Hal Spacejock 4: No Free Lunch

by Simon Haynes

  They squeezed through a gap between the emergency vehicles then stopped dead as they saw the quivering mountain of foam which completely hid the Volante. More was being added by the fire teams, their fat hoses disgorging foam with a hissing, spluttering roar, and several ladders had been swung into position above the snowy white slopes so that operators could point out the few remaining areas not completely smothered.

  Nearby, a huge man was shouting orders, his bright hazard jacket stretched tight across his barrel chest. A megaphone dangled by his side, but it was unused and unneeded, and minions scurried at his bidding, fetching equipment and assembling it under his watchful eye. ‘No, you fool!’ he roared at a hapless mechanic. ‘Use the bigger one! Hit it, man. Hit it! And where the hell is that cutter?’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Hal.

  The giant didn’t even look at him. ‘Someone get these bloody civilians out of my way!’

  ‘That’s our ship,’ said Clunk, pointing at the foam. ‘Can you tell me where the fire broke out?’

  A woman hurried over, her face red behind the breathing mask. ‘You’ll have to stand clear,’ she said, trying to move Hal and Clunk back. ‘We’re about to detonate the first charge.’

  ‘You’re what?’

  ‘We’ve smothered the ship to dampen the worst of it, but we have to get inside to put the fire out. Standard procedure, see?’ The woman pointed out a group of emergency workers crouched around a small box, and Hal saw a pair of cables running across the ground to disappear under the foam. ‘They’re ready. Heads down, now.’

  Hal was still staring in shock when Clunk pushed him aside and ran for the box. The giant roared at him to stop, but Clunk scattered the workers, grabbed the box and tore the wires out. Then he ran up the passenger ramp, leaving a wake as he barged through the thick foam. He paused at the airlock to tear the explosives from the hull, then entered the keycode and disappeared inside before the door was half open.

  On the ground, people turned to the giant for leadership, but Clunk had taken the initiative and there was nothing the big man could do. ‘Everyone fall back,’ he bellowed. ‘The ship’s a goner. Save yourselves!’

  Doors slammed, engines revved, and within moments the emergency team was retreating for the safety of the terminal. The fire chief squeezed into a command vehicle and followed, and then Hal was alone. He watched the fleeing vehicles, then eyed the ship in some trepidation. Trust Clunk’s judgement or scarper for safety? He’d just decided when the robot hailed him from the airlock.

  ‘False alarm, Mr Spacejock. Come on up.’

  Hal turned back to the ship and took the ramp to the airlock, wading through drifts of foam. The substance was thinner now, and the breeze tore chunks from the railings and sent them spiralling towards the ground below. At the top he found Clunk in the doorway, brushing foam off his arms and legs. ‘How do you know it’s a false alarm?’

  ‘I checked with the Navcom. It’s safe to come aboard.’

  ‘So who reported the fire?’

  ‘Perhaps a visitor saw sunlight glinting off the hull. That can look like flames from a distance.’

  Hal glanced at the dull grey sky, heavy with snow clouds. ‘Or perhaps some sneaky bastard raised a false alarm. Someone determined to ruin me at any cost.’

  ‘You can’t believe Mr Spearman would do something like this?’

  ‘Oh yeah? He had the Volante torn apart, didn’t he? What’s a little fire after something like that?’

  ‘But the —’

  ‘Take my word for it, Clunk.’ Hal gestured at the foam, which was sliding off the hull in lumps. ‘You can put this oversized cake decorating down to Kent bloody Spearman. He’s gone completely off the deep end, and then kept on going. He’s —’ Hal broke off as someone hailed them from below. It was the fire chief, and he was just getting out of his car. ‘Oh great,’ muttered Hal.

  ‘You up there!’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Sorry about the mix-up, chaps. Call came in, we reacted. You know the drill.’ The man looked embarrassed as he eyed the copious slathering of foam. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Clunk.

  ‘Yes, there is,’ said Hal at the same time. He pointed to the crane. ‘You can tell that guy to load our cargo.’

  ‘Navvies giving you problems, eh?’ The fire chief set his jaw. ‘I’ll sort ‘im out quick smart.’

  ‘Roger and out,’ called Hal. He watched the fire chief march to the crane, take hold of the ladder and start climbing hand over hand. Despite his bulk, the man was very agile, and he reached the cabin in no time. There followed a short, sharp altercation, with finger pointing and a bunched fist or two, and then the chief was on his way down again. Before he reached the foot of the crane it was already swinging round towards the Volante. Hal pointed out the container, the crane picked it up and moments later it was sitting on the cargo ramp.

  The fire chief snapped a salute, glared up at the crane operator, then drove off.

  ‘Always useful to have friends in high places,’ remarked Hal.

  Clunk nodded thoughtfully, then set off towards the hold.

  * * *

  Walsh stood in the armoury, shaken by her narrow reprieve. The miner bugs had erupted from the floor without warning, and it wasn’t hard to picture them trapping Newman the same way. She glanced around gratefully at the reinforced walls and floor. Let the bugs gnaw and chomp all they liked - they’d run out of steam long before they made a dent. The door was the weak point, but surely it would keep them out?

  She remembered the new flooring at the accountant’s house, and Hal’s determination to find out whether there was anything suspicious underneath. Well, it was obvious now, she thought bitterly. The bugs had got Margaret Cooper, no doubt of it. All the evidence had been there, but instead of investigating like the good little Peace Force officer she was supposed to be, she’d blown up at Hal over a handful of broken floor tiles. But there was something else. If the bugs had attacked Cooper, chewing through her floors, who the hell had repaired the damage? And who -

  Her train of thought was broken by the frantic scraping and grinding noises on the other side of the metal door. What if they chewed right through it? Came in after her? She backed away hastily and bumped into Barney, almost spooking herself to death. His armour might stand up to the bugs, and his strong hands would crush them easily. But would he help, or would he stand by quoting rules and regulations while the bugs tore her apart?

  ‘Barney, wake up!’

  The robot’s eyes opened, unfocussed and confused. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I need your help. It’s important.‘

  ‘You have no authority.’

  Walsh eyed the door, which was shaking under the onslaught. ‘Look, I know you won’t help me. But will you at least send a message?’

  ‘I don’t have network access.’

  ‘Dammit!’ Walsh thought for a moment. ‘Can you record me? Just in case something happens?’

  ‘That’s standard procedure,’ said Barney. ‘Officers in the field must document their findings in case of premature death.’

  ‘Exactly. Tell them it was the miner bugs, no matter how it’s covered up, and —’ Walsh swallowed. ‘Tell Hal I’m sorry.’

  ‘Who is this Hal?’

  ‘Hal Spacejock of the Volante. He wanted me to leave with him, but —’

  ‘You remained on Forzen to complete your investigation?’

  ‘That was the idea, but it doesn’t look like —’ There was a creak of tortured metal, and a corner of the door buckled inwards.

  ‘You stayed despite the obvious danger?’

  ‘It was my duty.’

  ‘I see.’

  Walsh eyed the weakened metal. Any second now … ‘Did you save my message?’

  ‘There’s no need.’ Barney reached for a chest compartment. His stiff fingers had trouble with the catch, but eventually he reached inside and took out a tarnished Peace Force shield, holding it up
for inspection before pressing it to his chest. It stuck there, and the robot straightened up with a creak. ‘Appointed or not, you have the persistence and bravery of a true officer. It will be an honour to serve with you.’

  Walsh smiled, her eyes bright.

  ‘Now, Officer Walsh. Would you please define the threat?’

  ‘Hundreds of miner bugs out there,’ said Walsh, indicating the door. ‘They came through the floor and surrounded me.’

  ‘Very well. Climb up on the shelf and I’ll deal with them.’

  ‘But they’ll —’

  ‘Please don’t argue. It is my sworn duty to protect my fellow officers.’

  Walsh opened her mouth to reply, but Barney grabbed her arm and pushed her towards the shelves. Then he crouched, bending one knee for her to use as a step. The shelf was dusty, and Walsh held her breath as she crammed herself against the wall.

  ‘I will clear a path for your escape,’ said Barney, his voice low and urgent. ‘Whatever happens, do not come to my aid. Do you understand?’

  ‘I do.’ Walsh pictured the robot standing alone against the bugs and almost jumped down to help. Then again, she was their target. ‘Barney, it’s a privilege to serve with you.’

  ‘Officer Walsh?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I may have been mistaken about your Peace Force traineeship. Procedures might have changed in the years since I was on active service.’

  ‘I -I hope you’re right.’

  ‘You will graduate with honours. I’m sure of it.’

  At that moment the door gave way and a river of bugs flooded in. Barney gathered an armful, crushing them together and hurling the crumpled bodies from the armoury. His second armful was even bigger than the first, but by the time he stooped for a third the bugs were climbing his legs, their mandibles chewing the tough metal.

  With a huge effort, Barney managed a step towards the doorway. More bugs flowed up his legs, and many hung from his chest and back. Another step, and the writhing mass swayed. Another, then another, and Barney left the armoury for the first time in ten long years, buried under the swarming bugs. There were sparks now, electrical flashes as the bugs tore off his control panel, ripped out his power switch and went for his eyes. And still he grabbed handfuls of wriggling, nipping attackers, crushing them and stamping on their broken bodies.

  Walsh watched Barney’s struggle from the safety of her hiding spot, horrified and sickened. Guilt and helplessness assailed her - guilt because the robot was doing her bidding, sacrificing himself in an attempt to save her life. Helplessness because if she went out there a handful of bugs would tear her apart while the rest finished the job on Barney.

  The robot reached the remains of the terminal, stumbled on the pieces and fell full length across the table, crushing it flat. Immediately the remaining bugs piled on, and Barney disappeared under a pile of frenzied miners, all snapping and tearing at his metal flesh. Now and then a dozen bugs would erupt from the mass, hurled away by the struggling robot, but after a while even this resistance ceased. Walsh turned away, hot tears coursing down her face. Silently she made a vow: whoever was behind this was going to pay.

  The bugs slowed their attack, and Walsh spotted a couple moving in circles, waving their antennae. Others would soon join them, and as soon as they determined her position she’d be trapped.

  She realised it was time to make a run for it, and she rolled off the shelf and dropped lightly to the ground. Stepping over the shattered bugs littering the armoury, she hesitated at the door. The seething pile of bugs tearing Barney’s remains apart stood between her and the exit, whereas the stairs were still clear. Getting trapped on the upper floor wasn’t her idea of a cunning plan, but then again the bugs might not think to climb the stairs.

  After a couple of deep breaths, Walsh bolted from the armoury and ran for the stairs. She took them three and four at a time, the blood pounding at her temples as she threw herself up the staircase. At the top she grabbed the handrail and swung herself round, then pelted for the room where she’d spent the night. She tore the door open and closed it behind her, then dragged every piece of furniture in the room across to block it.

  Finally the job was done, and she slumped to the floor with her back to the barricade.

  Scratch, scratch.

  Walsh’s heart thudded at the sound. Was that the furniture settling?

  Scratch.

  ‘Please no,’ she whispered. ‘Leave me alone.’

  The gentle scratching became a gnawing, and then a crunch of breaking wood. It multiplied as more and more bugs joined in, until it sounded like a hundred trees bending towards breaking point - and beyond.

  Walsh got up and ran to the window, yanking the catch open and hammering the frame until it grudgingly opened. The sill was barely twenty centimetres wide, and beyond was a sheer drop to the car park. There was no convenient drainpipe, and no fire escape.

  CRACK!

  Walsh spun round and saw the pile of furniture shifting as hundreds of bugs tore into it from the other side. Unthinking, she grabbed the windowsill and hauled herself up, her feet scraping the plaster as she fought for purchase. She’d barely left the floor when the makeshift barricade fell in on itself, and the bugs streamed into the room, heading straight for the window.

  For a moment Walsh thought the wall might stop them, but they broke against it like a wave, allowing those in the rear to scuttle over those in front. She knocked the first bugs away, but more took their place. One grabbed her sleeve, and as a second went for her leg she yelled at them in anger and frustration. Then she stood up, balancing on the windowsill with the bugs on one side and a sheer drop on the other. She looked down at the car park, and a smile came to her lips as she remembered sitting in the car with Hal the night before, discussing the case in the darkness. It seemed a lifetime ago now, and for a second she wished things had turned out differently.

  Then she jumped.

  Chapter 26

  ‘Navcom, how quickly —’

  ‘Can we leave? Initial checks are under way. Departure in ninety seconds.’

  Hal took his seat and strapped in. ‘Are you just going to stand there?’ he asked Clunk, who was hovering near the airlock. The robot had manoeuvred the container into the hold and sealed the ship, but something was still troubling him.

  ‘The intakes are full of foam, Mr Spacejock.’

  ‘Not for long,’ said Hal grimly. ‘Just wait until I start the engines.’

  ‘But they might overheat!’

  ‘Are you kidding? It’ll be like roasting marshmallows with a nuclear bomb.’

  ‘What about the fumes? Emitting non-compliant exhaust gases could earn us an environmental protection order.’

  Hal snorted. ‘They’ll have to catch us first.’

  ‘Mr Spacejock, you must let me clean the engines. Thirty minutes, one hour at the most. It’s essential!’

  ‘Clunk, it’s a bunch of fluffy white stuff. You know, like clouds. And do you dash outside to clean the engines every time we fly through a bit of vapour?’

  ‘But -‘

  ‘No, I didn’t think so.’ Hal turned back to the console. ‘Fire ‘em up Navcom. We’re —’

  ‘- going to Dismolle. Yes, I know.’

  The engines spooled up with a loud whine, which became a steady roar. Suddenly there was a snort and a gulp, followed by a loud hammering that shook the flight deck. Clunk hurried to the console to check the displays, his face grim. ‘That’s the balance compensator. Any more of this and you’ll tear the ship apart.’

  ‘It’ll clear up,’ said Hal confidently.

  ‘I’m not standing here while you destroy the engines.’

  ‘So go and stand in the airlock.’

  There was another snort and the vibrations ceased. ‘Engines fully operational,’ said the Navcom, as the roar intensified. ‘We’re clear for departure.’

  Hal shot Clunk a triumphant glance, then patted the console. ‘Good one, Navcom. Now let’s g
o.’

  ‘If we crash …’ began Clunk.

  ‘Zip it.’ Hal grabbed for the armrests as the ship rose from the landing pad. The engines ran smoothly, and before long the sky turned dark, then black, as they left the atmosphere and blasted their way into orbit. Once they levelled off, Hal punched the safety buckle and stood up. ‘Right,’ he said, beckoning Clunk over. ‘I got her up, you get us to Dismolle.’

  * * *

  Walsh fought her way out of the dumpster, elbowing aside the soggy boxes which had broken her fall. One of the miner bugs was still attached to her sleeve, but she grabbed its slick metal body and smashed it against the wall until its legs were still. Then she vaulted to the ground and ran to Newman’s pickup, pulling the door open and clambering inside. The engine started at her touch, but her legs were shaking so badly she couldn’t place her feet on the pedals, and she only steadied her hands by gripping the wheel until her knuckles were bone white.

  Then she realised the bugs would be after her, and she forced herself to drive, backing out of the car park and roaring up the high street as if they were already on her tail.

  She’d barely had time to think during her desperate escape, but now it was all flooding back. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble replacing Cooper’s flooring, covering up the reason for her disappearance. Then they’d disposed of Newman, supposedly the only person who could control the bugs. And finally they’d come after her, trapping her in the office and almost … Walsh shuddered as she recalled her narrow escape. How had they known to attack her at that very moment? Then she remembered … Only one person knew she was returning to the Peace Force office from Newman’s house, and that was Herringen.

  Herringen, who’d showed off his mining bugs with obvious pride. Whose company was being audited by Cooper. And what about Newman? Had he uncovered something just before he died? Unauthorised changes to the bugs’ behaviour, perhaps?

  Walsh gripped the wheel. Herringen was about to answer some bloody tough questions.

  A few minutes later she reached the mine, but instead of parking near the office she pulled off the road, driving between the trees until the truck was concealed deep in the undergrowth. The engine cut out, and Walsh sat for a moment in thought. Herringen would have seen her escape from the office, thanks to the cameras fitted to the bugs, and he’d almost certainly be waiting for her. But would he play the innocent, hoping to lure her into a trap, or would he attack the moment she walked in?