Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  "That was close," muttered Hal.

  Suddenly there was a terrific squeal, followed by the thunder of departing footsteps.

  "What the hell was that?"

  Clunk got to his feet, dusting himself down. "I sent a high-pitched tone through the airlock's intercom. Our guests didn't like it."

  "They didn't like you, either. Something about you really set those guys off."

  "In my experience, semi-evolved simians are highly sensitive to variations in external appearance."

  "Do what?"

  "I don't think they liked my colour."

  "Why would that make any difference?"

  The robot shrugged. "With a primitive life form like that, who can tell? The point is, he didn't attack you when he had ample chance, and —"

  "He? How do you know it was male?"

  Clunk's eyebrows creaked up. "I assure you, from my viewpoint there was no doubt."

  Hal sniffed. "What's that stink?"

  The robot examined the underside of his feet. "Oh dear."

  Hal took a rag from a locker and handed it to him. While Clunk was busy cleaning up, Hal glanced over the banks of instruments. "At least it didn't touch anything."

  "I'd better finish the status reports. We'll be leaving shortly."

  "Really?"

  Clunk nodded. "The repairs should see us through to Ullimo. We can have the generators checked there."

  "And it's under warranty, right?"

  Clunk hesitated. "Technically, no. I found several crimps in the lubing system. It was well done - very hard to prove it was deliberate."

  "Deliberate?" Hal's mouth fell open.

  "Yes. I found evidence of tampering."

  "Are you saying we were nobbled?"

  "Yes, Mr Spacejock."

  "But … who?"

  Clunk shrugged. "One of our competitors, perhaps? On the other hand, it could have been accidental. I recall something similar on a vessel I once shipped with. One of the cleaning robots fell across the battery terminals and fused the flight computer."

  "We don't have any cleaning robots."

  "I do my share," said Clunk stiffly.

  Hal's eyes narrowed. "And if the damage is deliberate I have to pay for the repairs?"

  Clunk nodded.

  "What if I did it?"

  "You!" The robot looked startled.

  "I mean, what if I accidentally twisted this pipe thing when I was checking the oil?"

  "Then it would be an accident."

  "And that's covered by the warranty?"

  "Actually, by the insurance."

  Hal sighed. "Clunk, I have a confession to make. When I was checking the oil I accidentally bent this pipe thing."

  "Mr Spacejock, someone tried to kill you. We can't cover that up!"

  "Tell you what. You show me who did it and I'll have them arrested."

  "I don't know who did it."

  "Right. Therefore it was me, and the damage will be fixed for free. And next time we're in port, I want you to keep a very close eye on anyone who comes aboard. If they so much as breathe on the wrong pipe, I want you to brain them with a spanner. Got it?"

  Clunk looked doubtful. "I don't know whether I can perform violent acts, Mr Spacejock. Not against humans."

  "Just smack them in the head with a spanner, Clunk, and I'll do the violent acts afterwards. Now go and finish the generator so we can get off this miserable little planet."

  "On my way," said Clunk.

  As the doors closed on the robot, Hal sat at the console. "Navcom?"

  "Yes, Mr Spacejock?"

  "Next time you land on the wrong planet I'll have you wiped."

  "It was a mistake," said the computer. "Unavoidable, given the circumstances."

  "I bet I'd have landed on the right planet."

  "Not without this." There was a beep, and a page full of text and diagrams appeared on the main viewscreen.

  "What the hell's that?"

  "Basics of navigation, chapter one," said the Navcom. "I've highlighted the section concerning celestial mechanics."

  Hal stared at the screen. "What are those squiggly lines?"

  "Probability matrices."

  Hal was quiet for several minutes as he studied the densely packed information. He tried tilting his head to make sense of a particularly complex diagram, but it only made things worse. "Navcom?"

  "Yes, Mr Spacejock?"

  "Do I really have to know all this stuff to join the Spacer's Guild?"

  "You need a basic understanding, yes."

  Hal sighed.

  "Incidentally, did you enjoy your lesson on Oliape?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "While you were outside, Clunk said he was going to teach you a lesson."

  "He what?" There was a swish as the lift doors opened, and Hal turned to stare at the robot. "Clunk, what do you know about teaching me a lesson?"

  The robot blinked. "I'm sorry?"

  "Just now, the Navcom asked me whether I enjoyed my lesson."

  "Oh, the Navcom meant experience. Whether you enjoyed your experience."

  Hal looked from Clunk to the console and back again. "If I thought for one minute …"

  Clunk wiped the guilty look from his face and replaced it with one of hurt innocence. "Would I do something like that?"

  "I don't know. Would you?"

  There was a slight pause. "Do you think so?"

  "Yes or no, Clunk."

  "I'm sorry, what's the question again?"

  Hal pointed at the airlock. "Did you send me on that little camping trip to teach me a lesson?"

  "Well, I …" Clunk looked over Hal's shoulder at the viewscreen, which was displaying the navigation manual. "Oh, look at that! Navcom, there's an error in line seventy-three. Correction: do NOT press this button, instead of DO press this button."

  "Complying," said the computer.

  Hal looked from the robot to the screen and back again. "What do you mean, 'error'?"

  Clunk shrugged. "They get humans to transcribe these manuals from legacy copies. It's hardly surprising there are mistakes."

  "You mean I could memorise all this crap and bits of it might be wrong?"

  "Very likely." Clunk reached across the console and flipped a small red switch. The manual vanished from the main viewscreen, replaced by a display of celestial bodies spinning around the sun at breakneck speed.

  "Which one are we on?" asked Hal.

  "That's just a splash screen," said Clunk, without looking up.

  Hal's eyes followed the spinning planets, faster and faster. Finally they vanished, but Hal's eyes kept circling. He put a hand out to steady himself, missed, and fell across the console. Clunk helped him into the pilot's chair, where he sat with a glassy expression on his face.

  "Navcom, we're leaving," said the robot. He crossed to the airlock to check their unwanted guests had left, then returned to the console. "Complete pre-flight checks, retrieve the ramp and seal the exits."

  "What happened to Mr Spacejock?"

  "He studied the screen a little too closely."

  "Why are his eyes going round and round?"

  "Round and round," repeated Hal. "And round."

  "I think he's hypnotised," said Clunk. "I'll revive him later. Right now, we have to leave."

  Hal's expression didn't alter as the main drives fired. The distant roar grew louder as Clunk ran the engines up prior to lift-off. Then he reduced the thrust and strapped himself securely into the co-pilot's chair. "Ready, Mr Spacejock?"

  "Round and round," mumbled Hal.

  "Okay, Navcom. Take us up."

  The ship trembled as the lifters fired. The main screen altered to show a top-down view, and Clunk saw a maelstrom of dust, stones and shredded vegetation as the Volante lifted off. The ship rose rapidly, until their temporary landing place was just a cloud of dust and dirt. Air whistled past the hull as they gained height, tailing off as they reached orbit, until there was nothing but the distant rumble of the engin
es to break the silence.

  *

  Sonya tugged the heavy sweater over her head and threw it on the couch. She ran her fingers through her hair, grimaced, then unclipped the portable commset from her waist and placed it on the polished table. The lights in the kitchen came on as she walked in, gleaming off a spotless wooden table and sleek modern chairs. She took a drink from the cool box and activated the pickup on the wall.

  "How may I help you?" said a soft voice.

  "A plate of pasta with a side salad, thanks. And coffee. White."

  "Confirmed."

  Sonya released the button. A buzzer sounded from the lounge and she cursed as she saw her commset blinking. She strode across and picked it up. "Yes?"

  "Ms Polarov, why do you not return my calls?"

  Sonya's heart skipped a beat. "Who is this?"

  "Immigration."

  "Really?" Sonya glanced at her watch. "Still in your cage at this hour?"

  The caller sighed. "You know, much as we welcome our delightful visitors from the Outsider planets, we cannot have them staying here indefinitely."

  "I'm not a visitor!" said Sonya sharply.

  "True. You found casual employment. Temporary, alas."

  "They offered me a permanent position today. I spoke to Rex Curtis himself."

  "I find that hard to believe."

  "Take my word for it."

  The caller laughed. "Of course, your letter of employment will be on file."

  Sonya frowned. "They're just organising it."

  "So it's not confirmed?"

  "Only verbally."

  "Ms Polarov, I realise your Outsider worlds treat paperwork as an afterthought, but here in the Union we do not operate on a verbal basis. Therefore, I must put you on notice. I'm officially revoking your right to work in Union space, you will be deported unless you obtain permanent employment in the next twenty-four hours. Is that clear?"

  "I told you. I've got a job!" There was a loud knock on the wall. Sonya raised her middle finger at it. "Just a few more days," she said, lowering her voice.

  "Ms Polarov, we had the same conversation last week. You're out of time and I'm closing your case."

  "No, wait! I'll get an employment letter!"

  "No obvious forgeries?"

  "A real letter, signed by the head of Curtis Freightlines."

  "You have twenty-four hours, Ms Polarov. Good evening."

  Sonya hurled the communicator at the wall, prompting a fresh bout of knocking from her neighbour. She yelled back and stalked into the kitchen, where she was calmed by the delicious aroma of the waiting food. She'd just carried her plate to the table when the lounge room commset chimed.

  "Who is it?" called Sonya.

  "Sender's ID suppressed," said the machine.

  Sonya sighed. "Put them on."

  A man's voice crackled from the speaker. "Ms Polarov? Are you alone?"

  "I am indeed, Mr Curtis."

  "Sorry to call you like this. I tried your portable but it rang out."

  Sonya glanced at the litter of black plastic on the carpet. "It's being serviced."

  "I have something for you." The speaker clicked, and seconds later a printed message spooled out.

  Sonya tore the sheet off and scanned it.

  "Volante disappeared. Await instructions. C."

  Sonya cursed. Instead of an employment letter, her boss was sending cryptic messages. Annoyed, she crushed the paper into a ball. Curtis wasn't the only game in town - what if she found another job?

  She sat at the terminal and tapped into Galnet. When the employment page came up there were thousands of positions available. Sonya entered her qualifications and the list shrank to half a page. Then she entered her planet of origin and all but two positions disappeared. Sonya scanned the entries and made a face - she wasn't that desperate.

  Chapter 7

  "Where am I?"

  Clunk glanced around and saw the empty pilot's chair. Then he looked down and gave a guilty start as he saw Hal lying flat on his back. He'd forgotten to strap the human in.

  "What's going on?" demanded Hal. "Why am I lying on the floor?"

  "You had a dizzy spell," said the robot. "I was busy with departure."

  Hal sat up, rubbing his head. "I don't remember anything. No, wait. I remember something going round and r—"

  "I'm sure it will pass," said Clunk hurriedly.

  "I need caffeine," muttered Hal, struggling to his feet. He got a cup of coffee from the dispenser and returned to the console. "How's the generator?" he asked, sipping the steaming liquid.

  "Good," said Clunk, remembering that he was supposed to be monitoring it. "Excellent. Top condition."

  "What's that flashing light, then?"

  "Where?"

  "The one labelled 'generator'."

  Clunk looked at it. "Just a warning, nothing to worry about. I should probably check it though."

  As Clunk headed for the lift, Hal lowered himself into the pilot's chair. "Navcom, give me a sit rep."

  "I don't understand your command."

  "Sure you do." Hal took another sip of coffee. "Situation report."

  "We're approaching planet Ullimo with a cargo of textiles. Vision on main screen."

  Hal examined the image, which was completely dark except for a blue dot in the centre. "Is that really Ullimo?"

  "Yes," said the Navcom.

  "Not a simulation? Not a screen saver?"

  "No, it's the real planet."

  Hal watched it for a moment or two. "It's not getting any bigger."

  "That's because we're not moving very fast."

  "Speed up, then."

  "Not possible. We must obey local traffic rules."

  Hal made a rude noise. "I'll obey traffic rules when they start enforcing them. Hit it."

  There was a rumble below decks and the ship leapt forward.

  "Speed increased."

  Hal watched the blue dot grow into a planet. "That's more like it. We're really shifting now." He looked down as a two-tone alarm sounded. "What's that?"

  "Ullimo traffic enforcement. They just issued an infringement."

  "Eh?"

  There was another ping from the console. "That's two. Shall I continue to increase speed?"

  "No! Stop!"

  Thrusters fired to slow the ship, but not before three more pings rang out.

  "It's going to take us forever to get there," muttered Hal, taking a swig of coffee.

  "Not forever. Our ETA is three days."

  Coffee sprayed from Hal's mouth with an explosion of compressed air. "What do you mean, three days?" he spluttered. "The planet's in sight!"

  "Thirty minutes until arrival, plus seventy-two hours for quarantine clearance."

  "But we're carrying rags!"

  "It's not the fabric, it's the boxes of pango fruit."

  Hal snorted. "That was just a last minute filler. Dump it and reapply for clearance."

  "Dump …" began the Navcom.

  "Open the cargo doors and blow it out. I'm not hanging around here for three days."

  "That fruit was a special order for the President of the Ullimo Horticultural Society."

  "I don't care if it's a bribe for the head of the Peace Force. Get rid of it!"

  "Complying." There was a whine below decks, followed by a whoosh of air.

  "Take an entry for standing orders," said Hal. "No fruit."

  "Complying. Now contacting ground for clearance." There was a pause. "Ullimo Customs wish to speak to you."

  "Put them on."

  A young man in a peaked cap appeared on the screen. His uniform jacket was buttoned up to his neck, and his epaulettes looked like they were polished on the hour. "Am I addressing the captain of the Volante?"

  "That's me," said Hal. "How can I help you?"

  "I am Phillip Farquhar, assistant head of Ullimo Customs." The man held up a form. "This is a shipping declaration we received from your port of departure." He held up a second form. "And this one j
ust arrived."

  Hal's heart sank. "I thought you people liked everything in duplicate."

  "We do. However, these are not duplicates. In fact, they're not remotely similar."

  "That's probably my robot," said Hal with a nervous laugh. "Always messing things up."

  "How could a robot turn rolls of brand new fabric into bales of rags?"

  "You haven't seen Clunk loading cargo." Hal spread his hands. "Look, there's obviously been a mix up. Last time this happened I made a little donation to the office slush fund. What do you say?"

  "I say you're already facing a hefty fine for smuggling. Let's not add a jail term for bribery." Phillip tapped one of the forms. "You've listed your robot here. Is it really this old?"

  "Oh yes. Ancient."

  "In good working order?"

  "He can walk and talk, if that's what you mean."

  "You see, I need a robot rather urgently."

  "Clunk's not for sale," said Hal firmly.

  "I don't want to buy him. It's just a loan."

  "Sorry, but no. Clunk's an integral part of my crew. We go everywhere together."

  "Even to jail?"

  Hal pursed his lips. "When do you need him?"

  "Today." Phillip leant closer to the camera. "My aunt is a director at the Ullimo Museum. They're setting up a 'Life in the Past' exhibition which opens at ten this morning. They have a lot of exhibits but she still hasn't found a suitable robot."

  "Come on, there must be hundreds of them around."

  "Yes, but their owners are worried about public liability. The museum doesn't have any cover, and should the robot fall on one of the guests … well, let's just say it could be an expensive exercise." Phillip smiled. "You, however, do not have a choice."

  "Why is this important? Why a robot?"

  Phillip shrugged. "My aunt wants a robot, and it's my duty as a loving nephew to acquire one for her."

  "Say that again with a straight face."

  Phillip grinned suddenly. "She's wealthy, and if I don't play the dutiful nephew she'll leave all her money to the museum. I don't want to be sitting at this desk in twenty years time, which means I do what I'm told."

  "Clunk's not going to like it. He can be funny."

  "So much the better. He can entertain the customers." Phillip held up Hal's form. "Call the museum the instant you land, and once the robot is on display I'll file this in last year's register."

  "It's a deal."

  "Good day, Mr Spacejock. I trust we won't speak again."