by Simon Haynes
The woman stepped back, her mouth wide open and her face white.
"And as for you," growled Clunk, prodding the fat man in the middle of his broad chest. "Next time you pick on a defenceless robot, remember it has enough power in its little finger to rip your guts out, knot them into a rope and hang you from the nearest lamp post."
Clunk pushed the man aside and reached into the machine for the tile. He was just about to put it in his pocket when something thudded into the back of his head, pitching him forward into the gathering crowd.
* * *
Hal stared at the empty glass and tried to remember whether it was his third or fourth. Just as well he was immune to the stuff or he'd be sitting on the floor.
"Another sir?" said the barman.
Hal shook his head and immediately regretted it. "Phew. Rocket fuel, eh?"
"Beer, sir. Actually, it's light beer."
"Empty stomach, see?" Hal turned to look at the gaming floor, where a babble of voices was rising over the background thrum of the casino. "Someone's having a night out."
"You're right there." The barman took Hal's glass and left.
"Looks like trouble," said Hal, as a number of security guards pushed into the crowd. "You get much trouble here?"
A clearing appeared in the middle of the crowd. Ringed by spectators, a short, bald man was trying to pull something from the hands of a tall, smartly dressed robot. As the security guards reached them, a stout woman swung a metal bar stool at the robot's head.
"Oh, no!" groaned Hal. "Clunk!"
* * *
"I'm sorry, Mr Spacejock."
Hal winced as he felt the bruise under his eye. "I can't leave you alone for one minute, can I?"
They were sitting on the marble steps outside the casino, having been thrown out by the energetic security staff.
"First you ripped the walls out of my airlock and threw away my fire extinguisher. Then you nearly killed me with a mid-air trapeze act. After that, you destroyed a whole load of crates with an exploding torch before leaping out the back of the ship with half the cargo."
"I said I'm sorry."
"Shut up and let me finish. Next you gave away the rest of the cargo, got kidnapped, spent all my money on snappy clothes and to cap it all off you started a brawl over one lousy credit tile."
"It wasn't my fault. He tried to steal my money."
"Why didn't you just give it to him?"
"It wasn't fair! I won it and the man said it was his. He tried to take it off me so I stopped him."
"Stopped him? It looked like he caught a meteorite with his face!"
The corners of Clunk's mouth turned down. "I did what I thought was right. Things just keep happening to me."
Hal jerked his thumb at the casino. "That was my only lead, you know that? I thought we'd find this Farrell character, tail him to the cargo and steal it back. Thanks to you we're banned from the casino and I'm going to lose my ship." Hal felt his neck gingerly. "Not to mention Vurdi's killing machine. That thing'll snip my neck off before you know it."
"Why don't you ask someone to keep an eye out for Farrell?"
"Right. All we have to do is get past the doorman and find someone we didn't swing a punch at." Hal watched a sleek black groundcar pull up at the foot of the stairs. The driver got out, straightened his uniform and removed his cap to smooth his hair. Hal gaped at his face for several seconds, then grabbed Clunk's arm. "Quick, hide!"
They darted behind a decorative palm tree, flattening their backs to the wall.
"Who is it?" whispered Clunk.
"That was Terry, Farrell's offsider. He's waiting for someone, and I can guess who." Hal tapped the flowerpot. "You stay here, I'll get the car."
"What if he leaves before you come back?"
"Figure something out," hissed Hal. "Just don't let them see you." He sidled along the wall to the corner, then ran full tilt towards the car park. He passed a couple of marble pillars and stopped dead at the sight of half a dozen parking attendants lounging against the gateposts, chatting amongst themselves. They spotted him, and the chatter died away.
* * *
Clunk watched Hal disappear between the marble columns with mixed feelings. He'd been entrusted with an important job, which made him feel good. On the other hand, judging by previous events, he wasn't sure he was up to it.
He was still lurking behind the palm tree when Terry jammed his cap on his head and stood to attention. Clunk parted the palm fronds, and his eyes widened as he saw Farrell talking to the doorman just inside the glass doors. As he watched, Farrell slipped something into the doorman's hand and strode down the steps.
The chauffeur held the door open. "Did you win?"
"Yes indeed," Farrell grinned. "Icing on the cake, Terry. Icing on the cake."
Terry stood back as Farrell got into the car, then shut the door and walked round to the far side. He disappeared behind the palm tree and Clunk adjusted his position to keep him in sight. As he moved, his leg scraped the planter, making a loud grinding noise. He froze while Terry stared at his hiding place, one hand inside his jacket. The driver's pale eyes seemed to bore straight into Clunk's, and the robot hoped desperately he hadn't been spotted.
Terry took a step towards the palm trees, but Farrell tapped on the window and gestured impatiently. After a last look around, Terry opened his door and got into the limousine.
Clunk risked a glance up the road, hoping to see Hal returning with the groundcar. There was nothing but empty road.
The engine note changed as the car rose in the air, and a split second later Clunk was in the open, running across the pavement towards the accelerating limousine. He got behind it and grabbed the spoiler with both hands, jamming his feet on the bumper and crouching below boot level so the occupants wouldn't see him through the rear window.
As the car sped away, Clunk looked back up the empty road. Where was Hal?
Chapter 25
Hal threw off his soaking clothes and grabbed his flight suit from the groundcar. He pulled it on quickly and leapt into the car, which roared into life at a press of the starter button. Swinging the car out of the bay, he gunned the motor and propelled it towards the open gates. The attendants jeered as he drove past and Hal ducked as a hail of empty drink bottles bounced off the windscreen.
There was no sign of Clunk or the limo at the casino steps. Racing past the ornate pillars, Hal arrived at the main road and stopped. To his left, the road was empty. To his right he could just see a pair of red tail lights vanishing into the distance, partly obscured by something hanging off the back of the car.
Praying it was Clunk, Hal pulled onto the main road and set off in pursuit.
* * *
Clunk glanced over his shoulder and saw gleaming headlights some distance behind. Was it Hal? Yes - the rented car was unmistakeable with its missing roof.
The limousine turned sharply, almost throwing Clunk off the back. By the time he'd recovered they were passing the robot store. The salesman was standing outside its doors, waving his arms and shouting while a pair of uniformed officers listened patiently. Clunk smiled to himself as he spotted the discarded playing cards strewn over the pavement, and the smile widened at the empty window and the discarded bucket and squeegee.
A few minutes later the limousine slowed. Clunk risked a look and saw an archway spanning the road with a uniformed guard standing to one side. The guard recognised the limousine and waved it through with a white-gloved hand, and Clunk almost fell off as the car accelerated away.
He looked back and saw the guard step in front of Hal's car, hand raised.
* * *
The rental car coasted to a halt, bobbing softly on its anti-gravity cushion. Hal gave the guard a friendly smile, hoping for the same treatment as the limousine. No chance.
The guard eyed the entire length of the car before giving Hal a special stare. "Is this thing yours?"
Hal shook his head. "Rental."
"I see," said the guard,
his tone of voice indicating that Hal might just have committed a capital offence. He reached into his top pocket and took out a notepad, licked his thumb and turned the pages one by one, tilting the notepad to let the overhead light shine on the pages.
Hal's grip tightened on the joystick as the limo vanished over the hill. He fought the temptation to drive off and leave the guard choking in his dust. Common sense, and the guard's holstered weapon, quashed the temptation.
Oblivious to Hal's fidgeting, the guard hummed a funereal dirge and turned another couple of pages.
"I'm in a bit of a hurry," said Hal.
The guard looked up from his book. "And why would that be, sir?"
"I'm, er, late for a meeting."
"I'm sure they'll wait," said the guard, returning to his notes.
Something moved on the far side of the road, and Hal's eyes widened as he saw a bronze robot peering round the corner of the guard's hut. Clunk! He was about to wave the robot over when another robot appeared below the first, this one wearing a Hinchfig cap. It was the robots from the shop!
"Ah, here we are," said the guard, having found his page. "Dark green car with missing canopy. Check. Suspicious looking male wearing unfashionable brown shirt and wide flares." The guard glanced down at Hal's flight suit. "Possible disguise. Check. Bronze robot in a dinner suit. Let me see ..."
"I'm alone," said Hal.
"All right sir, I suppose you can go." Reluctantly, the guard backed away and waved Hal through.
Hal reached for the joystick, but before he could use it he heard footsteps thudding towards him. He looked round and saw the two robots making straight for the car.
The guard heard them coming. He wrenched the gun from his hip, turned and crouched in a firing stance, only to discover he'd torn the holster completely off his belt. While he struggled to free his weapon, the robots ran straight past and leapt into the car.
Hal gunned the motor. "Heads down!" he shouted, as the guard yelled for them to stop. Blue energy bolts zinged past, some close enough to score the bodywork, but they were quickly out of range.
"Thank you for helping us," said the bronze robot, in a voice just like Clunk's.
"I didn't have much choice." Hal glanced in the mirror, studying the robots huddled in the back seat. "I think it's time for introductions."
The tall, bronze robot gestured at his shorter companion. "This is DO-P, and I'm FRT-1."
"What are your proper names?"
"We've never had any."
"Well I'm not calling you Dopey and Farty." Hal inspected the fugitives, then pointed to the bronze one. "You can be Clyde, and he can be Albion."
"I think that's Bonnie."
Hal looked pleased. "I'm glad you like it. My name's Hal, by the way. Hal Spacejock."
Albion, the robot formerly known as DO-P, touched his cap. "I h-hope we're n-not imposing on you?"
"Not at all." Hal glanced in the mirror. "Is that a stutter?"
Albion nodded. "It's a m-manufacturing defect. I've had it since n-new."
They reached the hill and Hal pushed the stick forward, urging the car on. "So what are you two up to, anyway?"
"We're running away," said Clyde.
"I got that bit. Why?"
"How would you like to clean the same window year after year?"
Cleaning windows wasn't something Hal knew much about, but he understood where the robot was coming from.
"And I'm f-fed up with f-f-flipping cards," said Albion.
Clyde leant between the seats. "I see you're wearing a flight suit. Are you a pilot?"
"Yes."
"With a real spaceship?"
"Correct."
Albion's eyes lit up. "Could you ... I m-mean, do you think we could come with you?"
The groundcar shot over the crest of the hill, and Hal smiled with relief as he saw the limousine's tail lights in the distance. "I've got some things to do first." He pointed out the speeding limo. "My robot's hanging off the back of that car. The guys inside stole my cargo, and if I don't get it back I'm going to lose my ship."
"We'll help," said the robots together.
"Providing you t-take us off this planet afterwards," added Albion.
Hal grinned in the darkness. With the three of them working together, Farrell didn't stand a chance.
* * *
Clunk sighed with relief as he saw Hal catching up again. He'd considered dropping off the back of the limousine but the idea of doing cartwheels at three hundred kilometres an hour didn't appeal to him, especially if any cows had used the road lately.
The engine note changed, and Clunk peered along the car to see why they were slowing down. There was a thick hedge beside the road, and the limo's picked out a narrow gap about a hundred metres on.
The car swung through the gap, and Clunk decided he could probably let go without snapping his legs off. He was about to release the spoiler when the limousine picked up speed again, rising and falling like a boat as it made its way across a field.
Clunk heard a grinding noise. Raising his head, he saw a large gate swinging open, part of a wire fence that stretched into the darkness in both directions. He noticed a tangy smell and set his sensors onto it. The answer was immediate: Rocket fuel!
* * *
Hal saw the limousine pull off the road and drive through the fence. He was about to follow when he realised they would be spotted.
"Where are you going?" asked Clyde, as they drove past the turning.
"We'll hide the car and walk back." When he felt they'd gone far enough he cut the engine, and the car drifted onto the verge and settled with a bump.
"W-where are we?" asked Albion in the sudden darkness.
"This must be Farrell's place."
"Who's Farrell?"
"You wouldn't know him. Tall, dark, wears a gold ring."
Clyde frowned. "You don't mean Farrell Hinchfig?"
"Why does that sound familiar?" Hal snapped his fingers. "Hinchfig Robots!"
"He owns us," said Clyde.
"Y-you were going to turn us in!" said Albion angrily.
"No, I --"
There was a scramble of arms and legs, and the robots were over the side of the car before Hal could react. "Come back!" he shouted. "Farrell's the bastard that stole my cargo."
The footsteps faltered and the robots turned to look at him, their eyes glowing in the darkness. "Farrell Hinchfig is the man you're chasing?"
"I didn't drive all the way out here just to hand you back to him."
The robots came back with embarrassed grins on their faces. "Sorry," said Clyde. "When you mentioned his name --"
"Hang about. He must be loaded if he owns all those shops. What does he want with my cargo?"
"He doesn't own anything," said Clyde. "It all belongs to his older brother."
"F-Farrell's always short of m-money. M-maybe he's planning to sell your cargo?"
"Not if I get to him first." Hal vaulted out of the car and faced the robots. "You two stay here. I'm going to have a look through that fence." Moving quickly, he hurried along the verge until he found the gap. Crouching, he peered round the corner.
There was a track on the other side, a rough trail that crossed a bumpy field and stopped at a pair of gates set in a wire fence. The limousine was on the other side, tail lights fading as it followed the path through the trees.
Hal had just decided to fetch the groundcar and bust through the gates when he heard a deep, growling roar. There was a flash of powerful headlights and a bulky, angular shape came into view, all armour and bristling weaponry. In the floodlights Hal saw the muzzle of a plasma cannon protruding from a turret on top of the vehicle, and he ducked as a searchlight swept the field.
"That rules out the gate-crashing option," muttered Hal, as the vehicle moved on. "What kind of paranoid maniac has an armoured car?" His heart rate was just returning to normal when he heard footsteps. He drew himself into the hedge and held his breath. The footsteps halted, and he heard a
faint whine of servomotors, carried to him on the light breeze. Hal went cold as he remembered the vicious-looking robot Farrell had used to unload the cargo. If that thing was patrolling the grounds, he was dead.
Determined not to give in without a fight, Hal pulled the blaster off his belt and turned the dial to full. If he managed to hit the thing they'd have to collect the pieces with a magnet.
He raised the gun and peered along the barrel. He heard movement, and his heart almost stopped as a shadow moved into his sights. He was just about to squeeze the trigger when a whisper came out of the darkness.
"Mr Spacejock, are you there?"
Hal lowered the gun. "Over here," he said, his voice hardly more than a croak.
The robot's footsteps came closer. "Mr Spacejock, I'm so glad to see you!"
"Yeah, yeah, me too," muttered Hal, hiding the gun behind his back. "Now shut up and come with me. We've got company."
He led the way back along the fence to the groundcar, and Clunk stopped as he saw the robots standing nearby. "Where did they come from?"
"The robot shop." Hal pointed to the tall robot. "That's Clyde, the other one's Albion."
Clyde stepped forward and held out his hand. "Greetings, model-brother."
They shook, and then Albion offered his own large hand. "G-glad to meet you. I am Albion."
"What's with the stutter?" asked Clunk.
"M-manufacturing defect."
Clunk frowned. "How did you get past quality control?"
Albion looked around and lowered his voice. "Mr Hinchfig sometimes b-buys his robots from unofficial sources, if you know what I m-mean."
Hal gestured impatiently. "Come on, that's enough chit-chat. Gather round so we can make a plan."
Chapter 26
Hal gripped the side of the groundcar as it dipped and wobbled in mid-air. Clunk's idea had sounded promising in theory: drive the car high into the air by overloading the motor, slip over the top of the fence and come down gently on the far side. In practice, it meant a white-knuckle ride atop a howling, smoking, overheating groundcar.
Hal looked up at the top of the fence, which was still half a metre above them. Then he looked at the ground, which seemed a long way down. "Are you sure about this?"
