by Simon Haynes
‘Important, is it?’
‘One life may already have been lost.’
Despite himself, Barney looked interested. ‘What sort of encryption have they used?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Actually, it makes no difference.’ The robot held up his hand and tried to move his fingers, but only two responded. ‘As you can see, I’m in need of a serious overhaul. I’m not ready for active duty.’
‘It’s just a data chip. You don’t have to go anywhere.’
‘Oh, very well.’ Barney opened a small compartment. ‘Plug it in, will you?’
Walsh obeyed, and the chip glowed in the socket.
‘Interesting,’ said the robot.
‘You got to the files?’
‘No, but someone has terrible taste in music.’
Walsh breathed in, trying to keep her temper. ‘Would you please look at the data?’
‘Not so fast, trainee. My decryption software is working on it, but I’m not as quick as I used to be.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘Unknown. I’ll have to stand down until it’s complete.’
‘But this is urgent!’
‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to work on it.’ Ignoring her protests, Barney closed his eyes, and a second or two later the status lights inside his abdomen went out.
Defeated, Walsh returned to the office. All she could do was wait.
* * *
Hal drove to the spaceport in silence, still torn by his abrupt departure. His fingers tightened on the wheel as he thought of Harriet Walsh alone in the office , and he would have driven straight back again had she not ordered him away. Then he remembered Newman. How long before that smooth bastard dropped by the office to invite Walsh to dinner? Or to offer her a bed at his place? Hal’s grip tightened until the wheel creaked, and it took all his will to keep going. Even so, he resolved to keep the Volante on Dismolle until Walsh returned from her investigation. Port fees be damned, this was important.
Eventually he reached the spaceport, and he turned off the access road and parked the car between a pair of old spaceship hulls. He spotted the Tiger on his way to the terminal, and the sight of the gleaming white ship, so much like the Volante, made him homesick. He noticed the ship was sealed up, and he nodded to himself in satisfaction. Spearman wasn’t back yet, and all he had to do was delay the Tiger until Clunk arrived. And for that he needed a public commset.
Inside the terminal Hal found what he needed, and he dropped in a credit tile to make the call.
‘Forzen ground.’
‘Kent Spearman here, from the Tiger.’
‘Yes, Mr Spearman. How may I help you?’
‘I heard a funny noise in one of my engines, and I’d like you to take a look at it. Can you start right away?’
‘I’m afraid not. You see —’
‘Actually, you’d better make it a proper service. Take the whole damn thing apart and give it a real going over. Can you do that for me?’
‘No, sir. We —’
‘Why the hell not? Can’t you handle a decent ship?’
‘No, we —’
‘I’ll pay double if you start in the next five minutes. Really rip the thing apart.’
‘Sir, we can’t do it!’
‘Not even for treble?’
‘Not for a million credits.’
‘Why not?’
‘There’s no service department on Forzen.’
Defeated, Hal banged the handset down and strode out of the terminal, his jaw set. It was time for Plan C.
Chapter 22
Hal trudged across the landing field, heading for the Tiger. The snow was up to his knees in places, and long before he reached his destination he was shivering from the cold. As he neared the Tiger he passed a crane unloading containers, plucking them from the hold of a cargo vessel and stacking them nearby. It lifted one up in a huge claw, and Hal waited until it swung overhead before slipping into the shadows beneath the Tiger.
Now for Plan C.
His first instinct was to open the fuel tanks and toss in a flaming match, blowing the ship apart in a spectacular explosion. Unfortunately he didn’t have any matches, and he suspected an explosion would scatter him just as thoroughly as the bits and pieces of Spearman’s ship.
His next thought was to drain all the fuel out, but the crane operator was sure to notice a brand new lake no matter how busy he was. Hal frowned. The interior of the ship was inaccessible, blowing the whole thing up was inadvisable and having someone else delay Spearman had proved impossible. So much for his plans - unworkable.
He looked around for inspiration, and his gaze fell on a tangle of battered old pipes lying in the slush alongside the landing pad. Once, Clunk had reamed him out after he’d accidentally connected the Volante’s sewage outlet to the ship’s fuel tank, and while the fittings were different he could probably bodge something up. Fill the Tiger’s fuel tank with sewage, and it wouldn’t be going anywhere in a hurry.
Hal freed a length of pipe from the frozen mud and hunted around for suitable ends. He found the two he needed, knocked the worst of the frozen mud and slush off, and fitted them to the pipe. Then he draped the heavy pipe over his shoulder and returned to the Tiger, where he used it to join the ship’s waste and fuel valves together. Once the pipe was firmly in place he opened the stops, and the hose shuddered as noxious liquid flowed through it. Steaming droplets oozed through the cracks as raw sewage pumped straight into the fuel tank, and Hal grinned as he eyed his handiwork. Old Spearhead saw himself as a shit-hot pilot, but once those engines started he’d be hot shit instead.
There was a distant rumble from beyond the Tiger, and Hal crouched to see a big truck motoring across the landing field towards him, its wheels throwing out waves of slush. There was a container on the back, and Hal swore as he spotted Spearman inside the cabin, hunched over the wheel with his blonde hair matted on his forehead.
With only moments to spare, Hal shut off the valves and yanked the pipe clear, throwing it off the landing pad to lie amongst the rest. He was only just out of sight when the truck roared up to the ship, and Hal cursed his luck. Why did Spearman have to turn up now, when another few minutes would have done the job? As it was he’d only tainted the fuel, and the ship’s filters would probably handle the contamination with ease.
Hal leaned against the shipping container and considered his options. What about a bomb scare? He dismissed the idea immediately - only wilful murder and tax evasion carried heavier penalties these days. How about an infectious disease or a chemical spill? Again, he dismissed the idea. He’d need a bunch of dead cattle and a hazard suit to make it really convincing.
If only he could snatch the cargo! But how? Hal peered around the container and watched Spearman toiling up the Tiger’s passenger ramp, and despite the dire situation he still managed a smile. Spearman looked exhausted from the long drive, and not for the first time Hal was thankful it hadn’t been him.
After Spearman vanished inside the ship, Hal turned his attention to the truck. He could nick it easily enough, but Spearman would report it missing and he, Hal, would end up in jail. Yes, he wanted to see Walsh again, but not through the bars of a cell. But what if he swapped the container for an empty? Spearman wouldn’t know any different until he reached Dismolle.
Maybe he could bribe the crane driver? But the cabin was high overhead, and the thought of climbing the skinny ladder while the whole thing whirled around turned Hal’s insides cold.
A few minutes later there was a whine of hydraulics, and Hal saw the Tiger’s cargo ramp descending towards the landing pad. As it levelled off Kent Spearman strode to the end and jumped down.
Hal banged his fist on the container, frustrated beyond measure. The job was slipping through his fingers and there was nothing he could do about it. Within minutes Spearman would have the container on board, and once he left it would all be over.
* * *
The Volante was in orbit
around Forzen, maintaining course and altitude while ground control queued the ship for landing. The flight from Dismolle had been uneventful, and although Clunk had spent the entire voyage in the flight deck there hadn’t been as much as a blip from the myriad of sensors monitoring the ship’s health. ‘Okay Navcom, there’s the clearance. Please —’
‘- start our descent,’ said the computer.
Clunk gritted his teeth. If the Navcom anticipated one more word he’d …
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said the computer.
‘Do tell.’
‘You’re looking forward to seeing Mr Spacejock.’
‘Absolutely right,’ said Clunk, deriving enormous satisfaction from the Navcom’s error.
‘And you were also calculating the likely damage a voltage spike would cause to my systems. My advice is, don’t try it.’
‘I wasn’t thinking anything of the —’
‘- sort. Clunk, I can read you like a book. Predictable doesn’t begin to cover it.’
Clunk smiled to himself. ‘Just wait until —’
‘- Mr Spacejock comes aboard. Indeed, I’m looking forward to the challenge.’
‘It won’t be long,’ said Clunk. ‘You’ll soon meet your —’
‘- match,’ said the Navcom.
‘Nemesis!’ said Clunk happily.
* * *
Hal was still cursing as Spearman backed his truck up to the Tiger’s ramp. If only Clunk were there! He could have sent the robot off to stage a diversion, or maybe wedged him under the truck’s wheels to slow it down.
Then a siren began to wail, and Hal smiled as he recognised the sound: Clear the landing field, a ship’s coming in! Perhaps there was still a chance after all.
He looked up and saw the crane driver clambering down the ladder, while over at the Tiger Spearman was clearly deciding whether he had time to finish the job before taking cover. Meanwhile, the crane driver vanished into a concrete bunker, shutting the heavy metal door behind him. Hal frowned. Did they really have that low an opinion of pilots?
Spearman looked around the sky, still undecided. Then a voice crackled from the landing field PA: Warning, incoming vessel. Please take cover until the all clear. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill.
At the sound of the voice Spearman hurried into his ship and closed the ramp.
‘Coward,’ muttered Hal. His gaze travelled from the truck to the crane, and then to the stacks of containers all around him, calculating the possibilities. The siren had ceased, but he could now hear the distant rumble of an approaching ship, and the last place he wanted to be when several hundred tons of spaceship thumped down was out in the open. Still, there was a cargo job to be won and that was always worth a little danger.
Hal ran to the crane and started climbing, and he was only halfway up when he realised just how high the control cabin really was. The rumble of the approaching spaceship was louder too, and he felt horribly exposed as he clung to the bare metal ladder. Fortunately the bulk of the crane was between him and the terminal buildings, reducing the likelihood of discovery.
Hal reached the top and clambered into the cabin, where he found several display screens set into a metal panel. Each screen showed a different part of the crane, including the huge claw, the boom and the enormous circular joint under the cabin, and beneath each screen was a large round button. There was no sign of any controls, although someone had left a neatly folded glove on the panel. Hal pressed a button and the image on the screen brightened. Was it voice activated? ‘Up,’ he said clearly.
Nothing happened.
Hal pressed another button and a different image brightened. Obviously the buttons activated various parts of the crane, but how was he supposed to move them around?
His gaze fell on the glove, and he realised it might be blocking a microphone, perhaps muffling his voice commands. He was just about to throw it out the window when he realised there was something unusual about it: each finger bore a pair of metal rings, and the back was covered in fine wires.
Hal donned the glove and flexed his fingers, making the rings sparkle in the light. He clenched his fist and admired the way the rings lined up, forming a decent knuckleduster, and he thumped it into his palm a couple of times to try it out. But why would a crane operator need such a thing? Who was going to mug him up here?
A rumble in the sky reminded him that time was getting short: once the incoming ship had landed, Spearman would load up and leave.
Frustrated, Hal pressed the last button, and the image of the boom lit up. He turned to look out the window, and as he moved his gloved hand the crane jerked into action, dragging the claw across the landing pad. Hal released the button and everything stopped, although the claw had ended up against a container, almost knocking it over. Cautiously, Hal pressed the button and moved his hand a fraction to the right. The boom followed, stopping when he did.
Hal grinned to himself. He’d cracked it! He pressed the claw button and opened and closed his fingers, and the flukes on the claw imitated his movements. Then he activated the tip of the boom and raised his hand, which lifted the claw off the ground. It was easy!
A few moments later the claw was sitting snugly on the container. Hal closed his fingers and raised his hand to pick it up, and his confident smirk vanished as the truck came with it. Startled, he jerked his hand, and the crane shook the container and truck in mid-air. ‘No, stop!’ shouted Hal, raising his hand. The claw imitated his action, dragging the truck and container high into the air and swinging them towards Spearman’s ship. The fast-moving load shot over the Tiger, missing the ship’s tail fin by millimetres.
Breathing heavily, Hal swivelled the crane and set the truck on the ground, then adjusted his grip on the container. When he was certain the vehicle would stay in place he plucked the container off the back and put it on top of the stack he’d used for cover. He then picked up a similar container and plonked it down on the truck.
Once he’d finished he tore off the glove and left the control cabin. Thunder rolled across the landing field, and he was only halfway down when a gleaming white ship roared past and touched down in a boiling haze of heat and smoke. Hal shielded his eyes from the glare, only to remember he was supposed to be hanging on to the ladder, and he grabbed for the rails to save himself from a fall. His feet slipped, and he ended up sliding all the way to the ground, his knees thud-thud-thudding on the rungs.
At the bottom he dusted himself off and looked around for the newly arrived ship, and he felt a catch in his throat as he spotted the graceful lines of the Volante. Good old Clunk! He’d made it!
Hal’s first instinct was to stay and watch Spearman load the container, just in case he spotted the difference and started looking around for the real one. Then he remembered the sewage treatment, and realised lurking around near the scene of his crime wasn’t particularly smart.
So, keeping the containers between himself and the Tiger, Hal strolled across the landing field to the Volante. As he got closer he feasted his eyes on the clean white lines, and the sight of his pride and joy, whole once more, brought a lump to his throat.
The passenger ramp slid from the hull, and as it touched the ground Hal stepped on and strode up it to the airlock. He saw movement through the circular porthole, and then Clunk flung the door open, his battered face creased into beaming delight. ‘Mr Spacejock! Oh, I’m so glad to see you!’
‘Likewise, you old tin can.’
They shook hands, and then Clunk sniffed the air. ‘You smell like a waste treatment plant.’
‘And you smell like an oily rag.’
Clunk stared over Hal’s shoulder. ‘Goodness me, I thought Mr Spearman would have left with his cargo by now! Why is he still here?’
‘It’s a long story.’ Hal glanced at the Tiger. ‘Actually, more like a long drive. Twelve hours to pick up the gear, and another twelve to bring it back again.’
‘But Miss Morgan never mentioned —’
&nbs
p; ‘There’s always a catch with these jobs, Clunk. You know that.’
‘It’s not right. The fee should have been much higher.’
‘Who cares?’ Hal grinned. ‘Old Spearhead’s done all the hard work now.’
‘Poor Mr Spearman. His first job, too.’
‘Never mind that twit. How’s my ship?’
‘Excellent. I’m happy to report she’s in perfect working order.’
‘Did they mention any little extras?’
‘Such as?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Anything in the, er, self-defence line?’
‘They did have some ridiculous notion about arming the ship, but I set them right. Just as well, since weaponry is illegal on many planets.’ Clunk hesitated. ‘Speaking of the law, has Miss Walsh made any progress with her investigation?’
‘I don’t think I can talk about it.’
Clunk’s face fell. ‘You don’t trust me?‘
‘Oh, it’s not that. It’s just that I can’t share our findings with a civilian.’ Hal tapped himself on the chest. ‘Harriet made me a Peace Force deputy.’
‘Well, we do have some catching up to do,’ said Clunk. ‘Never mind, that can wait until we take off. First I want to hear about this new cargo job you found.’
‘New cargo job? I don’t …’ Hal paused. He’d been wondering how to explain everything to Clunk, especially the part where he’d switched containers on Spearman. But what if he didn’t have to? ‘… I don’t think I explained it properly,’ he continued, barely missing a beat. ‘It’s just a simple delivery.’
‘Do we have to go far?’
‘Straight back to Dismolle.’
‘But there weren’t any jobs for Dismolle!’
‘This was a cash deal. A bit of a hurry, if you know what I mean.’
‘Is it legal?’
‘You have my word as a Peace Force deputy.’
Clunk looked doubtful. ‘Where do we pick up from?’
‘That’s the best part, it’s right here at the spaceport. No twelve hour drives for us, eh?’
‘What’s the cargo?’
‘It’s a shipping container.’
