Hard Luck Hank: Screw the Galaxy (22 page)

Bright yellow shoes adorned my feet. I didn’t
like shoes in general. They didn’t have the same heavy construction as boots,
and they tended to tear along the seams when I wore them. But I was tired of
having black feet because of ash from the fires and I wasn’t going to wear
Jyonal’s clown shoes.

With the cargo ships here, we had a large
assortment of food choices that had been absent before. My stomach had been
loudly protesting my new dietary habits.

I was at a restaurant eating a kind of fried
vegetable dipped in a spicy sauce. Not even five bites in, my stomach was
already trying to push the food out.

A trim man wearing sunglasses, a hip beard, and
some kind of antique military fatigues sat down across from me at my table.

“Hank,” he said.

I had no idea who he was, until:

“Rendrae?” I asked, shocked.

He looked around smoothly, trying not to
attract attention.

“No names, please. Good to see you.”

I could barely recognize him. How did he change
so fast? He took from his trousers a pistol that appeared to be bothering him
now that he was seated and put it on the table.

“I’m just calling to check whose side you’re
on.”

“Side of what?” I asked.

He lowered his sunglasses and pinched the
bridge of his nose. As if talking to me these few moments was already
frustrating beyond belief.

“There’s a revolution coming. You know this.”
He stated both points as fact.

“I do?” I was utterly confused, so confused my
stomach even seemed to stop complaining.

“You know about the military here,” he said,
and sighed.

“Yeah, we already went over this. The
telescopes and translators and such. I talked to some of those people. They’re
fairly reasonable in the right circumstances.”

“Not them,” Rendrae snapped. “The Navy is
here.”

I looked up at the ceiling. I don’t know why.
We were in an enclosed restaurant and the latticework would have blocked any
ship’s lights anyway. He continued.

“You think the cargo transports sat on the
other side of the Portal for months, surrounded by Navy vessels, and nothing
happened?”

I shrugged.

“Happened? Like what?”

“They boarded them,” he almost yelled, “and
left some of their spies behind. When the ships docked here, they got off with
the rest of the crew. The Navy has been watching us for weeks.”

Holy. Crap. My jaw dropped.

The bonfires. The airlocks. The gang
reorganizations. Everything we were trying to hide, they would have seen. And
it looks even worse that we tried to hide it because it shows we knew it was
all illegal.

“So you see,” Rendrae continued, “we’re going
to be in a fight really soon whether you like it or not.”

“Rendrae, even if this is true, how can we fight
battlecruisers? Aim our pistols in the air? The Navy can do whatever they
want.”

“No,” he replied. “They’re going to drop off
troops and equipment. When they come, we’ll attack.”

“You’re crazy. You think just because some guys
know how to gamble and…and counterfeit luxury goods they know how to beat the
Navy in protracted firefights? We’ll get slaughtered.”

“We don’t have to win. We just have to make it
not worth their while.”

“This isn’t a business venture for them.
They’re the Navy.” I said, exasperated. I liked Rendrae more when he was a
pudgy, sycophant journalist instead of a counter-revolutionary.

“They want this station. We just have to
convince them to let our side exist as normal.”

“I don’t even know what that means, Rendrae.”

“You’re right, we can’t win a protracted war
with the Navy. But this is a big station. As it is, we take up way less than
half of it. We can share so long as they leave us alone. It’s mutually
beneficial for both sides. And we’d have a full-population Belvaille.”

“You think we’re just going to kill a bunch of
them and they’re going to want to live with us peacefully? Not only that, but
you expect the Navy to work next door with organized crime?”

“They’ve already been side-by-side with us
since Belvaille opened. They’ll just be here in greater numbers now. It’s not
that unreasonable. Colmarians have a long history of resisting occupation.”

“Alien occupation. How can our own race conquer
us?”

I was shaking my head at Rendrae. But if the
Navy was here, and it sadly seemed a very real possibility, things looked grim
indeed.

“I need to know what side you’re on, Hank.”

“There are no sides yet. But you know me, I’m
always neutral.”

“That’s not going to work anymore,” he said
almost threateningly.

“Hey,” I interrupted, suddenly looking at his
gun on the table. “Where did you get that pistol?”

“What?”

“Did you get that from Been-e?” I continued.

“Yeah. I think so. Why?”

“That gun shot me. Twice,” I said, annoyed.

“Oh.” Rendrae seemed thrown on how to continue.
“Well, that’s all I wanted to say. Enjoy your lunch.”

I kept glowering at the pistol, as if it were a
personal enemy, as Rendrae quickly put it back in his pants and left the
restaurant.

I couldn’t contact Garm. She was so busy lately
it was almost impossible. Also, her staff was keeping her whereabouts strictly
secret, even from me. I just hoped she knew about the stuff Rendrae had
mentioned.

First thing I could think of was Delovoa. We
had to move that stupid robot somewhere.

Chances were the Navy would want to see what
was left from the wrecked Dredel Led. And that was in Delovoa’s basement. And
standing next to it was a fully functional Dredel Led. People tend to notice
things like that.

Delovoa might be the dumbest person in the
galaxy for buying that heap and bringing it to the station, but he’d be in for
a world of hurt once the Navy found out. I doubt they even had a criminal
category for what he did. More importantly, it might reflect poorly on the need
for the continued existence of Belvaille.

I went over late at night. He was still huddled
in the corner. His beard was long, his hair was wild, and he looked thin. ZR3
stood over Delovoa like a bulky jailor or extremely possessive boyfriend.

“Hank!” Delovoa cried out. “Have you figured a
way to get rid of it?”

“No,” I replied with difficulty. Delovoa was
truly pathetic and it pained me to be the bearer of bad news.

“Can you at least talk to me a bit? What’s
going on outside?”

“The Navy is here. Maybe. Not in force yet, but
they might have put some advanced scouts on the cargo ships to see what we’re
up to.”

“Oh yeah? Would they do that? What do you
think? Would they?”

Delovoa was animated at having some actual
conversation. When I dropped off food and such, I usually left immediately, as
I didn’t like standing this close to a working robot with undeclared
intentions.

“We need to move you, Delovoa. We can’t let the
Navy see that.”

“So you just want to move me to some other
basement?” Delovoa was horrified. “Have this thing standing next to me forever?
Why? Let the Navy handle it. I’m sure they can.” Delovoa, while not a boss, was
a respected member of Belvaille and enjoyed financial success. His current
living conditions must be quite grueling for him.

“Delovoa, they’ll lock you up for a million
years—if you’re lucky. Not to mention Garm will get in tons of trouble for not
reporting it.”

“I don’t care.”

“We can talk about it another time. We need to
get you two out of here.”

“We’re not a couple. This is my home.”

“Delovoa, think. You know this is true,” I said
calmly.

Delovoa seemed defeated.

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“I have an apartment in the southwest we can
use. But it’s a long walk. It should be about the last place anyone looks.”

He gathered up his meager things—a blanket and
cot he had been sleeping on, a small bag of foodstuffs—and then walked past the
robot and towards me on the ramp.

As soon as he reached the bottom, ZR3 turned
and followed, each thunderous step reverberating through the floors.

Outside his house I checked the street and the
area was clear, so I gave the signal for Delovoa to continue. The real trick
was moving this robot all the way across the city with no one noticing. If
anyone saw, that would certainly get people talking, which would alert any Navy
spies that were here and render all this subterfuge pointless.

I crossed the road and waited for him. Delovoa
stood in the door frame looking tiny. He had been in his basement so long he
seemed almost afraid to step over the threshold.

But that fear didn’t last long as he bolted out
and ran up the street away from me.

ZR3 literally burst through the doorway,
wrenching huge chunks of metal frame. It then pounded after Delovoa, each step
resounding like a blast from Garm’s artillery gun. It was amazingly quick, that
Dredel Led.

I stood there with my mouth gaping watching
them go, trying to comprehend just how bad things had become.

After a few stunned seconds, I hurried after
them as they sped into the distance. Delovoa was fueled by his manic desire to
escape his robot watchman. ZR3 was fueled by whatever ZR3 was fueled by.

Both of them were far faster than I was. The
good news was it was no trouble tracking them. All of Belvaille is made of
metal. The roads, however, are sprayed with some kind of semi-tacky composite
material.

Every few years the higher traffic roads near
the port got dissolved and reapplied. It’s incredibly hardy stuff. The city had
a few monolithic tracked vehicles we used to transport infrastructure equipment
and even they didn’t damage the roads much.

But ZR3 was practically punching holes with
every step. I didn’t know how anything so relatively small could be so heavy.
Or how it could even support that weight.

But such philosophical questions were a rather
low priority at the moment. I could see people were waking up as lights turned
on from apartment windows. ZR3 clanging past likely knocking folks out of bed.

Thirty minutes later I was now well behind
them, and a few people came outside to ask me what was going on.

“Nothing,” I said, running past.

My yellow shoes, as predicted, didn’t last a
few turns and I was wearing one around my ankle as the other flew completely
off.

I couldn’t tell where Delovoa was going at
first, as he seemed to be choosing streets at random. Occasionally, I’d see
buildings with their corners twisted from ZR3 brushing past.

Delovoa’s destination slowly became clearer so
I took a few shortcuts.

Inside my apartment, Delovoa was in my kitchen
helping himself to some of my rations and ZR3 was standing on what was once my
couch.

“Did you know you have a huge block of
delfiblinium sitting here?” Delovoa asked casually.

I wasn’t spending a lot of time at my apartment
now that it was being systematically smashed apart by a giant, handless robot.

Delovoa was being stubborn by not leaving and
knew I wasn’t about to threaten him with his hulking twin nearby. He was trying
to force me into somehow solving his problem by making it our problem.

But if worse came to worse, I’d just move. He
could keep the Dredel Led and my delfiblinium, and wouldn’t that be a nice chat
once the Navy came knocking? But he seemed to be cooling down overall. I think
he was just tired of sitting in his basement, and at least my place had easier
access to a shower and food—even if it did mean my walls got hammered.

I visited Grever Treest to say I wouldn’t be
able to help him with his drug storage issues, but he didn’t care. He had
effectively used futures trading in the drug market by waiting a mere couple
months during the purge and sold out everything at substantial profits. That
entire room of drugs was gone.

He asked me if I wanted a complimentary chafze
from his private store, some of the last on the station. I politely declined.

But he tipped me fifty credits for stopping by
and asked where there was a nice neighborhood to move to in the north.

I should have been a drug dealer.

It was pretty late at night and I had just
watched some animal fights at Lodaire deLon’s place. He was a boss who would
train the strangest animals in the galaxy to fight one another in front of betting
crowds. It was considered high culture by many on the station.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to stay in a hotel
tonight or go back to my apartment and sleep next to a robot.

As I was deciding, a petite woman with a bob
haircut and businesslike manner approached me.

“Are you Hank?” she asked in a squeaky voice
that made her sound pubescent.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I’m Two Clem’s assistant,” she said, shaking
my hand.

There were various kinds of celebrities on
Belvaille. Everyone that lived here knew Garm. Many criminals probably at least
knew of me. There were some fairly famous galactic-wide crooks in hiding here.
And then there were a handful of genuine celebrities, people famous outside the
tiny confines of Belvaille for acts that weren’t even illegal.

Two Clem was a real celebrity. He did…all the
celebrity stuff. Music. Acting. Clothes. His own brand of pet. I don’t know.
Things celebrities did.

I wasn’t sure why he was here, but if he was on
Belvaille it probably wasn’t entirely by choice. It might have been as simple
as tax reasons.

“Two Clem would like to speak to you,” she
said.

It was either this or go play footsy with
Delovoa and his pal.

“Sounds great,” I said.

There aren’t any mansions or anything on
Belvaille. But if you had enough money, you could get a posh spot in the
northeast. That was where the assistant took me, driving me in a small car. Two
Clem had his own building, which is more than most gang bosses had. Not a
house, but an actual apartment building all to himself.

There were liveried servants all over. The
entire first floor was just security.

The little assistant took me up quietly. She
still hadn’t told me her name or even looked at me after our initial hello. It
seemed a foregone conclusion to her that I would be thrilled to follow and meet
her benefactor.

The next floor was filled with videos and
sculptures and pictures of Two Clem. Basically every kind of physical, audible,
and visual representation of him was on display. Whole artist colonies must
have been raised from destitution.

The next floor looked like a normal set of
apartments, yet was lavishly appointed. Perhaps guest rooms?

The top floor was pretty impressive. It’s not
easy to remodel on Belvaille. Not without explosives. But somehow the entire
floor had been stripped of its inner walls. What was once maybe four different
apartments was now a single open room of warehouse proportions.

It was eye-assaultingly bright in its color
scheme. The carpet was literally inches thick so you felt like you were walking
on a low-gravity planet. Both crude and absurdly technical artwork was all
over, contrasting loudly.

As we topped the stairs I saw a lone figure in
a gold cape and tight shorts standing across the room, his black hair spiked
out in three-foot prongs. He seemed to be admiring the wall opposite us, which
was blank.

The assistant picked up a tiny mallet and
chimed a bell. I almost laughed.

The celebrity turned and held out his arms.

The assistant walked up to him and hugged him
about the waist, bending over as she did so, like a young girl still shy of her
budding body. I noticed Two Clem wore boots with one-foot platform heels.

This was weird.

I heard the celebrity whisper and the assistant
turned back to me.

“You may come forward,” she said.

I looked back towards the stairs. I really
didn’t feel like walking down again. And I didn’t feel like going home. This
would make a funny story at the Gentleman’s Club if nothing else.

I walked towards them. If he expected me to
curtsy though, I was leaving.

The celebrity smiled. I guess he was a handsome
guy. He had that unusualness that celebrities have. He didn’t look quite
normal, but not enough to be odd. If he talked, no matter what he sounded like,
it wouldn’t match his face.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, his voice not
matching his face.

“No prob.”

“It’s said you are the best at what you do in
this place,” Two Clem stated, taking a few steps to the side. He said “place”
with no small amount of dislike.

“I do okay,” I shrugged.

“But are you the best?” He scrutinized me and
his nostrils and eyes flared. This was a performance.

He was frozen in his intense stare and I got
the perverted desire to see how long he would hold it. So I waited. I pretended
to be thinking. I scratched my ear. I looked up. Put my finger to my lips.
Breathed out deeply. Shuffled my feet. Crossed my arms.

He did not move one muscle. I don’t even think
he blinked. He was pretty good.

“I do okay,” I said.

“You have to understand my caution,” he said
dramatically, his cape flying as he turned. “My heart has been stolen and I
cannot allow any more harm to befall me.”

I looked at his chest, which was unmarked.

“What?”

“Don’t you see? She could be with anyone. I
gave her my all. Poured my essence into her. My soul. And did she care?”

He spun, pointing at me.

“No?” I answered, unsure.

“No!” He fell to the ground in a swoon of
anguish and I realized it was lucky he had such thick carpeting.

I looked at the assistant, who didn’t return my
gaze but was staring at her employer with an impenetrable expression.

As he had his head down on the carpet and the
assistant was…elsewhere, I looked at my tele. Should I leave? Applaud?

His hand began clawing and I saw he was
motioning me over. I gingerly approached. I heard some whispering and had to
crouch down, damn my knees, to hear him.

“Her name, my blossom’s name, is Tejj-jo,” he
gasped. “You must find if I am forsaken.” He looked up at me imploringly.

Again, I looked back at the assistant, who was
no help.

“So if I had to rephrase that, I would say…”
And I looked at him to complete it.

He grasped my arm with his painted fingers. His
actual fingers were painted. I think they had scenes on them, like animals and
landscapes. My fingers felt so boring by comparison.

“Am I to end today what she hath already
sundered? My being. My very makeup.”

“Makeup?” I just wasn’t getting it. I rose to
my feet. “Look, man, I have no clue what you’re asking me.”

“Is his life partner cheating on him,” the
assistant said with annoyance.

The celebrity flashed her the briefest of stern
looks before going soft again.

“That’s it? You called me here for that?” I was
incensed. Girlfriend problems? You got to be kidding me. I would have been much
more upset if this wasn’t such a freak festival. No one will ever believe this
story.

The celebrity sprang to his feet despite his
boots.

“You must save me. I teeter on the brink of
oblivion. It is but a trifle for you, but a lifetime for me.”

“There’s a million guys here who can do that.
Well, not a million, but a lot.”

“But you’re the best,” he pleaded.

“I’m not the best at this,” I said. “I’m the
best at…fighting…and like, robots…and killing people.” I paused. Wow, my resume
sucked.

“There may be a need for murder,” he said with
loathing.

“Not like that,” I said, my hand on my
forehead. “Just ask her.”

“Hah, and the witch shall speak the truth? Her
lips would surely bleed from disuse at the effort.”

“I’m sorry, Two Clem, this just isn’t something
I do. I wish you—”

“You will be paid handsomely if you assent.”

“I have the invoice here,” a man spoke from
behind me. If I was one to be startled, I would have been startled. I turned
and saw Leeny’s bookkeeper.

“Hey,” I said, wondering where he’d come from.
This carpet, an assassin’s paradise.

He held out a piece of paper, which I took as
there was nothing else to do.

100,000 credits.

“You’re kidding,” I said.

I could see he was about to break into another
speech so I turned back to the bookkeeper.

“He’s kidding, right?”

“That is the sum allocated.”

“This gal is on Belvaille? This station?”

“Were that she weren’t,” the celebrity said.

“She’s on the station?” I asked the bookkeeper.

“I have no information on the specifics,” he
responded bookkeeperly.

“She’s on the station?” I asked the assistant,
who didn’t answer or look at me. “She’s on the station? This station?” I asked
Two Clem again.

“Yes. Yes. A thousand yeses.”

Then I got an even better idea.

“Hey,” I asked the bookkeeper. “Could you give
me a receipt after this job?”

“Yes, of course,” he said.

“But could you give me a receipt for a lot
more? Like, to cover some of my other work? He wouldn’t have to pay for it,
just give receipts.”

Of the many things I had to worry about, I was
still bothered by what this bookkeeper had originally said. If I took the job,
which was a real job—although boring—it would prove I had honest income.

 The bookkeeper looked surprised under his mask
of facial hair. “That can be arranged,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “As
long as the quoted price remains the same.”

“Sure,” I said, “I’ll take the job.” I got paid
significantly less than that for executing a gang boss. Unless she was cheating
with Delovoa’s robot and Jyonal and Wallow, and all of them were jealous of me
finding out, I was absolutely not concerned.

“Thank you. You are my savior. My beacon.” He
kneeled before me.

I put out my hand to shake.

“It’s okay.”

He looked at my hand distastefully and the
assistant walked over quickly and turned me towards the stairs.

“I can get you her last contact information,”
she said.

I looked back over my shoulder and saw the
celebrity standing with his hand on his hip, drinking heartily from a bottle.
The bookkeeper was near him talking in a voice I couldn’t hear.

I didn’t really need the money, especially now
when I had a lot of explaining to do about what I already owned. But it’s hard
to pass up good deals. It’s in our nature. Like Grever Treest buying all those
drugs or even Delovoa buying what he thought was a broken robot.

It was a little too late for social calls, but
she was only five blocks away, which was like twenty grand per block walked.

It was another converted building, but this one
was made into upscale apartments. There were armed guards outside who wouldn’t
let you in without a key or invitation. They even knew me and wouldn’t let me
in, though they weren’t comfortable about it.

“Look guys, I’m going in. If you shoot me, I’ll
shoot you back. I promise I’m not here to cause trouble. I just need to talk to
someone.”

A few more guards came out and they all
conversed. They wore bright red, long jackets with white gloves and fancy hats.
Two were pretty old. They looked a lot more used to holding open doors and
carrying bags than getting into gun battles.

“Who is it you’re coming to see, Hank?” one of
the older men asked.