Hal Spacejock 4: No Free Lunch

by Simon Haynes

  ‘He’s very efficient.’

  ‘Yes, but he’s done all the forks and spoons too. I’ll never get my deposit back.’ Morgan hesitated. ‘Do you want a lift home? We can send for your robot later.’

  ‘I never mix business and pleasure.’

  ‘Oh well. It’s your loss.’

  Hal watched her leave, then leaned against the wall and let his mind wander. He was pleased about the cargo job, but also amused at the way Morgan had painted Harriet Walsh as a paranoid psycho. Sure, they were rivals, but wasn’t that taking things a bit far?

  Okay, so Morgan was trying to get at Walsh, but what about the reverse? Had Walsh only invited him along to get up Morgan’s nose? Hal scuffed the toe of his shoe along the ground as he thought back over the evening, and decided that he didn’t actually care. Whatever the intention behind Walsh’s invitation, he’d had a great time with her. It was just a pity she’d left so soon.

  Then he remembered Clunk, and his positive mood evaporated.

  The kitchens were out the back of the function room, and as Hal entered Clunk took up a carving knife and sighted along the blade. Then, very deliberately, he ran it over the sharpener.

  Rissssk!

  ‘Hey Clunk,’ said Hal. ‘How’s it going?’

  Rissssk!

  ‘Clunk, I’m sorry. It just seemed the perfect solution. We needed Morgan’s cargo and she needed a waiter.’

  Risssk!

  ‘I’ll make it up to you. Anything you want!’

  ‘Very well.’ Clunk tested the edge of the knife. ‘Next time, I get to dance and you get to carve beef all night.’

  ‘Done!’

  ‘Thank you.’ Clunk’s expression softened as he removed the chef’s hat. ‘So, how was your evening?’

  ‘Terrible. Bloody awful.’

  Clunk smiled. ‘Now come on. I saw you having a fine old time. And don’t tell me the food wasn’t any good.’

  ‘No, that was great. And Harriet was a laugh, too.’ Hal frowned. ‘But she and Morgan - phew. They’re not exactly bestest buddies.’

  ‘Yes, I heard them during the speech. I’m afraid I can’t see Morgan favouring us with her cargo job after that little exchange.’

  ‘That’s what you think. I just spoke to her and we’re on. She offered twelve grand, and we settled on fifteen.’

  Clunk laid one hand on the knife handle. ‘Tell me, was anything else agreed?’

  ‘No, nothing.’ Hal saw the robot’s suspicious look. ‘I mean it, Clunk! Maybe the other pilot stood her up or something.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Clunk straightened the knives. ‘And Miss Walsh? Did she leave?’

  ‘Ages ago,’ said Hal glumly. ‘So, have you finished here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did Morgan pay you for tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s go home then.’

  * * *

  A taxi dropped Hal and Clunk at the spaceport terminal and they crossed the landing field in darkness, negotiating garden furniture, barbecue settings and washing lines. They were halfway across the buffer zone separating the residents from the active landing pads when they heard a rumble overhead. Hal looked up to see a tiny spark of light amongst the thin scattering of stars, and realised it was a spaceship coming in to land.

  ‘We’d better take cover,’ said Clunk.

  They found a ground crew shelter, but the door was either locked or rusted shut. Meanwhile the noise was getting louder.

  ‘Run,’ said Clunk.

  Hal cupped a hand to his ear. ‘What?’

  ‘RUN!’

  They took off, leaping over refuelling pipes and weaving between the empty landing pads. Above them, the ship’s landing lights came on, twin spotlights which turned the shadowy field into daylight. The engine noise rose to a howling roar, and as the ship came down Hal was thrown headlong by a blast of red-hot air. He protected his head from the searing heat washing over him, and just when he thought it would burn him to a crisp the heat lessened and the noise dwindled. To his relief the ship had passed them by, and was now settling on a landing pad in the distance. The engines cut out, and as soon as the glare subsided Hal recognised the ship’s outline. ‘The Volante? But you said they weren’t going to move it!’

  ‘No, it’s not ours.’ Clunk pointed out three strips of chrome on the tail. ‘That’s an XS model. The Volante is only an L.’

  ‘So everyone keeps telling me,’ muttered Hal. His suit crackled as he stood up, and he realised the supple polymer had been converted into brittle plastic by the heat of the ship’s wash. He could feel fresh air in unexpected places, and even worse, the material had turned completely transparent. ‘Er, Clunk?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Spacejock?’ The robot glanced at him, then stared. ‘Oh my goodness. You’re stark naked!’

  ‘You don’t have my spare flight suit, do you? It’s getting draughty.’

  ‘I’m a robot, not a walking wardrobe.’

  ‘Damn.’ Hal looked down at himself. ‘This is awkward.’

  ‘It’s like one of those nightmares where you end up in a big crowd with no clothes on.’

  ‘How can you have a nightmare about that? You don’t even wear clothes!’

  ‘I read about it once. Fascinating.’

  Hal muttered under his breath.

  ‘Tell me, has the melted plastic stuck to you?’ Clunk tugged on a loose bit.

  ‘Ow! Do you mind?’ Hal swatted his hand away. ‘That hurt!’

  ‘I was just checking.’

  ‘Well next time rip someone else’s skin off.’ Hal inspected the damage. ‘What genius came up with a melty suit, anyway?’

  ‘Clearly the same genius who saw a market for such a thing.’ Clunk crouched for a closer look. ‘It’s not fused to your skin, it’s just attached to the hairs. You’re lucky.’

  ‘Lucky?’ said Hal, his voice rising. ‘I’m swaddled in melted plastic, and you think it’s lucky?’ He shook his arms. ‘How the hell am I supposed to remove it?’

  ‘With a sticky plaster, the idea is to pull it off really quickly.’

  ‘Do not talk about pulling things off.’ Hal picked at a tiny plastic flake. ‘Ooh! Ow! This is not going to —’

  Rrripp!

  ‘Argh!’ Hal leapt into the air, twisting and turning as he tried to reach the strip of agony down the middle of his back. Through tear-filled eyes he saw Clunk inspecting a length of plastic. ‘What the f - … What happened to not harming humans?’

  ‘It’s the most effective method of removal,’ said the robot. ‘The only alternative is to slide a sharp blade across your skin, and in the darkness that could lead to multiple injuries and blood loss.‘

  Resigned, Hal raised his arms. ‘Go on, then. But I don’t want any warning.’

  Rrrripp!

  ‘Argh!’

  Ten minutes later the job was done, and Clunk disposed of the furry strips in a nearby bin.

  ‘You’ll have to f-fetch my clothes,’ said Hal, his teeth chattering in the darkness. ‘I’ll w-wait near the gates, out of s-sight.’

  ‘It’s dark near the fence. We’ll go that way.’

  They made their way to the perimeter fence then followed it towards Honest Bob’s dockyard. They hadn’t gone far when the night-time insects fell silent, and Hal saw a hulking shadow looming out of the darkness. ‘What’s that?’ he whispered to Clunk, his voice carrying on the still air.

  ‘It’s a ruined hull.’

  Hal could feel the aura of loss and sorrow, and he lengthened his stride to pass the wreck as quickly as possible. Before long they reached the gates outside Honest Bob’s dockyard. Unfortunately, they were shut tight. ‘Well that’s marvellous,’ said Hal, rattling the wire in the gloom. ‘You said they were going to wait.’

  ‘We could book a room for the night.’

  ‘Hello?’ Hal patted his bare leg. ‘Mr Birthday Suit here? Anyway, Honest Bob can let us in. Give him a call and tell him we’re waiting.’

  ‘What do you thi
nk I’ve been doing for the past sixty seconds?’

  ‘And?’

  ‘There’s a recording. It says to come back in the morning.’

  Hal eyed the gates. ‘Give me a leg up.’

  ‘May I voice my strong opposition to that course of action?’

  ‘Go ahead, but you can give me a leg up at the same time.’

  Sighing, Clunk crouched next to the gate and put his hand out. Hal stepped onto it and the robot hoisted him up. ‘Mind you don’t get caught,’ he said, as Hal went over the wire.

  ‘Come on!’ whispered Hal. ‘You next.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere. Trespass is against the law.’

  ‘All right, all right. No need to growl at me.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Oh hell.’ Hal spotted a pair of red eyes glowing from the darkness. ‘Nice doggy. Stay.’

  The eyes moved towards him, and Hal burst out laughing as a weedy plastic dog emerged from the shadows. ‘It’s just a toy!’ he said, taking in the oversized head, spindly legs and slender body. ‘Go on! Shoo!’ He waved his arms but the robot dog stood its ground, and when he advanced on it, intending to scare it away, it growled, revealing a mouthful of needle-sharp teeth. Hal took one horrified look and dashed for the gate, grabbing the wire and hauling himself up as though a three-headed monster were on his tail. The dog snarled and leaped and snapped at his ankles, but Hal was over the top like lightning. As soon as he was safe he turned and kicked the gate, prompting frenzied barking. ‘What now, you wind-up woofer? Can’t climb the fence, can you?’

  The dog appraised the situation with a disturbingly intelligent look, then stood on its hind legs and hooked its front paws through the wire. It took a faltering step, then another, until it was halfway up the gate.

  ‘Over here, Mr Spacejock,’ called Clunk, pointing towards the passenger ramp of a nearby ship. It was the Gamma class freighter that had almost grilled them alive, and light shone from a porthole set into the airlock door.

  ‘Can you get in?’ asked Hal, as they ran up the ramp. ‘Hook into the computer, crack the door codes and open her up?’

  ‘No, but this ought to do it,’ said Clunk, pressing the doorbell.

  Hal looked down at himself. ‘You can do the explaining.’

  Meanwhile, the dog had cleared the gate and was now haring across the landing field towards them. Judging by its speed, Hal reckoned he had about ten seconds to live.

  Chapter 7

  Walsh decided she could use some exercise, and went to collect her order in person. The cafe owner refused payment but Walsh insisted, as per the book, and walked back to the office munching a biscuit and sipping coffee from a paper cup. Street lamps banished the darkness, and the coffee steamed in the cool night air.

  She was just letting herself in when her terminal buzzed, so she put the coffee aside and took hold of the handset. ‘Dismolle Peace Force. Can I help you?’

  ‘I’d like to report a public disturbance,’ said a shaky female voice.

  ‘Are you sure you’ve called the right number? This is Dismolle. We don’t have disturbances here.’

  ‘Oh yes we do. Two naked men are fighting outside.’

  Walsh’s eyebrows went up. With few exceptions, Dismolle residents were safely tucked in by nine pm. ‘Aren’t you a little old for prank calls?’

  ‘This isn’t a prank call! Two men are tearing strips off each other outside. And the language! I haven’t heard anything like it since I retired from high school.’

  Biscuits and coffee forgotten, Walsh brought up a map. The caller lived in a converted freighter at the spaceport, and Walsh tapped the nearest camera to bring up a live feed. All she got was a screen full of tightly packed ships, awnings and clotheslines. ‘I can’t see anyone.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ The handset clunked, and Walsh heard heavy breathing and the swish of curtains. Then the voice came back. ‘You’re right, they’ve gone.’

  ‘Could you identify them? Did you get a close look?’

  ‘I wish I had, dearie. It’s years since I —’

  ‘Thanks for calling,’ said Walsh hurriedly. ‘Watchful citizens like you help to keep the Peace.’ She hung up and reached for her coffee, but the terminal rang again. Walsh scooped up the receiver and a woman’s voice burst from the earpiece.

  ‘Is that the Peace office? I need you to send someone straight away. There’s a terrible fight going on!’

  ‘Two men arguing?‘

  ‘That’s right. Stark naked, too! Rough-looking villains, the pair of them. One was tanned, and the other one was all mottled and reddish.’

  Walsh frowned. Had all these callers hit the turps and then sat down to watch the same show? ‘Tell me, have you had a drink this evening?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Only I’ve just had a similar report, and I’m wondering whether there’s a program you’ve all been watching. Something of a fantastic nature.’

  There was a long silence. ‘Are you accusing me of watching horror films? Science fiction?’

  ‘Well no, but —’

  ‘For your information,’ said the caller, acid dripping from every syllable, ‘I gave up such flights of fancy in my teenage years. What’s your excuse?’ The caller slammed her phone down, and Walsh stared at the screen with conflicting thoughts running through her head. Mass hysteria or naked fighting men? Well, a quick call would reveal all, so to speak. She dialled spaceport security and drummed her fingers as the automated system picked up.

  Your call is important to us, and will be answered by the next available operator.

  Walsh dialled a bypass code.

  Your emergency call is important to us, and will be answered by the next available operator.

  Walsh entered a top priority override, for use only in direst emergencies.

  Your urgent top priority emergency call is important to us, and will be -

  Walsh banged the handset down. There was only one thing for it - she’d have to take a look herself. She went to notify Bernie and found the robot still plugged in to the power point. Walsh reached out to shake her, then hesitated. The robot’s face was so calm and serene it seemed a pity to wake her, especially if the so-called disturbance turned out to be a foul-mouthed couple taking an evening walk. No, she’d handle this one herself.

  The armoury had a heavy steel door with a keypad, but although Walsh was denied access, Bernie’s daily use had worn the relevant keys so badly she had little trouble working out the combination. The keypad buzzed and the door popped open.

  The armoury walls were lined with shelves, empty apart from a couple of dusty flak jackets and the pistol Walsh used for target practice. There was a filing box too, and she peeked inside hoping for hand grenades or a bigger gun, but it only contained dusty files and records, yellowed with age.

  Walsh donned the smaller jacket then took the pistol from its case, feeling the warmth in the grip. As she clipped it to her belt she felt a stirring of excitement. Armed in public? Patrolling at night? Forget the endless studying, this was what she’d signed up for!

  * * *

  Five seconds later Clunk was still pressing the doorbell and the guard dog was halfway up the ramp, its claws striking sparks and its eyes blazing red in the darkness. Hal gripped the handrail, aware that his life was over. Of all the ways to go, he thought, being torn apart in the nuddy by a wind-up woofer had to be the most demeaning.

  But before the dog could attack, the airlock door opened, bathing them in light. Hal didn’t waste time explaining: he dived in, landing full length on the cold metal floor. Clunk followed, ramming the door shut just as the dog pounced. There was a thud as it hit the solid metal, then silence.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ said a smooth voice behind them. ‘And why are you running around butt naked?’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Hal. ‘Just a little misunderstanding over business hours.’ He struggled to his feet and faced their unwitting saviour. The man was tall, with
a mane of straw-coloured hair and a trim goatee. His face was pale, and something about him seemed familiar. ‘Have we met?’

  ‘Of course we have!’ said the man. ‘I flew you out of Cathua once. You spent the whole voyage in uniform, serving my passengers food and drink.’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ said Clunk. ‘It’s Mr Spearman of the Luna Rose!’

  ‘Kent Spearman?’ Hal shook his head. ‘It can’t be him. He was put away for dumping robots in space.’

  ‘Oh, that!’ Spearman laughed. ‘Just a little misunderstanding. In fact, I got quite a decent result out of it.’

  Hal looked down at himself. ‘Can we discuss this later? I, er —’

  ‘Relax, I’ve got an old flight suit you can have.’

  ‘Thanks!’

  ‘So, I sued for false imprisonment, and the settlement paid for this little baby.’ Spearman gestured around the airlock. ‘Welcome to the Tiger. Watch where you sit, though … the paint’s still wet.’

  ‘But she’s a freighter, and you were in the passenger game!’

  ‘Not any more, Spacejock. It’s the cargo business for me. I realised you two had the right idea when I saw how successful you were.’

  Clunk suddenly found the airlock door fascinating, and he turned to give it a close inspection.

  ‘But why Dismolle?’ asked Hal.

  ‘Honestly? I thought I’d follow you around a bit. Pick up a few jobs, learn how you operate.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘Hey, where are my manners? Come in, come in!’ Spearman led them into the flight deck, which was identical to the Volante’s except for the dirty plates on the console. ‘Excuse the mess,’ he said, hurriedly stacking dishes. ‘I wasn’t expecting visitors. Hey, you want to catch the game?’

  ‘What game?’

  ‘The sky hockey tournament, of course! It’s the final, and I’ve got a direct feed into my games room.’

  ‘These ships don’t have a games room.’

  ‘Come and see.’

  ‘And the, er, flight suit?’

  Spearman opened a locker, revealing half a dozen pairs of gleaming white overalls.

  ‘I really appreciate this,’ said Hal.

  ‘Don’t mention it.’ Kent twitched the clean overalls aside and took out a worn set, covered with oil stains. ‘Here, these should do the trick.’