Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  The Volante creaked as the men stepped onto the ramp, and as Jasmin watched them coming towards her, swinging their bats, she wondered why they'd selected this particular ship for a game. And furthermore, where were their balls? "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

  "Are you the owner?" demanded the man in the coat.

  "No, I'm a passenger."

  "Is Spacejock around?"

  Jasmin shook her head.

  "Doesn't matter," said the man, handing her a sheet of paper. "As of now, this ship belongs to Hand-E-Mart. Get your stuff and leave."

  Jasmin read the note, which was printed on a Hand-E-Mart letterhead. "This isn't a valid possession order. It's just a list of illiterate threats."

  The man beckoned to his bat-wielding heavies. "Escort this lady from the ship."

  The toughs shouldered their weapons and reached for Jasmin's upper arms, but as they did so she grabbed their outstretched hands, hauled the men off their feet and flipped them over in mid-air, slamming them onto the decking. The impact shook the hold and almost knocked the debt collector off his feet, but he recovered quickly and pulled a gleaming handgun from his coat.

  Jasmin raised her hand.

  "And the other one," said the man.

  "Oh, I'm not surrendering," said Jasmin. "It's a signal to my men."

  "Of course it is. No doubt they're just waiting to spring from hiding at your slightest command."

  Jasmin dropped her hand, and Barry and Ace sprang from hiding, blast rifles at the ready. There was a "Chack!" as the safeties came off, followed by a whine as the weapons powered up.

  The debt collector's jaw dropped, as did his weapon. "I, er …"

  Jasmin prodded him in the chest. "You're leaving. Now."

  "I'll catch up with Spacejock later," said the man, backing out of the hold. "You tell him I said so." Halfway down the ramp he turned and belted for the car, coat flapping behind him.

  Jasmin pushed the dazed toughs down the ramp after him and closed the hold. She gave Barry and Ace a quick nod of thanks, then took the passage to the flight deck. Where the hell was Hal Spacejock? The debt collector was sure to return with reinforcements, and next time she might be the one tumbling down the ramp.

  *

  Hal had woken slowly, still feeling the effects of a dream where he'd been served as the main course in a fancy restaurant. Frenzied diners had descended on him with flashing cutlery, and he'd only escaped with gravity-defying martial arts. Clunk was one of the waiters, but he'd left Hal to his own devices while serving delicacy after delicacy to a gloating Kent Spearman.

  Hal interpreted the dream to the best of his ability, and decided it meant he was hungry. He rolled over, unleashing a groan as the pocket full of stolen silverware dug into his side.

  "Are you all right, Mr Spacejock?"

  Hal looked up and saw Clunk standing over him with a battered tin mug. "Yeah, great. Excellent."

  "I thought you could use some refreshment," said the robot.

  Hal took a cautious sip. Clunk's coffee ranged from plain water to engine oil, with enough variations in temperature and ingredients to generate whole new strains of bacteria. This particular brew had the consistency of gelatine and the aroma of balmy seawater. "That was some night."

  "Bad?"

  "Yeah. I dreamt we slept in orbit aboard that Phantom wreck."

  "That was no dream."

  Hal sat up and discovered his bed was a pile of dusty rugs in a corner of the hold. "Damn, I thought the Volante was getting noisy. How long until we land?"

  "We just embarked on another orbit before re-entry, and then we have the approach followed by —"

  "Just tell me how long."

  "Another hour."

  "An hour? What time is it now?"

  "Ten am. I tried to wake you earlier, but —"

  "You're cutting it too fine. We have to be down by eleven or …" Hal's voice tailed off. Clunk didn't know they'd yet to load Jasmin's real crate.

  "Or what?"

  "Well, er, ground control might take a tea break. Wouldn't want to be stranded."

  Clunk gave him a strange look. "They'll have relief staff to handle our landing."

  "I just want us down as quick as possible, all right?"

  "But I've already programmed our course into the computer."

  "So do it again, and this time cut some corners."

  "There aren't any corners. We're orbiting."

  "Orbit faster, then!"

  "I'll do what I can," said Clunk, rising to his feet.

  Once he was gone, Hal poured the rest of his coffee on the blankets and rolled them up. Then he put the mug aside and set off to find the shower cubicle.

  *

  Fifty minutes later Hal entered the flight deck, where he found Clunk preparing the ship for landing.

  "Did you get a shower?" asked the robot.

  "Yeah, thirty minutes of steam."

  "And something to eat?"

  Hal shook his head. "Spent ages trying to light the cooker."

  "You don't mean the electric stove?"

  "Oops. No wonder it smelled funny." Hal sighed. "This ship is so old, Clunk. I can't wait to get back aboard the Volante."

  "Five minutes and your wish will be granted." Clunk flipped a switch. "Ground, this is Phantom-X1 requesting clearance."

  There was a hiss from the speakers.

  "Phantom-X1 calling ground. Do you copy?"

  "I wouldn't bother," said Hal. "If there's a problem they'll call us."

  "We need clearance. What if we hit another ship?"

  "Are you kidding? There's only two ships here. One's ours, and the other one isn't going anywhere."

  "You're right. Against my better judgement, I'm prepared to make an exception."

  "Incoming call," said the computer.

  Clunk looked hopeful. "Ground control?"

  "Negative. Putting them on."

  "Good morning, gentlemen, I trust everything is going smoothly?"

  "It's Joe," whispered Clunk.

  Hal stared at him. "What am I going to say?"

  "Tell him what happened."

  "Hello?" said Joe. "Can you hear me?"

  "Loud and clear," said Hal. "We're just coming in to land."

  "That was some test flight, my boy. You were gone hours."

  "We were almost gone for good. The throttles jammed and we nearly crashed into the Orbiter."

  There was a long silence. "How about a discount?"

  "I wouldn't take this ship if you paid me."

  Joe sighed. "You're missing a fabulous opportunity. I have several buyers lined up."

  "You can hold a raffle for all I care, but you'd better throw in life insurance. This thing's a death trap."

  "Oh, very well," said Joe sullenly. "But that fuel tank better not be empty."

  Clunk cut the call. "It's going to cost a lot to fill up."

  "Just splash a few litres in," said Hal. "It won't be empty then."

  Suddenly there was a growing rumble, and before they could react something very big and very loud screamed by. Clunk leapt for the controls as the Phantom jerked sideways, thrown off course by the near miss, and it took several seconds of frenzied activity before he managed to get their descent back on track.

  "What the hell was that?" demanded Hal.

  "I told you it was important to obtain clearance. That was another ship, leaving the spaceport."

  "What other ship?"

  "How should I know? It must have come in while we were visiting Plessa."

  Hal mopped his brow. "Still, it missed eh? No harm done."

  Chapter 16

  The Phantom set down on a vacant landing pad, and while Clunk was busy shutting down the engines and flight systems Hal marched to the inner door and threw it open. "Thank goodness that's over," he said, entering the airlock. "Now we just have to nip over to Jordia for Jasmin's delivery and pocket forty grand."

  "The spaceport is calling us. They want landing fees."

  "Char
ge it to Joe." The outer door creaked and groaned, and Hal clicked his fingers impatiently as it swung open. "As soon as we get aboard I'm going to …" His voice tailed off as he spotted the rugged little freighter with the damaged engine - and no Volante. "Where's my bloody ship?"

  Clunk checked the screen. "We're on the next landing pad. It should be alongside."

  "The hell it is." With a sinking feeling, Hal realised who might be responsible. Hand-E-Mart! The owner had threatened him, hadn't he? What if he'd managed to impound the ship? Hal cast a worried look at Clunk. How was he going to point the robot in the right direction without incriminating himself? And how could the Navcom have let someone take the ship? Deeply worried, Hal jammed his hands in his pockets and immediately started dancing around the flight deck, roaring in pain.

  "What is it?" asked Clunk in alarm. "What's happening?"

  "Fork!" shouted Hal. "Fork! Fork! Fork!"

  "Mr Spacejock, there's no call for —"

  "Fork!" There was a flash of silver as Hal pulled his hand from his pocket, and when he held it up Clunk saw the tines of a fork rammed under his fingernail.

  "Is that from the Luna Rose?"

  "Who cares where the bloody thing came from?" shouted Hal. "Get rid of it!"

  "But how did it get into your pocket?"

  "Pull it out!" Hal averted his gaze as Clunk took hold of the fork, and a split second later he was dancing around the flight deck again, muttering several more "forks" under his breath.

  "It's not very clean," said Clunk, inspecting the tines. "Do you think it was inside someone's mouth?"

  Hal grabbed two handfuls of cutlery from his pockets, ran to the airlock and hurled them out, scattering knives and forks across the landing pad. As they bounced and slithered on the ground, he turned and jabbed his throbbing finger at Clunk. "You are going to find the Volante. Understood?"

  "Yes, Mr Spacejock. Shall I search the port computers?"

  "Port, starboard, I don't give a stuff. Just find her."

  Hal paced the flight deck while Clunk interrogated the computer. Finally, the robot straightened. "You know that ship we almost hit on the way down?"

  "Don't tell me that was the Volante."

  "It was."

  Hal groaned. "Where were they taking her?"

  "I don't know. They didn't file a flight plan."

  "Call her," said Hal suddenly. "Put me through to them."

  "I already tried. They're not accepting calls." Clunk looked serious. "Mr Spacejock, you realise our cargo is at risk? My repairs were only temporary, and if the Volante is missing for any length of time —"

  "We'll just have to chase them down, then. Get ready for take off. We're leaving."

  "But the Volante is faster than us! Not only that, we're almost out of fuel."

  Hal gestured towards the airlock. "Plenty of fuel out there. And if anyone asks, it's on Joe's account."

  *

  Hal and Clunk hurried down the steps to the landing pad, where a bowed old man in filthy overalls was lugging a thick pipe towards the ship. He paused to stare at a spoon, then squinted at them. "What'll you be having?"

  "Whatever's cheapest," said Hal. "And fill it right up."

  "On account?"

  "Yeah, Joe's Ships."

  "Funny. He never puts in more'n a couple of litres."

  "It's part of a deal."

  "He don't usually do deals, neither."

  "If you don't fill the ship immediately I'll do you."

  The mechanic attached the pipe to the Phantom and threw a lever. The pipe shuddered as tons of fuel passed through it, and there was a loud splashing from the external tank as the volatile mix poured in. While it was filling, Hal picked up a fork and bent it back and forth, back and forth, all the while scanning the sky for signs of the Volante.

  "She's long gone by now," said Clunk.

  "Can you track her?"

  Clunk nodded. "Once we're clear of the planet."

  "If we don't get her back …"

  "We will, Mr Spacejock. I promise."

  Hal snapped the fork in two and dropped the pieces. "How much longer?" he demanded, gesturing at the fuel pipe.

  "Few more minutes," said the old man. He nodded towards the spaceport buildings. "Expecting someone?"

  Hal turned and saw a gleaming, shoulder-high crate moving towards them. It was sitting on a trolley, and as it got closer Hal saw a man in blue overalls pushing for all he was worth. "What the hell does he want?"

  The trolley stopped next to the landing pad and the man came over. "I'm looking for the Volante."

  "Join the bloody club." Hal's gaze fell on the crate and something clicked. "Are you from Jasmin?"

  The man looked at his docket book. "S'right. Jasmin Ortiz. Freight for Jordia."

  "It can't be!" exclaimed Clunk. "We already —"

  "That's for us," interrupted Hal. He gestured at Clunk. "You'd better get the cargo ramp down."

  "Why?"

  "When we catch up with the Volante, we'll transfer the crate and deliver it."

  "But the pallet yesterday —"

  "Hey, mistakes happen. We can't leave this one out here, can we?"

  Clunk eyed him with suspicion. "I don't know what you're —"

  "It's forty grand, Clunk. Anyway, you promised to help."

  "I said I'd get the Volante back, not participate in harebrained —"

  "Just do it!"

  Without a word, Clunk hurried up the steps to the flight deck.

  "Look, I don't think I can do this," said the courier. "I'm supposed to deliver to the Volante."

  "I'm Hal Spacejock, the owner," said Hal. "Look it up if you don't believe me."

  "I can vouch for 'im," said the old man, who was leaning on the fuel pipe and watching with interest. "Saw 'em land here yesterday. Purdy ship."

  The courier nodded. "That's good enough for me." He returned to the trolley and hauled it towards the rear of the ship, where the cargo ramp was hissing and shuddering as it dropped to the ground.

  "Do you want a hand?" called Hal.

  The courier shook his head and manoeuvred the trolley onto the ramp. It was quite a struggle, and he was only halfway up when Clunk came back. "Doesn't he want any help?"

  Hal shook his head.

  "It looks heavy," said Clunk, as the courier puffed and strained.

  Hal glanced at him. "Bet you ten credits it slips down again."

  "Done," said the robot.

  The courier tugged and hauled, his boots slipping and scraping on the ramp as he inched his way towards the hold. He made it eventually, and Clunk put his hand out.

  "I'll owe you." Hal nodded towards the ramp. "You'd better give him a hand. He'll never get it off the trolley on his own."

  There was a crash from the hold.

  "Or maybe he will."

  The courier rolled the empty trolley down the ramp, nodded to them both and left.

  "I'll tie it down and seal the hold," said Clunk. "You go to the flight deck."

  "Want me to get the ship ready? Start the engines, plot a course, that sort of thing?"

  "No." Clunk looked round as the old man disconnected the fuel hose. "All done?"

  "Done five minutes ago," said the man, as he dragged the pipe clear. "Didn't want to leave. Most excitement I had in weeks."

  *

  Hal drummed his fingers on the Phantom's console, irritated by Clunk's lack of faith. Hadn't he got the Phantom off the ground last time? Hadn't his manoeuvring averted disaster at the Orbiter? He was a pilot, whatever the robot thought, and one of these days he'd demonstrate his full range of skills.

  And where the hell was the robot, anyway? The Volante was getting away, and here they were stuck on the landing pad while Clunk wasted hours shutting a door and tying a couple of knots. Hal scanned the console for some means to contact the hold and give him a hurry up, but it although it was covered in buttons and switches there was no obvious way to put a call through.

  "Computer, get me the h
old."

  "Internal intercom inoperative."

  Hal pressed a couple of buttons, but apart from the odd buzz and bloop nothing happened. He tried the console microphone, but it came off in his hand. When he tried to put it back the top fell off, and when he tried to put the top back a bunch of tiny parts fell out.

  "External intercom now inoperative," said the computer.

  Hal gathered up the bits and pieces and pulled several knobs under the console until he found a drawer, where he stowed the parts away. Then he sat back in the pilot's chair and put his feet up. He closed his eyes and pictured a world where humans flew ships and robots made good coffee, and he was just about to enjoy a particularly decent brew when he noticed a gentle vibration. He opened one eye, and to his concern he saw the console was now covered in flashing lights and dancing dials. Not only was there activity galore, but there was also a low rumble and a dull roar to go with it. "Computer?"

  "Yeah?"

  "What's that noise?"

  "The one that sounds like the engine?"

  "Yes, that's the one."

  "It's the engine."

  Hal jerked upright. "Switch it all off, quick! Clunk will go spare."

  "I can't," said the computer, amplifying its voice. "It's a manual system."

  "Okay, I'll stop them."

  "Good luck."

  Hal pressed several buttons and the engine began to howl, shaking the ship from stem to stern. "Can't you give me a hint?"

  "I recommend you press the stop button."

  Hal grabbed for the console as the deck lurched beneath his feet. "Which is it?"

  "Too late, we're airborne."

  "Really?" Hal looked pleased. "Hey, that was easy!"

  "And we're moving sideways."

  Hal's grin vanished. "What?"

  "Estimate impact with spaceport buildings in seventeen seconds."

  Hal's gaze fell on the throttle control, which was set to ten percent. Last time he'd used it the ship had zoomed into space and knocked him out, but that was nothing compared to flattening the Cathuan departure lounge. With some trepidation, he gave it a gentle nudge.