Hard Luck Hank: Prince of Suck (11 page)

“Two Clem,” I said. “You know him?”

“The actor?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“I heard he was kidnapped. The Order
says Olmarr Republic. Olmarr says not them.”

“Hmm. 19-10. An assassin. Or bounty
hunter.”

“Never heard of him. You have an
election coming up, right?”

“So they say.”

“You have a lot of candidates,” Uulath
said.

“Really?”

He laughed.

“Hank, do you remember why you arrested
me?”

“You murdered a little girl.”

“And do you remember what she was
wearing?”

A silent pause.

“A dress. A green dress.”

“That was almost thirty years ago. You,”
he said, pointing at me, “were born for that job. The gods made it for you. But
you’re crap at politics. And Belvaille is politics now. That’s all the new
people talk about.”

He smiled at me.

“Do you know how many people I’ve killed
since I’ve been here?” he asked.

“I suspect a lot.”

“None. I look to you for guidance,” he
said.

“What?” That struck me as an odd
statement for the mayor of the Royal Wing to make. I was immediately
suspicious.

“You are the strongest person on
Belvaille but you hardly ever kill anyone. You use your head more than your
fists. It’s something I wish I had known when I was younger.”

“Do you guys have any urgent needs?” I
asked.

I didn’t know if he was trying to sweet
talk me, but we weren’t friends. When the Totki had put duct tape so effectively
on my eyes, it made me realize that they had been sitting around concocting
that strategy. A strategy based specifically on fighting me. How much time did Uulath
have to think about me and how he might manipulate me?

“Ten rolls of mylon plastic and two
water filtration systems would be great. We have eight different water
containment areas based on how clean it is. The eighth one is like liquid
rust.”

I took a deep breath and pondered his
request.

He chuckled and wore a wistful, melancholy
expression.

“You’re thinking, ‘What can I give them yet
still leave this place a living hell?’ You are our sun god, Hank. We fear you
like the insects that crawl around in the safety of the night.”

http://www.belvaille.com/hlh3/uulath.gif

There was a little bit of a hassle at
the entrance to the four block district that was the Ank Reserve.

The guards demanded I remove all my
weapons, but I had too many and I didn’t feel like it. Finally, I simply walked
past them. The guards thought better of firing on me.

Besides, I had been personally summoned.

The Ank were, or at least had been, the
bankers of the galaxy. They had nearly been exterminated in the war. Not
because anyone particularly bore them ill will, but the Ank were never very
populous, and when one side wanted to end the funding to the other side during
the civil war, they would attack the Ank planets. Eventually, they were almost wiped
out.

My motto was to never take sides.

The Ank seemed to have a motto of take
every side equally. Some people even blame the Ank for increasing the scale of
the civil war, because they funded so much of it.

Between losing the Ank home worlds and
our teles, the financial system across the galaxy simply ceased to exist.
Barter and trade became the most common form of conducting business.

But Belvaille still had some Ank.

They set the rates for every kind of
good or service that existed, even dealing with the local currencies of other
planets. They also lent money, sold stocks in companies, set interest rates
based on credit ratings, set credit ratings, sold insurance, and did anything
you could conceive of that could be done with money other than maybe liquefy
and drink it.

Prostitutes and gigolos even had costs
based on the Ank scales, which were changed hourly.

Four enormous Boards, three stories
tall, facing each direction from the Reserve, recorded the galaxy’s prices. Thousands
of people crowded around these Boards, buying and selling commodities every
minute of every day.

I didn’t understand any of it of course.

But I understood that the Ank were
incredibly valuable. Before they had arrived and started maintaining a unified
system of currency, it was chaos. There was no concept of money. As soon as the
Ank said, “these four plastic cylinders are as good as a barrel of alcohol,”
people believed it right away. Because they were the Ank, and that’s all they
did.

I was escorted into an inner building
and instructed to go upstairs by one of the guards.

“I don’t do stairs,” I said.

We stood in the lobby awkwardly.

For controlling all the money in
Belvaille, in a sense, the Ank weren’t showy. The lobby was a lobby. The fake plants
were dusty. There was a receptionist desk, but he or she must have been out to
lunch. The carpet was a bit faded and worn from foot traffic.

The elevator dinged and I was happy to
see three Ank exit.

Ank all looked the same. And I don’t say
that to be racist, they literally all looked the same. Not even a mother could
identify her own children from a random stranger’s.

They had pale white, almost translucent
skin, with basically no features at all. They were taller than a normal
Colmarian but thinner. Their arms were so spindly as to be useless.

They all wore a kind of long-sleeved
robe that went down to the floor. They differentiated one another by what they
put on those robes.

They had jewels, trinkets, chains,
writing, relics, sculptures, symbols, electronics, and anything else that would
make them distinct from their cohorts. I heard that when an Ank was going to
place a new bauble on his robe, it was a major celebration with many there to
view the ceremony.

They also had insanely long names that
people stopped paying attention to after the second or third minute of them
trying to say it all.

In consequence of all this, we had no
idea how many Ank there were on Belvaille because we couldn’t tell them apart. And
it’s not as if there was ever an Ank street festival where they danced around
and we could count them. Most of the daily activities at the Reserve were
handled by other races the Ank had hired and trained—a highly sought-after
career. If you ever met in person with an Ank to settle a deal, you knew you
were a big shot and it was important.

The Ank had melodious voices with no
great inflection. All their words sounded pleasant. There’s a phrase,
“Ank-talk.” If you Ank-talk something you are making something bad sound good.

Of all the major factions on Belvaille,
I perhaps felt most uncomfortable with the Ank. Not for my safety, but because
I felt perpetually like I was a little kid being talked down to by
knowledgeable teachers.

“Greetings, Supreme Kommilaire,” one of
the Ank chimed.

“I don’t do stairs,” I said, already
embarrassed by their scrutiny.

“We shall adjourn to a conference room,”
another said, in exactly the same voice.

The only way I knew a different one was
speaking was because their many accoutrements jingled when they talked.

I followed the tinkling trio down a
hallway and was glad they walked even slower than I did.

The room had subdued lighting, a table,
more dusty plants, and some Ank chairs. They had special chairs that they could
lean into and which only touched them with numerous rods, so their robes
wouldn’t get disturbed.

While their arms were useless,
apparently they could still use their hands, and at Ank-height beside each
chair there were numerous tools which…I actually don’t know what they did. Ank
stuff.

They also had a chair for me,
surprisingly. It was similar to theirs without the rods, and of substantial
construction. Basically a big block of metal at a small angle. I tested it and
found it could hold my weight so I took a seat.

“So,” I said.

“We want to thank you, Supreme
Kommilaire, for helping maintain law and order in our city,” one said.

“The free flow of capital and business
interests must be enforced at all costs,” another added.

“We have made much progress in the
allocation and distribution of resources and liquidity of funds,” someone
said—not sure which.

“Yeah,” I answered, just to be
participating.

“We do hope you plan on continuing with
your progress to curtail violence within the city.”

There was a pause until I realized they
wanted me to answer.

“Oh. Sure. I’m always looking to make
things safer. But that’s not always easy.”

“We are impressed with the work you have
done, Supreme Kommilaire.”

“We have established contact with other
Reserves, and in most cases their situations are less fortuitous.”

“Hmm,” I said.

“Belvaille’s location near the Portals,
as well as its collection of communication telescopes, which have allowed us to
transmit market information, has left us in an enviable position.”

“You guys use the telescopes too?” I
asked.

“For many years.”

“The other Ank have agreed that, barring
any great disturbances, Belvaille should become the Central Reserve for the
rest of the galaxy.”

I perked up.

“What was that?”

“Although the population is slight by
comparison to some habitations—”

“We believe that is a benefit,” another
finished.

“The city’s exposure to all the galaxy’s
species and remaining empires as well as frequent ship trade provide us the
greatest perception of market fluctuations.”

“So what does that mean?” I didn’t want
to say “in Colmarian,” because they were speaking Colmarian. I didn’t want to
say “in stupid people talk,” but that’s really what I was getting at.

“The forthcoming election is of grave
concern to us and the other Reserves.”

“How?” I sighed.

“It is imperative that whoever is
elected pursues a policy of law and order, support for markets, equanimity
among peoples, financial governance, adequate taxation, and personal freedoms.”

“Well…why don’t one of you run for
office?”

“We are not political.”

I blinked at them a moment. Because
their damn voices didn’t inflect I couldn’t tell if they were being sarcastic.
Wasn’t all this politics?

“What do you expect me to do?” I asked.

“There may be candidates that do not
conform to the standards suitable for galactic recovery.”

“They should be removed from running,”
another Ank added.

“You want me to prevent people from
getting elected?” I asked, surprised.

“It would be your right as Supreme
Kommilaire to ensure proper governance. We have studied all the relevant
documentation on the limits of your role and have concluded there aren’t any.”

“None that would prevent you from
prohibiting candidates, that is.”

“Let’s take a step back,” I said, trying
to understand. “There are other Ank on other planets?”

“There are a number of Reserves
throughout the galaxy. We are attempting to make a cohesive monetary system
as—”

The Ank stopped speaking because we all noticed
something strange. At first I thought it was an optical illusion, but after a
few moments, it began to change.

In the center of the room, what looked
like eight or so different pieces of gold appeared in the air. They quickly grew
in size and moved towards each other.

I saw gold and silver and white followed
by a burst of light.

And then 19-10 stood before us.

I had never seen him before, but I
didn’t need a photo to know the armored form was in fact the assassin Zadeck
had mentioned at the Athletic Gentleman’s Club.

He was maybe seven feet tall, about half
as wide as a normal Colmarian male, with four arms that appeared to have ball
and socket joints at shoulder, elbow, and wrist. It shimmered like a polished
gold mirror. The armor had no front or back, with the knees, arms, and feet
being bi-directional.

The helmet had the spherical shape of a
Colmarian’s but was devoid of features save for thin black lines that modulated
spasmodically. I did not know where he was gazing or if he was at all.

But I didn’t guess he came to admire the
plants.

“Crap!” I yelled.

I got to my feet and pulled out a
shotgun with my left hand and a pistol with my right.

I saw 19-10’s arms and hands spin and
array themselves with blinding speed. His three-fingered hands all had some
kind of small pistol or firearm attached at the back.