Hard Luck Hank Screw the Galaxy(101)

“That’s a planet. How do you know they don’t have a million people doing nothing but scanning for delfiblinium and level-four mutants hurtling towards them?”

“I don’t,” he said like a jerk. “But it’s a little late to go back to the drawing board.”

Which was certainly true. Even if this was the longest of long shots. Our engineers couldn’t get Belvaille started for the simple reason that the engines had been removed and sold almost half a century ago. Funny thing, I think I was part of that deal.

“It’s going to take you anywhere from two to four days to reach their ship, depending on how fast they move,” he continued.

“Is this stuff you pumped in me going to keep me alive that long? Four days? I can’t go four hours without eating.”

“Do you know how to meditate?” someone in the audience asked, and if I had seen who it was, I would have shot him.

Yeah, I was carrying my shotgun. My only possession I wanted to die with. I would have kept my plasma pistol if it hadn’t blown up. I knew what kind of mission this was. A few hours before I suited up, I beamed an anonymous donation to the Ginland glocken team, The Reskin Sleepers, who have a 138-year unbroken losing streak. It was my entire life savings of almost 45 million credits. Maybe those losers will finally win a game—if Ginland isn’t destroyed.

“Just try and be focused,” Delovoa said. “Get as much sleep as you can early. As you get closer you’ll need to stay awake. Try and feel the gravity. And avoid going to the bathroom.”

“What? I can’t pee for four days? What do you think I am?” I asked.

“I mean, you can,” he seemed to think to himself. “But you’ll be soggy.”

With that, he shook my hand and went to make the last preparations on my coffin.

I turned to the assembled crowd. They seemed to be expecting a speech. I cleared my throat.

“My name is Hank. As of seven months ago, I have been on this space station for 132 years. I’ve watched it transform this way and that way. People come and go. I’ve worked for many of you. Against many of you. I’ve…killed more people than I can count, not always for good reasons. Of that, I am not proud. I’ve settled your fights, fixed your business deals, done your dirty work, and generally done what I was told. And I’d like to say that all you immature bastards can kiss my ass.”

There was very little reaction to my talk. One guy screamed, “Woo!”

Garm approached me. She seemed unsure of herself for the first time ever. She didn’t look me in the eye.

There was a pause and Jyen ran up past Garm and kissed me on the mouth, knocking her teeth into mine. She was crying.

“Thank you for all you’ve done,” she said, her nose running.

“Alright, alright, if Hank kisses everyone he’s ever known it’ll take a month,” Garm said, tugging me away from Jyen. We headed away towards the ship.

“Can’t wait to get rid of me?” I asked her.

“Why didn’t we ever get together?” she responded quietly. But there was no accusatory undertone.

“I think,” I began, “I just didn’t want you as an ex-girlfriend.”

She didn’t answer as I ducked inside the ship. I turned back to see her at the entrance.

“Garm, if you manage to survive this, I want you to go on. Living,” I said sincerely.

She gave me a strange look.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Delovoa strapped me in, attached the detonator to the stockpile of metal, and then fastened it to the wall beside me. He put on my helmet and checked all the manual systems and backup systems. I looked like I was in an iron lung. They closed off my area of the port and made final preparations.

Given my last experiences in shuttles and how long I would have to be in here, I truly hoped I didn’t throw up in my suit.



I didn’t ask how they propelled my ship. I figured I didn’t want to know. I was sure that after a point it was strictly momentum. There were was no sense of acceleration past the very beginning of the trip.

You’d think there would be a lot of things to ponder in the void of space. Out here alone with myself.

But mostly it was death.

Being surrounded by countless tons of delfiblinium in a primitive raft of a spaceship on my way to blow myself up might have had something to do with my morbid disposition.

I admitted I was afraid. I guess afraid of dying. I wasn’t much on big thoughts, but I knew I hadn’t lived the best of lives. Maybe this final act was a way to get a bit of redemption, for what it was worth.



I woke up to an odd feeling. My back was wet. I guessed I was sweating. As I cleared the cobwebs from my mind, I realized that didn’t make any sense. Any liquids would just roll around in my suit. Then I noticed my arms were no longer floating. I had weight.