Hard Luck Hank: Basketful of Crap (4 page)

“Wish me luck,
Toby,” I said.

I was concerned
about carrying my new autocannon in public for the first time. It was not
exactly inconspicuous.

The gun was too
long to sling straight up and down on my back; I had to carry it at an angle so
it didn’t scrape along the ground. I also had to lean over a bit to counter the
weight, but I found if I walked with my arms folded in front of me—which
probably looked really stupid—it helped offset.

Now that I had
some cash in my pocket from the pale sisters, I was going to splurge on a
restaurant that had actual fresh food.

Upscale eatery Chand
actually imported live animals in containers and didn’t kill them until
preparation. It was so much tastier than the months-old freeze-dry stuff that
nearly every other restaurant carried.

Once I got
there, I tried to step inside the restaurant and the autocannon broke the glass
on the door. I then turned reflexively and knocked part of the metal frame out.

I feared that I
would get stuck in the doorway and look like a total moron, so I quickly bent
over and forced my way in, practically ripping the door off its hinges.

With my head
down I rushed to my usual table at the side of the restaurant. But on getting
there I realized if I tried to sit, my autocannon would touch the floor before
my butt touched the seat. And because of the straps connected to me I would be
suspended in the air by my gun.

So I
disconnected all the buckles and swung the heavy weapon onto the ground beside
the table, where it landed with a loud
bang
. I took my seat and picked
up my menu and began reading it carefully. After a few moments I looked over to
see if the restaurant had taken notice of me.

Every single
set of eyes was staring. People had frozen with their cups poised at their lips
and forks full of food. I saw the waiters grouped at a distance seemingly
arguing about who was going to have to approach me and take my order.

This was
exactly what I was hoping wouldn’t happen.

As I thought it
couldn’t get any worse, Rendrae sat at my table in the seat across from me.

Rendrae
operated the sole news source on Belvaille: the tele-distributed newspaper
The
News
. Before the corporations came, it was a hard-hitting journalistic rag
that knew everything about everyone and didn’t mind telling. But now it was
just a corporate mouthpiece and other than Rendrae’s weekly op-ed, wasn’t
really worth reading.

Rendrae was an
overweight man with a greenish complexion that made him look sick. He wore
business clothes that looked like an amalgamation of all the different
corporation colors and logos.

“Hank,” he
greeted me, smiling.

“Rendrae.”

“That’s a
nice…” he began, looking down at my gun and waiting for me to finish.

“Autocannon.”

“Autocannon!”
He agreed. “I was going to get one myself.”

I looked over
to the waiters and now they were shoving one another, but none was any closer
to offering me food.

“So,” he
continued “have you come to kill everyone?”

“Hoping to
order some food, eventually.”

“Yeah. I
usually bring a Navy cruiser when I go out to eat, but to each his own.”

“Shouldn’t you
be not reporting on stuff?” I fired. “Or placing more advertisements for the
corporations?”

“The
corporations are top stories, Hank. You don’t have to like it,” Rendrae said
defensively.

“I remember
when
The News
used to be just that. People read it every day.”

Rendrae looked
weary and stood.

“I guess you
know everything, Hank. I’ll leave you to…” he motioned to the table, my
autocannon, me, “whatever this is.” And he walked away.

I ate a good
while and let my food settle. I was kind of hoping to wait long enough so that
I could use the bathroom at the restaurant, so I wouldn’t have to deal with my
broken toilet at home. But I didn’t have to go.

I paid for my
food, paid for the door, and strapped my gun back on and left.

At home, I hadn’t
even started to take my autocannon off when I saw three uniformed Navy soldiers
in my living room.

I had been in
the Navy for maybe a month with the rank of Oberhoffman—though they technically
never paid me. I wasn’t even sure if I was still in the Navy come to think of
it.

But one of the
soldier’s uniforms I recognized as being a low-ranking officer. The other two,
who were armed with light machine guns, were enlisted men.

“Are you Hank?”
the officer asked.

Last time I had
acknowledged that to some intruders in my living room, I got a knife up the
butt.

“No,” I lied.
And this worried me.

Because I
realized that somehow, over the course of my life, I had become a very bad
liar. I remember when lying was second nature. I would go someplace and on the
way I would think up excuses for why I was early and think up excuses for why I
was late. I’m not sure how, but I lost that ability completely.

The soldiers
exchanged glances and the officer checked his tele.

“You’re not
Hank? What is your name?”

I stood there
in a panic. My name? I’m taking too long. People usually know their names right
quick. I was drawing a blank. I kept thinking “Hank,” but that’s not what I
wanted to say.

“Frank!” I
finally blurted.

I saw the
officer’s face twist, as if he was trying to figure out if I was insulting him.

“Frankerson,” I
added quickly. Then I put my hand slowly to my head and rubbed my sinuses.
Really, where did it go? I couldn’t even lie to the Navy.

“Your name is
Frank Frankerson?” the officer asked in a leaden voice.

“I’m Hank. What
do you want?”

“You will need
to come with us,” he said.

I had an
autocannon on my back. And while I had no idea what it would do to three
unarmored Colmarian Navy soldiers standing ten feet away from me, I had to
imagine it wouldn’t be pretty. But the Navy had tens of thousands of troops
floating nearby in warships. And what they could do to me was ultimately not
prettier.

I didn’t feel
like toting my autocannon around any longer, my lower back was getting sore. So
I took the time to take it off and we left my apartment.

The soldiers
completely ignored Toby on my stairs.

From my brief time
in the Navy I found soldiers don’t even perceive things not in their direct
orders. If a bunch of alien invaders went marching down the street right now
these men probably wouldn’t even blink. It’s not because they were lazy, it’s
just that if they acknowledge something illegal, they had to do something about
it. I guess it
was
because they were lazy.

We walked to
the train and headed east.

As we were
sitting there, all the passengers studiously avoiding us, I decided to try and
make conversation.

“You know I was
an Oberhoffman in the Navy,” I said helpfully.

The officer
gave me a dull expression.

“Higher rank
than you,” I muttered.

We took a
transfer and finally exited the train near the port and walked the rest of the
way.

“We’re going to
the port?” I asked. But no one answered me.

Fine, I wasn’t
going to tell them about my special relationship with zero gravity. Or that I
just ate a really big meal of recently-alive food.

We crammed into
a shuttle and I whistled happily, knowing what was about to happen. As soon as
we exited the dock and weightlessness took hold, I threw up all over the
shuttle.

The
formerly-silent soldiers all began cursing and scrambling to try and contain
the spill and get out of its way.

At first only a
bit came out. Then I sat up and looked at what had just exited my mouth and was
now floating languidly in front of me. That got the rest out. Live food looks
unbelievably disgusting half-digested.

Sitting there
with my stomach empty, I now felt pretty bad, because that was a really
expensive meal.

I had totally
wrecked this shuttle. I couldn’t even see where we were going through the front
screen because there were all these multi-colored globules of my sick twirling
around.

After some
moments of this, a soldier also threw up. If I had anything left, I would have
certainly lost it, but I was bone dry. They had little bags to try and collect
it, but it was just everywhere.

Seeing it spin
actually made me think the animal I had just eaten had gotten a second lease on
life. It was now roaming the seas of space freer than it had ever been.

When we docked
with whatever ship we had travelled to, it was back to artificial gravity.
Splat
.
We were all covered.

We exited the
shuttle looking like we were famous musicians who had just come from a month of
pure debauchery on some alcohol-brewing planet.

The deck
officer that met us momentarily had his mouth open in surprise, but he quickly
straightened out.

Without a word
we marched through the ship. I wasn’t especially familiar with Navy vessels. I
had only ever been on a few: a dreadnought, which was about the size of
Belvaille, and a medical sloop. Navy ships were the antithesis of the Colmarian
Confederation in that they were orderly and efficient.

After a while
the soldiers deposited me in front of a door and left.

I was actually alone
in a hallway in front of the closed door. What if I just walked away? I didn’t
know how to fly a ship and if I got in one I’d probably just get sick again.

As I was
pondering this, the door suddenly opened.

“General,” I
said, surprised.

General
Mush’tathina and I had met before, when the Navy had declared martial law. He
was one of the guys I had negotiated Belvaille’s independence with.

I did not like
him.

He was a grim
man, stocky and grizzled. He had a bunch of medals on his chest and his face
had numerous medical implants protruding which made him look meaner than he
really was—and he was plenty mean. He wore a pistol on his belt and he didn’t
look like he would be uncomfortable using it.

He looked at me
and my mess.

“Sit down,” he
said, motioning behind him.

I entered his
office which was about as inviting as a bulkhead. It was all hard metal and
rivets with not a decoration or family portrait in sight. I suspected the
General was the kind of guy that would have spare metal brought in to make his
office extra-clunky.

There was a
metal stool in front of his desk and a torn-up old chair behind it which he sat
in. Then he immediately stood up, leaned over his desk, and put his fists on
it.

I sat on the
stool and my fat ass caused the legs to give out and I fell on my back. I then went
over and sat against the wall, because I didn’t feel like standing in front of
him.

“Our people say
there are battles not five blocks from our telescope installations. Bombs going
off everywhere. Even heavy armor trading fire. Why do you people need sixty-ton
tanks?”

“Well, what do
you think I can do? Why don’t you drag some of the corporations here and make
them fall on your chair?”

“I’m talking to
you. What can you do to square this? I can’t have those telescopes
jeopardized.”

I shrugged.

“I’m not a
soldier. Wait. Am I? Am I still an Oberhoffman? Because if I am, you guys owe
me a lot of back pay.”

He eyed me with loathing, his lip
curled. But I think that was the same look he gave to puppies and snowflakes,
so after a while it really lost its impact.

“Do you know
anything about this?” he asked. And he held his tele up on his desk at an angle
I couldn’t see because I was sitting on the ground. He didn’t even point it
towards me. Such a jerk.

I got to my
feet and walked over. It was some technical readout.

I shrugged
again.

“We have reason
to believe this device is on Belvaille.”

“Okay,” I began
uncertainly. “And you care because?”

“It is Navy
property.”

“Cool,” I said,
uninterested.

“I want you to
secure it and return it.”

This guy was a
terrible negotiator.

“Well, we all
want stuff we can’t have. I’d like to be a professional gymnast but I can’t
touch my toes. It’s been a great talk, General.”

I walked
towards the door when I heard the General draw his pistol and point it at me. I
started to laugh until he clicked on the power and a scintillating red glow
burst from a crystal in the middle section of the barrel. It hurt my eyes to
look at it, but I couldn’t help looking. There was also a deep rumble that
vibrated my whole body in this enclosed metal coffin.

He had an
Ontakian plasma pistol pointed right at my head.

I had been on
the shooting side of one of those a few times and even that was a harsh
experience. Mine had melted clean through multiple walls in Belvaille like they
were butter.

I might be
bulletproof, but that gun didn’t shoot bullets.

“So how can I
help you?” I asked, suddenly very interested in being of assistance.

He clicked off
the power.

“How long until
you can find it?” the General asked as if he hadn’t just threatened me with an
alien artifact.

“I don’t want
to appear unhelpful, but I don’t even know what it is.”

“It’s a weapon.
A very dangerous one. We have reason to believe the party will try and sell
it.”

“The corporations
would probably handle that. And if they do, I won’t have any insight into it.”

“No, they won’t
touch it. You all can get away with a lot, but not that much. Not this.”

That gave me
pause. But it also meant I did have a shot at finding it. Because it would be
circulating in the normal black market and not some weird corporate circles.