Hal Spacejock 4: No Free Lunch

by Simon Haynes

  Hal eyed the nice starched flight suits, but was in no position to argue. When he had donned the stained pair, Spearman led them into the lift. Hal’s eyes widened at the three buttons on the control panel instead of the two aboard the Volante. ‘How can you have a third deck? Your ship’s no bigger than mine!’

  ‘The Volante has one too,’ said Clunk. ‘It’s masked off.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘We have three decks too; we just can’t access the third.’

  ‘You mean it’s there, but we can’t get to it?’

  ‘Precisely. It’s cheaper to build identical vessels and hide the features you haven’t paid for. Electronics manufacturers have been doing it for years.’

  ‘I always thought the ship looked bigger from the outside. I thought it must’ve been fuel tanks.’

  The lift stopped and the doors opened onto a sumptuous lounge with plush armchairs in front of a gigantic video screen. A well-stocked bar ran along one wall, complete with hanging glasses and rows of bottles in shot dispensers. Spearman grabbed a bag of potato chips from the counter and tossed it to Hal. ‘What’s your poison, eh? No, don’t tell me. OJ.’

  Hal nodded.

  ‘Want anything in it?’

  ‘I’m flying,’ said Hal, through a mouthful of chips. He offered the bag to Clunk, who shook his head.

  Spearman waved at the screen, which came alive in a riot of colour. The image panned over thousands of yelling fans waving huge flags and home-made banners. Concealed speakers pumped out the noise in perfect surround sound, and for a moment Hal felt like he was really at the game. He drained his drink without taking his eyes off the screen, then handed Spearman the empty glass.

  ‘Not bad, eh?’ remarked Spearman, passing Hal a refill.

  Hal took the glass and sank into an armchair, which automatically adjusted to his shape. Spearman handed him a tray of cocktail sausages, cheese sticks, pickled onions and shaved ham, and as Hal tucked in to his favourite delicacies he weighed up his chances of trading in the Volante on an upgraded model.

  ‘So, what are you doing on Dismolle?’ asked Spearman. ‘Business or pleasure?’

  ‘Bit of each,’ said Hal. ‘We brought in a cargo of essentials … you know, staple foods to keep the planet’s inhabitants alive, that kind of thing.’

  ‘And the pleasure?’

  ‘Just catching up with a girl I know.’

  ‘You’re still single then?’

  ‘Between partners,’ said Hal.

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘It’s true! I’m a regular chick magnet!’

  ‘Sure you are.’ Spearman nudged Clunk. ‘He attracts girls who look like fridges.’

  ‘So, how was prison?’ asked Hal. ‘Did you have any firm friends?’

  Spearman looked alarmed. ‘Hey, you can’t tell anyone about that! My record is clean, and if you start spreading rumours —’

  ‘We wouldn’t dream of discussing your past,’ said Clunk. ‘It would be most inappropriate.’

  ‘My lips are sealed,’ said Hal. ‘Anyway, how could a short stretch in the nick turn you into a career criminal?’

  Spearman looked relieved. ‘That’s good of you.’

  ‘So, what’s your cargo?’ asked Hal. ‘Drugs? Guns? Stolen goods?’

  ‘Very funny. Actually, my current client is a big noise in the renovations business.’

  ‘Really? We’ve been working in that line ourselves. We’re collecting some gear from Forzen for a local decorator. Cushy job, too. Cash on the nail.’

  ‘It’s not decorating supplies?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it.’ Hal laughed. ‘Some other dope put their name down for the job, but I talked Morgan round with a bit of the old Spacejock charm.’

  He reached for a dish of stuffed olives, but Spearman snatched it away. His face was like thunder, and he was struggling to speak. ‘You … you …’

  ‘Hey, calm down. I only ate three.’

  ‘You took my job?’ shouted Spearman.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Morgan Renovations is my client! I signed this afternoon!’

  ‘Yeah, well she unsigned this evening.’ Hal shrugged. ‘It happens. Plenty of work to go around.’

  ‘No there isn’t! This was the only job within three star systems!’

  ‘What can I say? The best man won.’

  Spearman bunched his fists.

  ‘Anyway, Morgan would hardly want a jailbird like you working for her. It’s valuable gear, this. She can’t afford any mysterious losses.’

  ‘Get off my ship,’ said Spearman in a low voice. ‘Both of you. You’re not welcome here.’

  ‘Hey, relax. It’s just business.’ Hal glanced around. ‘You got any more of those chips?’

  ‘Out!’ shouted Spearman. ‘Off! Now!’

  ‘We can’t go out there! There’s a killer robot roaming the spaceport.’

  ‘Good!’

  ‘Mr Spacejock is right,’ said Clunk. ‘I can’t let you send him out into danger.’

  ‘Well you’re not staying here.’

  ‘There is one thing I can do. If you’ll allow me, I can broadcast a take-off warning from your flight deck. The robot dog will be forced to retreat to a safe distance.’

  Spearman muttered under his breath, and after a hard stare at Hal, he nodded. ‘But the second that thing’s gone, you’re out of here. And I want my flight suit back in the morning, laundered.’

  Reluctantly, Hal stood. ‘So, I guess bed and brekkie are out of the question?’

  Chapter 8

  Clunk’s signal had the desired effect, and Spearman bundled them out of the airlock and slammed the door, leaving them stranded in the cool night air. Fortunately the robot dog had taken the hint and vanished. Unfortunately Clunk spotted something worse. ‘I think we have a problem,’ he said. ‘Someone’s reported your trespass. Look!’

  Hal followed Clunk’s pointed finger and saw a patrol car picking its way across the landing field, its roof lights alternating red and blue as it slipped between the parked ships like a shark amongst a pod of whales. ‘It’s okay,’ said Hal. ‘That’s got to be Harriet. She’ll sort us out.’

  ‘That’s what I’m afraid of. Trespassing in Honest Bob’s yard, letting the guard dog out, public nudity … it might not sound much, but do you really want to embarrass yourself in front of her? You could lead her to Mr Spearman too, and you saw how nervous he was about that.’

  ‘Good,’ muttered Hal. Even so, he moved out of sight. The car purred by, making the air tremble with the beat of its powerful engine, then drew up at the dockyard gates. A uniformed figure got out, torch in hand, and Hal’s pulse quickened as reflections lit up Walsh’s blonde hair.

  Then the beam swung towards them, and they threw themselves headlong behind a refuelling cluster, Clunk with a sound like a kettledrum falling down a mine shaft. The beam swung back, passing over them once more, and they heard the distinctive whine of a blaster charging up.

  ‘Show yourselves,’ said a female voice, slightly thin in the night air. ‘Stand up or I’ll open fire.’

  Clunk went to get up, but Hal gripped his arm. ‘Stay put.’

  ‘But she’s seen us!’

  ‘Right. That’s why the torch is pointing over there.’ As Hal spoke the beam moved again, stopping on likely hiding spots. Through the glare Hal could just see the weapon, raised and ready. Ever so slowly, he moved so that Clunk lay between him and danger.

  There was a growl, and Walsh crouched and turned, illuminating the robot dog in a blazing cone of light. It charged right at her, head down and teeth bared, then leapt for her throat. Hal was getting to his feet to run out to her assistance, but Walsh calmly snapped off two shots and blasted the dog into fragments. She sidestepped the wreckage, then resumed her sweep of the field. Despite the near miss, the torch beam was steady.

  ‘And that’s why we’re not showing ourselves,’ whispered Hal. He tugged Clunk’s ankle. ‘We need somewhere to hole up. She’ll see us out here
.’

  ‘We can’t risk the roads,’ said Clunk. ‘It’ll have to be somewhere nearby.’

  ‘Lead on.’

  They backed away, using the Tiger for cover. Hal expected a hail of gunfire at any moment, but they managed to get clear and made their way to the opposite side of the spaceport, keeping their eyes peeled for prowling patrol cars. They passed several ships in the darkness, and Hal noticed Clunk paying particular attention to the ground beneath each vessel. ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘Somewhere to spend the night.’

  ‘I want to sleep inside a spaceship, not below one.’

  ‘You’ll have to take whatever we can find.’

  They continued in silence until they reached the edge of the landing field. The ground was uneven, thick with weeds, and discarded pieces of scrap metal made the going treacherous. Then Clunk stopped and pointed. ‘Look there, Mr Spacejock. It’s perfect!’

  Hal saw the ruined hull ahead of them, dark and gloomy. ‘Oh, no. Not a chance.’

  ‘Why not? It’s safe from the elements, and nobody will find us inside.’

  ‘Damn right they won’t.’

  ‘Mr Spacejock, it’s just for the night, and I can light a nice little fire. Come on, help me find the entrance.’

  Reluctantly, Hal followed Clunk towards the ruined spaceship. They needed somewhere to hole up for the night, but this was taking things a bit far. Next they’d be sleeping under railway bridges and begging in the street.

  ‘It’s not like we’re sleeping under a railway bridge,’ said Clunk, as he led Hal inside. ‘See? Nice and snug.’

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ complained Hal, his voice echoing around the hull.

  Clunk switched on his chest light, illuminating the interior. They were standing on compacted oil-stained sand, and above them rusty metal beams festooned with weeds and cobwebs stuck out at crazy angles. The entire ship was buckled as if a giant hand had grabbed it and hurled it to the ground, there were ragged splits in the hull and the interior was streaked with soot.

  ‘You know what?’ Hal shuddered. ‘This is creepy. I’m going outside.’

  ‘Come on Mr Spacejock, it’ll be fine. Look, there’s even a drum we can use for a fire.’

  ‘What about some steaks we can use for supper?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  Hal sighed, then sat down with his back to the wall. Meanwhile, Clunk gathered some oil-stained rags and broke up a couple of rotting wooden pallets, and it only took a second with his soldering attachment to get a cosy little fire going.

  Hal watched the flames playing on the battered hull. The dull metal reflected the light unwillingly, giving back little more than a glow. ‘I bet these walls could tell a story or two.’

  ‘Sad ones, I fear.’ Clunk looked up. ‘From the shape of the hull I’d say she had a very heavy landing.’

  ‘So why’s it still here? Why didn’t they cut it up for scrap?’

  Clunk tapped the hull with his finger. ‘Nobody uses this metal in spaceships any more. The ship must have been sixty or seventy years old when she came down, and it’s been here at least twenty years.’

  Hal shivered as Clunk’s words echoed around the shadowy interior. The fire seemed smaller somehow, and what little warmth it gave off wasn’t reaching him. ‘Bung some more wood on, will you?’

  Clunk obliged, sending a stream of sparks twirling towards the roof, and Hal put his hands out to capture some of the warmth. Never mind, he thought. The following night he’d be back in his own bed.

  Chapter 9

  Hal awoke to sunlight on his face and a gentle breeze ruffling his hair. He opened his eyes and squinted at the rusty hull, blinded by the light shining through a large crack, then groaned aloud as memories of the previous night came flooding back.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Spacejock,’ said Clunk brightly.

  ‘Prove it,’ muttered Hal.

  ‘Well, the sun’s shining and before you know it we’ll be back aboard the Volante. You can have a hot shower and breakfast while I call Ms Morgan to confirm the cargo job.’

  ‘Sounds good. Let’s go.’

  As they tackled the overgrown weeds outside, Clunk pointed out a weathered plate bearing the ship’s name: Ganymede.

  Once free of the weeds they strolled along the perimeter fence to the dockyard. To their surprise the gates were still closed, and when they inspected the sign they realised why. ‘Opening hours ten till eight?’ Hal rattled the gates in exasperation. ‘What kind of a dud operation is this? It’s only just gone nine!’

  ‘Why don’t you get some breakfast at the spaceport? I’ll wait here in case they open up sooner.’

  Hal looked down at his grubby flight suit. ‘You reckon someone will throw me a few credits if I put a hat out?’

  ‘There’s no need.’ Clunk took out a couple of credit tiles. ‘My payment from last night.’

  ‘Thanks Clunk. You’re a gem.’ Hal took the cash and left before the robot could advise him what to spend it on. After all, it was his breakfast. Come to think of it, it was his money too.

  * * *

  Bernie was in a foul mood when Walsh arrived at the office. It wasn’t the reports of fighting in the streets, or suspicious individuals roaming the spaceport. No, it was the fact Walsh hadn’t bothered to involve her.

  ‘One little wake-up call,’ said the robot for the twentieth time. ‘Is that asking so much?’

  ‘I had everything under control, Bernie.’

  ‘You initiated an unauthorised patrol. Unarmed!’

  Walsh decided not to correct that misconception. ‘Any news so far?’

  ‘Spaceport personnel found a guard dog blown to pieces. They were hoping I could extract vision of its final moments, but the onboard storage was ruined in the blast.’

  Walsh breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Nothing locally, but I took a call from Mr Bigan of Forzen. He’s still chasing his missing resident.’

  ‘I already told him, we can’t do anything unless he files an official report.’

  Bernie held out a slip of paper. ‘There you are.’

  Walsh stared at it. ‘They really think she’s missing?’

  ‘It appears so. They want you there tomorrow.’

  ‘Me? Visit Forzen?’ Walsh felt a sudden thrill. ‘Now that’s what I call a perk!’

  ‘I’m very excited for you.’

  Walsh couldn’t help noticing the robot’s depressed tone. ‘Oh Bernie, I’m sorry.’

  Bernie sighed. ‘All my years in the Force and I’ve never had a real investigation. I want to analyse data, inspect a crime scene …’

  ‘You could nip outside and give someone a parking ticket.’

  ‘I’m confined to the office until I receive new orders. You know that, Trainee Walsh.’

  ‘Once I graduate I’ll give you new orders every day. I promise!’

  Bernie was silent.

  ‘What if something comes up while I’m away? You’d have to go out then!’

  ‘The likelihood of a crime spree on Dismolle is zero.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Walsh unwillingly. ‘But if I wasn’t here, and if there was an incident …’

  ‘You’re right. I will remain in the office and hope for a crime.’

  * * *

  Inside the terminal Hal made a beeline for the nearest bathroom, ignoring the stares of passengers and staff. He washed his face and raked most of the grit out of his hair, but all attempts to clean the grease, soot and grass stains off his flight suit only made it worse. As he left the bathroom his best hope was to be mistaken for an amorous mechanic with a chimney fetish, and not a desperate fugitive or escaped convict.

  The cafe was open, and Hal ignored the disapproving glances as the counter staff made his double-strength coffee. He paid up and carried his tray to a table in the corner. The table surface was showing a news bulletin, and he amused himself by putting sugar sachets on the presenter’s face, shifting them ar
ound as she moved. The hefty dose of caffeine began to take effect, and before long he was feeling a lot more awake. Then a shadow fell across his table.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’

  Hal saw Harriet Walsh smiling down at him, tray in hand. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail, and her dark grey uniform looked businesslike and official. Was she hunting for suspects after the events at the spaceport? Was he a marked man?

  Walsh eyed the sugar packets dotting the table. ‘I can see you’re sweet on that presenter. Want me to leave you to it?’

  ‘No, sit down!’ Hal swept the sachets aside and waved her into the spare seat. ‘Are you on duty?’

  ‘Sort of. Bernie thinks I’ve gone to the shops, but I ended up here instead.’ Walsh sipped her coffee. ‘So, what did you get up to after I left?’

  She’d started the interrogation! Hal toyed with his cup, thinking furiously. What could he say?

  ‘Come on, you can tell me.’ Walsh smiled. ‘It’s not like I can arrest you.’

  Relieved, Hal decided to come clean. ‘Well, it was pretty bad. You see, there was this battered old wreck —’

  ‘Aha! I knew Miranda would make a move!’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Did you dance with her?’

  ‘Certainly not.’ Realisation dawned. She wasn’t interrogating him about the fuss at the spaceport. It was about the party! ‘I had a couple of drinks, collected Clunk and went back to the ship.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ Walsh hesitated. ‘I’m really sorry I had to leave early. I was enjoying myself.’

  ‘Me too.’ Hal looked down at his mug. ‘Do you want to go out later? Lunch or something?’

  ‘That’s sweet, but I can’t.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Hal quickly. ‘I’m busy too.’

  ‘It’s not that. I won’t be here.’ Walsh hesitated. ‘How about when I get back?’

  ‘That’d be great.’

  ‘There you go then. It’s a date.’ Walsh glanced around, then leaned across the table and lowered her voice. ‘I’m not supposed to say anything, but I’ve got a missing person investigation. This woman helped with a fundraising event, took the cash home afterwards and hasn’t been seen since.’