Hard Luck Hank: Prince of Suck (30 page)

“How will it keep track of people who
already voted?”

“I don’t know if anyone is going to
vote. But we’ll give them a sticker. Or write down their names. We don’t have
to scramble their DNA though.”

Delovoa rolled all three eyes as if I
was taking all the fun out of democracy.

“Don’t complain to me if there’s voter
fraud.”

“I just found a clone that was running
for office. I’m not especially concerned if someone votes twice for Governor; a
position, by the way, with no official duties or responsibilities. Besides,
this is Belvaille. Fraud is part of our tradition.”

“Kill any judges today?” MTB asked me.

“Day ain’t over,” I said.

We were sitting in my living room. I had
to talk to him and I didn’t care if he was uncomfortable with it. He worked for
me.

“I heard you killed Hobardi,” he said.

“I killed his clone. Well, Valia did.”

“What’s a clone?”

“It’s like a copy. With a bad brain. Like
Two Clem was. Delovoa can explain.”

“I can’t see Delovoa, only you can.
Convenient.”

“Why would I lie? I could just tell you
I killed him because I felt like it. That’s not why you’re here. Delovoa made
this device,” I said, indicating the machine on the floor. “It can detect Messahn
battlesuit. 19-10’s armor. I think he might be hiding in Deadsouth. It would be
easy to come and go.”

“How does it work?” he asked, picking it
up.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if
does
work. We didn’t have any chrodite-399 to try it out. It’s supposed to make some
high-pitched squeal when you’re near where some has been used.”

“Is it safe?”

“Um. You probably want to put on your
body armor. It’s Delovoa.”

“Why are you suddenly interested in
19-10?”

“I’ve always been interested in him. I
just didn’t have anything I could do except blubber into my porridge.”

“Do you know anything more about him?”

“I’m guessing he isn’t here to kill me.
Those little guns wouldn’t hurt me. I think he’s here for the election.”

“I thought you said Governor doesn’t
matter.”

“Yeah, but what do I know? Everyone
thinks it matters, so it matters. We’re as powerful as people think. I told you
that before,” I said.

“So if no one thought that Therezian was
powerful he’d be weak?”

“Don’t be an ass, you know what I mean.”

“Who hired 19-10?” MTB asked.

“I don’t think Garm did. At first I had
my doubts. But she’s not that subtle. If she wants a judge gone she fires him,
right in front of the whole city, during a trial. If she wanted Hobardi gone
she’d just kill him. She created a list of candidates of dead people! That’s
Garm. When you can turn off all our oxygen you don’t need to be sneaky. 19-10
has been totally discreet.”

“So who hired him? Hong isn’t sneaky.
Most gang bosses aren’t sneaky,” MTB said.

“No. But Peush of the Olmarr Republic
is. He’s got money. He’s got an agenda of some kind. He’s probably going to win
the election, or at least some council seats.”

“What will you do?”

“Ask him,” I said.

“Do you think he’ll tell you? ‘Hey, have
you been hiring assassins and murdering people’?” MTB asked skeptically.

“No. But I’m
sure
he won’t if I
don’t ask him. It’s better than sitting here.”

“Have you reformed the Royal Wing yet?”

I sighed.

“Their first set of laws was one page
and I told them it was no good. They just finished their next set and it’s
about a thousand pages. I don’t even know where they got that much paper. I
read maybe an inch. They must have a bunch of adjudicators over there because I
couldn’t make sense of any of it.”

“They
do
have some adjudicators
over there. We arrested them.”

“I know, but I wasn’t sure if they were
dead yet.”

“So who hired the clones?”

“Clones are built. I don’t know who
could make them. Not even Delovoa could. They might be left over from the war,
but we can’t figure out why there would be clones of Hobardi and Two Clem.”

“Are there other clones? How can I spot
them and train my teams to spot them?”

“You have to scan their brains.”

“I’m in Deadsouth. I don’t know if
anyone has a brain.”

“Delovoa is working on a new gadget, but
it’s not ready. Don’t worry about them, though. Look for 19-10.”

There was a pause.

“I hired ten new Kommilaire,” MTB said.

This was a bit surprising. He had never
hired anyone without my say-so.

“Alright. How are they doing?”

“We’ve started to make some minor forays
into the feral kid zones. But it’s dark over there.”

“Where are you getting equipment from?”

“We confiscate guns and ammunition and
supplies from criminals instead of fining them,” he said.

“Heh. That’s like something I would do.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Have you all killed anyone yet?”

“Twelve.”

“Wow. That was fast.”

“It’s Deadsouth. People shoot at the
latticework because they think it is a flying monster. And without a twelve-ton
Stair Boy, people aren’t quite as frightened of us.”

“You’re welcome back with me whenever
you want,” I said.

“I like it down there. I feel like I’m
making a difference. I’m a street cop. It’s what I’m good at. You’re Supreme
Kommilaire. You have to make decisions and compromises and take actions that I
don’t really get. But I understand you have to do them.”

“Well, thanks for that,” I said.

“Besides, we cover a lot more ground
without you.”

“Huh,” I said, standing next to a partially-squashed
apartment building.

A crowd of a few hundred curious
onlookers stood with about a dozen of my Kommilaire.

Some kind of large machine had fallen
off the latticework above the city and landed on this building. We weren’t sure
how many people were inside the apartment when it hit and we’d probably never
know because we didn’t have any means of un-squashing a steel alloy structure.

But what had happened was clear. Secured
to the machine were the remnants of two men. It was evident they used to be
Colmarians, though the fall had made them less recognizable as such.

“Are they maintenance workers?” one of
my Kommilaire asked.

“No. They must have been trying to steal
something. Metal or components. They strapped themselves to it so they wouldn’t
fall off. But then the whole machine broke loose. A maintenance worker would
have secured himself to the railing,” I said.

“There might be more up there,” a Stair
Boy said, his eyes excited at the prospect.

I had been on the latticework before.
It’s thousands of feet up with only a single walkway about six inches wide and
a railing on one side. It was pretty terrifying.

I looked up at the “sky.”

“There’s only two ways up and down for
each section. Post two guards at the elevators and wait. Their choices are to jump
or starve. But I’m not sending Kommilaire up to try and arrest people on the
latticework. It’s too dangerous,” I said.

My dumber Stair Boys seemed
disappointed.

“And make sure all the other elevators
are secured. We can’t be dodging a hail storm of debris. Especially since
buildings aren’t good at dodging. Help me move this,” I said.

I attached my cables and magnet to the fallen
apparatus and started pulling to try and get it out of the road. It was far
heavier than I thought and I had to lean over and struggle mightily to scrape
it along even a short distance. I had it about halfway up the sidewalk when my
back began to hurt enough that my brain kicked into action.

This thing was too big to get back up to
the latticework. I’m not sure how they had gotten it up in the first place, but
it was long ago, probably during the construction of the station. If those thieves
had been clamoring over it at that height, presumably it had some value.

“Free scrap metal!” I yelled to the
crowd.

I disconnected all my cables and my magnet
and moved away. When I was far enough removed, and I had ushered my Stair Boys to
a safe distance, the crowd descended on the machine. I figured it would get
picked apart in a few days, leaving only the frame which was too big to cut or
carry.

I took a breather, eating some of my
green paste, and hoped the machine wasn’t some vital piece of equipment that
kept Belvaille alive.

Peush wasn’t hard to find, he was having
a fundraiser.

I only had five Kommilaire with me at
this point, the rest taking care of our ceiling looters and securing any other
access points. I didn’t expect much would happen. I would ask Peush. He would
deny everything and talk about the cool Olmarr Republic. Then he would flash
that odd grin and I’d feel like I knew less than when I started.

Some of his Republican guards stood
outside the building where the fundraiser was taking place, holding chainsaws.
The Olmarr Republic must have truly detested trees.

I gave them a small nod as I moved to go
past them.

“Invitation?” they asked, with sour
expressions.

“I’m Hank,” I said, blinking. As if I
was some unknown kid applying for a job.

“Invitation only,” another guard said,
walking closer.

They held their chainsaws ready and I
knew they flipped on with just a press of a button. But they were deluding
themselves if they thought I remotely cared. I could probably shove those
weapons in my mouth and it wouldn’t do much except clean my teeth.

“I’m Hank,” I tried to explain again.
“I’m in your big book. Supreme Kommilaire. I…destroyed—or helped destroy—the
Colmarian Confederation.”

“You’re name isn’t on the list,” one
guard sneered, without looking at any list.

“I’m pretty sure it is. It’s listed under
‘People Who Can Kill You,’” I said.

I stomped ahead and they had to move.

Inside there was a front desk and
reception where the pleasantly plump ladies scowled and said they didn’t have a
name tag for me and that the refreshments were for guests only.

Just for that I took two cups of punch
and downed them. Though it didn’t have the impact I hoped since the cups were flimsy
and I spilled most of the punch on my hands and vest.

Hadn’t I been some huge hero to the
Olmarr Republic? Did they rewrite their big book recently? This was what happened
when you didn’t have a publicist. One bad court case and you got second
billing.

There was a large auditorium and it was
jammed with people sitting knee-to-knee. I couldn’t make out who was in front
talking because there was a lot of smoke in the room and people were
applauding.

A guard by the door leaned into me and
whispered.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be in
here.”

I leaned back.

“Hey, shut up.”

The whole sides of the auditorium were
lined with security guards and they were all shifting around now that I’d come in.
I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, I blocked the entire door. If there was a fire,
all these people would die if I just stood here. That would teach them for
denying me refreshments.

But I couldn’t actually see a way to
move forward even if I wanted to. The room was packed to capacity, with only a
thin row down the middle and along the walls available to walk. I couldn’t fit
down either even if I walked sideways. Not without knocking over a lot of
people.

However, I wasn’t going to turn around
and sit in the hall waiting like some loser who didn’t have better things to
do. By blocking the door they had to at least acknowledge I was here. Peush
would talk to me eventually. If he ever wanted to get out.

I leaned against the doorframe while I
waited.

It was standard meeting stuff. Talking
about how good the people were for coming, how good the staff was, how good
everyone was for everything.

Finally, Peush was introduced and he
took the stand at the podium. I missed what his title was as I hadn’t been
listening. But his designation wasn’t impressive. You tend to snap-to when
someone says something like “Grand Lord of Galaxies,” but it was some minor
bureaucratic label. It was only when I heard Peush’s name that I woke up.

Everyone applauded vigorously.

“The Republic dawns,” he began.

“Ever always,” the crowd answered with
one voice.

That was kind of creepy. How had I let
this organization sneak up and not really recognize it? When you can get
hundreds of people to sit quietly, applaud, wear name tags, and answer mantras,
they were a real thing.