Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Basketful of Crap

“What are they going to use them on? Us? They don’t need them.”

“Why would they ‘need’ to destroy my offices?”

“I don’t know. Because your paper is boring?”

He flashed me a mean look and I realized I better backtrack if I ever wanted to get him out of my apartment.

“Sorry. I’m getting crabby. Can we talk about this tomorrow? Follow up with Delovoa and he’ll set you straight.”

“Will you monitor the Gandrine?” he challenged.

“Sure. I need something restful to do anyway.”

The next day I saw my autocannon with a note from Delovoa. He explained all the repairs he had made to the weapon. I didn’t understand it of course. I was more interested in how he had gotten into my apartment and how he had carried the gun to begin with.

I had over a hundred messages on my tele. I assumed from widows and girlfriends wondering where their lost partners were. I felt I owed them…something, but I couldn’t bring myself to call that many people with bad news just yet.

There were four messages from the General. I called him up.

I was transferred from three different officers and left waiting for thirty minutes but he finally picked up.

“What the hell is going on down there?” he barked.

“I was hoping you knew. Did you jam our teles?”

“Of course not. We don’t have the authority.”

That meant the corporation did it somehow. This was even more frightening because it meant their resources were vaster than I had realized—which was saying quite a bit.

“Are you able to secure our telescopes?” he asked.

“Who?”

“You!”

“Me? How would I be able to do that?”

“So you are conceding that vital Navy property is at risk and there is no recourse available on that station to ensure its security?”

I got the sense that that was not a casual question.

While I had no love for the corporation, I was concerned what would happen if the Navy decided to get serious. At the very least they would invade us, bringing them into direct conflict with the corporation, and that could very well destroy the city.

“Just wait a minute,” I said. “The corporations have been stockpiling weapons. Maybe even strategic weapons. They have also scared away or killed anyone capable of fighting them. Can you think of why they would want to do that?”

Without missing a beat he answered.

“Clearly it is an uprising to throw off the mantle of the Confederation completely.”

“So like become our own country?”

He almost chewed his tele.

“Obviously.”

There were planets that were their own countries, but nothing as miniscule as a space station. It made some sense that’s what they were doing with the Portals. They could trade without relying on the Navy’s Portals and it could be at any rates they want and any goods they wanted.

While it was theoretically true that Belvaille was an illegal haven, we still had to ship goods to the Colmarian Confederation. That meant at some point it had to touch Colmarian soil and be subject to Colmarian laws.

And I guess all this military equipment was to protect them from the Navy and get rid of all the troublemakers already here. Using the biological soldiers meant they could flush them away and not worry about casualties.

It was all a bit much for me to digest.

“Do you still want me to find your disintegrator?” I asked.

“You signed the contract!”

I wonder if Belvaille becoming its own country would get me out of all these dumb contracts I signed. I should talk to a lawyer.

“I’ll get on it. I have some good leads,” I lied.

“What leads?” he asked suspiciously.

“I don’t want to talk over the tele. If you guys didn’t jam us, then the corporation did, and they might be listening.”

The General’s eyes bugged.

“We’ll send you a secure communication device as soon as possible,” he almost whispered.

“Good. Until then, let’s maintain communication blackout.”

He hung up without agreeing. But that was a general’s way of agreeing.

I needed to get some concrete information on what was going on before the Navy attacked the station and brought it back into the loving arms of the Confederation.

First things first. I visited Ioshiyn.

“How much for those special boots?” I asked. I was tired of my feet getting shot to pieces. I could handle my arm stiffening or even my lungs—a bit—but if I couldn’t walk I wasn’t going to be very intimidating, and that was my only job skill.

“Hank,” Ioshiyn exclaimed. He seemed pretty surprised to see me. And no wonder. I had led a disastrous assault that had killed a significant number of the city’s entire population.

“Being barefoot has lost its appeal,” I said.

“I can give them to you for five grand. It will take about a week to make them,” he said. “I’m looking to get out of Belvaille and I’m not interested in haggling.”

“I believe ten grand was the price and that’s what I’ll pay. But I need them faster than that. The money came from the corporation so I don’t mind giving it away.”

We made the transaction and he took measurements. He recommended they be boots that fastened in the back of my leg because I’d probably get shot from the front. He also recommended laces because you could replace those easily.

From there I headed back to my block and went up to the house Cad had been sitting in to watch the Gandrine. Nothing had changed as far as I could see.

I had only paid Cad for the first week, and while it was a decent amount of money, I still didn’t believe he ran off with it. He didn’t join me in the fight—or at least he wasn’t on the list. The only thing I could think of was he was killed following the Gandrine.

That being the case, it seemed a bad idea to repeat his steps, but from what Rendrae said, it might give me more information about what the corporation was doing.

I didn’t want to sit in this room so I went up the street and sat on the stairs just five buildings down from the Gandrine. I looked exactly like them except they were looking at the building across the street and I was looking at them.

Two hours later I started calling the widows of my soldiers. It was the one piece of information we collected during recruiting: next of kin. It was not an easy task, but I had to do it sooner or later. After the first few dozen, I became somewhat robotic in my answers and delivery. “It is with a heavy heart that I,” blah blah.

For the most part they took it on the chin. These were not women—or men—who were soft. If they lived on Belvaille they knew tough times.

There was almost no crying and no one cursed at me. The most they asked was how they died, and I couldn’t answer that because I had been busy trying to save my own skin.

I offered the other half of the soldier’s fee to those who would take it.

No one refused.

Five hours of this and two orders of take-out and four trips to the bathroom and I was tired. You’d think it would be easy sitting on a porch, but it was hard work.

I was about to call it a night when I heard one of the Gandrine yell something. They were not quiet guys when they talked, but I was too far away to hear clearly.

Whatever it was, they both stood up and began walking.

I jumped into action and hid behind the railing to watch them go.

Five minutes later and they had managed to get off the porch.

I snuck across the street to hide in the doorway to see them better.

But you can only stay tensed for so long. After an hour I was casually leaning against the doorway and thinking of ordering more food. I could also go inside my place and get my autocannon. But I didn’t feel like carrying it for hours. And I doubted if I shot a Gandrine he would be concerned. Maybe an armor piercing round would hurt.