Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Basketful of Crap

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and my clothes were practically diced off. I had blood flecks in my eyes and nose and mouth and ears. They sure did a number on me, I looked like hell.

The two women again “spoke” briefly to each other with hand gestures.

I then saw on my tele they had beamed my account an extra 5000 credits. I wouldn’t say I trusted them, but I was a lot more trusting.

“So who are you guys?” I asked.

“We are merely tourists. We will leave once you have located our companion and she returns with us.”

Yeah, tourists, I can see that. Because Belvaille was so picturesque.

“Okay, I’ll take the job,” I said. “Tele me all the information you have on her and I’ll get to work on it tomorrow.”

We stood there, neither side moving. Water was spraying all over me and the pale women were watching me absently.

“You can leave now,” I said from the safety of my bathroom.

They turned and walked back to the living room.

I tried to put my toilet back in place, but it was busted pretty bad. I washed my hands and then washed my face. How did they get daggers in all those spots while I was moving? But they’re about as much tourists as I was a flower girl at a lesbian wedding.

I walked out of my bathroom and to the front door to make sure it was closed.

Out of nowhere one of the pale sisters leaped up, wrapped her legs around me, and kissed me on the lips!

She then did a backflip away, casually turned around, and left the apartment.

I stepped outside the next morning and saw the corpse. I kept forgetting he was there. I looked at him closer.

Yup, still dead.

I felt I should give him a name seeing as he was my neighbor. And since I didn’t want to go digging through his corpse-y clothes hoping he had some identification.

Toby.

“Morning, Toby,” I said good-naturedly. “Keep an eye on things, will you?”

After an uneventful train ride I visited my tailor, Ioshiyn.

He had once been an enforcer and thug like me, but got half his face blown off in a fight and wisely called it quits. Now he had a shop and made clothes. Had a few assistants and seemed to be doing pretty well.

“Hank,” he said with a slight lisp due to his missing face, “what can I do for you?”

I placed my huge bag of pants on the table.

“Can you fix the legs on these? Since I lost my job I don’t have to worry about Sassy chewing them up anymore and I guess I should repair them.”

“Who’s Sassy?”

“That’s Cad’s Mallute. Big chewy thing,” I said, pointing my fingers downward to indicate fangs. “I don’t know why, but he always used to attack my right leg. Maybe it smelled like food.”

Ioshiyn looked at the torn clothes.

“Some of these are too far gone to sew up. But we can replace the leg. It might be cheaper to buy a new pair, though.”

“How about this?” I said, placing the pieces of my boot that the pale woman had cut on his counter.

“How’d you do that? Stick your foot into a thresher?”

“Long story.”

Ioshiyn looked it over but from his half-expression, the prognosis didn’t seem good.

“I can put it back together, but it won’t be nearly as strong as it was. Not with this material. I know you need durable boots. It might come apart again when you’re walking.”

I was trying to save more money and didn’t want to keep buying stuff. Technically I didn’t really need boots to protect my feet, but I needed them for traction. Walking barefoot on Belvaille’s metal surfaces gave me almost no grip.

“What kind of boots do you recommend for me? Cheaper is better.”

“Take a look at this,” Ioshiyn said, motioning me to follow him in back.

We went past racks of hanging clothes and his assistants stitching and pressing outfits.

Ioshiyn opened a pressurized container that hissed when it was cracked. He took from it a dark weave of fabric and handed it to me.

It was incredibly rough but very flexible.

“Try and tear it,” Ioshiyn said.

I twisted it and pulled, but it didn’t respond.

“What is it, some new kind of synth?” I asked.

“Therezian hair,” Ioshiyn said proudly.

“Wallow’s hair?”

“No, not Wallow. I don’t know who. This is just one hair that they cut and wove into a fabric. This stuff will last forever.”

“How much does it cost?” I asked, curious.

“I could make you some boots from it for about ten grand.”

I handed it back.

“What part of ‘cheaper’ didn’t you understand?”

“I was just showing off,” Ioshiyn said, as he carefully replaced the fabric. “I know how often you destroy boots being as heavy as you are. Eventually they would pay for themselves. Think of it, just one pair for the rest of your life. Only replace the insoles as they wore out.”

“I can’t afford them.” Then I got to thinking about it. “How do they get hair from a Therezian? Do they just hang around waiting for it to fall off?”

“I don’t know. Zadeck probably knows. Maybe Wallow sheds and he sells the hair. I should ask him.”

Zadeck was Wallow’s…boss, for lack of a better word. Therezians tended to attach themselves to someone even though they were individually about as self-sufficient as a species could be. Zadeck was just a sissy little Colmarian who owned a ritzy shopping block in the northeast. Wallow was the protector of the block, allowing the wealthy citizens of Belvaille more security than in the rest of the station. Not even the corporations dared step foot in there unannounced. A tank meant nothing to Wallow.

As I was about to return to the front of the store, I noticed a bunch of colored suits hanging on the wall.

“You make uniforms for the corporations?” I asked.

Ioshiyn seemed guilty.

“Yeah. They have their own tailors but I make the basic designs. They do all the alterations. It’s work.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Money is money. How many corporations are there?”

“I’ve done…whew, maybe fifteen different designs? About ten are regulars.”

“Ten corporations,” I said, marveling. “Seems like more. Do you make their armor too?”

“Oh, no, just clothes.”

“Damn, I was going to ask you what weapons would be good vs. their armor.”

“Heh. I don’t know. But I can tell you their clothes are really constrictive. Full body suits.”

That just reinforced the idea I was never going to be working for a corporation. Being forced to walk around in a sleeping bag…

“So what do you want me to do with your pants and boots?” Ioshiyn asked.

“Fix what you can, but if it’s going to cost more than new, obviously don’t try.”

“Okay.”

“I guess I’ll go barefoot for a while,” I said.

“You don’t have any shoes at all?”

“Oh, I got shoes, but I hate shoes. If I pivot on my foot I always tear them at the seams.”

“I’m telling you, Therezian hair is the way to go,” Ioshiyn tempted.

“Maybe I’ll climb up Wallow and go harvesting when he’s asleep.”

The plumber squatted in my bathroom, banging and beeping on his various tools.

“So can you fix it?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “By the way, do you know you have a dead body outside?”

“Yeah. Why can’t you fix it?”

“Because when you sat on this you twisted the pipes clean out of the wall.”

“I didn’t break it by sitting on it,” I said, annoyed.

“It’s none of my business. Why don’t you use one of the toilets upstairs? This whole building is empty, right?”

“Because this is my apartment. I want my bathroom fixed. And I don’t want to walk upstairs every time I have to pee. I don’t walk up stairs very well either.”