Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Screw the Galaxy

“Dear sir,” it said, sidling up to me. Its little slit of a mouth scarcely moved. I could barely see that it had eyes, or even a curvature of face. But I think it was looking at me. It was impossible to tell its gender. “The Ontakians are no friends of yours. Come have a chat with me.”

I walked with the Ank, who was even slower than myself and positively jingled with every step. We sat at a small table that was a smooth, reflective metal. The Ank had a special chair that accommodated its assortment of jewelry. It was essentially standing up yet reclined.

“So I assume you’re Ank?”

“Yes, I am. My name is Depakoze Luffanzian, Senior Absolver and Consolidator, House Darstein on Ank Primia. What brings you to our little party?”

Its voice was melodious but did not change inflection. It sounded perpetually and pleasantly amused, yet not in a sarcastic or chiding way.

I had heard tales that not even a mother could tell her son from another Ankian, so their clothes and various accoutrements were how they differentiated themselves appearance-wise. Presumably it was no small deal to change their garments. I mean, if you added a new hat without letting people know, your friends wouldn’t recognize you.

“I’m His Excellency, Hank the Boss.” I thought better of trying to shake its feeble hand. “Can you tell me a bit about the Boranjame on this ship?”

“Well, there’s just one, my friend. The High Patria, Khagel of the Empire, Archduke of Zeobedon, Prince Exarch of the Boranjame, His Illustrious Lordship, the Everlasting Theabsin.

Damn, I should have thought of a better title for myself.

“I want to keep this ship out of Colmarian territory.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do. However that would mean it would have to enter some other empire, the Boranjame must grow, and this ship requires tremendous resources. That’s why all these diplomats are here to begin with: to bribe and beg for their empires’ safety. You are at a disadvantage, Colmarian. Or at least, they all have a head start.”

“Do you think the Boranjame Prince would talk to me personally?” I asked, wondering if I could end-around this council which certainly didn’t have my best interests in mind.

“I can present you. Even offer a credential of reference. Though, there is of course a price consideration,” it said.

Oh, great. Getting in a haggling match with an Ank was like me running a marathon against a Po.

“How much?” I asked uneasily.

And it said something I didn’t understand.

“Huh?”

It said something else I didn’t understand.

This went on and on with its same flowery voice, its same expressionless facade, for some time. No wonder these guys were the perfect negotiators. They literally had poker faces. Finally it mentioned something I knew.

“Credits?”

“Credits!” I pounced. I was nearly exhausted even though I had merely repeated my lack of knowledge over and over again.

“Good,” it said. “I believe 183 should suffice.”

“Uh, 183 credits?”

“Yes.”

“One hundred,” I said, drawing the number in the air, “and eighty-three…?”

“183 quadrillion of course.”

I think I reacted less when the Ontakians had nearly shaken me to death.

“Yeah. I’m going to have to talk to my bookkeeper I think,” I said, pondering that sum. As if it was merely stretching the old budget a little bit. Did they even have quadrillions? Were there even that many credits in the whole galaxy?

“I can talk to your bookkeeper if you’d like. I’m trained in accounto-linguistics.”

“He’s not here at the moment,” I said, leaving out the part that there wasn’t room for him in my missile.

“Ah,” Depakoze said. And though it said it exactly the same as everything else, I got the feeling our meeting was over and it knew me for the poor bastard I really was.

It was then I noticed a unique pin on its jacket. It had a small gem with swirling colors in it.

I reached out and touched it.

“Hey, what’s that?” I asked.

“Excuse me,” it said, leaning away from me. “You don’t see me sticking my toes in your ear, do you?”

I immediately let go.

“No. You’re right. My apologies.”

“Accepted. We all have our cultural peculiarities. But you have an excellent eye. It is one of my favorite features. I got it on my 206 thbirthday.”

“It’s lovely,” I said, worried about having a quadrillionaire Ank mad at me.

“It is a stickpin with a delfiblinium sliver.”

I had to think. It seemed the galaxy had gotten together and collectively offered up my species for sacrifice without even a good-bye kiss.

I knew I couldn’t outbid these guys. I didn’t even understand their terms. If the Ank was asking for quadrillions even for an introduction, we weren’t going to put together anything of that magnitude.

No one would take a Colmarian offensive seriously, so I couldn’t threaten them. Especially when our great Navy had shown its backbone by fleeing the moment this world-ship appeared. I had to get back on familiar ground. What would I do if these were gangs and bosses?

I started working the room and glad-handing the diplomats. As I said, everyone likes talking about themselves and snobs love it even more than most. The idea was to find out anything I could use. What weaknesses did these aliens have? What were their objectives?

The Gandrine ambassador talked with incredible slowness and volume. Mostly he spoke of the joys of sitting in the light of the orange sun of his home world. Or sitting at night. Or sitting in the rain. I got the idea Gandrine was very dull.

The Rettosians said nothing to me directly. Standing outside their clique like a doe-eyed wannabe, I had to overhear them talking with themselves. It was gossip of the lowest sort. Which politicians were dating which celebrities; which parties were the most fantastical; how much summer homes were going for along the coast.

The Keilvin Kamigan floated nearby and was happy to speak to me. It had been sent as an envoy to the Boranjame over ten years ago, but it really missed its home. The world-ship simply was an uncomfortable living environment at the best of times. It also missed its family. I tried to imagine what little kid gas clouds looked like.

I took a break in my room and pondered the diplomats. They all had that universal self-importance that comes from being influential go-getters. Yet here they were out at the edge of the known galaxy, not even in their own empires.

It was then I realized I had these guys all wrong. They weren’t like gang bosses. They were like the filthiest errand boys at the bottom of the gang hierarchy. They wanted to be gang bosses. I mean no one became a diplomat because they liked to travel. There were plenty easier ways of seeing the universe.

These guys entered politics so they could become someone big. But they pissed off the wrong person and got sent all the way out here.

While placating the Boranjame was a needed job, it had no prestige. It had no perks. It had nothing that anyone who entered politics placed any stock in. Everything of import was done back on their home worlds. These guys were out of the loop.

But I knew what they wanted. They wanted to escape this place. They wanted lives of leisure, positions of power. To move up the food chain. They were just doing time here, like convicts on Belvaille waiting out their statutes of limitations.

I racked my brain and finally came up with something that might have a chance. Theatrics were a necessary part of my plan and I needed the help of the Po servants, so I gave them detailed instructions and prayed they could understand me.

The diplomatic meeting started again and I took my seat with all the other aliens.