Hal Spacejock 4: No Free Lunch

by Simon Haynes

  ‘I’m through to the last layer, but it’s a toughie,’ said Bernie. ‘And if I get the next bit wrong, all the data will be erased.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  Bernie considered the idea. ‘If we slave your processors to the task it might be enough to tip the balance.’

  ‘I really need those codes,’ said Clunk. ‘Let’s try it.’

  Bernie reached down to uncover her network port, and Clunk slid his probe in, relinquishing control of his system to the bigger robot. He sensed the vast array of processors standing ready for the final assault on the locked data chip, and realised they dwarfed his own modest capabilities.

  Bernie noticed his apprehension. ‘Relax, Clunk. It’s not the size of the array, it’s how you deploy it.’

  A blast of hot air washed over him as Bernie cranked up her processors, and Clunk felt like he was being sucked through a straw. He struggled to free himself, but Bernie had a firm grip on his shoulders.

  The overhead light exploded into fragments, and the cranes outside were going berserk, spinning wildly across the landing field. All over the dockyard workers were fighting their tools, which were thrusting and banging out of control.

  With a huge effort Clunk tore himself free and staggered away, half-blinded by system errors and status reports. He toppled over, landing on his back with a crash, and the last thing he saw was the ceiling light, whole again and shining through the darkness like a beacon.

  * * *

  Walsh smiled to herself as the lift vanished down the shaft. She’d gained several minutes of unsupervised time, and she wasn’t going to waste them worrying about overloaded elevators. She only hoped Hal wouldn’t inadvertently give her away. Glancing at her watch, she allowed herself five minutes to explore. Any longer and Herringen might come back for her.

  She eased the heavy door open and peered through the crack. At the far end of the hall she could just see the secretary’s chair, and she prayed the woman didn’t lean back. If she did, she’d spot Walsh immediately.

  According to Bernie, the trick was to act as natural as possible. Sneak around looking furtive and someone would notice. Stride confidently, as though you were meant to be there, and people wouldn’t spare you a second glance.

  Walsh opened the door and stepped into the passageway, but within three paces she’d moved to the left-hand wall and was stepping carefully to avoid making any noise. So much for brazen confidence she thought as she slunk along the hall. Practice and theory were poles apart.

  Herringen’s door was ajar, and she slipped inside, letting out her breath as she entered the relative sanctuary. She looked at the computer terminal on the desk, the trays overflowing with letters and memos, and the nearby filing cabinet. Which was most likely to reward a hasty search? Ignoring the trays and filing cabinet, she settled on the terminal. Lock incriminating files up behind a password and the average Joe thought it was as secure as a bank vault. The thing is, thought Walsh idly, banks get done over too.

  She sat down and pulled the keyboard towards her, rolling her eyes at the skimpy swimwear model featured in the screensaver. She tapped a key to bring up the login window, then angled the keyboard to the light. Most of the key tops still had their non-slip surface, which spoke volumes about the amount of typing Herringen did, but half a dozen had the faintest sheen where frequent use had worn away the rough pattern. Walsh rearranged the letters and rolled her eyes again. SXYBABE indeed!

  She entered the password and wasn’t at all surprised when the computer let her in. A quick scan of the user directory showed hundreds of files, but there was no time to open them individually. Ideally, she’d forward the lot to the Peace Force terminal back at the office, but it was doubtful Herringen had the right comms program installed. Anyway, filters on the server would block any sensitive outbound material. No, what she needed was a blank data chip.

  Walsh opened the desk drawers, and hit pay dirt on the third: a memory chip with ‘Games & Music’ scrawled on the label. She slotted the chip into the back of the keyboard, smiling as she pictured Herringen battling waves of aliens and listening to the latest hits. A status screen popped up, showing room to spare, and within seconds Herringen’s files were flowing onto the chip.

  The file transfer was only half done when Walsh heard footsteps. She froze, heart racing. Were they coming in or going straight past?

  The footsteps slowed, and Walsh dived for the armchairs in the corner, squatting behind the nearest just as the door creaked open. She pressed her face to the back of the chair, and was forced to hold in a sneeze as the coarse fibres scratched her nose.

  Footsteps crossed to the desk, and a drawer opened. There was a chink of glass followed by the sound of liquid pouring, and Walsh’s eyebrows rose. She’d been looking for evidence of criminal activity, not a clandestine drinking session. Was Herringen back for a snifter? If so, one glance at the screen and the game would be up.

  * * *

  ‘Nearly there,’ said Herringen. ‘Hold tight, this thing stops with a rush.’

  Hal grabbed the handrail just as the brakes came on, and his legs buckled as the lift screamed to a stop. The wind abated, and the car settled with a jerk or two. They were down.

  Herringen opened the doors and led Hal into a stark room lined with control panels and screens. Nearby, dozens of wooden boxes sat on rows of shelves, and the far wall was one huge sheet of glass, as dark as a starless night.

  As Hal entered the room he half expected to see workers monitoring the screens or tending the computers, but the place was deserted. He glanced round at a noise, but it was just the lift doors closing. ‘Are they on a break or something?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The staff. Workers.’

  ‘I told you, this aspect of our operation is totally automated.’ Herringen pressed a button and the lift rose out of sight. ‘I don’t want to go over everything twice, so perhaps you could answer a few questions while we’re waiting?’

  ‘What sort of questions?’

  ‘Tell me about Miss Walsh. Has she been an officer long?’

  ‘A couple of years, I think. Why?’

  ‘I’ve met several Peace officers in my time, and they’re usually older and tougher. Miss Walsh seems a little inexperienced. Out of her depth.’

  ‘She’s doing fine,’ said Hal. ‘She’ll bust this case and lock everyone up. You’ll see.’

  ‘You’ve worked with her on other cases?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘And your own background?’

  ‘I’m a pilot.’ Hal dug in his pocket and found a crumpled business card. ‘There you are. Guaranteed cheap.’

  Herringen took the card gingerly. ‘And your connection with Miss Walsh?’

  ‘Oh, we’re on the job together.’

  ‘I see.’ Herringen glanced at his watch. ‘The lift will have reached the surface by now. Do you think Miss Walsh will have the guts to use it?’

  * * *

  Walsh heard the bottle and glass being put away, and risked a quick look as the office door creaked again. She saw the secretary framed in the doorway, and grinned to herself. So she wasn’t the only one making use of Herringen’s absence!

  The minute the door closed, Walsh darted to the desk. The data transfer had finished and she removed the chip and … with a curse, she remembered her Peace Force uniform had no pockets! Instead, she loosened her top and slipped the chip inside, making sure it didn’t show.

  She opened the door and glanced along the hall, but there was no sign of the secretary. Moments later she was in the lift, travelling down at a high rate of knots.

  At the bottom she found the others waiting for her. ‘There you are at last!’ said Herringen. ‘We thought you’d taken a wrong turn on the way down!’ He laughed at his own joke, and Hal joined in heartily.

  ‘It took a while to get my courage up,’ said Walsh. ‘In the end it wasn’t as bad as I expected.’

  ‘Excellent. Now, I’ve explained a little to your d
eputy, but I’ve saved the best for you.’ Herringen gestured towards the huge window. ‘The computers and monitors are important, but all the real work is performed out there.’

  They followed him to the window, glancing at the screens as they passed. All the terminals were blanked out, and when Walsh reached for a keyboard Herringen stopped her. ‘I’d rather you didn’t meddle with the equipment.’

  ‘What does it all do?’ asked Walsh.

  ‘We use it to track our extraction rates, and it also pinpoints the location of every miner.’

  ‘You said there weren’t any miners!’

  ‘No, I said there weren’t any employees.’ Herringen gestured at the sheet of darkened glass. ‘And that’s what I want to show you.’

  As Walsh approached she heard a rustling noise, as if hundreds of people were running beads through their fingers. Then the opaque glass turned transparent, and when Hal saw the source of the noise he stared in amazement. Alongside him Walsh gave a startled cry and took an involuntary step back.

  ‘Relax,’ said Herringen, with a smug grin. ‘They can’t hurt you through the window.’

  Chapter 18

  Beyond the glass wall was a huge open area, much bigger than the control room. The walls were pierced with thousands of holes, and miniature bridges criss-crossed the space in a mad jumble, all of them connected to a series of wide rings suspended in the centre. Scuttling across the bridges were thousands of cockroaches the size of Walsh’s forearm - swift, glossy creatures with waving antennae. ‘They’re not real?’ she asked, staring at them in fascination.

  Herringen shook his head. ‘Autonomous robots.’

  ‘But why? What are they doing?’

  ‘Watch one coming out of a hole. Follow it.’

  Hal didn’t have to wait long. A glossy robot shot out of a hole and raced across a bridge, joining the traffic circling one of the rings. As it trooped round it opened its carapace and tipped a handful of dirt down the centre of the rings, where it joined that poured by its fellow workers. The mass of dirt gathered and slid towards a giant hopper which led away through the floor.

  ‘You’ve certainly cornered the market in dirt,’ remarked Hal.

  ‘My dear fellow, that’s not dirt. It’s valuable ore!’

  ‘But they only carry a little bit each. It must take ages!’

  ‘That’s the clever part. Traditional mines dig out vast quantities of ore and transport it to the machinery. Our miners dig out the ore, filter it in-situ and bring us highly concentrated material. The energy savings are tremendous, and there’s absolutely no impact on the environment.’

  ‘That’s amazing.’

  ‘And unique. In fact, we’re exploring licensing opportunities all over the galaxy, and if only half of them come off Forzen will be the richest planet this side of the Central systems.’

  Hal pointed through the window. ‘Where do all those holes go?’

  ‘Every one leads into a different part of the workings. If a seam peters out the miners are smart enough to seek new ones.’

  ‘How far do the workings go?’

  ‘Hundreds of kilometres, some of them.’

  Hal whistled.

  Herringen indicated the terminals behind them. ‘Every miner has a tracker and a wireless camera, so we know where they are and what they’re up to. Come, I’ll show you.’ He reached for a keyboard and paged through a huge list of numbers until he found what he was looking for. ‘This is one of the newer sections. Watch.’

  The screen went dark, and Herringen played with the controls until a greyscale image appeared. ‘Sorry about the vision,’ he said apologetically. ‘It’s low light. Can’t do much better than that.’

  Hal and Walsh stared at the screen, fascinated. They were travelling down a smooth tunnel, following a cloud of dust kicked up by the miner ahead of them. Before long the tunnel opened into a cavern that was covered in swarming bugs, and the image tilted crazily as their miner ran up the nearest wall. Metal jaws appeared in the shot, and grit flew as the miner chomped away at the hard surface.

  ‘Those mandibles can snip a steel rod in two,’ said Herringen. ‘Our very own design.’

  ‘How do they process the stuff?’

  ‘They suck the raw material through filters. Unwanted material is passed back out again, and once they’re full they head back to the central chamber.’ Herringen pointed out a progress bar moving across the screen. Once it reached one hundred percent the miner hurried to the tunnel and joined the queue going back to the hopper. As it was running round the ring, depositing its load of ore, Hal caught a glimpse of the window and the terminals beyond it, with himself, Walsh and Herringen hunched over one of the screens.

  Walsh gasped at the sight.

  ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ said Herringen. ‘We’re watching them watching us watching them.’

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ murmured Walsh. ‘So how many of these miners are there?’

  ‘Thousands.’

  ‘Do they break down?’

  ‘It happens. Let’s see if I can find one.’ Herringen paged through a sequence of screens until he saw a line highlighted in red. He selected it, and the display showed an upside down view of the tunnel, with a row of miners waiting patiently while the nearest advanced on the camera with its mandibles out. Then the screen went dead.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Deactivated. They’ll drag it away and dump it in a holding pen. We retrieve them once a week and send them off for repairs.’

  ‘Off-planet?’

  ‘No, of course not. We have our own contractors. In fact, that’s what mining means to most people around here. It’s one big support industry for our bugs.’ Herringen gestured at the shelves of wooden boxes along the wall. ‘We keep plenty of spares, all the same.’

  ‘Do they ever get loose? I mean, those things could do some serious damage,’ said Hal.

  ‘No chance. They’re programmed to move within a fixed area. The lift shaft and the walls of this room are like poison to them.’

  ‘What about outwards?’ asked Walsh. ‘What’s stopping them digging up the entire planet?’

  ‘My dear girl, that’s the idea!’

  ‘Couldn’t they harm humans?’

  ‘They don’t know what humans are. To them, everything is ore or not ore. And they’ll go to great lengths to get at the ore.’

  Hal shuddered. The trip in the lift had been bad enough, but the idea of being cornered by hundreds of mechanical rock-chewing cockroaches was the perfect end to a freaky visit. Suddenly, he couldn’t leave soon enough. ‘I think I’m done,’ he said.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Walsh, who was looking a little pale. ‘We’d better get moving.’

  Herringen looked at them, his face lit by the screens. ‘I thought you wanted to investigate every aspect of the mining business?’

  ‘I’ve seen enough,’ said Walsh firmly.

  ‘Excellent.’ Herringen led the way to the lift and pressed the button, showing them in as the doors shuddered open. ‘It’s not as fast going back up,’ he said, with a sidelong glance at Walsh. ‘Not with three, anyway.’

  ‘Is it safe?’ asked Hal.

  Herringen smiled, his face half-hidden in the shadows. ‘Is anything?’

  * * *

  When Clunk came to the first thing he saw was Bernie’s face staring down at him in concern. Surprisingly, he felt okay, and as he checked over his systems he discovered they were operating perfectly. Better than usual, in fact.

  ‘I took the liberty of tweaking a few settings,’ said Bernie, noticing Clunk’s surprise. ‘A number of your patches and upgrades were conflicting, so I straightened them out.’

  Clunk frowned, unsure whether he liked the idea. ‘You could have altered my personality. Changed who I am.’

  ‘Oh, no! I didn’t touch anything like that!’ exclaimed Bernie. ‘It was just a few lower-level routines. Nut and bolt stuff.’

  Clunk got to his feet, relieved she’d
only touched his nuts. And Bernie was right: his movements felt sharper, more precise, while the background hum of his circuits had softened to a gentle purr. He put a hand out and turned his wrist, admiring the way his eyes maintained a sharp focus on the light reflecting from his bronze skin. Then he frowned. Light? Looking up, he was surprised to see it working. ‘How can that be? I saw you blowing the bulb!’

  ‘I assure you, I’m not that kind of robot.’

  ‘And the spinning cranes? The power tools? They were all going crazy!’

  ‘It was a reality overload. Quite common in high-stress situations.’

  ‘What about the data? Did you break the encryption?’

  Bernie smiled. ‘Where do you want it?’

  They left the workshop and set off for the supervisor’s office, with Clunk trotting to keep up with Bernie’s lengthy strides. Bob was sitting on the steps, a mug in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He looked up as the robots approached, sparing Clunk the briefest of glances before turning his attention to Bernie. Slowly, he set the mug down, and his head tilted further and further back as Bernie towered over him.

  ‘We have the information you need,’ said Clunk.

  ‘What the hell is that?’ demanded Bob, looking at Bernie in surprise.

  ‘I’m Bernie, the last surviving BNE-II. My function is to perform forensic investigations at crime scenes.’

  ‘And what are you doing in my dockyard?’

  ‘I’m helping Clunk,’ said Bernie. ‘He extracted the protocol codes from the damaged robot, and I broke the encryption.’

  ‘And now you can fix the Volante,’ added Clunk.

  Slowly, Bob shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘You can! I have the data!’

  ‘Breaking official encryption?’ Bob drew in a breath, making the air whistle through his teeth. ‘I didn’t get my nickname by engaging in dodgy practices, you know. I can’t work with anything less than a legitimate copy.’