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Hard Luck Hank Screw the Galaxy(25)

By:Steven Campbell


The cover story was about the destruction of the Dredel Led. I skimmed it, and most of the eyewitness testimony was obviously from Garm. She had neglected to say it was my Ontakian pistol that had killed the robot and it instead became some struggle between Colmarian and machine, with me ultimately triumphing. It was so melodramatic I’m surprised she didn’t tell how I’d thrown myself in harm’s way to save a baby during the fight.

What I couldn’t believe was how so many people spoke well of me. I know a number of the bosses interviewed didn’t like me that much, if at all, but here they were singing my praises in the most hyperbolic fashion. They even had guys talking about how I’d handled beating them up with dignity and aplomb.

Jyen had been blabbing this whole time, but I didn’t hear her. I mean it’s not every day you see yourself portrayed as a hero.

As I was reading, I got a tele from Garm.

“Hey,” I answered.

“So, finally out of your place I see.”

“How did you know?” I looked up at the nearby apartments to see if she was peeking out a window like Jyen must have been.

“Once the techs had figured out how to monitor doors opening and closing, I decided I would—”

“Monitor everyone,” I completed for her. Typical Garm.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“Fine, but I need to eat.”

“Come over when you’re done. I have your shotgun, by the way.”

Holding it hostage, more likely. She could have left it in my place when she came by.

Jyen was still talking excitedly. I put my hand on her shoulder.

“Look. Jyen. Sorry, I need to run. Important business and all.”

“Do you know when you’ll be back? What I have to say is extremely urgent.”

I couldn’t imagine they were out of drugs already. Or maybe he’d overdosed. In any event, she didn’t say she was going to give me money, so her situation was prioritized appropriately.

“I’m just getting back on my feet,” I said, as I moved away from her. “But feel free to get in touch with me later. In a few days.”

I continued to read The News on the train. There were some passengers on board and they all wished me well and grinned at me even though I had no clue who some of them were.

I ate at a quiet restaurant where no one bugged me. I just wanted to wash the taste of rations from my mouth. As I sat, I continued to read The News. The stories got more and more outrageous the further they went back in time. People I vaguely knew were talking in first person about events that only sort of happened. I admit I don’t have the best of memories, but is this how people recalled stuff? Or was this Rendrae trying to sell papers by embellishing? Or maybe this is what people wanted to remember.

I rested back at my place. The News was very flattering, but it was also like my biography. Everything had looked grim, no hope of survival, and then I showed up, looking calm as could be, eating a sandwich.

Me eating featured prominently in a whole lot of anecdotes.

After a few reads I became more and more disenchanted with it all. I mean, was this my life? It was the same thing over and over again, only the names and what I was eating at the time seemed to change.

I’ve never really thought about a legacy. But for the last century it sounds like I was basically a bully with low blood sugar.

I suppose on Belvaille that’s high praise, and I did get the sense that people meant it that way. Then again, if you laid almost anyone’s life out like this it would kind of be one note, right? It’s not like I have the chops to be some Colmarian diplomat. Or cook up a cure for whatever diseases are out there.

Still, I was a bit in a funk when Garm walked into my apartment.

“Just because you can open it, I still expect you to use the doorbell.”

“You said you would come see me and you didn’t.”

I could tell Garm’s being able to track my movements was going to become highly irksome.

“Here, I had Delovoa fix it up. It got kind of bent when that robot shot you.” She tossed me my shotgun, which was bright and shiny.

Delovoa was the one true genius on the station. There were plenty of technical people here, of course. Guys who wore suspenders and smelled of obscure solvents and worked on the ventilation or any of the other hundreds of systems that kept us alive. But they were mechanics and only knew their one little expertise—and they didn’t even know those well if history was any indicator.

Delovoa made his money by being a technology vendor to all the bosses. He designed and made the weapons. Security devices. Hell, just about anything. He’s the one that offered to buy my Ontakian pistol. Good thing I hadn’t sold it. Originally, he had also created my shotgun for me. He was expensive, but he made good stuff. I heard he was banished to Belvaille for breaking technology restrictions like the mad scientist he was.