Hard Luck Hank: Screw the Galaxy (24 page)

I was on edge, having barely slept a wink. I
finally decided I needed some food and needed to see what was going on.

The lights were now on. Looking up it was
almost possible to pretend the Navy hadn’t come. All those ships had been just
a dream.

Except for the soldiers.

At each corner stood a half-dozen armed
soldiers who scrutinized me with extreme intensity as I passed.

They wore charcoal-colored body armor and
carried either wicked, long rifles or fat, snub ones. I didn’t immediately
recognize the guns, as Belvaille didn’t specialize in military designs. But the
shorter one was obviously a multi-barreled submachine gun designed to throw as
much metal downrange in as short a time as possible. The rifle was some kind of
high-caliber precision shot. There were far more men with the automatic
weapons.

They also carried sidearms which I couldn’t
see. They had on helmets with their visors down. Since there was no glare to
worry about, I took this to mean they were getting visual instructions via
their helmets or perhaps some scanning-type information. Or they were all ugly.

As I moved closer to the port, ostensibly
looking for a restaurant, the soldier density rose exponentially. Just ten
blocks out there were what looked like thousands of them.

I was shooed away as the mass of troops moved
in synchronization transporting gear with all manner of heavy lifters. It
seemed the first order was to unload everything from the ships. How they were
going to move all those crates across the city was anyone’s guess but they were
already stacked taller than some of the warehouses.

“I said get going,” a soldier barked. And a
dozen men with nothing better to do pointed their guns at me.

It was then I also noticed the emplaced heavy
machine guns and rocket launchers.

I actually felt somewhat relieved seeing all
this. If they were spending this much effort moving in, they at least weren’t
going to blow us up from space.

Belvaille’s preparations seemed comical. We
were going to trick an entire occupying army? Pretend we were a quaint tourist
attraction off the beaten path?

And my, how power had changed. What was a boss
now? What possible influence could he have? Belvaille was now a military base
that happened to have some civilians on it.

A diner some ways from the port was packed. It
was perhaps half soldiers and half regulars. The only people talking were the
soldiers.

The people of Belvaille all had their heads down
as they dutifully ate their meals. I walked in and people I knew gave me
half-inch nods.

“Can I help you, sir?” the cook, who had known
me for decades, asked with a leaden voice. I ordered and took a seat.

After about ten minutes a squad of troops came
in. A slight buzzing or whistling emanated from them—I think it was their
intra-unit communication systems.

“Groll-uot-a, stand,” one of them said to a
person eating, who was trying to hide in his food. I vaguely knew him as a man
named “Gouel.” He did something in smuggling.

“Stand!” the guard yelled again and hit Gouel
on the head with his gun. The squad dragged him to his feet and out of the
diner.

The tension relaxed afterwards and people went
back to their business. But it was a stilted calm. No one was really hungry and
the soldiers who had been laughing and talking earlier were now closer together
and speaking in quiet tones.

I put my head down and ate my food like
everyone else.

I guess you could say things went downhill from
there.

The ridiculous amount of soldiers increased
dramatically with no signs of slowing. Apparently they hadn’t all come on shore
at once because our feeble port was simply incapable of handling that many
ships and personnel. Likewise, soldiers had to transfer in space from the
larger ships to ones able to dock at Belvaille.

In a week, the city was firmly under martial
law, with bunkers on every corner. If you wanted to walk to the train, you had
your identification checked at least five times, as if you were going to get
phony papers in the half block between when you got your ID last checked—I mean
it was possible on Belvaille, but still pretty excessive.

They had not made any large-scale forays into
the uninhabited areas of the city, but were slowly setting up living quarters in
the northwest. They cordoned off that area so it was impossible to see what
they were doing.

The hidden caches hadn’t been found yet and
Delovoa was safe for the moment, but at this rate I wasn’t sure how long that
would last. There were just so many troops.

The number of arrests had been escalating as
well. What was more frightening was that no one knew where the arrestees were
being held. There were whispers that they were simply being killed. The city
didn’t have the jail facilities to hold the number of people being taken, and
it seemed an awful hassle to be transferring them all back to military vessels.

Anyone who was anyone was in hiding—or hiding
as much as they could in a space station saturated with police.

The clubs were all closed. The casinos were
shut down. Even the social clubs, the Belvaille Athletic and Belvaille
Gentleman’s Club, were closed, and I didn’t think those had ever closed. Not
even during riots.

What probably scared people the most was the
fact our teles were all jammed. There was a looping message from the Navy and
that’s it.

Teles were impossible to hack. Literally
impossible. In a city full of some of the best criminals—okay, some of the
better criminals—in the galaxy, no one even bothered with teles. You could do
nothing to them whatsoever. But all of ours had become messageboards for the
Colmarian Navy.

“Hi, Garm,” I said, as she walked up next to me
on the sidewalk.

“Hello,” she responded. “I don’t have much
time, come on.”

Garm was in a new military dress uniform I had
never seen before. It was a bit sexy. She wasn’t looking at me as she kept her
eyes forward.

“So, how about this weather?” I began as we
walked nowhere and tried to look as if we were up to nothing. We kept our
voices low.

“I don’t think they’re going to leave and I
think it’s only a matter of time before they arrest me.”

“You?” I was shocked.

“They know everything. Everything we’ve done
here. I’ve done. I don’t know how, but if I illegally crossed the street ten
years ago, they somehow got pictures of it and witness testimony. They’re only
keeping me around now because I know all the internal systems and who does
what. As soon as they learn all the technical aspects of the city, I suspect
they’ll have no more use for me.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“What are they doing with the people they
arrest?”

“They don’t tell me.”

“So that’s it? They’re going to throw us all in
jail?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, but I’m not
going to be cooperating for long,” she said ominously.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to try and pull a
Rendrae and think you can fight these guys. I mean look around.”

“I’ve already been talking with Rendrae. We’re
putting together strategies. We hope we can count on you, but I understand if
you want no part of it. I suspect you’ll be okay no matter what.”

It was absolutely shocking to hear Garm talking
like this. She was about the most sensible, level-headed person on the station,
and if she was speaking these words, things must truly be bad.

“I don’t know what to say, Garm.”

Then I heard a voice above me.

“Hank. Eat suck. Suckface!”

I turned around and
WHAM
.

There was familiar, salty blood, like a hobo’s
wine in my mouth. I was plastered all over a guard bunker which I had destroyed
like a cannonball. I heard soldiers shouting and saw people running about as my
eyes began to focus.

“What…idiot…gave him…a weapon?” I staggered.

Wallow was surrounded by soldiers who were
trying to calm and cajole the monster, with limited success. What was most
striking, however, was that he was wearing some makeshift Navy uniform. All
black, big boots, buttons—the works. He even had a truncheon of some kind,
which is what he had punted me down the street with.

I wondered if the Navy kept super-sized clothes
on board their ships on the chance they might happen to run into a Therezian
who was looking to enlist. Or maybe Rendrae was right and Wallow was part of
some deep conspiracy all along.

But then I decided it was best to pass out.

I woke up in the back of an ambulance, but I
told them to drop me off at my apartment. I wasn’t going to the hospital and
have them play around with me again.

I checked my teeth. I had recently gotten my
falsies removed and it would be just like Wallow to knock them out again. But
they seemed okay.

Shuffling into my apartment, I longed for a
drink and a nap. But there were two people inside waiting for me.

One was a handsome, middle-aged man in a
military uniform with an obscene number of commendations on it. He wore a crisp
hat and, amazingly, had a sword on his belt. Not a fancy technological sword,
just a regular old sword. Like he was expecting any minute to be attacked by
time travelers from 50,000 years ago.

The other man was shorter, older, less
attractive, had fewer medals, and numerous medical implants on his face.

“Hi,” I said, nonplussed.

“Ah, you must be Hank,” the swordsman answered.
“Forgive us, but your door was open. In fact, it doesn’t seem as if it can
close.”

He had a peculiar accent. Not one I was
familiar with. He was cocky without being a jerk about it.

“I’m sure this is regarding something,” I
started, “but I just got my head cracked by a Therezian and I’d just like to
take it easy if you don’t mind.”

“Ah, yes, I heard about that. Ensign Wallow
seems to have some history with you. Forgive me,” the man said, smiling.

My curiosity got the better of me.

“Did he always work for you guys?”

“No, no. You just need to understand how their
minds work.” The way he stated that made me think he was going to tell me more,
but he didn’t.

All this time the older man had been staring at
me intently. He had a bitter little face, that one. As if he was swooshing
vinegar around his mouth constantly.

“I haven’t introduced myself. I’m not used
to…,” he trailed off. “I am The Honorious Consular Prefecture Wardian Swife
Jonathe.”

I didn’t quite snort, but I sniffed. Where did
they come up with these titles? I wasn’t even sure where his name started in
all that mess.

“Cool.” I offered my hand, which he shook in a
powerful grasp.

“This is Kaprine General Mush’tathina,” he
said, introducing the older man, who did not seem anxious to shake my hand and
I didn’t offer it. He didn’t have a sword, but he had a pistol in a holster.

“But you don’t need to introduce yourself, we
are all aware of your exploits for the Colmarian Confederation,” he said,
smiling.

I just couldn’t get over that sword. I mean,
what was the purpose? There was almost no greater indication this man wasn’t a
real combatant than carrying an ancient weapon. I wonder if it works as some
kind of reverse status, where the higher the rank, the lower the technology. So
the super-duper-high overlord of the Navy would carry a stick or a clump of
dirt.

 “It says you’re a pipe refitter,” General
Mush’tathina said with his ugly mouth. “What does that entail?”

I scratched my ear.

“Pipes. Fitting them together and stuff,” I
said with no authority.

“You fought two Dredel Led. How did you defeat
them?” Wardian Jonathe asked. He was pleasant, curious, but I could tell he
didn’t get fifty pounds of medals on his chest being a sap.

“I…just shot them.”

“With what? You’ll excuse me, but as Consular
Exar of the Southern States and Wardian of the 3
^rd
Navy, the safety
of my citizens is of paramount concern. I need to know what weapon to use if
they should return.”

I reached into my jacket and took out my
shotgun.

The General quickly took it from me. He moved
far faster than his age would indicate.

“It’s a shotgun,” he said dismissively to the
Wardian.

“Wow, you ARE a general,” I said.

He didn’t hand it back.

“So you’re saying that gun was used to kill the
Dredel Led? The one lying in many pieces at citizen Delovoa’s residence?” The
Wardian’s voice was still kind. He had a manner of talking that put you at ease
even though every instinct told you not to be. Or maybe that was my brain still
reeling from Wallow’s blow.

“Things happened so fast…,” I trailed off.

“The report is that you tracked the robot down
over days,” he interrupted calmly.

“Yeah, but after that it was fast.”

“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked, walking
to the kitchen instead of the scraps that used to be my couch. He sat and I
realized that right on the table in front of him was a cube of multicolored
metal, just looking for a comet to bash. Was he goading me? I did my best not
to panic.

“And you’re a mutant, correct?”

“Yeah. Like a lot of people.”

“True, true. It’s our great gift. Do you happen
to know what level you are?”

I wasn’t sure if he was trying to get me to
indict Garm and her false list. I wasn’t sure about anything.

“I can’t remember how they label them. I’m like
a four. Or ten. Or something.”

“I suspect that helped you in fighting them?”
he asked.

“Suppose so.”

He then looked to his General.

“You know it’s a shame our mutations are all
random. What we couldn’t do with more fellows like Hank, eh?”

The General looked more evil if anything.

“Of course, I heard tales,” the Wardian
continued conversationally, “stories of mutations that are actually passed
along genetic lines. Father-to-son-to-granddaughter. That sort of thing.
Extremely rare. They call it ‘Bequested Variation.’ It’s not always beneficial,
but I do recall a legend about one family long ago. A whole extended tribe
fighting together on behalf of Colmarian freedom. The heroes of the Ontakian
War so they say.”

With that he smiled at me and stood up, his
foolish sword clanging against my chair.

“But I can see you’re tired. If you don’t mind,
we’ll come back some other time and discuss things. The Dredel Led
particularly.”

He shook my hand again, the General returned my
shotgun, and the pair of them left.