Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Basketful of Crap

He looked at me and my mess.

“Sit down,” he said, motioning behind him.

I entered his office which was about as inviting as a bulkhead. It was all hard metal and rivets with not a decoration or family portrait in sight. I suspected the General was the kind of guy that would have spare metal brought in to make his office extra-clunky.

There was a metal stool in front of his desk and a torn-up old chair behind it which he sat in. Then he immediately stood up, leaned over his desk, and put his fists on it.

I sat on the stool and my fat ass caused the legs to give out and I fell on my back. I then went over and sat against the wall, because I didn’t feel like standing in front of him.

“Our people say there are battles not five blocks from our telescope installations. Bombs going off everywhere. Even heavy armor trading fire. Why do you people need sixty-ton tanks?”

“Well, what do you think I can do? Why don’t you drag some of the corporations here and make them fall on your chair?”

“I’m talking to you. What can you do to square this? I can’t have those telescopes jeopardized.”

I shrugged.

“I’m not a soldier. Wait. Am I? Am I still an Oberhoffman? Because if I am, you guys owe me a lot of back pay.”

He eyed me with loathing, his lip curled. But I think that was the same look he gave to puppies and snowflakes, so after a while it really lost its impact.

“Do you know anything about this?” he asked. And he held his tele up on his desk at an angle I couldn’t see because I was sitting on the ground. He didn’t even point it towards me. Such a jerk.

I got to my feet and walked over. It was some technical readout.

I shrugged again.

“We have reason to believe this device is on Belvaille.”

“Okay,” I began uncertainly. “And you care because?”

“It is Navy property.”

“Cool,” I said, uninterested.

“I want you to secure it and return it.”

This guy was a terrible negotiator.

“Well, we all want stuff we can’t have. I’d like to be a professional gymnast but I can’t touch my toes. It’s been a great talk, General.”

I walked towards the door when I heard the General draw his pistol and point it at me. I started to laugh until he clicked on the power and a scintillating red glow burst from a crystal in the middle section of the barrel. It hurt my eyes to look at it, but I couldn’t help looking. There was also a deep rumble that vibrated my whole body in this enclosed metal coffin.

He had an Ontakian plasma pistol pointed right at my head.

I had been on the shooting side of one of those a few times and even that was a harsh experience. Mine had melted clean through multiple walls in Belvaille like they were butter.

I might be bulletproof, but that gun didn’t shoot bullets.

“So how can I help you?” I asked, suddenly very interested in being of assistance.

He clicked off the power.

“How long until you can find it?” the General asked as if he hadn’t just threatened me with an alien artifact.

“I don’t want to appear unhelpful, but I don’t even know what it is.”

“It’s a weapon. A very dangerous one. We have reason to believe the party will try and sell it.”

“The corporations would probably handle that. And if they do, I won’t have any insight into it.”

“No, they won’t touch it. You all can get away with a lot, but not that much. Not this.”

That gave me pause. But it also meant I did have a shot at finding it. Because it would be circulating in the normal black market and not some weird corporate circles.

“I need more information. I can’t put out feelers that I’m looking for a Navy weapon. That could be anything.”

The General looked at me hard. Well, harder than usual. We stood there having a staring contest until my eyeballs felt like sandpaper.

“It’s a disintegrator. It destroys matter,” he stated finally. “We don’t want the design to fall into the wrong hands.”

I didn’t know a lot about science, but:

“That’s not possible,” I said, trying desperately to remember my physics class from more than a century and a half ago.

“It’s a converted a-drive core. It works.”

Wow.

“Okay, fine. But how can I find that? That’s too hot to sell. Even on Belvaille. If they’re smart they’ll sit on it and wait. Maybe transfer it to Ank where they can handle a transaction like that.”

The General seemed to struggle with the next bit.

“They can’t wait too long because they know we’re looking for it and they can’t ship it off that station or we’ll scan it.”

“This sounds like a really terrible job. You’re a nice guy and all, but finding a busted a-drive core that has the power to make me not exist…I don’t know. I’m just not feeling it.”

“We will reimburse you.”

“You think?”

“How much would you require to return it?”

“Like a million credits!” I said flippantly.

“If you can recover it safely and in working order, we will pay you a million credits.”

The General started working on what I could see was a contract. A million credits! Not even in the headiest days of old Belvaille had I ever made that much money on a job. Not even close.

Damn, I should have said ten million!

“When you send some prospective clients my way, don’t mention my mutations, please,” I told Garm in her office at City Hall.

“What, you’re upset some women beat you up? I thought you liked that.”

“Ho ho ho.”

Garm’s office was resplendent with finery and artwork and every stick of furniture was covered in precious metals. If the rooms outside weren’t filled with dozens of security guards, this would be a great place to rob.

Garm herself was wearing black synth boots and a black synth business suit tailored to fit. I think her intention was to confuse men as to whether they were supposed to be turned on or frightened. She wore a pistol around her thigh and was pretty good with it.

Garm was an excellent fighter overall, she was quick. Come to think of it, she was a lot like those pale ladies. She just used a gun instead of a knife and didn’t dress like a sadistic exotic dancer.

“Hey, are those women looking for you?” I asked her.

“What do you mean?” Garm was examining blueprints as she spoke to me.

“Are you the person they’re trying to locate?”

Her face scrunched up in confusion.

“That makes no sense whatsoever. Why would they be looking for me?”

“They didn’t tell me why. I’m just asking.”

“They already spoke to me. That’s how they found you. They don’t need three people to find me when they just asked me for a reference. I mean, I’m right here,” she said, extending her arms.

“Okay. Take it easy.”

“You’ve spent too much time as a bouncer and forgot how to work real jobs, I think,” she said, returning to her work.

“Doorman,” I corrected.

“Oh yeah, one step above chauffer and one below waiter.”

“When did you become an elitist?” I asked.

“What are you talking about? I’ve always been an elitist.”

That’s true. Garm really liked money and all things money.

“I need to access the videos at check-in,” I said.

“Then do it. You know everyone here. What the hell are you carrying?”

“It’s an autocannon. Delovoa made it for me.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Boys and their toys.”

“It can shoot high-explosive grenades,” I stated indignantly.

“I’m sure you’ll have a lot of use for that. Now let me see you try and stand up straight without falling backwards. Where are your shoes? You’re going to get Hank-sweat all over my rugs.”