by Simon Haynes
‘And the contents?’
‘Bits and pieces. You know.’
‘I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.’
Hal hesitated. Clunk might be a trusting and valued co-pilot, but there were limits to the whoppers he was prepared to swallow. Any mention of decorating gear and the game would be up. ‘It’s paintings and ceramics. Sort of modern art.’
‘It is?’ Clunk looked interested. ‘That’s very prestigious, Mr Spacejock. We could gain quite a reputation by undertaking this sort of job more often.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’
‘You know, I’ve always had an interest in art. I might even take a look at the pieces after we’re airborne.’
‘You can’t!’ said Hal quickly. ‘It’s a sealed box. Very valuable.’
‘What a shame. Still, I suppose it’s to be expected.’ Clunk gestured towards the back of the ship. ‘I’ll lower the ramp, and in the meantime you’d better call for these artworks.’
‘There’s no rush,’ said Hal, realising they’d have to move the container in full view of the Tiger. ‘Plenty of time.’
‘You said it was urgent.’
‘Yeah, but we might as well wait until Spearman leaves. We don’t want to bang hulls with that joystick waggler, do we?’
‘But ground control —’
‘They’ll never keep us apart,’ said Hal firmly. Then he nodded towards the lift. ‘Did they do anything with the AutoChef? I’m starving.’
‘It was updated along with the rest of the ship.’
‘You mean it serves good food?’
‘Not exactly. The process is the same, only accelerated.’
Hal sighed. ‘You mean it serves the same old rubbish, only faster.’
‘In a nutshell.’
‘Blimey, the portions must be tiny.’
‘No, I meant —’
‘I’ll just have to eat more of them, that’s all.’ Hal frowned. ‘How come Spearman doesn’t have to deal with this sort of thing? Why does he get decent food?’
‘You can ask him that yourself,’ said Clunk. ‘He’s on his way over.’
‘Eh?’ Hal turned to look, and his stomach sank as he saw the other pilot striding purposefully towards the Volante. Had Spearman discovered the container switch already?
Chapter 23
Walsh jumped as she heard a loud knock on the office door. Was it Hal? Had he come back? Heart pounding, she hurried down the passageway, but when she opened the door she saw Herringen instead. He was rugged up in a heavy coat and gloves, and his frosted breath hung in the cold air like smoke.
‘Ah, Miss Walsh. I didn’t wake you, did I?’
Walsh hid her disappointment. ‘No, not at all.’
‘May I come in?’
‘Sure.’ Walsh led him along the passageway to the office. ‘How can I help? Do you have more information on the accountant?’
‘No, nothing like that.’ Herringen paused. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Jon Newman, have you?’
‘Not since yesterday.’
‘Oh dear.’ Herringen sat down heavily, making the chair creak. ‘It’s not like him to miss work, not without letting me know.’
‘You don’t think he’s gone missing too?’
‘I don’t know what to think! I’ve called and called, but there’s no reply. I even had his commset traced, but they couldn’t pinpoint the location.’
‘Have you been to his house?’
‘Not yet. I —’ Herringen looked at his feet. ‘Well, with people disappearing I thought it would be best to have an officer of the law along. W-will you go with me?’
Walsh considered it. Herringen turning up at the back door was a bit odd, but he looked soft and if he tried anything she’d take him easily enough. It would also bring her investigation to a swift conclusion. On the other hand, if he was legit the trip would get her out of the office, and Barney might have cracked into the mine’s data by the time she got back. Win-win. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
Herringen’s car was outside, a mid-range model a couple of years old. They got in and he pulled onto the main road, then drove just below the speed limit.
‘I won’t write you a ticket,’ said Walsh. ‘Go for it.’
Herringen looked relieved, and they sped up. Not long afterwards they pulled into a broad avenue, and then into a succession of smaller streets before stopping at the top of a cul-de-sac. Opposite was a glass-fronted house with rolling green lawns and a manicured garden, and Walsh stared up at the marble columns and impressive façade as they took the path to the front door. ‘He’s doing all right for himself.’
‘I understand there’s money in the family.’ Herringen pressed the doorbell, and a gentle chime sounded deep inside the house.
‘Does he ever work from home?’
‘Only on his own projects.’ Herringen pressed the bell again. ‘Do you think we should check round the back? Brief the joint?’
‘Case.’ Walsh turned away to hide a sudden smile, and her gaze fell on the garage adjoining the house. If it was empty, Newman had gone out. Simple. She went to have a look, cupping her hands to one of the leadlight windows, and saw a large pickup alongside an empty space. ‘Mr Herringen, does Newman use a company car?’
‘Yes, it’s supplied with the job.’
‘Can you track it?’
‘Sure. I just tap my watch three times and it points me in the right direction. It can even do weather forecasts.’
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m just worried we’ve lost someone else, and Newman is vital to the mine.’
Walsh returned to the front door and decided to take a leaf out of Hal’s book. ‘Stand back. I’m going to break it down.’
Herringen looked shocked. ‘You can’t do that! It’s illegal!’
‘So is obstructing an officer. Anyway, it’s not like Newman can’t afford the repairs.’ Herringen moved aside and Walsh kicked the door just below the knob. The wood splintered and the door flew open, smashing into the wall and bouncing back again. Walsh steadied it, then leaned inside. ‘Hello? Anyone here?’
The hallway was bright and airy, with an intricate rug lying on the polished floorboards and a set of abstract paintings on the walls. Walsh made for a nearby doorway and looked in on a sitting room, where a white leather lounge suite sat before an entire wall of entertainment gear. She was just about to enter when she heard a gasp behind her.
‘Would you look at that screen!’ whispered Herringen, his voice dripping with envy.
Walsh rolled her eyes and crossed to a set of glass doors, which opened onto an indoor pool surrounded by tropical greenery. A well-stocked bar shared an alcove with a row of stools, and the only other exit led to a small change room.
Walsh returned to the hallway and turned right, heading deeper into the house. She passed a dining room with a glass-topped table and an impressive chandelier, but kept going until she reached a pair of double doors at the end of the passage. They were ajar, but resisted when she tried to open them. When she peered through she could just make out a tiled floor, with scattered rubble all over it. Either Newman was renovating, or something was badly wrong.
Unbidden, an image of Hal attacking Margaret Cooper’s kitchen floor came to her. Perhaps he had been onto something - or had he been here? She shook her head to clear the thought.
Turning, she beckoned to Herringen, who was still eyeing the chandelier. Together they put their shoulders to the doors and pushed, and the rubble trapped underneath scraped and crunched as the doors were forced open.
As soon as the gap was big enough Walsh slipped through into the kitchen. She glanced around the pristine worktops, then stared down at the floor. No wonder there was so much rubble … it looked as though someone had gone over the neat white tiles with a jackhammer, smashing them up and leaving holes the size of her fist. She crouched next to one and realised it wasn’t just a shallow impression - it went deep underground. Was Newman ins
talling underfloor heating? Then she heard a gasp and turned to see Herringen staring at the damage, his face pale and his eyes as round as the holes.
‘It … it can’t be. It’s impossible!’
‘What is?’
‘They were supposed to be safe. Newman reprogrammed them!’
‘Reprogrammed …‘ Walsh stared down at the floor, and suddenly it hit her. ‘You don’t mean your miner bugs were here?’
Herringen nodded.
‘They came right into Newman’s home?’ Walsh yanked her hand away from the hole. ‘You said they were limited to a safe depth!’
‘They are, but we’ve had one or two glitches. Newman’s been working on the code, and he assured me —’
‘Oh, fantastic.’ Walsh looked around the destroyed floor. The things must have swarmed through the solid concrete in their hundreds, chewing and biting … Hurriedly, she stood up and backed towards the door. ‘Where the hell did they go, Herringen?’
‘It’s likely they returned to the mine. If not, we can use the onboard cameras to track them.’
‘Can you shut them down?’
‘I - I don’t know. I mean, Newman tried and look what happened to him.’ Herringen passed a hand over his face. ‘Oh, this is terrible. It’s worse than —’
‘We don’t know they got him. Remember, one of the cars is missing.’ Privately, Walsh felt it was unlikely Newman would have bothered to close the garage door if he was fleeing for his life, but she needed Herringen calm and rational. ‘You’ll just have to go to the mine and do what you can.’
‘You don’t expect me to go alone?’
‘Why the hell not?’ snapped Walsh. ‘It’s your company!’
‘But the … the miner bugs!’
Walsh advanced on him. ‘Mr Herringen, the people of Forzen are in danger. Someone has to step up, take responsibility and sort the problem out. And that someone is you.’
‘No, I - I have to get in touch with the Council. We’ll have to schedule a meeting.’
‘Are you crazy?’ Walsh prodded him in the chest. ‘People could die while your precious Council sits around gasbagging!’
‘You’re right.’ Herringen straightened a little. ‘The people of Forzen are depending on me. It’s my duty.’
‘Good man. Now get moving.’
Outside, Herringen strode towards the parked car. He opened the door then looked round. ‘Aren’t you coming?’
‘No, I’m going to the office. I need some help.’
‘But —’
‘GO! There’s no time to lose!’
As soon as Herringen drove away, Walsh hurried to the huge sports utility in the garage. She clambered in and slammed the door behind her. ‘Let’s go!’ she said. ‘Take me to the Peace Force office!’
The car just sat there.
‘Move,’ said Walsh. ‘Come on, drive!’ Then she remembered - Forzen cars were user-operated! She looked down at the unfamiliar controls, then shrugged. How difficult could it be?
There was a contact on the side of the steering column, and she found a keycard tucked into the sun visor. She pressed the card to the contact and the dash came alive with a riot of dials and instruments, and the engine burst into life with a deep rumble. A remote opened the garage door, and Walsh drove out of the carport, roaring down the quiet cul-de-sac with the engine noise echoing from the houses. At the bottom she turned left, and in the rear view display she saw Herringen’s car in the distance, heading towards the mine. She hoped he’d succeed in restraining the bugs, but what chance did he have if Newman the IT specialist hadn’t been able to stop them?
But all was not lost. There was someone she could turn to for help, someone who surely had the skills to shut down the deadly bugs before anyone else was killed. Get him to the mine and their problems would be over.
But first she had to convince him to help, and that meant turning him on.
* * *
Hal squinted, trying to make out Spearman’s expression as he came up the passenger ramp. He didn’t look particularly angry, and since he wasn’t yelling and waving his fists Hal figured his little cargo switch hadn’t been picked up.
‘Spacejock,’ said Kent, with a little nod.
‘Spearman,’ said Hal, with an even smaller one. ‘Lost your way to the sky?’
‘No, not at all. Just came to see how a loser like you manages to stay afloat.’
Clunk put a warning hand on Hal’s arm, but he shook it off. ‘I have to admit,’ said Hal, ‘you’ve really got the hang of this business.’
‘Eh?’
‘I think I’ll follow you around and learn from your masterful example. Maybe pick up a few tips while I learn the ropes.’ Hal noticed Clunk staring at him open-mouthed, and realised he might be laying it on a bit thick. ‘So, are you off then?’
Spearman nodded. ‘I have to deliver the cargo on time. If I’m late, Morgan will think she hired you two duds instead.’
Hal clenched his fists, but before he could knock Spearman down the ramp Clunk got between them. ‘That’s enough friendly banter,’ said the robot firmly. ‘Mr Spacejock, we have work to do. And Mr Spearman, you should be putting your efforts into running your business, not wasting time talking to us.’
‘Actually, it’s business I want to talk about. It’s crazy the two of us going head to head when we could work together. Why don’t you join me?’
Hal snorted. ‘You want me to work for you?’
‘Sure. I’ll find the work and pay you a percentage of profits. No risk, and none of this competing for jobs. Come on, you know it makes sense.’
‘He does have a point,’ said Clunk.
‘I’ve got a better idea,’ said Hal. ‘Why doesn’t he work for us?’
Spearman laughed. ‘From what I’ve seen, you couldn’t organise a cargo job in the middle of a transport strike.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Hal was about to reveal the container switch in order to wipe the smirk off Spearman’s face, but held back just in time. ‘If you’re so efficient, why stand around here chatting? You should be off delivering that cargo of yours.’
‘Damn straight.’ Spearman threw them a mock salute. ‘So long, you two. Try not to clog up the space lanes.’
Hal reached for a suitable comeback, but before he could stake Spearman with an insightful comment on his ancestry the other pilot was halfway to his ship. ‘I hope you crash it!’ Hal shouted after him.
Clunk patted him on the shoulder. ‘Prior to that comment you behaved like a gentleman, turning the other cheek in the face of extreme provocation. I’m impressed, Mr Spacejock.’
‘You know the problem with gentlemen, Clunk?’
‘What’s that?’
‘They always finish last.’
‘Maybe they do, but they feel good about it.’
‘I don’t want to feel good, I want to feel wealthy.’ Hal scowled at the Tiger, where Spearman was making his way up the passenger ramp. ‘And I want to feel that arrogant throttle jockey’s neck under my boot.’
‘Whatever for? I mean, he took the cargo job but there will be others.’
‘This isn’t about the cargo.’ Hal pointed at the Tiger. ‘I still reckon that mealy-mouthed son of a bitch was the reason my ship got turned into a super-sized jigsaw puzzle back on Dismolle.’
Clunk looked surprised. ‘But it wasn’t —’
‘It damn well was!’ snapped Hal. ‘He knew we were after the same job, and he made absolutely sure we couldn’t do it. Don’t tell me it doesn’t fit.’
‘But the —’
‘But nothing. Now come on, let’s get the container aboard. If we’re late with the delivery they’ll think they hired that loser Spearman to do the job.’
* * *
Walsh drove into the car park behind the Peace office, almost scraping the walls as she struggled to manoeuvre the lumbering sports utility. The tyres scrubbed as she threw the vehicle into a bay, and then she heaved the door open and jumped down.
Hurrying pa
st the crumbling boxes of records inside the office, she ran to the armoury and faced the dozing robot. ‘Barney?’
There was no response.
‘Barney, can you hear me?’
The robot’s eyes flickered open. ‘Too soon. I’m still working on it.’
‘What?’
Barney tapped the data chip. ‘Not ready yet.’
‘Forget about that, it’s not important.’
‘Are you telling me I just wasted —’
‘Barney, we desperately need your help. The mining bugs are on the rampage, and they can’t stop them.’
‘Always said it would happen. Thousands of machines with perfect mobility and rudimentary intelligence. A recipe for disaster.’
‘What can we do?’
‘Get the programmer to broadcast a deactivation command. Your rampaging bugs will turn into so many garden ornaments.’
‘The programmer’s missing,’ said Walsh quietly. ‘We think they got him.’
‘Really?’ Barney’s eyebrows rose. ‘That’s impressive. They must be pooling their intelligence.’
‘Look, can we leave the technical detail for later? I need you to come to the mine and …’ Walsh’s voice tailed off at Barney’s expression. ‘What is it?’
‘I can’t leave the office. Not without orders.’
‘Barney, I order you to —’
‘Before you start throwing your weight around, I’d like to clarify the chain of command. You’re a trainee, correct?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What’s your seniority? Three years? Four?’
‘Almost two years, but I’ll be graduating soon.’
‘I beg to differ. A Peace Force traineeship runs for a minimum of five years.’ Barney regarded her. ‘Who’s in charge of the Dismolle office these days?’
‘Bernie runs the office.’
‘Yes, but who do you report to?’
‘Bernie, of course.’
‘A robot cannot run a Peace Force office. There has to be a commanding officer.’
‘Well there isn’t!’ said Walsh desperately. She glanced at her watch and realised Herringen would already be at the mine. He needed her, and she needed Barney. ‘Look, I’m appealing to your sense of duty. Come to the mine with me, deactivate the bugs and I promise I’ll do everything in my power to get you back to Dismolle. I’ll get you reinstated, and you can help Bernie run the whole office. What do you say?’
