Hal Spacejock

by Simon Haynes

  Thoroughly despondent, Clunk wondered whether Regan Muller would have the decency to switch him off before ripping him apart.

  * * *

  Hal emerged from Jerling's office with a grim look on his face. He squinted into the sun and frowned as he saw a pair of robots dragging a heavy fuel line from a tanker to the rear of his ship. The robots opened the refuelling flap and exchanged a glance as they saw the large, orange filler cap.

  "Goodbye, Mr Spacejock."

  Hal turned to see Clunk leaning against the wall with a blank expression on his face. "I thought I told you to call me sir."

  Clunk's mouth turned down. "Sorry, sir."

  "That's better," said Hal sternly. "I expect my crew to address me properly."

  "Yes sir." Clunk's head came up. "Did you say crew?"

  Hal nodded. "I just wasted all my money taking you off Jerling's hands. Hey, get off!" he yelled as the robot crushed him in a bear hug.

  Clunk stepped back. "Mr Spacejock, I don't know how to thank you!"

  "You can thank the Hinchfigs. I still had five hundred credits from that scam we pulled at the robot shop."

  "Five hundred? Is that all I'm worth?"

  Hal shook his head. "Two and a half. Jerling took my fee as well."

  Clunk's eyes were troubled. "What about Vurdi? You needed that money to pay him."

  "Screw the son of a bitch. We'll run for it."

  "Perhaps I can protect you from his robot?"

  "Have you ever seen someone squashing tin cans on their forehead? Brutus does it with forty-four gallon drums."

  "Why are we standing here, then?"

  Five minutes later Hal was at the console, preparing his ship for take-off. Clunk was hovering alongside, tapping dials and scanning read-outs. "Tanks are full and sealed. Fuel pressure is fine, but the starboard oil temperature is a little on the high side."

  "Clunk, we haven't started the engines yet."

  "Just checking."

  "Do me a favour. Go and see if they've removed the fuel lines."

  The robot pointed to a status light. "Fuel lines detached."

  "You know better than that. Stick your head out the door and check properly."

  Clunk ran for the airlock, and Hal shook his head slowly. Had he made a mistake taking the robot on? "Oh, well," he muttered. "If he gets on my nerves I can always space him again."

  Rrrrinngg!

  "Incoming message," said the Navcom.

  "Put it up."

  The console screen flickered and Vurdi's pale face appeared. "I trust you have a will, Mr Spacejock?"

  "It's okay, Vurdi. Jerling offered me another job."

  "Too late, my elusive friend. Brutus is homing in on you as we speak."

  "But I can pay!"

  "Mr Spacejock, are you going to waste your final moments on futile lies? Don't you have anything better to do?"

  "Yes, I have a message to deliver."

  "Message? For whom?"

  "You," said Hal, pointing at the screen. "Message reads: Piss off, you sour-faced prick." He thumbed the disconnect and saw Clunk entering the flight deck. "How would you like to take the ship up?"

  "Delighted. Where are we going?"

  "Brutus is on the way. Know of any good hiding places?"

  Clunk gestured at the console and a star map appeared. "As you can see, we have a whole galaxy to explore. Just look at the systems in range!"

  "Oh yeah? Hide the ones which charge big landing fees."

  Clunk waved his finger, and all but three stars winked out. "Oh dear."

  "Don't tell me. Forg, Lamira and Seraph."

  "One of them must be suitable. What about Lamira?"

  "The Portmaster's got it in for me. Anyway, there's no work."

  "We can't stay here, Mr Spacejock. What about Seraph?"

  "Reckon you can get me past that battlecruiser?"

  Clunk looked thoughtful. "Speaking of which, I'd like to know what it was doing there in the first place." He turned to the console. "Navcom, can you search the news feeds for items on Seraph IV?"

  "Unable to comply. Insufficient funds."

  "Route the search via the Jerling Enterprises proxy." Clunk winked at Hal. "I'm sure he won't mind."

  "Results on monitor one," said the computer.

  Clunk bent to read them. "Goodness gracious, Mr Spacejock. Seraph is locked out!"

  "Big deal. I never liked the place anyway."

  "You don't understand." Clunk straightened, his face serious. "According to these reports, they're holding war games. All civilian vessels are barred from the system in case they're shot down by mistake. Don't you see? Jerling was so desperate for his cargo he deliberately sent you into danger!"

  "He told me to avoid customs. He didn't say anything about war games!"

  "If you report this, he'll be in big trouble."

  "I'll have him locked up in maximum security," said Hal, pacing the flight deck. "Corporal punishment. Bread and water. Extra-slippery soap." He stopped pacing and shook his head. "Who am I kidding? He'll just hand over a chunk of money to hush things up."

  "Bribe us, you mean?"

  Hal looked surprised. "Us?"

  "Nobody else knows about this. Yet."

  Hal looked at the robot admiringly. "You know, you're sneaky enough to be human."

  "I'll take that as a compliment."

  Hal grinned. "What are we standing around here for? Let's pay the man a visit!"

  * * *

  Jerling was lighting a fresh cigar when they entered his office. The end glowed red as he sucked in, and a trickle of smoke ran up his face. "So, you've decided to take the other job."

  "You want us to go back to Seraph, right?" Hal glanced at Clunk, who nodded imperceptably.

  "That's it. My company is building serving robots for the Emperor's new palace. It's an honour, but time is getting short and parts are hard to come by."

  "You're really desperate then?"

  "I'm not increasing your fee, if that's what you mean."

  "Oh, nothing like that. I meant, you're desperate enough to send an unarmed freighter into a warzone."

  "Eh?"

  "It'll make quite a story, won't it? Freelance pilot sent to his death by greedy businessman."

  Jerling puffed on his cigar. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "Oh, come on. There's a dirty great battlecruiser orbiting Seraph IV, blowing target drones out of orbit. They would have got me, but Clunk saved my skin with a nifty bit of programming."

  "There was nothing to worry about," said Jerling. "I knew it was dangerous, sure, but you must see it was worth the risk." He waved the cigar. "Anyway, you made it through, didn't you?"

  "Yes, but I'm a bit short of cash."

  "So that's the game." Jerling's eyes narrowed. "You'll never prove I sent you out against that battleship."

  Hal snapped his fingers.

  "I knew it was dangerous," said Jerling's voice. "You'll never prove I sent you out against that battleship."

  Clunk stopped the playback. "Is that suitable, Mr Spacejock?"

  Hal grinned. "Perfect."

  Beads of sweat appeared on Jerling's brow. "Okay, very smart. What do you want from me?"

  "Five grand should cover it. Let's call it sundries."

  "Five grand, eh? Hard, but fair." Jerling typed an access code on his terminal.

  "And five for Clunk, too. He's been through a lot."

  "Don't push your luck, Spacejock. I've got friends in high places." The safe popped out of the floor and Jerling was just reaching for the handle when the office door crashed open behind them. A whiff of raw sewage blew in, and Hal saw Terry in the doorway, his hair plastered down and his clothing streaked with liquid waste. He was a comical sight, but there was nothing funny about the gun cradled in his hands.

  "Hands up, the lot of you. First one to move gets blasted!"

  Chapter 31

  Terry covered them with the gun as Farrell stepped into the office, bringing an o
verpowering smell of raw sewage with him. He marched across the room and jammed his face close to Hal's. "You die."

  Hal sniffed. "Smells like you already have."

  Farrell yanked a blaster from his belt and screwed the muzzle into Hal's neck. "I'm going to enjoy this."

  "Boss!" called Terry urgently.

  "What?"

  Terry jerked his thumb at the desk, where Jerling was inching his chair sideways, trying to cover the exposed safe.

  Farrell grinned. "Open it up."

  "It's empty," said Jerling, his face pale.

  Farrell pointed the gun. "I won't ask again."

  Jerling pulled the safe open.

  "Now move back." Farrell glanced at Terry. "You watch the other two. If they move, shoot them both." He walked round the desk and crouched in front of the safe. When he stood up, he was holding a cloth bag. He set his blaster on the desk, opened the bag and let a generous handful of tiles run through his fingers. "These will do nicely."

  Terry cleared his throat. "Farrell, we've got to leave."

  "Right." Farrell pointed the gun at Hal. "Where's the Volante?"

  "It crashed. Ran out of fuel."

  "You're lying!"

  "I'm afraid it's true," said Clunk.

  Farrell's eyes narrowed. "You wrecked my ship?"

  "Not deliberately. I forgot to detach the fuel hose."

  Terry gestured at Hal. "Why don't we take his ship?"

  "You won't be able to fly it," said Hal quickly. "The Navcom won't let you."

  "Then you'll just have to come with us." Farrell gestured at Jerling. "Terry, tie him up."

  Working quickly, Terry removed Jerling's belt and strapped him to his chair, pulling his arms tight behind his back.

  Meanwhile, Farrell approached Clunk, reaching for his battery compartment. Clunk backed away, but Farrell raised his gun. "Stand still or I'll blow Spacejock's hand off. Got it?"

  Reluctantly, Clunk obeyed, and Farrell opened the compartment and switched him off. Clunk's eyes went out, and his head drooped until his chin was sitting on his chest.

  With Jerling secure and Clunk out of action, Farrell waved Hal towards the door. "After you, Spacejock."

  * * *

  Terry pushed Hal up the Black Gull's boarding ramp and followed him into the airlock. As they entered the flight deck Hal got a shove in the back, sending him sprawling to the floor. He'd just got to his feet when Farrell walked in.

  "Listen carefully, Spacejock. Do what I say or you'll die on the spot. Understood?"

  Hal snorted. "And if I'm a good boy, you'll kill me anyway."

  "Not necessarily." Farrell gestured at the console. "Tell your computer to accept my commands."

  "Get stuffed."

  Terry's gun boomed, blowing a hole in the deck next to Hal's foot. "Next one takes it off," he said, as the echoes faded.

  "Navcom, there's a guy here called Farrell. I want you to let him fly the ship."

  "Understood," said the computer. "Hello, Farrell. How are you today?"

  "Tramp," muttered Hal.

  Farrell worked the controls, preparing the ship for departure. "Put Spacejock in the hold," he said without looking round. "And tie him up."

  "With what?"

  There was a crackle from the speakers. "There's a coil of rope in the locker outside the cargo hold," said the Navcom.

  Hal glared at the console. "How come you're so helpful all of a sudden?"

  "Rotten, isn't it?"

  "Enough," shouted Terry. He jerked his gun. "Down to the hold. Now."

  Hal swung onto the ladder and climbed down. At the bottom, he glanced around quickly. There were only two places to hide - the tiny kitchen and the slightly bigger toilet. Both of them dead ends.

  Terry came down the ladder two steps at a time and jumped off the last rung. "Go on, get moving."

  Hal walked to the cargo hold and was about to pass through the door when Terry's voice stopped him. "Wait."

  Hal looked round and saw Terry pulling the coil of rope from the locker. "Betrayed by your own computer, eh?" Terry slung the rope over his shoulder and waved the gun. "Come on, move it."

  Hal opened the inner door and entered the hold. It seemed to be gloomier than usual, and his feet echoed off the damp metal decking.

  "Stand over there," called Terry, indicating an upright with the gun.

  "You won't get away with this."

  "Save your breath."

  Hal shrugged and turned his back to the pillar. Terry whipped the rope around his chest and yanked it hard, forcing the air from Hal's lungs. He tied it off, then came round the column and looked Hal up and down. "Don't expect that robot buddy of yours to save you. We're going to flatten the office with your ship when we leave."

  "Do you train for this, or are you evil by nature?"

  Terry grinned. "I don't like loose ends, see?" He crossed to the outer doors and pressed a button. "I think Farrell's making a mistake leaving you alive," he said, as the doors creaked open. "You're a nasty, sneaky, slippery customer, and I don't like you." There was a thud as the doors locked against the hull.

  "What are you doing?" Hal looked up as the engines whirred into life. "Hey, you can't take off with the doors open!"

  "Want to bet?" Terry laughed. "Enjoy the view, Spacejock."

  * * *

  Farrell looked up as Terry stepped off the ladder. "Did you check the inner door?"

  "Yeah, it's closed."

  "What are you grinning at? You didn't hurt him, did you? I might need him later."

  "I tied him up, just like you said."

  "All right. Find somewhere to sit down." Farrell looked around the console. "Some of the dials aren't working, but I think we're ready for take-off."

  * * *

  Hal waited until Terry had gone, then pulled on the rope with all his strength. The rotten fibres parted and he stumbled away from the upright, rubbing his wrists. So that's what the Navcom had been telling him! "Damn thing's smarter than it lets on," muttered Hal. "I'll remind it, next time it demands an upgrade."

  He was just looking around for a weapon when the engines growled overhead. Hal glanced at the rear doors. He couldn't stop the ship taking off, but if he closed the hold he could hide, surprise Terry or Farrell, get hold of a weapon and recapture the Gull.

  He ran to the rear doors and raised a hand to the controls. As his fingers brushed the button, a movement caught his eye. Across the field, a small, black ship was coming over the perimeter fence. It roared in low, lights blazing, and flared a metre or two above the tarmac before dropping gently to the ground.

  "Nice landing," muttered Hal. A door opened in the side of the ship and a ramp dropped to the tarmac. A large, beefy robot appeared on the platform, and Hal was just about to attract its attention when he recognised Brutus.

  "Aw, no!" Hal dropped to the deck and peered over the edge. He saw Brutus walking down the ramp with careful, measured steps, head turning left and right. As soon as the robot was clear, the ramp retracted and the ship rose on its landing jets, hanging in midair before the main engines fired, thrusting it into the sky.

  Hal thought for a second, then leapt up and began waving. "Hey! You!"

  The robot stared at him.

  "Here I am, you king-sized tin can!" yelled Hal, jumping up and down and waving like a loony. "Come and get me, you overgrown wind-up toy!"

  Brutus needed no encouragement. In a split second he was thundering across the tarmac, eyes glowing and plasteel lips stretched thin with anticipation.

  Hal turned and ran into the hold. At the far end, he ducked behind a pillar near the inner door. Moments later, as the engine noise continued to rise, he risked a glance.

  Brutus was hauling himself into the hold.

  Hal reached out and operated the inner door controls. As it slid open, he ducked behind the pillar again. "Over here, you mobile waste basket!"

  The robot's heavy feet thudded on the deck plates, and as it approached the inner door Hal slipped ar
ound the pillar, keeping it between them. He heard a hiss as the door closed, and a click as it locked. The Navcom had shut it automatically for take-off. He was trapped in the hold with Brutus!

  There was a shriek of tortured metal. Hal risked another glance and saw the robot going through the metal door like a laser bolt through a tin of grease. Within seconds Brutus was in the lower-deck passageway, running towards the flight deck ladder.

  "With enemies like that, who needs friends?" muttered Hal. He heard a heavy blow from the front of the ship and decided it was time to leave. Running for the back of the hold, he leapt out of the Gull, landed heavily on the tarmac, and was almost blown off his feet by the hot, blasting wash from the landing jets.

  The jets spurted white flame and the engines rose to a shriek. Hal raced from the ship, chased by a rolling wave of smoke and flame that snapped at his heels and singed his flight suit. Once clear, he threw himself down on the concrete and covered his head with his hands.

  * * *

  "Come on!" shouted Farrell, slamming his fist on the console. "You must be ready by now!"

  "Recalibrating thrusters," said the Navcom. "Boost tested to fifty per cent."

  Terry saw the ladder at the back of the flight deck shaking. "Spacejock!" He ran for the hole, arriving just as Brutus poked his head through. Terry fumbled with his gun, but before he could aim or pull the trigger, the robot plucked the weapon from his grasp and crushed it. Dropping the splintered pieces, Brutus grabbed Terry and hurled him across the flight deck, slamming him into the wall. The bed popped open with the impact, catching Terry neatly as he fell. He lay still, blood trickling from a gash in his forehead.

  Brutus switched his attention to Farrell. "Leave now. I'm taking this ship."

  "The hell you are!" Farrell raised his blaster and pulled the trigger. There was a flash of light, and a pulsing ball of energy skimmed off the robot's armour and buried itself in the wall.

  Brutus snatched the gun and crushed it in his metal fist. Throwing the pieces aside, he swung at Farrell with the back of his hand, knocking him across the deck. Farrell slid across the floor, slammed into the ladder and dropped down the hole, landing at the bottom with a thud. He lay there, stunned, as fragments of speech echoed down from the flight deck.