Runner

March 3, 2010

You’re a journalist, aren’t you? It’s the notepad, typing away in a place like this. No Captain does his dealings that open. Eyes on me girl, eyes on me. Don’t look around. Nobody looks around here. Listen to me and you get to buy me a drink and leave here with all your blood. Elysium Rum, I drink it in pints.
Don’t know what I am do you? Eye piece not a tip? Alright, I’ll humour you. Unlike the Captains and the crew in here I’m used to dealing with you Uppers. I’m a bit more polite when I’m on the higher levels, granted, but I’ll put on a fairer disposition if you’re going to supply me with liquor. First though, what is an Upper doing at the landing stations?
Oh really. You’re not the first to come down here looking for that exposition on the shadier side of the stars. You’re young though girl, very young. Unless those youth treatments got better than I last heard. I’m teasing, just fun. Fresh out of university, got yourself a job your father paid for and you’re feeling like you want to write yourself a nail biting story of crime and blood and drama. I weren’t around you’d be meat by now.
Don’t worry, I’m known here. Got me a reputation. Nobody will mess with me and my associates. I usually go to the upper levels to do my business, but occasionally we meet down here. Escort them from the elevator to the bar and back again. Always with my hand on my knife. Nine inch blade, serrated, many a kill behind it.
Heh, I was wondering when you’d ask. I’m a Runner, girl. I take information, drugs, weapons, letters, gold, fuel, people, anything, from one place to another. Level to level, city to city, planet to planet. Once did a run from one side of the galaxy to the next, a bomb that could level a whole colony stowed in my bag. People pay me to move things that they can’t through legal methods, and they pay me well.
Oh I’ve got no ship. No, I’m not a Captain, Captains are the folk who do regular smuggling. Things planet officials look over and confiscate should they find it. I move stuff police shoot on sight for, soldiers close off entire cities to obtain, There’s this whole little economy of Runners and Hunters, folk who get paid to obtain what Runners get paid to move.
See this, the little eye thing. Runner Eye. One of the smartest communication devices in all the known universe. Gives me all kinds of info from the client in case there is change of plans, special information, bonuses to be earned. Only way to send stuff to it is via a unique little notepad like yours. Inconspicuous, yet very useful. Also worms its way into all local uninet connections so I can look up anything I need. Wired direct into the brain. Twenty years of training and body mods to do this job.
Here, tell you what. I’m in a good mood and between jobs. I’ll drain this one, we’ll go somewhere more reputable and I’ll give you a couple stories. That ought to buy you a bucket load of respect. Good one to start with, my trip across Mars…

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