Hal Spacejock 4: No Free Lunch

by Simon Haynes

  ‘Orange juice,’ said Hal.

  ‘Woo. Heady stuff.’

  The musicians finally ground to a halt, and Hal waited in vain for Walsh to punch Newman in the head over some mortal insult. Instead, she was smiling at him like he’d just rescued her from certain death.

  Morgan pressed a drink into Hal’s hand, and he knocked it back without looking. His knuckles were white around the stem of the glass as Newman and Walsh made their way through the crowd.

  ‘Hold up there, lover boy. I paid a deposit on those.’ Morgan prised his fingers apart and freed the glass. ‘So, Jon. Did you show her your moves?’

  ‘Miss Walsh dances like a dream. She could be a professional if she wanted.’

  ‘Very flattering, I’m sure,’ said Walsh. ‘Hal dances well, too.’

  ‘Yes, I saw him earlier. Extraordinary style.’ Newman put his arm around Hal’s shoulders. ‘Now Spacejock, tell us more about your background. Where did you attend university? On the Central planets, or one of the Outer worlds?’

  ‘I didn’t go to university. Never had the chance.‘

  ‘Ah, a self-made man, working your way up to these lofty heights from the bottom of the ladder. Fascinating.’

  ‘Hal runs his own freighter,’ said Walsh. ‘It’s a lovely ship. Brand new.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard, the freighter runs him.’ Newman grinned at Morgan, who’d laughed aloud. ‘And business must be truly booming if your co-pilot has to moonlight as a waiter.’

  Hal shook Newman’s arm off. ‘If you know that much, you’ll know that Miss Morgan —’

  ‘Please! We’re talking about your career, not hers.’ Newman dug Hal in the ribs. ‘Come on, Spacejock. Let’s have your darkest secrets. Have you ever pranged a ship?’

  ‘Never,’ said Hal. ‘We barge around all over the place without hitting a thing.’

  ‘Unlike your dancing,’ said Newman.

  Hal ignored the taunt. ‘Of course, we’re careful around pin cushions.’

  Newman looked puzzled. ‘Around what?’

  ‘Oh, that’s a spacer term. It’s what we call planets.’

  ‘Why pin cushions?’

  ‘Because they’re full of pricks.’ Hal nodded curtly to Morgan, then held his arm out for Walsh. He felt her shaking as he led her away, and when he glanced at her he realised she was laughing.

  ‘Pin cushions!’ she gasped. ‘Is that true?’

  ‘Probably not. It was the Navcom’s joke of the day.’

  ‘His face! Priceless!’

  Hal remembered Morgan’s face too. If there had been any chance of getting the cargo job back before, it had now vaporised. Still, some things were more important than money. ‘So, what do you want to do next? Shall we …’ He stopped as Walsh frowned at him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Call.’ Walsh unslung her tiny handbag and took out a miniature commset. She glanced at the screen and cursed. ‘Three calls. They must have come in while I was dancing.’

  ‘Another date?’ asked Hal lightly, hoping he didn’t sound desperate.

  ‘No, it’s work.’ Walsh went to push the commset back in the bag, then hesitated. ‘I really should —’

  ‘Take it,’ said Hal. ‘It might be important.’

  Walsh put the commset to her ear. ‘What is it, Bernie?’ She listened for a moment. ‘Can’t it wait? I’m —’ Walsh held the commset away from her head, wincing at the angry squawking. When it ceased she put the commset back to her ear. ‘Okay, okay. I’m on my way.’

  ‘Busy night, eh?’

  Walsh frowned. ‘If it’s not a full-scale emergency I’ll turn that robot into road fill.’ She slung the bag over her shoulder and shot Hal an apologetic look. ‘I’m really sorry about this. Can you find your own way back?’

  ‘I could come with you,’ said Hal.

  ‘Sorry, this is official business. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it,’ said Hal, but he was talking to empty air. He caught a glimpse of Walsh’s dress through the crowd, and moments later the Peace Force cruiser roared off with howling siren and flashing lights.

  Alone in the crowd, Hal felt the evening’s exhilaration drain out of him. Not only had Newman dazzled Walsh with his flash dancing, Clunk had probably spent the whole night plotting his revenge.

  Chapter 6

  Back at the station Walsh climbed out of the cruiser and slammed the door. It was rather satisfying so she opened it and slammed it again, then smoothed down her dress and stalked out of the garage.

  ‘Evening all,’ said Bernie. ‘Did you have a nice time?’

  ‘Wonderful, until you dragged me away.’

  ‘I like your dress,’ said the robot. ‘It’s very pretty.’

  ‘Cut the crap, Bernie. Why did you call me back?’

  ‘You had an interplanetary call from Forzen.’

  ‘I did?’ Despite herself, Walsh felt a glimmer of interest. ‘What was it about?’

  ‘I don’t know. They said they wanted to speak to you directly, and when I told them you were engaged in a vital assignment they hung up.’

  Bernie sounded miffed, and Walsh realised the robot was jealous. One interesting call in ten years, and it hadn’t even been for her. ‘It was probably just a fundraiser. You’ll see.’

  ‘I tried to trace the call but nothing came up. Still, it might be important, which is why I contacted you.’

  Walsh reviewed the call logs on her terminal, but there was just the one message from Forzen, no ID. ‘Oh well, they’ll call again if they need me.’

  ‘In the meantime, would you like a coffee?’

  ‘Yes. No! Maybe later.’

  ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on. Oh, and you’d better change out of those clothes. They’re hardly appropriate for an officer on duty.’

  ‘No, I’m going back to the party.’ Walsh saw Bernie’s eyes narrow. ‘Don’t give me that duty speech. It’s just for a couple of hours.’

  ‘And if this mystery caller tries to reach you? I should just tell them you’re out enjoying yourself?’

  ‘You could take a message.’

  ‘I told you. They wouldn’t speak to me.’

  Realising she had no choice, Walsh groaned. ‘What am I supposed to do all night?’

  ‘Gunnery practice. This morning’s effort was woeful.’

  ‘Can’t I do double tomorrow?’

  ‘Trainee Walsh, if you want to graduate you’ll jump when you’re told.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘I’ll fetch your weapon. Meet me on the range as soon as you’re ready.’

  Five minutes later Walsh emerged from the staff room in her uniform, which consisted of dark grey pants and matching jacket. Both lacked pockets, but Bernie had explained to her that it was traditional - without pockets, how could an officer of the law take a bribe? The uniform itself was antique, but it was the only one in the office small enough to fit her, and every time she asked Bernie about a replacement the robot mumbled excuses about budget cuts.

  Walsh laid her white dress over the back of a chair, smiling at the memory of whirling around the dance floor with Hal. Then she turned her back on the dress and headed for the stairs.

  The gunnery range was in the basement, and Walsh found Bernie waiting near the door. Half a dozen booths opened onto the range, which extended about forty metres underground, and the concrete floor was littered with fragments of targets.

  Walsh entered the nearest booth, and Bernie handed her the small case containing her weapon, reciting the usual ritual as she did so.

  ‘Do you agree to use this weapon for the good of the Peace Force?’

  ‘I do,’ said Walsh softly.

  ‘Do you accept responsibility for your own safety?’

  She was in Hal’s arms, leaning back with abandon. ‘I do,’ she whispered.

  ‘Right. Please take your weapon.’

  Her dress shimmered; she could see the highlights reflected in Hal’s eyes. ‘I do,’ said Walsh.
/>
  ‘What?’ Bernie looked puzzled.

  Walsh started. ‘Sorry Bernie. I was distracted.’

  ‘This is not the time or place. I only have one trainee in this office, and I’d like to keep her in one piece.’

  Her heart still pounding, Walsh took the brutal-looking gun, curling her palm and fingers around the grip. It felt heavy and powerful, unstoppable.

  Bernie took the case and stepped out of the booth. ‘We’ll start with six targets at medium range. Please select mode four.’

  With a well-practised movement, Walsh reconfigured the gun.

  ‘Range is active,’ said Bernie. ‘Commence.’

  A target popped up and Walsh fired without conscious thought. The gun jerked in her hand and the target literally disintegrated before her eyes. There was no sound, no flash of light - just silent killing power. Another target appeared, then another and another, and Walsh took them all without hesitation. Pieces of shredded target fluttered to the ground, and Walsh felt the party, the music and Hal’s beaming smile slipping away.

  ‘Very good,’ said Bernie. ‘Change to mode two. Rapid fire.’

  Walsh altered the setting and stood ready. A target slid across in front of her, and she barely fired before it disappeared.

  ‘Pay attention, Trainee Walsh. One day you could be shooting to save your life.’

  Another target sped across the range, and Walsh followed it all the way, firing again and again, even after it had completely disintegrated in a cloud of confetti. Then she blasted the fragments, clearing huge streaks off the floor with every shot.

  ‘Cease firing!’ roared Bernie.

  Walsh blinked, and before she could react Bernie had taken the gun. The robot’s expression was unreadable, and she said nothing as she put the weapon carefully back into its case.

  ‘I’m sorry, Bernie. I —’

  ‘It’s late, Trainee Walsh. We’ll continue tomorrow.’

  Upstairs, Bernie stowed the gun in the armoury while Walsh checked her accuracy scores on the terminal, wincing at the string of misses. Would Bernie sweep those under the carpet for her?

  ‘Trainee Walsh, I’m going to get a recharge. I’d like you to remain on duty until midnight, and if you don’t see me before you go, I hope you enjoy a long and restful night’s sleep.’

  ‘Thanks Bernie. Goodnight.’

  The robot hesitated. ‘If you want to go home an hour early, I can probably cover for you.’

  Walsh felt a rush of affection. ‘Thanks Bernie, but there’s only an empty apartment waiting for me. Cold and lonely.’

  Bernie gestured at the desks with their dead computer screens. ‘And this is more appealing?’

  ‘At least you’re here.’

  ‘Thank you, Trainee Walsh.’

  ‘And there’s the coffee shop up the road. I can order something in.’

  Bernie’s face fell. ‘You don’t like my coffee?’

  ‘No, no! I just meant a sandwich or something.’

  ‘Actually, while you were out I was thinking about downloading a recipe book. I could teach myself to cook and prepare all your meals right here at the office.’

  Walsh suppressed a shudder. ‘I think you should concentrate on official business.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’ Bernie wiggled her fingers. ‘After all, can you picture me cracking eggs with these? Now, if you don’t mind I might just get that recharge. I’m feeling rather spent.’

  Walsh watched the robot go, relieved the tricky matter of coffee had been resolved. Then she turned to her terminal and brought up a local map, feeling a stab of longing at the sight of the familiar stars and planets. She’d secretly memorised all their names as a child, hiding her interest so as not to upset her aunt, and now they were like old friends. Herephus and Belleron orbiting their local star, bathed with strong radiation and visited only by specially designed robots. Further away was Cortes with its active volcanos, and its cousin Vasquez, a gentle world with lush forests and clear blue skies. And nearby, closer to home, was Forzen, the cold planet. The source of her mystery call.

  She zoomed the map right out and gazed at the stars sprinkled across the screen. Would she ever visit any of them? Perhaps those even further afield? Millions of people lived out their lives in one place, never leaving their home planets due to fear of the unknown, family ties, fear of space travel … the reasons were endless. And what was really stopping her? True, she was eking out an existence on a trainee wage, but was lack of money the only reason she remained on Dismolle?

  Lost in thought, Walsh reached out to clear the screen. At that moment her terminal pinged. It was a call from Forzen, and when she answered it she saw a man with a round face and a fussy little moustache. ‘Officer Walsh of the Dismolle Peace Force. How may I help you?’

  ‘My name is Bigan, and I’m calling on behalf of the Forzen Residents Association. We’ve been very active raising funds for the reforestation of —’

  Walsh’s heart sank. ‘Sorry, can I interrupt you right there? I’m sure it’s a worthy cause and everything, but —’

  ‘Oh, I’m not after a donation.’

  ‘No?’

  Bigan shook his head. ‘Nothing like that, no. I was just wondering whether our treasurer is visiting your planet. Her name is Margaret Cooper, and nobody’s heard from her since our big fundraising event last week.’

  ‘Why do you think she’s over here?’

  ‘Her father lives in one of the retirement villages.’ Bigan hesitated. ‘The thing is, she took the cash home after the fundraiser, and some of the committee members are getting a little worried. Margaret’s an accountant by trade, but —’

  ‘You think she’s done a runner?’

  ‘Certainly not! We’re just concerned for her safety.’

  Walsh suppressed a wry grin. Sure they were. ‘You know I can’t disclose information on the movements of a private citizen? Not without an official request, anyway.’

  ‘Can’t I report her as a missing person?’

  ‘Not to me. You’d have to go to your local —’ Walsh stopped. Forzen didn’t have a Peace Force. According to Bernie, it had been disbanded several years earlier - no doubt the same trick with the happy water. ‘Mr Bigan, I’m going to search our visitor list, and if I happen to cough twice you’ll know I saw Ms Cooper’s name.’ Walsh typed her query but the screen remained blank. ‘Sorry, not even a tickle.’

  ‘It was good of you to try.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Walsh disconnected and turned back to the keyboard. It took her a couple of minutes to establish that Margaret Cooper travelled to Dismolle regularly, her latest visit only a few weeks earlier. A little more digging and she confirmed that neither Cooper nor her elderly father were banking large amounts of cash. Oh well, people vanished from time to time. Maybe the woman had taken off for parts unknown. It happened.

  Walsh glanced at her watch. She spent so much time at work it was like a second home, and she hadn’t been kidding when she told Bernie she’d rather stick around the office than face her empty apartment. Sighing, she reached for the commset and dialled a local cafe. Time for some sustenance.

  * * *

  Hal stood at the top of the stairway, watching the other guests leave in their flash cars. Since Walsh had driven off he’d filled the time sinking glasses of orange juice until the stuff was flowing out of his pores. Now the lights were off, the musicians had packed up and the evening had limped to a close.

  He sighed as the last car pulled out of the car park. It was no good, he thought, he’d have to find Clunk and apologise. He’d treated the robot badly and now it was time to mend bridges. Anyway, he didn’t have enough money for a cab fare.

  ‘So there you are!’

  It was Morgan. Hal was in no mood for a battle, but instead of laying into him she held out a plate of food.

  ‘What’s that for?’ he asked.

  ‘Leftovers. Shame to waste it.’

  Hal took the plate. ‘You didn’t spit in it, did y
ou?’

  Morgan laughed. ‘No, I didn’t, and it’s not poisoned either.’ She watched him tucking into a drumstick, then continued. ‘I see you’re getting friendly with our local copper.’

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ said Hal, through a mouthful of chicken.

  ‘I just thought you’d want to know, that’s all.’

  Hal lowered the drumstick. ‘Know what?’

  ‘She’s a bit keen on the old conspiracy theories. A couple of months ago she was convinced we were trying to have her expelled from the Peace Force. Next thing you know it’ll be drugs in the water supply.’

  Hal stared at her, but said nothing.

  ‘It must be hard, being a Peace officer on a planet full of law-abiding citizens, but I do wish she’d get a grip on herself.’ Morgan sighed. ‘I try and keep her busy with parties and whatnot, but one of these days … Well, we can only hope that robot at the office keeps the guns locked away.’

  Hal dropped the drumstick on the plate. ‘I think you’ve said enough.’

  ‘I was just putting you in the picture. Most of the time she seems so … normal.’

  ‘She is normal,’ said Hal quietly. ‘You’re just annoyed because she came to your party with a date.’

  ‘And left soon afterwards. An urgent matter, I believe?’

  ‘Yeah, she was called back to the office. Probably a burglary, or a hold-up, or —’ Hal stopped.

  ‘On a crime-free planet?’ Morgan looked him in the eyes. ‘I think you’re getting the idea.’

  Hal shrugged, uncertain. ‘It could have been something else.’

  ‘Just be careful, that’s all. If she comes to you with any juicy conspiracies, don’t be taken in.’

  Hal was silent.

  ‘Now, on to business.’ Morgan put a hand on his arm. ‘I really want you to do this cargo job for me. What do you say to twelve thousand credits and an expense account on Forzen?’

  Hal tried to say yes, but his business instincts kicked in. ‘Fifteen.’

  ‘Done. Celebrate the deal over a drink?’

  ‘Sorry, but I’m waiting for Clunk.’

  ‘Oh, the robot. I’ll have to cut his wages, you know. He’s done nothing but sharpen cutlery all night.’