Gun Runner

by Larry Correia

  Jackson figured now was the time to make his move. “You know, I haven’t felt quite that alive in some time. I kind of miss it.”

  “The danger?” Warlord took a sip of his wine. “Or the challenge?”

  “Both. There’s something to it down there. You do what you have to do, and there’s no time to worry about it. It reminded me of being back on Gloss in a way. There’s a sort of purity of action. You don’t really get that being a spacer.”

  “Well, we can rectify that,” Warlord said.

  “Oh?”

  “Trading isn’t the most exciting career,” Warlord agreed. “No offense intended, Captain Holloway.”

  “Oh, it’s plenty exciting the way we do it,” the captain said.

  The Warlord shrugged. “But maybe just a little too boring for our mech boy here.”

  “I’m not bored. But Swindle does hold some attraction. If the right opportunity came, who knows?”

  “Opportunity is it? Well, there’s plenty of opportunity for the right man. You saw what we have to deal with on the surface, threats from animal and man. You have a very valuable skill. Perhaps I should poach you?”

  He had two fifth gens, and as far as Jackson knew, only one person with the wiring to unlock their full potential. Jackson didn’t want to appear too eager, so he just glanced at the captain.

  “Really?” the captain asked. “Sorry, Governor, he was hit on the head while he was down on the surface.” But silently he sent, “You sure you want to go through with this?”

  “I’ve got to try, Cap.”

  “Do you have any other pilots?” Jackson asked. “Besides yourself, of course.”

  “I do not,” Warlord answered.

  “You’re a busy man. You have to delegate your harvesting protection details to regular mercs, but we both know a Citadel would just be wasted on them. You might as well send them down in an old T-Bolt for how effective they’ll be. Real pilots are expensive, but we’re a great return on investment. I know these systems. I can train your men, so even without implants, they’ll be a whole lot more efficient behind the controls. I can teach those in exos how to work with the mechs to maximize effectiveness. You can’t think of a mech as a solo platform, but as the basis for a combined arms unit.”

  Warlord seemed interested in the idea. “Yes, I’ve read up on you. You did this on Gloss. You upped their kills by twenty percent, while cutting your losses in half.”

  He had. It had been kind of awkward, having a kid teaching a bunch of grizzled combat vets, but mechs spoke to him. He got them in ways that regular people just couldn’t. Jackson turned to the captain. “Maybe it’s time we expand our operation beyond supplies. Start to include implementation and training.”

  “We’ve always stuck to the trading side of the business,” the captain said. “It’s cleaner that way. You want to branch out, you’re on your own.”

  Jackson looked back to Warlord. “Like I said. It would have to be the right opportunity.”

  “What would such a service cost?”

  “Plenty,” Jackson said. He needed in, but Warlord had just gotten done pontificating about how pilots were supposed to be so sure of themselves. Offering his skills at a bargain right now would look too suspicious.

  “I think this one is searching for more fulfillment,” Warlord said to the captain.

  “He’s an idiot. No offense, but this isn’t exactly what you’d call paradise.”

  “No.” Warlord shook his head. “Paradise is boring. Swindle’s in a whole different class.”

  “It would only be for six months, maybe a year, for me to get a full rotation of his troops up to speed.”

  “You’re a free man,” the captain said sourly. Then he sent, “Good luck, son.”

  “Well, Jackson, you know mechs, but more importantly, you know battle. I require stability in my ranks. How does a one-year contract sound? I will grant you the rank of lieutenant in the Big Town Guard and put you over mech training. Maybe you’ll even have a role in their deployment.”

  “Lieutenant Rook,” Jackson said, pretending to mull it over. “That has a good ring to it. But it’s going to cost two mil.”

  He scoffed at the price. “You are a pirate. Five hundred.”

  “You want dregs, you can get those anywhere. But I’m Sergeant Jack. Two mil.”

  “Fifteen hundred,” Warlord said.

  “Fifteen hundred,” Jackson agreed. “Half up front. Half on completion of contract.”

  “A third on signing, a third in six months, and a remainder on completion.”

  “Throw in a double harvester’s share for any CX gathered while I’m personally protecting them down on the surface, and you have a deal.”

  “You’d still wish to do such scut work yourself?”

  “Of course. That would be half the fun.”

  Warlord smiled. It even seemed genuine. “Let me check your references first. Captain Holloway?”

  “He’s making the worst mistake of his life. The young ones just won’t listen to their elders these days.” He gave Jackson a meaningful look. “But he is one of the best pilots I’ve ever seen, and it’s been an honor to serve with him. He would be welcome back on my crew anytime.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Splendid. You start tomorrow, Lieutenant Rook. Zero seven hundred.”

  Warlord nodded past him to where Sam Fain had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. The man moved like a ghost. “We’re going to need to get this one processed.”

  Fain smiled, and it somehow reminded Jackson of the hell hound. “Excellent. Welcome to the Big Town Guard.”

  * * *

  Jackson and the others left the governor’s mansion at a reasonable hour. They were once again offered complimentary rooms at the same hotel, but the captain made his apologies and said he needed to check the repairs being made on his ship. Jackson, however, accepted. He would be needing a place to stay until he was assigned one anyway. Lotte rode with them and dropped Jackson off at the square.

  The crew got out to get a little privacy as they said their goodbyes.

  “I think I’m going to walk around the town. Get a feel for the place.” Of course, that was said for the benefit of those listening to his wristband.

  The captain gave it one last try. “You breathed too much of that Swindle air. It’s fried your brain. You need to reconsider your choice.”

  What Jackson said aloud was “I’ll be able to identify Warlord’s needs. It will be like having a salesman in the inside. I’ll hook up with you guys on the next shipment.” Silently he sent “Shade screwed you over, Cap. She had to know what was really going down here.”

  “Possibly.” The captain nodded. If Shade had lied so he’d violate his code, there would be hell to pay. “I hope this works out for you.” But he gave Jackson a look that said both of them knew this was likely to go down in flames.

  Jackson held his hand out for a shake. The captain didn’t take it. “I hope you’ll come to your senses and be there in the morning when we ship out.”

  “Brother,” Tui said and gave Jackson a back-patting embrace.

  “Just stow my stuff. I’ll be back for it.” Jackson had his go bag, with Raj, and a few supplies, and that was it.

  Katze was frowning, looking concerned. She gave him a hug and said in a subdued voice, “Goodbye, Jackson.”

  “It’s only temporary.” But they all knew it probably wasn’t.

  And then the three of them left him on the curb and returned to the car. Jackson watched them go. Then he started walking. He looked up at the buildings directly above his head, then followed the curve of the wall to his left. He’d checked the map. Somewhere in those buildings over there was the Lucky Monk. The place where he was supposed to prove his trustworthiness by delivering the mech plans to LaDue’s organization.

  “Jane,” he said over her net. “I need the package.”

  Chapter 27

  Jane spoke in his ear. “You’re really going to do th
is, Jacky?”

  “I don’t think I have a choice.”

  “You do have a choice. Give me time. I’m working on that nasty LaDue planted in your back. I can fix this thing.”

  Jackson brought up Big Town’s map, identified the Lucky Monk and began walking in that direction.

  “I want to borrow Fifi. Will you lend her to me?”

  “She’s already hiding in your bag. I’d have sent more bots, but I couldn’t spare them.”

  “Fifi will be enough.”

  “You know you’re probably being followed,” Jane warned.

  He figured. And by wearing the mandatory wristband, it was like he was carrying an unshakable tail.

  “Solo ops don’t go well. You need me.”

  She wasn’t exaggerating. He still didn’t know how he was going to pull this off, but he’d promised not to risk the ship. He couldn’t try for the Citadel until the Tar Heel was out of range. Jackson crossed the street and turned a corner.

  “There’s got to be another way,” she said.

  “Okay, what’s your idea?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I haven’t got time for ‘I don’t knows,’ Jane.”

  There was silence.

  He thought about asking her why they’d never gone out, why she’d always shot down his advances, but it was too late for that now. Like the captain had said, they didn’t deal with tidy situations. It figured his personal life would be a lot like his professional one.

  He passed two men sucking on some mood sticks and blowing the vapors into the air. He nodded at them and walked past. They scowled. Big Town was as neighborly as ever. The suspicion and hostility were enough to make someone who’d grown up in refugee camps feel right at home.

  She said, “I’ve downloaded the Citadel’s plans to you. I found schematics of Warlord’s compound and mech hanger. I’ll download them to you as well.”

  “Thanks.” And he began the transfer to the second disc that had been slipped into his pocket.

  “Good luck,” she said.

  “When this is over, I’d like to take you out on a little adventure.”

  For once she didn’t immediately shoot him down. There was a long pause before she said, “What kind of adventure?”

  “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  There was another awkward pause.

  “Be safe, Jacky.”

  * * *

  The Lucky Monk was a tavern, located halfway around the curve of Big Town, about three kilometers from where Lotte had dropped him off. It was on the corner of a block. The double red doors were standing open, allowing light and the sound of conversation and music to spill out onto the darkened street.

  He’d decided the numbers on the back of the disc was a time. Had to be. Twenty-one fifteen. The time right now was twenty-one ten. He spent a moment looking around like a tourist, so his tail would think stopping here was a random decision, then entered the tavern, hoping his guess about the location and time of the drop was right.

  The place was moderately busy, with people at tables and along the bar. They were dressed in plain attire, some still in their work uniforms. It was a blue-collar establishment. It was decorated in an Icarus theme with pictures of competitors in various low-gravity places flying with all sorts of high-tech wings.

  Jackson took a table off to one side. On the wall next to him was a picture of a tall bruiser of a man with a big brown dog and another man in some kind of silky outfit. There was a menu on the table. He swiped through the display. There were a lot of drinks to choose from. Everything from synthetic beers to targeted mood mixes with the kinds of names you’d expect. Big Easy, Belly Shakes, The Violin, Carefree. Jackson wasn’t here to discover the experience of the Monk’s custom chemical hits, and so he tapped on something called Banana Yam, because it was described as a health tonic. He tapped it again to put in his order. As he did, a small message popped up where the description of the Banana Yam had been. It said, “Awaiting insight.”

  What type of insight could a menu want?

  Jackson looked closer. The interface on the pop up didn’t match the rest of the menu. It looked like a hack. The first message disappeared and was replaced with an aerial view of the Lucky Monk and the surrounding streets. A dot blinked at a location down a side street not far away. The image zoomed in on the blinking dot to show a waist-high wall around a small, well-groomed yard. At the corners of the wall and on either end of the gate were small, decorative Japanese pagoda lanterns. A little animation showed a hand inserting an object into the pagoda down one side of the wall that ran along an alley.

  Jackson tapped the display. The image disappeared and was replaced by the original description of the Banana Yam.

  A dead drop. The menu was a clever hack. And he wondered just how many Big Town systems LaDue was into.

  A few minutes later the waitress came by with his drink. She said, “This was a very good choice. One of my favorites.”

  “Will it grow hair on my chest?”

  She blinked, then looked at him a bit confused. “Why would it do that?”

  Clearly the joke didn’t work here. “Never mind. Who’s the lucky monk?”

  “Oh, well, do you see the man tending bar?”

  The bartender was a big man. A brute. Then Jackson realized he was the guy in the photograph by his table. “He doesn’t look like any monk I’ve ever seen.”

  “That’s Ian MacKinnon. This is his place. He had a good friend, a monk. They fought against the gangs during the wars. Mr. MacKinnon got shot, stabbed, clubbed many times. But when the monk was there, they always won.”

  “What happened to the monk?”

  “He used to go down with the harvesters. Offering spiritual guidance or whatever. But he got eaten trying to save some workers from a caliban.”

  “Sounds like his luck ran out,” Jackson said.

  “Not for the harvesters he saved.”

  “Right.” Jackson took a sip of his Banana Yam. “Not too sweet. Not bad.”

  “You might like to chase it with a Cucumber Waterfall. It’s really good for getting the toxins from the surface out.”

  She left him to nurse his Banana Yam, brought up the schematics Jane had downloaded on his visual and studied them. He still had no idea how he was going to pull this off. When the time came, he took a shot of Cucumber Waterfall, because who couldn’t do with a bit of cleansing now and again? The drink was surprisingly refreshing. Clean. And a moment later he felt a surge of well-being, which he was sure was something hormonal in the mix. Then he rose and walked outside.

  It was clear he was supposed to drop the data disc with the information on the Citadel in the pagoda. LaDue wasn’t stupid. There were cameras all over Big Town. Furthermore, he was being tracked with the wristband, so the pagoda must be in a blind spot. But he still didn’t want anyone physically tailing him to have eyes on, so he took a circuitous route and walked slowly, looking in shop windows, crossing the street, then backtracking, like maybe he was considering the item he’d seen in the window before.

  He asked Fifi to climb onto his shoulder and scan for any electronic followers, like cameras the size of flies. She linked with his visual display, but after twenty minutes of countersurveillance, it appeared there was no human or electronic tail. Everyone and everything that was out tonight had destinations.

  Jackson still didn’t feel comfortable, but he knew he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure of his security. Not in this situation, and so he made his way to the side street, turned down the alley, and approached the pagoda. As he walked past, he didn’t slow. He simply reached over and deposited the disc with the Citadel’s schematics into the lantern and continued walking. He paused at a tattoo parlor to look at the samples, as if he was thinking about getting another piece done and this was the real reason he’d gone this way.

  After deciding this place’s artist wasn’t up to snuff, he exited the other end of the alley, then found a rack of public scooters wit
h electric motors. He rented one and rode back to the hotel.

  He checked in, walked up a flight of stairs, and along the hallway to his tiny room. It was just enough room for a bed. There was no shower, but there was a sink, toilet, and cloths he could use to wipe himself down.

  Fifi scanned the room, but she found nothing. That didn’t mean it wasn’t bugged, but who was he going to talk to? He took off his clothes, looked at his back in the mirror, but couldn’t see where LaDue had injected her insurance. Clearly, the all-heal had done its job. So he cleaned off as best as he could, then lay back on the bed, going over the schematics Jane had sent him again.

  His mind was on the crew, who would be leaving in just a few hours. They’d been together for years. It was still hard to believe he was doing this alone. But some things simply had to be done. He wasn’t mad at the captain. On the contrary, he could understand exactly where he was coming from.

  Once he could recreate most of the compound and hangar from memory, he laid back and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  Jackson woke to someone banging on the door. It was zero six hundred. Which meant the banging had cheated him out of another thirty minutes of shuteye.

  “I’m sleeping,” he said.

  “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, brother!”

  Tui…

  “Six A.M. is nowhere near time for breakfast,” he muttered as he got up and opened the door. Tui was standing there grinning.

  “I appreciate the visit. But I’m staying, man.”

  “I know. I figured you’d need someone to keep you out of trouble.”

  “What?” Jackson cocked his head. “But you’re the security chief. They need you.”

  “Bushey’s more than capable,” Tui replied. “Plus, the poor guy wasn’t ever going to get a promotion as long as I was around.”

  “Bushey’s trash at paperwork though.”

  Jackson switched to Jane’s net. “You know this isn’t your battle.”

  “It is when it hauls one of my mates in. When this is over, I think I’m going to have some words with Ms. LaDue.”

  Jackson looked at Tui and figured his chances of success had just doubled. He couldn’t help but grin.