Hard Luck Hank: Prince of Suck (36 page)

“What?” Valia exclaimed.

I gave her an icy look.

“Thank you, sir,” We’daer stated. “But
we are here to assist our countrymen. We must locate and bring to justice the
assassin who took the life of our Vice-Manager.”

“I kind of have a riot going on. I’m
letting you go because I can’t really be spending time taking care of you and
you’re bound to die sooner or later. I mean, I’ll be honest, you guys look like
crap. But if you’re going to stay here, I’ll have to lock you up. That’s the
deal.”

He dwelled on that.

“Our ship will take actions, I’m afraid.
Our orders are quite clear,” he stated as if he regretted it.

“Yeah, I thought about that. We got this
guy here. Really smart. His name is Delovoa—” I started.

“Oh, we know of Delovoa,” he replied
instantly.

His men, who had been still and silent
up to this point, muttered nervously.

“Really?” I think I was a little hurt
that Delovoa’s name seemed to carry more importance than mine. Wasn’t I an
architect of a whole empire just a few seconds ago? “Anyway, he controls all
the Portals. Literally controls them. Can turn them off and on with a flick of
a switch. So if you guys cause any problems, we won’t let your ship portal out.
And we won’t let you dock with Belvaille. It will take you something like a
hundred thousand years to fly to the next system. So, you know, you’ll die in
space.”

I shrugged.

“I mean, how much is one guy’s killer worth?
I’m trying to find him, myself. But I’m a little busy right now,” I said.

“We need to replace our Vice-Manager
with a new one,” We’daer answered.

“Oh, I’m not negotiating with you,” I
explained. “I’m just stating facts. Your choice is naked prison back up there
with the Howling Females, starvation in space for you and your crew, or just
leave and we all forget this.”

“We will leave,” he said, after a
moment’s hesitation. “But I can’t say we won’t return.”

“Well, I hope Belvaille is still here,”
I smiled.

I radioed for some of my Kommilaire to
escort them to the port where they could take a shuttle back to their ship.

When they were gone, Valia asked me: “does
Delovoa really have that much power over the Portals?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

I stood in the Ank Reserve in my
cleanest uniform, hat and all. I even put on a few medals that I had bought as
a joke some years ago.

Three Ank sat in front of me looking as
expressionless as always. Though maybe my nerves were playing tricks on me
because they seemed extra-expressionless.

MTB and Valia were here as well, and I
put both of them in skimpy, revealing outfits. I didn’t know if the Ank found
Colmarians attractive, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.

This was an important proposal and I
needed all the help I could get.

“Greetings,” I said, reading from my cue
cards. “I am Hank, as you may know, Supreme Kommilaire of Belvaille and
Secretary of City. Um. I am here, on behalf of myself, and my city, and my…”
Valia had told me to take out the word “galaxy” but it was still written on the
card. It did sound overblown now that I was speaking it for real. “Um, us. To
request a loan from the Ank Reserve.”

I motioned to Valia, who turned a
display board toward the seated Ank.

“We live in precarious times. The
businesses that make Belvaille home are often in open conflict with one another
because there are no recognized boundaries or treaties between them. No methods
of communication, no oversight, no anything.”

I motioned to MTB, who turned his
display board. I had instructed him to smile and he was standing there flashing
pretty much every one of his teeth like he was insane.

“The Belvaille Confederation will not
only be a union that establishes formal rules and means for dispute resolution,
but it will increase productivity substantially. Uh…”

I tried to flip my cards and my fat
fingers dropped them all.

“Damn,” I said. I couldn’t bend over to
pick them up and now they were spread all over the floor. I had to make this
perfect if I wanted to impress the Ank and I was blowing it.

Valia scrambled to gather the cards, grinning
at the Ank as she did so.

“As you can see,” I said, indicating
MTB’s poster, we will have clearly delineated territories. There will not be a
situation where—”

“Supreme Kommilaire,” one of the Ank
answered in his tinkly, pleasant voice. “Our time is extremely precious. I am
afraid we cannot listen to your full presentation at the moment.”

“Though we are sure it is quite lovely,”
another said.

“But if you’ll just give me a minute,” I
blurted, my overweight heart sinking. “Maybe I’m not explaining it clearly.”

The three Ank all stood simultaneously.

“We have made our decision.”

A man entered from a side room in an Ank
Reserve uniform. He handed me a small, non-descript briefcase without any fanfare
and walked away.

The Ank began to file out of the room.

“You have our support, Supreme
Kommilaire. Contact us if you require assistance.”

And with that they were gone.

I looked at the briefcase. A million
thumbs was what I was originally going to request to get the Belvaille Confederation
off the ground. I thought it may be possible for as low as 250,000, though I’d
have to cut a lot of corners and do a lot of begging.

This case was too small for a million at
any denomination.

I was disappointed. So disappointed I
didn’t want to open it. I knew inside it was going to be like ten grand or
something, which would maybe buy a round of drinks for all the crime lords.

Valia stood up from recovering the cue
cards.

“Well,” she said, “how much did they
give?”

“You open it, MTB,” I said.

I handed him the case and he slowly
flicked the lock and opened it.

There was a single old-style thumb, one
of the tube varieties we had used before going to the flatter, plastic weave
ones. There were some small symbols on it and circuitry and etchings, but it
was just a thumb.

In the center, where it usually listed
the numerical denomination detailing how much it was worth, it instead had a
symbol:

Infinity.

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

I guarded it. Hid it in my house. Had Kommilaire
lining the street. I panicked.

Then I realized it wasn’t an actual
thing. Back in the day, I had a hard enough time understanding bank accounts.
That I had currency out there somewhere even though it wasn’t in my hand or
pocket.

This was just one thumb. I couldn’t cut
it into pieces. I couldn’t even use it to buy something directly because no one
could make change for an infinity. No one could steal it, because it was given
to me and everyone knew that.

It was just a symbol. A message.

When I went out to pitch my Belvaille
Confederation to gang bosses, I had a retinue of Kommilaire with me, all
standing at attention in gold uniforms.

In the center, one held The Box. I
swapped out the boring briefcase the Ank had given me, and used the fanciest
thing I could find.

Before I started the sermon I flashed it
to my audience.

This infinite thumb, for people whose
lives and dreams were about making money, was like seeing the face of a god.
Murderers with broken jaws and mangled knuckles asked if they could touch it.
People asked if they could kiss it—strangely, a lot of people wanted to kiss it.
Gang muscle, normally an impassive, unimpressed lot, crowded around when I took
it out and gazed with religious awe.

Ironically, I didn’t spend anything. I
didn’t have to. I was the Master of Money according to the Ank, who were the
Creators of Money.

Supreme Kommilaire, Secretary of City,
even Destroyer of the Colmarian Confederation. Those were nice and all, but Man
With Infinite Cash!

That was something.

I never had as much influence with gang
bosses as I had now. I wasn’t just someone they had to put up with, I was
someone they wanted around. They invited me over for lunch like the rich snobs
who thought I was a curiosity that boosted their social standing.

On the Royal Wing I had the ability to
bring hope or despair to that desolate place. But now I had it on the space
station proper. All these gang lords were tired of ripping each other to pieces
over scraps. They were ready to believe in the Belvaille Confederation and who better
than someone with infinite money to make it a reality?

I didn’t even have to negotiate—much.

I set the prices. I set the borders. I set
the products. I established everything and if people didn’t like it, they
might
humbly raise their hands and beg permission to speak, but they didn’t throw
around threats and stamp their feet like they used to.

Building the Confederation was just
time. A lot of time.

If I lined up every boss outside my
front door, the queue would probably snake out and circumnavigate the city a
dozen times. This wasn’t going to get done overnight. Or even in a year.

Every judgment had to be committed to
paper and electronic storage. This was official. Our master template. Our holy
document.

But it wasn’t simple, either. One boss
would come in and I would create all his parameters and then another boss would
come in and I would have to go back to the first one and haggle over where they
overlapped or conflicted.

The gang wars stopped instantly. Because
I told them to. I said if you keep fighting, you won’t be in the Confederation
and then everything you own will be available for auction. What gang could
possibly resist the combined forces of all the other gangs on the station?

Tamshius was right. They had to join.
They were begging to join.

It was all democratic. Well, I guess it
was more like feudalism, with power based on your territory. But you were capped
out by the other bosses, which promoted competition. There were no monopolies.

I told Lisedt she could call herself a
queen or whatever she wanted, but it didn’t mean anything in the Confederation.

I hired clerks and typists and mapmakers
to record everything, billing the Confederation for their services. My
Kommilaire had already started running messages between the fledgling members.

Belvaille was still crappy, but I could
see a real enthusiastic future. Everyone could see it. The loudspeakers were
detailing all our activities instead of the latest bloodshed and mayhem.

The Boards absolutely surged, with
confidence in the city at its highest levels in…maybe ever. As soon as a
business or gang joined the Confederation, they had the option of listing themselves
on the Boards. If they did, their shares shot up instantly and dramatically.
The costs of goods also declined because there was a growing order among producers
and consumers, though still healthy competition.

All these benefits and I figured not
even five percent had been added to the Belvaille Confederation so far.

People didn’t dislike me anymore. The
conspiracy theorists now were saying I had planned everything all along.
Starting with the destruction of the Colmarian Confederation seventy-eight
years ago. That’s how clever I was. Regular citizens didn’t like speaking to me
directly. They would avert their gaze and fold their hands in front of them, as
if they were worried I was going to smite them with piles of cash.

I was back to being a folk hero.

I had only stemmed the gangs, however.
And while the gangs and businesses made up a lot of influence, the Order, the
Totki, the Olmarr Republic, the ferals, and a whole lot of random people were
still causing havoc over their personal grievances.

With my newfound confidence, I decided
to meet them head on.

“We would like to thank you for taking
the time to speak with us today, Mr. Secretary,” Rendrae said to me
deferentially. “We’re all very impressed with the reforms you’ve made lately. I
personally am astonished by what has transpired so quickly.”

Rendrae loved me. I was walking,
talking, belching news. The chief of law enforcement and the wealthiest man in
the city. If I was better looking, I’d almost be too much news to broadcast, the
loudspeakers couldn’t handle it.

Rendrae was practically dancing around,
he was so excited. He was remarkably light on his feet for a portly fellow.

“I have just one thing to say,” I began,
into the microphone. “Anyone caught out after curfew carrying weapons or in
groups larger than five people, will be considered enemies of Belvaille and
killed on sight. The civil war is over! It is time for this city to rebuild and
move on. You can keep your grudges and keep your bigotry, but if you act on them,
you’ll find yourself a corpse floating in space.”