by Simon Haynes
*
Jasmin stared at the screen in shock. "Attacking the military base? Why?"
"Oh, they're no longer doing that."
"Thank goodness! Are they landing?"
"No. They've been shot down instead."
Jasmin felt the flight deck spinning. "Shot down?"
"I may be wrong. They might have crashed."
"Call them!" said Jasmin desperately. "Call, and keep calling until you get a reply. Is that clear?"
*
The Phantom's hull creaked and groaned as the ship settled, and above the noise of tortured metal the sound of gushing water could be heard.
Clunk staggered to the console. "Computer, give me a summary."
"On-board systems sixty percent. Fuel ten percent. Depth eight metres. Local weather, early sunshine with cloudy periods and the chance of a late shower."
"Never mind the bloody weather," said Hal. "How far is the beach?"
"Six hundred metres."
"Might as well be five klicks. And we're sitting in eight metres of water, that's —"
"Ten metres," said the computer.
"Okay, ten metres," said Hal. "First we have to get ashore. Then —"
"Twelve metres," said the computer.
"What?"
"We're now sitting in twelve metres of water."
Hal frowned. "You mismeasured?"
"No, we're sinking."
Hal's eyes widened. "How fast?"
"Do you know the expression, “like a stone”?"
"Start the engine!"
"The nozzles are under water," said Clunk. "We'll just get steam."
"We've got to try something, haven't we? We're sinking!"
Clunk's hands darted over the console, and the flight deck echoed with the sound of rising bubbles. The floor tilted, and there was a loud slosh of water overhead as the ship broke the surface. "I don't know how long I can keep it here," warned Clunk. "There's not enough power to stay afloat for more than a few minutes."
"We'll have to swim ashore."
"I can't get wet. My seals need servicing."
"So do mine after that landing," muttered Hal. "How about an emergency raft?"
"That would be ideal."
"Do we have one?"
"No."
Hal put a hand out as the deck shifted. Suddenly there was a bright flash and a smell of burnt plastic. "What's happening?"
"Water is seeping in and shorting the electrics."
Hal thought for a moment. "You know, I once saw this program where they put a robot in a sealed capsule and lowered it to the ocean floor. It was really neat, they had three naked —"
"I'm sure they did. But leaving aside the undesirable elements of your suggestion, I'd like to point out that we don't possess a sealed capsule."
"Ah, but that's the clever thing!" Hal turned to the console. "Computer, what's the largest garbage bag we have on board?"
"Garbage bag?" said Clunk incredulously.
"Yeah, that's it. And duct tape. Lots of duct tape."
Five minutes later, they were ready. Clunk was standing inside a huge plastic bag, which was bunched around his extremities with lashings of duct tape. Furious eyes stared through three layers of plastic, which barely hid the generous strip of tape Hal had stuck over the robot's mouth.
"It's just in case the water gets in, Clunk."
"Mmmm!" said the robot. "Frfrfr-mmmmmmm!"
"Just as well you don't need to breathe, eh?" There was a groan as Hal got the inner airlock door open. "Nice day for a swim," he said lightly, blinking at the weak sunlight shining through the porthole.
"Grrr," said Clunk.
"Come on, time is wasting," said Hal, gesturing towards the airlock.
There was a rustle of plastic as Clunk crossed his arms.
"What's the alternative? The ship's sinking anyway."
With a resigned look, Clunk trudged into the airlock. Hal opened the outer door, and as Clunk leaned forward to look down, Hal put his hands in the middle of the robot's back and pushed. There was a squeal as Clunk slid down the hull, a flutter of plastic as he accelerated towards the surface of the ocean, and a tremendous slap as he struck. Hal peered over the edge and spotted a rising stream of bubbles, which changed course and slowly headed for shore.
Having saved the robot, Hal sealed the inner door and prepared himself for a dive. He raised his arms, pointed his fingers, stiffened his neck and took several deep breaths, preparing himself mentally and physically. Then he pinched his nose and leapt into space, legs pedalling wildly as he plunged towards the ocean. He splashed down feet-first, and his momentum took him deep underwater. As he struggled back to the surface he realised he should have undressed first.
*
"Still nothing?" demanded Jasmin.
"I'm afraid not."
"Why doesn't Spacejock have a pocket commset like everyone else?"
"Oh, he does," said the Navcom. "Would you like the number?"
*
Twenty minutes later Hal staggered out of the surf, water streaming from his clothes. He spotted Clunk struggling with the wet plastic further up the beach, and went over to lend a hand. The robot's face was the first thing to emerge, and the angry, aggrieved expression made Hal wish he'd started with the feet.
"You pushed me!" said Clunk, as he tore off the rest of the plastic with savage jerks.
"I was only trying to help."
"That sort of help I can do without." Clunk stood on one leg and unclipped the other, tipping several litres of water onto the sand. "So much for your sealed capsule. I'm soaked through."
"Next time I'll use more plastic." While Clunk was busy disposing of the sea water, Hal examined their surroundings. The beach was hemmed in by sand dunes, with a narrow dirt track running between the shore and the dunes. Beyond that there were trees, straggly paperbarks with olive-green foliage, and above the trees Hal spotted a Ferris wheel turning slowly in the distance. He was about to ask Clunk to verify it was really there when he heard a snatch of music. "It's a fairground!"
"Bet it's full of water slides," said Clunk gloomily.
"All right, we'd better call this Ortiz woman. You got that commset?"
"What are you going to say to her?"
"How about, “Good news. Now you don't have to pay customs duty.”"
Clunk took out the device, shook it dry, and handed it over.
Hal handed it back. "You call her. You're better at explaining this stuff."
"You're in charge of customer relations," said Clunk. "I secure the cargo jobs, you deal with people."
"That's after this job," said Hal, putting his hands behind his back.
Clunk sighed. "All right, what's the number?"
"I don't know. She called us."
"Oh dear."
Hal crossed his arms. "You and I came to Jordia to deliver a crate to earn the money to get the Volante back. Having survived a dodgy hyperspace jump, a pair of missiles, a crash landing and a drowning, you're telling me there's no way to call the customer?"
"That's about the —"
BUZZ!
The commset's ring was so unexpected Clunk dropped it in the sand.
BUZZ!
Hal grabbed it and answered the call. "Yes?"
"This is Jasmin Ortiz."
"Hey, we were just about to call you!"
"Where's my crate? Is it safe?"
Hal stared out to sea, where a patch of oil was spreading slowly across the gently moving ocean. "Well, we got it to Jordia."
"Excellent. Tell me where you are and I'll send my people to collect it."
Out the corner of his eye, Hal saw Clunk shaking his head.
"I've got a better idea. Why don't we bring it to you?"
"That's not convenient. I insist on picking it up."
"Have you got the money?"
"I will pay you the moment that crate is in my possession."
Hal made a face. "That's not going to work."
"Very well. Th
ere's a factory off Mills Road, just past the forty kilometre marker. My people will meet you there."
"Give us an hour or so. We still need to —" Hal lowered the commset. "She's gone."
"I've located the place she's talking about. It's an old robot factory."
"How odd. Why would anyone make old robots?"
"No, I meant —"
"It doesn't matter. We have to get the crate out of the Phantom."
"Naturally."
"I need you to get it out."
"Impossible."
"We've still got the plastic, and I'll use more tape this time."
"Mr Spacejock, if we open the hold under water we'll flood it. We could destroy the crate."
"Can we raise the ship?"
"Yes, with a salvage vessel."
"We can't afford anything like that." Hal looked thoughtful. "What if we borrowed one?"
"Salvaging a spaceship is a precise operation, involving a crew of highly trained personnel."
"You could show me what to do."
"I think not. Anyway, the most likely place to find a salvage vessel is at the military base, and given they just tried to shoot us down I doubt a loan is an option."
"What about a truck? We could tie a line onto the ship and haul it out."
"The Phantom is a large vessel. You'd need two dozen trucks and teams of scuba divers to attach the towlines."
"Damn it," growled Hal. "Why couldn't you have aimed for the beach instead?"
"The impact would have killed you."
Hal rubbed his chin. "All right. If I get you a salvage ship, can you pull the X1 to the surface and get the cargo out?"
"Maybe. What do you have in mind?"
Hal pointed at the Ferris wheel. "Tidy yourself up. We're off to the fair."
*
Hal's flight suit was dry by the time they arrived at the fairground, although it had collected a fair amount of dust on the way. The unsealed track hadn't been kind to Clunk either, and he'd stopped more than once to wipe the dirt from his joints.
As they drew closer, tents and caravans came into view, and they saw a field packed with vehicles. Hal cast his eye over them, and his face fell as he realised they were out of luck.
"What were you looking for?" asked Clunk, noticing his expression.
"It was a long shot. We'll just have to use Plan B."
"What's that?"
"It's what we do when Plan A fails."
Despite Clunk's persistence he couldn't get any more information. Warning bells tinkled at the back of his mind, though. Hal would try anything with forty thousand credits at stake, and the less he said the more outrageous "anything" was likely to be.
They walked past the cars to the fairground entrance, where Hal sat on a bench. Clunk took the seat alongside him, craning his neck to watch a rocking boat lurch high into the sky, only to gasp as it zoomed back down again.
Hal grinned at his expression. "What a riot, eh?"
"I've never been to a fairground," said Clunk wistfully. "Does it cost much?"
"Lots."
Clunk watched a family leaving the fairground. The parents bore armfuls of teddy bears, show bags and snacks, while the kids relived the best moments at the top of their voices. "How much?"
"We're not going in," said Hal firmly.
"But —"
"Clunk, the Phantom is sitting on the ocean floor. One leak and Jasmin's crate will be ruined, and we'll never get the Volante back." He frowned. "Hey, are you listening to me?"
Clunk tore his eyes from the entrance. "It says free entry, Mr Spacejock."
"That's because they scalp you once you get inside."
"Just five minutes?"
"I don't believe this," muttered Hal. "At this very moment, our ship —"
"It's not our ship," said Clunk stubbornly.
"What about the cargo? It could get ruined!"
"The hold is sealed."
"What if there's a leak? Are you prepared to risk everything for a few minutes of fun?"
Clunk cast a longing glance at the milling crowds and the sideshow alley, and then his shoulders slumped. "I suppose you're right," he sighed.
"The slightest delay could be critical," said Hal sternly.
"I agree."
Hal glanced at the robot's crestfallen face. "Oh, all right. I suppose five minutes won't hurt."
Chapter 20
Once inside the fairground they strode through the crowds, Clunk gazing from one colourful sideshow to the next and drinking in the noise and bustle, while alongside him Hal pondered his next move. Despite his show of confidence, Plan A was all he had, and that had failed the minute he'd inspected the parking lot. Plan B consisted of waiting around until he could put Plan A into action, but he could hardly share that with Clunk after telling him they were desperately short of time.
For once, Clunk was oblivious to Hal's plans, ludicrous or otherwise. He was gawking at the sideshows like a ten year old with a pocket full of cash. Hal knew that look, and it didn't bode well. "Keep your eyes open and stop dawdling," he said irritably, as the robot stopped yet again.
"I'm allowed to look, aren't I?" demanded Clunk. Suddenly he pointed. "Oh look, Mr Spacejock. A shooting range!"
"I'll shoot you in a minute," muttered Hal. He spared the range the briefest of glances, then looked away, only to freeze in horror. Right behind them, a row of battered robot heads was mounted on a benchtop, turning slowly from side to side as giggling punters pushed balls into their gaping mouths. If Clunk saw them he'd make a stink, and Plan A or B or any other letter would be sunk. Just like their cargo. "Let's go that way," Hal said quickly, grabbing Clunk by the elbow and guiding him through a gap in the sideshows. They emerged in a parallel alley, where the first thing Hal saw was a row of one-armed robots with gaudy, flashing displays set into their chests. As he watched, a women put a credit tile into the nearest robot, grabbed its hand and pulled. The display flashed and flickered and a bunch of tiles cascaded from the robot's nether regions. Hal turned, dreading Clunk's reaction, but the robot's gaze was still fixed on the shooting range. "Hey, close your eyes!"
Clunk did as he was told. "Why?"
"I've got a surprise for you."
"Really? What is it?"
"You'll see." Hal grabbed the robot's arm and pulled him along the alley, past the one-armed bandits and the robot-wrecking competition alongside it, where men with sledgehammers were making short work of a skinny golden droid and a dustbin on wheels. Finally, they stopped in front of a coconut shy, and after a quick look around to make sure there weren't any dismembered robots in sight, Hal tapped Clunk on the shoulder. "You can look now."
"Coconut shy?"
"Watch and learn." Hal beckoned to the attendant and gave him a credit tile. "I used to be a real whizz at this," he said, turning to Clunk. "I've got three balls, right?"
Clunk raised his eyebrows. "If you say so."
Hal gestured towards the back of the stall, where half a dozen coconuts were sitting on top of narrow metal stands. "I have to throw them at the coconuts, and every time I knock one down I win a prize."
"Why don't they glue them in?"
"Then I couldn't shift them, could I? It'd be cheating."
"So they want you to knock them down?"
"No, because then I'd win a prize."
Clunk frowned. "How very confusing."
"Look, it doesn't matter. I just have to throw the balls and knock the coconuts down. Got it?"
"Yes."
"Stand back then." Hal hefted one of the balls in his hand and squinted at the target, judging the distance. When he was ready, he took a deep breath and threw the ball.
"You missed," said Clunk.
"That gust of wind put me off."
"There isn't any wind. Humidity is a little high, but that shouldn't affect the trajectory over such a short distance."
Hal took another ball and drew his arm back.
"Are you going to miss again?" asked Clunk.
&n
bsp; "I'll try not to."
"What if you miss with all of them? Do they take pity on you and give you a consolation prize?"
Hal lowered his hand. "It's a game of skill, Clunk. You throw the ball, and if you hit something you win. That's it."
"It sounds like a waste of time to me. Why pay good money only to miss everything?"
"Oh, and I suppose you could hit a coconut with every throw?"
The robot looked surprised. "Of course."
Hal muttered under his breath, drew his hand back and launched the ball with all his might.
"You hit it!" exclaimed Clunk. "But why didn't the coconut fall out of the cup?"
"Good question." Hal gestured at the attendant. "Here, you!"
The attendant strolled over. "Yeah?"
Hal pointed at the coconut. "I hit that thing full on and it didn't fall out."
"You can't have hit it proper," said the attendant. "You gotta hit them right."
"I hit the damn thing in the middle! It's got a bloody great dent in it!"
"It didn't fall, did it?"
Hal glared at him. "Are those coconuts glued in?"
"Course not. You just have to hit them properly." The attendant waved to a non-existent customer. "Scuse I. Someone's wanting me."
"Lousy cheat," growled Hal, as the attendant fled. He picked up the last ball and flipped it to Clunk. "Do your best."
"You want me to have a turn?"
"Yeah, but hurry up." Hal stepped to one side, doing his best to shield the robot in case the attendant looked round. "Quick!"
Clunk stepped up to the counter and drew his arm back. Somewhere deep inside a motor began to whirr, growing louder and louder until he was vibrating like a weight-loss machine on "permanent injury". Just when it seemed he was going to shake apart, his arm snapped forward with a whip-crack, launching an elongated white blur at the coconut. It slammed into the holder, bent the stand double and knocked the coconut high into the air, tumbling end over end. The ball punched a hole through the rear wall, deflected at right-angles from an upright, struck another upright and came back into the stall, still travelling at a lethal speed. It struck the falling coconut, blowing it apart in a cloud of shell, white flesh and liquid.
