Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Screw the Galaxy

He appraised me for a while.

“Are you Hank?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, not knowing if that would be good or bad.

He opened the door warily. Inside it was just a normal apartment, slightly messy. It was a version thirty-one layout. There were only fifty or so different types of apartments in the whole city. I lived in a version fifteen, which was larger but had fewer rooms. It smelled like incense inside and there were music holograms on the walls.

Grever closed the door and faced me, looking uneasy. I handed him Jyen’s list to get right down to business.

“I need this,” I said.

He looked it over for a while.

“Wow, this is some zippy-duty stuff. I didn’t think you did drugs.”

“I didn’t say they were for me. That’s just what I need.”

“Who’s it for?” he asked.

That struck me as an odd thing to request.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Oh, I’m just—,” he stammered. “You know, with the way things have been going lately, I just want to, you know, be sure who I’m dealing with.”

“You’re dealing with me. That’s all,” I said calmly.

Grever looked over the list again.

“A few of these, more than a few, probably aren’t anywhere in the entire state of Ginland. I don’t even know what this one is,” he said, pointing.

“How much of it can you get?”

He took a deep breath and started adding it up. Then he bit his lower lip.

“Uh, this is going to cost a lot of credits to put together.”

“Give me an idea.”

“Well, a lot.”

“I’m on a schedule here. Do I have to go elsewhere?”

He added it up for a bit.

“I can get half of this. It’ll cost about…” Grever paused, looking at me closely. “15,000.”

That was about what I was figuring, so I was happy with that number.

“If you can get me half I can get you 15K.”

“When?” he asked.

“Right now.” I took out a token with 30,000 as proof.

“Don’t move,” I heard a voice say behind me.

I turned around. There was a shivering junkie standing there holding a pistol pointed at me. A big pistol. His eyes were screwed up, his hair a mess, and he had the blotchy, wrecked skin of someone who had done a whole lot of drugs in his life.

I really didn’t need this.

“Crayv, man, put that away. This guy is buying,” Grever yelled at him.

“Shut up. Shut up. You, give me that token. Give it here!”

I looked at Grever. This was his apartment.

“Crayv, what are you doing? This guy is Hank. You know like from The News .”

“I-I don’t care who he is, h-he’s going to be dead if he doesn’t throw that token over here.” His voice was high-pitched and stuttering. I saw there was no negotiating with him.

“Is this guy a friend of yours?” I asked Grever.

“He was just smoking out in the back. Ain’t no friend, man,” Grever answered nervously. He put his hands up as if to completely disassociate himself.

“I’m talking to you!” the junkie screamed.

“You know him though, right?”

“Do what you got to do, man,” Grever said.

I apparently wasn’t getting anywhere with either of them. I took out my four-barreled shotgun from under my coat.

It was an intimidating weapon for sure. I had the top two barrels loaded with very tiny steel pellets about the diameter of sand. Since the barrels were cut so short, I was basically blasting…well, anything unfortunate enough to be in the general direction I was aiming, within thirty feet. Those shots weren’t lethal unless I fired point blank.

The bottom two barrels I loaded with buckshot. So the first two shots were to slow them down and convince them to reconsider whatever actions made me fire. The next two shots were to cut them in half if they didn’t listen. I only carried eight shots, including the four in the gun. Most fights were usually over before then.

Seeing four shotgun barrels pointed at him from ten feet away convinced the junkie it was a judicious time to shoot me. Or shoot at me anyway.

I actually looked behind me to see where he missed because I heard the pang against the metal wall. If I had stood on a ladder and jumped to the side, that shot might have hit me.

“Hey, you idiot,” Grever yelled at him as he dove for cover.

I walked forward and the junkie shot me in the right shoulder. It hurt. A lot. I reached out with my left hand and grabbed him by the wrist holding the pistol. I pulled his arm to the side. I then stepped on his feet and that’s what really caused him pain—I was not a light guy.

“So do you know him or not?” I asked Grever again.

“Hey, it’s your call. I’m not even here,” he said hurriedly.

I rolled my eyes. The junkie was struggling with me but there was no way he was going to push me off his toes. I could barely push myself.

On one hand, this guy was obviously high. On the other, I can’t have people shooting me without repercussions. Grever had known me by reputation. When I leave here, he’s going to tell people what happened and that’s going to affect me from then on.

I lifted my shotgun high and brought it down on the junkie’s head like a hammer.

I wanted to make some bold pronouncement, some tough speech, but I think I would be the only person who heard it. The junkie was crying on the carpet, holding his bleeding scalp, and Grever was so checked out of the situation he was practically at another space station.

I picked up the junkie’s pistol and walked over to Grever, who was in his kitchen eating—or pretending to be eating.

“Grever. When can you have the stuff?”

It took him a moment to come back to reality.

“Hmm? Oh, um, how about a couple days?”

“I can give you an extra thousand if you can get it in ten hours,” I said.

He thought about that hard.

“I can try.”

“Alright, I’ll be back then.” I realized I was talking to him holding the shotgun and pistol while a man moaned in the other room. I thought it was actually a good image to leave Grever with.

I put the shotgun away and walked outside still carrying the pistol. I don’t know why I took it, but at least it was some small payback.

I was thinking of where I had to be next when I heard someone a block away yell to me in a friendly voice.

“You starting trouble or finishing it, Hank?” It was Ioshiyn, coming up the sidewalk. He was an enforcer, not sure which boss he currently worked for. Nice guy.

I looked down at the pistol still in my hand.

“Hey Ioshiyn, you want to buy this?”

“Does it work?”

“Just shot me,” I said, showing my shoulder.

He stared at the hole and the scorch marks, impressed.

“Is that a Trestler?”

“I think it’s a copy. But looks like the same design. I figure it’s worth 200. I’ll sell it to you for fifty.”

“Fifty? You sure?” he asked. I handed it to him and he checked it out. I could see I had a sale. I pulled my tele out with a smile. He took some time but finally passed the credits to me.

“Enjoy it,” I said, leaving.

“Thanks. Hey, what do you think of things? Is there really a turf war coming?”

I shrugged and then absently caressed my sore shoulder.

Ioshiyn nodded darkly as if I had somehow spoken volumes.

I had to go to the bathroom so I walked to a nearby restaurant to make use of the facilities. On my way I noticed two smoke trails high above the city. Had something broken in the station’s latticework? It wouldn’t be the first time. I just hoped I got a chance to relieve myself before being sucked into space.

At the restaurant I read the latest edition of The News . Rendrae was stoking the fires with headlines like “What Will You Need for the Coming Business Disputes.”