Hal Spacejock 4: No Free Lunch

by Simon Haynes

  ‘I say you don’t have the power to do any of it,’ said Barney. ‘In fact, you’re not even a member of the Peace Force. And I can prove it.’

  Chapter 24

  ‘What?’ Walsh felt a sense of unreality wash over her as Barney’s words sank in. ‘Not Peace Force? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Tell me, who do you report to if there’s no commanding officer?’

  ‘Bernie.’

  ‘Nobody from Central HQ? Not even direct calls?’

  ‘Oh, we have a hotline, but Bernie told me it costs a fortune so we’re only allowed to use it in a real emergency.’

  ‘And the last time you used it was …?’

  ‘Never. It’s pretty quiet on Dismolle.’

  ‘So when did Internal Affairs last come by? Or the expense auditors?’

  ‘I don’t know who they are.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised?’ Barney crossed his arms. ‘Miss Walsh, I’m afraid you’ve been taken in by a cruel hoax. Ever since you mentioned the Dismolle Peace Force I’ve been thinking things over, and I’m absolutely certain the office doesn’t exist.’

  ‘It most certainly does.’ Walsh snorted. ‘Oh, I see what you’re up to. If you can prove I’m not Peace Force you can ignore me, and you’re using all your twisted logic to make it so.’

  ‘You want proof?’ Barney’s voice was gentle, and his eyes expressed sorrow rather than duplicity.

  Walsh’s heart thumped in her chest. ‘Spill it.’

  ‘There’s a specialist Peace Force team whose only function is to close down inefficient offices. They call them the Cleaners, and you barely get any warning. One minute there’s a busy office, and the next it’s an empty building with a few old desks, some trivial paperwork and all the unwanted gear locked in the armoury.’

  ‘And they paid you a visit ten years ago. What’s your point?’

  ‘After they closed this office, they left for Dismolle. And they weren’t going for the sunshine.’

  Walsh’s eyes widened. ‘You’re wrong! The Dismolle office is still up and running.’

  ‘Tell me, have you ever had contact with anyone in the Peace Force, other than Bernie?’

  Walsh thought back over the past couple of years. ‘I’ve had messages. Congratulations when I passed my exams, that sort of thing.’

  ‘But you’ve never spoken to anyone in person?’

  ‘No.’

  Barney laughed. ‘It sounds like Bernie has quite the little scam going.’

  ‘She’s not like that. Anyway, my graduation is coming up! I had to take a couple of tests again, but once the results come through —’

  ‘You re-sat an exam?’

  ‘Yes. I failed a couple of questions, but Bernie helped me with the revision and —’

  ‘My dear girl, you don’t get a second chance with Peace Force exams. It’s pass or fail.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ snapped Walsh, finally losing patience. ‘I’ve put two years of my life into the Peace Force and I’m not having you tear my dreams apart.’

  ‘There’s a simple check, of course. All you have to do is access the Peace Force database and look up your record.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Your regular login will do. You won’t be able to access the higher-level functions, but a simple database lookup is permitted.’

  ‘But I don’t have a login. Trainees aren’t allowed access to the system.’

  Barney’s eyebrows went up. ‘Says who?’

  ‘Bernie told me —’ Walsh stopped. Everything came back to Bernie. But who could she trust more? This bitter, run-down robot with its flaky memory, or Bernie, who’d guided her through an entire traineeship? And what if Bernie had specific reasons for keeping her in the dark? Maybe it was a new training method, or a lack of resources.

  No, she had to put her trust in Bernie. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. ‘Bernie told me I could have my own login as soon as I graduated,’ said Walsh firmly.

  ‘If you want to believe that, it’s no paint off my nose.’ Barney shifted his weight, creaking with the movement. ‘So, where does this Bernie get her spares?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Without a regular infusion of parts we’re just oversized paperweights.’

  ‘You’re still working.’

  ‘I’m running in standby mode, but on full power I needed a weekly shipment of spares. They used to come over from HQ on the Ganymede, regular as clockwork.’

  ‘But Bernie doesn’t get any deliveries.’

  ‘Then she must have a local source. Do you have an electronics wholesaler nearby?’

  ‘She can’t go out. She’s confined to the office.’

  ‘Still got all your servers? Data terminals?’

  ‘Yes, lots. I mean, they go wrong from time to time but we still have them.’

  ‘And once a terminal goes wrong, what happens then?’

  ‘Nothing. Bernie tries to fix them, but she’s not very good at it.’

  ‘First, the BNE-II was designed to fix anything, anywhere. Second, if your terminals aren’t working, why doesn’t Bernie order replacements from HQ? Or spares, for that matter?’

  Despite herself, Walsh was beginning to wonder. ‘I heard there were budget cutbacks. Anyway, we don’t need a dozen terminals when there are only two operators.’

  ‘One. You’re not allowed to use them.’ Barney sighed. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been taken in, but there’s nothing I can do. I really do need to shut down.’

  ‘No, wait!’ Walsh grabbed the robot’s massive hand. ‘It doesn’t matter whether I’m Peace Force or not. You can save these people!’

  There was no response, and Walsh let the hand drop. Was the robot right? Had Bernie been using her as a front, pretending the Dismolle Peace Force was still running? Her insides turned cold. Did everyone know? Were they all humouring her, laughing behind her back?

  Walsh slumped in a chair, feeling like a rug had been pulled out from under her feet. For the past two years she’d pictured herself as a small cog in the huge Peace Force machine, an anonymous but vital part of the whole. She’d even seen her future: a merit award or two, a promotion here and there, slowly rising through the ranks until she had her own station.

  And now it had all been taken away.

  Distraught, she buried her face in her hands, alone in the empty office.

  * * *

  There was a deep rumble nearby, which grew to a steady roar as a ship ran its engines up prior to takeoff. The sound was familiar, and Hal glanced round to see the Tiger wreathed in smoke. Nice clean smoke.

  ‘There goes Mr Spearman,’ said Clunk.

  Hal wasn’t one hundred percent certain Spearman was going anywhere, so he kept his mouth shut.

  The noise increased and the Tiger shimmered in the haze from its exhausts. It seemed poised to hurl itself into the atmosphere, but at the last moment the jets belched thick yellow smoke and the engines faltered, burping and grumbling.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Hal. ‘That doesn’t look good.’

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ said Clunk, as the ship vanished behind a rolling curtain of smoke. ‘What could possibly cause such a thing?’

  ‘Come on, ignore him. Let’s go load the cargo.’

  Clunk was staring at the smoke, and didn’t move.

  Suddenly the Tiger burst from the thick cloud, blowing the yellow smoke away with the wash from its jets. The ship roared overhead, its graceful departure only marred by the twisted brown contrails it left behind.

  ‘Phew-wee,’ remarked Hal, as the smoke settled over the spaceport. ‘What a stink.’

  ‘Yes, it smells remarkably like a waste treatment plant. In fact, it’s just like …’ Clunk’s voice tailed off and he turned to look at Hal. In all the years humans had been constructing robots in their likeness, never had one of their creations cast a suspicion-laden glance approaching this particular beauty. Unfortunately, Hal’s attention was riveted on the departing ship, an
d he missed it. ‘Well?’ demanded Clunk. ‘Did you interfere with his fuel?’

  ‘Not me,’ said Hal, refusing to look at the robot. ‘Old Spearhead’s just a crappy pilot.’ He watched the ship rise higher and higher into the sky, until the glittering dot vanished from sight.

  ‘We’d better load this cargo of yours,’ said Clunk.

  Hal led the way down the ramp, and they crossed the field to the stacks of containers.

  ‘Which one is it?’ asked Clunk.

  Hal raised his finger to point, then stared at the rows of identical containers in rising panic. He’d effectively buried a needle in a haystack.

  * * *

  Walsh wasn’t sure exactly how long she’d been sitting on the dusty box, but she knew she couldn’t stay there forever. She had to get back to Dismolle, demand the truth from Bernie and then act on it. If she’d been lied to she’d leave her home planet, no question. She couldn’t possibly show her face in public after a humiliation like this.

  As for Herringen and his bugs … Walsh sniffed. Let him deal with them. That was all in her past now, when she still had her delusions to keep her happy.

  Mind you, she thought, it was funny how everyone had obeyed her without question, legitimate or not. The residents of Dismolle, poor old Newman, big boss Herringen, and even Clunk and … Walsh gasped. Hal! He knew her as a Peace Force officer, not an ordinary civilian! He’d done everything possible to help her with the investigation. What would he say when he found out it was all a sham? Would he be angry?

  Walsh fought back tears, and she could hear the foundations of her life crumbling beneath her feet. Then, deep within, she found a tiny nugget of resolve. She had been a member of the Peace Force, officially recognised or not. She had done the training and passed the exams. And she could make a difference, in or out of uniform.

  She stood up, her resolve hardening. She might not be a serving Peace officer, but she was the closest thing Forzen or Dismolle had to one. She’d stop these stupid bugs, beat the truth out of Herringen and submit a faultless report to Peace Force Central. And if they didn’t accept her as a trainee, she’d … her determination wavered, but she forged on. If they didn’t want her, she’d do something else. So there.

  Feeling a little happier, Walsh glanced towards the armoury. Let the bloody robot rust away in the darkness, if that’s what it wanted. She’d only have willing volunteers on her team.

  She froze, her gaze fixed on the carpet. Was she going mad, or had it just moved? She watched closely for several seconds, and was just about to dismiss it as nerves when the carpet rippled again. Was it a rat trapped underneath? Water seeping up through the floors? A whole colony of cockroaches looking for a new home?

  Then she heard the noise: an urgent rustling interspersed with metallic scrapes. She was still trying to place the sound when the carpet bulged and a sleek metal claw tore through, snapping at thin air right in front of her. Walsh stared at it in horror, then spun round to see the entire floor erupting with hundreds of miner bugs. They shredded the carpet, tearing it to pieces with their hardened metal jaws, then closed on their prey, hemming her in from all sides at once.

  Completely surrounded, Walsh leapt onto the desk, almost falling over the terminal. The bugs converged on her position, tumbling over one another in their haste. They ran up the table legs, and Walsh kicked several away as they clambered onto the surface. There were too many, though, and it was only a matter of time before she was eaten alive.

  Crouching, she took hold of the computer terminal and hurled it into the seething mass of bugs. They turned on it, crushing the plastic case and splintering the glass in their mindless frenzy, and while they were occupied Walsh took a flying jump over their heads, landing heavily just outside the circle of bugs. The nearest turned to follow, but she had time to wrench open the reinforced door to the armoury, dive inside and slam it to before they got to her. Immediately, their jaws scraped on the metal as they tried to follow.

  There was a loud bang as the bugs chewed through the terminal’s power cord, and a flash lit up the door frame. It didn’t stop the bugs though - she could hear them destroying the remains of the computer, while others continued to attack the door.

  Walsh scanned the shelves for a weapon, but they were as bare as the last time she’d been in there. And now she was trapped.

  * * *

  In the middle of the Forzen spaceport, large stacks of containers poked through the brown-tinged smoke like rocks in the ocean. An onlooker - or rather, an onlistener - would have heard two voices in the smoke. They appeared to be discussing a missing item.

  ‘Well how do I know where the bloody thing ended up?’ said the first voice. ‘They all look the same from down here.’

  ‘Where did you see them from last time?’ asked the second voice.

  ‘Sort of higher up,’ said Hal. For it was he.

  ‘Were you standing on something?’ asked Clunk.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So why don’t you stand on it again?’

  ‘It’s a bit tricky,’ said Hal, glancing up at the crane.

  Unfortunately, Clunk noticed. ‘You climbed up there?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘You’re lucky they didn’t arrest you. Didn’t anyone call you down?’

  Hal shook his head. ‘They were too busy ducking for cover.’

  ‘What had that effect on them? A major fuel spill? The threat of an explosion?’

  ‘No, you were landing the Volante.’

  Clunk pressed his lips together. ‘And you stayed in the open despite the obvious danger?’

  ‘Sure. I’d trust you to land the ship on a ten credit chip.’

  Somewhat mollified, Clunk eyed the crane. ‘Why don’t you stand at the bottom and see whether you can identify the container from there?’

  ‘It’s worth a shot.’

  They walked to the crane, which was still unloading the cargo ship, and Hal stepped on the first rung, shielding his eyes to inspect the containers. ‘It was a dark blue one with a load of scratches and - Hey, that’s it!’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Certain.’ Hal pointed it out. ‘I’d recognise those dents anywhere.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll see whether the crane driver will move it to the cargo ramp.’ Clunk concentrated for a moment, then shook his head. ‘He says we need authorisation.’

  Hal realised his plan might not go as smoothly as expected. ‘How do we get that?’

  ‘From the cargo department in the spaceport. We have to go there in person, and they’ll give us a handling docket.’

  ‘That’s a long way to go for a bit of paperwork. Can’t you make something up?’

  Clunk shot him a look. ‘Is there something you’re not telling me about this job?’

  ‘Would I keep anything from you?’

  Clunk didn’t bother to answer, and together they set off across the landing field. The robot appeared to be weighing up all the little facts Hal had let slip, while Hal was more concerned with the reception they were going to get at the cargo department. After all, the container in question was supposed to be aboard the Tiger, and while he’d blustered his way through any number of tricky situations in the past, this one looked like it was going to end in major problems. Serial numbers, shipping dockets, invoices … he was sunk.

  They were halfway across the landing field when a siren sounded. Hal started guiltily, then recognised the noise. ‘Ship coming in,’ he said confidently, scanning the sky for signs of the arriving vessel.

  The siren was joined by another, and then another, and soon dozens of them were wailing in harmony.

  ‘How many ships?’ asked Clunk, raising his voice over the noise.

  ‘Maybe it’s a fly-in.’ Then Hal saw a line of flashing lights in the distance. ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘Emergency vehicles,’ said Clunk. ‘I hope there hasn’t been an accident.’

  Hal remembered Spearman and the Tiger, and he felt sick to his stomac
h. Surely the contaminated fuel hadn’t …

  ‘Six fire trucks, two personnel carriers and a command vehicle,’ said Clunk, standing on tip-toes. ‘It’s either a grade one emergency or a very comprehensive drill.’

  ‘It’s a drill,’ croaked Hal. ‘It has to be.’

  The line of vehicles was closer now, weaving between the landing pads. They were moving fast, with headlights flashing and sirens blaring, and suddenly they were roaring by with their huge wheels and belching exhausts. Hal covered his ears to block out the piercing sirens, and he was still standing there when Clunk tugged his arm.

  ‘They want to talk to us, Mr Spacejock.’ The robot indicated an open-topped runabout driven by a couple of ground staff. The passenger was beckoning through the open window, and when Hal saw her grave face he knew the worst had happened.

  ‘What is it?’ demanded Clunk.

  ‘There’s a ship on fire. We’re clearing the landing field.’

  Hal swallowed. ‘I-is anyone hurt?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. Look, you have to take cover. Some of these vessels carry a lot of fuel, and if it goes up there’s going to be a lot of damage.’

  ‘Where did he come down?’ asked Hal desperately. ‘Was it far?’

  The woman gave him a strange look. ‘Nobody came down. The ship’s burning on the landing pad.’

  ‘Which ship?’ asked Clunk.

  The woman checked with the driver. ‘The Volante. Now, you two had better … Hey! Where are you going?’

  Chapter 25

  Hal and Clunk ran for the Volante, where the emergency vehicles had drawn up at a safe distance, blocking the ship from view. Dozens of uniformed personnel scurried around with pipes and clipboards, and those without breathing masks bore the worried expressions of emergency teams stretched to breaking point.

  Beyond the trucks, long streamers of foam shot into the sky, describing graceful arcs before falling back on the unseen target. A light mist drifted across the landing field, and the chemical tang made Hal’s eyes water.