by Simon Haynes
Something chewed at Farrell's brain, something to do with the hyperspace drive. He put a hand to his head and tried to think. Suddenly it came to him. Terry's bomb! His eyes opened wide. "Don't hyperspace!" he croaked. He struggled to get up, his head splitting. "There's a bomb aboard. Don't hyperspace!"
Chapter 32
Hal and Clunk stood side by side, staring at a brilliant white star high in the sky. "I've never watched the Gull take off before," said Hal, as the star faded.
"Scary, isn't it?"
"I don't know what's worse - watching them get away or knowing Vurdi will get the insurance."
"At least you won't have Brutus after you."
"I'll miss the Navcom though."
Clunk tapped his chest. "Don't worry. I still have a copy."
"Really?" Hal glanced at the robot. "Can you upload it into another ship?"
"Certainly. I've done so before."
"That's great!" Then Hal's face fell. "What am I saying? I don't have another ship."
"You'll get one, Mr Spacejock. I'm sure of it."
"I can't see Vurdi giving me another loan."
They looked at each other.
"Can I still be part of your crew?" asked Clunk.
"Sure. I can't pay you though."
"Why don't you ask Mr Jerling for some money? He was very grateful when you freed him."
"I already did." Hal patted his pocket. "His loose change will cover the landing fees for most planets around here. Pity we don't have anything to land on them."
"Can't you get a job? Something to do with space?"
"Clunk, with my credentials the nearest I'll get to a new ship is polishing the landing legs."
"You could sell me off again. That would give you a start."
Hal smiled. "Nice thought, but I'll need a bit more than that. And I don't want to —" He broke off, frowning. "Wait a minute. What do you mean you uploaded the Navcom somewhere else?"
"I had to reprogram the Volante before Clyde and Albion could fly it."
"The Volante?" Hal stared at him. "Farrell's ship?"
Clunk nodded. "The flight computer was uncooperative, so I overwrote it."
Hal grabbed the robot by the shoulders. "Don't you see? Clyde said they ditched it nearby. It's ours for the taking!"
"Do you think we should?"
"Hell yeah. Farrell took my ship, I'll have his."
"But the Gull was ancient and the Volante is brand new. That's not a fair swap!"
Hal grinned. "I know."
"It may be damaged. Albion said they crash landed, remember?"
"You can fix it."
"I'm not sure I —"
"I have total confidence in your abilities, or I wouldn't have bought you."
"Wait a moment, I can see a problem."
"Spill it."
"According to Clyde, the Volante ran out of fuel."
"You call that a problem?" Hal jerked his thumb at the nearby fuel tanker. "Jerling can clear the rest of his debt with that."
*
"Ten seconds to hyperspace," said the Navcom calmly. "All personnel, please be seated."
Farrell heard footsteps and the light from above was chopped off.
"Strong man," said Brutus, looking down the tube at him.
"You don't understand, there's a bomb on the ship!" shouted Farrell. "Don't hyperspace!"
"Five seconds," said the Navcom.
"Come up here and I kill you, strong man. Stay down and live."
"Three."
"There's a bomb!" screamed Farrell. "It's going to blow up!"
"Two."
Brutus tapped the side of his head. "Bump on brain make you silly."
"One," said the Navcom. "Jump activa —"
*
Hal stared across the field at the Volante. The freighter's nose had sunk into the mud, and the hull was surrounded by nervous cows. The ship had obviously been losing height as it crossed the road, and it had taken out a row of small trees before ploughing a wide furrow in the soft earth. However, apart from a generous coating of mud the vessel appeared to be in good shape.
"Looks okay from here," said Hal.
"At least it's the right way up." Clunk stepped down from the tanker, crossed to the verge and began to jump up and down. Then he bent and studied the ground.
Hal leaned out his window. "Well?"
"I think it's firm enough. I'm not sure about the field, though."
"Clyde and Albion made it."
"Their load was much lighter than ours."
"What are you talking about? They had Jerling's cargo on that truck."
"Precisely."
"Oh well. There's only one way to find out." Hal drove the truck towards the bank, slowing to a crawl as the front started to tip. He eased the heavy vehicle down the slope, his knuckles white on the controls as the angle grew more and more acute, until it seemed the truck was going to burrow into the ground. He tried not to think of the full load of fuel in the tank suspended above him. If it came loose he'd be crushed in a split second, unless the exploding fuel blew him into orbit first.
Finally, the front wheels made contact with level ground and the nose of the truck began to rise. Hal gave it a little more throttle and the truck swayed wildly as it rode over a buried tree trunk. Then he was on the flat, and he began to relax.
"Don't stop," shouted Clunk, waving frantically. "Keep moving or you'll sink in!"
Hal pressed his foot down and the vehicle rumbled towards the ship, rear wheels slipping and sliding. Clunk ran alongside, pushing against the back of the cab, and as they approached the Volante the cows retreated, mooing loudly.
Hal parked the tanker alongside the ship. He got out and saw Clunk inspecting a shredded length of fuel pipe protruding from the Volante's hull, the nozzle bent at right angles where it was attached to the filling point. He reached up and tugged on the release, then swung his weight off it. It didn't budge. "I don't know, Mr Spacejock. This could be a problem."
Hal jumped from the cab and went to have a look. "What if we put a pipe over that thingummy to increase the leverage?"
Clunk looked at him in surprise. "Of course! I'll go aboard and see what I can find."
"I'll come with you. I want to look over the controls."
They hurried up the ramp together and Clunk stood aside to let Hal enter first.
"Wow," said Hal, as he passed through the spotless airlock and emerged in the gleaming flight deck with its soft lights, ergonomic console and shiny fittings. Clunk went straight to the lift, and as the doors closed on him, Hal walked over and sat in the padded leather chair facing the console. His eyes lit up as he looked it over. Everything was perfect - all the little lights were fastened securely in their housings, the status displays were in colour and there wasn't a toggle switch in sight. He ran his hand over the glistening woodgrain finish and sighed.
"Who's there?" called a neutral, female voice.
"Navcom?" Hal looked up. "Is that you?"
"Affirmative."
"It's me! Hal!"
"Mr Spacejock?" The Navcom laughed. "I thought you'd be taller."
"You can see?"
"Yes. Vision is just one of many improvements. I also have a stronger chess program."
"There's always a catch." Hal looked around the flight deck and he decided he could live with it. "I can't believe this is really mine."
"Technically, it isn't," said the Navcom. "However —"
"It's mine," said Hal firmly. He looked across the console. "How do I get a damage report?"
"It's showing on monitor two."
"No it isn't. That's just a blank screen."
"Correct. That's because there's no damage to report."
"Magic!"
Clunk emerged from the lift with a length of steel tubing. "Don't worry, I'll put this back later."
"Wrecking the joint already," muttered Hal. There was a clang outside, followed by the whine of an electric pump.
"Fuel level two per cent an
d rising," said the Navcom. "Tell me, would you like a game of chess?"
"Can't. I left my set aboard the Gull." Hal blinked as a solid-looking board appeared above the console, the pieces already in position. He waved his hand at the board but his fingers went right through it.
"I took the liberty of setting it up as per our last game," said the Navcom. "Let's see if this one ends in a draw."
Hal gazed at the massed pieces ranged against him. "It looks a bit hopeless."
"Would you like to resign?"
"I meant hopeless for you," said Hal. "D4 to F6. Check."
The Navcom was silent.
"Your move," said Hal.
The board vanished. "Perhaps we can continue later? I have to prepare the ship for lift-off."
"You lousy cheat! Bring it back!"
"I'm afraid the save was corrupted." The Navcom hesitated. "Maybe we should …"
"… call it a draw." finished Hal, with a grin. "All right, just this once."
The console pinged. "Refuelling complete."
"Good old Clunk."
"Not so much of the old," said the robot, entering the flight deck.
"Did you detach the hose?"
"Checked and double-checked."
Hal looked up at the console. "Navcom, start the engines."
"Not so fast," said Clunk. "We still have a problem."
"What do you mean? The fuel's okay, isn't it?"
"There's nothing wrong with the ship itself. It's more a problem of ownership. You see, this vessel is registered to the Hinchfigs."
"I know that, Clunk. There's a bloody great logo on the tail."
"Correct. And what will they do when the ship goes missing?"
Hal shrugged. "Who cares? I'm swapping it for the Gull."
"You may want to, but that doesn't make it official. The records will show Hinchfig ownership, which means they can reclaim the Volante at any time."
"How do we make it official then?"
"The shipping registry must be updated. And to do that, we need an official transfer form signed by the previous owner."
"No chance."
"There is another way."
"Yes?"
"With the Navcom's assistance, I can alter the records manually."
"Really?"
"Yes." Clunk approached the console and ran his hands over the pristine surface. "It's just a matter of —"
"Lower," said the Navcom, with a gentle hiss.
"Hang about," said Hal hastily. "Can't you do this when I'm out of the way?"
"I suppose so," said Clunk.
"If you're sure," added the Navcom.
"I insist. Now get the engines going."
There was a distant rumble as the main drives burst into life. Clunk scanned the displays. "Ready for take-off, Mr Spacejock."
"What about tests and stuff?"
Clunk grinned at him. "This is a Gamma class freighter. It doesn't need tests."
Hal put his feet up on the clean, fresh console, leant back in the chair and stuck his hands behind his head. "Okay Navcom, let's go."
The rumbling sound increased slightly and the deck shuddered. After a moment or two, Hal frowned. "Go on, get on with it."
"Cannot comply," said the Navcom.
"Why not?"
"Because we've already taken off," said Clunk, gesturing at the console. "Two thousand metres and climbing."
Hal's mouth dropped open. Then a wide grin split his face. "Hey, I always wanted a spaceship …"
"… that could take off like this?" finished Clunk.
Hal nodded, unable to reply.
Epilogue
There's still no sign of a Rigel class spaceship that vanished off Forg last week. The Black Gull was en route to Dryag, and regular listeners will recall that it failed to reappear after a hyperspace jump. It was a major loss for financiers Garmit and Hash, the ship's owners, and their spokesman Vurdi Makalukar expressed sorrow at the loss of his close friend and pilot, Mr Hal Spacejock. Rumours of a record insurance payout for the vessel were strongly denied by Mr Makalukar, speaking from his new mansion in North Forgberg.
Officials moved quickly to reassure the public that interstellar travel is statistically safer than crossing the road, and pointed out that the average person has more chance of being killed in a groundcar accident than aboard a spaceship.
In other news, a memorial service was held today for Farrell Hinchfig, beloved son of Amati and Yuki-Ann. Farrell disappeared last week when his flyer crash-landed in heavy scrub. Officials have yet to piece together enough of the flyer to determine the cause of the crash, and are said to be puzzled by a large quantity of liquid sewage found at the site of the accident.
Earlier reports that Farrell Hinchfig was aboard the Black Gull when it vanished have been denied.
Second Course Cover
Hal Spacejock: Second Course
Copyright © Simon Haynes, 2011
www.spacejock.com.au
Book two in the Hal Spacejock series
Chapter 1
The interstellar freighter Volante powered through space, her streamlined flanks speckled with pinpoints of light from distant stars. In the flight deck, Hal Spacejock was studying the main viewscreen from his customary stance in the pilot's chair - hands clasped behind his head, boots up on the flight console and a cup of coffee at his side. He was watching a planet on the main screen, an aquamarine pearl rotating slowly against a rich backdrop of twinkling stars. It was a welcome sight after several intense hours flying the bulky ship through the vast emptiness of space, and Hal was looking forward to a couple of days rest and recreation. Particularly the recreation.
Without warning a comet tore across the screen, missing the planet by the thickness of its atmosphere.
"I bet that woke them up," said Hal, as the glittering trail faded. He watched the display for a few moments longer, then frowned at a recessed camera. "Navcom, are we moving?"
"We're at optimum cruising speed," said a neutral, female voice.
"So why isn't that planet getting any bigger?"
"Planet?"
"You know, the big round things we land on."
"I know what a planet is," said the computer patiently. "However, I don't know which one you're referring to."
Hal gestured at the screen. "That one!"
"I think I understand your confusion. You see, that's not a planet."
"What is it, then? A weather balloon?"
"Negative. It's an animation I display when the viewscreen is on standby."
Hal looked down at the controls. "Are you telling me I just spent four hours flying the Volante through a screen saver?"
"You weren't flying anything. The ship is on autopilot."
"All right, get rid of that thing and show me Ullimo."
"But —"
"Don't argue!"
The screen changed to show a pinpoint of light against a sea of solid black.
"Is that it?"
"Sort of."
Hal frowned at the camera. "Yes or no?"
"No," admitted the computer. "Additional jumps are required before I can display a real-time image. This simulation is the best I can do."
"It's not much of a simulation."
"Ullimo isn't much of a planet."
"And what's all this about additional jumps? Why didn't you get closer in the first place?"
"The Ullimo system is thick with dust and debris. Navigation is difficult and …"
"One of these days I'm going to take the controls. Then we'll really go places."
"I cannot cede control of the ship until you've finished the flight manual. Would you like to read it now?"
"All right, put it up." Hal crossed his arms. "It's just a refresher, though. I know all this stuff."
A slab of ten-point text appeared on the main viewscreen. "Owner's handbook, chapter one," said the Navcom. "I've marked the second paragraph, which is as far as you got last time."
Hal gazed at the dense text for seve
ral seconds. "I don't have time for this," he said at last. "I've got things to do."
"Actually, there is something you can help with," said the Navcom. "I've calculated the import duty on our cargo and I need you to authorise the payment."
"Oh yeah? How much?"
"Two thousand credits."
Hal jerked upright, spilling his coffee on the console. "That's over half our fee!"
"You promised FIS delivery."
"What does that mean?"
"Free into store. We pay all the charges."
Hal cursed. "I thought the customer looked happy."
"Will you authorise the payment?"
"Are you sure you haven't made a mistake?"
"I do not make mistakes," said the computer coldly. "Even a human could calculate ten percent of twenty thousand."
"Ten percent! That's robbery!"
"It does seem a little high. Incidentally, there is liquid dripping into my circuits."
Hal mopped up the spilt coffee with the sleeve of his flight suit. "What's the duty on robot parts?"
"Two percent. And it won't work."
"What won't?"
"You can't declare the cargo as something else."
"What about something related?"
"Such as?"
"Bed sheets."
"Twelve percent."
"Curtains?"
"Fifteen."
Hal examined his coffee-stained sleeve. "What about cleaning rags?"
The Navcom hesitated. "There is no duty on rags."
Hal beamed. "There you go then! Change the manifest to cleaning rags and submit the forms."
"But our cargo consists of brand new fabric on rolls."
"So change the manifest to brand new cleaning rags on rolls."
"But —"
"Navcom, what are cleaning rags made out of?"
"Fabric," said the computer unwillingly. "But …"
"No buts. Change it."
"Alterations complete. Next item: twelve boxes of fruit."
"Any duty?"
"Negative. Unprocessed food is not subject to tariffs."
"Good. Anything else?"
"We have to declare Clunk."
"He's part of the crew!"
"They'll issue a refund when you leave the planet. In the meantime, you have to pay two percent of his total value."
