Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  "Collapsing stone columns," muttered Hal. "One-way teleporters disguised as cupboards. You'll see."

  They crossed the concourse, and on the way Hal spotted the garish colours of a Tastee logo above a sweet shop. They still had the battered cardboard box, and he looked from one to the other, deciding whether to deal with his refund now or on the way back. He saw a bank of lockers, and decided to stow the box until they had the part for the stasis controller.

  As they neared the exit barriers, Hal spotted two men standing behind a table full of brochures. "I don't believe it!" he said, staring at their trim white uniforms and large gold medallions.

  Clunk looked surprised. "Spacers Guild?"

  "Greetings," said the taller of the two men, touching his middle finger to his forehead in the traditional Guild welcome. "Tell me, have you considered joining?"

  "Have I ever?" snapped Hal. "I paid the membership fee and you closed down! You should be ashamed of yourselves, you petty scam artists."

  The man looked shocked. "Sir, I don't know what you're talking about!"

  "Forty grand in fees and all I got was a worthless badge."

  The man's face cleared. "Oh, the collapse."

  "Oh, the collapse," mimicked Hal. He grabbed a stack of leaflets from the table, ripped them to pieces and threw them into the air. "Oh, no more forms."

  "Why, sir …"

  Hal stormed off, and Clunk hurried to catch up.

  "Makes my blood boil," growled Hal. "The Guild went broke! How can they sell memberships?"

  "It does seem a little odd."

  "Odd isn't the half of it. I've a good mind to go back and —" Hal stopped as he spotted the words "Spacers Guild" on a nearby news booth. Slowly, the headlines scrolled across the display: "Spacers Guild staves off bankruptcy."

  "Whoops," said Clunk.

  Hal hunched down and hurried towards the barriers, losing himself in the crowd. Clunk strode after him, weaving through the packed mass of people.

  As they approached the exit Hal saw each traveller touching a grey panel in order to open the gate. When his turn came he pressed his hand to the pad and the barrier swung open. He stepped through, but when Clunk went to follow the barrier snapped shut in front of him. Clunk touched the panel and a red light came on.

  "Come on, move it!" shouted someone in the queue.

  "It doesn't work," said Clunk loudly, pressing his hand to the panel to prove it.

  A guard appeared from a cubicle. "I'm sorry, you can't go through. Toys have to be scanned."

  "What did you call me?"

  The guard put one hand on his holster. "Don't make a fuss now."

  "For your information," said Clunk, leaning in close. "I was flying ships to the heart of the galaxy while you were filling nappies."

  "Easy, Clunk," said Hal. "This planet has advanced technology. We can't take anything for granted."

  "But he called me a toy!"

  The guard pointed towards the end of the barriers. "Pilot, toy or novelty advertising gimmick, you have to pass through the scanner."

  "Mr Spacejock, I can't!"

  "Why not?"

  Clunk stuck his forefinger and thumb out, arranging his hand in the shape of a gun. Then he tapped his thigh.

  "Oh go on," said Hal. "You've got nothing to hide."

  "They're gunna search me," said Clunk desperately.

  "So what? We're not smugglers."

  Clunk opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. Shoulders slumped, he was led away by the guard.

  Chapter 13

  Passengers grabbed their bags and cleared a path as Clunk followed the guard along the line of barriers. At the end of the line, the last barrier was draped with heavy black curtains, with a bank of screens alongside. As Clunk arrived, a customs officer was trying to separate a large bear from a crying child.

  "I want to keep teddy!" wailed the little boy.

  "What about a big chocolate ice cream?" said his mother.

  "Chips, Johnny?" added the father. "How about a super-size spaceburger?"

  As Clunk approached the group, the mother spotted him. "It's that meddlesome robot," she said to her husband. "The one I was telling you about."

  The boy heard her and looked up.

  "Come on, keep moving," said the guard, trying to guide Clunk past the group.

  Clunk ignored him and knelt next to the crying child. "What's the matter, Johnny?"

  The boy looked up with tear-stained eyes, clutching the bear tighter than ever. "They want to look inside teddy."

  "It won't hurt him," said Clunk.

  "Radashon is bad for you."

  "But not for … What's his name?"

  "Wayne."

  "Well Johnny, Wayne will be just fine. I'm sure he's faced bigger challenges than a trip through a scanner."

  The boy's jaw tightened. "They won't let me go with him."

  "That's good. The machine isn't safe for humans."

  "Not safe." The boy turned to his parents. "Told you."

  The mother groaned. "Darling, teddy isn't human."

  "He IS real," said the boy, crushing the bear to his chest.

  Clunk lowered his voice. "Would you like me to take teddy through? I'll hold him very carefully."

  The boy tilted his head to one side. "Won't the scan hurt you?"

  "I'm not real." Clunk put his hands out. "Come on. I'll look after him."

  The boy regarded him for several seconds, then dumped the treasured bear into his arms. As Clunk straightened up, the boy turned to his parents. "Chips AND chocolate AND super burger?"

  The guard led Clunk to the curtains and motioned him through. As soon as the curtains closed on him, Clunk yanked open the panel in his thigh and pulled out the weapon he'd collected from the space elevator. With one fluid movement, he spun it on his index finger and slid it into the bear's empty holster. Then, with the bear clutched under his arm, he stepped into the middle of the booth. Through the window he saw the customs officer studying the screens, and the guard from the exit barrier joined him for a look. They laughed at the toy weapon in the bear's holster and then the officer leaned towards his microphone. "All clear. You may proceed."

  As he stepped through the curtains to exit the booth, Clunk jinked the gun from the holster and slipped it back into his thigh compartment, closing the flap just as the bear was wrenched from his grasp. "Teddy!" shouted the boy.

  "Take care," called Clunk, as the family made for the nearest Planetburger outlet.

  "That was very decent of you," said Hal.

  "Decent?" Clunk glared at him. "I'm carrying a gun, Mr Spacejock. I had to conceal it somehow."

  "Is that what the pantomime was about? I thought you were trying to unscrew your legs."

  Clunk's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps if you were a little faster on the uptake …"

  "Why didn't you just declare it?"

  "Because it's probably stolen," snapped Clunk.

  "It is now."

  "I meant before. It might be linked to unsolved crimes. You could have been charged with armed robbery!"

  "Well, if the part for the controller is too expensive we can always stage a hold-up. Maybe someone else will get the blame."

  They left the terminal building and emerged in a paved area where dozens of bright-eyed birds flitted amongst waiting taxis, turning over stray wrappers and alighting on suitcases in their search for food. Sleek cabs flowed in both directions, pausing only to pick up or drop off passengers. To the left and right, the road curved away between embankments of lush green grass.

  Clunk approached a waiting cab, bent down and spoke through the open window. "Excuse me, do you know where Finangle Corporation is?"

  The driver lowered his news-sheet. "Sure. Hop in."

  "How much?" asked Hal.

  "Six klicks plus flagfall. Say two hundred?"

  "Say forget it," growled Hal.

  "Nice day for a walk," remarked the driver, returning to his news-sheet.

  Hal led Clunk aw
ay from the cab. "Now I know why we avoid rich planets. Two hundred for a lousy cab fare!"

  "I can't walk six kilometres. My batteries won't last."

  "Why don't you wait here? I can fetch the bits."

  "What if you're held up again?"

  "You could lend me that gun."

  Clunk shook his head. "You've given yourself life-threatening injuries with cutlery before now. I am not putting a high-powered firearm in your hands."

  Hal sighed. "All right. I'll be back soon. You'd better switch off and save those batteries of yours."

  Clunk entered standby, and after the robot's eyes dulled Hal turned to leave.

  "Oy you!" yelled an angry voice. "What do you think you're doing?"

  Hal looked around and saw an elderly man in uniform hurrying towards him, his irate face half-hidden under an enormous peaked cap. "You can't leave that here!" shouted the man, jerking his thumb at Clunk. "No littering, see?"

  "Littering?"

  "Yeah." The man pointed to a neat sign on the wall. "I can fine you."

  "He's not litter," said Hal patiently. "He's my robot."

  "You know how much it costs to get a junked robot picked up? "'Undreds!"

  "He's not junked," said Hal. "He's going to sit here until I come back."

  "Mister, I cleared four robots from that bench last week. Favourite trick, it is. “Sit here, make yesself comfy. I'll be back in a week.” No bleedin' chance."

  "Look, I've got a long walk ahead of me, and he wouldn't get half way."

  "Worn out, is he? Going to dump him, were you?" The man nodded. "I knew it. I can tell, 'cause that's all I see, week in week out. If you knew the times I'd …"

  Hal shook Clunk's shoulder and the robot jerked upright, eyes flickering. "Back already, Mr Spacejock?"

  "No, this guy thinks I'm abandoning you. I thought you could reassure him."

  Clunk turned his attention to the uniformed man, who was still working his way through past grievances.

  "… and then there was this pair of twins. Like new they was, but you can't get the parts nowadays and —"

  "Excuse me!" said Clunk loudly.

  "Another time there was a whole gang of 'em, waiting until me back was turned before dumping their junky old robots all over me nice clean benches. All that oil and grease! And then —"

  "EXCUSE ME!" roared Clunk at full volume. Passing cabs squealed to a halt and all the birds fluttered away in a welter of feathers.

  "They know I can't see too well at night, so they sneak up and leave arms and legs lyin' around, then they call out and wait for me to trip up. But I know them and their tricks and —"

  Clunk reached for the man's lapels, but Hal stopped him. "Give up."

  "What are we going to do?"

  There was a whistling sound and a bright yellow jetbike came round the corner. Hal's eyes locked onto it. "Look sharp," he murmured.

  "What are you thinking?" demanded Clunk. He followed Hal's gaze. "You're not really going to …"

  The bike fizzed to a halt nearby, and the rider leapt off and strode into the terminal with a package under his arm.

  "C'mon," said Hal out the side of his mouth.

  "Come on what?"

  Hal strolled to the bike, glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then grabbed the handlebars and swung himself into the saddle.

  "I don't think that's a good idea," said Clunk, arranging his features into a disapproving look. "It's not legal."

  "Fine, stay here and convince that nutter you're not a pile of scrap." Hal pressed the starter and the bike spluttered into life, rising into the air on a sparkling forcefield. It began to tilt, and Hal twisted the handlebars to counteract the movement. The bike immediately tipped the other way, almost hurling him off. A wobble or two later, and he got it under control.

  "Hey!" yelled a voice. "Hey you! Get off that bike!"

  Hal looked round and saw the courier approaching at a run. "Clunk, get on! Now!"

  Clunk leapt aboard and Hal gave the throttle a vicious twist. The bike jumped off the mark, raced past the courier's outstretched arms and glanced off a barrier with a screech of tortured metal.

  "Which way?" shouted Hal, who was leaning over the handlebars with his eyes screwed up against the tearing wind.

  "Next right!" shouted Clunk, tightening his grip as they approached a corner.

  Hal dragged on the handlebars and the bike leaned over, sliding and sparking as it shot round at full speed. They missed a parked van, screamed between a pair of bins and began a high-speed slalom between lampposts. Once clear, Hal got the bike on the right side of the road and opened up the throttle.

  They hurtled past silent factories and empty parking lots, the bike's engine howling like a tornado in the narrow streets. Before long Clunk tapped Hal on the shoulder and pointed to a building in the distance. A giant inflatable spaceship was tethered to the roof, and a huge sign proclaimed to the world that Finangle Corp had "the biggest tools in town".

  Hal turned into the car park and brought the bike to a halt, dismounted and strode towards the front entrance. Inside, there was a receptionist behind the counter, typing busily while fielding incoming calls. After a moment or two, he paused and looked up. "How can I help you?"

  Clunk stepped forward. "Order for Spacejock."

  "Ah, the rush job." The man slid a parcel wrapped in brown paper across the counter. "Eighteen credits, thanks."

  "Eighteen credits?" said Hal. "I thought it was going to be hundreds!"

  "Must be your lucky day." The receptionist pushed a touchpad across the desk. "Sign here."

  "I'd better check it first," said Clunk. He removed the paper, revealing a jet-black case that seemed to absorb light. There was a starburst logo engraved on the lid, with the words "931 inc" underneath. Frowning, Clunk popped the case open.

  "My God," said Hal. "It's full of cigars!"

  The receptionist reddened. "Oops, sorry. That's a present for my boss." He reached under the counter and took out a second parcel, wrapped in the same paper. "This must be yours."

  Clunk tore the paper off, revealing a small aluminium case with heavy-duty fasteners. After checking inside, he took out several credit tiles and slid them across the counter.

  "We had a devil of a job getting here," said Hal, pressing his thumb to the receipt pad.

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. First we took a rental ship, then a passenger liner. Then we took the space elevator and some guy tried to hold everyone up."

  Clunk chimed in. "After that we took a courier's jetbike and —"

  "Well, we'd better not stand around chatting," said Hal hastily. He picked up the aluminium case. "Back to Cathua, eh?"

  Clunk nodded. "At this rate we'll have the stasis controller fixed in no time."

  *

  Back at the Plessa Spaceport, Hal parked the courier bike out of sight of the terminal so they could cover the last hundred metres or so on foot, keeping an eye out for the courier as they entered the building. Inside, Clunk went off to secure tickets to the Orbiter while Hal retrieved his battered carton from the locker and took it to the sweet shop he'd spotted earlier.

  The shop was crowded, and three serving droids worked non-stop to service their customers. The droids were polished chrome, with their noses permanently raised in the air and their features arranged into looks of haughty disdain, as if traffic in such common fare were beneath them. Like it or not, they were doing a roaring trade in gaudy sweets and chocolate bars.

  Hal joined the shortest queue and soon reached the counter.

  "How may I help you, sir?" asked the droid.

  Hal put his box on the counter. "I'd like a refund on this stuff, please."

  "A refund?" said the droid, almost stumbling over the unfamiliar word. "Why?"

  "I got a job lot from a wholesaler on Cathua, and —"

  "Ah, Cathua. I'm afraid we don't issue refunds for grey imports."

  "Oh, they're not grey," said Hal, pulling a half-chewed Tastee
bar from the box. "See? They're all white and crumbly."

  "White and crumbly," repeated the droid. From the tone of its voice, white and crumbly was a new experience.

  "Yeah, and there's rat droppings in the box," said Hal, tipping a few on the counter in case the droid had never seen one.

  Clearly, it hadn't. "R-r-rat …" Speech failed, and the droid resorted to opening and closing its mouth. It was so shocked it forgot to keep its nose in the air.

  "So, I'd like a refund thanks. Or replacements, I'm not fussy."

  Gingerly, the droid opened the box and looked inside. "Sir, how old is this product?"

  Hal shrugged. "I don't know. I bought it last night."

  "But these designs … they're over ten years old!" Suddenly the droid's nose went up. "We have no liability in this case. You purchased this product when it had already passed its use-by date, and that's no fault of the manufacturer."

  "So you won't give me a refund?"

  "No sir."

  "Or replacements?"

  "I'm afraid not. Now, if you're not going to buy anything I must ask you to leave." The droid gestured at the box. "There's a rubbish bin outside. I suggest you use it."

  Hal looked outside and saw the bin. He also saw a bench. "You know what I'm going to do?"

  "Sir, I really don't care."

  "You might." Hal pointed to the bench. "I'm going to sit over there and eat everything in this box. And then I'm going to stick my fingers down my throat."

  "But you'll be sick!"

  "All over the place," said Hal with satisfaction. "I'll put everyone off chocolate for a month."

  "A refund, you said."

  "And compensation," said Hal, having gained the upper hand. "I want something for my pain and suffering."

  "What pain and suffering?"

  Hal winced and clutched his stomach. "Ooh, I feel sick."

  "I can't give you money," said the droid desperately. "I'm not authorised."

  "I'll take goods to the value," said Hal, making a swift recovery. "Two boxes of Tastees, six bags of lime balls and some of those chewy snake things. And give me a new box. This one's falling apart at the seams.

  Ten minutes later Clunk found him sitting on a bench munching a Tastee bar, while a droid watched anxiously from the nearby sweet shop. Clunk glanced down at the new box full of sweets and chocolates, and decided he really didn't want to know.