Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  "Mr Spacejock! Where are you going?"

  "I'm going to open the cargo door," said Hal grimly. He was halfway there when Clunk fell into step beside him. "You don't have to come. It's not safe."

  "If you're prepared to risk your life, then I'll risk mine too."

  Hal's eyes began to smart from the fumes. "Thanks."

  "And you don't know how to open the door."

  "Good point." Hal paused. "What's the worst that can happen, anyway?"

  "The Phantom explodes, scattering our remains over a wide area."

  "And the best?"

  "We'll be scattered over a slightly smaller area."

  With that sobering thought in mind, which for now was still comfortably inside his skull, Hal crossed the last few metres to the Phantom.

  The ship was lying partly on its side, with the bottom of the airlock just visible overhead through the swirling mist of evaporating fuel. Half-blinded by the acrid fumes, Hal watched Clunk open the door with the manual override, and then they hauled themselves up one after the other and dropped into the ship's lop-sided flight deck. They took the stairs to the hold, where they found Jasmin's crate hanging from the straps. Hal went for the door controls, but Clunk stopped him. "Electrics could set the fuel off. Let me do it manually." He opened a small locker and used the hand pump inside, and as he worked the handle the rear doors opened in fits and starts.

  "What's that funny smell?" asked Hal.

  "Fresh air," said Clunk. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

  "How are we going to get the crate onto the truck?"

  "I'll lower the ramp halfway, you park the truck underneath and then we'll slide it on."

  "I'll fetch the truck."

  Clunk shook his head. "We'll have to push it. Both of us."

  "Why not drive it?"

  "There's still a lot of fuel around, and the engine could set it off." Clunk began to pump another handle, and Hal watched the ramp extending from the ship. When it was level, they walked to the back and jumped down to the sand, struggling over the loose surface as they made their way to the truck. Hal waited until Clunk was ready at the back, then hopped in and took the wheel. "Okay, push!"

  Clunk did so, and with brute strength he got the truck over the sand to the ramp. When it was in position he climbed into the hold and removed the straps from the crate. Hal gave him a hand, and together they inched the crate towards the truck, until it was balanced on the lip of the ramp. A push, a twist and a shove, and the crate tipped forwards, making the truck settle on its suspension as it took the weight. Clunk strapped the crate down, then got behind the truck and prepared to push it clear.

  "I'll shut the doors," said Hal, reaching for the controls.

  "No!" shouted Clunk.

  Hal's fingers barely touched the button, but it was enough. There was a loud crack as the electrics shorted, and a deep boom as the spark ignited the fuel vapour. Fortunately, most of it had dispersed, but the resulting explosion was still enough to blow Hal right out of the hold. He flew through the air, missed the truck by a couple of meters and landed flat on his back on the sand.

  Chapter 22

  Clunk hurried over and crouched next to Hal to check his pulse. The human was out cold, but alive, and Clunk was still breathing a sigh of relief when there was a whoosh from the ship. He turned to look and saw flames thirty metres long jetting from cracks in the hull. The hold was full of smoke and heat haze, and through it all he could see the inner walls glowing red. It was only a matter of seconds before the main tank blew, and while much of the fuel had leaked out, there was plenty left for a spectacular explosion.

  There was no time to move the truck and no time to save the cargo, so Clunk put Hal over his shoulder and ran, heading straight for the tree-line as he tried to put maximum distance between himself and the Phantom.

  He'd barely covered a hundred metres when a huge explosion threw him headlong into a big spiky bush. The blast ripped through the vegetation with a massive thunderclap, shredding leaves from their branches, scooping dirt and stones from the ground and hurling the whole mess outwards in an expanding ring of destruction. Large trees bent and snapped, while smaller ones were uprooted and flung away from the epicentre.

  A shadow passed overhead, and Clunk looked up to see the truck sailing past, tumbling through the air. The crate followed, trailing shredded, smouldering straps, and the ground shook as they landed nearby. Gradually the patter of stones, dirt and hull fragments tailed off, and Clunk raised his head for a look. He found himself bathed in sunlight, which was shining through the bare branches overhead. There was a green mist in the air, the only remains of vaporised leaves and plants.

  Alongside him, Hal groaned. "What happened?"

  "The ship exploded."

  "What, inside my head?"

  Clunk examined him. "It's just a bruise or two. You'll be fine."

  "Great. I feel so much better after all your care and attention."

  "Who do you think got you clear of the ship? Who saved your life?"

  Hal sat up, wincing. "Who slung me into a thorn bush?"

  Clunk stood up and looked out on a wasteland of shredded trees, broken branches and drifts of finely minced leaves. "The truck went that way," he said, pointing towards the fairground.

  Hal staggered to his feet and gazed around. "Bloody hell. It looks like the inside of a toothpick factory."

  Clunk pushed his way out of the bush, while Hal followed more slowly, bending back branches to avoid the long, curved spikes. Once they were free, he looked around. "What about the crate?"

  Clunk pointed. "Same as the truck, only further."

  They set off towards the Ferris wheel, picking their way over smoking hull fragments. "It'll be fine, you'll see," said Hal. "Tough as nails, those trucks. You could land a ship on them."

  "You'd be the one to know."

  Suddenly Hal laughed.

  "What?"

  "The ship. First it was the Phantom-X1, and now it's one ex-Phantom."

  Clunk stared at him.

  "Well, it's funny isn't it?"

  "Not really, no."

  They continued in silence. Clunk's motors whined as he struggled over the uneven ground, and now and again Hal got a whiff of hot machine oil. Finally, they came across the crate, lying on its side in a tangle of broken branches. The shredded tie-downs were still smoking.

  "At least it's still in one piece," said Hal.

  "Yes, but what about the contents?"

  "I only promised to deliver the crate." Hal looked around. "So where's the truck?"

  They found it sticking out of a gully nearby, with the nose buried in the dirt like an oversized lawn dart. At least, Hal hoped it was buried and not simply crushed flat. The back wheels were splayed, the tray had been driven into the back of the cab and the windows were strewn around the crater in fragments.

  "It doesn't look too bad."

  Clunk reached for the door handle, and the whole door promptly fell off.

  "That's just bodywork," said Hal. "How's the rest of it?"

  Clunk sat in the driver's seat and lifted the broken control column. He pressed the starter, and the engine roared into life.

  "Wa-hey!" shouted Hal, putting both thumbs up. "Now back it out!"

  Clunk put the truck into reverse and pressed the accelerator, making the engine race. He leaned out of the cab to watch the rear wheels, which spun and wobbled in mid-air. "I need your weight on the back," he shouted. "The front wheels must be spinning."

  Hal climbed onto the back of the truck and balanced on the edge of the tray with his arms outstretched. As Clunk revved the engine Hal jumped up and down, gradually forcing the back of the truck towards the ground.

  There was a whirring sound as the tyres scuffed away loose dirt and leaves, then a massive jolt as they bit in, hurling the truck backwards. Hal somersaulted over the cab and landed flat on his back in the hollow, where the truck's spinning wheels buried him with damp earth.

  Clunk sto
pped the truck and hurried over, helped Hal to his feet and brushed at the dirt, smearing clumps of earth down his flight suit.

  "Right," said Hal, when the dirt was evenly distributed about his person. "Let's get the crate on board."

  "How? It's too heavy to lift."

  "No problem. We'll tie some of the strapping together, sling it over a tree and lift it with the truck."

  It took them half an hour to join the bits of strapping into a single rope, with Clunk pulling each knot tight with short, firm tugs. When he was happy they laid the rope out and levered the crate onto it, then tied the knotted rope into a rough cradle. The loose end went over the branch overhead, and Hal caught it, leapt onto the tray and tied it off.

  "Take it easy," he said. "We've only got one chance at this."

  Clunk's gaze travelled from the truck, up to the branch and down to the crate. "It's not much of a chance," he said, as he climbed into the cab. The engine roared into life and the truck moved forward, pulling the rope tight. The branch creaked as it took up the load, and the truck growled as Clunk fed in more power.

  There was a groan as the crate shifted, and the truck's engine roared as the wheels began to slip, throwing out fountains of dirt. Then, with a wrench of tortured metal, the tray was torn from the back of the truck. It was left dangling from the tree, turning gently in mid-air while the rest of the vehicle careened into the forest at full speed, leaving behind a trail of flattened bushes.

  While Hal gazed up at the slab of metal swinging overhead, Clunk brought the truck back. It looked naked with the back missing, and as Clunk got out the passenger door fell off.

  "Careful," said Hal. "You're wrecking it."

  Clunk grabbed the door and heaved it into the bushes. "What next, Mr Spacejock? Blow the crate into the air with sticks of dynamite?"

  Hal rubbed his chin. "What if we grab the tray and swing on it? Adding our weight might —"

  "- bring it down on our heads," finished Clunk. "And even if we get the crate into the air, who's going to drive the truck underneath?"

  "It might only need one of us." Hal reached up, hooked his fingers onto the tray and pulled.

  "That looks exceedingly dangerous," said Clunk, as the branch creaked.

  "Stop gassing and give me a hand," said Hal, pulling a little harder.

  Clunk reached up and added his weight. There was a jerk and the tray dropped a few centimetres, lifting the heavy crate off the ground.

  "Keep going!" panted Hal, hauling with all his might. The knots in the cord bumped over the branch, and the crate rose steadily until it was about waist-high. "Quick, get the truck!"

  "If I let go the crate will come down again."

  "You don't think I'm strong enough to hold it?"

  "Strength? I'm talking about the law of gravity."

  "You robots are all the same. Putting us humans down, making out we're weaklings. Now fetch the truck and let me worry about the tray. Got it?"

  "If I let go you'll shoot into the air."

  "No I won't."

  "You will!"

  "Won't."

  "Watch," said Clunk, releasing the tray.

  Nothing happened.

  "What are you waiting for?" demanded Hal. "Get the damn truck underneath before my fingers break off."

  Clunk backed away slowly, staring at the suspended crate and the tray. Then he hurried over to the truck, hopped in and reversed it under the crate. "We'll have to drop it on the chassis between the wheels," he said, leaning out the door. "We can tie it on with the rope."

  "Listen to him," muttered Hal. "Suddenly he's flush with great ideas."

  "Lower away," said Clunk.

  Hal let go of the tray and stood clear. Nothing happened.

  "What the hell?" Hal stared at the crate, then up at the tray. "Why didn't it move?"

  "Because it's stuck," said Clunk, pointing up. There was a cleft in the branch, and one of the knots was jammed fast.

  "Dammit." Hal grabbed the tray and shook it. "One of us will have to climb up and cut it down."

  They both gazed up at the branch, each hoping the other suicidal maniac would volunteer first.

  "Do you want to borrow a knife?" said Hal finally.

  "That's your area of expertise. I'm driving the truck."

  "The truck's fine where it is."

  "I'm not very good at climbing."

  "Yeah, but you won't get killed if the whole lot comes down on your head."

  Clunk squinted up at the tree. "Is it just me, or is the branch bending?"

  There was a loud crack as the bough gave way, and the tray speared into the ground next to Hal, burying a corner in the soft earth. The crate thumped down on the truck, crushing the rear suspension, while the branch thudded down between Hal and Clunk, still draped with the knotted cord.

  "Perfect," said Hal, freeing the cord. "Tie the damn thing on, and let's get the hell out of here."

  *

  They followed the road out of the forest for almost an hour, eventually switching on the headlights to dispel the encroaching darkness. It took them longer than expected, because with the windshield missing Clunk had to keep their speed down. Otherwise the headwind would have blown Hal's face into the back seat.

  "There's the turning," said Clunk, as they passed a battered wooden sign. The writing had long since peeled off, but a smaller board below it was fresh, sharp and to the point: "Private Property. Keep Out." A narrow gravel track led between overhanging trees, and the tyres scrunched as they turned onto it. Branches scraped and banged on the roof, and the heavy vehicle bounced and swayed as they emerged into an overgrown clearing. On the far side stood a derelict building with gaping windows and a collapsed roof.

  "This can't be right," said Hal.

  "Right or not, this is the place."

  "It's just a ruin. You must have taken a wrong turn."

  "I did not take a wrong turn. This is the correct location."

  "So where are the people?"

  "I cannot say."

  "That's because it's the wrong address," said Hal triumphantly.

  "It is not the —" Clunk stopped. A man had emerged from the doorway, and was picking his way across the rough ground. "There you are. A person."

  "Ah, but who says he's the right one?"

  As the man approached Hal saw he was carrying an assault rifle, and the closer he got the bigger and more dangerous it looked. The man was no picture either: he was a thickset tough with a broken nose and cropped, greying hair.

  "Do you know the old robot factory?" asked Hal. "My robot got lost."

  "Are you Spacejock?"

  Hal looked surprised. "Yes."

  "I told you this was the place," murmured Clunk.

  The man scowled at them. "I've been waiting hours. What the hell you been up to?"

  Under the circumstances, Hal felt it best not to tell him. Instead, he gestured at the crate sitting on the back of the truck. "There's the cargo. Where's my money?"

  "Come inside and meet the boss."

  "With pleasure."

  Hal and Clunk left the truck and crossed the rough ground to the factory, where they took a damp corridor to a dark, concrete-lined room.

  Hal turned to protest, and found the gun pointing at his stomach. "What's that for?"

  The man shrugged. "The boss don't want no trouble. In you go."

  They entered the room and the metal door thudded shut behind them. Clunk switched on his chest lamp and the dim glow swept the walls before picking out a body lying face-down on the floor. One arm was flung out at an unnatural angle and half the head seemed to be missing. Hal's heart skipped a beat, and then he saw the dull sheen of dirty metal. "It's just a robot!" he said, relieved.

  "Of course. What did you expect?" Clunk shone the light around, picking out more fallen shapes. "This was a robot factory, remember?" He angled the light towards the rear wall, and it glinted feebly off a row of robots hanging limply from hooks, unfinished and thick with dust. "See? Unwanted stock."


  Hal rattled the door handle, but it was locked. "I don't like the look of this."

  "I concur."

  There was a lengthy silence before Hal spoke again. "Clunk, I have to tell you about something."

  "Oh?"

  "That crate. The first one."

  "The Hand-E-Mart coffee makers?"

  "Yeah, those. That was, er, my fault."

  "No. Really?"

  Hal looked surprised. "You knew already?"

  "Of course I did."

  "But how?"

  "The faked bill for twelve thousand credits of robot parts I found in the Navcom was a bit of a give away. First, it would keep me in spares for the next century, and second you've never spent a single credit on me, let alone twelve thousand."

  Hal was silent. "You know, I don't spend a lot on myself either," he said eventually. "There's never much to go around."

  "Have you considered retiring?"

  "At my age?"

  "You could sell the Volante."

  "I don't have the Volante. And even if I did, a buyer would want to see proof of ownership. Anyway, what would you do if I gave it all away?"

  "Mr Spearman offered me a job."

  "Trust me, you don't want it."

  "Why not? At least he's a real …" Clunk stopped, embarrassed. "I mean he —"

  "Has a pilot's licence?"

  "Yes."

  "Listen, I know things about Spearman that would set your hair on end." Hal glanced at the robot's polished metal head. "If you had any."

  "Such as?"

  "He told me —" Hal broke off as he heard a thud. "Was that a door?"

  "I think so. Maybe he's coming back."

  "We can't just wait around. We've got to do something."

  "Why don't I stand behind the door and surprise him when he comes in?"

  "Because he's got a ruddy great gun, that's why. You surprise him and he'll start shooting." Hal snapped his fingers. "That gun from the space elevator!"

  "What about it?"

  "When he opens the door, blow the bastard away."

  "I can't shoot a human."

  "Give it to me and I'll do it."

  "You can't gun a man down just because you suspect him of wrongdoing."