by Simon Haynes
"I will when I get my ramp back."
"You won't need a ramp if they open fire."
Hal looked down at the flyer, and he saw Farrell and Terry looking up at him. "All right, we'll give it a shot," he said. "But I want the first throw."
*
"They're chucking things at us!" exclaimed Terry, as a dark shape flashed past the canopy.
Farrell looked down. "There's a forest coming up. Get ready to open fire." He jinked the flyer sideways as a series of objects flew out of the Black Gull's hold. Each curved towards them, then sailed past harmlessly.
*
Clunk hefted a length of chrome pipe with a bolt through the end. "This is the last piece, Mr Spacejock."
"Hand it over, then."
"My accuracy is better than yours."
"You never went near them! Anyway, you've had more goes than me."
Clunk pointed to the side of the hold. "Maybe you can throw that."
Hal turned to look, but the hold was empty. When he turned round again, Clunk had thrown the pipe. "Rotten cheat." He watched the length of chrome pipe tumble past the flyer. "And you're a rotten shot, too."
Clunk glared at him. "You could try throwing yourself at them again. I promise I won't stop you this time."
"I'll have to, won't I?" Hal gestured at the bare door-frame and the empty hold. "We've run out of bits."
"They were no good anyway. With irregular shapes, it's impossible to calculate the trajectory." Clunk pushed Hal aside as a series of blinding white flashes lit the hold. "Down! They're shooting!"
The Black Gull tilted, and the burst of fire passed by harmlessly. "Good old Navcom," shouted Hal.
"Evasive manoeuvres?"
"More like self-preservation." Hal stared down at the flyer, which was manoeuvring into firing position again. "We can't just stand here and take it."
"It's a pity we don't have a cannon ourselves."
Hal stared at him. "Balls."
Clunk looked shocked. "I beg your pardon?"
"Balls!" Hal ran into the hold, darted through the inner door and raced along the passageway. Kicking open the galley door, he dragged open the freezer and felt around until his fingers closed on the round, frozen shape. "Where's the rest?" he demanded, waving the christmas pudding at the overhead camera.
"Freezer chests five and six," said the Navcom.
Hal bent down and examined the narrow doors. He found the one he wanted and yanked it open, waving away clouds of vapour. Inside the compartment there was a white cardboard box. Hal slid it out, stacked the one behind it on top, and carried both back to the hold. "Balls," he said, panting from the effort.
"This is a strange time to be thinking of your stomach," said Clunk, eyeing the garish labels.
"I'm not going to eat the bloody things." Hal banged the cartons down, ripped the top off the first one, grabbed a frozen pudding and approached the back door. Drawing his arm back, he took aim and threw.
"I did better with the pipe," remarked Clunk, who was holding his balls in one hand.
"Not much better," said Hal, as the robot's missiles went wide. "Grab some more, will you?"
Clunk hurried over to collect the carton, and was halfway back when the ship lurched to avoid another burst from the photon cannon. The sudden move hurled Clunk to the deck, and a dozen frozen puddings burst from the box, rolled past Hal and fell out the back of the ship.
"Stop wasting them all!" cried Hal.
The puddings dropped towards the flyer, scattering like slow-motion buckshot in the turbulence. Before Farrell could react, several heavy balls slammed into the craft, smashing the perspex canopy, punching holes through the bodywork and destroying the flyer's air intakes. There was a horrible grinding noise and black smoke began to pour from the exhaust vents.
"Yee-hah!" screamed Hal, leaping up and down and waving his arms. "Gotcha!" he yelled as the flyer fell behind, trailing black smoke and losing height rapidly. Clunk grabbed a handful of flight suit as Hal leaned over the edge to watch the crash.
The flyer dipped and weaved as it angled towards the ground. Finally it thumped down, bounced once and came to a halt in a tangle of thick bushes.
"Good shot, Clunk!" shouted Hal, slapping the robot on the shoulder.
Clunk stared at the flyer. "I hope they're not hurt, Mr Spacejock."
"We'll soon find out." Hal reached for the intercom. "Navcom, chuck a one-eighty and come in low over the wreckage."
"Complying."
The engines roared as the Black Gull came round in a hard turn, then quietened again as the ship slowed and lost height. A moment or two later they were at a crawl. Hal lay down on the metal decking and poked his head out the back, peering down at the ground. The flyer's canopy had been pushed aside, and the two men were clambering out, chased by flames and gouts of black smoke. They looked up as the Gull came to a halt a hundred metres or so above their heads.
"Hand me another pudding," said Hal.
"No, Mr Spacejock."
"Go on! They're easy targets from here."
"No," said the robot firmly. "Anyway, I have a better idea."
*
"I'll never forget that," said Hal, wiping a tear from his eye. "It was brilliant, Clunk. Brilliant!"
Clunk smiled modestly. "It achieved the desired effect without causing injury."
Hal laughed as he remembered the horrified looks on Farrell and Terry's faces as the contents of the Black Gull's waste tank rained down on them. "What about their pride?"
"Oh, I think we injured that." Clunk's smile disappeared. "Of course, it's against the law to purge effluent in flight."
Hal sniggered. "Shit happens."
Ting!
"Approaching destination," said the Navcom.
Buzz!
"Incoming message."
"Okay, put it up."
A monitor flickered, and Jerling's face appeared. "Mr Spacejock, my people tell me you're on final approach."
"That's right."
"I shall meet you on pad three. Try not to land on my trucks."
"As good as done, Mr Jerling." The screen went dark, and Hal rubbed his hands together. "It's payday, Clunk. Hey, what's he going to say when he sees you?"
Clunk's mouth turned down. "I have a pretty good idea."
"Cheer up. Someone else can take you back to Seraph."
"I'm sure they will."
"You're going to make a real splash at that academy. Jerling will be proud of you, you'll see."
"Mr Spacejock —"
The engine note changed to a deep roar and the ship slowed in its tracks. Hal felt his stomach twist as they dropped towards the ground.
"Please be seated for landing," said the Navcom.
Hal gripped the sides of his chair as the engine noise increased.
"Five metres."
Hal glanced at Clunk, who was standing in the middle of the flight deck with a downcast expression on his face. "You'd better hang on to something."
Clunk shrugged. "Why bother?"
"Contact imminent," said the Navcom.
Hal's head dipped as the ship touched down.
"Landing successful," said the Navcom, as the engine noise tailed off to a hum. "Local time is 8.22 a.m."
Hal stood up, opened the inner door and walked into the airlock. A gust of chilly air blew in as the outer door opened, and hidden motors whirred as the platform extended from the side of the ship. Guy wires rattled as the passenger ramp unfolded, and when Hal looked out he saw three trucks emblazoned with 'Jerling Enterprises' logos, all waiting for the cargo. There was a tall building across the landing field and a tatty portable office nearby. The door to the office burst open, and Jerling trotted towards the ship, leaving a smoke trail as he puffed on a cigar.
Hal raised his hand in greeting. "Morning!"
Jerling looked up the ramp. "Not a moment too soon," he said breathlessly. "My factory staff are just arriving for work."
Hal stood back to let him past, then followed
him into the flight deck. The businessman was standing near the console, looking around in surprise. "It's rather old, isn't it?"
"Solid as a rock," said Hal.
"I'll take your word for it." Jerling looked at him expectantly. "Can you open the doors now? My people are waiting to unload the cargo."
Hal stared at him in shock. "The freighter didn't arrive?"
Jerling looked blank. "Freighter? What freighter?"
Chapter 30
"Your tin pals pissed off with the ship!" Hal jabbed his finger at Clunk. "They lied to you, and you trusted them!"
"Mr Spacejock, I —"
"You bloody robots are all the same."
"They gave me their word," said Clunk quietly.
"They were on the run, Clunk! Fugitives!" Hal jerked his thumb at the sky. "They probably fuelled up and legged it to the nearest planet."
Clunk's eyes flashed. "They'll be here. They said so!"
"Really? So where are they?"
"Maybe I gave them the wrong program. Maybe they crashed."
"Maybe they're halfway across the galaxy," snapped Hal.
Jerling coughed. "Mr Spacejock, can I have your undivided attention?"
Hal glared at him. "What do you want?"
"Are you saying my cargo is not aboard your ship?"
Hal jerked his thumb at Clunk. "It was all organised, but his mates ran away with it."
"You've had it, Spacejock. My lawyers will suck you dry for this." Jerling tossed his cigar butt down the access tube and marched to the airlock. "Clunk, in my office. Now."
After the door banged to, Clunk held out his hand. "I'm sorry it had to end like this, Mr Spacejock. It was a pleasure working with you."
Hal looked at the robot's hand, then turned his back and strode to the drinks dispenser. He scooped up his mug, held it under the nozzle and pressed the button.
"Supplies exhausted," said the Navcom, as a drop of brown goo fell into the cup.
Hal closed his eyes and a black hole opened beneath his feet. It was a bottomless pit with no exit and no escape, and as he fell into it he saw mocking faces leering from the sides: Vurdi with Brutus, Farrell and Terry, Jerling, Portmaster Linten and his assistant. And behind them all loomed the burnt-out face of the maintenance robot.
"Mr Spacejock?"
Hal jumped as a hand gripped his shoulder. "What?"
"I'd like you to have this, Mr Spacejock. You can use it for supplies."
Clunk extended his hand, revealing the five credits he'd won at the casino. Hal stared at the tiles in silence, then looked into the robot's concerned face. "It's all right," he said gruffly. "You keep it."
"Please. I won't be needing it."
"What do you mean?"
Clunk swallowed. "Jerling's having me scrapped."
*
"You murdering bastard!" shouted Hal, bursting from the Black Gull's airlock.
Jerling turned and looked up the ramp. "Who do you think you're shouting at?"
"You, you cold-blooded killer! How could you blame Clunk for this mess? It was my fault the cargo got lost!"
Jerling walked back up the ramp. "Mr Spacejock, what are you talking about?"
Hal jabbed his finger at the airlock. "Clunk just told me you're junking him."
"That's right. You were taking him to Seraph."
"What's that got to do with it?"
"That's where the wrecking yard is."
Hal shook his head. "He was going there for advanced pilot training with Incubators. He got it from my database."
Clunk appeared behind him. "I'm afraid the confusion is my fault, Mr Spacejock. I didn't realise your database was out of date. When I got to Seraph I discovered Muller's son had turned the factory into a recycling centre."
"Why didn't you say something, you clown? I'd have busted you out of there in no time." Hal frowned at Jerling. "And what do you want to junk him for? He's more useful than most humans."
"I could explain, but I don't think you'd understand."
Hal crossed his arms. "Try me."
"In simple terms, the longer you keep equipment the more it costs to maintain. New equipment comes with a warranty, and of course there are numerous tax benefits."
"So it all comes down to money."
Jerling spread his hands. "I don't write the tax laws, Mr Spacejock, and nobody offers infinite warranties."
"Why all the fooling around? Why didn't you tell Clunk he was being junked?"
"Keeping Clunk in the dark for as long as possible was more humane than disclosing his fate in advance. Don't you agree?"
"Well, I —"
"And robots have been known to run away once their useful life is at an end."
"So you're saying he's no use to you?"
Jerling sighed. "It pains me to say so, but yes."
"All right. I'll buy him."
Jerling laughed. "You couldn't buy me a coffee."
"I'll do another job for you."
"You haven't finished the first one."
"I'll —"
"They're here," said Clunk suddenly.
Hal looked at him. "What?"
"The cargo," said Clunk, pointing across the tarmac. "They're here!"
Hal looked across the landing field, where a white articulated truck was being waved through the gates. As it rumbled towards them, Clyde poked his head out of the crumpled cab and waved. "They're here!" shouted Hal. "I knew they'd make it!"
Clunk stared at him. "You didn't! You said …"
But Hal was already running towards the truck. "Where the hell have you been?" he panted as Clyde stopped the engine.
"The ship ran out of fuel and we were forced to land. Then we had to free the truck from the hold."
Clunk hurried up. "I'm so glad to see you both. Mr Spacejock thought you'd —"
"Yeah, it's great to see you," broke in Hal. He pulled open the buckled door. "Come on, you can give me a hand with the cargo."
The robots climbed down. "Listen," said Albion. "D-don't say anything to Jerling about us. We're going b-back to the r-robot shop."
Clunk stared at them. "What about trading and exploring the galaxy?"
"We're not cut out for life in space," said Clyde apologetically. "Flying that ship was the scariest moment of our lives, and we didn't even get into orbit."
"Reality wasn't as good as the d-dream," added Albion. "Actually, it w-was a great deal worse."
"Well, good luck the pair of you."
"Yeah, take it easy," said Hal.
As the robots hurried away, Hal remembered something. "Hey, they were supposed to help unload!"
"They've been through enough," said Clunk. "Let them go."
"Let who go?" said Jerling, coming up behind them. "Where did those robots come from?"
"Hired help," said Hal. He gestured at the battered truck. "There's your cargo. Where's my money?"
*
Hal looked around Jerling's office, unable to conceal his surprise. He'd expected something along the lines of Farrell's mansion, with carpets and paintings and so on. Instead, it was a dump.
Jerling noticed Hal's furtive glances. "My business began here, many years ago. There's an office waiting for me in the main building, but they won't let me smoke." He gestured at the cigar-lighting robot in the corner. "In here I have everything I need, and they leave me alone." Crossing to his desk, he typed a series of digits on a keypad. There was a hiss, and a safe rose from the floor. Jerling opened the door and took out a cloth bag, removed a pair of credit tiles and slid them across the desk.
Hal looked down at them. "That's only half my fee."
"That seems reasonable, since you only collected half my cargo."
Hal opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it.
"Cigar," said Jerling, with a snap of his fingers. As the squat robot rolled towards him, Jerling sized Hal up. "Despite the dramas, you performed well. Can I interest you in another job?"
"No thanks. Seraph was crawling with military typ
es." And Regan would kill me on sight, he almost added.
"Really? No, ah, problems I hope?"
"Things got a bit hairy. Nothing I couldn't handle."
"Think about it, won't you? The shipment you delivered is only sufficient for two days, and I need someone to take Clunk back too."
Hal frowned. "Yeah, about that. How can you junk him after all his years of service?"
"XG99 has outlived his usefulness, and my accountant says he has to go." Jerling spread his hands. "Naturally, if someone offered me the right price …"
"How much?"
Jerling glanced down at the credit tiles on the desk. "More than you can afford."
Hal's eyebrows rose. "Clunk's not worth that much, surely?"
"He's in good shape for his age."
"You were going to melt him down!"
"I'm not giving him away, Mr Spacejock."
"Tell you what, I'll pay whatever Muller offered."
"Three thousand. Cash."
Hal looked down at the desk. "I've only got two. Won't you take it?"
"I'm sorry, but no."
*
Clunk leaned against the office wall, dimming his vision as the sun rose above the horizon. Slowly, the warmth penetrated his mud-stained suit. His insides remained cold.
The Black Gull was sitting on the tarmac nearby, and Clunk stared longingly at the airlock. He considered stowing away, but immediately rejected the idea. It would only get Hal into trouble. His gaze wandered around the landing field and settled on the gate. It was closed, and a watchful guard was keeping an eye on it from his post.
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."
