Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Screw the Galaxy

“They can block any remote electronic signals,” Garm said. “The Navy jammed our teles with just a dreadnought, so I assume a world-ship can do more.”

I took a deep breath.

“Give me the detonator and I’ll go,” I said.

They looked at me. If they weren’t convinced I was an idiot before, they were now.

“That doesn’t make any sense. What will that provide?” Garm said dismissively.

“They can’t scan me,” I stated. “No one can. That’s why medical instruments never work even when they’re shoved up my butt and how my distant relatives managed to fight on the Ontakian home world for decades.”

The pair eyed me curiously—and maybe with a little unease thinking about the butt-thing.

“I can explode the metal however close you want me to be,” I said.

“There’s got to be some other way,” Garm argued.

Delovoa was thinking.

“If we put him in a spacesuit, fashion some irregular metal hull to store the delfiblinium, they’ll just think it’s part of the debris that Belvaille has dumped over the decades. They wouldn’t shoot it just because. That might give it more velocity than it already had and potentially make it dangerous,” he said.

“No.” Garm was adamant. “Can’t you rig some kind of smart trigger? Why does he have to go?”

“The more scannable components we put out there, the more likely it is to be destroyed. I can make a simple physical detonator, some gas canisters so he can steer it, and…a window for him to see out of,” he added quietly, realizing what he was saying.

“The question is will it be enough to destroy that ship?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” Delovoa said. “If this entire space station were made out of delfiblinium it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Then forget it,” I said.

“But it will still do damage, Hank,” he added. “And it IS a royal vessel. They aren’t going to hang around if delfiblinium starts exploding around them.” He looked to Garm for confirmation and her sad eyes seemed to agree.

“How close would I have to be?” I asked.

“Just before you collide with it would be best,” Delovoa said sagely.

I stood at the dock dressed in my insanely clunky spacesuit looking at the scrap heap that I’d ride like a missile to my doom.

“That looks safe,” I said.

It was about as big as my apartment, had odd, jutting pieces of metal to make it scan like natural debris, and it was chock-full of delfiblinium.

There were thousands of people crammed nearby to see me off. The mood was somber. Funereal. Not sure what they were all so upset about, it’s not like they were about to commit suicide.

I had been pumped full of slow-release vitamins and salts and whatever else they could think of for the long trip. Although the “ship” was sealed, there was no air inside to reduce any chance of it being scanned, and I certainly wouldn’t be able to eat or drink.

Delovoa came over with last-minute instructions.

“There are windows in it. I made marks for you to judge how fast you’re going based on the size of the world-ship. You have three jets to help you maneuver, but don’t waste them; you can only make small course corrections. When you get close, the world-ship is going to take up the whole window and you’re going to have to guess. It’s important you don’t detonate too early.”

He handed me a small device. It was a metal cylinder maybe six inches in length. It looked somewhat like the flame-tube I had purchased from him before.

“Flip the cap off and press this. That’s it,” he said.

“And you’re sure delfiblinium can’t be scanned?” I asked.

“Well, technically anything can be scanned,” he said simply.

“What? Why are you telling me this now?”

“It’s just so unlikely. It’s about the rarest substance in the galaxy. There’s no reason to ever scan for it.”

“That’s a planet. How do you know they don’t have a million people doing nothing but scanning for delfiblinium and level-four mutants hurtling towards them?”

“I don’t,” he said like a jerk. “But it’s a little late to go back to the drawing board.”

Which was certainly true. Even if this was the longest of long shots. Our engineers couldn’t get Belvaille started for the simple reason that the engines had been removed and sold almost half a century ago. Funny thing, I think I was part of that deal.

“It’s going to take you anywhere from two to four days to reach their ship, depending on how fast they move,” he continued.

“Is this stuff you pumped in me going to keep me alive that long? Four days? I can’t go four hours without eating.”

“Do you know how to meditate?” someone in the audience asked, and if I had seen who it was, I would have shot him.

Yeah, I was carrying my shotgun. My only possession I wanted to die with. I would have kept my plasma pistol if it hadn’t blown up. I knew what kind of mission this was. A few hours before I suited up, I beamed an anonymous donation to the Ginland glocken team, The Reskin Sleepers, who have a 138-year unbroken losing streak. It was my entire life savings of almost 45 million credits. Maybe those losers will finally win a game—if Ginland isn’t destroyed.

“Just try and be focused,” Delovoa said. “Get as much sleep as you can early. As you get closer you’ll need to stay awake. Try and feel the gravity. And avoid going to the bathroom.”

“What? I can’t pee for four days? What do you think I am?” I asked.

“I mean, you can,” he seemed to think to himself. “But you’ll be soggy.”

With that, he shook my hand and went to make the last preparations on my coffin.

I turned to the assembled crowd. They seemed to be expecting a speech. I cleared my throat.

“My name is Hank. As of seven months ago, I have been on this space station for 132 years. I’ve watched it transform this way and that way. People come and go. I’ve worked for many of you. Against many of you. I’ve… killed more people than I can count, not always for good reasons. Of that, I am not proud. I’ve settled your fights, fixed your business deals, done your dirty work, and generally done what I was told. And I’d like to say that all you immature bastards can kiss my ass.”

There was very little reaction to my talk. One guy screamed, “Woo!”

Garm approached me. She seemed unsure of herself for the first time ever. She didn’t look me in the eye.

There was a pause and Jyen ran up past Garm and kissed me on the mouth, knocking her teeth into mine. She was crying.

“Thank you for all you’ve done,” she said, her nose running.

“Alright, alright, if Hank kisses everyone he’s ever known it’ll take a month,” Garm said, tugging me away from Jyen. We headed away towards the ship.

“Can’t wait to get rid of me?” I asked her.

“Why didn’t we ever get together?” she responded quietly. But there was no accusatory undertone.

“I think,” I began, “I just didn’t want you as an ex-girlfriend.”

She didn’t answer as I ducked inside the ship. I turned back to see her at the entrance.

“Garm, if you manage to survive this, I want you to go on. Living,” I said sincerely.

She gave me a strange look.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Delovoa strapped me in, attached the detonator to the stockpile of metal, and then fastened it to the wall beside me. He put on my helmet and checked all the manual systems and backup systems. I looked like I was in an iron lung. They closed off my area of the port and made final preparations.

Given my last experiences in shuttles and how long I would have to be in here, I truly hoped I didn’t throw up in my suit.

I didn’t ask how they propelled my ship. I figured I didn’t want to know. I was sure that after a point it was strictly momentum. There were was no sense of acceleration past the very beginning of the trip.