by Simon Haynes
Clyde shook his head. "Don't be fooled. All humans are the same. They're pleasant until they get what they want, then the charm goes out like a light."
"I didn't realise you were such an expert on humans."
Albion shrugged. "We've m-met enough of them to get the g-general idea."
Clunk shook his head. "I'm not standing here debating anthropology while Hal is having his fingernails pulled. We have to rescue him."
"I have the answer," said Clyde. "You rescue Hal, we'll take the ship to Jerling's."
Albion glared at him. "W-what's going to happen when he sees us? We're fugitives, Clyde!"
Clyde indicated Albion's muddy overalls. "When we arrive, we'll tell Jerling we're subcontractors. We'll tell him Hal sent us ahead with the cargo. After it's unloaded we can take off and leave." He looked at Clunk. "Can you download your piloting knowledge into one of us?"
Clunk looked at him suspiciously. "What's to stop you running away with the ship?"
"You have our word of honour." Clyde glanced at Albion. "Right?"
Albion nodded vigorously. "S-sure."
* * *
Hal glanced around the well-furnished room. Real paintings adorned the walls: farmyard scenes, a man with his faithful hunting dog, and a watercolour of lilies on a pond. Overstuffed armchairs had been pushed back against the walls and there was a luxurious rug in the middle of the floor, its intricate pattern enough to keep Hal's eyes occupied for several minutes.
Tearing his gaze from the rug, Hal glanced at the guard robot, which was standing in the corner with its gun levelled at his stomach. It hadn't moved for several minutes, and if it wasn't for the steady whirr of cooling fans it could have been mistaken for a suit of armour. Apart from the watchful eyes, of course.
Hal eyed the tall glass windows. It was dark outside and he wondered whether Clunk had prepared the ship for departure yet. How long it would be before the robots came to rescue him?
There was a clatter of footsteps in the hall and the door burst open. Terry was first through, brandishing a handgun, with Farrell a step or two behind.
"It's the welcoming committee," muttered Hal. "What are you clowns playing at? Why did you --"
Terry jabbed the muzzle under Hal's chin, lifting it up until his head was jammed against the back of the chair. "Now boss?"
"You can't do it yet," muttered Hal through half-closed lips. "He hasn't had a chance to gloat."
"Take him outside," said Farrell. "Get one of the robots to dig a hole, then throw him in and shoot him."
"You're making a big mistake," said Hal. "I've got friends out there. Lay a finger on me and they'll do you."
Farrell laughed. "Friends? You?" His smile vanished as a distant rumble shook the windows. "What the hell was that?"
"They're taking the ship!" Terry pointed out the window. "If we don't stop them we'll have the law all over us!"
"I told you there'd be trouble," said Hal, as the rumble grew louder.
Farrell addressed the robot. "Watch Spacejock. If he moves a muscle, shoot him." He nodded at Terry and the two men ran from the room.
The window lit up as the freighter took off. The noise grew to a whistling roar as the ship passed overhead, then tailed off to a distant roll of thunder. "Thanks a million, Clunk," muttered Hal, his lips thinning. Without help from the robots, his only chance of escape was to use his wits. He eyed the robot, which eyed him right back. Slowly, Hal raised one hand. The robot raised the end of the pulse rifle, tracking him. Hal moved his head slowly to the left and the barrel followed steadily. As Hal moved his head to the right, the rifle followed.
"Dead before you hit the floor," said the robot in a monotone.
"You can talk?"
"Naturally."
"Want to play charades?"
"Do not comprehend charades."
"It's easy. Think of a book or a movie, and act out the words of the title in mime. It's fun, you'll love it."
The robot stared at him impassively.
"I've got an itch in the middle of my back," said Hal. "Can I borrow your gun to scratch it?"
The robot stomped across the room. For a moment Hal thought he'd gone too far, but it stopped and held the gun out, butt-first. Hal's heart pounded in his mouth as he reached for the weapon. As his fingers closed on the grip, the gun was whisked away.
"Sucker," said the robot, backing up to the window.
Hal pointed at the window. "Hey, look at that!"
The robot's head turned 360 degrees in the blink of an eye. "I didn't see anything."
"Of course not. You just did that spinny head thing." Hal's jaw dropped and he pointed at the window. "Look out! Duck!"
The robot regarded him impassively. "Won't work agai--"
There was a crash and the wall imploded with a shower of plaster, bricks and glass, throwing the robot aside like a toy. Hal covered his head to ward off the flying rubble, but a lump of brick ricocheted off the wall and slammed into his head, knocking him out cold.
* * *
Clunk had finally agreed to let the robots deliver Jerling's cargo. After transferring navigation and flight software into their databases, he'd hurried down the ramp and sprinted across the wide open landing field.
Watching from the nearby bushes, he felt a satisfied glow as the ship's engines started. The cargo was on its way! Thrusters roared, belching white flames and blowing clouds of dust across the clearing. By the time it cleared the Volante was off, turning in mid-air as it sought the right heading.
Then Clunk spotted a thick black pipe trailing out the back of the ship, and his satisfied glow was extinguished. He'd forgotten to detach the fuel hose!
"Stop! Stop!" He ran towards the straining freighter, waving his arms madly. Before he got close, the main jets fired and there was a terrible groan as the refuelling cluster tore free, complete with the concrete footings. Clunk watched in horror as it rose into the air, dangling from the back of the ship like a wrecking ball. As the ship moved away, a thick metal pipe broke through the turf. It came up in segments, and Clunk was thrown off his feet as the earth ripped open beneath him. Glancing round fearfully, he saw the pipe bend double before snapping in two, spraying gouts of fuel in all directions.
The length of pipe hanging from the ship swung wildly as the freighter roared into the sky, and Clunk was forced back into the ditch as the Volante's jets ignited the fuel vapour. Through half-closed eyes he saw the ship disappear behind the billowing flames, still towing the refuelling cluster.
As the echoes and flames died away, Clunk gathered his wits and set off for the house. Rounding a bend, he stopped. A hundred metres ahead the driveway looped past the imposing facade of a three-storey mansion. There was a wide staircase leading up to a heavy door, and the walls were studded with rows of windows, all of them dark apart from a couple near the entrance.
The front door swung open and Terry took the steps two at a time, with Farrell close behind. Both of them were carrying guns, and Clunk backed into the bushes as the men ran towards him. He kept his head down as they charged past, panting heavily.
He watched their retreating backs for a moment, then leapt to his feet and ran towards the house. He crossed the gravel driveway, vaulted up the steps and threw himself against the wall. After a quick glance to the sides, he sidled towards the first of the illuminated windows. Risking a quick look he saw a large desk with a blank portable vidscreen on the surface. No sign of Hal. Ducking under the sill, he crept to the next window and peered through. There was Hal, sitting in a large armchair, being guarded by a big grey robot with its back to the window. Clunk looked thoughtful. He knew how jumpy that robot was, and the slightest noise could get the human killed.
Moving silently, Clunk skirted the front of the house and slipped down the side. He found a large garage, the double doors standing open. Inside, the limousine was parked between a pair of battle-scarred armoured cars: hulking vehicles plated with sheets of toughened metal. One of the cars ticked gently as
its motor cooled.
He glanced at the limo but dismissed it. It would take too long to crack the security. Instead, he made for the armoured car with the ticking engine. The driver's door was locked, but the passenger door swung open at his touch. Inside there were two metal seats surrounded by viewscreens, and a large cabin with metal benches down each side. Halfway down the cabin was a round hole in the ceiling: the access point for the gun turret.
Clunk sat in the driver's seat, found the starter button and pressed it firmly. The engine coughed once or twice before firing, then settled down to a steady rumble. Across the dash, viewscreens showed views out the front, the rear and both sides.
Clunk reversed out of the garage and swung the heavy vehicle round. There was a patch of white in the left-hand screen, and he frowned as a pair of skinny robots ran at him, waving their arms. He aimed the car and opened the throttles, and they dived out the way as he roared past. On the rear-view screen he saw them turn and run into the garage.
Clunk pushed the stick hard to the right, lining the armoured car up with the window through which he had seen Hal. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he pushed the stick all the way forward.
The engine roared and the car leapt towards the wall, gaining speed rapidly. There was a tremendous crash as it hit the brickwork, and the sound of splintering wood and falling rubble echoed around the interior. Clunk reversed out again, and the screens flickered as falling bricks bounced off the hull. Once clear, he threw the driver's door open and leapt out.
The grey robot was lying motionless amongst the scattered bricks and broken glass, but Clunk only had eyes for Hal. He clambered over the fallen rubble and threw the unconscious human over his shoulder, then stumbled back towards the hole in the wall. Halfway there he passed a painting lying on the floor. It was a landscape in a battered frame, the brush strokes frosted with plaster. Clunk's eyes narrowed as he saw the cows depicted in the painting, and very deliberately he backed up and trod on it, grinding the canvas under his heel.
Once outside he dropped Hal into the passenger seat then ran round the other side. He was just getting in when he heard a roar nearby. Clunk looked up, convinced it was the Volante coming back, but the skies were empty. Then it hit him: The second armoured car was reversing out of the garage, its turret already turning! He hauled back on the joystick and the armoured car lurched down the steps, just as the first shot landed. There was a massive explosion inside the house, hurling bricks skywards like popcorn.
"Is it time to get up?" mumbled Hal.
"No, they're after us," said Clunk, as he wrestled with the stick. "Hold tight. They're shooting again."
Chapter 28
Hal shook his head to clear the mist from his eyes. The last thing he remembered was exchanging insults with an armed robot, and then half a house falling on him. Now someone had strapped him into a rollercoaster ride, while all around them people let of massive fireworks. Hal glanced at Clunk, who was wrestling with some kind of controls. The robot's face was bathed in multicoloured light from the instrument panel, his expression grim. Okay, maybe not a rollercoaster.
"Thanks for the rescue," shouted Hal over the roar of the engine.
"Time for thanks later. If we get away."
Hal examined the screens, which showed a kaleidoscope of trees and grass. Then he spotted a flash. "What was that?"
A blast threw the car sideways, tossing Hal from his seat and smashing him against the hard metal wall. He sat up groggily, shaking his head to clear the stars from his eyes.
"I told you to hold on," said Clunk. "They're firing at us."
There was another explosion and the floor tipped under Hal's feet. "Can't we fire back?"
"Can you operate the main gun?"
"Where is it?"
Clunk jerked his thumb towards the back of the vehicle, where a ladder led through a circular hole in the roof.
Hal left his seat and staggered down the swaying cabin, using the overhead straps to stay upright. He was about to climb up when an explosion threw the car sideways, almost knocking him off his feet. Hal regained his balance, grabbed hold of the metal ladder and started to climb. He was halfway up when there was a swishing, scraping noise along the side of the car. "What's that?" he shouted.
"I am attempting to shake them off by driving through the undergrowth," called Clunk.
"What about the trees?"
There was a crunch as the car slammed into one, and the sudden stop tore Hal from the ladder and threw him the length of the vehicle. He slammed into the drivers seat, bounced off, and dropped to the deck in a heap. He staggered upright and was just reaching for the ladder when Clunk threw the vehicle into reverse. Hal flew towards the front again, but just before he crunched into the seat, the vehicle roared forwards, sending him sailing towards the rear of the vehicle. Halfway there, he hit the ladder.
Clunk glanced over his shoulder. "Haven't you got that gun going yet?"
"No, I haven't got the bloody gun going yet!" shouted Hal, rubbing his head. "I'm enjoying the bloody ride!" He stormed up the ladder and emerged in the cramped turret, which was surrounded with viewscreens. The seat gave slightly under his weight, and he dangled his feet down the access tube. A joystick sprang up between his legs, and the screens flickered into life. The one labelled 'front' showed bushes and tree trunks in the headlights, and a targeting cross appeared in the corner of the screen.
Hal scanned the screens for the enemy. To his left, one of the screens flared and darkened, and there was an explosion outside. He twisted the joystick until the cursor hovered over the pursuing armoured car, and squeezed the trigger. There was a loud bang, and when the smoke cleared the pursuing vehicle was weaving from side to side.
"How do you like it?" muttered Hal. Then he saw the gates. "Clunk, gates to starboard!"
"Got it."
One of the screens began to glow, and as they got closer Hal saw flames shooting into the air from a mess of twisted, glowing pipes. "What happened?" shouted Hal. "And where's the ship?"
"Clyde is flying it to Jerling's," said Clunk.
Hal's stomach tightened. "You sent those robots off by themselves?"
"I downloaded piloting code into Clyde. They'll be all right."
"They'll pinch the ship and vanish, you stupid tin can! They'll do a runner with my cargo!"
"They can't," said Clunk. "They gave me their word of honour."
Hal groaned. "All they wanted was to get away from the planet. You've given them the means, Clunk. We'll never see them again."
"You're wrong, Mr Spacejock. The robots will deliver the cargo to Jerling."
"They won't! They'll nick the ship and scarper!"
"They can't."
"Why not?"
"Their fuel won't last. I forgot to detach the hoses before they took off."
Hal gazed at the twisted, burning pipes. "So you did." He frowned as he saw a pair of figures silhouetted against the flames. One of them turned at the sound of the approaching car, and Hal's eyes narrowed as he recognised Terry. His finger tightened on the trigger as the cursor hovered below the mop of straw-coloured hair.
"We should be at the gates in a moment," shouted Clunk up the tube.
There was a flash on the screen, and an explosion rocked the car. Hal spun the turret, whirling it around until the second armoured car was centred under the cross hairs. He squeezed the trigger, flinching as the blast echoed around the turret. When the screen cleared the other car was on its side, smoke and flames pouring from the blasted hull. On the side screen he saw Farrell and Terry running towards the house.
"Hold tight!" shouted Clunk.
Hal braced himself as the gates loomed in the forward-facing screen. There was a jolt as the car rammed them, and a bump as it forced its way over the tangled metal. Once it was clear, Clunk straightened up and roared towards the main road.
* * *
Farrell ran along the path with Terry, coughing in the swirling smoke. They rounded the final bend and
stopped as they saw the huge, jagged hole in the front of the house.
"Bloody hell," exclaimed Terry.
"My house!" breathed Farrell, staring at the damage in disbelief. "He's ruined my goddamn house!" He frowned as he saw the hulking robot squatting on a smouldering rug, gazing at the twisted barrel of its pulse rifle. "What happened?" demanded Farrell, hurrying over. "Where's Spacejock?"
"One of our armoured cars," said the robot, throwing the rifle aside. "It rescued him."
Farrell and Terry exchanged a glance. "One to fly the ship. Another to drive the car."
"And another to drive the truck into the ship," said Terry. "It's a whole bloody gang."
"Fetch the limo. Weapons, too." Farrell looked up at the shattered brickwork. "Someone's going to pay for this."
Terry vanished down the side of the house. "Get up," said Farrell to the robot. He jabbed his thumb at the red glow in the trees. "I want that fire out, I want this wall fixed and I want the other armoured car hidden away. Got it?"
"How should I prioritise?"
"I don't give a flying stuff. Just get it done."
The robot knuckled its forehead and backed out of the damaged room. Farrell bent to pick up a painting: a farmyard scene in a gilt frame. He put his finger through a large tear, then drew his fist back and smashed it through the canvas. "Bloody Spacejock!" he shouted.
There was a roar, and the limo drew up with a jerk. Farrell leapt in, and before his door was closed the car was racing along the circular drive towards the exit. They passed the burning trees, their headlights boring white tunnels through the swirling smoke, and a few seconds later they roared up to the shattered gates.
"They couldn't open the bloody things, could they?" demanded Farrell plaintively. "No, they had to smash them down and drive over the pieces." He looked at Terry. "You did bring guns?"
Terry grinned. "Oh, yeah." He guided the car over the twisted metal and drove it across the field. It swung wide as they shot out of the gap in the hedge, then straightened up and roared along the main road. Far ahead, they could see the dark shape of the armoured car lumbering up the hill.
"Don't get too close," muttered Farrell, as they approached the fleeing vehicle. "That thing's dangerous."
