Hard Luck Hank: Screw the Galaxy (31 page)

Moments later about twenty Po arrived,
deposited a table of food, and were gone. If I’d sneezed I would have missed
them.

There was quite a variety to eat, but I wasn’t
sure what any of it was. Did they know my biology? What if they accidentally
gave me poison? Or what if I ate something that gave me diarrhea? I needed to
talk to people and I couldn’t do it throwing up. As I passed over the various
things that were presumably edible, it became clear that the Po had no idea
what I specifically ate. There were slimy puddles of foul-smelling grease and
live wormlike things that squirmed when I poked at them.

I was certain I’d go hungry until at the end of
the table I discovered some rations, which I thankfully consumed. While eating
as far from the disgusting table as possible, a Po with yellow wristbands
appeared.

“Your luggage,” it said with an accent, though
how it managed to have an accent talking with hand boxes was beyond me.

“Luggage?” I asked.

It left without responding, and in its place,
dozens of Po quickly deposited the contents of my ship. The delfiblinium.

It was still enclosed in its containers and
looked untampered with. I was all alone in some inner room of the world-ship
with countless tons of the ore. I needed to think.

And do other things.

Using the bathroom on the world-ship reinforced
just how ill-conceived our original plan was. It’s true I didn’t know the
capabilities of delfiblinium, but was it possible it could do any damage to
this installation? I had been acutely afraid of the bathroom toilet mashing me
into a singularity by its sheer awesomeness.

I hoped that was the toilet, anyway.

I was really on a planet. And not a planet made
from water or gas or loose soil, but one composed alternately of solid crystal
and metals.

My great fear was that exploding the metal
would merely destroy a few dozen rooms and maybe collapse a hallway,
necessitating a little remodeling, but nothing else.

I came to the conclusion that my original
mission was void. I needed to stop this vessel some other way. I wasn’t going
to blow it up, that much was certain.

I hadn’t realized how tired I had been until
the purple Po woke me up to tell me there was a meeting and I was invited as
emissary of the Colmarian Confederation.

I tried to make myself look important in my
monogrammed, yet sissy-colored, bathrobe.

The conclave was held in a large room—well,
large by normal room standards, but normal by world-ship standards. There was a
circular table around which sat the aliens I had seen earlier. In most cases
there were several representatives for each race sitting close to one another.

In the center of the table was a hole that was
occupied by the purple Po, as if he were directing traffic from the various
species.

The whole thing was very similar to a gang
meeting.

Sitting closest to me were Rettosians. They
were one of the furthest species from Belvaille—but so were the Dredel Led, and
that hadn’t stopped them from hanging around. The Rettosians were an ancient
species. Colmarians thought of them as decadent, preferring only the finest of
finer things, but who knows if that stereotype was true.

Physically, they looked like melting
Colmarians. Or oozing. Their bodies secreted…something that was reabsorbed and
then secreted again. Each individual varied in color, but they were vibrant
blues and reds and greens and yellows. Their wardrobes highlighted their
condition by having little spouts and producing tiny waterfalls and fountains.
While it sounds kind of gross, it actually was a rather attractive effect,
though I couldn’t imagine touching one.

The purple Po called the meeting to order.

“We need to address the last concern of the Qwintine
representative regarding the division of trade in the ZT38-P4 system.”

The Qwintine were here as well. Physically,
they were a thin species. They were twitchy and insect-like. And they hadn’t
advanced as much as the other great empires because they had a low
life-expectancy. I think they lived only fifty or so years, which really didn’t
lend itself to galactic exploration.

There were five jittering around at the other
side of the table. The one seated front-and-center had a dull complexion and
didn’t move nearly as much as the ones behind it, who were colored more
brightly. I wondered if they shipped over dozens of diplomats and let them die
off. What a weird species.

“Excuse me,” I said, raising my hand.

The purple Po turned to me. Or at least more of
its appendages did.

“I’m kind of new here, but I’d like to get this
ship stopped. How do I go about doing that? It’s going into our territory.”

There was a slight cacophony of sounds at the
table that was most disturbing. It took me a moment to realize the various
races were laughing.

On my other side was a cloud of red gas
“seated” at the table. It swirled with varying shades of red, and little
ripples of electricity pulsed through it. It was a Keilvin Kamigan, the only
gaseous race in the galaxy. It had the enviable position of being able to
occupy the planets that were uninhabitable by anyone else. Though as I recall,
you only need a little kid with a rock to kill one, as that’s all it took to
rupture their membrane.

The Keilvin Kamigan used its own chemistry to
activate a voice box on the table in front of it.

“We have already settled that years ago,
Colmarian. This ship’s course is set.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t here then,” I explained.

There was some grumbling from the group and
then a truly monstrous sound dragged out.

“No old business.”

It was a solitary Gandrine seated directly
across from me, but so loud it was as if he were yelling in my ear. Their
species was nearly all hard mineral. He was probably heavier than I was. Like
the Qwintine who they bordered, they did not expand much. But they were polar
opposites of that race in that they were long-lived and slow in all regards.

The purple Po spoke.

“The Gandrine ambassador is correct. You may
have no old business without a formal petition first, which must be voted
upon.”

“But how do I—”

“Hank the Boss must be warned not to
interrupt,” the purple Po cautioned.

The Dredel Led refrigerator, whose face had
been repaired, made some buzzing noises that sounded suspiciously like
snickering.

The meeting continued and I literally had no
idea what anyone was saying. They could have been discussing chopping me up
into little pieces and cooking me in a stew and I wouldn’t have known. It was
Colmarian language, but very stilted and bureaucratic. I sat there picking at
my fingernails.

We took a break after some hours and I tried to
mingle with the diplomats as best I could.

Much to my joy I saw a trio of what looked like
Colmarians standing by themselves. They wore long brown trenchcoats with cowls
covering their faces. They carried staves with odd lanterns on top, though the
lanterns did not glow.

“Hey,” I approached them excitedly, “are you
guys Colmarians too?”

As the trio looked at me their bored
expressions changed to ones that I could only translate as hostile.

“Colmarians?” one asked incredulously.

“We seek to destroy Colmarians,” another
finished.

They tapped their rods on the ground and the
lanterns burst forth an eye-searing blue light. A sound echoed off the vast
chamber walls that vibrated my chest, my gut, my bones, my very brain, until I
was at the brink of senselessness.

They tapped off their staves and I could
finally see straight again.

“Well, good luck with that,” I said hurriedly,
and departed.

While fleeing I nearly bumped into a rather
strange creature. It had bright white skin and basically no facial features at
all. It was tall but thin and its long arms were spindly things that seemed to
serve no purpose. Except for its “face,” every single square inch of the
creature was covered with some kind of rare metal or jewel or relic or trinket.
Its pathetic arms were positively anchored by rings and bracelets. I knew it
immediately from stories and from its mode of dress.

The creature was an Ank, one of the bankers of
the galaxy.

They only existed on five planets, a pitiful
domain for even the humblest of species. But their influence was vast. For ease
of access, all the major empires in the galaxy had some bit of territory that
abutted the Ank.

It’s said every scheme started there. “All
roads lead from Ank,” as the saying went. Considering they funded just about
everything—including roads.

“Dear sir,” it said, sidling up to me. Its
little slit of a mouth scarcely moved. I could barely see that it had eyes, or
even a curvature of face. But I think it was looking at me. It was impossible
to tell its gender. “The Ontakians are no friends of yours. Come have a chat
with me.”

I walked with the Ank, who was even slower than
myself and positively jingled with every step. We sat at a small table that was
a smooth, reflective metal. The Ank had a special chair that accommodated its
assortment of jewelry. It was essentially standing up yet reclined.

“So I assume you’re Ank?”

“Yes, I am. My name is Depakoze Luffanzian,
Senior Absolver and Consolidator, House Darstein on Ank Primia. What brings you
to our little party?”

Its voice was melodious but did not change
inflection. It sounded perpetually and pleasantly amused, yet not in a
sarcastic or chiding way.

I had heard tales that not even a mother could
tell her son from another Ankian, so their clothes and various accoutrements
were how they differentiated themselves appearance-wise. Presumably it was no
small deal to change their garments. I mean, if you added a new hat without
letting people know, your friends wouldn’t recognize you.

“I’m His Excellency, Hank the Boss.” I thought
better of trying to shake its feeble hand. “Can you tell me a bit about the
Boranjame on this ship?”

“Well, there’s just one, my friend. The High
Patria, Khagel of the Empire, Archduke of Zeobedon, Prince Exarch of the
Boranjame, His Illustrious Lordship, the Everlasting Theabsin.

Damn, I should have thought of a better title
for myself.

“I want to keep this ship out of Colmarian
territory.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do. However that would mean
it would have to enter some other empire, the Boranjame must grow, and this
ship requires tremendous resources. That’s why all these diplomats are here to
begin with: to bribe and beg for their empires’ safety. You are at a
disadvantage, Colmarian. Or at least, they all have a head start.”

“Do you think the Boranjame Prince would talk
to me personally?” I asked, wondering if I could end-around this council which
certainly didn’t have my best interests in mind.

“I can present you. Even offer a credential of
reference. Though, there is of course a price consideration,” it said.

Oh, great. Getting in a haggling match with an
Ank was like me running a marathon against a Po.

“How much?” I asked uneasily.

And it said something I didn’t understand.

“Huh?”

It said something else I didn’t understand.

This went on and on with its same flowery
voice, its same expressionless facade, for some time. No wonder these guys were
the perfect negotiators. They literally had poker faces. Finally it mentioned
something I knew.

“Credits?”

“Credits!” I pounced. I was nearly exhausted
even though I had merely repeated my lack of knowledge over and over again.

“Good,” it said. “I believe 183 should
suffice.”

“Uh, 183 credits?”

“Yes.”

“One hundred,” I said, drawing the number in
the air, “and eighty-three…?”

“183 quadrillion of course.”

I think I reacted less when the Ontakians had
nearly shaken me to death.

“Yeah. I’m going to have to talk to my
bookkeeper I think,” I said, pondering that sum. As if it was merely stretching
the old budget a little bit. Did they even have quadrillions? Were there even
that many credits in the whole galaxy?

“I can talk to your bookkeeper if you’d like.
I’m trained in accounto-linguistics.”

“He’s not here at the moment,” I said, leaving
out the part that there wasn’t room for him in my missile.

“Ah,” Depakoze said. And though it said it
exactly the same as everything else, I got the feeling our meeting was over and
it knew me for the poor bastard I really was.

It was then I noticed a unique pin on its
jacket. It had a small gem with swirling colors in it.

I reached out and touched it.

“Hey, what’s that?” I asked.

“Excuse me,” it said, leaning away from me.
“You don’t see me sticking my toes in your ear, do you?”

I immediately let go.

“No. You’re right. My apologies.”

“Accepted. We all have our cultural
peculiarities. But you have an excellent eye. It is one of my favorite
features. I got it on my 206
^th
birthday.”

“It’s lovely,” I said, worried about having a
quadrillionaire Ank mad at me.

“It is a stickpin with a delfiblinium sliver.”

I had to think. It seemed the galaxy had gotten
together and collectively offered up my species for sacrifice without even a
good-bye kiss.

I knew I couldn’t outbid these guys. I didn’t
even understand their terms. If the Ank was asking for quadrillions even for an
introduction, we weren’t going to put together anything of that magnitude.

No one would take a Colmarian offensive
seriously, so I couldn’t threaten them. Especially when our great Navy had
shown its backbone by fleeing the moment this world-ship appeared. I had to get
back on familiar ground. What would I do if these were gangs and bosses?

I started working the room and glad-handing the
diplomats. As I said, everyone likes talking about themselves and snobs love it
even more than most. The idea was to find out anything I could use. What
weaknesses did these aliens have? What were their objectives?

The Gandrine ambassador talked with incredible
slowness and volume. Mostly he spoke of the joys of sitting in the light of the
orange sun of his home world. Or sitting at night. Or sitting in the rain. I
got the idea Gandrine was very dull.

The Rettosians said nothing to me directly.
Standing outside their clique like a doe-eyed wannabe, I had to overhear them
talking with themselves. It was gossip of the lowest sort. Which politicians
were dating which celebrities; which parties were the most fantastical; how
much summer homes were going for along the coast.

The Keilvin Kamigan floated nearby and was
happy to speak to me. It had been sent as an envoy to the Boranjame over ten
years ago, but it really missed its home. The world-ship simply was an
uncomfortable living environment at the best of times. It also missed its
family. I tried to imagine what little kid gas clouds looked like.