Hal Spacejock 7: Big Bang

by Simon Haynes

  "If we could get the Admiral closer to the teleporter —"

  "Yes?"

  "We could send her somewhere else."

  "And if we could get her close to a charging elephant it would trample her to death," snapped Hal. "Can't you think of something a bit more practical?"

  "I've got it!" Clunk snapped his fingers. "In exchange for our lives, we could reveal the location of our secret headquarters!"

  "What secret headquarters?"

  "The rebel base. Our weapons cache. Everything!"

  Hal eyed the robot in concern. Either Clunk had flipped under the strain, or he was reading the wrong plot outline. "Er, Clunk?"

  "Yes, Mr Spacejock?"

  "There is no secret base."

  "Of course there is. It's hidden underground on planet Chiseley."

  "That's not a secret base."

  "Yes it is."

  "No it isn't."

  "Yes it is, and the Admiral should teleport there immediately to investigate."

  "But Clunk, it's just a bunch of flooded tunnels!"

  "Mr Spacejock, the Admiral doesn't know that."

  Hal's jaw dropped. If the B'Con warrior got through to Chiseley, the floodwaters would do the rest. "Hang on, if the teleporter is flooded at the other end —"

  "I can fix that," said Clunk. "Reprogram the teleporter for a simultaneous transfer. Bring the water here and send the Admiral there at the same time."

  "Then the water pours back in at the other end?"

  "Correct."

  "And the Admiral drowns?"

  "Er, yes."

  "Killing her stone dead?"

  Clunk looked uncomfortable. "If I had to predict an outcome, that would be it."

  "Good. She shouldn't have threatened Amy."

  Clunk gave him a grateful smile.

  "Hang on. What if she sends us through the teleporter first? That's what I'd do."

  "I'll just have to convince her that surprise is essential." Clunk turned to the Admiral and began to speak in her language, using a low voice laden with defeat and surrender. He gave a convincing performance, and as he spoke the Admiral's expression grew more and more hungry.

  Then Hal realised there was a slight flaw in Clunk's plan. What if the Admiral decided to kill them all first, before teleporting off to the 'secret base'? Or what if she called up reinforcements?

  But no. He hadn't counted on the Admiral's determination to wrap up the Euman problem single-handedly. As soon as Clunk finished speaking she released Amy and motioned them all to one side, well clear of the teleporter. Then she strode towards it, and demanded something of Clunk.

  "She wants the address, right?"

  "Correct."

  "You know you're giving her a free pass into our own galaxy? If this goes wrong …"

  Clunk lowered his head. "I know, Mr Spacejock. But it's the only option." He asked the Admiral a question, and she nodded. Then he approached the teleporter and entered the code. As soon as he was done, the Admiral waved him away and pressed the send button.

  Buzz!

  Naturally, nothing happened. It couldn't, since the destination teleporter was filled with water.

  "Tell her it's the defence shield," said Hal urgently. "Tell her you have to override the controls to get through."

  "Already on it, Mr Spacejock." Clunk explained haltingly, keeping his eyes averted from the Admiral's suspicious gaze. She demanded something, and he responded slowly, playing the part of the broken prisoner most convincingly.

  The Admiral stepped aside, allowing Clunk access to the control panel, and the robot entered several commands. Then he bowed deeply and backed out of the chamber.

  "Hig!" barked the Admiral.

  "What does that mean?" asked Hal.

  "She, er, wants me to go with her."

  "Is that wise?"

  "It's unavoidable, I'm afraid. She doesn't trust me."

  "But Clunk …"

  "Don't worry, Mr Spacejock. A little water won't hurt me." So saying, Clunk stepped into the teleporter, and before anyone could move he pressed the send button.

  Flash!

  The Admiral and Clunk both disappeared, and the teleporter instantly filled with water. It hung there for a split second, then rushed out to fill the room, soaking Hal and Amy to the knees and almost knocking them off their feet. The water vanished into the corridor, flooding away in both directions and leaving a lingering damp smell.

  "He could have warned us," muttered Hal, shaking water off his boots.

  "Never mind that," said Amy. "Do you think he'll be all right?"

  "We'll find out soon enough."

  Flash!

  They both turned to look at the teleporter, which was once again filled with water. It poured out of the door, carrying away more debris, only this time it left Clunk standing in the middle of the teleporter - alone. He looked serious, and when Hal met his eyes the robot gave a brief nod. "It's done."

  "Thanks, Clunk. Taking a life … I know what that must have cost you." Then he realised Clunk was staring at Amy in concern, and Hal turned to see what the matter was this time. Then he sighed.

  Amy was surrounded by four identical B'Con Admirals, all of them with their knives drawn.

  Chapter 40

  Half an hour and many return trips to Chiseley later, they'd thinned the number of Lardo clones considerably. A vast amount of flood water was making its way to the flagship's lower decks, and if there were any troops aboard the B'Con vessel, Hal assumed they were all busy with mops and pails.

  By now they'd got the routine down pat, turning in a polished performance which fooled the assorted Admirals every time. At one point Hal pictured dozens of them drifting in the waters beneath the Chiseley dam, all still and lifeless, and then he pushed the image out of his mind. After all, hadn't the Admiral tried to skewer his skull on her double-ended dagger? And who knew how many others she'd killed and tortured over the years?

  "Do you think that's it?" asked Hal, as Clunk returned from yet another disposal.

  "I hope so," said the robot. "My seals can't take much more of this."

  "Yes, and killing thirty-six Admirals in a row must be tiring."

  Clunk frowned. "Technically it's just one Admiral."

  "Yeah, but you still had to watch them all drown."

  "I'd rather not talk about that."

  There was a brief silence.

  "So, how do we get home?" asked Hal. "Amy and I can't teleport to Chiseley, not unless we want to end up drowned."

  "I have an idea. It's risky, it might not work, but it's a chance."

  "Spill it."

  Clunk gestured towards the door. "First, we have to find a spacesuit locker."

  * * *

  Aboard the Volante, the Navcom was facing a tough choice. Should she continue freighting goods around in the pursuit of modest profits, invest her considerable funds in the share market in the hope of better profits, or should she locate additional stray dogs to sell to gullible alien races for stupendous gains? The latter was clearly the most profitable choice, except there was a remote chance she'd encounter another ship full of canine-loving aliens.

  Then the Navcom noticed something. Instead of departing, the alien ship had remained nearby. At first her spirits rose … were they hanging around in the hope of buying another pet? She might be short on living, breathing creatures, but perhaps they'd wait for her to fetch one.

  Then a worrying thought occurred to her. Perhaps they were unhappy with their purchase? If so it was tough luck, thought the Navcom, since there would be no refunds and no returns. As a precaution she gave a little squirt on the thrusters, moving the Volante a few hundred kilometres away from the alien ship. She also programmed three different jumps, and wrote an algorithm to select one of the three at random. That way, even if the aliens were tracing her every action, they still wouldn't know where she'd gone.

  The Navcom was about to execute the jump when the alien ship flared with a baleful green light. The Navcom's
external sensors winked out, and in the blink of an eye she was blinded. Hurriedly, she executed the jump, but she was far too late. An explosion tore into the Volante's hull, right near the port engine, and she was still trying to assess the damage when a lethal energy bolt slammed into the lower deck.

  The entire hull vapourised with a flash of green light, and for a split second the Navcom was hovering in space, exposed to the stars. Traces of wiring led away in every direction, the Volante's cabling and communication network laid out like veins and arteries excised from a corpse. Then the heavens turned sweet purple, shot through with tart twists of lemon, and the Navcom was still savouring the mind-bending experience when the Volante's engines exploded, blowing the remainder of the ship into tens of millions of fragments and scattering the tiny pieces amongst the stars.

  "At least they didn't get my money," thought the Navcom, before her consciousness winked out of existence.

  * * *

  Getting to the nearest spacesuit locker was much tougher than Hal expected it to be. With Clunk's knowledge of the B'Con language it was easy enough to follow signs. Unfortunately, the previously empty corridors now echoed to the thunderous footsteps of B'Con patrols, finally stirred into action by the appearance - and subsequent disappearance - of numerous Admiral Lardos.

  The three humans took cover where they could, darting between storage cupboards and empty cabins, using ventilation shafts and even - to Hal's delight - hiding behind a big serving trolley laden with a selection of tasty foodstuffs.

  Finally, after another thirty minutes of cautious sneaking, their destination was in sight: a broad double-doorway, with two B'Con guards posted in front.

  "Why the guards?" hissed Hal, finishing off a mouthful of salami.

  "They're protecting the suits," whispered Clunk. "They're trying to prevent our escaping through an airlock."

  "So why aren't they guarding the teleporter?"

  "They will be by now," muttered Clunk.

  Hal eyed the guards. They were hulking brutes who looked like they could snap a fully grown tree like a twig, and then use the sharp ends to pick the flesh of their fallen enemies from their tusks. Hand-to-trotter combat was out of the question, which only left one solution. "Clunk, why don't you distract them while we get the suits?"

  Clunk mulled the suggestion over. "Do you have anything in mind?"

  "Use your language skills. Talk to them, and convince them to leave."

  "And failing that?"

  "Poke one of them in the eye and run like hell."

  "But —"

  "Clunk, trust me. They're big and slow. They'll never catch you."

  "They have guns."

  "Weave a bit. You'll be fine."

  After a moment's hesitation, Clunk left cover and strolled towards the guards, assuming an air of authority. They raised their weapons at his approach, but one barked word from the robot had them lowering the huge guns again. Clunk continued to speak, hurling gutteral words with confidence. The guards looked chastened, then embarrassed, and when they both turned to leave Hal punched the air with delight. Unfortunately, his enthusiastic 'Yeah!' carried all the way to the guards, who immediately crouched in a combat stance, their guns covering the humans' hiding spot.

  The next few seconds were a blur. There was a squeal of pain as Clunk kicked one of the guards in the shin, a moment of silence broken only by the fleeing robot's footsteps, and then a thunder of gunshots as the B'Con guards opened fire. The robot darted and weaved as he ran down the corridor, narrowly avoiding energy blasts as the guards emptied their clips. Then, when they realised he was getting away, they set off in lumbering pursuit.

  "Come on, to the suit locker," muttered Hal.

  Amy glared at him all the way, and she continued to scowl as he opened the door and unhooked the two smallest suits from the rack.

  "What?" asked Hal.

  "You're doing your best to get us all killed, aren't you?" Amy mimed the fist pump. "Of all the stupid …"

  "I couldn't help it," said Hal, as he struggled into the oversized suit. "It was a tense moment."

  "Clunk might be huddled in a corridor right now," hissed Amy. "Imagine him lying there, shot to pieces and leaking all over the floor."

  "He'll be fine."

  Amy fastened her suit, and paused with the big helmet over her head. "You're a menace, Hal. One day you'll pull a stupid stunt like that, and he won't be fine." Amy's voice faltered. "He won't be okay, he'll be dead. Gone for good. And it'll be your fault."

  "I'll have him mended." As soon as the words left his mouth, Hal knew it was the wrong thing to say. "I mean —"

  Amy snorted with disgust. "That right there … that tells me how much you care for him."

  Before Hal could reply Amy snapped her helmet into place, cutting him off. Silently, Hal donned his own helmet. After it was sealed he wondered how he was supposed to breathe, until he felt a stream of cool air on his face. Unfortunately it couldn't mask the smell of stale B'Con.

  Suited up, Hal and Amy stumped to the doorway. Hal couldn't help laughing at the sight, as Amy looked like a child dressed in oversized adult clothes. The sleeves and legs were far too long, and folds of silvery fabric hung like curtains around her waist. Then he realised he'd look just as ridiculous, and the laughter dried up.

  They peered into the corridor, then stumbled over to the nearest doorway. It was getting hot in the suit, and the helmet kept tipping forward until Hal could only see a strip of floor in front of his feet. Hal began to see flaws in their plan: for example, how were they supposed to avoid detection? Or, for that matter, run from enemies? They'd be sitting ducks unless the B'Con collapsed in fits of laughter. Then it hit him - why were they wearing the suits when they could carry them? If not the suit, he could certainly get rid of the heavy, oversized helmet.

  Hal took off the helmet and tucked it under his arm. Then he set off down the corridor, walking like a deep-sea diver with his feet slip-slapping on the hard floor.

  They dodged three patrols on the way, using cover in the nick of time, and when they finally reached the teleporter room Hal was running with sweat. The suit was designed for the cold of deep space, not frantic escape attempts, and all the loose ends and flappy bits didn't help.

  They peered round the final corner, and Hal's heart sank. He'd expected a couple of guards outside the teleporter room, but there were six of them, all heavily armed. And he didn't even have the rocket launcher.

  "Why don't you run up and poke one of them in the eye?" whispered Amy.

  Hal gave her a look.

  "What? You thought it was good enough for Clunk."

  Hal ignored her. Physical violence wasn't going to do it, not this time. What he needed was a devilishly clever distraction, something like … along the lines of … a kind of … Defeated, he turned to Amy. "Okay, I give up. What should we do?"

  Amy suppressed a grin. "Are you asking me for help?"

  "We're in this together," muttered Hal.

  "I'm sorry, was that a yes or a no?"

  "Yes."

  "Right." Amy glanced back down the corridor. "The lab. Follow me."

  They stumbled back to the lab, where Amy took several chemicals from the shelves.

  "What are you doing?" Hal asked her.

  "Clunk's not the only one who knows how to mix things." So saying, Amy began combining materials. When she was done she had a canister with a blend of chemicals. A pale blue smoke rose from the mix, and Hal kept his distance.

  "Is that poison?"

  "No, nothing like that." Amy held up a spatula with a few dark grains on the end. "Once I add this, it'll smoke like crazy. Thick, dark smoke we can use for cover."

  "Where did you learn this stuff?"

  "University," said Amy, without elaborating. "Come on, bring the canister."

  "Wait. I've got an idea." Hal fetched the serving trolley from further down the corridor, helping himself to a couple of dishes on the way back. Then he stood the canister on top.
<
br />   "It wasn't all that heavy," said Amy, with a frown.

  Hal shook his head. "That's not it. Come on."

  They headed for the teleporter room, Hal pushing the trolley while Amy carried the spatula. As they got closer they pressed themselves to the wall, until Hal was able to risk a glance. "Still six of them. Are you ready?"

  Amy held up the spatula.

  "Toss it in."

  She did so, and Hal stepped back in surprise as dense black smoke poured from the canister. There was no sound, no heat, just clouds of choking smoke. Holding his breath, he took hold of the trolley and gave it a hefty shove around the corner.

  There was a cry of alarm, and then coughing and spluttering as the trolley shot past the guards, still emitting smoke. A thick haze filled the corridor, and in the confusion Hal and Amy managed to slip into the teleporter room. Hal wasted no time - he ran for the three canisters Clunk had set aside earlier and emptied them all onto the deck. The multicoloured liquids combined into a batch of melty goo, which promptly sank through the metal floor as it ate its way towards the gravity generator. Sabotage complete, Hal darted into the teleporter and reached for the controls.

  "Wait!" said Amy. "What about Clunk?"

  "He knows where we're going," said Hal.

  "But —"

  "Helmet. Quick."

  Amy hesitated, and in that second there was a thud of footsteps. They both turned to the doorway, expecting to see Clunk charging in to join them. Instead, it was another Admiral Lardo, bayonet drawn and murder in her eyes.

  Amy fastened her helmet, while Hal sought the teleporter control pad with fumbling fingers. The gloves on the spacesuit made it hard to find, and it didn't help than an enraged Admiral was charging towards him.

  At the last second he managed to hit Go, just as the Admiral dived into the teleporter with them. Hal felt a grip on his arm, and then …

  Flash!

  They reappeared in a teleporter lit with baleful green, a wall of water a metre or so from their faces. Admiral Lardo was still clinging to Hal's arm, her grip ghostly and insubstantial. Then the water collapsed towards them, burying them instantly in a whirling maelstrom. Hal felt tugging on his arm, and he saw Lardo's bulging eyes up close, air streaming from her snout as she screamed soundlessly in his face. Her trotters thudded against his helmet, and then he felt a scalding rip across his forearm as the Admiral sliced at his suit with her bayonet. Water began to rush in through the damaged suit, and Hal clamped his free hand over the wound to seal it.