Hal Spacejock 7: Big Bang

by Simon Haynes

  Hal Spacejock: Big Bang

  Copyright © Simon Haynes, 2013

  www.spacejock.com.au

  Book seven in the Hal Spacejock series

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  A house clearance job sounds like easy money, but rising floodwaters, an unstable landscape and a surprise find are going to make life very difficult for Hal and Clunk.

  Hal Spacejock: Big Bang is book seven in the Hal Spacejock series.

  v 1.0

  Dedicated to my brillinat Enlish tutor, without whom

  I'd have written twice as many novels in half the time.

  Chapter 1

  Hal Spacejock was relaxing in a comfy armchair in the Volante's lounge, a coffee at his elbow and a tin of biscuits on the seat beside him. Business had been good lately, and he'd upgraded the furniture twice in the past month. Not only that, there'd been enough left over to buy real biscuits, with real crumbs and everything. Hal was impressed at the way the biscuits snapped cleanly in two, rather than bending, and as a result of this novelty the tin was brimming with biscuity fragments. Not that Hal cared - they still tasted the same, and more exposed edges meant they soaked up the coffee better. In fact, he was thinking about patenting the idea and selling it to a big food conglomerate.

  "Snapper biscuits," he mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. "Or maybe Clean Breaks?"

  "Are you talking to me?"

  Hal glanced towards the back of the lounge, where a bronze robot was crawling around on hands and knees. "Not really, no."

  "In that case, I shall continue with my fruitless task."

  "Have you lost something?"

  "No, I'm collecting biscuit crumbs." Clunk pinched something off the carpet, held it up to the light to inspect it, then sucked it into his open mouth with a whoosh of air.

  "You don't have to eat those old things," said Hal generously. "There's a whole tin over here."

  "I'm not eating them, Mr Spacejock. I'm tidying them up."

  "What for?"

  Clunk frowned at him. "Because this ship will be knee deep in crumbs before the week is out, and then where will we be?"

  Hal was still grinning at the thought of a biscuit bath when Clunk inhaled another crumb, distracting him. "Picking them up one by one … isn't that a bit inefficient?"

  "It is, but the vacuum cleaner is out of commission."

  Hal looked guilty. "Oh. Is it really?"

  "Yes, really. I haven't checked the manual recently, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't designed to shoot rubber balls at the viewscreen."

  "It worked."

  "Briefly. And why you wanted to —"

  "Kent Spearman's got a new ad." Hal's expression hardened. His long-term rival had been running an advertising campaign across every major station, bigging himself up as some kind of super-pilot. A competent businessman would run a campaign countering the ads, but Hal Spacejock wasn't a competent businessmen so he satisfied his thirst for revenge by throwing rubber balls at the screen whenever Spearman's oafish face appeared. Or shooting balls with the vacuum cleaner, before it broke down.

  "That's not good, Mr Spacejock. Every client who chooses Spearman means one less job for us."

  "Don't be daft." Hal shrugged. "The ads are a joke. Nobody would believe that rubbish."

  "There's always a danger some gullible client will believe Mr Spearman's claims."

  "I don't want any gullible clients."

  Clunk raised his eyebrows. "You think any other kind would hire us?"

  "Yeah, very funny. Anyway, ads are a total waste of money. These people charge a fortune."

  "You could afford a campaign of your own if you stopped redecorating the lounge." Clunk sucked up another crumb. "Or, indeed, buying expensive biscuits."

  Hal frowned. "That's another thing. How's Spearman paying for all this? The freight business would never bring in that sort of cash."

  "Are you suggesting Mr Spearman is engaged in illegal activities?"

  "It wouldn't be the first time." Hal brightened. "Hey, maybe we could report him to the Peace Force!"

  "Again, Mr Spacejock?"

  "They have to listen to me sooner or later."

  "Perhaps they would, if you had actual evidence."

  Hal gestured impatiently. "That's their job. If they'd only —"

  A crackle from the overhead speakers interrupted him. "Incoming call," said a neutral female voice.

  "Who is it, Navcom?"

  "I won't know until you answer it," said the ship's computer patiently.

  "Why not? Can't you screen it or something?"

  "Complying."

  The big screen cleared, and the words 'Incoming Call' appeared in bold red lettering.

  "When I said screen it, that wasn't exactly what I meant," said Hal with a sigh. "Go on, then. I guess you'd better answer it."

  "Cannot comply."

  "Why not?"

  "The caller has now disconnected."

  "Oh well, probably just a time waster. One of those welly marketers who keeps bothering me."

  "I think you mean telemarketers."

  "I know what I meant, Navcom. I have fourteen pairs of gum boots in the airlock." Hal glanced at Clunk. "Where were we?"

  "Bothering the local Peace Force for no particular reason," said the robot promptly.

  "That's how you see it, but I'm looking at the bigger picture. I know Spearman —"

  "Incoming call," said the Navcom again.

  "Is it the same person?" Hal raised his hand before the Navcom could lose this call as well. "No, don't bother. Just put them on."

  The screen cleared and an attractive young woman appeared. She had long chestnut hair and grey eyes, and Hal recognised her immediately - it was Meredith Ryder, the events organiser who'd helped with a cargo of artworks a few weeks earlier. He sat up in the armchair, straightening his collar and brushing a shirtload of crumbs onto the floor. Ignoring Clunk's despairing groan, Hal smiled warmly at the screen. "Hey, Meri. How are you doing?"

  "I'm doing fine, Hal. And yourself?"

  "Excellent. Top notch."

  "Am I interrupting something?"

  "No, of course not. How can we help you?"

  "Do you remember that new business venture I was setting up?"

  "House moving, wasn't it?"

  Meri nodded. "I just got my first client, and they want a top-notch pilot."

  Hal grinned with pride. "Well, it's good of you to —"

  "Unfortunately, Kent Spearman's busy. Then I remembered you, and I thought … hey, why not? How bad can it be?"

  Hal's grin vanished. "We delivered the last cargo, didn't we?"

  "Some of it. Eventually." Meri gestured. "Anyway, that's ancient history. I'm sure you'll give me a hundred percent, even if you let them down."

  "One hundred and twenty percent," said Hal. "One-fifty, if the pay is good."

  "It's very generous." Meri smiled warmly. "So, are you interested?"

  "Of course. Tell me all about it."

  * * *

  "They've just completed a brand new dam on planet Chiseley. It's flooding right now, and there's a house which is going to be completely underwater by the time the water stops rising." Meri glanced at her notes. "The owner passed away several months ago, and his family have been too busy to deal with the contents. Now, with the dam and everything, they have to get the stuff out or risk losing the lot."

  "So why don't they send a truck in?"

  "The area was only serviced by a couple of dirt tracks, and they've been underwater for days."

  "A boat?"

  Meri shook her head. "Too many dead-ends and obstructions. Not big enough, either."

  "Usi
ng the Volante seems like massive overkill. We're going to burn a ton of fuel."

  "My clients will pay handsomely."

  "So what's in the house? Antiques? Valuable artworks? Stacks of gold bars?"

  "I have no idea, and I don't think the customers know either. I get the feeling the old guy was a bit of a loner. Difficult, crotchety, hard to get along with. You know the type."

  Hal knew the type exactly, because the description fitted Clunk to a tee. "Still, they're taking a risk. They might end up with a collection of dodgy old magazines and moth-eaten furniture."

  "They're a professional couple, very busy with their careers. They intended to take leave from their work and clear the house themselves, but the flooding has forced them into action. If it's a load of rubbish they'll just throw it away, but they're hoping for a few heirlooms."

  "Oh well, it's their money." Hal glanced over his shoulder. "Clunk, what do you think?"

  "I think we need a new vacuum cleaner," said the robot.

  "I'm talking about this house clearing job. It's not our usual thing, but —"

  "Oh, the job." Clunk gestured impatiently. "Sign us up for whatever you like. Everything we touch turns into a three-ring disaster, so the precise details really make no difference."

  "He's just pulling your leg," said Hal quickly, before Meri could snatch the job away from them. "It's robot humour, you know. Very dry and understated."

  "If you say so." Meri tapped something on her terminal. "I've just notified my clients of your decision. You're to land on Chiseley and meet the local agent at the spaceport. His name is Si Matthews, and he'll have keys and directions. He'll also tell you where to unload the house contents afterwards."

  "Good stuff."

  "Please get this one right, Hal. I'll be a laughing stock if it goes wrong."

  Hal laid a hand on his chest. "Meri, you'll get our best work, I promise."

  After a somewhat apprehensive smile, Meri disconnected.

  "Well, that sounds perfect," said Hal, as the screen turned dark. "Important clients, a nice easy job and good pay. What could possibly go wrong?"

  Clunk choked, spraying biscuit crumbs all over the carpet. "Oh, Mr Spacejock. Did you have to say that?"

  Chapter 2

  The Volante landed at the Chiseley spaceport without incident. Hal ignored the 'fasten seatbelt' sign and headed for the airlock, keen for a breath of fresh air. He was halfway there when the ship lurched, throwing him full-length to the deck. He sat up, rubbing his shoulder, and glared at the flight console. "What was that for?"

  "I was just levelling the ship," said the Navcom calmly.

  "Why can't you do it more gently?"

  "Why can't you remain seated until the warning light goes out?"

  Hal was about to argue, but the light was still on and there was nothing to stop the Navcom levelling the ship in the opposite direction, throwing him into the wall. In fact, there was nothing to stop the Navcom turning the Volante into a glorified carnival ride, so Hal held his tongue as he regained his feet. He stayed silent as he made his way back to the pilot's chair, and he said nothing as he sat down.

  Immediately, with a self-satisfied ping, the seatbelt light went out.

  Hal pressed his lips together, but decided revenge could wait until later. In fact, revenge would have to wait until he'd worked out how to take revenge on a computer which had his life in its hands most of the time. For example, reversing the polarity on the Navcom's power supply would probably shut down the Volante's life support systems, killing Hal into the bargain. Worse, the Navcom would only need a new fuse, and then she'd be free to torture the Volante's next owner.

  So, Hal stood up and stalked into the airlock, opened the outer door, and waited for the passenger ramp to touch down. As it made contact, Hal noticed a tall man in a blue suit climbing out of a parked car. The man spotted Hal, waved a greeting, then made his way up the ramp, using the rail for balance.

  Hal felt a chill in the air, and he glanced at the leaden sky. It was late afternoon, and the local sun had an unpleasant orange cast which made it look like an under-powered street light. There were heavy clouds too, and the stiff breeze carried a hint of rain.

  "Si Matthews," said the agent, who'd reached the top of the ramp while Hal was still impersonating a weather forecaster.

  "Hal Spacejock. Come inside."

  "Don't mind if I do."

  Hal introduced Clunk and the Navcom, and then they got down to business. Matthews explained the job, which was pretty much as Meri had told them. Then he asked how soon they'd be setting off.

  "I thought we'd start in the morning," said Hal.

  "Better to go right away," said Matthews.

  "If we take off now, we'll be looking for this place in the dark."

  "If you wait until tomorrow, the house will be underwater. I'm afraid it's now or never."

  "But —"

  "It's okay, Mr Spacejock." Clunk patted the console. "The Navcom will take us straight to our destination. Rain or shine, light or dark, we can navigate with pinpoint accuracy. Once I download the GPS coordinates —"

  Matthews cleared his throat. "That might be a problem."

  "You don't have the coordinates?"

  "This planet doesn't have GPS. The satellites are on back-order."

  "Oh great," said Hal. "How are we supposed to find the house now?"

  Matthews reached into his pocket. "I have a compass heading and an approximate distance. Don't worry - I'm sure you'll find the place." He handed Hal a folded scrap of paper, then laughed. "Just make sure you don't empty the wrong house, eh?"

  "Yeah, good one," said Hal, laughing along with him.

  Clunk and the Navcom remained silent.

  Hal examined the paper. "Thirty-nine kilometers, North by Northwest? That's it?"

  "You'll find it." Matthews dug in his pocket and took out a bunch of keys. "Don't ask me which is which, although I suppose you can just break in if you have to."

  Hal took the keys and handed them to Clunk with the scrap of paper. "Now, about the fee —"

  "Strictly cash on delivery."

  "But we need fuel!"

  "Don't try that old chestnut. I've heard every excuse in the book."

  "It's not fuel for the ship I'm after - it's for me. We're out of food."

  "You'll find dry goods and tinned food at the house. I'm sure the client won't mind if you help yourself." Matthews noticed Hal's eager expression. "Just the food, mind. Everything else must be delivered safe and sound."

  "Yeah, yeah. We know."

  "I'll be off then. Contact me as soon as you're back."

  Clunk led Matthews to the airlock and showed him out. Meanwhile, Hal inspected a map of their surroundings on the main screen. It consisted of vast areas of rolling hills, mostly covered in dense forest. "Navcom, can you show me an area with a diameter of thirty-nine kilometres?"

  "Complying."

  The screen zoomed out, with the spaceport and the settlement in the centre surrounded by a sea of green. "Now plot a course North by Northeast."

  "The agent said Northwest."

  "I want you to do them both," said Hal. "And squarate the result, will you?"

  "I think you mean triangulate."

  "No, I mean squarate. Every corner helps when you're navigating."

  A couple of lines appeared on the screen, and the Navcom added a dozen coloured squares for good measure.

  "What's that?" asked Hal, pointing to a blob near one of the lines.

  The map zoomed in to show a house perched on the side of a hill. There was a dirt track leading down to the bottom of a valley, and Hal could just make out a garage nearby. Bingo! "Navcom, I want you to mark that house."

  "Complying." No sooner had the Navcom spoken than an icon appeared on the map. It appeared to be a traffic cone, and the label underneath said 'Hal's House'

  "Why's there a D on that cone?"

  "It's short for Definitely."

  A distant school memory b
rought a frown to Hal's face, but the deeper he dug into the recesses of his mind, the further it slipped away. In the end he shrugged and turned to the airlock, where Clunk was just shutting the inner door. "Finally got rid of him, eh?"

  "Last minute instructions. He thought we should —"

  "Yeah, never mind all that." Hal pointed to the screen. "Look what I found."

  Clunk's lips twisted, which was no mean feat given how stiff they were. "I see you found a house."

  "Yep, that's the one. Look, there's even a flat spot we can land on. Drop in, ransack the place, leave."

  "You do realise that house is on top of a hill?"

  "So what?"

  "First, we're looking for a house which is about to be flooded. Therefore, I suspect it's likely to be somewhat lower down the slopes. Second, the agent mentioned a distance of thirty-nine kilometres while your find is under fourteen point five."

  "How can that be?" Hal pointed an accusing finger at the console. "I told the Navcom to show me a distance of thirty-nine klicks!"

  "You requested diameter, not distance," said the Navcom. "It's not my job to correct basic geometry."

  "Mr Spacejock clearly wanted the radius," said Clunk.

  The Navcom made a sound suspiciously like a sniff.

  "What's the difference?" asked Hal.

  "About three days worth of math lessons," said the Navcom. "Or in some cases, three months."

  Hal frowned. "I know where your power plug is, you know."

  "And I know where you sleep."

  * * *

  "You know," remarked Hal, "once you've seen a couple of hundred flooded valleys they all start to look the same."

  The Volante was flying between a pair of hills, following a narrowing body of water towards the point where it was still lapping at the trunks of soon-to-be submerged trees. This valley was no different to dozens of others they'd explored, and Hal was beginning to wonder if they were just shuttling between the same handful. The trees, the hills … everything was familiar.

  "I'm sure I've seen that one before," said Hal, pointing out a pine tree. "See the way the branches stick out sideways?"