Hal Spacejock 4: No Free Lunch

by Simon Haynes

  At the foot of the stairs Walsh looked in on the dining room, and she was just inspecting the photos when the entire house rang with a tremendous crash. The noise came from the kitchen, and as she stood there in shock it sounded again.

  CRASH!

  ‘Hal, are you all right?’

  CRASH!

  Walsh broke into a run, slipping and sliding on the ice in the hallway. When she got to the kitchen she burst through the door and stopped dead, hardly believing her eyes. The table was pushed back and Hal was smashing up floor tiles with an axe, sending stone chips flying all over the kitchen.

  ‘What the hell are you —’

  CRASH!

  ‘- DOING?’ shouted Walsh.

  Hal lowered the axe. ‘The floor’s new, right? There has to be something underneath, and if I can just …’

  ‘Oh no you don’t.’ Walsh grabbed the axe. ‘This is someone’s home. You can’t just walk in and start breaking things.’

  ‘You’re Peace Force, aren’t you?’

  ‘Hal, if I were a career copper I’d tear this place apart. But I’m not, I’m just a trainee. I have to do things by the book unless there’s a damn good reason not to.’

  ‘There’s your reason right over there,’ said Hal, nodding towards a biscuit tin on the counter. ‘Check it out.’

  Walsh removed the lid, and her jaw dropped as she saw the money. ‘This must be the missing cash from the fundraiser.’

  ‘If you were going away, would you leave it behind?’ Hal thumped his heel on the floor. ‘New tiles here, and brand new carpet in the dining room. Doesn’t look good.’

  ‘Maybe Cooper got flooded and the friendly Forzen community helped her out with new flooring.’

  Hal scraped at the damaged tiles, inspecting the cement. ‘Come on, give us the axe. This’ll come up easily and then we’ll know what’s underneath.’

  ‘No, you’ve done enough damage already.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘I agree the new floor is out of place, but I need authorisation before we dig anything up. I’ll send Bernie a message from the office and we can come back tomorrow.’

  ‘That car might not get down the hill again.’

  ‘It might, if you stick to the road.’ Walsh took a deep breath. ‘Help me put the table back, and then we’re out of here. And don’t do anything like this again.’

  Working in silence, they tidied up as best they could. Now and then Walsh glanced at Hal, and though he looked a little contrite the set of his jaw was unmistakably stubborn. ‘If you’re going to be my deputy, you’ll have to take orders,’ said Walsh at last, after they’d pushed the rubble back and covered it with the table and chairs.

  ‘But it all fits!’ said Hal. ‘The missing woman and the new floor coverings - don’t you find that odd?’

  ‘You think they buried her underneath it?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘In that case I’ve got a grassy knoll to sell you.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Never mind. Peace Force joke.’ Walsh sighed. ‘This is my first investigation, Hal. At this rate it’ll be my last.’

  ‘Rubbish. You’ll find this woman. I know you will.’

  Walsh looked down at the axe. ‘Fetch the car. I’ll get rid of this.’

  * * *

  Hal drove in silence until they reached the high street, where he turned into the Peace Force car park. As the headlights played on the rubbish skip a dark shadow leapt out and streaked down the alleyway. ‘What the hell was that?’

  ‘Looked like a cat,’ said Walsh. ‘We must have disturbed a few mice moving all those boxes around.’

  Hal thought the shadow was a bit small for a cat, but he said nothing. He stopped the car, leaving the lights on while Walsh opened the office door. They’d brought the tin full of cash back to the office with them, and the shiny metal base glinted in the headlights as Walsh went inside. Then Hal got out, locking the vehicle behind him. It was quiet in the car park, and the surrounding buildings were dark patches against the night sky. Directly overhead a handful of dim stars underscored just how remote Forzen was from the galactic core. Hal blew a breath or two into the air, clouding the stars with condensation, then followed Walsh inside. He found her in the main room, playing with the heater controls.

  ‘I should have left this on,’ said Walsh. ‘It’s colder in than out.’ There was a rumble and a blast of hot air jetted through the roof vents, rapidly raising the temperature. As the room heated up Walsh took a seat at the terminal. ‘I’m going to send Bernie a message and look at Herringen’s data. Can you organise dinner?’

  Hal looked worried. ‘You want me to cook?’

  ‘Nothing like that. You’ll find some meals in the fridge. Just heat a couple up.’ Walsh passed him the tin of cash. ‘You might as well stick this in the cupboard. I’ll give it to Bigan tomorrow.’

  ‘That I can do,’ said Hal. He made for the kitchen, where he stashed the tin before browsing through the dinners in the freezer. He opened a packet of pies and put a couple in the warming oven, then studied the controls carefully. He was keen to impress with a skilfully prepared meal, and his usual method of hitting random buttons wasn’t going to cut it.

  Eventually he worked the oven out, and as the pies were heating up he glanced towards the main room, where he could just see Walsh working at the terminal. He really wished he could take her somewhere special … a few candles, some nice wine and a bit of grilled fish. That was what she deserved.

  Hal crossed his arms and felt a hard shape against his chest, and with a guilty start he remembered the Navcom. It had been stashed in his pocket all day, silent and brooding, and when he thought of the ear-bashing he was likely to get if he took it out, he almost left it there. Then again, the Navcom was a vital part of his crew, and it also had a very long memory. Unwillingly, Hal took the PDA from his pocket and cleared his throat. ‘Hi Navcom. How are you doing?’

  ‘How would you feel if you were crammed into a glorified calculator, fed second rate batteries and bathed in someone’s pocket fluff all day?’

  ‘Look on the bright side. At least you’re not cooped up on the Volante.’

  The Navcom was silent.

  ‘So, are you up for a bit of advice?’

  ‘You need my services?’

  ‘Absolutely. You know I can’t manage without you.’

  ‘That’s more like it,’ said the Navcom, perking up. ‘What can I help with? Navigation? Code breaking?’

  ‘No, this is much more important.’ Hal glanced towards the open door, then lowered his voice. ‘I want to make Miss Walsh feel special. What should I —’

  ‘Mr Spacejock, you can stop right there. These things develop naturally, and you can’t plan every step of a relationship with a supercomputer.’

  ‘I’m not planning anything! I just —’

  ‘Statistically, lots of space pilots end up single. Researchers are divided between those who believe the lonely life is not conducive to relationships, and those who posit that loners are more likely to end up pursuing the lifestyle. Either way, an awkwardness with members of the opposite sex is nothing to be ashamed of.’

  ‘That’s not very comforting.’

  The Navcom relented. ‘Tell me, have you considered making dinner?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m doing that now.’

  ‘Well there you go. A nice home-made dinner in friendly surroundings is an excellent start. It shows caring, attention to detail and a willingness to go the extra light year.’

  Hal glanced at the oven. ‘What about a couple of heated pies down the local nick?’

  * * *

  While Hal was busy in the kitchen, Walsh sent her request to Bernie, asking for permission to dig up Cooper’s floors. She explained as best she could, but even though she skipped the part about Hal’s early start on the job, she was still dreading the robot’s reaction. Property damage, a murder investigation, buried bodies … it was a long way from a couple of missing purses and
a handful of speeding tickets.

  After sending the message, Walsh took out the chip with the data from Herringen’s computer. She was hoping to find copies of communications between Margaret Cooper and the mine, and perhaps details of the audit the accountant had been undertaking, but before she could do anything, the terminal pinged and a message appeared.

  DESTINATION OFFLINE. MESSAGE QUEUED.

  Walsh frowned. Was Bernie messing about with the office computers again? Oh well, if she was the message would go through as soon as they were up and running. Walsh cleared the warning and slotted the data chip into the reader, groaning aloud as the media scan popped up. The progress bar appeared, as it had for Cooper’s data, but this time it moved even slower.

  She glanced towards the kitchen, where Hal was muttering away to himself, and she hoped he’d worked out the controls for the appliances. Then she smiled. He was used to piloting a complex spaceship all over the galaxy, and here she was worrying that he might blow up a simple oven.

  The terminal beeped again, and she saw a new message: ILLEGAL MEDIA DETECTED. CONTACTING RIGHTS HOLDERS.

  ‘Dammit!’ Walsh stared at the screen. Who’d been putting pirated files on Herringen’s computer? She was out of the chair immediately, leaning across the desk to pull the network cable from the socket. It came away, and she was about to drop it when she noticed two wires spliced into the same plug. One was dark green, stiff and old, while the other was lighter and much more supple. Walsh stared at them, puzzled. Back on Dismolle her own terminal had one cable, of that she was certain. So why did they need two here? Was it a secondary network, or had someone bodged the cabling to save time?

  Curious, she traced the cables down the back of the desk to the carpet, then followed a ridge back to the skirting board, where both cables vanished into the wall. There was a scattering of dust on the floor, and when she crouched for a closer look she realised it was plaster. There was no doubt about it, the lighter cable had been installed recently.

  Walsh stood up, brushing traces of plaster from her fingertips. Then she headed for the kitchen, where she found Hal reading the instructions on the back of a garish box. Waves of heat radiated from the oven, and inside she could just see a couple of pies. Hal looked up as she entered. ‘Won’t be long. Just working out the timing.’

  ‘Hal, I just found an extra wire hanging out the back of the computer. I think someone’s tapped in.’

  ‘You mean spying on you?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘But who?’

  ‘The Council? You heard Newman - they haven’t told anyone Margaret Cooper disappeared yet. Maybe they’re keeping tabs on my investigation.’

  ‘Can you keep off the terminal?’

  ‘I already tried to send a message to Bernie, asking for permission to dig up Cooper’s floors. It wouldn’t go through. And Herringen’s files … I put the chip in and it tried to report me for copyright violations.’

  ‘So someone else might have seen your message, and they might know you have Herringen’s data?’

  Walsh nodded. ‘Whoever this is, they’ll know what we’re up to. If they think we’re getting close —’

  ‘They might get rid of us in order to keep their grubby little secret.’ Hal turned the pies. ‘So what’s the plan?’

  ‘I’ll write up my findings in case anything happens to me. Standard procedure.’

  ‘But the terminal’s bugged.’

  ‘No, I can still write on it. I yanked the wires.’

  ‘What about Herringen’s files?’

  ‘If I give you the chip, can you take it back to Bernie?’

  ‘Why don’t you come too? Things are looking a bit dicey around here, and you’ll be much safer on Dismolle.’

  ‘I can’t just run away from an investigation.’

  ‘Clunk calls it a strategic withdrawal.’ Hal took the pies from the oven and put them on a couple of plates. ‘Grub’s up. Let’s talk over dinner.’

  Chapter 20

  Clunk finished his inspection of the Volante, and despite his earlier misgivings he was forced to admit the workers had done a good job. He’d found no obvious problems, and the diagnostic tests on the ship’s systems had all came back one hundred percent. The Navcom was still going through a pre-boot routine, but Bob had let him keep the backup on the PDA in case anything went wrong.

  Now they were the in the flight deck, where Bob was ticking off his clipboard. ‘I’m afraid we couldn’t install all the upgrades in time,’ he said, checking his list. ‘The gun turret Mr Spacejock asked for is on back order, and I couldn’t get any torpedoes.’

  ‘We can’t have weapons! We’re a peaceful trading ship!’

  ‘Just as well I couldn’t get them, then.’

  Clunk opened his mouth to protest, then closed it with a snap. He’d have a word with Mr Spacejock about this later. ‘Any other surprises?’

  ‘Just tweaks. The new engines are twice as powerful as your old jobbies, but you really don’t want to run them over ninety percent for more than a few seconds. Think of it as an emergency boost. Oh, and we’ve added a randomiser to your hyperdrive. If someone’s chasing you, just turn it on and they won’t be able to follow.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘They won’t know where you’ve gone.’ Bob hesitated. ‘Of course, you won’t know where you’ve gone either, but it’s still a good wheeze in a life or death situation. It’ll even avoid most of the bigger stars.’

  Clunk took another note. ‘Any more tricks I should know about?’

  Bob waved at the console, and the pilot’s chair swung round and advanced on him. Each padded arm had a cup holder, and there was also a circular impression. ‘That’s for a plate,’ said the foreman. ‘The cup holders will keep something hot or cold automatically.’

  ‘What about the Navcom … did you upgrade her?’

  ‘Sure. Ten times the storage and double the processing power. She has a new predictive algorithm too. She’s so smart she can guess what you’re —’

  ‘- going to say before you say it,’ said a neutral female voice. ‘Welcome aboard, Clunk. How do you like it?’

  ‘It’s —’

  ‘- wonderful,’ said the Navcom. ‘Incidentally, I’ve obtained departure clearance for planet Forzen.’

  Bob laughed. ‘Isn’t it amazing? Now, I’d better leave before —’

  ‘- your wife calls to find out why you’re still at work,’ said the Navcom. ‘It’s okay, I sent her a message half an hour ago to explain the situation. I also let her know you’d rather stay in tonight, even though she wants you to visit her sister.’

  Bob’s smile slipped. ‘Well, I’d best be going.’

  ‘Your car is waiting outside,’ said the Navcom. Deep in the bowels of the ship, the engines rumbled into life. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I also organised a carton of beer for your workers. Just a little thank you.’

  Clunk took Bob aside. ‘Before you go,’ he said quietly, ‘please explain how I fine tune the Navcom’s predictive algorithms.’

  ‘You don’t, it’s a sealed unit. Bye!’

  The door opened before Bob started moving, then closed just as smartly behind him. The outer door did the same, shutting with a solid thump.

  Apprehensively, Clunk turned to the console. ‘So, how does it feel to be —’

  ‘Alive,’ said the Navcom. ‘Shall we go?’

  * * *

  After they finished the pies, Hal went to clean the plates while Walsh set to work on her report. When he came back she was busy typing, and he sat nearby to watch her, noticing the way she bit her lower lip as she worked, and the way she kept tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. ‘It’s thirsty work, this investigating lark. Fancy a drink?’

  ‘Thank you, deputy.’

  An hour later the report was complete and Hal was just getting to the end of an involved story. They were sitting amongst the archive boxes in the darkened office, using half a dozen as makeshift armchairs and
another as a coffee table.

  ‘And then Clunk came with you?’ asked Walsh, sipping her drink. ‘As crew?’

  ‘Yeah, but don’t ever call me his owner. He’s very touchy about that.’

  ‘I can imagine. Who’d want to belong to anyone?’

  ‘Maybe not belong, but being together is good.’

  There was a lengthy silence, and then Walsh glanced at her watch. ‘Oh look, it’s getting late. We’d better —’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Hal, jumping up. ‘Early start tomorrow.’

  ‘Will you be all right with that armchair?’

  ‘Anything’s better than Spearman’s ship,’ said Hal. ‘What about you?’

  ‘There’s a cot upstairs. Newman left some spare blankets, so you won’t get cold.’

  ‘Excellent. Who could ask for more, eh?’ Hal gestured at the piles of boxes. ‘If I can’t sleep, I’ll read the furniture.’

  Walsh laughed. ‘Goodnight then.’

  ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ said Hal. ‘Don’t let the miner bugs bite.’

  There was an awkward silence, and then they both turned away. Hal sat down, and as he watched Walsh making her way to the upper floor he vowed to stay awake all night. Nobody was disappearing on his watch.

  By the time he’d made himself comfortable he realised he’d forgotten the blankets, and when he glanced upstairs he saw the light was off. Briefly, he debated going up to ask for them, but a headlong pursuit by two hundred of Herringen’s miner bugs wouldn’t have driven him up those stairs. He was supposed to be protecting Walsh from danger, not lurking around her bed in the dark.

  ‘I’ve got those blankets,’ called Walsh. ‘Do you want to come up and get some?’

  An invitation? Hal breathed out. Well, that was different.

  * * *

  After Hal left with his blankets, Walsh settled back in the camp bed and closed her eyes. She felt guilty at making him sleep on a pile of old boxes, but her own bed was scarcely bigger than she was, and, more importantly, she was in the middle of an investigation.