Gun Runner

by Larry Correia

  Jackson got up too, in order to give Tui a goodbye hug. “I owe you big time.”

  “Yeah you do.” Tui dang near crushed Jackson’s ribs. The grendel pup clicked in protest. “Catch you on the next shipment, bro.”

  Jackson stayed standing, but the captain shook his head. “Sit down. Relax. This is a party. No need to make the goodbyes all uncomfortable and teary eyed.”

  “Aww. So you are going to miss me.”

  “Yeah sure. However will I get by without having somebody to drastically complicate my life and drag me into revolutions on backwater planets?”

  The two of them sat. Jackson tossed the captain a beer from the cooler by his chair.

  “So what’s next for the Tar Heel?”

  “The repairs from that railgun hit are done. We salvaged most of the Downward Spiral. I’m going to tow it to that off-the-books shipyard in the Motonari system and sell it for parts. That might recoup a fraction of what I lost on this trip.”

  “Yeah.” Jackson felt really bad about how this had shaken out for the captain. “Sorry about your retirement fund.”

  But the captain just chuckled. “It’s my own fault. I got a little loose with my code. That’s on me. I never should have made a deal with the devil.” He looked at the swimming pool wistfully. “I really did like the idea of owning my own pond though.”

  “I still think you should have tossed Shade out an airlock,” Jackson muttered.

  “Heh.” The captain took a long swig of his beer. “Duly noted. But me and Shade’s relationship is…complicated. I need a broker, and she needs a runner. Or more importantly, her shady bosses need a runner.”

  “This is their fault. If we’d never armed Warlord, then he never could have oppressed these people.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, kid. Evil men always find a way. If it hadn’t been us, it would’ve been Prunkard, or some other dirtbag. It’s a big galaxy, and all the little guys like us can do is try to do the right thing in our tiny corner of it…Which is why you’ve decided to stick around here, I’m guessing.”

  “I’m partly responsible for breaking this place. The least I can do is help fix it.”

  “Warlord broke it, son. We were just the final straw. However, I do know the feeling.” And truly, if anyone could understand, it was the captain, because he had once rescued a brain-damaged orphan mech pilot from a war that he’d supplied the weapons for. “But anyways, when you get tired of fighting monsters on this crapsack planet, you give me a call. You’re welcome back on my crew anytime.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Captain Holloway got up to leave. “All that mushy stuff out of the way, now for the really awkward part. Jane asked me to give this to you.” He reached into his coveralls and pulled out an actual paper envelope.

  That was odd. Why didn’t she just send him a message on their net? He had tried to reach her, but it had been quiet all morning. Jackson took the envelope. There was a hard lump inside of it. His name had been written on the front, and the back had been sealed with a kiss. Purple lipstick. “Is Jane not coming? She was supposed to be here.”

  “Yeah, sorry. She left on a different ship last night. Asked me to give this to you once it would be too late for you to try and catch up to her. I’m going to miss Jane. Best damn specter I’ve ever seen. I know you’re sweet on her, but…well, just read the letter.” Captain Holloway started walking away. “Good luck, Jackson. You’re going to need it.”

  Hurrying, Jackson tore open the envelope. He shook the hard object out into his palm. It was another a Fifi-type bot. There was also a letter inside. That was oddly old-fashioned of her. He unfolded it and discovered that Jane had very pretty handwriting.

  Dear Jacky,

  What we did in Big Town drew too much attention. People from my past are looking for me, so I have to disappear again. I can’t tell you where I’m going. Don’t bother to ask the captain, because I wouldn’t tell him either. I’m sorry it has to be this way, but I knew you would try to talk me out of running, or that you’d insist on trying to help me, but this is something that I can’t drag you into.

  Please don’t try to find me. Honor this wish for your safety and mine. You wouldn’t be able to find me anyway. If you try, it’ll only attract the attention of some people who are more dangerous than you can imagine.

  My years on the Tar Heel were the happiest time of my life. Thank you for everything.

  Move on with your life. Forget about me. Be happy.

  As a going away present for you, I repaired and upgraded Fifi. Take good care of her and she’ll take good care of you. Stay safe.

  Love, Jane

  Jackson folded the letter and stuck it in his pocket. Then he finished his beer.

  “Well, shanks.”

  * * *

  Wulf was very excited as they started the salvage operation.

  He had been assigned to be Sergeant Jack’s assistant. And though Sergeant Jack was a hero and symbol of the rebellion, he was also still a newcomer to a very unforgiving world, so he needed an experienced guide to keep him safe. This assignment was a great honor for Wulf and had come from President LaDue herself.

  “Okay, is the coast clear?” Jackson Rook asked his team.

  The workers checked their readouts. “Nothing on seismic or thermal, sir,” one of them reported. “The big one must be asleep.”

  Jackson looked over Horond’s Bay one last time. He appeared suspicious, like he didn’t trust the scans, but they didn’t have much choice. “Alright then. Let’s do this.”

  Twenty camouflaged exo-suited figures moved out. They were armed with a variety of tools and had brought two hovering cargo haulers with them. They ran quickly and quietly through the tall grass, so as to not draw the wrath of the great kaiju.

  This prize was worth the risk.

  Wulf had watched all the vids of the Battle of Big Town and seen what the mighty Citadel had been capable of. With that mighty mech repaired, in the skilled hands of Sergeant Jack, their harvesters would be protected from the monsters in the groves, and the CX would flow. As LaDue said, the CX was the key to their prosperity.

  And if they did not increase production soon, one of the superpowers would become desperate enough to risk war, and step in to take it from them. Which meant the end of their dream of a free and independent Swindle.

  “What’s up, Wulf?” Jackson asked him.

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  “You’re usually more talkative, warning me where not to step, or telling me about all the creative ways this planet will try to kill us. What’s on your mind?”

  “I was thinking we will have to run multiple crews to reach the president’s production goals, and the Citadel can only guard one at a time. We will need more mechs.”

  “Yep. We will. But the harvest we can protect with this one here will pay for more.” Jackson grinned at him through his visor. “I know a guy. He’ll hook us up with a good deal. Mechs and implants both.”

  “But those mechs will also need pilots.”

  “I can train more pilots. Now if any of them can accept the implants to fly-by-mind, that’s a roll of the genetic dice, but I can teach anybody to be at least proficient in one. I promised LaDue I would do that.”

  Wulf got up the courage to ask his question. “Do you think I could be one of Swindle’s mech pilots?”

  Jackson thought it over for a moment. “Yeah, I think you could. But we’ve really got to work on your confidence, kid. You want to drive a mech, you need to have swagger.”

  Wulf beamed. Peder would have been so proud of him.

  Nothing tried to kill them, and they reached the wrecked Citadel without incident. The waters of the bay remained calm…For now. The mech was barely visible because the plant life here was so aggressive. It was mostly a green and red mound of vines, grass, and fungus. It looked like the fallen, mossy statue of an ancient warrior. Even in its current, sorry state, there was still something majestic about it.

 
; “Yeah, she’s a bit of a fixer-upper, but it should buff out.” Jackson walked over to the mech, and gently placed one hand on it, almost reverently.

  Wulf knew Jackson was understating how difficult it would be to repair the complex machine, but with Warlord’s other mechs destroyed, this was their best hope to protect the harvest. Wulf had been there when Jackson had made his offer to President LaDue. He would repair the Citadel, and then use it to protect the workers, until Swindle could stand on its own two feet again.

  When the president had told Sergeant Jack that she could not afford to pay him much, he had volunteered anyway. When she asked Jackson why he would do such a thing, he’d said that he hadn’t been able to fix his home planet, but maybe, just maybe, he could help fix this one.

  Wulf appreciated what Jackson had told the president, because Wulf knew that Swindle had been founded on lies and broken promises. It had been broken long before the first colony ship arrived. Swindle was, and always had been a broken place. The difference was its people had a chance to build a good life between the pieces.

  “Okay, boys. Get to work.”

  They immediately began slashing away the plants so they could dig the Citadel free and load it onto the haulers. They worked fast, but everyone kept nervously glancing at the still water.

  “It hates us so much, yet it is our home,” Wulf whispered.

  “What was that?” Jackson asked.

  “Nothing, sir.” Wulf got back to work, because Swindle never stopped trying to murder you for long.

  Authors’ Note

  The genesis of this story was interesting.

  Back in 2015, the two of us agreed to conduct a session at the annual Life, The Universe, and Everything science fiction and fantasy conference in Provo, Utah. The topic was How to Build an Action Plot. We wanted the audience to participate in building just such a plot but knew we’d never get to the plotting part if we didn’t come with the bones of a story already developed. So one evening before the conference we met at Larry’s house to do just that. We chatted a bit, and then John suggested we start to flesh it out.

  Larry’s son Joe, who was eleven at the time, was hanging out on the stairs listening in.

  Larry raised his voice and said, “Hey, Joe. What’s cool?”

  Joe immediately popped up from the stairs and answered without hesitation, “Giant robots, bandits, and murderers.”

  We looked at each other. Dang, that was cool. And we were off to the races.

  Joe immediately began to create some illustrations, one of which we’ve included here.

  Later, when we decided to write the book, “What’s cool?” was a question we kept asking all the way to the end.