Hal Spacejock

by Simon Haynes

  The robot fished around in the glove box and came up with a short, stubby stick with a red button on one end and a ball joint on the other.

  Hal took the stick and slotted it into a hole in the dash. He let go to put the manual away and the stick drooped, hitting the dash with a thud. Then it began to whirr, lifting steadily until it stuck up from the dashboard, quivering slightly.

  "Manual mode activated," said a voice.

  Clunk eyed the stick. "You're not really going to touch that?"

  "Desperate times, desperate measures," said Hal, gripping the joystick. He pushed, and the car leapt forward. They raced along for a minute or two before the road went round a sharp bend.

  "Perhaps you should change back to automatic," said Clunk as the car swerved across the road and mowed down a row of bushes.

  Hal glared at him. "I'm a pilot. I can drive a groundcar any --"

  "Look out!" shouted Clunk.

  Hal stared through the windscreen, his eyes widening as he saw the huge archway ahead. There was a heavy-duty barrier blocking the way, and Hal pulled desperately on the stick to slow the speeding car, bringing it to a halt with only millimetres between the front of the car and the circular Toll Booth sign in the middle of the barrier.

  There was a window at the base of the arch. Something moved inside, and then a door opened and a uniformed guard stepped out. He ran his gaze along the groundcar, flicked a glance at Clunk then turned his full attention on Hal. "Just get our license, did we sir?"

  "I'm in a hurry, officer. If you could just raise the barrier ..."

  The guard looked up and down the deserted road, then put out his hand. "Fifty credits."

  "Fifty credits! What for?"

  "Let's call it a voluntary contribution to the staff party."

  "Let's call it a bribe," muttered Hal.

  "A hundred credits will do nicely, sir. Don't want any trouble, do we?"

  "I think you should pay," said Clunk.

  "I know, I know." Hal took a handful of tiles from his pocket, and was just about to select the right amount when a large hand darted out and took the lot. "Hey!"

  The guard touched his cap. "Welcome to Forgberg, gaming capital of the universe."

  The barrier rose and Hal pushed the joystick forward, still muttering under his breath.

  "And stick to the speed limit," called the guard as they drove off.

  Chapter 22

  The road beyond the archway was paved, and overhead street lights bathed the chunky whitewashed houses with a sickly orange glow. Hal pushed the car hard, and after a while the houses thinned out, giving way to larger, more elaborate dwellings set back from the road on lush green lawns and surrounded by tall fences tipped with razor wire.

  He saw a splash of red light as the car ahead slowed to take a side street. Hal shook his fist as they drove past, and would have stood up and yelled at them if Clunk hadn't grabbed his arm.

  A few hundred metres up the road they saw an electronic billboard with the words: "You should have turned right!" in huge white lettering. Hal slowed the car, and the billboard displayed a group of smart young people standing beside a shiny poker machine, their hands overflowing with credit tiles. "Forgberg Casino - where the winners are," said the caption.

  Hal yanked the controls and the car turned on the spot before speeding back to the turning. At the junction he slammed the stick to the left, hurling the car round with a loud whine from the engine.

  "Do you always drive like this?" asked Clunk, as they roared down the narrow street.

  "Only when I'm chasing thieves."

  They caught up with the slower car, but before Hal could nudge it off the road they were passing a row of shops.

  "Seems to be a popular name around here," said Hal, as they passed the Hinchfig Liquor Barn, the Hinchfig Robot Shop and the Hinchfig Car Wash.

  "Gordon Hinchfig is an important businessman. He's almost as rich as Mr Jerling."

  "Leeches," muttered Hal. "If you ask me --"

  He was interrupted by a gentle chiming.

  "What was that?"

  "Do not be alarmed," said the car. "Your vehicle will be placed in a queue, and you will be attended by the first available operator."

  "I hate it when they put you on hold," muttered Hal.

  The voice continued. "When you approach the casino your vehicle will pause, allowing you to disembark. Please do not delay, as this will inconvenience other patrons waiting in line behind you."

  "You're inconveniencing me now," said Hal.

  "Automatic mode in ten seconds," said the voice.

  Hal took his hands off the controls.

  Clunk looked at him. "They said ten seconds. You can't let go yet."

  Hal grinned and pressed his knee against the stick. The car swerved.

  "That's irresponsible," said Clunk.

  "Stop me, then," said Hal, nudging it again. Ahead, a giant neon-lit archway spanned the road like a fast food logo on steroids. "Welcome to the Forgberg Casino!" screamed the lettering in twenty-three shades of orange. "Gaming House of the Galaxy!" howled another in nine shades of green.

  "Automatic engaged," said a voice, as they passed under the arch. "My name is Tony, and I'm your operator for this evening. Come on folks, say "Hi, Tony!"'

  Hal muttered under his breath.

  "I can't hear you!" said the voice brightly. "Come on, nice and clear!"

  Hal leant forward. "Bugger off, Tony."

  "Now that's not very nice," said the voice. "I'm only doing my job."

  "And you're making a right hash of it," said Hal. "Now clear off and leave us alone."

  "Fine," said the voice coldly. "Please gather your possessions and prepare to leave your vehicle. Don't break your neck when you get out."

  Ahead, a marble staircase flowed down from an imposing glass entrance. Above the row of gleaming doors, backlit red letters spelled out the words 'Forgberg Casino'. On either side of the staircase were planters with palm trees and potted flowers, softening the hard marble.

  The white car stopped ahead of them, and a pair of red-coated attendants leapt forward and opened the doors. A portly couple got out, the man squeezed into a tuxedo and black trousers, the woman almost hidden under a profusion of furs and glistening jewellery.

  "Come on, come on," muttered Hal as the couple climbed the staircase arm in arm. One of the attendants got into the car, and as it drove off Hal's car leapt forward. It jerked to a halt alongside the lowest step and Hal swung his legs over the side and hopped out. Clunk stepped out the other side.

  "Valet parking ten credits," said a youth in a red and gold uniform, holding out his hand.

  Hal reached into his pocket and fished out a pair of tiles. He selected one and dropped it into the youth's outstretched hand.

  The car purred away, vanishing round the corner. Hal strode up the wide marble stairs towards the glass doors, and was just crossing the threshold when a large man in a dark blue uniform approached with a frown on his round, red face. "Sorry sir, you can't come in."

  "Why the hell not?" demanded Hal.

  "This here's a casino, not a boilermakers' convention."

  "Pardon?"

  "We have dress standards, and those ain't they."

  Hal looked down at his stained flight suit. The garment had once been snowy white with a natty logo embroidered on the breast pocket. Now it looked like a used filter from a coffee machine, and the logo was just a tangle of loose threads.

  "And he ain't wearing nothing at all!" said the bouncer, jerking a fat thumb at Clunk.

  "He's a robot," said Hal patiently. "I know it's hard to tell with the gleaming yellow eyes and all, but you can take my word for it."

  "He's a robot. So?"

  "They don't wear clothes."

  "They do in here," said the bouncer firmly.

  "But ..."

  The bouncer sniffed. "No buts. Now piss off, the pair of you."

  Hal walked slowly down the steps, lost in silence.

>   After a while, Clunk glanced at him. "Are you considering your next move?"

  "That was my next move. Now I'm considering my future, and it's not very promising."

  "Don't you have other clothes aboard your ship?"

  "Oh sure. I have a wide range of garments to choose from. There's my summer collection, my winter wardrobe, my spring outfit and my autumn ensemble."

  "Well, there you go then."

  "That was a joke, Clunk." Hal gestured at his flight suit. "I've got two pairs of these, and the other one's full of holes."

  "Your boots are all right."

  "They're not bad, are they?" Hal angled his foot. "I got them on the Orbiter. They're leather. Very expensive."

  "Real leather?"

  "Yeah, from a real moukou."

  "Good," said Clunk, with feeling.

  "Let's cruise around a bit. We might spot something."

  "That's not a very promising plan."

  "No, but it's our only chance." Hal waved at one of the parking attendants. As the youth trotted up, he noticed it was the one who'd parked their car earlier.

  "Yes sir?"

  "I want my car back."

  The young man put his hand out.

  "I was only gone five minutes. You're not getting paid again." Hal frowned. "What are you leering at, anyway?"

  "You just earned me twenty credits."

  "How?"

  The attendant winked. "I bet the other lads you wouldn't get into the casino with those tatty old clothes, and I was right."

  * * *

  "You shouldn't have done that, Mr Spacejock. That poor young man could have choked on those plants."

  "Never mind that little shyster, just look for the car."

  "It could be anywhere! Without help ..."

  "We won't be getting any from those guys, so we'll just have to do it ourselves." Hal vaulted onto the bonnet of a groundcar and clambered onto the perspex roof. From his vantage point he saw row upon row of canopies glistening under the overhead lights. In the far corner he saw a car without a canopy, standing out from the surrounding vehicles like a gap in a row of perfect teeth.

  "Can you see it, Mr Spacejock?"

  Hal pointed. "Over that way."

  There was a faint hooting noise.

  Hal looked down. "Was that you?"

  "No, it was the parking attendants. I told you they'd come after us."

  "Rubbish. You're hearing things."

  There was another hoot, closer.

  "Mr Spacejock, they said they were going to tear off your head and urinate down your neck."

  "They were just talking tough." Suddenly, Hal slid off the car and dropped to all fours.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Shut up!" hissed Hal. "Get the car and meet me here."

  Clunk looked at him doubtfully. "On my own?"

  "No, with the ghost of backups past. Of course on your own!"

  "Where will you be?"

  "I'll keep watch."

  Clunk strode off between the rows of cars. A minute or two later there was a cry of discovery followed by a babble of voices. Hal raised his head cautiously and saw the robot surrounded by a group of parking attendants, watching impassively as the uniformed boys yelled and shook their fists in his face.

  The biggest youth quietened them down. "We know you're skulking out there, you coward!" he shouted.

  There were shouts of 'Bully' and 'Cheapskate'.

  "We're losing money out here," yelled the lad. "So we're going to let you go!"

  Hal grinned. Thank goodness he'd sent Clunk.

  "But before we leave, we're going to have a toast!"

  Hal frowned. What was the idiot jabbering about?

  The valet raised his drink bottle, shaking the yellow contents into a foam. Then he whipped the top off and poured the lot on Clunk's head. "Piss on you!"

  Each of the others followed suit, until Clunk glistened under the harsh orange light. When they'd finished, the attendants filed away, laughing amongst themselves.

  "You can come out now, Mr Spacejock," called Clunk. "I've neutralised the threat."

  Hal walked over to the robot, who was staring at the spreading puddle at its feet. "Why would they waste their drinks like that?"

  Hal snorted. "That wasn't drink."

  "Just as well I'm waterproof."

  "It wasn't water, either. Still, at least they didn't tear your head off first."

  "Is that why you sent me out alone?"

  "Eh? Oh no, I wouldn't do that."

  "Only --"

  "Look, will you forget those idiots? We need some clothes, and we're getting nowhere standing out here."

  "Do you have anything you could sell? To raise the money, I mean."

  Hal looked at the robot thoughtfully. "Funny you should say that. Grab the car and I'll explain on the way."

  "I'm a little wet for the car." Clunk waved his hand, shaking off a few stray droplets. "Perhaps if I shook myself really hard --"

  "No!" shouted Hal. "Don't!"

  * * *

  Vurdi Makalukar was sitting at his terminal, lost in pleasant thoughts. He'd expected a battle in the Hinchfig case, but the entire matter had been resolved with a single phone call. Soon he'd have money to burn, and in his vivid daydreams he'd already spent it a dozen times over.

  A gentle buzz drew him from the plush leather seats of a sports car and deposited him back in his apartment. The buzz was repeated, and Vurdi tapped an icon on his terminal screen. It was a call from Garmit and Hash.

  A fair-haired man appeared, immaculate in a three-piece suit, stiff white collar and bow tie. "It's Vurdi, right?"

  "Correct."

  "Listen, congrats on the Farrell job. Big plus, heaps of cred."

  Vurdi allowed himself a casual smile. "It was nothing."

  "Slight minus on the horizon, though. This Spacejock chap. Can't have people running around owing us, eh?"

  "He's next on my list." Vurdi glanced at his watch. "In fact, I'm about to deal with him."

  "Magic. Special." The man hesitated. "Problem is, the boss wants them linked, so to speak."

  "I don't follow."

  "Hinchfig is sorted, Spacejock isn't. Get Spacejock's cash and we pay on both, see?"

  "I don't see at all!" said Vurdi angrily. "I got your money off Hinchfig. You can't withhold my fee because of Spacejock!"

  "But we are, my friend."

  "That's not fair!"

  "No, but it's business. Catch you around, old timer."

  Feeling hollow inside, Vurdi disconnected. His new and improved lifestyle, his sports car and the down payment on his mansion all hinged on collecting from Spacejock. With steely resolve, he grabbed the handset from his terminal. "Brutus? Come here at once."

  Chapter 23

  The rental car pulled off the road and settled in a parking bay with a sigh. Across the pavement, shops spilled coloured lights, advertising everything from spaceship parts to gift-wrapped cigars. In the middle of the row there was a robot shop, whose enormous 'Hinchfig Robots' sign dominated the rest. Beneath the sign a display window featured a pair of second-hand robots.

  One was identical to Clunk, and was wearing blue overalls and a cap with a Hinchfig logo on the front. It pulled a squeegee from a bucket and lathered the inside of the window, then reversed the squeegee and wiped the froth away with precise, economical strokes. Once it reached the bottom, it picked up a spray-bottle and misted a clear fluid onto the glass, took up a dry rag and buffed the inside of the window to a gleaming, spotless finish. After completing the task, the robot touched its cap and bowed. Then it picked the squeegee out of the bucket and started all over again.

  Hal's gaze shifted to the second robot, which was sitting at a card table. The robot's golden skin gleamed under the soft lighting, and its solid build strained a dinner jacket to bursting point. Picking up a deck of cards from the table, the robot shuffled them so fast its hands were just a blur. Once finished, it took two cards and formed an arch, repeatin
g the move until there was a row of them across the table. Then it took several cards and laid them flat on top of the arches. Hal held his breath as the house of cards rose higher and higher, but the robot placed the cards with a precise touch.

  Finally, the robot positioned the last two cards at the very top of the structure. It stood up and bowed, then sat down and removed the cards one pair at a time. When it had taken the last card away it tapped the pack on the table, shuffled it and took two cards off the top to build an arch.

  Hal heard an angry snort beside him, where see Clunk watching the scene with a frown on his face. "What a waste," muttered the robot. "What are we doing here, anyway?"

  Hal looked furtively up and down the deserted street. "Come closer and I'll explain."

  * * *

  Hal looked around the inside of the robot shop with interest. The floor was polished stone, the mirror surface reflecting images of numerous robots frozen into artistic poses on their wooden pedestals. He spotted an ex-navy combat droid, rock borers, three-wheeled gophers, scouts, cargo haulers and even an automatic repair robot from a deep-space liner. Walking over to the combat robot, he looked up at its imposing, heavy face. It smelled of lubricants and fresh paint, and gleamed white under the overhead spotlight.

  "Can I help you?"

  Hal looked around for the owner of the voice and saw a young man approaching, smartly dressed in a shirt, tie and pressed trousers. As the young man got closer, his downy face twisted into a wolfish salesman smile. "A very popular model, that. Designed as an expert pipe joiner. See those clamps it has in place of hands? They can grip anything."

  "Those clamps fit the mounting points on heavy lasers," said Hal. "Most combat droids have them."

  The salesman's grin faltered. "Er, yes. I must have been thinking of another model."

  "Who's in charge around here?"

  The young man drew himself up to his full height. "I am the manager," he said, puffing out his meagre chest.

  "How much is that robot in the window, the one with the squeegee and pail?"

  "How much is that robot in the window?" The salesman frowned. "I'm not sure that robot's for sale."

  "Everything's for sale, son."

  "Sorry. Twenty thousand credits." The salesman saw Hal's expression. "Oh, I know it sounds a lot, but XG robots are very versatile."

  "Do you ever buy them in?"