Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  "I need to get into your cargo hold," said Clunk, his voice clipped as it emerged from Lee's thin lips.

  "Don't we all?" said Rex, with a laugh. "Unfortunately the lift is stuck."

  "Really. I've heard some excuses in my time, but —"

  "It's true! Try it yourself if you don't believe me."

  Clunk strode to the lift and pressed the button. Nothing happened. He looked round and spotted the briefcase under the console, connected to it with a length of cable. So that was the game.

  "Tell you what," said Rex. "After I've docked you can come aboard with the customs guys. You can be first in the hold."

  "I can't wait that long. Final inspection must take place before docking is complete." Clunk frowned. Could he do anything to break the briefcase's hold? His eyes widened as he spotted the flashing red light on the console. Rex had already opened the hold doors! Hal and Sonya were dead!

  Fireworks went off in his head as his tenuous hold over Lee's body snapped. One by one his functions shut down, and with a final, soundless scream his mind was swallowed by a dark, featureless void.

  Chapter 33

  Rex watched the frozen robot warily. Was it shamming? Preparing to spring?

  "Seized good and proper," he muttered, after waiting a little longer. "Bobby, give me a status report."

  "I'm losing the ship, Mr Curtis," said the briefcase, speaking loudly over the whirr of its cooling system. "The Navcom took back several core functions while I was concentrating on the cargo doors. We're not going to make it."

  Rex swore. "How am I supposed to start a new cargo business without a ship? Try harder!"

  "What about the customs vessel? That robot didn't walk here."

  "A customs vessel is hardly a freighter, is it?" Rex snapped. "I want this ship."

  "That option is no longer available."

  Rex strode into the airlock and stared through the porthole. Outside, a sleek jetbike was moored to the ship. "How far is the orbiter?"

  "I'm unable to access that information."

  "It can't be far if it used that little bike thing." Rex glanced up as the lights flickered. "What was that?"

  "I can't hold on much longer," explained Bobby. "As soon as I gain control over one function, the Navcom takes back another."

  Rex returned to the flight deck and began to pace up and down. "If we abandon this thing some nosy bastard will find it. Spacejock's robot contains enough evidence to put me away for life." He stopped pacing. "Can you blow it up?"

  "No. Once you unplug me the Navcom will cancel anything I set up."

  "What if I left you here?"

  There was a long silence. "I don't think much of that idea," said Bobby finally. "Anyway, deliberately exposing me to danger would void your warranty."

  "Screw the warranty."

  "And I would only be able to delay the inevitable. The Navcom will regain control whether I'm here or not."

  "Can you give me long enough to get clear?"

  "Negative."

  Rex cursed.

  "Anyway, you need me."

  "Oh?"

  "You can't steal another ship on your own." The briefcase hesitated. "I have an idea. Would you like to hear it?"

  "Go on."

  "Why don't we aim the Volante at the local star? We can escape on the jetbike, and the ship will be consumed."

  "No evidence. I like it." Rex frowned. "But isn't that the same as programming it to blow up?"

  "No. I can swap the orbiter and the star in the navigation system. The Navcom will want to fly there."

  "Won't it stop when it realises what's happening?"

  "No again. By the time it's close enough for external sensors to pick up the danger, the ship will be unable to escape the star's gravity."

  Rex nodded. "Do it."

  "We'll have to leave before the ship starts to accelerate. Otherwise you'll waste most of the jetbike's fuel bringing it to a halt, and you won't have enough to reach the orbiter."

  "Of course."

  "And you'd better don a space suit. You'll find them in the airlock."

  "Want me to brush my teeth? Comb my hair?"

  "That won't be necessary," said the briefcase, oblivious to the sarcasm. "The spacesuit filters will handle your bad breath."

  Rex strode into the airlock, muttering to himself as he yanked open the locker and selected a suit. He donned it quickly, tugging the stiff fabric over his clothes until he was encased up to his neck. He reached for the helmet and hesitated. Turning his back on the airlock camera, he cupped his hand over his mouth and exhaled quickly. Bad breath? What was the briefcase talking about? He lifted a helmet from the rack and lowered it into position, locking the ring. A heads-up display appeared on the inside of his faceplate, showing the remaining air and a row of green status indicators. Everything was set.

  Rex turned and walked slowly into the flight deck. The helmet reduced his field of vision, and what little he could see was distorted by the curvature of the thick perspex. On his way to the console he was forced to detour around the frozen robot, which was standing in the way like a discarded statue.

  The helmet speakers crackled and Bobby's voice burst out, almost deafening him. "All set?"

  "Yeah, I'm ready."

  "Very well. I shall program a sixty second countdown. Once it begins you must unplug me and leave the ship as quickly as possible. The Volante will turn and accelerate towards the sun the instant the countdown finishes."

  "I got that already."

  "Have you checked your space suit?"

  Rex nodded, then realised the briefcase couldn't see him. "Yes."

  "Pick me up."

  Rex bent at the waist, gripped the briefcase handle in a gloved hand, and stood up. The patch cord swung from the console like a thin umbilical.

  "Once I'm loose you can plug me into your space suit," said the briefcase. "There's a connector on your chest."

  "Can't you get on with it?"

  "Okay, starting countdown in three seconds. Two. One. Disconnect me!"

  Rex tried to pull the plug from the console, but it was stuck fast.

  "It's a push and twist fitting," said the briefcase. "Hurry up!"

  Rex tried to push the plug, but the thick glove prevented him from getting a purchase on it.

  "Fifty seconds," said the briefcase. "We need to leave."

  Rex wrapped two loops of cord round his hand, put one foot on the console and heaved. Something gave inside the cable and Rex backed towards the airlock, stretching the plastic coating until it was impossibly thin. He was almost at the inner door when he thumped into something: turning round he saw the frozen robot toppling backwards to block the airlock threshold.

  Cursing, he stepped over the robot, set the briefcase down, got both hands under its metal shoulders and hoisted it into a sitting position, coils of stretchy plastic tangled around its neck and arms. Then he pushed it back into the flight deck, where it landed with a crash. With the doorway clear, Rex grabbed the thin cord and snapped it, then slammed the inner door, grabbed the briefcase and hurried to the outer door.

  The air misted and vanished as the door cracked open. Debris was sucked from the airlock through the widening gap, and as the door opened fully Rex felt the deck shudder underfoot. He left the Volante just as the starfield started to pan by - the ship was already turning.

  Clambering onto the jetbike, Rex fired the motor. He was reaching for the quick release when the Volante leapt forward, almost throwing him from the saddle as it dragged the tethered bike along for the ride. With the briefcase held firmly under one arm, he just managed to hang on with his free hand. But hanging on wasn't enough - the terrific acceleration would continue until oblivion. Muscles straining, he pulled himself forward and hit the quick release with his fist. There was a jolt as the bike came free and the ship surged away.

  Rex opened the throttle, steering the bike away on a diverging course. He twisted in his seat to look back, and saw the long, blazing exhaust at the rea
r of the ship. Far ahead, directly in line with the ship, the local star shone with a baleful orange glow.

  Satisfied the Volante was on course for destruction, Rex glanced around, expecting to see the mottled green orb of planet Ackexa.

  There was nothing but stars.

  *

  Clunk woke to a barrage of flashing lights. Every alert on the console was blinking, from the exterior temperature warning to the coffee maker's water level indicator. If that wasn't enough, the flight deck was bathed in orange light from the viewscreen, which was showing a boiling ocean of liquid flame: the surface of the local star. Like a magnet, Clunk's gaze was drawn to the flashing red light that indicated the cargo doors. This was the only one that mattered to him, for it confirmed Hal Spacejock was gone.

  Dead.

  Clunk's head dropped. He'd met many humans in all his long years, but only Mr Spacejock - Hal - had cared enough to take him in. He'd been treated with kindness and respect, and when Hal needed him most, he'd failed him.

  Clunk raised his head and stared at the viewscreen. The Volante was roaring towards the local star, bent on fiery destruction. He could see no point in stopping it.

  For several minutes he watched the star looming closer and closer while the alarms went crazy. Then he wiped the display and selected views of the Volante's interior, one camera at a time. His face was stern as he saw the empty recreation room, the Hal-less kitchen alcove and the Spacejock-free cabins, and something close to a sob escaped his lips as he saw the neat pallets of paperwork in the cargo hold, the rear doors open to space. His vision misted as the last view flicked up on the screen: a shot along the darkened lower deck passageway.

  Clunk was about to switch off the display when a shadow moved across the screen. With trembling fingers, he reached for the lighting controls. Was it Hal? Had he survived somehow? His hopes were dashed as the light near the camera came up, showing Lucy scampering past the camera on her way to the rec room.

  Clunk frowned. Lucy - it would be wrong for her to go down with the ship. He would take her back to Oliape II and set her free. After that … well, there were plenty of stars in the galaxy.

  He reached for the programming console and began to undo the briefcase's instructions. As he was busy with a particularly devious piece of code, he thought he detected movement out of the corner of his eye. He dismissed it, certain it was Lucy. Then he reconsidered. Lucy was only one metre high, and the shadow was almost double that.

  Barely daring to hope, Clunk activated the light near the lift. In the harsh glare he saw Sonya and Hal, the latter hammering angrily on the lift door with his fist. With waves of joy coursing through his circuits, Clunk abandoned his programming and leapt to his feet. "Navcom, unseal the lift," he cried. "It's Mr Spacejock! He's … he's saved!"

  *

  Hal stepped from the lift and was immediately engulfed in a pair of metal arms. His ribs creaked and he struggled to free himself, convinced another killer robot had been set on him. Then he realised it was Clunk.

  "Mr Spacejock, I'm so glad to see you!"

  "Me too," wheezed Hal, struggling to draw breath.

  "But how did you escape?" Clunk frowned at him. "And why aren't you saying anything?"

  "I am, you daft hunk of tin."

  The robot continued to stare. "Hello? Can you hear me?"

  Hal nodded. "Loud and clear."

  "My audio receptors!" Clunk opened his mouth wide and shook his head until his brain rattled. "That's better. My hearing must have failed when I seized up." He glanced at Sonya, then back at Hal. "I thought you'd been spaced. How did you escape?"

  Hal frowned. "What are you talking about?"

  "The cargo hold! Curtis opened the doors!"

  "No he didn't."

  "He did! I saw it on the screen!"

  "Sounds like hearing wasn't your only problem."

  Clunk turned to the console. "Navcom, please explain."

  "I was trying to, only you couldn't hear me," said the Navcom. "The briefcase was trying to open the cargo hold door, and Curtis was refusing to let you into the ship until the cargo hold was vented to space."

  "Bastard," muttered Hal.

  "I duped the briefcase into thinking it had control, and when Rex pressed the button I displayed a recorded image of the cargo door opening."

  Clunk frowned. "That would never work. The briefcase would know that it hadn't opened anything."

  "Certainly. However, I routed the cargo door commands to another location."

  "Where to?"

  "Let's just say it's lucky nobody was using the toilet."

  *

  In the early days of space travel, passengers would spend a year's wages for a brief trip into orbit, where they could experience weightlessness and gaze upon a starfield unsullied by atmospheric gases and pollution.

  To escape the same terrible view, Rex would have given up every salary bonus he'd ever awarded himself.

  With rising panic, he hauled the briefcase off his lap and flipped it open. It could call the ship back, raise someone on the orbiter, get help. It had to! Rex tapped the keyboard with his gloved finger and the display lit up. Through the distorted lens of his helmet he could just make out the words on the screen:

  Fatal error! Atmosphere 0%. Nitrogen 0%. Cooling system failed. Detonation in ten seconds … Nine … Eight …

  *

  Hal stared out of the airlock. "What the hell was that?"

  Clunk looked up from the console. "What?"

  "I just saw a flash of light out there."

  "Perhaps it was a reflection."

  "Some reflection." Hal rubbed his eyes. "It half blinded me."

  Clunk continued to work on the console and gradually the warning lights returned to normal. After the last one stopped blinking he unplugged himself and examined the status screens. "That should do it, Mr Spacejock. I've uncoupled the navigation console, returned the star map to its default configuration and brought the Navcom back to full operational status. We're back on course, our cruising speed is back to normal and I've even set the console clock to the correct time." He looked across the flight deck at Hal, who was still gazing through the porthole. "I said, that should do it."

  "Uh-huh?"

  "You can thank me later," muttered Clunk. He glanced at the camera. "Navcom, can you hear me?"

  "Yes, Clunk. And I appreciate your efforts."

  "It was nothing." He glared at Hal. "Apparently."

  The Navcom was more forthcoming. "I thought you handled the situation remarkably well, given your new body."

  "Tell me, did you get anything on that briefcase?"

  "Negative."

  "What, nothing at all?"

  "I was unable to breach its defences without an unlock code."

  "You tried though."

  "Certainly. However, the briefcase locked up after nine billion combinations."

  "Nine billion!" Clunk's face bore a concerned expression as he looked at Hal. "Mr Spacejock, I fear —" He staggered, and put out a hand to steady himself. "I fear the flash you saw might have been Mr Curtis."

  "Rex?" Hal stared at the porthole. "You mean he blew up?"

  "Not him. The briefcase!"

  Sonya gasped. "Dent warned me about that! He told me it was cooled by some kind of fusion reactor, using nitrogen from the air. He said it could knock a planet out of orbit if it failed."

  "Nitrogen from the air? But he went out into a vacuum!" Clunk slumped into the pilot's chair. "It's all my fault! I instructed the Navcom to break into the briefcase, but I didn't know the extra load would cause …" He put his head in his hands. "Oh, this is terrible."

  Hal patted him on the shoulder. "It's okay, Clunk. It wasn't your fault."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, really. If he hadn't skipped with the jetbike and left us to fly into the sun, you wouldn't have murdered him."

  Clunk groaned.

  "Anyway, I'd have killed him myself if you hadn't done it." Hal looked to Sonya for help, but sh
e was staring out the airlock. "Are you okay?"

  "I've caused so much trouble," she said quietly. "Clunk was stolen and dismantled on Ullimo, then he was wrecked on Canessa. You almost lost your ship and we nearly flew into a star. And now Rex is dead."

  "Yeah, but we won," said Hal. "And we didn't even lose the cargo."

  "Do you usually?"

  "Well, you know …"

  Sonya turned to stare at Hal, her face pale. "Can I beg a favour?"

  "Sure. Anything."

  "Take me back to Canessa. Set me down next to Rex's flyer."

  "We can't do that!" protested Clunk. "If we turn back now we'll be late for the cargo delivery. Mr Spacejock will suffer heavy penalties."

  Hal sighed. "He's right, Sonya. We're delivering to a bank, and if we mess this one up they'll put me out of business."

  "I don't have any ID, I don't have a letter of employment … If I land on Ackexa I'll never be free again!"

  "Don't worry, we'll hide you." Hal snapped his fingers. "I've got it! We can tell them you're a historian studying alien cultures."

  "You think they're stupid? They'd never fall for a feeble …" Sonya put a hand to her mouth. "I mean —"

  "You could always offer her a job," said Clunk without looking up. "All she needs is a letter of employment to prove she's been accepted in Union territory."

  "That's it!" Hal grabbed Sonya by the shoulders. "We'll make a great team! You're resourceful, attractive and intelligent, and I'm …"

  "You're sweet," said Sonya, kissing him on the cheek.

  "Are they going to reproduce now?" said the Navcom.

  "Shh," said Clunk, as Hal's face turned a deep shade of red. The robot tapped away at the console then pressed a button and a sheet of paper whirred out. "Here you are, Ms Smith. Welcome to the Volante."

  "Actually, it's Polarov."

  "What an interesting name," said Hal, as Clunk printed another letter. He signed it with a flourish, folded it in half and handed it over. "There you are, you're officially a co-pilot."

  "But I don't know the first thing about flying a ship!" protested Sonya.

  "That never stopped Mr Spacejock," muttered Clunk. He turned away to scan the console. "That's odd," he said as he waved his hand over a contact. The viewscreen changed to a long-range shot of a mottled green planet. Underneath, the status line read: Planet Canessa.