Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  "So we're all right? Nothing broke down?"

  "No."

  "Why's the computer dead?"

  "It shut itself down. You see, by conserving energy it can charge the jump motors at a faster rate."

  "I wish you'd told me all this before we left," said Hal. "For a while there I thought we'd had it."

  "On the contrary, we should emerge any moment now." As Clunk finished speaking the whole ship leapt to one side, knocking Hal off his feet.

  "Jump complete," said the computer. "I have an incoming message from Jordia customs."

  "What do they want?"

  "They're asking whether we have anything to declare."

  "Tell them no."

  "What about the crate?" asked Clunk.

  "I'm not declaring that. Jasmin said they'd let it through."

  "Yes, aboard the Volante. This is the Phantom."

  "If we don't know what we're carrying, how can we declare it?"

  "Very well." There was a pause as the computer transmitted the information. "Now they want to board us for an inspection after we land."

  "They can't do that, we don't know what we're carrying!"

  "They're offering a customs pass for six thousand credits."

  "Bribery?" Hal shook his head. "No way."

  Clunk frowned. "If the crate contains illegal goods we could be in trouble."

  "And if it doesn't we've wasted six grand." Hal rubbed his chin. "We'd better open it up for a look."

  "But Jasmin said —"

  "Jasmin's not here."

  "We could jettison the crate. It would burn up in orbit and nobody would be any the wiser."

  "Are you insane?" said Hal, as he made for the ladder. "She's paying forty grand for safe delivery. We can't turn her cargo into a sky show!"

  Clunk hurried to catch up. "It might have tamper-proofing. If you break the seal you could destroy the contents."

  Hal shrugged. "Better than having some customs thug open it up with a hammer." He stepped onto the ladder. "Come on, I need your anti-tamper-proofing expertise."

  "I don't know if I can open it without leaving marks."

  "What about that cute little robot on Egris?"

  "That was different," said Clunk hurriedly. "I asked her first."

  "I think the word you're looking for is 'begged'."

  Clunk's stiff face broke into a grin. "I didn't know you were listening."

  "I could hardly miss it. It sounded like a sack of tin cans falling down a flight of stairs."

  At the foot of the ladder, Hal made for the cargo hold, wincing at the freezing air. They entered, and their footsteps echoed from the walls as they crossed to the rear of the hold. Overhead lights flickered on at their approach, until the last one shone down on a welded alloy box with mirror-finish sides. There was a status panel along the base, and a green light shone steadily from the middle of a keypad.

  "That's a high security crate," said Clunk. "You'll never get it open."

  "I'm not going to. You are." Hal took a crowbar from a cross-beam and held it out. "Try not to leave any marks."

  Clunk crossed his arms. "Breaking into bonded cargo is completely outside the terms and conditions of my employment."

  Hal hefted the crowbar. "In that case I'll smash it open myself."

  "Given the amount we're getting paid, I'd strongly advise against that course of action."

  "I think I'll lever the keypad off first," said Hal. "I might be able to short the wiring."

  "Mr Spacejock, I know you're just waiting for me to stop you."

  "The thought never crossed my mind." Hal looked round. "Have we got a sledgehammer?"

  Clunk sighed. "You win. Step aside."

  A few moments later, the side facing them opened to reveal an expanse of black glass. Clunk knelt to examine the controls, while Hal cupped his hands to the glass and tried to see through it. "What is it? Some kind of shield?"

  Clunk nodded.

  "Reckon I can smash a hole in it?" asked Hal, brandishing the crowbar.

  "You're not serious." Clunk tapped his finger on the glass. "This material is harder than diamond, and it's impenetrable unless we enter the right code."

  "How does it stay solid?"

  Clunk pointed to a wire.

  "And if we pull that out?"

  "You'd trigger an explosion."

  "I see. And the code?"

  "Impossible to crack."

  "You're not being very helpful."

  "It was designed to be secure. It wouldn't be much good if I could open it by clicking my fingers."

  Hal glanced at the light fitting overhead. "If we shone enough light in we might be able to see something."

  There was a click as Clunk activated his chest lamp. "Will this do?"

  Hal eyed the dull glow. "Reminds me of you."

  "I don't understand."

  "It's a bit dim. Get it?"

  Clunk regarded him stonily.

  "Can't you juice it up a bit?"

  "I could pour my entire charge into it, and it would barely flicker."

  Hal glanced at the wall nearby. "What if we plug you into the ship? You could run mains voltage straight into the lamp."

  "With that kind of power, I'd glow more than the bulb."

  "I'm not asking you to poke your fingers in the socket. Just divert the voltage to the light."

  Clunk fished inside his chest and pulled out a length of black flex. He stripped the ends with a twist of his fingers and held them up for inspection, eyes whirring as they focussed on the bare metal. "That should do it," he said, as he approached the socket. The wires disappeared into the slots, and Clunk paused with his finger over the switch. "Ready?"

  Hal nodded.

  An intense flash lit up the inside of the crate like a bolt of lightning in a crypt. A loud crackling noise followed the flash, and there was a hissing, spitting sound from the wall socket.

  Hal wasn't paying any attention to the noises, nor to the thick clouds of blue-grey smoke wafting gently across the cargo hold. His unblinking gaze was fixed on the shadowy glass inside the crate. The after image of the contents was still hanging before his eyes - a pale green skull and crossbones hovering against a bank of swirling fog.

  He backed away from the crate, bumped into something and spun round, coming face to face with a smoking, blackened figure with wide, staring eyes. "Get away from me!" shouted Hal, as the apparition reached for him with twisted claws.

  "Calm down, Mr Spacejock," said the figure.

  "Clunk?" Hal stared closer. "What happened to you?"

  The robot held his nose and blew streams of blue smoke from his ears. "The lamp consumed rather more current than I expected."

  "Are you okay?"

  "Nothing a complete refit won't fix."

  "That makes two of us." Hal glanced at the crate. "Did you see … that?"

  "I didn't see anything at all. The voltage overloaded my vision."

  "There's a skull in there. It's all foggy and —"

  "Nonsense. Why would anyone pay forty thousand credits to ship a body?"

  "It wasn't a body, it was like a warning."

  "Then I suggest we heed it."

  "We can't! You know what customs are like, Clunk. One slip and they'll take the ship apart, rivet by rivet." Hal spread his hands. "And who knows what they'll find on this old wreck?"

  "We can still jettison the crate."

  "Are you mad? We need that forty grand to get the Volante back." Hal rubbed his chin. "You know, I'm against bribery myself —"

  "Unless it's coming your way."

  "- but in this case, it might be the answer. We'll land at the spaceport, contact Ortiz and let her pay the bribe."

  *

  "Would you like to supervise the landing?" asked the Navcom as the Volante circled Jordia in a low orbit.

  Jasmin shook her head. "Just get clearance and land."

  "They want to know our point of departure and the nature of our cargo."

  "Tell them
we're the Vengeance out of Plessa, and give them clearance code 77P."

  "Isn't that diplomatic immunity?"

  Jasmin nodded.

  "Clearance granted. Where are we landing?"

  "Set down at the main spaceport."

  They landed five minutes later, and the Navcom immediately shut down the engines. "You have arrived at your destination. Local time is thirteen hundred hours."

  Jasmin's controller attracted her attention. "You appear to have landed on Jordia. Is this correct?"

  "Yes."

  "I have uploaded the access code for the suitcase. Please open it now."

  Jasmin had stowed the case under the console, and she now took it out and laid it on the instrument panel. The code was accepted and the lid popped open, revealing a battered red toolbox and a miniature printer lying on top of folded overalls. Jasmin opened the toolbox and her eyebrows rose as she saw the tightly packed credit tiles.

  "You must hire a truck for the delivery," said her controller. "Book one now."

  Jasmin turned to the console and accessed the spaceport facilities. There were three rental companies. She picked the first and reserved a suitable vehicle. "Done. Now what?"

  "The case contains two uniforms for your men. The magnetic signs in the bottom of the case are for the rental truck."

  Jasmin took the overalls out of the suitcase and saw a pair of colourful signs underneath with "Herlion Robots" in letters made from smiling robot faces. The same logo was repeated on the blue overalls and matching caps. "What's the printer for?"

  "To generate delivery passes for the Consumer Robot trade fair. Your employees will use them to deliver the crate."

  "Trade fair? Is that what all this is about?"

  The controller ignored her. "You will find a packet of blank name tags in the case. Enter the names of your hired help into the printer and generate a badge for each of them."

  Jasmin typed "Barry" on the printer's miniature keyboard and fed the first tag into the slot. It emerged with a fancy logo alongside the words "Delivery Pass - Valid Friday 22nd" printed above the name. She repeated the process for Ace, then clipped each one to a set of overalls. "Done."

  "The crate must arrive at the trade fair between five and six pm. Deliveries will not be accepted after that."

  "Don't I get a badge?"

  "No. You will direct the mission from this vessel."

  "Why?"

  "You will receive further orders when the truck is loaded."

  Jasmin could get nothing more out of the controller, so she packed the items into the suitcase and headed for the cargo hold, stopping on the way to collect Barry and Ace from the rec room. In the hold she lowered the cargo ramp and pointed out the spaceport buildings. "You're to collect a truck from Payne Rentals. It's in your name."

  "Am I supposed to pay for it?"

  "Of course not. Bring it back here, and don't delay." Jasmin gave him enough for the rental, waited until he and Ace were clear of the ship, then closed the hold again. As the ramp thudded to she anticipated her controller's orders and decided she would move the crate to the exit, ready to load it onto the truck. She glanced around the hold, expecting to see it immediately, but although there were dozens of silver boxes with flashing green lights, hers was nowhere to be seen. She thought back to her tussle with the debt collectors and realised she hadn't seen it then either.

  Her systems ran cold. What if it wasn't aboard the Volante at all?

  *

  The Phantom's screen blanked out as the ship approached Jordia, and for ten minutes it showed a single word in the centre: "Loading …"

  "Loading what?" asked Hal, his curiosity aroused.

  "Unable to determine that information," said the computer.

  "Adverts? Guns?"

  "Unable to —"

  "All right, how long until we land?"

  "ETA TBA."

  Hal glanced at Clunk, who'd been working non-stop at the console for twenty minutes. "Do you know?"

  Clunk looked at him, his eyes unfocussed. "Know what?"

  "Weren't you listening?"

  "I was busy. The navigation system is very primitive, and I've had to lock in every stage of our descent by hand. One error and we'll overshoot the spaceport and land in the sea."

  "Yes, that's wonderful and you're incredibly talented. How long?"

  Clunk inspected the console. "Fifteen minutes."

  "Probably still be loading when we hit," muttered Hal. Barely had the words left his lips when the screen cleared and "Loading Complete" appeared. "Okay, computer. Explain the mystery."

  "Would you like to see a visual of planet Jordia?"

  "Seen one, you've seen 'em all."

  "The oceans are a fetching shade of blue."

  "We're not landing in the oceans."

  "There are several mountain ranges replete with snow."

  "What's this, a commercial?"

  "No, it's a public information service. Would you like to see the visual?"

  "This is going to cost me, isn't it?"

  "There's a voluntary donation of fifteen credits."

  "Forget it."

  "Ten credits and you get a free coffee at the spaceport terminal."

  "Oh, go on then."

  The screen showed a planetary surface with a huge land mass surrounded by seas. Navigation markers appeared, highlighting a fuzzy grey patch on the coast. "Jordia Spaceport," said the computer.

  "Where's the snowy mountains?"

  "It's summer."

  "And why isn't the sea blue?"

  "Pollution."

  "I bet the coffee's lousy, too."

  The console beeped. "Incoming message."

  "Put them on."

  "I repeat, you are currently approaching a no-fly zone. Reverse your course and depart the area immediately."

  Hal frowned. "Who was that?"

  "It's a transmitter on the ground," said Clunk. He pointed to the screen, where a red splash had appeared near the grey patch. "It seems there's a military base in our flight path."

  "Go around it," said Hal.

  "We can't change course now. I told you, we're locked on final approach."

  "You have entered a restricted area. Execute a ninety-degree turn to starboard and slow to one-eighty knots."

  "We can't!" shouted Hal. "We're committed! Locked in!"

  Clunk put a hand on his arm. "There's no point shouting. It's an automated response."

  Hal stared at him in shock. "I'm talking to a computer?"

  "Yes, and it's going to blow us out of the sky."

  Chapter 19

  Jasmin spent twenty fruitless minutes searching the Volante's hold for her crate before conceding defeat. Fearful of her controller's reaction, she hurried to the flight deck and confronted the Navcom. "You lied to me! You said my crate was aboard the ship!"

  "Negative. You asked whether Mr Spacejock signed for a delivery."

  "What was that, then?"

  "One hundred coffee makers."

  Jasmin groaned. "This is a disaster! That crate has to be in place in four hours time, and Cathua is an eight hour round trip. How am I supposed to organise that?"

  "I'm an onboard computer, not a time machine."

  Jasmin frowned. Could Barry get the crate into the trade fair after it closed? Possible, but a risk. Suddenly she had an even worse thought. What if the crate had been loaded into the wrong ship, and was no longer on Cathua at all? She grabbed a keyboard and fired off a terse message to the Cathua cargo depot, demanding they locate her crate. The answer came back almost immediately, and it was so unexpected she read it through twice.

  "Cargo en route to Jordia aboard vessel Phantom-X1, pilot Hal Spacejock. ETA fourteen hundred hours local time."

  Jasmin's spirits soared. Freighter pilots were a resourceful, competent lot, and Hal Spacejock was clearly best of breed. She should have known he'd track his own ship! "Navcom, I want to know the minute the Phantom-X1 hits Jordia."

  "Ground control has them
on-screen now."

  "They're landing at the spaceport?"

  "Not exactly," said the Navcom. "In fact, they're attacking the local military base."

  *

  "This is Jordian Military Command. Execute a ninety-degree turn to starboard and slow to one-eighty knots. You have five seconds to comply."

  Hal leapt for the console and struggled with the controls. "Go left, dammit!"

  "Starboard is right," said Clunk.

  "Four."

  Hal reversed the controls. "Come on, you flabby piece of junk. Move!"

  "Three."

  "It's wasted effort," said Clunk. "You can't alter course during final approach."

  "Two."

  "What about emergencies?"

  Clunk shook his head.

  "One. All attempts to contact inbound hostile have failed. Missiles launched."

  "Missiles what?"

  "Oh dear," said Clunk. "I didn't expect that."

  "Don't just stand there, do something!"

  "Very well. Hold tight." Clunk reached under the console and flipped a switch, killing the engine. There was a split second of weightlessness, and then the ship began to plummet towards the ground.

  "How is this better than missiles?" demanded Hal, as the air whistled past the hull.

  "We're above the ocean," said Clunk. "If I fire the engine at the right moment, we should have a soft landing."

  "If? Should?" Hal looked around. "What's that noise?"

  A screaming roar drowned Clunk's reply, and the Phantom shook as something tore by just outside, close enough to bring chunks of insulation down on their heads.

  "Missiles," said Hal, staring at the crooked roof panels. "And they're coming back!"

  The ship continued to drop, tipping from side to side as it fell through the air. The roar began to build again, and Hal was anticipating a final, all-consuming explosion when Clunk grabbed his arm.

  "Brace yourself!"

  At the very last second the robot rammed the throttle forwards, and the engine roared lustily to slow the ship. The missiles screamed past below the hull, fooled by the sudden stop, and Clunk immediately cut the engine again, sending the ship plunging towards the sea once more.

  They slammed into the ocean with a tremendous crash, flattening Hal to the deck, buckling the walls and showering broken ceiling panels from the roof. The missiles tore past and exploded in the ocean nearby, making the hull ring like a giant bell. Sparking and crackling, the console quickly filled the flight deck with choking blue smoke, and seconds later the lights flickered out.