Gun Runner Read online

  “You will accompany me and follow my orders like any first mate.”

  “First mate? Excellent.” Jort pointed. “The ship’s door is opening. We should board.”

  I walked ahead of him, taking a chance. My skin crawled, but he made no attempt to grab my neck and throttle me. Perhaps Jort could be trusted after all.

  We boarded the charter and moved to the passengers’ lounge. It was a cramped affair, but it was well stocked with beverages. While we waited for the ship to take off, I toasted Jort, and we shared a few laughs. Often, he sought to learn more of my great wealth, but I was always evasive.

  At last, I felt I had to give him something, or he would begin to turn on me again. I knew the minds of such pirates well. They could always be bought, but they had to believe in your ability to pay or they would become dangerous—like unfed dogs.

  “Here,” I said, sliding my computer his way. “Look at the manifest. Look at the name at the top.”

  “Captain William Gorman,” he read slowly. “The rest of it… such numbers!”

  “Yes. I said. “I am Captain William Gorman. Tap the name, it will show you my picture.”

  He did, and he whistled. “You are a famous rogue. I have even heard of you—but I thought…” he paused, frowning. He looked up at me slowly. “I thought that you had died, Gorman. Everyone say that.”

  I grinned at him. “You must have noticed I’m good at escaping bad situations.”

  “Ha! You are the best! I have hunted eels with my hands that were less slippery!”

  “Thank you. Well, I have to admit that you have impressed me just as much. I thought I’d lost you a dozen times over the last week. Each time, you reappeared at my doorstep, unfazed.”

  Jort grinned. “I will now reveal to you a great secret.”

  So saying, he reached out with one of his fat-fingered hands and brushed at my cheek. I shied away, but he held a single finger under my nose.

  “See that? This is how I track you.”

  There, on the tip of his finger, was a tiny circle of mesh. It was no more than a flesh-colored dot.

  I marveled. “I showered a few times—I even shaved. Still it stayed there as if fused to my skin.”

  “Yes. Is high-quality tracker.”

  Suddenly, I realized that Jort had somewhat misrepresented himself to me. He hadn’t applied genius to find me. He had no network of spies and representatives. He’d used a simple technological trick.

  I grinned. Jort and I were going to get along very well.

  A few hours and a few drinks later, we were ready to retire to our cabins. A group of men appeared then. Behind them stood the charter ship’s captain. Those in front were armed with shredders, guns that fired showers of small pellets. The weapons were designed to fire inside a ship without damaging the hull—I’d sold a lot of them in my day.

  None of these men were smiling.

  “Is this the cargo you wanted dumped, Gorman?” the captain asked over the shoulders of his crewmen.

  “This is him.”

  “What this?” Jort shouted, standing up.

  The crewmen trained their short-barreled shredders on him.

  “If you’re done interrogating him we’ll dispose of this irritant for you, Gorman.”

  I considered. It might be for the best to ditch Jort. He wasn’t entirely trustworthy to say the least. On the other hand, we’d shaken hands and made a deal. I was momentarily torn.

  “Captain Gorman?” Jort howled. “You can’t do this! We have celebrated together. We have shared life!”

  Standing up solemnly, I smiled. “I’ve changed my mind, Captain,” I told the crewmen. “This man, Jort—he now works for me. I thank you for your service.”

  The captain shrugged. “Whatever. My fee is still the same.”

  “Of course,” I said, deciding not to argue. “Charge this service to my account.”

  They melted away, and Jort flopped back on a couch in relief.

  “I knew I could trust you,” he said, slamming a fist on the table between us. Beverages and snacks scattered, and the table buckled, but Jort seemed not to notice.

  I smiled and nodded, giving no further hints that his life had been on a razor’s edge.

  Chapter Eight

  Jort seemed to have more respect for me after nearly being tossed out of an airlock. I’d heard that in Scorpii culture, an establishment of dominance often settled such matters. Once one man had been thoroughly beaten by the strength or cunning of the other, he accepted the leadership of the victor and became loyal to him.

  During the week-long journey that followed, we traveled through three slip-gates and reached the frontier of the Terran Conclave. By that time, Jort and I had become friends of a sort.

  “How we getting ship of our own?” he asked me for the tenth time as we approached our final destination, a wagon-wheel space station orbiting Ceti.

  The planet below us had sapphire seas and continents covered with lush magenta vegetation. It was a colorful marvel to witness through the viewports.

  “With luck, we’ll find one here at Ceti.”

  Jort squinted at me. “Find one? Like you found your last one?”

  “No, probably not. I’ll make a deal. I know powerful people here. They always want experienced runners for their ships.”

  “Huh… they need new ones because the old ones are dead, no?”

  I shrugged. “It’s a dangerous business.”

  We reached the wagon-wheel spaceport and docked at the public moorings. They were free if you had a cargo or the right friends, and apparently my charter captain had both.

  Walking down the docking tube, I was stricken by a powerful memory. This place… it had been the start of many runs for me.

  Smiling at the reverie, I led Jort to the center of the station, the hub of the great wheel. There, a dozen local businesses held court.

  Ceti wasn’t a highly organized world. Like many planets along the frontier, it was sparsely populated and under-governed. This was exactly the kind of place where I felt at home doing business.

  “Halt!” a booming artificial voice called out behind me.

  Turning, I was surprised to see a squadron of four marching androids. They clutched night-sticks and walked in perfect step.

  “William Gorman, you are under arrest!”

  “Come on,” I told Jort. “Let’s hurry.”

  We ran into the hub, where two thugs with shredders barred our way.

  “Where’s your pass, plebe?” one of them asked me.

  Jort levered his fist back, but I stopped him. I reached out and tapped the thug’s palm. Doing so transferred a small gush of credits. I was generous as I was in a hurry.

  The thug smiled and stepped aside. “Your pass is in order.”

  Jort and I rushed into the hub of the station, while behind us the squad of plastic men fell to arguing with the thugs. They seemed to misunderstand the situation, being unable to comprehend that the required “pass” came in the form of untraceable cash deposits. There were substantial cultural differences between Ceti and inner Conclave worlds.

  The delay gave us the time we needed to melt into the crowd. Here, it was as open a marketplace as any I’d ever encountered in my travels. Tables and booths were everywhere, strewn with all manner of goods. Some were dangerous and illicit while others were benign. I passed blinded, cooing servants, rare euphoric drugs and moved right on to the hardware.

  Stopping at a table that sagged under the weight of a hundred black metal weapons, most of them alien-made, I waved for the attention of a pair of symbiot salesmen.

  Symbiots were creatures that had once been human but who now served as the host vessels for another race. Small, crab-like creatures lived in their guts, controlling the behavior of their hosts with the application of various spurs and barbs to the nervous system.

  The salesman to my left shivered, one eye rolling half up into his head in agony. “Sirs!” he slurred with enthusiasm. “I’m Mr. Mo
reau, at your service. What can I do for you? Can I interest you in a dozen prime beamers? They’re alien magnums—the best.”

  “Not at the moment,” I told him. “I’m looking for Master Kersen.”

  The man’s features shivered again. Moreau looked at me as if truly seeing me for the first time.

  “I recognize you…” he said in a very different tone. “You must be insane to come back here, Captain Gorman. Kersen will tear your balls off.”

  “Maybe so, but I have a proposition for him.”

  Moreau showed me a few of his teeth, and his upper lip curled unnaturally high. Then the other symbiot, a female, finished with her customer and came near.

  “Gorman…” she said. “Kersen gave up looking for you a year ago. You’re mad to come here.”

  “So I’ve been told. Well? Are you going to take me to Kersen? Or am I going to find him myself and tell him you refused to do business?”

  They both winced. Great pain might be inflicted if Kersen suspected they’d turned down the chance to make a single credit.

  “All right,” the second sym said. She was a slight woman with fine features and dangerous eyes. She seemed to be in better control of her parasite than the man—or maybe she just possessed a higher pain-threshold. Her pale arms never shuddered in agony. “I’ll take you to Kersen, but this ape, here…” She indicated Jort with a long finger. “It must stay here.”

  I nodded. “Jort, examine the servants for sale. If we make enough money, I’ll buy you your favorite.”

  Smiling, Jort wandered off. I followed the pale symbiot girl alone into a cubical.

  There, I met the creature I’d come to Ceti to find. It was Master Kersen, a reptilian man with a nightmarish smile full of glistening teeth.

  Kersen was studying a holographic computer screen that depicted the movement of money between various markets on several planets at once.

  “Why do you disturb me, Sosa?” he demanded of the woman without even turning in our direction.

  “Master Kersen,” Sosa said, “I’ve brought you a villain. I wish to collect the reward for him.”

  Kersen looked up at last. Seeing me, his face lit up, and a single droplet of spittle slipped from his upper teeth to his lower.

  “Can it be? Has Captain Gorman returned to repay his debts at long last?”

  I bowed, knowing Kersen liked that. “I’m here to make a proposal, Kersen.”

  “No, no, no,” he said, rumbling with laughter. “You’re here to make amends. I shall take the vast amount you owe me out of your hide. Sosa, you’re to be congratulated for bringing this rogue to me unaided. I’d heard he’d be difficult to capture—apparently, that reputation was undeserved.”

  “Master Kersen,” I said. “I know where a stash of premium weapons lays waiting to be plundered.”

  Kersen swept the air with a clawed fist. “So what? Sardez hardware is not what it once was, and half that which is found is counterfeit anyway.”

  “Not this gear. I’m talking about the genuine article. Three thousand Sardez weapons, with two power packs each. What’s more, they were made pre-cataclysm—at the zenith for quality.”

  According to Conclave historians, the Sardez were a warlike people who had once inhabited a planet just beyond our borders. They’d frequently raided less aggressive worlds with impunity. After decades of enduring their attacks, the Conclave had been forced to destabilize their star, irradiating their home planet. After that, their legendary hardware had become increasingly scarce.

  Master Kersen blinked one yellow eye at me. “So old… will they still fire?”

  I smiled, as he was sniffing the bait.

  “Master,” Sosa said in alarm. “You aren’t entertaining his lies, are you? I thought I’d gain a quick—”

  “You thought incorrectly. Remain silent.”

  Sosa sulked while I continued to explain my offer to Kersen.

  “The rifles are stored in hard vacuum. They’re shielded from radiation to prevent the degradation of their electronics. I’ll guarantee they’ll be delivered in prime condition.”

  Master Kersen considered. “Bring me proof of this treasure, and I’ll make you an offer.”

  “Excellent… but there is one problem. Right now, I’m without a ship.”

  Kersen sighed. “You already owe me one lost boat.”

  “True.”

  “But if this fantasy of yours proves to be real… well, I could use a cache of prime weapons right now. I could use a new runner as well. Lately, these pesky mechanical patrolmen from the Conclave have been ruining my business by drying up good supply routes. I’ve got an order to supply a colonial army, in fact—but, never mind that.”

  “You’re interested then?” I asked.

  Kersen shuffled around to face me. “I’m curious… You were a good runner once. I don’t know where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing… but I can always use talent.”

  “And enough prime guns to supply a small army?” I added.

  “That too.”

  “How shall we proceed, then?” I asked him.

  “I can’t trust you alone with another ship, not even a small corvette. You’ll fly with Sosa here as your navigator. She will report to me with regularity using jump-drones. If the drones stop coming, or her reports become distressed, I’ll put a bounty on your head. I should have done it already, actually—but I thought you were dead.”

  I smiled grimly. “That’s a frequent misconception. Now, as to payment—”

  “There will be none,” he said firmly. “Not for this mission. You go get your guns, deliver them to the planet Sosa directs you to, and then return.”

  I laughed. “The weapons are worth more than the one ship I owe you!”

  “Possibly so, but you’ve already told me you don’t have a ship to go get them with. I’ll tell you what, if you succeed in this run and bring Sosa back to me, I’ll give you the ship you use to complete the mission. You can be an independent runner after that. I have many jobs waiting for such a man.”

  We haggled for another hour, but Master Kersen couldn’t be budged. In the end, I was given the control fob to access a sleek corvette that floated under the belly of the station, where other dark ships were moored to the least reputable docks. There, with Jort and Sosa complaining in my wake, we loaded up provisions, fuel, and some survival gear.

  It was going to be a tough mission, but at least I had a stake again. Inside, I felt warmed and happy. It had been a long time since Captain William Gorman had been out exploring the cosmos.

  I was a gun runner again, and it was good to be back in the game.

  Chapter Nine

  As I boarded the corvette, I was immediately surprised by her quality. She was long and lean, about ninety meters of shiny metal with a beam width of ten. That ratio of nine to one indicated she was meant to move quickly, as even in space there is some resistance due to gas and dust clouds.

  She displaced just over two thousand metric tons, but had twin fusion engines, both with an impressive six terawatt output rating. If I dared to overload them, they might be able to generate twice as much thrust for a short period.

  “Nice boat!” Jort exclaimed, and I agreed with him. “I figured lizard-face was going to give us a bathtub and tell us to row.”

  “She is quite something,” I agreed.

  We entered the ship and marveled. Clearly, Kersen had not been stinting when outfitting her interior. She had no visible armament, but in a split-second, two exterior spherical nodules could be rotated to reveal neutrino beam-cannons. These weapons fired invisible particles meant to disable engines and enemy guns, rather than destroy a pursuing ship. The advantage was that neutrino beams could travel through solid objects, rendering conventional armor and hulls useless against them.

  Should an enemy be undeterred by the cannons, there were four torpedo tubes, two forward and two aft, that fired smart torpedoes with fusion warheads in the gigaton range.

  “We must do good-shoo
ting with these, Captain,” Jort admonished. “We only have eight torpedoes aboard!”

  “Hopefully, we’ll never have to use them. We’re smugglers, not a naval warship.”

  Jort grunted in agreement, and we continued our tour. Sosa led the way, explaining each element of the ship’s equipment in a sour tone. She still seemed to be annoyed that she’d been assigned to this duty by Kersen.

  There were two primary decks, an upper and a lower. Operations were on top, with the crew quarters and storage below. Both of these pressurized zones were in the forward thirty meters of the vessel. The middle of the ship was one large cargo hold, and the aft end was dedicated to the engines and fuel. Overall, she was one of the better ships I’d ever been given to fly.

  “Kersen trusts you,” Sosa said. She was looking at me with a mixture of resentment and curiosity. “Why? You’re nothing but a common criminal.”

  “On that point I must disagree,” I told her. “I’m anything but common.”

  “He’s right!” Jort declared. “Never have I met a creature so full of trickery and deceit. He’s like a greased eel when you try to catch him. You’ll see.”

  Sosa looked dissatisfied with these responses, but she received a goading from her parasite then, and she arched her back in a rigid moment of pain. “This way,” she said when she could breathe again.

  We followed her to engineering. It was cramped, hot and ticked with constant radiation.

  Two model-Ds were down here. They didn’t even look very human. Protruding camera tubes telescoped in and out of their dark eyes as they focused on us.

  “This is your crew,” Sosa said.

  “Are you serious?” I demanded. “Two Ds? They can’t even talk.”

  She shrugged. “This ship had a flesh-and-blood crew recently—but they were all irradiated. Didn’t Kersen tell you that?”

  At this point we noticed that the model-Ds were busy. They were packing up large bundles, one at a time, and stuffing them into the engine core. The furnace surged with each new package, sending up a puff of heat and vapor.