I shook my head vigorously as I tried to comprehend that.
“When am I ever going to want to do that, Delovoa?”
“You don’t have to,” Delovoa implored. He really wanted me to like his gun. “People will see that weapon and run. And you can use any of the other shell types. Though you probably shouldn’t use the high-explosive. I have the magazine set so you can manually switch between shell types. It holds two of each.”
“So what’s the high-explosive do?”
“It shoots like the armor piercing, except when it hits something it explodes.”
“So like a grenade launcher?”
“Well, like three or four grenade launchers.”
I shook my head again.
“You know we live in a city, right? On a space station.”
“Hank, none of these rounds, not even the armor piercing, will penetrate walls. So the fact it can shoot four miles—or eight miles—doesn’t matter much because you’ll hit a building before then.”
I was still really skeptical. Most importantly because I wasn’t sure if I could lug this thing around. I didn’t think it would be very intimidating if I was dragging it.
“Delovoa, I just don’t want to be one of those guys who carry some stupid big gun because he’s insecure. I just want a more powerful version of what I have.”
“Well I want to be princess of Eultar’ra 7,” he answered.
“Huh?”
“Hank, I’m basically giving you your plasma pistol back. Look at that. There is no one who won’t be afraid of that gun. I doubt you’d ever have to shoot it.”
“What would it do to Wallow?” I asked.
“Wallow?” Delovoa seemed to think about this for a bit. “I guess he’d notice being shot. But I doubt it would bother him.”
He saw my disappointed reaction.
“Hank, Wallow is basically you only five times bigger, twenty times stronger, and twenty times harder to hurt. Therezians can actually survive being in space—for a little while.”
“So how much does this mess cost? I just lost my job.”
Delovoa looked a bit embarrassed.
“Well, I mean, it’s free. I figure I owe you, for, you know.”
I could do free, unwieldy or not.
“Thanks. I appreciate that. I’m not promising I’ll use it. But I’ll give it a try.”
“Don’t thank me too much. I’m charging for the ammunition. Which costs a fortune.”
CHAPTER 6
“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, wh
ere 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 multicolored 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 paus
e. 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.
“I need more information. I can’t put out feelers that I’m looking for a Navy weapon. That could be anything.”
The General looked at me hard. Well, harder than usual. We stood there having a staring contest until my eyeballs felt like sandpaper.
“It’s a disintegrator. It destroys matter,” he stated finally. “We don’t want the design to fall into the wrong hands.”
I didn’t know a lot about science, but:
“That’s not possible,” I said, trying desperately to remember my physics class from more than a century and a half ago.
“It’s a converted a-drive core. It works.”
Wow.
“Okay, fine. But how can I find that? That’s too hot to sell. Even on Belvaille. If they’re smart they’ll sit on it and wait. Maybe transfer it to Ank where they can handle a transaction like that.”
The General seemed to struggle with the next bit.
“They can’t wait too long because they know we’re looking for it and they can’t ship it off that station or we’ll scan it.”
“This sounds like a really terrible job. You’re a nice guy and all, but finding a busted a-drive core that has the power to make me not exist…I don’t know. I’m just not feeling it.”
“We will reimburse you.”
“You think?”
“How much would you require to return it?”
“Like a million credits!” I said flippantly.
“If you can recover it safely and in working order, we will pay you a million credits.”
The General started working on what I could see was a contract. A million credits! Not even in the headiest days of old Belvaille had I ever made that much money on a job. Not even close.
Damn, I should have said ten million!
CHAPTER 7
“When you send some prospective clients my way, don’t mention my mutations, please,” I told Garm in her office at City Hall.
“What, you’re upset some women beat you up? I thought you liked that.”
Hard Luck Hank: Basketful of Crap Page 4