by Simon Haynes
"In the trunk," said the driver. "You put another one in there."
"You're going to charge me for a box of parts?"
"You can't avoid a fare just because you took it to pieces first," said the driver calmly. "Fact is, people will try anything to fiddle a lousy ten credits."
"If you think I scrapped a robot just to save some pocket change …" began Hal. "Here, open the trunk, will you? I forgot something." He got out of the car, and as the lid rose he gestured to Clunk. "Take it out," he muttered.
Clunk looked at him in astonishment. "What?"
"Go on, get the stuff out."
Clunk reached in and retrieved the box of arms and legs. "Now what?"
"Run," said Hal.
"Pardon?"
"Skedaddle," hissed Hal. "Shoot. Vanish."
Clunk looked down at the load in his arms. "Mr Spacejock, it's just possible that I could keep up with the vehicle in an unladen state. However, with this lot it's completely out of the question."
"I don't want you to run anywhere. Just duck into the alley for a minute."
Clunk's eyes narrowed. "You won't leave me here?"
"Would I do that?"
After a lingering glance, Clunk hurried away with the parts. As soon as he was out of sight Hal tapped on the window.
The driver frowned at him. "Yes?"
"I've changed my mind, I'm going to walk."
"What about my time? I drove all the way out here to pick you up!"
"Take it out of your tip."
The driver gestured at him and gunned the motor, roaring away in a cloud of dust. Hal returned to the robot shop and banged on the door. A few moments later it opened a crack.
"Shop's closed," said Norm.
"I need to get to the spaceport," said Hal. "Where can I get public transport?"
"What about a taxi?"
"We got one but he tried to rip us off."
Norm looked thoughtful. "I could give you a lift."
"You have a car?"
"Not exactly. Follow me and I'll show you."
*
Sonya glanced at her watch then looked up at the darkening sky. According to Curtis, Spacejock was supposed to be rushing to meet a vital deadline. Instead, it looked like the creep was getting drunk in some space bar while she sat around on cold, hard concrete. Sonya moved slightly, grimacing as feeling returned to her chilled muscles. Another few hours of this and Spacejock would have sabotaged his own cargo job. She wouldn't need to carry out Curtis's plan at all, which was just as well. It was hastily thought out, vague, and anyone with half a brain would see right through it. Spacejock's robot, for example. Thank goodness Curtis nobbled it.
Of course! That's where Spacejock was … scouring the city for his co-pilot. Best of luck to him, she thought, pulling her jacket around herself. Knowing Curtis, it was probably buried in the foundations of the nearest highrise.
Chapter 19
Norm led Hal to a parking bay, where a chest-high, coffin-sized shape was hidden under an old tarpaulin. "What do you think?" he said, pulling the cover off with a flourish.
"Wow!" Hal's gaze feasted on the polished chrome, the fiery red paint and the quadruple headlights. "What is it?"
"A jetbike," said Norm proudly.
"Is that right?" To Hal it looked more like a jet engine with handlebars. From the oversized headlights to the quadruple tailpipes, it whispered instant death. "You know, I might just call another cab."
Norm's face fell. "What about the lift?"
"You forgot Clunk," said Hal. "You've only got room for two on there."
"He can run alongside. We can stick those parts of yours on the back." Norm caressed the hand-stitched leather saddle. "Go on, it'll save you some money."
Hal relented. "Okay, let's give it a shot."
Norm climbed aboard, beaming with pleasure. He reached between the handlebars and fired up the engine, which throbbed, popped and hissed like a thousand camping stoves boiling tea.
Hal backed away from the shimmering heat haze, and the jerking, stuttering bike followed. Norm held on tight, rocking back and forth in the saddle as the bike struggled to break free.
"She's itching to go!" cried the repairman over the noise.
"We've got to get Clunk!" shouted Hal.
Norm put a hand to his ear. "Eh?"
"Clunk!" Hal mimed stiff arms and legs. "My robot."
"I hope that's not supposed to be me."
Hal turned to see Clunk watching him.
"Come on lad, on you get," shouted Norm, beckoning.
Hal approached the machine and clambered into the saddle, lifting his feet to avoid the belching flames.
"What about me?" asked Clunk, handing him the box of parts.
"You run alongside."
Clunk's retort was lost as the bike roared up the narrow alley. The reverberating bellow was so loud Hal took his hands from the saddle and clamped them over his ears.
Mistake. Big mistake.
Norm accelerated and Hal fell straight off the back of the bike, landing on the ground with a thud that knocked the wind from his lungs.
"Are you okay Mr Spacejock?" Hal heard footsteps and Clunk's face blotted out the sky. "Why did you let go?"
"Hhhuuuhh," wheezed Hal. His eyes widened as he heard the jetbike coming back, and he screwed them shut as the jets blew grit and stones into his face. Clunk lifted him up, and a moment later he was back on the bike, slumped against Norm and hanging on tight.
After several minutes of howling jets, tight turns and tearing wind they drew up and stopped. "What's happening?" asked Hal. "Are we there yet?"
"Your robot can't keep up," said Norm.
Hal looked back and saw Clunk staggering along, one hand to his head and the other waving feebly to attract their attention. "Must be his battery," muttered Hal. He was still dazed from his fall, and when Clunk pitched face-first to the ground he could do little more than hang on as Norm reversed the bike up.
Norm dismounted, withdrew a roll of cable from the jetbike's saddle and plugged the loose end into Clunk's chest. "This should do it," he said, kicking the starter.
The effect was electric. Clunk sprang up like a puppet with twenty thousand volts applied to the soles of its feet.
"Okay?" called Norm.
Clunk nodded half a dozen times.
"Let's go then." They began to move and Clunk sprang into action, accelerating past the bike as if it were going backwards. Norm responded with a twist of the throttle, overtaking Clunk and pulling him off his feet with the electrical cord. Clunk managed to land on one leg and push off, covering thirty metres in a huge leap. He landed on the opposite leg and jumped again, travelling another thirty metres. They continued like this for several kilometres, with Clunk bounding along on the end of the rope like a long-jumper on springs. It worked really well until they arrived at the T-junction, where the bike turned left and Clunk didn't.
The jetbike took the corner with ease, straightened up and roared past a row of lighted windows. Everything was fine until Hal felt a tug on the back of the bike, an inexorable force dragging it sideways across the road. When he looked back he saw Clunk bounding straight on, hands outstretched and a resigned look on his face as he plunged towards the glass windows.
*
Phillip Farquhar adjusted his bow tie and surveyed the restaurant, checking that everything was ready. Six tables were drawn together in the centre of the room, with the rest pushed to the walls, draped with white tablecloths and laden with buffet dishes. A huge pyramid of long-stemmed glasses stood on a dais at the head of the room, ready for the ritual pouring. A gigantic cake sat on a trolley before the window, decorated in subtle shades of peach and white.
Phillip smiled to himself, pleased with the effect. Securing the robot for his aunt's exhibition had been a coup, and organising a successful birthday meal would cap off his campaign for a generous mention in her will.
He was eyeing the cake when an unpleasant thought struck him. Layers of
icing glistened under the lights, but the top seemed bare. "Birthday candles!" groaned Phillip. He snapped his fingers at a waiter, who was hovering at the back of the room. "You there! Can you fetch me some candles?"
"Sorry, I can't," said the youth.
"I beg your pardon?"
"They're not allowed. It's a fire risk."
Phillip took the steps in a single leap. "Do you know who I am?"
"Catering, right?"
"Customs," hissed Phillip. He snapped his fingers. "I can arrest people like that. Rubber gloves, the works."
The youth blanched.
"Now go and get me some candles!" roared Phillip, spraying the counter with spittle.
"H-how many?"
"About a hundred and fifty," growled Phillip.
The waiter hurried away and Phillip returned to the main floor. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck and he grabbed a serviette from the table and mopped his face. Calm down, he told himself. There was still plenty of time.
He ran his gaze over the room once again. He'd run the staff ragged for hours - chilling wines, cancelling all their other bookings, folding and refolding napkins, polishing the cutlery and buffing glasses until the room gleamed. Surely everything would go well?
Ten minutes later he'd stuck forty-nine self-extinguishing candles on the cake: a flattering number, sure to please his aunt. Job complete, Phillip called the staff together for a last-minute pep talk. "One day I could be the wealthiest man in town," he said, with an expansive gesture. "And believe me, I won't forget those who helped make tonight a special birthday for my darling Auntie."
Several of the staff exchanged glances.
"Remember, I'll be watching the lot of you - just one dropped plate or one splash of wine and I'll come down so hard you won't know what hit you."
The staff stared at him, eyes wide. Phillip opened his mouth to continue, then hesitated. They seemed to be looking past him, through the big windows at the front of the restaurant. He half-turned just as a solid object smashed through the main window. Phillip's first horrified glance at the oncoming figure told him it was human, but he corrected this to 'bronze robot' when it cannoned into the trolley, hurling the birthday cake into the air. The trolley leapt forward under the impact, slammed into the back of Phillip's legs and wheeled him towards the back of the restaurant at break-neck speed. The staff scattered as Phillip shot past, his mouth wide open and his eyes fastened on the huge pyramid of glasses.
The trolley didn't get anywhere near them. Instead, the wheels slammed into the step, tipping the cart and hurling Phillip head-first into the teetering pyramid. He punched through the centre, performed a neat forward somersault and landed flat on his back in a cloud of shattered glass. He'd just opened his eyes when the enormous cake came down, shedding candles and peach-coloured icing.
*
Hal and Norm stared at the restaurant in shock. There was movement inside as staff regained their feet, and several of them crowded around the shattered window to see where the flying robot had come from. Then Clunk elbowed his way through and ran towards the bike.
"Get on," said Norm, revving the engine. "Quick!"
Clunk put his foot on the exhaust pipes and slung his arm around the saddle. "Go!"
"Can you ride like that?" asked Hal.
"Just hold on," said Norm. He opened the throttle and the jetbike roared away from the scene at top speed. A few minutes later they were at the spaceport, where the entrance guard watched open-mouthed as the bike sailed past with Clunk hanging from the side.
"Evening!" called Hal, with a casual wave.
"Where to?" asked Norm.
Hal pointed across the landing field. The Volante's floodlights were on, and the ship glowed against the night sky.
"I never thought I'd see her again," said Clunk softly.
Hal tapped Norm on the shoulder. "Drop us at the passenger ramp."
"No, the cargo ramp," said Clunk. "I want to check the freight, and I'm not cluttering up the flight deck with all these junky robot parts."
Hal grinned. "You won't be, not if you're in the hold."
"One then the other," said Norm, angling the bike towards the ship.
*
Sonya blew on her fingers, certain she'd lost half of them to the cold. She'd lost all feeling in her hands more than an hour ago, and she was desperately tired, having been woken at regular intervals throughout the previous night by Rex's terse progress reports on the Volante's whereabouts. She was hungry and stiff and she needed a rest break. But more than anything she wanted to wrap her frozen fingers around Rex Curtis's neck and ram his head through the nearest wall.
He was sure to be tucking into a three-course meal, and Sonya's mouth watered at the thought of rich gravy, tender meat and honey-glazed vegetables. She could see the wine glugging into his glass - good quality, but not extravagant. She could hear the clink of cutlery as wealthy restaurant patrons stuffed delicacies down their overfed necks. She could hear the bellowing roar of the jetbike as it … Eh?
Her daydream popped like a cheap balloon, and Sonya scanned the wind-swept landing field to find the source of the noise. Was it a spaceship coming in to land? An official vehicle of some kind? A patrol?
Four enormous headlights beamed out of the darkness, and a sleek jetbike roared across the tarmac. Sonya saw a shadowy figure leaning over the handlebars just before the bike disappeared behind the Volante. Moments later it reappeared, circling the ship to stop near the passenger ramp. Hal Spacejock dismounted and spoke briefly to the rider, an elderly man in a leather helmet and oversized goggles. They shook hands, and as Hal stepped onto the Volante's passenger ramp the bike sped away with a roar from its chromed exhausts.
Sonya watched Hal returning to his ship. She wondered whether he appreciated his freedom, whether he realised just how precious it was. Her face hardened. He knew all right. He made his living off desperate refugees, taking their savings before dropping them into the arms of the authorities - when he wasn't abandoning them on backwater planets with acid soil and no atmosphere. Sonya shivered. Rex's plan only called for delaying tactics, but she could take it further. She could ensure this Spacejock character never preyed on another helpless refugee.
She reached for the briefcase, forcing her cold fingers around the handle. Then she stood and strode towards the Volante's passenger ramp. Halfway up, she stopped. She couldn't greet Spacejock with a face like a thunderstorm - he'd have her out the door before she'd said her piece. She pulled out a pocket mirror and ran her hand across the back, activating the ring light embedded in the frame. Frowning at her reflection, she ran her fingers through her windswept hair and practised a winning smile or two. "Oh, Mr Spacejock, you're so handsome!" she squeaked, batting her eyelids. Stifling a laugh, she put the compact away and picked up the heavy briefcase. The bastard wouldn't know what hit him.
*
Rex Curtis paced his office, glaring at the commset on his desk after every snap turn. Where was his call? Where was his blasted ID? Without it he'd be facing the Ullimo justice system, where upstanding businessmen like himself were treated like common thieves. Hunted by the media, chased by dodgy lawyers, hounded by the law … the future looked bleak indeed, if he were crazy enough to stick around.
The commset rang. "I have a Mr Jones for you. Will you take the call?"
"Of course I bloody will!" snapped Curtis, hurrying to the desk. He snatched the handset off the cradle and held it to his face. "Well? Have you finished?"
"Not quite."
"Dammit, you've had hours! What the hell are you playing at?"
"I haven't seen one like this before. It's new design with stronger encryption, and it's taking longer than usual."
"Can you crack it or not?"
"Yes, but I'll need another twenty-four hours."
Curtis swore. "I need it now, man. Two hours at the outside."
"Impossible," said the caller firmly.
"But —"
"You want it to pass for
an original, right? You don't want to break into a sweat every time you hand it over?"
"Of course I don't. It has to be perfect!"
"Then it will be ready this time tomorrow. Unless —"
"What?"
"The hardware I'm using. They brought out a new model a couple of months ago - it could eat this system for breakfast."
"Keep talking."
"I could get the parts in half an hour. Another half to set it up, then an hour to, er, modify the documents. All done in two."
"How much?"
The caller told him.
"Are you mad?" shouted Curtis. "I could buy a new limo for that!"
"I'm only giving you the options."
Curtis glanced at his terminal. He could bury the purchase in the accounts and let Garmit and Hash worry about the bill when they wound his company up. "Okay, let's do it. Send me the details and I'll get an order off immediately."
"Thanks, Mr Curtis. You won't regret this."
"I'd better not," snapped Curtis. "You get that paperwork here or I'll …"
But the caller had rung off.
Chapter 20
"Navcom, seal the ship and prepare for lift-off."
"Complying," said the computer. "Destination?"
"Better make it Ackexa. And find out if Central Bank have their own landing pad."
"Checking now."
The lift doors parted and Clunk entered the flight deck. "Mr Spacejock, can you explain this?"
Hal turned to see the robot holding out a handful of packing beads. "It's just rubbish."
Clunk sniffed it. "Smells like machine oil."
"That came from the robot's packing crate," said the Navcom.
"The what?" exclaimed Clunk, his eyes wide.
"Mr Spacejock has a new robot," said the Navcom. "It was delivered earlier today."
"It's not what you think," said Hal hurriedly. "I won a competition. I'm going to sell it off."
"Where is it?"
"The last I saw, knee deep in the rec room. It said it could fix the AutoChef."
"How could you let it touch my ship?" demanded Clunk, hurrying towards the lift.
"Lee said he was qualified."
Clunk pressed the button. "Lee? Is that the passenger?"
