Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  Incensed, he turned and rammed his fist into the polished wall, leaving a deep impression of his bunched fingers. Then he jabbed the down button repeatedly, sending the lift plummeting towards the lower deck.

  The doors opened and Clunk stormed along the passageway towards the cargo hold, heat haze shimmering from his vents. It was time for a closer look at Sonya's briefcase, and Lee would make the perfect lookout.

  *

  Later that evening, Hal was entertaining Sonya in the rec room. "The grub's not much," he said, offering a plate of mashed potato topped with chocolate and sprinklies. "The machine can be a stubborn sometimes."

  Sonya eyed the feast with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "You should get that robot to mend it."

  "I did. It's much better than it used to be." Hal popped a small dollop of potato into his mouth and chewed vigorously. "Hmm, orange flavour. Lovely."

  Sonya handed the plate back. "So, tell me about you."

  "Me?"

  "Yes. Why did you take up the lonely life of a cargo?"

  "I always wanted to travel, and this way someone pays me to do it."

  "Do you get a lot of work?"

  "I just added Central Bank to my list of clients," said Hal, neglecting to mention that it was the only name on the list.

  "I thought they were contracted to Curtis?"

  Hal frowned. "Curtis?"

  "Curtis Freightlines. They're the biggest freight company in the region. Or so I've heard."

  "That doesn't sound like historian territory."

  "Oh, it's just something I picked up." Sonya nibbled a biscuit. "Tell me, do you have any pets on board?"

  Hal looked surprised. "Pets?"

  "Yes. One of the cargo handlers told me to watch out for a hairy creature."

  With a shock, Hal remembered Lucy. It was hours since he'd fed her, and he wasn't even sure where she'd got to. "He must have been mistaken. This is a freighter, not a flying zoo."

  "You're quite certain? He said there was a furry orange thing with lots of teeth and …"

  "Oh, that hairy orange creature." Hal laughed. "It was just a delivery. She's not here any more."

  "Thank goodness for that!"

  Hal gave her the plate. "Have a biscuit."

  "Thanks." Sonya took one and put the plate on the armrest of her chair. "I invested all my savings into this trip, you know. If I don't find this lost civilisation I'm done for."

  "What are they called? You know, these people you're looking for."

  Sonya smiled. "They're lost, Hal. Nobody knows what they're called."

  A hairy orange paw stretched out from behind Sonya's chair, and Hal watched in horror as it reached for the biscuits. He dragged his gaze away. "So, er, how do you know they existed?"

  "We identified their homeworld, or at least we thought we had. They used generation ships, and the experts plotted every planet this race had settled. Then they plotted lines back to the centre and decided the closest planet to that point must have been the homeworld."

  "Canessa?"

  "No, another world. Problem is, there was nothing there but abandoned settlements. There's no way it was the launching point for a galactic civilisation."

  Hal tried not to look as Lucy grabbed another handful of biscuits.

  "They searched a bunch of other planets in the vicinity, but they weren't right either. Then I had an idea. They must have improved their technology over time, which means the later ships would have been faster. That invalidated the whole idea of plotting the expansion to locate the homeworld."

  "I see," said Hal, who didn't.

  "So, they failed to take into account this one little factor."

  "What's that?"

  "Weathering," said Sonya. "The expansion bubble isn't a perfect sphere - the sites on some planets are almost worn to nothing, while those on others are more preserved. I believe it's caused by variations in weathering, not age, and if I'm right that would put Canessa right in the centre."

  "Amazing," said Hal. "All those people looking, and you've found the homeworld."

  Sonya shook her head. "Not yet. I need proof first."

  Hal saw Lucy reaching for more biscuits. "Wow, look at the time. I'd better get back to the flight deck."

  "You're supposed to be entertaining me." Sonya smiled at him. "Can't your robot fly the ship?"

  *

  Clunk marched along the lower deck passage with Lee in tow. He stopped at Sonya's door and knocked. "Cleaning service," he called, pushing it open. The cabin was sparse, with barely enough room for the fold-down bunk and narrow desk. The bunk had been lowered, the bedclothes pulled tight and tucked in. Clunk stepped back and pushed Lee into the room. "Sweep the floor, wipe all surfaces and don't touch anything. Got it?"

  Lee nodded.

  Clunk saw the briefcase underneath the bunk. He bent down, pulled it out and set it on the blankets.

  "How come you're touching stuff?" asked Lee. "You told me —"

  Clunk silenced the robot with a glare. He ran his fingers around the lid, then opened the briefcase. Inside there was a screen, a keyboard and two data cables - one red, one black. Clunk scowled at the plugs. They were packed with optical filaments, and he had no socket to match.

  "Do you have a connector for these?" he asked Lee.

  "I have connectors for every electronic device built in the past four decades," said the robot stuffily.

  "Right, plug in and download whatever you can."

  "But that's not your case!"

  Clunk leaned closer. "Either you download the contents, or I'll rip you to pieces and jerry-rig a connector from the scraps." Suddenly he heard laughter from the rec room. "And hurry it up!"

  Lee opened a compartment in his chest and plugged the black cable in.

  "Well?" demanded Clunk.

  "It's just giving me data errors."

  "All right, try the other one."

  Lee removed the black cable and plugged the red one in. There was a loud buzz as the connector slotted into place, and Lee jerked upright, his eyes wide open. "Wow, it's full of —" Zap! Blue smoke puffed from the robot's ears, and he shuddered uncontrollably.

  Clunk yanked the plug out and caught the falling robot with his left arm. With his right he grabbed the case and threw it under the bunk, flapping madly to disperse the smoke.

  He glanced at Lee, who had the ecstatic, incredulous look of a film producer with a blank cheque. Clunk slapped the robot around the face, but apart from adjusting the rapturous look, it had no effect. Adjusting his grip, he hauled Lee backwards out of the cabin.

  At the cargo hold he dragged the robot through the doorway, accidentally slamming its head on the step. Then he shut the door and looked around, seeking a suitable hiding place. If Hal saw Lee like this he would assume the worst - that Clunk had dispatched his rival intentionally. He selected one of the lockers lining the cargo hold, propped Lee inside and pushed the door to.

  Beep!

  Clunk jumped, then realised it was the Navcom.

  "We're approaching the first jump point. I wanted to advise Hal and Ms Smith but I cannot raise them."

  "Have you tried the rec room?"

  "Affirmative. The intercom is off and the camera is non-operational."

  Clunk shook his head. "Mr Spacejock is certainly taking this dinner business seriously."

  "If only he would apply the same amount of effort to his piloting."

  "Very well. I'll be right up."

  *

  Later that night, Sonya returned to her cabin. A trace of blue smoke hung in the air, and she coughed at the stench of burning electrics. The briefcase! Had Dent's cooling system failed? She pulled the case from under the bed. "Bobby, what's that smell?"

  The briefcase sniffed. "It certainly wasn't me."

  "Who was it then?"

  "A robot. It used the red cord."

  Sonya stared at the briefcase in shock. "You toasted a robot?"

  "Oh yes. Completely immobilised."

  Sonya
looked under the bed. "Are you sure? It couldn't have dragged itself away, could it?"

  "Negative, I gave it the full treatment. That delicate scent is vaporised robot brain."

  "But it's not here!"

  "Then someone removed it."

  "Who?"

  "I don't know. I was in standby mode."

  "What if you only damaged it? I was speaking to Hal five minutes ago, so he can't have moved it. And there's nobody else around." A memory of hairy orange arms reaching for her out of the darkness flashed up … If that thing had any intelligence it might have moved the stricken robot. But was it still aboard?

  Sonya sat on the bed, deep in thought. If the robot was out of the way, that was a plus. She could smooth Hal over. The thing was so old he'd probably think it was a normal breakdown. Then an unpleasant thought struck her. What if Dent's killer robot was roaming the ship?

  She tucked the briefcase under her arm and slipped along the passage to the cargo bay door. Entering the hold, she marched between shrink-wrapped pallets until she found her cargo lashed to the bulkhead with heavy-duty strapping. She pressed a stud and the straps dropped to the floor. Then she examined the crates closely until she found the one Dent had marked with three parallel scratches. "Tinker," she said softly, rapping on the wood.

  There was no reply.

  Sonya spotted a crowbar hooked over a cross-beam. She grabbed it, and was just about to put the point under the lid when she noticed someone had beaten her to it. There was a dent in the wood that matched the tip of the crowbar.

  "Damned nosy robot," she muttered, looking over her shoulder. If it had found Tinker …

  She used the crowbar to remove the lid, then stared at the contents in surprise. The crate was filled with rows of tin cans. "Tinker?"

  The wall of tins bulged and tumbled out, revealing the robot at the back of the crate. "Oh, very cunning," said Sonya, as she saw the tins had been fastened to a large sheet of ply.

  Tinker looked down at her, then scanned the deserted hold. "Where are the foes?"

  "Forget about foes. I want you to put this crate back together, find a hiding place and stay there until I need you."

  "And if anyone finds my hiding place?"

  "Tell them you're a stowaway." While Tinker replaced the tins, Sonya went over to the workbench and connected the briefcase to a wall socket.

  "What have we here?" asked the computer loudly.

  "Shut up!" hissed Sonya. "Can't you lower your voice when I turn you on?"

  "It's part of my boot sequence."

  "Well tone it down before I get into trouble. Now, I want you to plant some errors in the log, but I want them activated after we've landed. Can you do that?"

  "Easy."

  "And they won't know the source?"

  "No way. I'm the most advanced —"

  "Yes, we established that. Now shut up and do your job."

  "Complying," said the briefcase. A few seconds later, it piped up again. "I've added a couple of temperature warnings to the generator logs. It will take the Navcom hours to check them out."

  "Perfect." Sonya unplugged the briefcase and glanced around the hold. The crate was back together, and Tinker was nowhere to be seen. Mission accomplished, she returned to her cabin for a well-earned rest.

  Chapter 22

  Rex Curtis ripped open the envelope and tipped the contents into his lap. An Outsider passport fell out, and when he turned to the first page his own face stared up from the hologram. Rex smiled at the name underneath: Hal Spacejock. Although an Outsider ID would restrict his movements, it was a good start. He'd hide until the fuss died down, then resume his own identity when it was safe.

  Shoving the passport into his pocket, Rex reached for the model of the Aurora. He wrapped it in his jacket, raised it to shoulder height and slammed it on the edge of his desk. There was a muffled crash as the model broke apart, and when he opened the jacket a heavy-duty blaster and a fat leather pouch lay amongst the fragments.

  Rex carried the jacket full of pieces to the front of his desk and scattered them on the floor. To a casual observer, the model had simply fallen off the desk. He shook his jacket to dislodge any fragments, then activated his commset and called the landing field. "Mac? I need my flyer. Urgent business."

  "She's all ready, Mr Curtis."

  "I'll be right down." Rex hung up and looked around his office. For a moment, he wondered whether he was doing the right thing … After so many years this office was as familiar and comfortable as his home. He shook his head. If he stuck around he'd be jailed for tax evasion, fraud and whatever else the corporate regulators could stick on him. The last thing he wanted was to be thinking how familiar and comfortable his cell was after so many years.

  He jammed the gun into his waistband and strode to the door. After a final look at the shattered model of the Aurora, he left.

  *

  Rex stepped from the lift and hurried into the cavernous underground workshop. His spotted his flyer near the exit ramp, a sleek black machine with the canopy up and the engine idling. A mechanic touched his grease-stained cap and stepped away from the vessel.

  "Fuel?" snapped Rex.

  "Yes sir," replied the mechanic. "All systems go."

  "Good man," panted Rex, as he clambered up the short ladder. Once he was seated he pulled the straps tight and waved his hand. The canopy came down and the control panel lit up in front of him. He blipped the throttle and the craft began to roll. Only then did Rex glance outside to see if the mechanic was clear. Tough luck if he wasn't, he thought.

  The flyer gathered speed as Rex aimed it towards the ramp. It took the incline with a roar from its powerful engine, and his stomach rose as the ship levelled out on the apron. Once clear of the refuelling clusters, he drove onto the nearest taxiway and activated the winglets, which extended with a whine of hydraulics. Then he was heading for the far side of the landing field.

  Company freighters took off vertically from their landing pads, so a section of perimeter road had been set aside as a short runway for flyers. As his ship rumbled over the taxiways, Rex obtained clearance. When he reached the runway he was able to pull straight on, and he lined the nose of the flyer up with the far end and opened the throttle.

  The engine howled behind him, crushing him against the padded seat as the ship hurled itself down the strip of tarmac. It was airborne before the halfway mark, and Rex immediately pulled the stick back and pointed the nose straight up.

  As the flyer climbed into the sky, Rex flipped out the navigation console and programmed a chain of hyperspace jumps. Fuel would be critical, but it was only a one-way trip.

  *

  "Through the screensaver? Really?"

  "Absolutely," said the Navcom. "It took him two hours to catch on."

  Clunk sat back in the pilot's chair, a broad grin on his face. "Next time wait until I'm present. I want to be there."

  "It won't work again. He'd recognise the comet."

  "Show me."

  The Volante's screensaver appeared, complete with rotating blue planet and fast-moving comet.

  "Can't you switch the planet with a real one from your database?"

  The bright blue sphere morphed into a mottled green planet with swirling clouds.

  "That's much better. Now get rid of the comet and dim the stars a bit." Clunk eyed the changes critically. "Oh yes. Very realistic."

  "Would you like me to make the changes permanent?"

  "Yes. And be sure to call me if Mr Spacejock takes the controls."

  "Understood. Incidentally, our destination is in range. ETA thirty minutes."

  "Excellent. Can you put the real display up?"

  The screensaver vanished and Clunk watched planet Canessa growing larger by the minute. "I do hope there are no ferocious monsters here. That Smith woman might get eaten."

  "It's uninhabited," said the Navcom.

  "Pity." Clunk scanned the console for warning lights, but all systems were working perfectly. "Any sign
of Mr Spacejock?"

  "He's just entering the lift."

  Clunk shook his head slowly. "Say what you like about Hal's piloting, but he can't be faulted when it comes to customer servicing."

  "I think you mean customer service," said the Navcom primly.

  The lift doors opened, and footsteps approached across the flight deck.

  "Good morning, Mr Spacejock," called Clunk over his shoulder.

  "Morning Clunk." Hal made himself busy with the coffee machine. "I need the caffeine - late night and all that. Hey, can you talk the AutoChef into dispensing pancakes?"

  Clunk turned round slowly, fixing Hal with a disapproving stare. His velvet suit was awry, his face was unshaven and his hair looked like it had been styled with a can of static electricity. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

  "Breakfast. You know, pancakes and stuff." Hal winked. "Late night."

  Clunk leaned an elbow on the console. "It has probably escaped your attention, but we're currently approaching a solid mass at high speed. Sometime in the next three minutes I shall begin firing the attitude jets to slow our descent and prevent a major crash."

  "Uh-huh?"

  "Indeed. Now, if you order me to prepare food I shall do so, but afterwards the only pancakes on this ship will be you and that Smith woman."

  Hal frowned. "Are you refusing to get my breakfast?"

  "That's the gist of it."

  "Fine, I'll do it myself," snapped Hal. With that he stalked into the lift.

  As the doors closed, Clunk turned back to the console. "How long now, Navcom?"

  "Twenty-three minutes to final approach. Shall I handle the landing?"

  "Of course. Do I ever interfere?"

  "Not with the ship, no."

  Clunk grinned.

  *

  The Volante set down in a clearing, the landing ramp unfolded from the ship and the outer door opened. Hal emerged first, looking like a space cadet on the first day of summer camp as he strolled down the ramp in a clean flight suit. "Come on you guys. Let's get the stuff set up." He slapped at his neck and examined his hand. "Hey, would you look at the size of that bloodsucker?"