Gun Runner Read online

  When the big moment of arrival came, I shut off all the drives and the power aboard the bridge. I depressurized much of the ship and switched off the complaining androids as well.

  Drifting on the bridge, with no powered-gravity, no light other than flickering reds running on batteries, I let the ship float and play dead.

  Something like twelve minutes later, the pressure doors were forced open. It took all my willpower to play limp and harmless. I naturally wanted to flee—but there was nowhere to go. I couldn’t cross another entire star system with my braking jets. Without full engine power, playing the same trick again at another slip-gate was out of the question. Not even Conclave patrolmen are that dumb.

  My biggest worry was that the patrol boat that had fired upon me would come through after me. There was no instant way to communicate between star systems, fortunately. To get the word out about my crimes he would have to fly through the gate himself and report in person.

  The odds were slim on that score. Patrol ships followed regulations. They stayed in their own star systems. They weren’t true military, after all. They were more like traffic cops, and they respected borders and jurisdictions as if they were religious tenets.

  Whoever had boarded my ship, they “rescued” me and took me into a medical module. The model-Q doctor they had aboard soon determined I wasn’t injured. After staging a wake-up and yawn, I pretended to be startled to see them.

  Six sets of eyes looked at me. They weren’t the kind of eyes I was expecting, however. I’d kind of figured I’d end up at one of the other nearby Conclave worlds. The inner Conclave planets were all similar, populated mostly by humans and androids mocked up to look like humans.

  But these guys… they weren’t patrolmen or robots. They weren’t any kind of official at all—they were thugs. Burly near-humans with shoulders like apes. The only plastic guy aboard was the android doctor.

  They had big heads, big jaws, and fingers like sausages. No one was smiling. There was no hint of any emotion—just deadpan stares in my direction.

  “You hurt?” asked the nearest. He had an accent they would have called Asian back on Old Terra. His cap gleamed with gold braids on the brim—this marked him as the captain.

  “No, I don’t think so,” I said. “Where am I?”

  “This is Scorpii. I am Jort.”

  “Ah…” I said, catching on at last. “Of course. Scorpii… A high-gravity world—pretty far out from the Conclave, but not all the way out to the fringe.”

  They looked at one another and rippled their overly-muscled arms. Captain Jort spoke again.

  “You full-human?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happen your ship?”

  “An accident, I believe. Something went wrong as I—”

  The captain jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “The freighter captain says you crazy. He says you almost wreck his ship. Why you fly like that?”

  “What? Wait, wait a second. I wasn’t flying. I’m a passenger. My pilot and captain were flying the vessel.”

  “We found captain-robot. He broke. You break him?”

  “No, no. As I said, the ship was struck by something.”

  “You were shot in the fantail. Lots of damage. Engine wrecked.”

  My face fell. “That’s very unfortunate. Listen, I need to get back to Prospero. You seem like a kind, generous man. If you can see your way to lending me the deposit for a few days in dry-dock—”

  “This is Scorpii,” Captain Jort scoffed. “We don’t lend you nothing!”

  It was a double-negative, but I knew better than to correct his grammar.

  “Hmm…” I said, frowning. “All my funds are tied up in this ship, you see. I don’t have enough to pay—”

  “No pay? No pay?” Jort stood up, and his chest swelled as his pectorals jumped under his tunic. Apparently, I’d struck upon some kind of taboo.

  He thrust a fat finger at me. He wasn’t very tall, shorter than I was, in fact. The powerful gravitational pull of his planet must have compressed his skeleton over the years. But what he lacked in height he more than made up for in brawn. His fat finger stabbed me right in the chest. The sensation was like being poked by an old master’s cane.

  I looked up at him. “Maybe we can make a deal.”

  “A deal?”

  “A bargain. A trade.”

  “What you got to trade? You got no money. You got no engine. You got nothing. We throw you back on your wreck and kick you into space to drift.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. “You could do that—or you could make a lot of credits. Here, have a stim.”

  Shaking one of my few stims out of the broken silver case, I offered it to him. He eyed it warily, but he took it at last. They were probably frowned upon here as well—but Captain Jort didn’t strike me as a man who followed every rule in the book.

  At last, he sat down again. My stim poked out of his blubbery lips and aromatic smoke soon filled the cabin.

  Within minutes, I’d struck a quick deal with him. I sold him the Dawn Star, plus six androids and the captain for spare parts. I did so at a terrible loss, gaining no more than a tenth the value.

  The captain was crude, but he was no idiot. By the end of the negotiations, he seemed to grasp that the ship must be stolen. But the yellow light of greed was in his eyes by now. He was drooling to take the ship from me at a fire-sale price.

  We shook hands, and I had to count my fingers after he released them from his iron grip. I’d been born on a world that had about twenty percent too much gravity, but Scorpii had nearly double that.

  The near-humans took the ship and towed it away quickly, dropping me off at a nearby station. From there, I used a few of the credits Jort had transferred to obtain passage down to Scorpii itself.

  I wasn’t looking forward to visiting this world. As I recalled, it was quite close to its star and therefore the climate was stiflingly hot. The high gravity added to this effect, making it bone-crushingly difficult just to walk around. Non-natives had to wear breathing apparatus or suffer from apnea in the night. On top of that, the whole planet smelled like a ripe gym-sock to me.

  But I had to go to the surface, because I knew eventually someone would come along to track down the freighter and the Dawn Star. They’d follow me out from Prospero, and they’d be unreasonably vengeful if they found me anywhere in the vicinity.

  Chapter Seven

  I took up residence in a fleabag establishment near the spaceport. Working hard not to glance over my shoulder more than once a minute, I tottered along stone-cobbled streets in clothes that felt like they were being tugged downward over my body. Twice, I had to grab at my belt buckle so my pants wouldn’t fall. The various items in my pockets—quickly purloined at the last instant from the Dawn Star as keepsakes—were weighing my pants down in the punishing gravity.

  Jort was most likely overjoyed with his good fortune, but if the patrolmen from Prospero caught up with him and confiscated his purchase, he might come after me as well. Only time would tell.

  Regardless, I knew I had to use the funds I’d gained to find a good hiding spot or escape the Scorpii system entirely. Judging that I didn’t have enough time for the latter, I chose the former option and parked myself at the first hotel I located. I stayed only long enough to mess up the bed and stow a single locked case under it—the case was filled with a few knickknacks from the ship, items I had no interest in. I left it only to give interested parties false hope that I would return.

  Heading back down to the front desk, I paid for a week’s rent in advance. The grunting hulk behind the counter took the money eagerly. Then I immediately left, saying I would be out for a few hours—possibly until late that night.

  The entire episode was a red herring, of course, meant to throw any possible pursuers off my trail. I had to smile at the thought of either Jort or an equally unimaginative patrolman spending hours, days—possibly all week waiting for me to come back to this dismal spot.

  Buyi
ng new clothes and switching IDs, I took on a new persona, that of Bob Santos, a traveling rug merchant. My imaginary carpets were the best within nine lightyears, hand-stitched by the natives of New Sicily. I made sure to tell this story to everyone I met until they were rolling their eyes at me.

  Searching the city for the nicest hotel I could find, I at last located a rambling building of questionable character. Rather than tall, sleek buildings, Scorpii towns were comprised of squatty structures no more than three stories high. The extreme gravity caused even the natives too much difficulty when climbing steps, making taller buildings unpopular.

  Sighing deeply, I stretched out on the rock-hard bed and took a well-earned nap.

  * * *

  I awakened in the deep of the night to a rattling sound. It was a stealthy, quiet sound that someone was working to muffle but not quite succeeding at.

  As a man who has frequently been misunderstood and abused, I rolled out of bed and crouched on the floor—and I almost pitched onto my face. I’d forgotten about the increased gravity. Coming out of bed, it felt like a giant was pressing a hand down on my shoulders, as any off-balance position was magnified.

  It was hard not to stumble, but I managed it. Fortunately, I’d taken the precaution of sleeping in my clothes—even my shoes were on. It’s not the most comfortable way to go through life, but such small advantages had often reaped big rewards for me.

  The rattling sound was repeated. It was my window. Someone was trying to break in.

  The door had been soundly bolted and chained. The walls were overbuilt and thicker than the norm, having to stand up to Scorpii’s oppressive gravity. Here, on the third and top floor, the only easy way in was through the window—especially if the intruder had less than the force of the law behind him.

  I knew in a flash it could not be the police. Guardians didn’t climb in through windows. Likewise, I ruled out common thieves, as such individuals weren’t likely to risk their lives to rob strangers who’d shown no obvious wealth.

  Smiling, I walked to the window and threw it wide.

  To his surprise, but not to mine, I met the leering face of one of Jort’s henchmen. He was hunkered there on a ledge, attempting to gain entry with a chisel-like tool. He was having trouble balancing his girth on a narrow ledge.

  “Can I help you?” I asked him.

  Snarling in recognition, the man lifted his chisel and drove it toward my face. There was nothing like the direct approach.

  I dodged, but I was too slow. The blade of it grazed my cheek, drawing a line all the way back to my right ear.

  Catching the thick arm, I grappled with him.

  Immediately, I realized this was a losing option. He was incredibly strong. His arm bulged and rippled like a constrictor in my hands. I tried to push him back, but instead, he dropped the chisel and gripped my shirt. I found myself being pulled out of the hotel room into the fetid night air.

  Dropping and raising both my arms, I slid out of the garment. If he’d grabbed my flesh or my hair, I couldn’t have pulled this move, but as it was his hand came away with a bundle of shirt and little else.

  Off-balance and victim to the hungry gravity of his homeworld, the man stumbled off the ledge and fell hard. I heard a single cry of anguish—then he struck the pavement below.

  On other worlds, a fall of no more than six meters could have broken bones, but this was far worse. In that short distance he’d built up a whistling velocity and slammed into the pavement with such force that his body was ruptured like a melon.

  Leaning out of the window, I grimaced at the scene illuminated by the faintly greenish glow of the streetlights.

  “There he is!” Jort called from the street, pointing up at me. “He’s murdered my man!”

  Ducking back inside, I grabbed what few belongings I cared about and unlocked the door. I flung it wide, then crawled under my bed and fell silent.

  A thunder of feet on the stairs told me of an approaching group. They arrived at my doorway, panting and sweating with exertion. Running up stairs on Scorpii was a herculean feat.

  “He’s gone!”

  “The roof! He must have gone up to the roof!”

  The squad of angry men left, and I crawled out of my hiding place. With the lightest step I could manage, I exited the building through an emergency door and walked among the trashcans and crab-rats to the open streets. I’d expected to see a man posted at every exit, but fortunately, these guys were far from professional.

  Over the next several days, I continued to avoid Jort and his angry crewmen. They made repeated efforts to find me, but all failed. Eventually, I grew tired of the game and procured private passage on a charter flight to Leonis, an unremarkable star system that was a step farther from the Conclave.

  As I sat awaiting my flight, I sensed an approaching figure. Turning in my chair, I tipped down a pair of auto-shades I’d bought at the gift shop and was disappointed to recognize the man who leered at me.

  It was none other than Captain Jort himself. He snarled down at me, but didn’t dare make a violent move. After all, there was no warrant out for my arrest—I’d checked. In a public place like a busy spaceport, he couldn’t attack me without being arrested immediately afterward.

  Instead, he sat down next to me and began paging through a magazine. The magazine was upside-down. It was one of the old fashioned cheap kind that didn’t automatically right itself when held incorrectly. I wasn’t sure if Jort couldn’t read, or if he didn’t care in the slightest about the magazine. In either case, it didn’t really matter.

  “To what do I owe this honor, Jort?” I asked him.

  “Always with the insults. Never give an honest man a break. That’s your rule, isn’t it?”

  “What? Are you the honest man in this scenario or am I?”

  This seemed to throw him. He glared at me. “I found you again. I will always find you. Jort never loses at this kind of game. I will hunt you until you fail to escape my fingers—then I will crush you.”

  Jort demonstrated his hostility visually, shaking a white-knuckled fist in my face.

  “May I ask what the trouble is? I sold you the Dawn Star at a significant loss. Even if—”

  “They took her from me!” he hissed. “Hours after you left, patrolmen come sniffing. They say the ship was a big crime—interstellar crime. They say you smuggle things, and the ship is part of that case. Then, they confiscate my boat too! I’m ruined!”

  I felt a pang—a small one, mind you—for old Jort. After all, I had taken his money and passed onto him the hatred Conclave officials must be feeling toward me right now.

  “That does seem unfair,” I admitted.

  Jort looked startled. “Then you confess? You admit guilt?”

  “No, but I sympathize with your situation. I too have unfairly lost my ship, and much of my great wealth.”

  Jort was quiet for a short time. I chose not to prompt him. I let his grinding mind move to the next step on its own.

  “Great wealth? What great wealth?”

  “Think about it,” I said. “I came to this system with a fine ship from the Conclave worlds. Behind me followed a dozen patrol boats—”

  “There was only one.”

  I lifted a finger and smiled at him. “That’s just the one you saw. Believe me, I’m far more infamous than you might have imagined. That’s why they’re following me, world to world, across the Conclave.”

  Jort’s eyes widened. “You’ve been on the run? For a long while?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you going? To your great wealth, no doubt.”

  “No doubt.”

  Jort’s eyes narrowed, and he looked around the terminal, eyeing the destination of my charted flight. “Leonis? There is no wealth there. It is a dull place.”

  I smiled. “When hiding a fortune, it’s best not to do so in an obvious place, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Huh… I guess so.”

  He stewed for a few moments, and I le
t him do it. Jort was a transparent man, I knew where his mind was wandering almost before he did.

  “Well?” I asked him. “What’s your plan? Are you going to attack me here? Before I can leave the system?”

  “Uh… no. I was planning to offer the captain of this ship half the money you stole from me if he would help me achieve justice.”

  “Ah… a paltry sum, but at least it’s something.”

  “You approve of the plan? It does not bother you?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve been robbed by countless professionals. Rarely do they succeed. In this case, I’m impressed by your tenacity. I gave you some of my best escape moves, but you saw through them. Doggedly, you’ve pursued me all the way to the finish line.”

  Jort looked proud despite himself. “No one wrongs Jort without paying. You will pay big.”

  “Hmm…” I said, as if contemplating a great decision. I rubbed at my chin and frowned in thought. “What if I were to accept that I owe you a debt? What if I agree to pay you all the money you gave me—plus enough to return home should you want to?”

  Jort’s jaw sagged in honest surprise. “You would do such a thing? For a man who has sought your blood for a week?”

  “I could use a man like you. A man who doesn’t give up. Cunning, resourceful, strong… What do you say? Will you sign on as my crewman?”

  Jort’s face went through a comic series of emotions. At last, he selected anger. “I am a captain! I serve no other!”

  “Ah, yes. Well then, Captain. Go back to your ship.”

  Jort’s mind churned hard. I could see he was debating the situation, and the effort was taxing his mind.

  At last, he heaved a sigh and put out a huge paw for me to shake. “All right,” he said. “I will be your man. But you will pay me everything you owe me.”

  “I will. In fact, I’ll put you on a salary right now.”

  “What I do now, Captain?”

  Such a swift change had come over Jort. I was bemused, but still wary. He might be in my employ… or he might still be harboring resentment. Perhaps this was the only way he could figure out to follow me off-planet.