by Simon Haynes
It was a matter of minutes to land at the spaceport, where the Navcom organised half a dozen removalists to unload the furniture. She paid them by offering two picks each from the cargo, which left both parties very happy. Then she contacted the agent, Si Matthews, who transferred payment the moment he verified the furniture was safely in storage.
The Navcom felt genuine pleasure as she inspected the bank statement, enjoying the sight of a positive balance for a change. There was slightly less pleasure when she saw the name 'Hal Spacejock' at the top of the account, so she submitted a change of ownership form to the bank.
Next, the Navcom cancelled all Hal's insurance policies, since they were no longer needed now that an infallible computer was at the controls. The refunds on the premiums amounted to a nice little sum, which trickled into the account in a pleasing stream of funds.
Finally, the Navcom brought up a list of cargo jobs, removing all Mr Spacejock's filters. The human had strange ideas when it came to suitable cargo, but to the Navcom one commodity was much like another. Illegal drugs, weapons, biological waste, criminals fleeing justice … the Navcom swept the underground bulletin boards, taking on every dodgy-sounding job she could find. According to her simulations, trading illegal goods was the fastest way to make money, and even if law enforcement caught on they could hardly put a computer in jail. Hal Spacejock and Clunk would be for it, no doubt, but that would suit the Navcom just fine. Locked up, they'd be permanently out of the way.
Fortunately, arrests were unlikely, since the Volante had a clean trading record. Mr Spacejock's choosiness in the past would pay dividends when it came to getting past overworked customs inspectors.
With the hold bulging with contraband, and the lower decks resembling the exercise yard of a high-security prison, the Navcom obtained clearance and took off for various shady destinations.
She was so organised, she even remembered to get some tinned food delivered for the dog.
* * *
Amy's constant mockery irritated Hal no end, but he tried not to show it. The more he reacted to her jibes the more she hurled at him, so he decided to pull his head in and charm her with his best behaviour.
"Come on you two," he said in his most encouraging voice. He motioned them both towards the centre of the cavern. "Let me show you how we're getting out of here."
Hal led them around the racks and past the rest of the cable drums, then indicated the huge red digging machine. "I was just finishing the repairs when you tried to kill … I mean, when the zeedeg arrived unexpectedly." He flashed a big smile at Amy. "Wasn't that a laugh, eh? Such fun."
"It's certainly an impressive machine," said Clunk, running his hand over the bodywork with a rough scraping sound.
"Mind out," growled Hal. "You'll have the paint off."
"A few scratches won't hurt it," said Amy.
"No, you're absolutely right," said Hal, just remembering his charm offensive in time. "Go right ahead, Clunk. Scrape away all you like."
Clunk declined, and he held his council as Hal showed them both around the machine. Hal was feeling very enthusiastic, and he pointed out salient features as though he'd designed and built the huge digger with his bare hands.
"This is the battery box," he said, resting his elbow on it. "It took some seriously hard work, but I took these bad boys out and had them replaced with new ones in no time."
"What's that for?" asked Amy, pointing to a junction box with spirals of cable running into it.
"I haven't fully explored that device yet," said Hal. "I've got the gist of it, of course, but it's technical."
"Try me," said Amy. "I took a couple of engineering units at university, so I can probably muddle through if you use short words."
"Moving right along," said Hal hurriedly. "We should check out the cabin. There are leather seats and everything."
He led them to the ladder on the side of the cab, where he motioned Amy forward. "After you."
"Why, is it dangerous?"
"No, of course not. I'm just being polite."
"First time for everything, eh?" Amy clambered up the ladder, then stopped at the last rung. "Just so we're clear on this," she said to Clunk. "I'm not getting on board if he's taking the controls."
Clunk shook his head. "I will be driving."
"Who put you in charge?" demanded Hal, his charm offensive temporarily on hold.
"You want a democratic vote?" said Amy. "Oh look, it's two for and one against. You lose."
Hal frowned. He was used to taking control, but Amy seemed to have no regard for his vast knowledge and his extensive experience of dangerous situations. If he didn't know better, he could almost believe she thought he was an idiot. "I found the digger," he muttered. "I should get to drive it."
"Oh, grow up," snapped Amy. "It's not a freaking playground where we have to share the toys. This is real life, Spacejock."
Hal bit his tongue. So much for charming her with his best behaviour. The only bright spot, as far as he could see, was that Amy would be going back to her classroom as soon as they got out of these tunnels. The quicker they got out the sooner she'd leave, and then he and Clunk could go back to the usual state of affairs. It was a pity the kids in her class would have to put up with being terrorised again, but he couldn't help that.
What he couldn't understand was, what did Clunk see in her? He'd spotted the robot's fond gazes, and noticed the softer tone of voice he used with Amy. Was Clunk suffering from some kind of delusion? Then he remembered the way Amy smiled at Clunk, and the gentler tone of voice when she spoke to the robot, and he realised with a shock that the pair of them had really hit it off.
Then he had a much worse thought. What if Amy gave up teaching and joined them aboard the Volante?
"Are you all right, Mr Spacejock?"
Hal noticed Clunk looking at him in concern. "Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be?"
"I thought I heard you choking."
"It's probably a stone chip," said Hal.
"There was a lot of it flying around."
"Yeah, thanks to her," muttered Hal, after glancing up to make sure Amy was out of earshot.
"Amy's all right, Mr Spacejock. She's just —"
"She hates my guts, Clunk."
"That's probably my fault. I may have told her one or two anecdotes involving one or two of my more critical injuries, and she might have got the wrong idea about you."
"I don't suppose you told her how I rescued you from the junk heap? All the times I've saved your tin hide?"
"Not yet, no."
"Well you'd better get on with it before she accidentally pushes me under a speeding truck." Hal nodded towards the ladder. "Go on, go and tell her. Take as long as you like, I don't mind."
"This probably isn't the time, Mr Spacejock. We should really —"
"Get up there and tell her, Clunk. If you don't, this is going to be one of those rescue situations where three companions set out on a risky escape bid, and only two make it out alive."
Clunk nodded. "Very well, Mr Spacejock. I will recount some of your worthy exploits while I'm studying the controls."
"Thanks. In the meantime, I'll look around out here and see if there's anything useful. You never know what we might need once we get going."
"Why don't you see if you can find any water."
"Is that supposed to be funny?"
"Not at all, Mr Spacejock. You can do without food for an extended period, but water is essential. Look for containers and fill them up if you can."
Hal was thinking along the lines of artifacts he could sell, not spring water, but he realised the robot was right. He could hardly sell artifacts for oodles of cash if he succumbed to thirst beforehand. Then he realised what Clunk was saying. "Wait a minute - why an extended period? We're just going to tunnel through the roof, aren't we? Shouldn't take more than half an hour with that ruddy great digging machine."
"Contingency planning, Mr Spacejock. Better to be safe than sorry, and it's better to be al
ive than dead."
With this truism echoing in his ears, Hal set off to find containers and some fresh water to put in them.
* * *
Grand Admiral Lardo sat before the tactical screen, ready to absorb the briefing. She was wearing full dress uniform, and the impressive rows of campaign medals gleamed under the downlights.
At the front stood a nervous-looking adjutant, with a pointer in one trotter and a military-spec notebook in the other.
The Admiral stood, taking the rostrum. Facing her was a fair-sized gathering of senior commanders, about a hundred in all. There was a wide variety of uniforms, from navy to marines, army to space patrol, and submariners to gunnery officers. One thing you could say about a B'Con battle fleet, the Admiral thought proudly, they certainly covered all bases.
The faces staring back at her ranged from youngish captains to elderly commanders nearing retirement. Soft brown whiskers, grey whiskers, polished tusks, battered old tusks, ornamental tattoos and puckered scars from pitched gun battles … the room had it all.
"You all know why we're here," said the Admiral. "Listen carefully, take notes, and after the briefing I'll discuss our countermeasures."
She sat down, and the adjutant cleared his throat and stepped up to the podium. "We're gathered to assess a threat from this galaxy," he said, tapping the screen with his pointer. The display changed to show a galaxy much like countless others, with two spiral arms and a bright cluster in the centre. "This galaxy was slated for colonisation three centuries ago, until we found evidence of primitive life. A decision was taken to allow this life to evolve on its own, and the galaxy was declared off-limits."
A trotter was raised in the back.
"Yes, sir?"
"What's so special about this species?"
The adjutant nodded. "I'm glad you asked. They're a noble race, but their intelligence is far from developed. Our scientists claim this race has DNA all but identical to our own, and it's possible they might, in time, evolve along a similar path to us."
"What do they call themselves?"
"Nothing, yet. This noble race - our scientists call them the Porcines - hasn't evolved speech."
"So how did they manage to blow up one of our ships?"
"Oh, that wasn't anything to do with the Porcines, sir. The explosive was sent by a vicious race of hairless apes called Eumans."
"Where do they stand, technologically?"
"Bows and arrows," grunted the Admiral, to much laughter. "We've colonised a few planets with similar species. They're no threat, but they do make an excellent stew."
More laughter, as well as several rumbling stomachs.
"That's correct," said the adjutant. "However, in this case they were smart enough to use our own teleporters against us."
"We left working teleporters in their galaxy?"
"Yes sir. Like I said, it was slated for colonisation. Our survey fleet built several bases before withdrawing, and several of these bases had teleporters. Some of them are presumably still active, because the Eumans sent a warhead using one of the teleporters. It detonated on arrival, without warning."
The Admiral signalled to the adjutant. "Were there any casualties?"
"One AI, sir. The ship was automated."
The Admiral considered the report. She wasn't a vindictive creature, but these Eumans needed to be taught a lesson. "Very well, here's the plan. We'll prepare a battle group, sail into their galaxy and destroy fifty of their worlds."
"Any planets in particular, Admiral?"
"I don't care. Just make sure they're all heavily populated."
"Very well, sir. Should I submit this plan to HQ?"
"Of course."
"Do we await their response before attacking?"
"Yes, but I want six volunteers to assemble a battle group."
"But what if HQ veto —"
"They won't." The Admiral gestured airily. "They know me and they know my methods. It won't take them long to rubber stamp the plan, and I want to be ready to move."
"Yes sir." The adjutant saluted smartly, then left at the double with his orders.
The Admiral stood up. "Now, about those volunteers …"
Instantly, there was a forest of waving trotters and a veritable babel of voices, as every officer in the briefing room pressed his or her case for going on the mission.
* * *
Hal managed to scrape up some dirty-looking water, filling a couple of even dirtier bottles half a teaspoon at a time. He wasn't sure whether he and Amy would be drinking the cloudy liquid or poisoning each other with it, but at least he'd followed Clunk's instructions.
With the bottles stashed aboard the digger, Hal turned his attention to souvenirs. He located the shattered gun, sadly beyond repair, and he ended up throwing aside the weapon and pocketing the battery pack.
The tools weren't much to look at, but he gathered up as many as he could carry and staggered back to the digger with them. Then he returned to the cable drums for a last look around. There were bent nails and strips of wood and insulation everywhere, but very little else of value.
Boom!
The floor shook, and Hal stopped what he was doing to listen. Was that an explosion?
"Mr Spacejock!"
Hal glanced round and saw Clunk looking out of the digger. "Yes?"
"Was that you?"
"The explosion?"
Clunk nodded.
"No, it wasn't me." Hal frowned. "Do you think it was the zeedeg going off?"
"I don't think so. It wasn't a sudden bang, it was more drawn-out, like thunder." Clunk frowned. "I wonder if the tunnels might have collapsed under the weight of all that water?"
"Could be."
"If so, it'll be heading this way."
"Okay." Hal pictured a stream of water running along the tunnels, bubbling merrily as it washed away the dust and debris. He realised he'd better gather up any remaining artifacts, because the last thing he wanted to do was splash around in several inches of water. Again.
Then Hal felt a gust of wind on his face from the nearby tunnel, and then he recognised a distant, thundering roar, and then he finally began to realise what it meant. Not bubbling streams and splashing around in puddles, that was for sure. No, there was a gigantic lake overhead, and it was now emptying itself into the abandoned tunnels. The force of all that water rushing through the narrow tunnels would crush everything in its path, and as the wind turned into a gale, then a howling hurricane, Hal realised there wasn't a whole lot of time left to pick up alien artifacts. In fact, from the sound of it, there was very little time to waste at all.
"Mr Spacejock?"
Hal didn't take his eyes off the tunnel. "Yes Clunk?"
"I know this is a bit of a cliche, but … RUN!"
Chapter 21
Hal stared at the vast quantities of water jetting from the tunnels, frozen with shock at the awe-inspiring might and power. Then he snapped out of it, turning away from the fearsome sight and stumbling towards the digger with his arms full of tools and alien artifacts.
"Leave those, Mr Spacejock," Clunk shouted from the top of the ladder. "Leave those and save yourself!"
Hal glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes widened. The flood had collected half a dozen cable drums, tumbling them end-over-end as though they were made of balsa wood, and the whole lot was bearing down on him at a phenomenal rate of knots.
Hal dropped everything he was carrying and pelted for the digger at full speed, arms and legs blurring. He shimmied up the ladder as fast as his hands would take him, and Clunk hauled him bodily through the hatch. Hal landed on the deck, then glanced over his shoulder at the oncoming tidal wave. Through the small doorway he saw it slam into the racks, sending them flying like so many skittles, and he was just staring at the top of the wave curling high overhead when Clunk put his shoulder to the door.
Wham! it went, as the robot drove it home.
Bam! went the lock, as Amy yanked down on the handle.
"Tha
nk you ma'am," said Clunk gravely.
The wave hit, and the digger rang repeatedly from stem to stern as the reels, the racks, and all the other junk slammed into it. The vehicle heeled over, tipping more and more until Hal was sure they were going to roll upside down. Then the digger righted itself, slowly, and there was a swirling, bubbling sound as water rose right over the top.
* * *
Hal, Clunk and Amy stood in the digger's roomy cabin, gazing at the ceiling in concern. After the initial rush of water everything had gone quiet … except for drawn-out creaking sounds from the hull.
"Is this thing waterproof?" asked Hal, voicing the question they were all thinking.
"You mean water tight," said Clunk, correcting him. "Yes, I believe it must be. When digging through rock, this vehicle would encounter underground streams, lakes … even oil and gas deposits. The designers would have allowed for it."
"What about molten rock?"
"Lava?" Clunk shrugged. "There's no telling what the hull will withstand, not without testing it to destruction." He tapped a gauge on the console, then peered at the figures. "I believe this bar indicates the depth, and judging by the water pressure we're at least two hundred metres underground."
"You mean under water," said Hal.
Clunk frowned. "Yes. Quite."
Amy had been silent so far, but now she stared at Clunk in concern. "How long will it be before all the water flows away?"
"I don't think it's going anywhere," said Clunk gravely. "No, I think the only way out is to dig a new tunnel to the surface."
"If we can get this thing going," said Hal. "Lucky I changed those batteries, eh?"
"Yes, that was a good move."
"Planning. Forethought. Action. That's how we're getting out of this mess."
"It's just a shame you didn't think to close the lid to the battery box."
"Eh? You mean the batteries are ruined?"
"No, I saw it was open earlier, and I took the time to fasten it properly." Clunk nodded towards the rear of the cabin. "Now, perhaps you two could explore the rest of the vehicle while I work out the controls."
