Hard Luck Hank Screw the Galaxy(106)

“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.

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?”

“Well, there’s just one, my friend. The High Patria, Khagel of the Empire, Archduke of Zeobedon, Prince Exarch of the Boranjame, His Illustrious Lordship, the Everlasting Theabsin.

Damn, I should have thought of a better title for myself.

“I want to keep this ship out of Colmarian territory.”