Hard Luck Hank: Screw the Galaxy (15 page)

I paused and looked down at one of the
partiers. His eyes were closed and his mouth open. My fingers were too thick to
feel a pulse, but I crouched down to examine him. I could see his chest rising
and falling. I looked at others and could see them breathing as well.

“Take him. Take Jyonal home,” I said with
difficulty.

Jyen started to answer.

“Take him home!”

Jyen ran over to her brother and coaxed him to
his feet. I didn’t want to look at them. All I could see was this club full of
bodies that had been so lively a second ago.

How was I going to explain this? How does a
whole club get knocked out cold?

I could tell the doormen that…that some
electrical thing happened. Yeah. Like wiring. Come quick. Yeah. They wouldn’t
know. It would hurt Daavisim’s business, but they wouldn’t know.

I got to the front door. I paused to rehearse
my lines. Be startled. Act surprised. I didn’t think that was a problem.

I threw open the door.

“Come quick.”

The doormen were lying on the ground.

I looked up the street and there were nothing
but prone figures as far as I could see.

I stumbled out of the club and began walking.
People with shopping bags. People with their children. All unconscious. I
checked a few more and they all appeared to be breathing. How long did this
last? How far did it go?

I turned a corner and it was the same. I walked
dumbly, looking for someone still moving. Waiting for it to end.

I turned another corner and it was the same.
The whole city? Was it possible? I felt like I was going insane.

Suddenly I heard a noise and looked up.

There was a mechanic strapped to a train
support pole looking down at me from maybe ten feet up. He was dressed in work
clothes that were designed to protect him from the heavy machinery of the
train.

I gave him a small, hesitant wave.

He struggled with his harness, fell to the
ground, and ran away from me as fast as his chubby legs could carry him.

I crept around the empty city like the last
survivor of a war. I wanted to avert my gaze, as it was very disconcerting
seeing all the bodies, but I also didn’t want to step on anyone being as hefty
as I was.

There was no way I was going back to my
apartment. I felt sure Jyen would come over and try to explain how all this was
totally normal for them. How level-ten mutants, when they weren’t getting high,
making themselves new bodies, or handing out delfiblinium, were busy knocking
whole cities senseless.

I went into a diner. The occupants were on the
floor or with their heads on the counter, and decided to fix myself some food.
All the appliances seemed to be working so it was a matter of finding
ingredients.

It was a simple meal because I didn’t want
people to start waking up and find me preparing some fancy seven-course dinner.
But it turns out there was no fear of that. After two hours and my meal long
gone, I was still the only one awake.

But soon enough I heard a cough by the counter.
Very slowly the patrons were stirring.

I immediately sprawled myself against a
countertop and played dead. After a few more minutes, there were screams and
yells and all kinds of commotion.

I got to my feet last, confused at this strange
happening.

But as soon as they saw me there, I was accosted
with questions.

“Hank, what just happened? What’s going on?”

People kept asking me as if I had all the
answers. I did, but it was irritating that they would assume I did.

I just shook my head and did my best to feign
shock, though I don’t think I sold it well, as the diners kept pressing.
Finally, I had to leave so I wouldn’t be bothered by a lot of scared folks
whose problems I couldn’t resolve—not without breaking my word to keep Jyen’s
and Jyonal’s identities secret, anyway.

At home I turned off my tele and the doorbell
and went to sleep.

I woke up to harsh light in my eyes.

“What did you do?” I heard Garm ask before I
could see her.

With one eye open I could barely distinguish
her outline in my bedroom. I checked my tele. I had only gotten about four
hours sleep.

“Come on, we can talk about this tomorrow, I’m
tired,” I slurred.

Bang!

I grabbed my head where Garm had just shot me.

“Hey.” I stumbled out of bed and reached with
an arm to try and snag her, but she easily sidestepped me. I tripped and landed
hard on the floor.

“I know you hate getting shot, so if this is
what it takes, I got all night,” she said.

“Garm, I don’t know. Ask anyone, I was asleep
too,” I said.

“Do you think I’m stupid? You’re the worst liar
in the galaxy. You weren’t in the restaurant before it happened and suddenly
you’re there, in someone else’s seat, covered in food.”

“It must have messed with our memories,” I
pondered mysteriously.

“Hank. The city was paralyzed. Everyone. We’ve
already had five deaths from it and there’s probably going to be more. So tell
me,” Garm said, her gun pointing at me again. “What in the 440 states is going
on? When the troops get here, they’re going to ask about it. They’re going to
assume the Dredel Led made the station unstable. This may even be the rationale
they need to destroy Belvaille. Eighty thousand people just don’t
simultaneously swoon.”

I couldn’t really lie to Garm. Not on moral
grounds, but because I couldn’t think of any lie that would remotely make
sense. Finally I took a deep breath.

“Garm. I can’t tell you,” I said simply.

“Why?” she asked, her eyes huge and angry.

“I can’t tell you that either. But—”

“You’re going to have to do a lot better than
that! People died from it, Hank.”

“How did they die?”

“Why does it matter, they’re dead. Now I need
to know how. If I know that, I am sure we can fix it or somehow explain it to
the Navy. But do you really think they’re going to want to drop off tens of
thousands of their troops into an area that mysteriously knocks its citizens
into a coma?”

“Garm.”

“Yes, Hank,” she seemed to expect another
stonewall.

“Will it help you to hear that I have it under
control?”

“How is this under control? How can I possibly
think you have it under control? Is it only going to be half the city next
time?”

I wasn’t making any progress this way.

“Who was it who fought the Dredel Led?” I said.
“For free.”

Garm was incredulous.

“You want money?” She rummaged in her pants.
“You mercenary bastard, is that what this is about?”

“No. I was just saying…you have to take my word
for it, Garm.”

“I don’t have to take anything. I have to
protect this station, not just you.”

I thought for a moment.

“You have to take my word for it,” I said,
leaving a heavy pause. “Or it will happen again.”

It was kind of true. Though kind of a lie. If
Garm kept at it, she’d probably haul me down to jail and treat me pretty damn
bad. I could somewhat realistically guess that Jyen would respond to that by
using her brother. Who would do…mutant stuff. Up to, including, exceeding, what
he’d done already.

But the kind-of-truthness registered on my face
and Garm knew her hands were tied.

“You got this covered? You’re sure?”

“Yes,” I said uneasily.

I think Garm’s mind wasn’t ready to handle the
lie part of my response, so she put her gun down. We stood there quietly a
while.

“I won’t allow it to happen again,” I said a
little more resolutely.

Now that I knew people had died, if he got out
of hand, I would kill Jyonal. Though technically, if he got out of hand, he’d
probably be killing me.

“How am I going to explain this?” Garm said.

“Electrical,” I said, continuing my half-truth
streak.

Garm probably thought I was covering for some
technical folks who’d accidentally run current through the sidewalks or
something. That was a story she could sell, as no one would doubt Belvaille
incompetence.

“Hey,” I said, “there are some bosses who want
to carry out a hit. It seems Ddewn was setting up some back channel—”

“Argh!” Garm screamed in frustration. “I have
to locate and dismantle fifty years’ worth of contraband across an entire city
that specializes in contraband. You handle it. Unless,” she said, cooling
rapidly, “you handling it would jeopardize you handling the other thing.”

“No,” I said with conviction. “I’ll get it
done.”

Garm walked to my bedroom door to leave. I saw
her hand was still tight on her pistol.

“If we get out of this alive, and I’m not in
prison or executed, I’ll make sure you get whatever pay you want, Hank.”

“I don’t really need anything.”

She looked like she wanted to shoot me again,
but only if it did damage. So instead she just walked out of my apartment.

I made a call to one of Ddewn’s clubs the next
day. It was more a restaurant, but it had a little spot for sports gambling. I
think mostly so he could call it a casino, which carried more prestige than a
club and certainly more than a restaurant.

The manager told me he would tele for his boss
and I should take a seat. Ddewn hired some of the roughest people on Belvaille.
It bred loyalty and made him a bad guy to fight.

I figured I was just going to ask it straight.
There was no point in me trying to figure out his labyrinth of schemes. We were
at a point on the station where that stuff didn’t matter.

Business was good in the restaurant. Lots of
people. Kind of a middle-of-the-line clientele. I think they were all slumming
it or the prices were low because the casino was shabby even by Belvaille
standards, with third-hand games and mismatched furniture.

The carpet had huge swaths that were different
shades of the same color. The walls had paintings with rings around them from
years of collected dust blown from the vents. There was even a bent banister.
Really, how much effort does it take to straighten a railing?

The manager came back and told me Ddewn wasn’t
around but I could wait. He wasn’t being very friendly.

I waited. The bartender wasn’t friendly either.
I was sitting practically right on his lap and he just stood there washing
glasses like I wasn’t there. I actually had to reach for a drink for him to
finally take notice.

I got a cocktail and this jerk charged me at
least twice as much as standard. And to be even pettier, when he filled it, he
stopped about two inches from the rim.

Okay, I’m not the brightest star, but it was
clear these guys didn’t like me.

After an hour I asked for the manager again. He
left me sitting there for about thirty minutes before he finally graced me with
his presence.

“Can you call Ddewn again? It’s very important.
Tell him Hank needs to talk to him right away,” I said, trying to stay polite.

“I gave him the message already,” he answered
simply. “He’s a busy man.”

“Yeah,” I agreed slowly.

Then I reached into my jacket, pulled out my
shotgun, and pointed it at the poor guy drinking next to me at the bar.

“You need to leave, sir. The restaurant is
closed.”

As the guy hurried away and before the manager
could react, I got off my stool and fired a shot into the ceiling.

“Calm down everyone. Calm down. The restaurant
is now closed. Please leave in an orderly fashion through the front.”

People left through the front. The side. The
back. And it wasn’t entirely orderly. But it worked.

“What are you doing?” the manager asked
angrily.

I sat back at the counter, my hand still on my
shotgun, the barrels pointed somewhat in the direction of the bartender.

“Hey, pour me another drink. This time a full
one. And then leave.”

The bartender did as he was told, though he had
an awful big scowl on his face for someone with a four-barreled shotgun angled
at him. Definitely a rough crowd—and he’s just the bartender.

The manager was fuming, waiting for me to
explain. I took a sip of my drink and reloaded my gun, throwing the spent shell
over my shoulder.

“Tell Ddewn, he needs to get here in…thirty
minutes, or I’m going to burn this place down. And then I’m going to go to
another of his joints and burn that down. And I’ll keep going until he finally
decides it’s worth his time to come talk to me.”

The manager left to do it and I could see he
wore a perverse grin, which didn’t bode well for me.

Wasn’t I intimidating not two weeks ago? I wonder
if it’s these fake teeth. I still haven’t gotten used to them and now with my
real teeth pushing out, I think I’m talking worse and worse. There’s going to
be a point when no one takes me seriously because every sentence is a spray of
saliva.

I drank my drink and reached over the bar and
grabbed another. I had a feeling I might need it. I didn’t even bother carrying
my broken Ontakian pistol anymore, but I felt this was probably an organization
that wouldn’t be scared anyhow.

After thirty minutes on the dot, Ddewn came in
with twenty of his men openly carrying their weapons. More telling, a lot of
them carried hand-to-hand arms and not guns.

I didn’t recognize many of his boys. The ones I
did recognize, I didn’t have a high regard for.

Ddewn was hard to tell apart from his men in
appearance. He was muscular, tall, and wore dirty old combat synth clothes left
open at the chest. He carried a very compact submachine gun that had a lot of
ammunition and was known for its accuracy. Not a flashy weapon, but one a
skilled marksman would choose.

He looked around his empty restaurant and wore
a phony smile. I could tell he was stewing.

“The famous Hank. The savior of Belvaille. You
know,” he started as he paced around his men, “people talk about you an awful
lot. I think you got them all conned. ‘He killed that Dredel Led,’ they say.
No, Wallow did. And put you in the hospital for months eating out of tubes.
‘Oh, he’s bulletproof, you can’t hurt him,’” he said in a mock-scared voice.
“Bullets aren’t the only tools in the galaxy. If we hold you down, put a bag on
your head, you’ll suffocate just like anyone else. The way I see—”

Boom!

Ddewn landed on his back.

I got off my stool, the smoke wafting from my
shotgun.

“Man, I can’t even remember what I came in here
for,” I said.

His men sprung to attention, their weapons at
the ready. They were alternating looking at me and at Ddewn, who was cursing on
the ground quite colorfully.

I slowly walked towards him. I knew the alpha
was down and this pack of wolves was only as strong as its leader. That was the
problem with their type.