Hard Luck Hank: Screw the Galaxy

by Steven Campbell

  “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.

  CHAPTER 30

  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 an
d 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.

  CHAPTER 31

  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 sta
ring 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.”