There's No Place LIke Mars: Chapter 3

“Guns?” said Alistair Voronoi, Chisolm's badger-faced fence.

“Not just guns,” said Chisolm. “These are high-tech personal railguns. They're silent, powerful, and incredibly dangerous. These are assault rifles. There's no place for them here on Mars.”

Voronoi stroked his chin, his face screwed up in concentration. “You want me to move them?”

“No,” said Chisolm, quickly, shaking his head. “Somewhere in Eden, some rat-hole son of a crack whore has almost a hundred and fifty of these things, and I want to know what they're for. Who's stockpiling an arsenal of military-grade weapons on Mars? What else are they stockpiling? And most importantly, how did it get here?”

Again, Voronoi lapsed into silence for a moment before saying, “Well, I can probably find out who the customer is.” And abruptly, he laughed, “He's not going to be happy if half his shipment is missing.”

Chisolm scowled at him. “This isn't funny, you bastard scab sucker. I'll be damned to hell if I let these nutjob space dogs start a war in my Eden.”

“You think they're trying to start a war?”

“What else are these guns for?”

Voronoi stared at Chisolm for a few seconds in thought. Then said, “Alright. I'll see what I can find out. Oh, uh, one question, Mr. Chisolm, before you go.”

“What?”

“How much ammunition was in those crates?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” said Voronoi, his features taking on an even more ferrety leer, “a gun is only useful so long as you have something to shoot out of it.”

Chisolm frowned, said, “None.”

“Right,” said Voronoi. “I'll start digging.”