by Simon Haynes
"And then he put his boots on your favourite coffee table, leaving several large scratches."
"He did what?" Hal drove a fist into the palm of his hand. "Get onto the file sharing sites. I want that video on every screen in the galaxy."
"The Navcom will begin right away," said Clunk. "Incidentally, Ms Walsh is calling from the cargo hold. It seems there's a small problem with the artworks."
* * *
Hal arrived in the cargo hold at a run. From the tone of Harriet's voice he expected to find the cargo in pieces, damaged in flight by Clunk's careless handling, or perhaps kicked apart by the customs goons. Instead, he found her inspecting Fish in a Jar. "What's up?"
"The pebbles in the bottom of this jar. Do they look suspicious to you?"
Hal bent for a closer look. The fish stared back at him with a big, dead eye, and there was a vaguely unpleasant smell. "They look like stones to me. What did you expect?"
"They might be uncut diamonds."
Hal's eyebrows rose. Some of the pebbles were as big as chicken eggs. "You're joking. If those things are diamonds, each one would buy this ship. Anyway, they're grey."
"It could be paint. A little airbrushing here and there … it's not unheard of."
"What do you want to do?"
"I need you to hold the fish out of the way so I can take a closer look."
"But … that's a priceless artwork. If you disturb it, the customer will go crazy."
"If those are diamonds you'll spend five to ten inside."
The fish came free with a sucking sound, and Harriet rummaged in the bottom of the jar while Hal held the stuffed fish aloft. The pebbles rattled under her fingers, and she drew out one of the smaller ones. She held it up to the light, then crouched and swiped it across the metal deck. Sparks flew, and there was an acrid smell. "I guess it's the wrong sort of sparkler," remarked Hal.
Harriet tried another couple of stones, with the same result.
"Look on the bright side," said Hal. "If we run out of matches you'll still be able to light a campfire."
After dropping the stones in the jar, Harriet gestured at the fish. "Stick it back. There's nothing here."
"Do you want to look inside the cow? I've got a penknife somewhere, and Clunk's pretty good at sewing."
"That won't be necessary."
"Or the rock? We could hire a jackhammer and smash it apart."
"That's enough, Hal. I'm just doing my job."
"Yes, and you're ruining mine."
They left the hold in silence, and they were halfway to the lift when Harriet stopped. "I'd better call in with my report. Is the commset in my cabin still working?"
"Sure. Be my guest."
Hal continued to the flight deck on his own. There was a smile on his face, and his mood was greatly improved. Not because their cargo was legitimate and above board. No, it was Harriet Walsh's parting words that had cheered him up: 'My cabin' is how she'd put it, as though she'd never left.
Chapter 17
Clunk glanced round as Hal entered the flight deck. "Ah, Mr Spacejock. Was the cargo in order?"
"Harriet thought the Fish was off, but it checked out." Hal sat down at the console. "What's happening with the delivery? Any sign of the truck?"
"Not yet. I put a call in to the exhibition hall, just to let them know we were here."
"Did they complain we were late?"
"On the contrary, they were impressed with our timely arrival."
"Good, maybe we'll score some extra work. There's plenty of room for more junk in the cargo hold."
"If you want more work in this line, I would suggest you refer to the artworks with a more appropriate term."
"All right. There's plenty of room for pretentious junk in the hold."
Clunk opened his mouth to explain, but the Navcom cut him off.
"Incoming call for Mr Spacejock."
"That'll be the truck rental," predicted Hal. "Put them on."
"Complying."
"Hello," said a tinny voice. "Am I speaking to captain Dull Flopjack of the Spoilanti?"
"No! It's Hal Spacejock of the Volante!"
"Close enough," said the voice. "This is Truck-U rentals, and I'm letting you know your vehicle is ready."
"Good stuff. When can you send it over?"
"Mate, this is Truck-U, not We-Truck. Come and fetch the damn thing yourself. And don't forget the deposit."
There was a click as the caller disconnected.
"Bags you fetch it," Hal said to Clunk. "And you can take that Hans character with you. Leave him in the terminal with his brother."
* * *
While Clunk was off fetching the truck, Hal tracked Harriet down. He found her in her cabin, packing her duffel bag. "Are you leaving?"
"Temporarily. Boson wants to speak with me."
"Is he here?"
"No, but the local Station has a secure channel. When I'm done, I'll meet you at the exhibition."
"What about later?" asked Hal.
Harriet eyed him warily. "Later?"
"Dinner. I thought we could find somewhere nice."
"Hal …"
"Just dinner, I swear! You can tell me about the Peace Force, and I'll bring you up to speed with the cargo business. It'll be fun."
Harriet looked down at herself. "I can't go to dinner in uniform. I'll need something to wear."
"You can pick something up, right?" Hal gave her a winning smile, and he was relieved when she grinned back at him. "Good stuff. I'll book a table for eight."
Harriet shouldered the duffel bag and Hal stood aside to let her out. She gave him a casual wave, and the last he saw of her was a brief toss of her long blonde hair as she entered the elevator. Hal grinned, clapped his hands together, then set off for the hold to give Clunk a hand with the cargo.
* * *
Clunk had already returned with the truck, and Hal waved his arms and shouted directions as the robot guided the heavy vehicle towards the back of the ship. Despite Hal's assistance, Clunk managed to line everything up first time. Then, after loading the smaller artworks, Hal realised they had a problem.
"What about that?" he asked, jerking his thumb at the giant boulder. "We'll need a crane to get it on the truck."
"We already have one."
"We do?" Hal looked left and right, but the scenery was devoid of big yellow cranes. It was a pity, because he'd always wanted to have a go with proper construction machinery. "Where?"
Clunk indicated the Volante. "That's the most powerful crane on the planet."
"Oh yeah."
A few minutes later the deed was done. Clunk lifted off in the ship while Hal sheltered in the truck's cab, and he smiled in satisfaction as the huge rock came down gently on the back. Then Clunk set the ship down again, and once he'd removed the sling they were ready to roll.
"Tie it all down and I'll lock the ship up," said Hal, dusting off his hands.
* * *
Ten minutes later they were on their way to the exhibition hall. The roads were wide and smooth, traffic was light, and Clunk made good time at the controls of the heavy vehicle. Hal gazed out at the buildings, watching the commercial district roll past. He saw a row of small shops selling everything from hardware to groceries to second-hand goods, and he glanced back to get another look at a jacket hanging on the end of a rack. His stock of casual clothes was as thin as his wallet, and he resolved to come back and find something suitable for his dinner date.
The shops vanished and Hal watched the commercial zone change to high-density residential, then houses with gardens, and finally country lanes with mansions just visible through the wrought iron gates and security fencing.
"Pretty flash," remarked Hal. "Where's the expo being held, anyway?"
"Backsight Manor."
"Backsight? That's an odd name."
"The owner runs a weapons factory."
"A big shot, eh?" Hal watched the countryside rolling by. "Do you think they'll give me a free sample?"
"Backsig
ht makes gun turrets, not hand weapons."
"Great! I've always wanted a couple of those on the Volante."
"Not in my lifetime," said Clunk firmly.
They took a sharp corner and accelerated along a narrow lane. Halfway along they drove past a golf course, and Hal watched a couple of golfers who'd driven their shots straight into the rough. They were moving gingerly through waist-high thickets full of thorns, and Hal reckoned they'd be lucky to get their balls out in one piece.
The truck slowed again, and Hal saw a side road which passed under a broad white arch. Just ahead of them an attendant in a high-viz shirt was just waving another truck through the gates. Clunk drew up behind it, and the attendant approached his window. "Delivering to the expo?"
"That's correct," said Clunk. "We have a shipment from Max Bright."
"Ah, the lighting rigs," said the attendant. "Go on, then. In you go."
"Not lighting, artworks."
The attendant shrugged.
"Aren't you going to inspect the cargo?" demanded Clunk.
"What for? If you've seen one truckload of pretentious crap, you've seen it all. Am I right?"
"Absolutely," said Hal, before Clunk could argue the finer points of art. "Would you believe someone's paying perfectly good money to deliver an old rock, a dried cow and a stale fish?"
The attendant shook his head sadly. "Beyond amazing. What's wrong with a canvas and a nice bit o' paint, that's what I want to know."
"Tell me," said Clunk. "Do you have a spare safety vest?"
"Why?"
"I believe Mr Spacejock would make an excellent helper for the afternoon. Clearly he'd fit right in with your lowbrow tastes and your complete lack of —"
"Clunk, we need to get a move on," said Hal quickly. "That cow isn't getting any fresher, and Fish on the Rocks was wilting."
"It's Fish in a Jar," growled Clunk. The truck lurched forwards, and the attendant disappeared in a cloud of fumes. They drove between the hedgerows in silence, gradually catching up with the smaller truck. Then the lane opened out onto a large parking area in front of a four-storey mansion, with seven or eight trucks and dozens of people milling about. There were people moving anti-grav sleds around, the contents under wraps. There were drivers leaning against their cabs, enjoying a quick break. And there were attendants everywhere, directing traffic in their fluorescent yellow vests.
"Looks pretty busy," said Hal.
They were waved into a parking spot, where Clunk pulled over and switched off the engine. Hal clambered down and strode off to commandeer a sled. He found one hovering in the shadow of the building, bobbing gently in mid-air, and guided it back to the truck. Clunk already had the back down, and the two of them loaded Bright's artworks in no time.
With Clunk's help, Hal pushed the sled towards the building. The front doors stood wide open, and when they got inside they discovered the mansion had been hollowed out into a huge hall. There were doors at each end, tiny in the distance, and a mezzanine overlooked the main floor. There were red and gold drapes everywhere, and the polished wooden floor gleamed under the downlights. Several artworks were in position, hidden under silver dust sheets. Hal snorted. Unless the silver dropsheets were the artworks.
"Which artist please?"
Hal turned to see a slender woman approaching, clipboard at the ready. She was wearing a soft pink cardigan over a white blouse, and her beautiful grey eyes were framed by a pair of rimless glasses. Her long chestnut hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but a few strands had escaped to dangle fetchingly across her face. She flicked them back casually as she glanced at the sled. "Oh, it's Max Bright."
"One hundred percent correct," said Clunk. "Are you acquainted with his work?"
"Not really. All this pretentious crap is the same, isn't it?"
Hal gave a hoot of laughter, and was rewarded with a warm smile. On impulse, he stuck his hand out. "Hal Spacejock, freighter pilot."
"Meredith Ryder, event coordinator. Meri for short." She looked Hal up and down. "You keep yourself in shape, don't you?"
"There's a gym aboard my ship," said Hal, ignoring Clunk's snort. Well, there was a gym, and he hadn't said anything about using it. "So, where do you want this junk?"
"Sling it down anywhere. We're paying a bunch of so-called experts to set the stuff up, although if you ask me they're just glorified baggage handlers." Ryder gave him another smile, and ticked an item on her list. "That's the lot now. Should keep everyone happy for the opening night."
"It must be a lot of work, organising something like this," said Hal.
"My clients pay for results," said Ryder, with a shrug. "No taste, of course, but I get to charge them as much as I like."
"Are tact and diplomacy optional extras?" asked Clunk politely.
Ryder glanced at him. "Are you going to unload that sled? There's a queue forming outside."
"I'll get onto it now ma'am," said Clunk, with a precise salute.
"Good." Ryder looked Hal up and down. "Are you going to change for later?"
"Why? What's later?"
"The expo. That old flight suit is fine for deliveries, but it's not the sort of image people expect from the security detail."
"I'm sorry. Did you say security?"
Ryder checked her clipboard. "It says it right here. Hal Spacejock and his robot have agreed to provide security for the event."
Hal stared at her. "We did nothing of the sort."
"I think you'll find it's in the contract. You're providing security for the artworks."
"Only during transport!" protested Clunk.
"No, security and crowd control for the duration of the event. Tell me, do you have guns?"
Dazed, Hal shook his head. What sort of art expo needed armed guards?
"Well, maybe you can get hold of a few before the opening. The first guests are expected at six-thirty, and it would be great if you could be ready for six." Ryder gave Hal a wink. "Call me if you need a hand getting changed."
Before Hal could say anything, she left.
"Look on the bright side," said Clunk. "At least we didn't have plans for the evening."
"Speak for yourself. I asked Harriet out for dinner, and now she'll be all alone aboard the Volante."
"No she won't."
"She will, thanks to your contract."
"She won't, because the two of us can't possibly cover security for an event of this size. It will take three people at least."
"Oh, no. I'm not asking her to moonlight as a security guard."
"I'm afraid you'll have to."
"But she's expecting a nice romantic dinner, not —" Hal was interrupted by an angry shout, and he looked round to see a delivery driver pointing at the sled.
"Get a move on!" shouted the driver. "These ice statues are melting!"
Hal gave Clunk a hand, and together they backed the sled up to a plinth and rolled the rock on top. When Hairpiece was in position they set the other artworks down alongside, finishing with the cow and its square of fake grass. Then Hal remembered something. He glanced around to make sure nobody was watching, then vaulted onto the cow.
"That's a valuable artwork," hissed Clunk. "This is no time for a rodeo."
"Just adding the crowning glory." Hal plucked a couple of hairs off his head and laid them on the rock. "There. Happy now?"
"Not until you get down!"
Hal leapt off the cow and dusted his footprints off its back. "Right, job done. Let's get out of here."
Chapter 18
Their feet crunched on the gravel as they left the mansion, and Hal raised his voice over the racket. "It's going to be hard, Clunk, but it looks like I've got to keep two women happy this evening."
Clunk eyed him doubtfully.
"It's all right, I have a plan. The expo opens at six. I can do a couple of hours security, then leave you in charge while I have dinner with Harriet."
"And when will you ask Harriet to help us with security?"
"Not in this lifeti
me," said Hal firmly.
"But we'll need at least —"
"Clunk, it'll be easy. It's an art expo, not a science fiction convention." Hal looked down at himself. "I'm going to need some proper clothes, though. You heard Meri … we're supposed to look like bounders."
"Bouncers, Mr Spacejock."
Hal shrugged. "Same difference. Anyway, I need something good. Something …"
"Tasteful and restrained?"
"Ye-es."
Clunk shot him a suspicious look, but Hal said nothing. He had his own ideas on effective security measures, and tasteful and restrained weren't going to cut it. They reached the truck, where Hal paused with one hand on the door. "You don't have to come with me. Why don't you wait here?"
"I'd rather help you with the clothing."
"I'll worry about that. You stay."
"But —"
"Go on, you can get a recharge before we go on duty."
"That would be handy, yes. But —"
"You think I'm going to do something stupid? Get into trouble?"
Clunk looked like he was thinking exactly that.
"Well I'm not, so off you go."
Somewhat reluctantly, Clunk did so, casting suspicious glances over his shoulder. Hal just stood by the truck, somewhat annoyed that the robot always thought the worst of him. He crossed his arms as Clunk looked back one last time, and then as soon as the robot was out of sight Hal turned and clambered into the truck. He'd just remembered the row of handy-looking shops nearby, and he reckoned they'd provide everything he needed.
* * *
Harriet drummed her fingers on the arm of her seat, barely able to contain her annoyance. As a lowly trainee she had to wait for her turn on the secure terminals, and other Peace Force officers kept pulling rank to jump ahead of her in the queue.
She wouldn't have minded, except they were using their calls to organise social events, retirement parties and cut-price tickets to sporting events. Didn't these people realise there was a job to be done?
Frustrated, she kept her thoughts to herself. They all outranked her, and complaining would only make things worse. All she could do was wait.
* * *
It was late afternoon, the sun was going down and Clunk was getting restless. Mr Spacejock had been gone almost two hours, and time was getting short. Guests would start arriving forty minutes from now, and one robot was hardly the private security force the organisers were expecting. While Hal was away, Ms Ryder had briefed Clunk on potential threats, and the lengthy list was worrying.
