Gun Runner

by Larry Correia

  “Can you analyze it at all?” the captain asked.

  “I’m sure someone somewhere could, but I don’t have the equipment here. I could fab something, but that’ll take time.”

  “There’s nothing like this on the net?”

  “I already searched. This is something new.”

  “Hell. You’ve got to be kidding me.” The captain turned to Jackson. “Rook, I swear.”

  “It’s not like I sought it out, sir.”

  “Maybe Warlord has the high-end equipment you need,” Shade suggested. “If the Originals have used this tech against him before, he’s probably had a chance to study it, and maybe even come up with a counteragent.”

  “What?” Jackson couldn’t believe his ears. “You want me to come clean with our gracious host, and beg for his bounteous mercy? Fat chance.”

  “We go to Warlord,” Shade said more forcefully. “He’ll get it out. Then we can straighten this out and salvage our relationship.”

  “Maybe he has a way to save me, and maybe he doesn’t, but while you get underway filling his next shopping list, he’ll be exterminating every last original colonist. I can’t let him do that.”

  “You’re a fool,” Shade said.

  “Probably,” Jackson replied.

  “LaDue put a bomb in your spine. Does that not tell you something?”

  “What would you have done if you’d just found the guy who’d armed the man who’d been murdering your children?” Jackson asked.

  She had no reply to that.

  “What are our options, Jane?” the captain asked, sounding completely unrattled.

  “I can take this image, study it, and try to reverse engineer it. Nanites won’t have enough mass, but a small enough bot—I’m talking one tenth of a Fifi—might be stealthy enough to get close before it triggers and block the hammer before it falls, but we’re talking nanoseconds there for an object that’s a few microns across. It’s a gamble. Otherwise I can study these really low-quality scans and try to figure out the chemical counteragent, but that’s like doing a puzzle blindfolded. I’ll need time.”

  Jackson checked his counter. He’d been purposefully avoiding looking at it, because it just made him nervous. Doing so had enabled him to get some sleep on the dropship at least. “Is thirty-two hours going to be enough?”

  “That would really be pushing it. I’ll get started.” And without another word, Jane launched herself from the bridge. A woman on a mission. Her swarm of little bots followed her obediently.

  Jackson slowly pulled his shirt back on. He’d kind of gotten his hopes up that Jane would be able to pull off a miracle.

  The captain looked over his team, then ran his hand across his balding head. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. XO, Cargomaster, get engineering anything they need to get this ship mobile. Chief, break out the weapons locker.”

  “You expecting trouble?” Tui asked.

  “Always. Send word to everyone on shore leave to get home. I want them back, armed, and sober. It’s time to hunker down. The minute that engine’s fixed, we’re gone. Even if we have to blow their docking clamps to do it. Got it?”

  All of them responded, got it. Even Shade kept her mouth shut when the captain went into command mode.

  “Everybody out…Except you, Jackson.”

  The rest of them left the bridge. Shade alone gave him one last disapproving look before she floated out of the hatch. Jackson resisted giving her the bunny.

  Captain went over to his command chair and sagged into it. “I’m glad you’re back. I truly am. I thought you were a goner.”

  “Me too.”

  “Considering how complicated you just made the rest of our lives though, that monster might have done us a favor if he’d stepped on you. I got a pond. I got a house. I got women wanting to see me when I get there.”

  “I know,” Jackson said. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to endanger the ship or the crew.”

  “Then hunker down, let’s get out of missile range, and give Jane time to disarm that thing in your back. You know she’s smarter than whatever biohacker built that bomb.”

  “She probably is, but she’s not a miracle worker.” Jackson sighed. “It’s not just that though. I’m the one who got Warlord that Citadel. I know what someone like him can do with something like it. Those people down there, they’re doomed. And it’s my fault. This is my thing. I’d love your help. But I understand if you won’t. Shade said it: we’re not mercenaries. And I can’t expect you to be.”

  “Shade’s mostly worried about burning bridges with customers.”

  “I pull this off, you’ll get new ones.”

  “Who? The Originals? Do you actually think they’re going to survive that long?”

  “Not against two fifth gens, Cap. No. I don’t.”

  The captain was silent for a long time. Somehow, he looked as weary as Jackson felt. Out of nowhere, he said, “Gloss wasn’t your fault, you know.”

  “What? No. Of course not. That’s got nothing to do with this.”

  “Yeah, I kinda think it does. Different world, different people.”

  “Same crap, different day,” Jackson countered.

  “You know why I got into this game, Jackson? Too many times I watched some powerful organization like the ISF get on their high horse and declare someone like your people weren’t allowed to defend yourself from shanks like the Collective. I couldn’t stand by and let that happen anymore. I tried, Lord knows I tried. So I get your desire to feel like a hero again.”

  “That’s not it. I wasn’t a hero to begin with!”

  “You were to somebody. Same with me, at times. But I’m no fortune-teller. My crystal ball’s all fogged up. So I did the best I could with the knowledge I had at the time. This mess isn’t on you. It’s not your cross to bear. It’s on me. I’m the one who decided to sell to Big Town. It’s not the first time I’ve read a situation wrong, but I was sure hoping it would be my last.”

  “Then you’ll help me?”

  “Help you what? Die pointlessly? Of course not. I’m responsible for every life on this ship. I can’t afford to put my ego ahead of their safety. Warlord’s got a crap navy, but it’s still a navy, and at close quarters it doesn’t matter if a railgun is mounted on a battlecruiser or a tugboat. And in the meantime, we’re still tethered to an orbital filled with his troops. I’m seriously contemplating having Tui come in here, put you in cuffs, and stick you in the brig before you do something that endangers this whole ship.”

  “We don’t have a brig.”

  “Nautical figure of speech. It sounds more menacing than saying I’ll lock you in your room.”

  “If Jane can’t fix this thing in my back, then locking me up is a death sentence.”

  “Believe me, I know. This is the kind of lousy decisions captains have to make. Still think you want your own ship?”

  Jackson shrugged. “I’ve got to do this.”

  “You’re throwing your life down the chute.”

  Jackson nodded. Maybe. Or maybe he’d been living in limbo. Maybe all the years since Gloss he’d just been fooling himself and hadn’t really been living at all.

  “Listen to me, Jackson. I’m telling this to you, not as your boss, but as your mentor and friend. You can play LaDue’s game, do everything she asks, and hope she gives you the cure, but as soon as you go from being an asset to a liability on her balance sheet, you’re dead. You honestly believe that you can demonstrate you’ve had a change of heart, that you’re really a man of honor, and your code’s not just words, but it won’t matter to her. In her mind, you’ve wronged her, and once she’s wrung the usefulness out of you, she’ll kill you just to be safe. Don’t kill yourself because of some futile, noble gesture.”

  “I appreciate it, Cap. I really do. Everything you’ve done for me. You saved my life, took me in when no one else would. I owe you. I’ll always owe you. Because of that I won’t endanger this ship. So if Castillo says he can get the Tar Heel fixed i
n a few hours, then he will. He’s got the personality of a brick but he’s as reliable as the sunrise. You guys bail. Leave me here. You have my word that I’ll wait until you’re well on your way to the gate before I do anything really stupid.”

  “Are you tendering your resignation then, Mr. Rook?”

  Jackson took a deep breath. He supposed he was. That hurt more than the wollard bites. A lot more. This ship was his home. This crew, his family. “Well, I—”

  The captain held up one hand to stop him. “Before you dig that hole you’re standing in any deeper, I just got a message.” His eyes flickered back and forth as he read. “It appears our gracious host was so overjoyed to hear of your safe return that he has requested our presence at a celebratory dinner party at the governor’s mansion. He’s already dispatched an escort to pick us up.”

  “Shanks. You think he suspects?”

  “Maybe. But it would look real suspicious if we don’t go.”

  This could be nothing, but it might be something. Even with all this talk about getting back to the primal, Warlord was politically cunning and a first-rate manipulator. Fain seemed like the sort to gnaw on a problem like a dog with a bone. If they’d found clues as to what had happened on the surface…

  The captain was obviously thinking the same thing. “Well, Jackson, let’s party.”

  Chapter 26

  Jackson went with the captain, Tui, and Katze to the dinner. He and the captain were mandatory. The other two were their chosen guests. Tui, because if things went sideways, he was the most dangerous man on their ship, and perhaps on this whole orbital, armed or unarmed. And Katze because Warlord had seemed to take a liking to her, and since she was no slouch herself in the augment department. If this turned out to be a trap, she might already be close enough to take the governor hostage long enough for them to make it back to the ship. Or at least that was the plan the captain made up and sent to them on the way.

  Though they’d tried to talk him out of it, Jackson knew one way or the other this would be his going-away party. It was going to be much easier to destroy the Citadel if he had free access to it. His goal was fairly simple—get Warlord to hire him on.

  Lotte had met them at the docks and escorted them into Big Town just as she had before. They’d traveled in silence. Or what seemed like silence to their guards, because they were silently eye-texting the entire time, making plans and contingency plans. Captain left most of that to Tui. Boots on the ground, the chief was the most experienced.

  Warlord met them at the entrance to the governor’s mansion. Except this time, instead of the usual military uniform, he was wearing a suit in the Amonite style. He held his arms wide, a wineglass already in one hand. “The man with nine lives has come to dinner. Come in. Come in!”

  If it was a trap, it was going to be a messy one, because there were a lot of other guests already there, and more arriving in their little electric cars. Jackson recognized none of these people. From their clothing and demeanor these were the upper crust of Big Town society. From the decorations, lighting, and live music, this event hadn’t just been thrown together. More like it had already been scheduled, and Warlord had just decided to make it about Jackson out of convenience.

  “How are your wollard bites?”

  “Feeling better,” Jackson said.

  “They’re nasty buggers.” Warlord laughed, flashing him a perfect smile. “We should send you back up a tree with a zapper to get your revenge.”

  Jackson didn’t want to go anywhere near a swarm of those things ever again. “A zapper? How about lots of high-grade explosives?”

  “See, I knew I liked you.” Warlord clapped him on the back, all friendly style. Again Jackson tensed, wondering just how many blows the sack of spine melt could take before it ruptured.

  The other guests were studying the four of them. They had worn their finest, but they were spacers, so of course their clothing didn’t match the local customs. Outsiders were always a curious oddity.

  Warlord turned to Katze. “And how is the tigress?”

  “Looking forward to dinner.”

  “Well, then it’s good you’ve come. We have mushrooms that are to die for. Succulent green beans. And chicken.”

  “Chicken?” the captain asked. “Your private stock?”

  “A luxury item, yes. There is one breed that excels in the low gravity of our farms. We distribute them by lottery. The citizens love it. It’s a great thing to receive a chicken. A time for celebration.”

  How easily people were bought off, Jackson thought.

  “Well, we’re honored,” the captain said. “Thank you for inviting us.”

  Warlord was still smiling, but Jackson wondered just what he knew. Their host offered Katze his arm, she took it, and then led them inside the grounds. He immediately began introducing them to the other guests. There were a couple of department heads, a scientist, a singer, so on and so forth.

  Jackson noticed Sam Fain was there as well, but he wasn’t eating or socializing. He was leaning against the garden wall, smoking what appeared to be old-fashioned Earth tobacco. There was no sign of his hell hound. It probably wasn’t welcome in polite society. Though if Jackson had to bet, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was hiding in the shadows somewhere nearby, waiting its master’s command. When Fain saw them, he tossed down his cigarette, ground it out in the grass, and walked over.

  “How are those bites?” Fain asked.

  “They’ve stopped burning.”

  “Jackson here is going back up with explosives,” Warlord said. “But we’re leaving our other guests behind. They’re about to serve the first course. As we eat you can regale us all with your tale of survival on the surface, Mr. Rook. Or should I say Sergeant Jack?”

  A small alarm went off in Jackson’s brain. Was that from Warlord’s own research, or did Warlord have spies in LaDue’s organization? He forced himself to smile. “Just Jackson is just fine.”

  There was a dining area on the top floor of the mansion, which granted an impressive view of Big Town in every direction, including up. The fake sun had gone off for the night, so it was as if they were in a giant tube of continuous city lights. The crew was guided to the governor’s table, the place of honor.

  The first dish was the mushrooms in a fine sauce. They were succulent and delicious, but sadly not enough to distract Warlord from pressuring Jackson to speak. The Big Town elite were all curious. Though they lived here, from the look of them he doubted that very many of these people had ever been down to the surface recently, if ever. So he told them his tale. He was actually a pretty good storyteller. The other guests laughed at the parts where he wanted them to laugh and shook their heads in wonder and appreciation when he narrated the dangerous parts. Kaiju, caliban, wollards, pinkers, and other nasty things he’d never even gotten the names for. They all looked toward Warlord when Jackson finished with the part about the rangers mistaking him for an Original.

  “Don’t worry. He’s clean. We scanned him. If one of my guests suddenly exploded, this would be the worst party of the year.” Warlord laughed. So they all laughed too.

  “You’re very lucky,” the head of Big Town’s agriculture department said. She was a striking, fair-skinned woman with black hair.

  “It wasn’t luck,” Warlord proclaimed. “It’s grit. And training. And a cocksure attitude that all mech pilots must have in order to do what we do. Isn’t that right, Sergeant Jack?”

  Again with that name.

  A few of the guests titled their heads, curious.

  Jackson said, “I tend to think it’s my winning personality.”

  That drew a few grins.

  “Our guest is too humble. He was a fighter in the Gloss Wars. An all-around terror. A legend. A man who knows not just how to survive, but to win in the most dangerous situations.”

  “That he was,” the captain agreed. He was sitting across from Jackson and sent the message. “He’s found your records. Tread carefully.”

 
“The Gloss Wars?” the dark-haired agriculturist said. “I heard those were horrible.”

  “Even worse than our gang wars and food riots?” asked the singer.

  “Far worse,” said Warlord. “Millions were killed. The entire planet collapsed into barbarity and chaos.”

  “I guess it’s just a matter of perspective. It was all we knew.” Jackson shrugged. “I was drafted in as a young boy.”

  “A bad loss,” the woman said, referring to the war.

  “Yeah. We lost.” Such superficial words couldn’t even begin to capture what had happened there. But Jackson smiled, then turned the conversation back to her, asking, “Tell me more about your job here. It can’t be easy.”

  She was an able talker, and Jackson found he didn’t have to do much to keep the table conversation about her and the trials and successes she’d had growing food in space.

  The beans came next, then faux almonds in a honey glaze, and finally the chicken, which had been roasted and spiced to perfection. They then topped it all off with their choice of a sweet or cheese. Jackson opted for the cheese. It was soft with a thin crust that had a slightly nutty flavor.

  “I would like to make a toast,” Warlord said suddenly as he swept up his glass and stood. “To the crew of the Tar Heel, who have aided us in our time of need, provided us with the tools and technology we need to ensure the continued freedom and prosperity of Big Town. Rare is the moral courage to stand against the flagrant tyranny of the ISF.”

  “To the Tar Heel,” echoed the guests as they raised their glasses.

  That concluded their meal. As the guests began to move away from their tables to mingle, Jackson found himself over by one wall with the Warlord and the captain talking about some of the skulls mounted on the wall.

  “You understand now why I display these trophies. Swindle’s good for the soul. Don’t you think, Jackson?”