Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Screw the Galaxy

“Transcommunication network costs need to be more evenly divided among our empires!” the Gandrine shouted.

The Po I’d contacted earlier with instructions, approached and placed something in front of the Gandrine ambassador before quickly retreating.

More Po came in and laid objects in front of every diplomat and hurried away. No one reacted as the items were not recognized and the Po were seen as background noise to be ignored. I decided to nudge things along and I stood up to speak.

“Gentlemen…and such, the material that sits before you is the reason why I am here,” I stated calmly.

“Your Excellency has already once—,” the purple Po began.

“That’s delfiblinium,” the Rettosians squealed, pointing at the metal on the table, and they jumped away knocking over chairs in their haste.

All the diplomats got to their feet, or equivalent, and backed away as the Po servants continued to pile my uncrated luggage before us.

“The Colmarian Confederation has perfected the process of delfiblinium manufacture. Who wants to do business?”

The first rule of serious, life-or-death negotiating I ever learned was: stall. Even if it was for an hour, in that hour you could often scrape something together more permanent. Every moment they’re listening, you’re not dying.

This was a life-or-death negotiation. Yeah, we had no other delfiblinium. And it took Jyonal, a level-ten, drugged mutant, to make this batch. But no one else knew that.

The Ank was suddenly standing next to me.

“Do you need a broker?” he asked.

When the table collapsed under the weight of the delfiblinium, the diplomats were all strangely silent. This was a highly dangerous substance in front of them, yet they overcame their fear because it was also a potential ticket out of here. I was offering one of the rarest substances in the galaxy, possession of which might elevate any of these diplomats back into the high esteem of their home governments.

The assorted aliens practically attacked me. What do I want? How much do I have to offer? The Qwintine have always favored the great Colmarian Confederation.

But I was waiting for one person who wasn’t here.

“Hank, the Boss,” the purple Po stated.

“Is this not new business?” I asked caustically.

“Could you speak privately?” It tried to make himself heard above the fray.

“I want this ship stopped. And I don’t want to talk to you. I want to talk to the Prince.”

The Therezians walked ahead as the purple Po accompanied me to the Prince’s chamber. We had taken a series of moving floors and flying transports and tube shuttles to get this far. It was far indeed. Before a negotiation this important I would usually want to eat and rest first, but I wasn’t sure how much time I had. Belvaille may have already been destroyed for all I knew.

“Proceed,” the purple Po stated, offering a dozen arms to indicate the direction, as if there was a doubt. It was impossible to tell how large the approaching room was, but the Therezians looked like action figures in comparison to its entrance.

When I finally crossed the threshold, I must say I was impressed.

If the other halls had been massive, this one was in a category all its own. It was beyond belief. It was extraordinary.

Directly in front of me, floating some hundreds of feet in the air, was the Prince.

The purple Po had instructed me to kneel, but I was too dumbstruck.

The Boranjame, as there could be no doubt that’s what it was, exceeded all expectations. I tried to take him in, but it was difficult. The Prince must have literally been miles long and miles high.

He was composed of rotating, intersecting, moving crystalline patterns. It was like a million, mile-long snowflakes dancing and bisecting each other. Each one had different shades and reflections of scintillating color.

He was fantastically beautiful.

All around the Prince were what must have been thousands of Po—some on the ground, some on ladders or cranes, some in tiny airships. They were so far away it was tough to tell what they were doing. Cleaning him? Feeding? Playing cards? Who knew?

It was only through their presence that I could estimate the size of the Prince and the size of the room itself. In the corners of the high room, almost beyond visible range, were artillery guns. An impressive security system if there ever was. I thought of Jyen briefly as I would need to be destroyer-resistant to survive those weapons.

It looked like a full-service space dock. But instead of servicing a battleship, there was this prism of royalty. I don’t know what I had expected, but this wasn’t it. The room had a severe dampness and chill, my breath billowing in clouds, and there was frost on the floor and many surfaces.

Was there a whole race of these things? It seemed impossible.

“Why are you here?” I suddenly heard from a set of speakers nearby. The voice was simulated, but unlike the clunky Po voice boxes or the Keilvin Kamigan accents, this was a lyrical, yet imposing Colmarian voice. As if he had a paid voice actor out of view—and maybe he did.

“I’m here to trade,” I said, snapping out of my reverie.

“And what is it you have to offer?”

“I didn’t say trade with you,” I fired back, idly wondering if this thing could eat me.

After a pause that made me very nervous, the Prince continued.

“I understand you have delfiblinium.”

“And I understand this ship is headed for the Colmarian Confederation.”

“We require planets.”

“Don’t we all. Don’t we all,” I said, like a down-on-his-luck galactic overlord. “But I can’t let you pass into our empire.”

“And what would you do to stop me? Little Colmarian.”

This isn’t Belvaille, I thought to myself. Take it easy. I looked back up at those artillery cannons. I didn’t speak. Because my mouth was dry. Because more lives than I could possibly imagine were at stake. And I really didn’t want to say anything stupid for once.

“If you invade us, there will be galactic war.”

“Between my people and the Colmarian Confederation?”

“No, between your people and every empire represented back there,” I said, indicating behind me, even though the diplomats were likely dozens or even hundreds of miles away. “Because a condition of them trading delfiblinium with us will be to mutually defend each other if attacked.”

“And do you believe they would honor that agreement?”

“They’ll make the arrangement because no one wants to be the only empire without a delfiblinium stockpile,” I said.

“Even if true, would they be able to resist my ship?”

“I guess it depends on how many delfiblinium warheads this heap can withstand.” I looked around appraisingly.

“What is it you want?”

“I want this ship stopped.”

“It already is. But we need planets.”

“How many?” I asked. That being the oddest concept I had ever verbalized.

“We need approximately 200 class 2B planets and 100 class 4J planets.”

Those designations meant nothing to me. But 300 planets was something. I had no idea how many occupied solar systems the Colmarian Confederation had, but you couldn’t start plucking planets out of them without harm.

“How about the Dredel Led?” I asked. “You could take planets from their empire instead.”

“They would be a formidable enemy.”

“Not worse than every other empire combined. Besides, they tried to invade us and failed. They won’t be a problem. And no one likes them anyway.”

The Boranjame only have these ships. It was their only advantage—though large advantage it was. I must have scared the crystals off this guy with my delfiblinium warheads threat. Despite the fact that I bet we could pile every ounce of delfiblinium that existed in the Colmarian Confederation under the Prince and detonate it, and he wouldn’t get more than a tummy-ache. If he even had a tummy.