“Yes,” I said unsteadily. “I’m His Excellency, Hank the Boss of the Colmarian Confederation. Are you the representative for the Boranjame?”
“You see the Po,” the purple creature said. “Slave species of the Boranjame.”
“Ah, yes,” I said, as if I had known that but merely forgotten.
“Please follow,” it said, doing what I guessed was its approximation of a bow.
The Po wriggled forward on its many hands, and between it and the Therezians and the constantly moving swarm of Po flanking me, I was by far the slowest. The purple Po routinely paused to wait for me.
No description as to the size of the ship was really adequate. It was a planet. The place I assumed was a hangar branched off at regular intervals with similar-sized passageways. I then realized I was merely in a hallway. The enormous room I had waited in was probably a closet or maybe a desk drawer.
There were no decorations of any kind that I could see. It was purely functional, covered in pipes and conduits and electrical cables and bolts and all manner of industrial machines. The only thing intriguing about these features, besides their absolutely enormous size, was their composition. The ship seemed to have strata or layers. At one point everything would be a brownish-red color, and after some time walking, the same walkways and railings and tubing would be gray and have a slightly different texture.
If it was true the Boranjame gobbled up planets to construct this ship, you could literally see where one ended and another began.
The temperature was cool, but it was humid. I looked for mold or mildew, which should have definitely been present given the level of water in the air, but I saw none, even in the remotest crevices.
The purple Po was obviously making a conscious effort not to be as twitchy as his comrades. Actually I couldn’t say that for sure, since I had no idea about their physiology. Maybe it was just old.
We kept going and going and going. My recently busted knee was slowing me down more than usual. Finally I had to speak up.
“Um, excuse me, can we take a break?”
“Break?” it asked.
“I’m tired. You’re too fast. How far away is”—and I realized I didn’t know where we were going or what we were doing—“do we have to go?”
“You are fatigued?” it asked.
“Yes.”
“You shall rest.”
I sat on the floor and caught my breath.
Looking at the Po I could see how they’d evolved. You could literally not tell which direction they were going until they were there. A pouncing animal would just as likely hit a tree as catch one of these things.
After a bit we headed off again. We passed quite a few more hallways and I couldn’t be sure, but I think more Po joined us. The Therezians were as impassive as ever. Yeah, imagine an army of them. I wondered if they knew Wallow.
It took a while, but we finally stopped outside another opening.
“Hank the Boss. You may enter. You will speak later.”
I was expecting to see the Boranjame inside, not that I would recognize one if I saw it, but instead it was simply an unbelievably ornate room filled with creatures.
The aliens in the room were a long ways off and clustered into individual groups as if they were shy. Or racists. There were some Po, but the rest of the creatures, dozens of them, looked to represent every major species in the galaxy.
The lighting in the room was dim, with the figures obscured in shadows. The carpeting was thick, red, and luxurious. There was statuary and artwork placed all over. It reminded me of the Belvaille Athletic Club where the gang bosses congregated.
I wasn’t particularly sure where I was or what I was supposed to do, but I knew I was hungry, and tired, and a bit gross from my time in space.
I figured I had better freshen up and get something to eat before presenting myself, or the rest of the galaxy would think Colmarians are a disheveled race with growling stomachs that smell of space urine. Much to my delight, one of the first items I saw inside the room was a refrigerator. I walked over to it, grasped the handle and tried to pull it open, but only succeeded in bending the metal frame.
“Stop it,” the refrigerator said.
“Oh,” I said, backing up. “Sorry, I was just looking for something to eat.”
“Do I look edible?” it asked. Its voice, though clearly artificial, was full of sarcasm.
“I thought you were a container,” I explained. “What…what exactly are you, if I may ask?”
“I believe your species refers to us as ‘Dredel Led,’” the refrigerator said with clear distaste.
Surely there was no other Colmarian in history who had seen and fought and tried to get food from as many Dredel Led as I had. It’s like they were stalking me.
For a moment I was worried it might cause trouble, but then I realized it wouldn’t fight here—not on a Boranjame ship. Not when they got two Therezians strolling around.
“What brought you guys to Belvaille, anyway?” I asked, figuring now was a good time to inquire.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” it answered.
“Those dead…uh”—wondering what I should call them instead of Dredel Led—“robots at Belvaille.”
“Dead? Your species is so pathetic. You have no idea what this galaxy holds.”
“Well, our empire stretches across most of it,” I said with some small amount of umbrage.
“You don’t have an empire. It’s a collection of all the races no one else wanted.” The robot, if it’d had features, would have been sneering. Though the corner where I’d bent it kind of looked like it was grinning stupidly.
“Maybe. Maybe. But we sure killed the crap out of those robots you sent to Belvaille,” I said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the refrigerator repeated.
I wasn’t going to outsmart this metal box and it obviously didn’t have any food, so I left.
Making friends. Making friends.
“Excuse me,” I said, trying to grab a Po and missing utterly.
More of them flittered by and I decided to try and communicate with my arms, waving them around excitedly. Hopefully they wouldn’t take offense.
One “paused” in front of me, though it continued to move even while staying relatively in the same spot.
“Hi. I’m really hungry and covered in waste. Is there any place I can wash and get something to eat?”
The Po in front of me motioned wildly. The signal was picked up by another across the room. And another. Then another. Within seconds, Po I hadn’t even seen were all taking up the call. A group corralled me and got me moving again.
I followed them for some time, winding through the ship, and they led me into a room that had a bed, although it was so large you could land a shuttle on it. The Po departed and closed the giant doors.
The room itself had no carpeting and was warmer than the rest of the ship had been. Its surfaces and structures were composed of what looked to be a dark green, crystalline material. It was smooth to the touch, but hairline fractures could be seen all throughout it, which gave an odd impression that the room was going to shatter at any moment. It was decorated much like a hotel room of enormous proportions.
I looked around and while I didn’t find a sink, there was a swimming pool. It had entry points with steps of various sizes, some utterly massive.
I tested the water, found it a bit chilly but good enough, and sunk into it. The water immediately turned murky at my entry, but was quickly filtered clear again.
Floating in the water gave me the ugly sensation of being back in space, so I cleaned up as best I could and exited. I then noticed a whole wardrobe had been placed nearby. Those Po sure were sneaky.
They even had a pink bathrobe with my title and name on the front. On the rear it said “Colmarian Confederation.” Like that was my sports team.
I looked at the robe for some time, wondering if I should get them to exchange it, but they had gone to the trouble to
get it monogrammed. Besides, just because pink was a pansy color where I came from didn’t mean anything out here. For all I knew it could be the galactic color of death and destruction.
I finished putting on the clothes, which included underwear, shirt, pants, and slippers, all perfectly fit. Did they take my measurements when they ripped off my spacesuit or were the Po the universe’s super tailors?
Moments later about twenty Po arrived, deposited a table of food, and were gone. If I’d sneezed I would have missed them.
There was quite a variety to eat, but I wasn’t sure what any of it was. Did they know my biology? What if they accidentally gave me poison? Or what if I ate something that gave me diarrhea? I needed to talk to people and I couldn’t do it throwing up. As I passed over the various things that were presumably edible, it became clear that the Po had no idea what I specifically ate. There were slimy puddles of foul-smelling grease and live wormlike things that squirmed when I poked at them.
I was certain I’d go hungry until at the end of the table I discovered some rations, which I thankfully consumed. While eating as far from the disgusting table as possible, a Po with yellow wristbands appeared.
“Your luggage,” it said with an accent, though how it managed to have an accent talking with hand boxes was beyond me.
“Luggage?” I asked.
It left without responding, and in its place, dozens of Po quickly deposited the contents of my ship. The delfiblinium.
It was still enclosed in its containers and looked untampered with. I was all alone in some inner room of the world-ship with countless tons of the ore. I needed to think.
And do other things.
Using the bathroom on the world-ship reinforced just how ill-conceived our original plan was. It’s true I didn’t know the capabilities of delfiblinium, but was it possible it could do any damage to this installation? I had been acutely afraid of the bathroom toilet mashing me into a singularity by its sheer awesomeness.
I hoped that was the toilet, anyway.
I was really on a planet. And not a planet made from water or gas or loose soil, but one composed alternately of solid crystal and metals.
My great fear was that exploding the metal would merely destroy a few dozen rooms and maybe collapse a hallway, necessitating a little remodeling, but nothing else.
I came to the conclusion that my original mission was void. I needed to stop this vessel some other way. I wasn’t going to blow it up, that much was certain.
CHAPTER 46
I hadn’t realized how tired I had been until the purple Po woke me up to tell me there was a meeting and I was invited as emissary of the Colmarian Confederation.
I tried to make myself look important in my monogrammed, yet sissy-colored, bathrobe.
The conclave was held in a large room—well, large by normal room standards, but normal by world-ship standards. There was a circular table around which sat the aliens I had seen earlier. In most cases there were several representatives for each race sitting close to one another.
In the center of the table was a hole that was occupied by the purple Po, as if he were directing traffic from the various species.
The whole thing was very similar to a gang meeting.
Sitting closest to me were Rettosians. They were one of the furthest species from Belvaille—but so were the Dredel Led, and that hadn’t stopped them from hanging around. The Rettosians were an ancient species. Colmarians thought of them as decadent, preferring only the finest of finer things, but who knows if that stereotype was true.
Physically, they looked like melting Colmarians. Or oozing. Their bodies secreted…something that was reabsorbed and then secreted again. Each individual varied in color, but they were vibrant blues and reds and greens and yellows. Their wardrobes highlighted their condition by having little spouts and producing tiny waterfalls and fountains. While it sounds kind of gross, it actually was a rather attractive effect, though I couldn’t imagine touching one.
The purple Po called the meeting to order.
“We need to address the last concern of the Qwintine representative regarding the division of trade in the ZT38-P4 system.”
The Qwintine were here as well. Physically, they were a thin species. They were twitchy and insect-like. And they hadn’t advanced as much as the other great empires because they had a low life-expectancy. I think they lived only fifty or so years, which really didn’t lend itself to galactic exploration.
There were five jittering around at the other side of the table. The one seated front-and-center had a dull complexion and didn’t move nearly as much as the ones behind it, who were colored more brightly. I wondered if they shipped over dozens of diplomats and let them die off. What a weird species.
“Excuse me,” I said, raising my hand.
The purple Po turned to me. Or at least more of its appendages did.
“I’m kind of new here, but I’d like to get this ship stopped. How do I go about doing that? It’s going into our territory.”
There was a slight cacophony of sounds at the table that was most disturbing. It took me a moment to realize the various races were laughing.
On my other side was a cloud of red gas “seated” at the table. It swirled with varying shades of red, and little ripples of electricity pulsed through it. It was a Keilvin Kamigan, the only gaseous race in the galaxy. It had the enviable position of being able to occupy the planets that were uninhabitable by anyone else. Though as I recall, you only need a little kid with a rock to kill one, as that’s all it took to rupture their membrane.
The Keilvin Kamigan used its own chemistry to activate a voice box on the table in front of it.
“We have already settled that years ago, Colmarian. This ship’s course is set.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t here then,” I explained.
There was some grumbling from the group and then a truly monstrous sound dragged out.
“No old business.”
It was a solitary Gandrine seated directly across from me, but so loud it was as if he were yelling in my ear. Their species was nearly all hard mineral. He was probably heavier than I was. Like the Qwintine who they bordered, they did not expand much. But they were polar opposites of that race in that they were long-lived and slow in all regards.
The purple Po spoke.
“The Gandrine ambassador is correct. You may have no old business without a formal petition first, which must be voted upon.”
“But how do I—”
“Hank the Boss must be warned not to interrupt,” the purple Po cautioned.
The Dredel Led refrigerator, whose face had been repaired, made some buzzing noises that sounded suspiciously like snickering.
The meeting continued and I literally had no idea what anyone was saying. They could have been discussing chopping me up into little pieces and cooking me in a stew and I wouldn’t have known. It was Colmarian language, but very stilted and bureaucratic. I sat there picking at my fingernails.
We took a break after some hours and I tried to mingle with the diplomats as best I could.
Much to my joy I saw a trio of what looked like Colmarians standing by themselves. They wore long brown trenchcoats with cowls covering their faces. They carried staves with odd lanterns on top, though the lanterns did not glow.
“Hey,” I approached them excitedly, “are you guys Colmarians too?”
As the trio looked at me their bored expressions changed to ones that I could only translate as hostile.
“Colmarians?” one asked incredulously.
“We seek to destroy Colmarians,” another finished.
They tapped their rods on the ground and the lanterns burst forth an eye-searing blue light. A sound echoed off the vast chamber walls that vibrated my chest, my gut, my bones, my very brain, until I was at the brink of senselessness.
They tapped off their staves and I could finally see straight again.
“Well, good luck with that,” I said hurriedly, and departed.
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While fleeing I nearly bumped into a rather strange creature. It had bright white skin and basically no facial features at all. It was tall but thin and its long arms were spindly things that seemed to serve no purpose. Except for its “face,” every single square inch of the creature was covered with some kind of rare metal or jewel or relic or trinket. Its pathetic arms were positively anchored by rings and bracelets. I knew it immediately from stories and from its mode of dress.
The creature was an Ank, one of the bankers of the galaxy.
They only existed on five planets, a pitiful domain for even the humblest of species. But their influence was vast. For ease of access, all the major empires in the galaxy had some bit of territory that abutted the Ank.
It’s said every scheme started there. “All roads lead from Ank,” as the saying went. Considering they funded just about everything—including roads.
“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?”
Hard Luck Hank: Screw the Galaxy Page 28