Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  "Mr Curtis, it's Mac. Engineering."

  "Put him through."

  "And Ms Polarov is here to see you."

  "What for?"

  "You agreed to an interview. Cost savings."

  "All right, give me ten." Curtis pressed a button. "Mac? What is it?"

  "We need some spares for the Morgana. The depot's out, and you told me to clear these purchases with you."

  Rex pulled up a job sheet on his terminal. He scanned the schedule and cursed. "That ship's supposed to be halfway to Plessa by now."

  "The Transit people won't release her."

  "What do we need?"

  "The air purifiers have gone. It'll take a compressor and half a dozen filters."

  "How long?"

  "Two days."

  Rex cursed. "This is killing us. You know that?"

  "We need more spares in stock, Mr Curtis."

  "Just get it fixed." Rex cut the connection and switched his terminal to accounts. "What are we supposed to buy spares with?" he muttered, as columns of red figures filled the screen. He gestured at his terminal and watched it drop silently into the surface of his desk. Sinking, just like his company.

  His intercom buzzed. "Mr Curtis? I have a Tom Sqrew from Garmit and Hash on hold."

  "I've gone to lunch."

  "He says it's important."

  "To me or to them?" Rex sighed. "All right, put him on."

  "Sqrew here," said a deep voice. "Mr Curtis, I've been going over your accounts and I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."

  "Go on."

  "I understand you lost Central Bank?"

  "We're in negotiations," said Curtis. "It's a delicate matter, but —"

  "I've already spoken to Fish. You've lost the account. And furthermore, based on your remaining clients and projected trading levels, your company will be insolvent in six weeks. Therefore, Garmit and Hash are revoking your finance."

  "Run that by me again?"

  "Your company is going broke, Mr Curtis. We want our money back."

  "Now listen to me, sunshine. I've been your biggest customer for twenty years. Trading conditions aren't good right now, but the whole economy has —"

  "The economy is not my concern. Incidentally, I discovered a number of suspect transactions relating to the refurbishment of a property in your wife's name. If I were you, I'd make sure I was absent when corporate regulators start investigating the collapse."

  "What collapse? We're still trading!"

  "Not for long. We begin wind-up procedures in twenty-four hours. Good day to you."

  "Sqrew, listen to me. Sqrew?" Curtis stared at the intercom in shock. There was no question of finding another lender. With his balance sheet he'd be laughed out of town. He spotted the wastepaper bin and lashed out with an immaculate, handcrafted shoe. The bin flew across the pure white carpet, scattering paper before smashing into the panelling.

  The intercom beeped. "Are you all right, Mr Curtis?"

  Curtis leaned over his desk. "If I want a health check I'll hire a nurse."

  "Yes sir," said the voice calmly.

  Curtis pulled his chair up and sat down. The model of the Aurora caught his eye and he imagined the vessel soaring through space, heading for freedom and a new beginning. And why not? he thought. I can start again. He shook his head as he recalled his conversation with Spacejock, who was coming to Ullimo with a brand new freighter to snatch Central Bank from right under his nose …

  Rex sat bolt upright. A new freighter. A new beginning. What if … ? He reached for the intercom. "Is that Polarov woman still waiting?"

  "Yes, Mr Curtis."

  "Send her in." Rex released the intercom and sat back in his chair, mentally preparing himself for his visitor. If his judgement was correct, Sonya Polarov could hold the key to his future.

  *

  It was late afternoon and the setting sun cast a weak light through the forest canopy. The trees were festooned with creepers, straggly green tendrils that hung like wet hair. Nearby, a tiny stream bubbled over mossy rocks, ran down a narrow channel and disappeared under a fallen tree.

  Beside the log a small furry creature sat on its haunches, sniffing the breeze. Satisfied, it bent to the stream and lapped at the water with a tiny pink tongue. Once it was done, it sat up and wiped its whiskers with its paws, curling each long hair through tiny delicate fingers.

  Suddenly it froze, staring into the middle distance with a look of intense concentration on its pointed face. An ear twitched, and a split second later the creature was gone.

  There was a distant rumble of thunder, then another. The rumble became a roar, and the creepers shivered as the noise turned into something physical. Leaves fluttered to the ground, followed by showers of rainwater shaken from the branches.

  Small stones cascaded down the muddy slope, choking the stream, and as the noise reached a tearing crescendo several trees gave up the struggle and fell over. Billowing smoke tore through the undergrowth, turning creepers into party streamers and leaves into soggy confetti.

  There was a splintering crash and a huge white shape descended through the canopy. Trees collapsed as the ship forced them apart, and wide metal feet groaned as they sank into the soft ground.

  The howling subsided and the billowing smoke cleared. All was still.

  The furry creature peered out from its log to survey its surroundings. Steam rose from blasted, shattered vegetation, and the picturesque stream was now a series of muddy, rock-strewn rivulets moving sluggishly over the torn earth. A hiss filled the clearing, and the creature fled in terror as a gleaming doorway opened in the side of the huge white shape.

  Humans had arrived on planet Oliape.

  *

  Hal leant out of the Volante's airlock to examine their surroundings. It was not an impressive sight: thick gloomy forest, a muddy stream and fallen trees. "And no shops," muttered Hal in disgust. He returned to the flight deck, brushing drops of water from his overalls. "Don't buy any real estate, whatever the brochures say."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Nothing. How long will it take to fix that generator?"

  "It's hard to say. I'm afraid it's a dockyard job."

  "You might not have noticed, but this isn't a dockyard."

  "Tell me, have you been in the generator room lately?"

  "You're joking. I don't even know where it is."

  Clunk held his hand out. "I found these on the floor."

  Hal saw three or four miniature cylinders nestled in the robot's palm. "What are they?"

  "Fuses for the warning circuits. That's why the generator failed."

  "Could they have fallen out?"

  "I doubt it." Clunk sighed. "Look, I may be able to jury-rig the secondary generator, but it'll take time."

  "How long?"

  "Unknown. While I'm busy, you should look around outside to ensure the ship is not in immediate danger."

  Hal glanced at the airlock. "What if the immediate danger is out there?"

  Clunk shook his head. "There's nothing to worry about. This planet is barren."

  "What about the trees?"

  "There are no trees here."

  "In that case they've got the biggest weeds I've ever seen."

  "There are no weeds either. I told you, this planet is barren."

  "No it isn't."

  "It is! The Navcom's database is explicit. No trees."

  Hal led him to the airlock and pointed out the towering greenery.

  "How extraordinary," said Clunk.

  "You don't think we've landed on the wrong planet?"

  "You doubt my abilities?"

  "You're always telling me to look at the facts, and the fact is we've landed in a forest on a barren planet. Face it, you might just have stuffed up."

  "Robots don't make mistakes," said Clunk stiffly.

  "All right, calm down. It just looks odd, that's all."

  Clunk crossed his arms. "Do you want me to debate our location or fix the generator?"

&nb
sp; "Go for the generator," said Hal.

  Clunk turned to enter the lift, then stopped. "By the way, I suggest you find a place to sleep tonight."

  "I'll be sleeping aboard, surely?"

  "I'd advise against it. There's no air circulating and the build up of fuel toxins can be fatal."

  "What about here in the flight deck? I can leave the door open."

  Clunk shook his head. "Fatal, Mr Spacejock. You must stay outside."

  "But it's wet and muddy!"

  "Your ancestors lit fires for warmth. You'll need something to heat food on anyway."

  "You're taking this very seriously."

  Clunk nodded. "It's a very serious situation. All your food is deep-frozen and you can't use the AutoChef without power. It could be a week before I complete repairs."

  "A week!" exclaimed Hal. "I thought we'd be lifting off in an hour or two!" He eyed the dripping greenery through the airlock. "A week," he muttered. "What about our cargo? What about Central Bank?"

  Clunk spread his hands. "Let's get off this planet first."

  "But —"

  "I suggest you cease worrying about it." Clunk lifted the console and poked about inside. "There's not much I can do up here. I'll be in the engine room if you need me."

  Chapter 4

  "Ms Polarov?" The secretary gestured towards the panelled door. "You can go in now."

  Sonya retrieved her document case and strode towards the door. It opened smartly at her approach, and she stepped through into the inner sanctum. Rex was sitting at a desk with his back to a wall of glass. He was working at a terminal, and Sonya studied him with interest as she crossed the carpet. He was younger than she'd expected, mid-forties she guessed, with dark hair and a weather-beaten face. As he looked up she noticed his eyes had the calm assurance of a space pilot. "Mr Curtis," she said, taking a seat.

  "They tell me you've identified some wastage. Using too many paperclips, are we?"

  Sonya felt a flash of irritation. "You don't want to save nine million credits?"

  Rex coughed. "You've been with this company three months, right?"

  "Correct."

  "You work on the third floor?"

  "Second."

  "And you can save me how many millions?"

  Sonya held up her document case. "Everything's in here."

  Rex put his hand out.

  "I need something in return."

  "I should have known. Go on."

  "I'm on a short term contract here. I enjoy my work, and I'd like to … I'd like a permanent position."

  "You're an Outsider, aren't you?"

  "You noticed."

  Rex smiled. "It's in your records. Nobody gets through that door without a thorough check." He gestured at his screen, and Sonya's photo appeared above several columns of text. "Says here you did six months in the armed forces."

  Sonya nodded.

  "Four years at university. Electives in computing and navigation. High marks all round."

  "Where I come from education is still important."

  "And you saved enough money to escape."

  Sonya frowned. "To emigrate."

  "Why do you want a job in accounts?"

  "It's rewarding. It, er —"

  "Bullshit." Rex laughed. "Come on, out with it."

  Sonya felt her face redden. "You know enough about me. I'm sure you know my problem."

  "You need a full time job so you can get residency. After three years you can apply for Union citizenship, and once granted you'll be free of your Outsider roots forever."

  Sonya leaned across the desk. "Without residency, they will send me back. One month, perhaps two. Back to the factories or the armed forces." She gestured around the office. "If I return to my home planet and tell them what the Union is like it will only make things worse."

  "Why do your people want you back?"

  "No, it's your people who want to send me. The Union is only too happy to repatriate us, to seed dissent and rebellion amongst Outsiders."

  "Oh, come on. Rebellion?"

  "Perhaps too strong a word. However, those returning from Union space bring with them tales of wealth and comfort. Envy can topple governments, Mr Curtis."

  "And you can stop all this if I employ you?"

  Sonya snorted. "No, if you employ me I'll live here and enjoy my life."

  "Self interest, eh?" Rex grinned. "Now that's a Union trait." Suddenly he pointed at the model on his desk. "Do you know what that is?"

  Sonya stared at it, wondering whether she was being tested. "It's a Rigel class freighter," she said at last.

  "Correct, and it was my very first ship. I built this business off the back of it." Curtis frowned. "And now the entire company is at risk."

  "It is?"

  Rex glanced at the intercom. The light was off. "I suppose you're wondering why I brought you in?"

  "We had an appointment. My figures —"

  "I don't care about your figures. And I was going to cancel the appointment."

  Sonya felt cold. "Cancel?"

  "Relax, something came up. Something you can help me with." Rex gestured at the wall of glass behind him. "Take a look outside. What do you see?"

  Sonya rose in her chair and saw sunlight glistening off half a dozen freighters. "Ships."

  "Exactly. Lots of ships. Pilots. Support staff. Money going down the drain day by day, week by week." Rex warmed to his theme. "I'm competing against a bunch of cowboys hauling freight in dangerous, unstable freighters at half our best prices. The authorities won't lift a finger as long as they get their kickbacks."

  Sonya nodded politely, wondering where he was leading.

  "Well they're not bringing Curtis Freightlines down," said Rex firmly. "I spent twenty years building this business up and I'm not letting scum like that tear it down again." He paused to take a breath. "So, we're going to turn up the heat."

  "You want me to look at their accounts? Find illegal deductions?"

  "Er, not quite." Rex glanced at the screen. "I was more interested in your military talents. Tell me, are you prepared to walk the fuzzy line between legal and not exactly legal?"

  "I don't understand."

  Rex sighed. "It's like this. Rust buckets I can handle. They're just bottom-feeders moving the shoddiest kind of junk." He raised a finger. "However, there's a freelance pilot called Hal Spacejock who's really got it in for me. He's flying a brand new Gamma class freighter, and he just snatched my biggest account. A better ship, lower prices … the rest of our customers could flock to this guy. Before you know it he'll be buying ships and hiring pilots, and I'll be looking for a new line of business." Rex hesitated. "There's another thing. I understand he was involved in smuggling. Refugees - some of your lot. There's a case you might remember, something about half a dozen families abandoned on an uninhabited planet." Rex shook his head. "They were left to fend for themselves with no food, no water, no medicine or shelter. By the time the authorities found them they were ready to eat each other. A man who could do that …"

  "You want me to break his legs? Kill him?"

  "Hell no. We're going to be a touch more subtle than that."

  "A disappearance, then."

  "No! I don't want him harmed."

  "It would solve the problem."

  "And the investigation would create a whole lot more. Look, I just need to send a message to Central Bank: hire these unreliable freelancers and it's anyone's guess where your precious cargo will end up. All I want to do is hold Spacejock up for a while, so he's late for the delivery." Rex tapped his intercom. "My tech guy has some equipment for you. He —"

  "You mean Dent? They say he's got a piece of equipment for everybody."

  "Hugh's a harmless old fool, nothing more."

  "That's not what I heard. Some of the girls said he —"

  "Can we focus on the job here?" demanded Rex, waving her objections away. "Go and see Dent, get the equipment and go to the spaceport. After Spacejock lands you'll go aboard his ship and gat
her certain information."

  "How?"

  "Dent will explain." Rex turned to his terminal. "Spacejock will be landing soon, so if there's nothing else …"

  "What about my permanency?"

  "Let's see how this little effort works out first, eh?" Rex studied his terminal. "Close the door on your way out."

  *

  After Sonya left Rex took out a bulky envelope and tipped the contents onto his desk, riffling through the folded paperwork and half-completed forms until he found what he was looking for: a sturdy booklet embossed with the Outsider coat of arms. When he opened the navy cover, Sonya's expressionless face stared up at him from the full-colour hologram.

  He flipped through the pages, noting the smart chips printed directly onto the heavy paper. Sonya had taken a circuitous route from her native Outsider planet, every stamp representing passenger fares, customs checks and hefty bribes. The very last page held the most impressive stamp of all: an entry permit for Union space. Unlike the others it was impervious to crackers, wrongdoers and crooks alike. In fact, Union IDs had been foolproof for years, which was why this low-tech Outsider passport was so valuable.

  Rex turned back to the hologram. The image was fused to the paper, but with the right skills and equipment it was possible to substitute one face for another.

  Rex lifted his commset and dialled a number.

  "Yeah?" said a sleep-laden voice.

  "I need some paperwork edited." Rex tapped Sonya's passport on the edge of his desk. "I want my face on the letterhead."

  "You know I can't do that."

  "This paperwork is outdated. Some Outsider firm went bust."

  There was a pause. "I can't make any promises."

  "You never do," said Rex, hanging up. He dropped Sonya's ID into the envelope, scrawled an address on the front and activated his intercom. "Get me a courier," he said. "Single envelope. Secure delivery."

  "A local address?"

  "Yes. And get Mac on the line."

  "Which one, sir?"

  "Ullimo ground."

  "Putting you through." The line went dead for a moment, then crackled into life with a burst of static.

  "Mac speaking."

  "I want something done."

  "What's that, Mr Curtis?"

  "There's a ship coming in today. The Volante. If she looks like leaving I want her held up for an hour or two."