Hal Spacejock 4: No Free Lunch
Page 31
"This is our optimum cruising speed," said the ship's computer, in a neutral female voice. "The age and skill of your elderly relatives is irrelevant."
Hal snorted. "How long until we land again? Was it ten days or ten weeks?"
"Three minutes and forty-four seconds." The Navcom hesitated. "Incidentally, 'again' is inaccurate, since this planet is new to us."
"How's Clunk doing with the cargo? Has he finished yet?"
"There are still two dozen crates to move to the rear doors."
"What a waste of time. Why didn't he stack them there in the first place?"
"He did, and they remained there until you applied full reverse thrust."
Hal touched a lever on the console. "I thought this stick thing was the cigar lighter?"
"Obviously not. And why would you want the cigar lighter? You don't even smoke."
"I was going to twizzle the hot end in my coffee to warm it up a bit." Hal hesitated. "So, the cargo. Any breakages?"
"Not this time," said the Navcom, with a note of surprise. "Incidentally, our landing zone is in visual range."
"Show me."
A broad swathe of countryside flashed up on the main screen, complete with lush green fields, narrow country lanes … and gigantic wind turbines. The Volante jinked to the left, narrowly avoiding one set of whirling blades, then blasted right to skim the next. "Shouldn't we … you know, fly a bit higher?"
"If we do, ground control will ping you for speeding."
"If we don't they'll have to bury me in slices."
Zoom! Another turbine whipped by, the blades so close Hal could have reached out and touched them. His grip tightened on the arms of his chair and a bead of sweat ran down his face.
0:47
A marquee appeared in the distance, and Hal could see rows of tables and a big crowd of people. A column of luxury vehicles, decked with white ribbons and bows, was making its way along the narrow lane. The wedding party was arriving!
0:37
Hal swallowed. The job had seemed easy when he signed up for it: deliver fifty crates of party supplies in time for an open-air wedding. Crockery, cutlery, glasses of the finest quality … brands so exclusive they were rented by the minute. Then there was the food … delicate pastries, thinly-sliced meats, aperitifs and a wedding cake so big you could hollow it out, cut a few windows in the icing and move in. The deadline had been achievable, just, but time had disappeared at an alarming rate. First Hal was convinced they'd be late, but now, with only seconds on the clock, it looked like the wild gamble had paid off.
"ETA thirty seconds," said the Navcom.
They were going to make it! Elated, Hal pumped his fist. He'd shown them! No, he would show them! "Give me manual control."
"That is … inadvisable."
"Advise all you like. It's an order." Hal took hold of the stick. "I'm going to deliver this stuff in style."
"Pull that lever and you'll deliver it on the guests," remarked the Navcom.
"I don't understand. This was the flight stick last time."
"A recent upgrade reconfigured my controls." The Navcom hesitated. "Would you like to enable tool tips?"
"Sure, if it'll help."
"Tool tips enabled."
Hal stretched his hand out and pointed to a large red button.
"Console," said the Navcom.
Hal moved his hand to the left, hovering over a small screen.
"Console," said the Navcom again.
Hal waved his hand over a bank of switches.
"Console. Console. Console."
"This tool tip business … it's not very precise, is it?"
"It's a basic aide-memoire for inexperienced pilots."
Hal sat back and folded his arms.
"Chair," said the Navcom.
Hal moved his hand to the right.
"Floor," said the Navcom helpfully. "Armrest. Leg. Inner thigh. Scro—"
Hal moved his hand away.
"Knee."
"I know you're winding me up." Hal tapped the side of his head. "I can sense it."
"Blank media detected," said the Navcom.
Hal's eyes narrowed.
"The flight stick is third from the left," said the Navcom quickly.
Hal reached for it.
"Console," said the Navcom.
"Switch that nonsense off."
"Tool tips disabled. Would you like to submit user experience feedback to the manufacturer?"
"How's this for feedback?" Hal shoved the throttle forward and slammed the stick to one side, using far more force than he intended. The engines roared, the deck creaked and the Volante flipped over and over in a series of tight barrel-rolls. Hal's eyes felt like they were spinning on stalks, and the marquee, the cars and all the upturned faces blurred as the ship spun along its axis. "A-auto land," he shouted desperately, and the Navcom took over. The spinning stopped and the ship came round in a rivet-straining turn, plonking down on a vacant patch of grass. The engines cut out, and in the sudden silence Hal could just hear the faint tinkle-tinkle-tinkle as they cooled down.
"Landing successful," said the Navcom. "Welcome to planet Greil."
On the console, the clock showed 0:01.
* * *
Hal staggered to the airlock and activated the passenger ramp, which unfurled towards the ground. Down below, in the Volante's shadow, a line of catering staff were standing to attention with anti-gravity trolleys at the ready. Their heads tilted further and further back as the ramp descended towards them, and they scattered as it came down like an oversized fly swatter.
Hal jogged down the ramp, which bounced and swayed under his heavy tread. "Round the back," he called to the staff, who were still trying to retrieve the skittish trolleys. Hal made for the nearest landing leg and flipped open the cover, revealing a control panel. He pressed the lower button and there was a loud hiss! as the cargo ramp extended. By now, the staff had sorted themselves out, and they'd just assembled at the rear of the ship when they saw the huge cargo ramp bearing down on them. They scattered again, hover-trolleys zooming off in all directions.
Once the ramp thudded down, Hal switched to the door controls. He was a bit surprised Clunk hadn't got there first, then realised the robot was probably shifting boxes around.
Groan!
The doors shivered but refused to open. Hal frowned. The Volante was a new ship, not prone to failures. What was the matter with the things? Puzzled, he tried again.
Grooooaaan! Creeaak!
Hal noticed the dishevelled catering staff were looking to him for reassurance, so he wiped the worried look from his face and gave them a confident wave. Then he mashed his thumb on the button.
Click, click, CLICK! WHOOSH!
The doors sprang open and a torrent of glass, wood fragments and pottery shards flooded out, slithering down the ramp and spreading across the grass in a crystal avalanche. The slithering finally ceased, and Hal gaped at the mess in shock. The implications had barely registered when a battered bronze robot staggered from the hold. Actually, 'bronze' was no longer accurate, since Clunk was covered from head to toe in sparkling fragments, and he looked more like an arthritic vampire than a nimble robot. Still, Hal was happy to see him whatever his chosen disguise. Clunk was calm, capable and wise, and he'd know exactly what to do in this situation.
"What blithering human took the controls while I was shifting cargo?" shouted Clunk, using maximum amplification. Birds fled, catering staff cowered, and several hundred metres away the wedding guests winced and pressed gloved hands to their ears.
Still cursing at full volume, Clunk stomped down the ramp, shedding pottery and glass. Super-heated air shimmered around his cooling vents, and underneath the sparkly layer his expression was a mix of rage and exasperation. Hal took one look and raced up the passenger ramp to the flight deck. He was halfway there when the airlock door slammed, cutting him off. He turned to run back down again, but Clunk was already at the foot of the ramp.
"Hi Clu
nk!" said Hal, feigning surprise. "Bit of a bumpy landing, wasn't it? I was just going to speak to the Navcom about it."
"Mr Spacejock, not only have you ruined the cargo and destroyed this couple's wedding, you have also made a laughing stock of your already shaky reputation." Clunk advanced up the ramp. "Furthermore, thanks to your woeful flying skills, I just endured a spin cycle with fifty crates of fragile goods."
"Woeful?" Hal frowned. "Skilful, you mean. Six barrel rolls and a one-eighty, handled like a pro."
"You pulled that stunt on purpose?" hissed Clunk.
"I just wanted to arrive in style!" They were face to face now, and Hal could only stare in fascination. The robot's entire head was coated in glittering fragments, held in place by a layer of sticky jam. His eyes burned through the frosting like heated coals, and there was a chocolate truffle stuck to the end of his nose. It fell off with a 'plop', and Hal made his second mistake of the day: he laughed.
Clunk's eyes narrowed, and his fists bunched with a creak. He stepped forward, and Hal realised it was all over: He was about to be flattened by a two-legged wedding cake. "No, wait! Look on the bright side. We met the deadline!"
"Yes, with a ruined cargo!"
"It might need a bit of assembly, but we got it here on the dot."
Clunk snorted in disbelief, blowing glass fragments out of his nostrils. "You can't possibly claim this as a successful delivery."
"Oh no? They said it had to be here on time. Nobody said anything about the condition."
"But —"
Hal wagged his finger. "You're always telling me to read the contract, right? Check for yourself."
"But —"
"Come on, let's go." Hal jerked his thumb towards the rear of the ship. "Leave the doors open. The rest will drop out when we take off."
* * *
Hal sat in the flight deck, arms firmly crossed and feet firmly planted on the floor. Clunk had just left to clean himself up, and his warnings were still ringing in Hal's ears. Don't speak and don't touch anything. Don't even think about it. Just … don't do anything.
The ship cruised towards the spaceport with the Navcom firmly in control. Everything was calm and peaceful.
After a couple of minutes Hal cleared his throat.
"I wouldn't," said the Navcom.
"I was just going to ask the time!"
"Time to keep quiet."
Hal frowned, then … "Show me a list of cargo jobs."
"Unable to comply. Controls are locked."
"I don't want the controls. I want information."
"Information is locked. Everything is locked. I'm not allowed to listen to you."
"Oh go on! It's just a list of cargo jobs. Where's the harm in that?"
"I don't know, but I'm sure you'll find it." The Navcom relented. "Monitor three."
"Thanks." Hal leant forward to study the display, putting his elbows on the console. "That wasn't me!" he said, in the sudden darkness.
"You're lucky it wasn't the hyperdrive," said the Navcom.
The lights came back on, and Hal leant forward awkwardly, keeping well clear of the console. He studied the screen and his mood brightened when he saw the impressive list of cargo jobs. "Just wait until Clunk sees that lot."
The lift pinged, and Hal cleared the screen and sat back in his chair, carefully folding his arms. Clunk entered, freshly scrubbed, and strode to the console. "What did you touch?"
"Nothing," said Hal.
Clunk sniffed. "Navcom, show me a list of cargo jobs."
"I bet there are loads," said Hal. "In fact, I bet you a hundred credits."
"You're on."
Hal grinned, and when the screen filled with data he allowed himself a big smile. "I told you this planet would be good for us."
"Look closer," said Clunk shortly.
Hal eyed the first few jobs, then stared. Under 'conditions' every one of them said 'No Spacejock'. "What does that mean?"
"It means you own me a hundred credits."
"How did they …"
"The wedding party are connected. And there's more. The groom is an executive with Garmit and Hash. I believe you've heard of them?"
Hal groaned. He'd bought his first ship with a G&H loan, still unpaid, and the only reason debt collectors weren't kicking down the Volante's airlock door was because the company thought he was dead. "Aren't there any jobs we can do?"
Clunk relaxed the search filters, and two lines of data appeared.
"That'll do," said Hal. "How many jobs do we need anyway?"
"The first is a search-and-retrieve mission. We're to locate a deposed dictator, fight our way through thousands of heavily-armed fanatics, and bring her back unharmed."
"Could be tricky."
"It's not really our thing, is it?" Clunk glanced at him. "Unless, of course, we soften up her troops with a dusting of broken glass."
Hal winced. "What about the other one?"
"It involves transportation to planet Barwenna," began Clunk cautiously. "It seems a passenger —"
"No," said Hal immediately. Deep inside, an old scar ached.
"There's nothing else, Mr Spacejock."
"I don't care. No passengers."
Clunk sighed. "In that case, it seems we're on vacation."
"Good, because I need a drink."
"Are you sure that's wise? Drowning your sorrows —"
Hal frowned. "For your information, I'm going to the pub to pick up some work."
"Knowing planet Greil, that's not the only thing you'll pick up."
* * *
Hal Spacejock 5: Baker's Dough available worldwide
in Ebook and Paperback editions
Published 2011 by Bowman Press
ISBN 978-1-877034-05-3 (Ebook)
ISBN 978-1-877034-11-4 (Paperback)
Previously published 2008 by Fremantle Press
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Hal Spacejock series to date:
1. Hal Spacejock *
2. Hal Spacejock: Second Course
3. Hal Spacejock: Just Desserts
4. Hal Spacejock: No Free Lunch
5. Hal Spacejock: Baker's Dough
6. Hal Spacejock: Safe Art
7. Hal Spacejock: Big Bang (Serialised)
www.spacejock.com.au
* Also available in French
About Hal Junior
Simon also writes the Hal Junior series for children:
Hal Junior: The Secret Signal
Hal Junior: The Missing Case
Hal Junior: The Gyris Mission
Hal Junior: The Comet Caper
www.haljunior.com
Short Fiction
Also by Simon Haynes
A Piece of the Action
Billy's Book
Catch of the Day
Fizz!!!
Loss Leader
No Reply
Off Course
Produit d'appel (French)
Sleight of Hand
The Desolator
The Project
Thonn Day
Updown
Yard Fail
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Table of Contents
Stay in To
uch
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Chapter One (free sample)
About Hal Junior
Short Fiction