Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Screw the Galaxy

Jyonal caught what I was doing and his voice grew serious.

“Hank, just tell us what’s going on.”

Before I could answer, a soldier stepped inside carrying a box.

“Where should I put this, sir?” he asked, as Jyen and Jyonal looked at him, startled.

“Anywhere is fine.”

He walked into my kitchen, past the dumbstruck siblings, and put it on the table next to my delfiblinium. He then turned and walked out without so much as looking at anyone.

“What was that about?” Jyen asked.

“Right. So the Navy knows about you guys and they’re going to likely need your help,” I confessed.

“Did you tell them?” Jyonal asked. Was it my imagination or was there an ominous light behind his eyes when he asked that?

“Not so much tell, but I confirmed,” I said weakly.

“Hank. We trusted you.” Jyen looked honestly hurt, but I was more concerned with Jyonal, whose jaw was gritted.

“Look, you can kill me if you want,” I said, regretting that intro immediately, “but the Navy is the least of your worries.”

“What?” Jyonal asked, his eyes suddenly clear.

And like a good negotiator, I kept my position of strength.

“You all are going to have to do what I say when I say it if you want to survive what’s coming.”

“What’s coming?” Jyen asked feebly.

I ignored her and went into the kitchen and opened the box, pretending I was a Wardian on a dreadnought.

“Go back to your apartment. I’ll come talk to you in a day or so. There’s other things I need to get situated first.”

Then I fixed them with a stern gaze and held it.

They blinked and slowly walked to the door.

“But you’re okay?” Jyen asked before going out.

“No one within 1000 light years of this space station is okay,” I replied coolly.

I was full of confidence as I strode outside the next day. I adjusted my collar and contacted the Navy on a secret tele channel.

“Hey, stop blocking Belvaille’s communications,” I ordered.

The faceless soldier on the other end did some checking and then I heard typing.

“Give it five minutes for synchronization,” he said.

Yup, this was my station. Everyone here, everyone in space, in fact billions of people on nearby planets were all relying on me.

I gave a thumbs-up to the soldiers at a nearby bunker.

My tele rang, indicating it was now unblocked.

“Yo,” I said, seeing Garm’s face on the other end.

“Hank, where are you at?”

“Eh, just walking.”

“We heard you were taken by—,” she started.

“Yeah yeah yeah” I interrupted. “Get everyone together. All the resistance or whatever. Meet at, uh, the Gentleman’s Club.”

“That place isn’t safe anymore. We should—”

“Hey,” I interrupted rudely. “Just do it. I got this under control.”

Garm looked like she was trying to figure out whether to be angry or surprised. I hung up before she decided.

I then called Delovoa, who answered after a minute.

“Still alive?” I asked.

“Barely,” he whispered.

“Meet at the Gentleman’s Club. Big discussion.”

“That place isn’t safe.”

“Just do it.” I clicked off.

Whistling, I hopped a few trains out west to my secret stash. I was glad to see my Delovoa-constructed closet hadn’t been disturbed and my plasma pistol was still inside.

I went for a walk, as it was nice to feel at least partially at ease on Belvaille again. Teles kept coming in with suspicious bosses asking for confirmation. Despite the soldiers nearby, I casually confirmed we were meeting at the Gentleman’s Club.

I went home and took a nap. I then freshened up a bit and headed to the club. The old place was a mere shadow of what it once was, though it still smelled the same.

Inside, there were thugs and bosses and everyone in between waiting in the cafeteria for me. The bosses were mostly aloof and many stood by the windows, apparently looking out for trouble.

“Drinks all around,” I yelled to the bartender.

“We don’t have any alcohol,” he replied.

“Well then sandwiches,” I said magnanimously.

He grumbled and went into the kitchen.

“What are you wearing, Hank?” Rendrae asked suspiciously.

“This?” I asked nonchalantly. “It’s my uniform.”

Garm walked up to inspect me, her eyes bulging.

“You’re an Oberhoffman in the Navy? You work for them now?”

“We all do,” I said gleefully.

And I was faced with a room full of resistance fighters who suddenly seemed to realize I was the enemy. About to be murdered in ten different ways, I powered on my friendly plasma pistol and it started the windows rattling.

“Right,” I said, my face taut. “Let me explain. Jerks.”

I warily turned off my pistol to be better heard across the room, but I backed up so I could see everyone.

“I just made a deal with the Navy. Belvaille is going to be an Independent Protectorate of the Colmarian Confederation.”

Blank stares all around.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means we can fly our own flag,” I answered.

“And what’s that mean?”

“We rule ourselves,” Garm said slowly. “They can’t search our ships. They can’t tell us to do anything.”

The room was silent, to my great annoyance. I had been expecting them to celebrate.

“Don’t you guys get it?” I asked. “This is way more than what you wanted.”

“So we can get our businesses back?” one boss asked warily.

“We can do anything,” I exclaimed. “We’re our own country. Sort of.”

“So the Navy is just going to leave?” Garm asked.

“Yeah. But they want to lease the telescopes from us,” I cautioned.

Everyone looked as if I was speaking a foreign language.

“So why are you wearing that uniform?” Rendrae asked, unconvinced.

“There’s some stuff I need to organize here. I can’t go bossing a bunch of military groups around as just some normal person.”

“You negotiated this?” Tamshius asked in awe.

“Yes,” I said, still waiting impatiently for realization.

“So we flushed all our product for nothing?” a fat boss named Ameda asked.

“You can make it back!” I shouted.

“Do you have any paperwork on this?” Garm asked.

I threw a copy of the declaration on a nearby table. I didn’t walk away, feeling I was at least no longer in danger of being killed.

A crowd gathered around the documentation.

“We can do illegal activities here?” Leeny tried to confirm.

Before I could talk, Garm spoke for me.

“We can do anything we want. Hell, we can advertise we’re illegal, because it won’t be illegal here. We can be a damn trade hub, provided we can get more Portals online.”

“Exactly,” I said, glad my labors were finally getting some appreciation.

“What is it you have to do?” Rendrae asked with slit eyes.

“I need to deal with that Dredel Led that’s still running around.”

The bosses were either reading the document, talking rapidly with one another, or were deep in thought. No one was by the windows anymore.

“When is the Navy leaving, Hank?” Big Moff asked.

“Right after they take care of the Boranjame,” I said.

The enthusiasm evaporated from the room like a fart sucked into space.

“What?” Garm asked.

“Yeah, you know that activity you were monitoring out there?” I told her.

“Oh, no,” she said, looking defeated.

“There’s a Boranjame ship coming?” the bartender asked, as he paused handing out bad sandwiches.

“Not exactly here,” I corrected. “In this general area.”

“What a load of nonsense,” Rendrae grumbled. “They conned you. They got you to gather all the resistance together for a mortal strike. They’re probably waiting outside right now.”