations came across the line. Then he heard Shade in the background. “Did I tell you? Always the drama with that one.”

  “Where the hell have you been, son?” the captain asked.

  “Playing poker with some caliban.”

  “Knowing you they probably cleaned you out. Where are you now?”

  “At one of their ground bases, with Fain.” Might as well add that in case Fain changed his mind and murdered him so at least they’d know who was responsible. “I’ll catch the next bus back. You’d better stick around.”

  “Well, that all depends on whether you got us any souvenirs on your vacation.”

  Jackson cringed inside. That statement could be taken many ways, especially if someone was suspicious you were in cahoots with the enemy. But Jackson just smiled.

  “Sadly, as much as I wanted to give this planet five stars, the gift shop was sorely lacking. But I got lots and lots of toxin pads. You’ll love ’em.”

  “We’ll get him back to you in one piece, Captain, you have my word. Fain out.” And then he killed the feed. “Alright, Mr. Rook. That’s about all we can do here. Get dressed and I’ll arrange your transport back to Big Town.”

  Jackson breathed a sigh of relief when the security chief and his pet left the med bay.

  Thirty minutes later, Fain and his demon pooch came back to escort Jackson to the big elevator to take him up to a waiting dropship. Only this time, Fain was fully kitted up, wearing a combat exo.

  “You guys going out on patrol?”

  “More of an investigation.”

  Then they rode to the top in silence.

  To the west fierce clouds were gathering. A huge front of purple and dark gray that flashed every so often with lightning.

  “Looks like a storm is coming.”

  “There’s always a storm brewing on Swindle, Mr. Rook,” Fain said. “Enjoy your trip.”

  * * *

  At the edges of the site of the skirmish, the grendel snuffled along the ground following Rook’s scent trail. Fain followed his grendel. Around them, Fain’s squad of soldiers and flying bots made sure the area was as secure as you could make it down on the surface.

  They were scanning for spoor. Any sign that Rook had not been alone.

  The wind picked up. Fain looked at his weather map and saw they had ten minutes before the storm arrived. He cursed. He’d thought they’d have more time, but Swindle liked to surprise you.

  Fain sent a shock of electricity into the beast via the transmitter in its collar, urging it to go faster. The grendel shuddered and picked up its pace. A sudden gust rushed through the tops of the trees. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The air temperature dropped.

  “Faster.” He sent more painful shocks. “We’re going to lose it in the rain.”

  The grendel hissed and accelerated into a lope so fast that Fain had to use the exo’s full power to keep up. The flying bots kept pace, but they were having to fight to keep their relative position in the increasing wind.

  Suddenly the grendel stopped, turned back, then began snuffling around.

  Fain brought himself to a halt, breathing hard from the run. “What is it?” he asked, looking down at the ground.

  The grendel continued sniffing, then stopped and click growled.

  Fain walked over and looked down. He wouldn’t have seen it in any other light. But there it was. Half a print. He squatted, looked at the pattern. Fain recognized it. It came from a certain type of exo that Kalteri supplied the Originals with.

  A few soft drops of rain fell on Fain’s visor as he rose and ordered his men to search for sign along the trail. They found the place under a bush where it was clear a man had lain. That matched Rook’s story. They found Rook’s prints leading away from that place but couldn’t find any of his tracks leading to it, not surprising considering how fast the plants grew here.

  The rain began to patter on the leaves. He urged his grendel forward, and it followed the scent trail. They found another partial print that belonged to the exo. But by now the rain was falling in earnest. The wind was swaying the tops of the trees.

  The prints of an Original up to a point. And from there Rook’s footprints took over. It really could only mean one thing.

  He called Warlord.

  “What did you find?”

  “Pretty much what I expected.”


  “You think he’s working for them?”

  “It’s probable,” Fain said. “Want me to confirm first, or kill him now to be safe?”

  Warlord thought it over for a moment. “We’ll watch him, for now.”

  Chapter 25

  Back on Big Town, Jackson stood in front of the scanner and braced for a sharp pain in his back and then a system shutdown as the Swindle love juice melted the nerves controlling his heart, lungs, and brain, but nothing happened. Instead, the technician did a brain read, checked the reactions of his pupils, and asked if Jackson had felt a fever recently.

  “No,” Jackson said.

  “It looks like you’ve had some mods upstairs,” the tech said, motioning at Jackson’s head.

  “A comm with some hardware.”

  The tech nodded. “Looks old. Definitely not new. Give you any problems?”

  “No,” Jackson lied.

  The tech nodded again like some bobble-head toy. “Well. Everything looks good.”

  Since Jackson was still beat up, fatigued, dehydrated, possibly concussed, and covered in wollard bites, that meant this hadn’t been a normal decon at all. They were checking to see if the Originals had planted a virus or wetware on him and turned him into a tool like Warlord used when he’d hung a bomb on that little girl. And Jackson supposed they had turned him into a tool. But they wouldn’t find the virus for that. And it appeared they weren’t going to find the nano implant either.

  “We done?”

  “We’re done.”

  And then he had another thought. Maybe the nano bomb in his back wasn’t really a bio bomb at all, but a different way to load slave controls into him? Was that why it was in his spine? Maybe they would crawl up his central nervous system and hook right into his implant? Surely, if the Warlord’s team could grow such controls, they could take them out. Should he tell them and risk it, hoping they could fix it? He shook his head. This place was such a cluster. Better to wait for Jane.

  “What?” the tech asked.

  “Nothing, just happy that I get to go back to my ship.”