Hal Spacejock 4: No Free Lunch

by Simon Haynes

  Faintly, Hal heard Spearman’s voice. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Delay your departure until we arrive. Miss Walsh will place Newman in custody and then you can be on your way.’

  ‘Who the hell is Newman? My passenger is Oldman.’

  ‘Same thing. He changed his name to evade capture.’

  ‘So let me get this straight. My passenger turns up, and instead of taking him to Dismolle and collecting ten grand, you want me to hand him over to Spacejock?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You know, Hal really needs to work on his little scams. I’ve never heard such a load of crap.’

  ‘Newman’s a murderer,’ shouted Walsh. ‘He may be armed.’

  ‘Darling, he’d want to be.’ Spearman sighed. ‘You know, Hal must be getting desperate, what with losing fifteen grand from Morgan and now having to watch another ten sail into my pocket. It must really hurt.’

  Walsh leaned forward. ‘Mr Spearman, you’re under arrest. I’m charging you with aiding and abetting a known criminal. You will remain in your present location until —’

  ‘Sorry, you’re breaking up. Tell me all about it next time we meet.’

  ‘Mr Spearman, listen to me!’ Clunk held the commset closer to his ear. ‘Hal and Miss Walsh have put their lives on the line to capture this criminal. They didn’t stop to think about profit margins!’

  ‘More fool them,’ said Spearman. ‘I’m delivering this Newman guy and the cargo. Face it, you lost.’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Hal.

  Clunk turned to look at him, and Hal gestured for the commset. ‘But you’re driving,’ protested the robot. ‘It’s not safe.’

  Hal plucked it out of his hand. ‘Spearman, listen to me. That container in your hold is empty.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I switched the cargo. Your gear is in the Volante.’

  ‘Are you shitting me?’

  ‘Go and have a look if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘Of all the devious —’

  ‘Save it,’ said Hal. ‘Here’s the deal. When Newman comes aboard you tell him there’s a last minute delay with the cargo. You don’t mention me or Clunk, and you certainly don’t mention Walsh. When we arrive we’ll nab Newman, and then I’ll give back the cargo.’

  There was a lengthy silence.

  ‘Kent, I swear this is the truth. If you take off with Newman it could be the last trip you ever make.’

  ‘All right, Spacejock. I’ll delay him.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘But you’re a tricky bastard.’

  Hal grinned. ‘Likewise.’ He tossed the commset to Clunk, who stowed it away. ‘Go on, then. Give me the speech.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The one about doing right by your fellow man. You must know it by now.’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Clunk cleared his throat. ‘I can’t believe you stole Mr Spearman’s cargo. You’ve dented my faith in humans.’ Then he winked at Walsh. ‘I’m glad you’re with us, my dear. Perhaps you’ll keep Mr Spacejock on the straight and narrow.’

  Walsh grinned. ‘You’ll need more than one Peace officer for that.’

  ‘Even so, it’s a start.’

  They drove towards the spaceport in silence. Apart, that was, from the rattles and squeaks from the car. Two days of hard labour had really hammered the life out of it, and it was all Hal could do to keep it moving. ‘Pity the bugs ate your truck,’ he said. ‘We’d have got there twice as fast in that.’

  ‘Actually, it wasn’t mine.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  A guilty look crossed Walsh’s face. ‘I stole it.’

  Clunk groaned.

  Walsh patted him on the shoulder. ‘Relax, Clunk. I only break the law when it’s absolutely necessary.’

  ‘But that’s what Mr Spacejock always says!’

  Chapter 33

  Newman sat reading a magazine in the Forzen passenger terminal, with his back to the windows. He turned the pages from time to time, but was keeping one eye on the entrance. If Herringen and the others somehow managed to escape he’d have little warning, and he hadn’t got this far by being sloppy.

  Beep-boop!

  Newman turned at the sudden noise. Nearby, a little kid was standing at an amusement machine, her face pressed to the glass. Her hands were on the controls, manipulating a gleaming claw inside the machine, and as he watched the claw came up empty. The kid immediately took out another credit tile to try again.

  Beep-boop!

  The claw moved, dropped, came back empty. The kid put another tile in the machine.

  Beep-boop!

  Newman watched dispassionately, wondering whether the girl’s money or patience would run out first. The claw came up empty once again, and the girl felt through her pockets, sighed, then leaned on the glass to gaze at the unattainable delights within.

  Watching her, Newman had a flashback to his own childhood. It was yet another spaceport, and there was a machine just like this one. His parents had walked by without a second glance, but he’d stopped for a closer look. They turned to call him, shouted at him, but he resisted, begging for just one go, certain he had the skill to win one of the tempting treats inside. Then, exasperated, his mum had delivered a huge smack and dragged him away.

  Newman blinked. How many years ago was that? And he’d never once had a chance on those damned machines. Well, it was long overdue.

  Setting aside the magazine, he walked to the machine and inserted a credit tile. The girl looked up at him, then pointed out a teddy bear buried up to its neck in lesser toys. The bear had a long-suffering expression, as though it had watched freedom come and go too many times, and Newman nodded to himself. That was the one.

  Deftly, he moved the claw until it was directly above his prize, then hit the retrieve button. His inner eight-year-old beamed as the claw dropped straight onto the cute little teddy, and he felt a surge of elation as it closed around its head. He’d done it!

  The winch spun, and the claw rose with the head firmly in its grasp. Then the little girl screamed, and Newman’s triumphant smile vanished as he saw the teddy bear’s body hanging by a thread. The claw dragged it across the other toys, finally separating the two as it reached the chute, and the girl’s screams rang in Newman’s ears as the severed head rolled into the prize tray. It stared up at him with accusing eyes, and as he reached out to take it the face changed. Now it was Herringen’s balding head, and Newman recoiled in horror. Then he heard a rustling behind him, and spun around to see a wave of miner bugs flooding through the entrance, oblivious to the other passengers, making straight for him, directly towards him, always after him …

  Beep-boop!

  Newman was awake in an instant, heart pounding. Nearby, the little kid was playing on the amusement machine, and to his relief there was no sign of any bugs. He looked around, but nobody was pointing out the crazy man to spaceport security. Then he glanced at his watch. It was now twenty minutes since his miner bugs had broken out, and his ride was running late. The last thing he needed was a flood of panicked refugees hitting the spaceport, stranding him there as they fought over the last ride out.

  He set the magazine aside, grabbed his carry-on bag and strolled to the information counter. ‘Jon Oldman,’ he said to the attendant. ‘I booked passage aboard the Tiger. Any idea how much longer it’ll be?’

  The young man checked his screen. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Oldman. Your ship has landed but they’re still refuelling.’

  ‘Can’t I go aboard?’

  ‘Safety regulations state that passengers cannot embark until refuelling is complete.’

  ‘Why don’t you call the ship for me? Maybe they’ve finished, eh?’ Newman slid a hundred-credit tile across the counter. ‘Here, keep the change.’

  The employee glanced around to check whether anyone was looking, then pocketed the cash. ‘I’ve just looked, and they’re nearly done. If you leave right now I’ll have them hook up a boarding tunnel.
Should be there by the time you —’

  ‘You’re a champ. Excellent service.’ Newman grabbed his bag and left.

  ‘Gate three!’ called the attendant.

  The gate led into a lengthy boarding tunnel, which was moving above the busy spaceport apron on pylons. Windows looked out on the snow-covered landscape, and as Newman eyed the freezing terrain he wondered whether he might settle on a warmer planet. Then he smiled at the thought. With the cash at his disposal he could settle just about anywhere, although he still had one loose end to deal with.

  He rounded the final corner just as the boarding tunnel pressed against the side of his ship, encompassing the airlock door. It was closed, and when he looked through the porthole he saw right into the flight deck where a man was sitting at the console, talking to his computer. Newman frowned as the pilot dunked a biscuit and casually bit the end off. Here he was, a VIP, and this slob was sitting around stuffing his face!

  Newman banged his fist on the airlock window and the pilot sat bolt upright, spilling his coffee and dropping the soggy biscuit in his lap. Newman beckoned, pointing at the airlock door, and the pilot hurried over to open it.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Oldman. I’m coming aboard.’

  ‘You can’t. They’re still filling the tanks.’

  ‘I’m not paying ten grand to stand around in the cold. Step aside.’

  The pilot looked like he was about to argue, then stood back. ‘Welcome aboard the Tiger, Mr Oldman. I’m your captain, Kent Spearman, and we’re expecting a trouble-free flight to Dismolle.’

  Newman entered the flight deck and looked around, interested in his surroundings despite the tension. He’d travelled aboard many vessels, but this was his first time on a freighter. He nodded towards a pair of doors in the rear wall. ‘Is my cabin in there?’

  ‘It’s just being cleaned. Can I take your bag?’

  Newman shook his head and tucked the bag under his arm. ‘How long until departure?’

  ‘They’re just loading a container. Last minute job.’

  ‘Answer the question.’ Newman noticed the pilot’s forehead shining in the overhead lights. Was the flight deck that warm?

  ‘About fifteen minutes. Can I get you a coffee?’

  Newman nodded.

  ‘Take a seat. Make yourself at home.’ Spearman busied himself at the coffee maker. ‘So, the payment for this trip. It was cash, right?’

  Without warning the doors at the back of the flight deck slid open, and a battered old robot looked in. Spearman stared at it in surprise, and on seeing his reaction Newman felt in his bag until his hand closed on the grip of a heavy blaster. He kept it out of sight, but ready for use. ‘Who the hell are you? Maintenance? Refueller?’

  ‘No, my function is purely spiritual.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Sirs, before you stands a faceless servant of the Church of the Mechanical Deity. Members of this holy order travel the galaxy, soliciting donations for the upkeep of our most sacred site, the Altar of the Red Moon.’

  Newman frowned. ‘Church of the what?’

  ‘The Mechanical Deity, sir. I myself am only recently ordained, but my brothers have been preaching the word of Cog for years.’

  ‘So what do you want?’

  ‘A small donation would be ample. As robots, we derive maximum benefit from compound interest.’

  Newman stared at the robot in suspicion, but its serene expression didn’t alter. His first instinct was to have it thrown off the ship, but upsetting the member of some religious order was hardly going to speed his departure. Barely concealing his irritation, he reached into his pocket and took out a handful of change.

  ‘Why, thank you sir.’ The robot held out both hands. ‘Would you allow me to bless you?’

  ‘No, I —’

  ‘Please? It would mean a lot to me.’

  Newman sighed, then held both hands out, leaving the bag on his lap.

  The robot took hold of Newman’s wrists, its hard skin cold against his own. ‘Mr Spearman, the prisoner is secure. Would you be so kind as to call the others?’

  Newman stared at the robot, half expecting it to morph into Herringen. Was this another nightmare? A waking dream like the one at the spaceport? Suddenly the robot’s grip was an iron vice, and Newman could feel his bones creaking. He gasped in pain, and as he gazed into the robot’s eyes he saw a willingness to take it further, to keep squeezing until -

  ‘I-I give up!’ said Newman. ‘Don’t hurt me!’

  * * *

  ‘I’m going to punch his nose right out the back of his head,’ growled Hal, as the lift carried him towards the flight deck.

  ‘No you’re not,’ said Walsh quietly. ‘This is my arrest, Hal. We’re doing it by the book.’

  ‘What book? He knocked you out, he goes down. Simple.’

  ‘Hal, this is important. If we don’t stick to the rules we’re as bad as he is.’

  Hal stared at the door, his fists bunched and his face set in a hard expression. Then he nodded.

  ‘Of course,’ said Walsh casually. ‘If he resists arrest you can belt the crap out of him.’

  The doors opened and they emerged to find Clunk standing over Newman, who was sitting in the pilot’s chair with both wrists in a pincer-like grip. He glanced at Hal, then slumped as he met Walsh’s level gaze.

  ‘Jonathan Newman, I’m arresting you in the name of the Peace Force,’ said Walsh calmly. ‘I’m taking you back to Dismolle to face charges.’

  ‘You can’t take me anywhere. I live on Forzen!’

  ‘And the nearest Peace Force station is on Dismolle. Of course, you won’t be there long, because as soon as they convict you it’ll be off to the prison planet of -‘

  ‘Wait!’ cried Newman. ‘You’ve got the wrong person.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. The Council will face separate charges, and Herringen’s dead.’

  ‘Dead?’

  Hal nodded. ‘The bits we saw definitely weren’t moving.’

  ‘It wouldn’t make any difference,’ said Newman. ‘It’s not them anyway.’

  ‘There’s someone else?’

  ‘You think I set this up on my own? I’m just a pawn!’

  ‘So who’s the grand master?’

  ‘Miranda Morgan, of course!’

  Walsh stared at him. ‘You have got to be kidding me.’

  ‘No, it’s true! Her renovation company … it’s a front. I transferred the mine’s profits into her accounts, and she made it look like payments for her stupid decorating work. Half her customers don’t even exist!’

  ‘You were the one stealing the profits. How does that make her the mastermind?’

  ‘At first we were just taking a few thousand here and there. Small stuff. But then she threatened to turn me in unless I stepped it up. It was out of control, but I was in too deep and couldn’t do anything to stop it. Then we heard about the audit.’

  ‘The accountant? Cooper?’

  Newman nodded. ‘I wanted to run for it, but Miranda wasn’t giving up without a fight. She came up with the idea of using the mining bugs to remove Cooper. Make it look like an accident, and in all the fuss nobody would spot a hole in the accounts.’

  ‘So, instead of spending a couple of years in jail for fraud, you decided to try your hand at murder?’

  ‘I-it just got out of hand. After Cooper’s death, you arrived to investigate. Then I heard there was a whole team of auditors coming to inspect the books. I could hardly make them all disappear, so I set up one last transfer to strip every credit out of the mine, and programmed the bugs to tidy up.’

  ‘If you’re going to cooperate I’ll need everything,’ said Walsh. ‘All the bank accounts, a list of transactions, everything I need to nail Morgan. And if you’re bullshitting me —’

  ‘I’ll do whatever it takes. Now please will you tell your robot to let go of me? I can’t feel my fingers!’

  Walsh nodded at Clunk, who obeyed, and Newman star
ted rubbing his wrists. Then, without warning, he sprang for the door. Walsh reacted first, but Newman pushed her roughly aside. Then Hal caught up with him, grabbing Newman’s arm with a grip that made Clunk’s look like a newborn baby’s. He swung Newman round and belted him with his full strength, knocking him clean across the flight deck. There was a crash as Newman landed on the console, and then he slid down to the floor, already unconscious.

  ‘I was really hoping he’d do that,’ said Hal with satisfaction. He helped Walsh up. ‘Are you all right?’

  Walsh rubbed her elbow. ‘I should never have trusted the snake.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first.’ Hal prodded Newman with his boot. ‘We’ll take him back to Dismolle on the Volante. You’re coming too, as promised.’

  Walsh smiled.

  ‘Think there’ll be a reward?’

  ‘Sorry, the Peace Force doesn’t pay them.’

  ‘Pity.’ Hal looked in Newman’s bag, and his eyes widened as he saw the gun. ‘Hey, can I -?’

  ‘Sorry, Hal. Evidence.’ Walsh closed the bag. ‘I’ll look after this until we get back to Dismolle. Bernie always wanted to teach me two-handed firing.’

  ‘Well, I think I’ll be off,’ said Spearman, coming up behind them. ‘I’ve got a cargo to deliver, and it isn’t getting any fresher.’

  ‘Morgan’s container?’ Walsh raised her eyebrows. ‘You expect to complete a transaction with a criminal?’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ said Hal. ‘We don’t know Morgan’s involved. For all you know, Newman’s setting up an innocent person.’

  ‘He is!’ said Spearman. ‘Me!’

  Hal drew Walsh aside. ‘It can’t really hurt, can it? After all, Clunk’s got to refuel the Volante, and if Morgan is involved you can arrest her after she’s paid Spearman.’

  ‘I thought you two were rivals. Why are you sticking up for him?’

  ‘Oh, you know. Brothers in arms and all that. He’s not a bad sort really.’

  ‘All right, he can have an hour head start, but I’d better not regret it. Now, let’s get to your ship. I want to tie Newman up good and proper before we leave.’

  ‘Clunk will take you.’

  ‘Why, what are you going to do?’