by Simon Haynes
"Why didn't he tell us to build a car?" muttered Hal, as the travois thudded to the ground for the hundredth time.
"Wait. I have an idea." Kurt took out a sharp stone and slashed the vine binding the narrow end of the travois, freeing the two poles. He adjusted the lashings, turning the poles into a stretcher, then eyed Hal. "Can you carry the lighter end?"
"Anything's better than dragging it."
An hour later he was regretting his bravado. Every step was agony as Clunk's dead weight bounced in the stretcher. His shoulders, elbows and wrists were all dislocated, and his fingers were clearly broken. At least, that's what it felt like.
"Want a rest?" asked Kurt.
"I'm good," said Hal, determined not to show weakness.
"I think maybe we have five or six hours before dark."
"You should sell motivational tapes on the side," muttered Hal.
Two hours later the forest thinned out, and Kurt converted the stretcher back to a travois. He took the first shift, dragging the heavy load over the hard soil while Hal stumbled along behind. After thirty minutes they swapped, and not for the first time Hal began to wish he'd picked an alarm clock or a commset as a trusted travelling companion, instead of a lead plated robot with plutonium in its boots.
They continued for another three hours, swapping at regular intervals, while Hal's arms grew longer and longer and his field of view got smaller and smaller. Eventually all he could see was the metre of dirt directly ahead, and when Kurt pulled up without warning Hal stumbled right into him.
"Shh!" hissed Kurt, putting a finger to his lips. "I hear something!"
Hal lowered the travois to the ground and kneaded his aching muscles. If the 'something' wasn't a hot bath he didn't really care.
Kurt beckoned. "Come, follow me."
Hal obliged, putting one foot in front of the other. Then he saw what Kurt was pointing at, and his senses snapped back into focus. Between the trees he could see a rough trail through the woods. They were nearly there!
Hal followed Kurt out of the forest, and together they crouched to inspect the muddy track. There were deep furrows in the broken earth, and the pattern was unmistakable. Tyre tracks! Hardly daring to believe, Hal reached out a shaking finger and felt the sharp contours. "What sort of vehicle made these?"
Kurt looked thoughtful. "I'd say it was a passenger transport, perhaps an old bus or a converted truck. Seats maybe sixteen, with luggage racks on the roof. Red in colour, but rusty."
Hal was impressed. "You got all that from these tracks?"
"No." Kurt pointed. "It's parked under that tree."
They abandoned Clunk and hurried towards the vehicle. As they got closer they saw a low-lying building between the trees, and standing between the two was the fiercest-looking bunch of people Hal had ever laid eyes on.
*
Moments earlier Hal's spirits had been soaring, but now they crashed. To have come so far, survived for so long, only to walk straight into their mortal enemies … it was too much to bear. Still, he'd face death like a proud space pilot, and not some snivelling wreck. Drawing himself up, he stared the bunch right in the eye and drew a deep breath. "Go on, you bastards. Do your worst."
The evil-looking bunch murmured amongst themselves, and as Hal stared them down he spotted a few little oddities. For one, half of them bunch had cameras slung around their necks. For another, several were gripping half-eaten hamburgers. Then Hal noticed the sign adorning the side of the bus: Be Part of Nature with Authentic Prehistory Tours.
With dawning comprehension he turned to stare at the fierce-looking bunch of warriors, who were now talking amongst themselves in confusion.
"That's a pretty realistic outfit," said one woman, with a straggly black wig and a large plastic cleaver. "It's much better than these lousy things."
"You're not wrong," said her companion. "I can smell him from here."
A few took pictures, and then they all turned as a man in a khaki suit emerged from the hut. He sensed something was up, then spotted Hal and Kurt. Tucking his clipboard under one arm, he hurried over, gripping their elbows and dragging them away from the group. "What are you two playing at?" he hissed. "You know the drill! Tours at midday and four pm. Now get back to the village and look mean!"
*
Hal sat in silence, absent-mindedly eating sliced peaches from the tin. Juice ran down his chin, leaving rivulets in the caked ash. Clunk was sitting alongside, and every time the bus hit a bump or a rut the robot leant harder against Hal, gradually squashing him against the window.
The laughter was still echoing in his ears. The way Kurt told it, he was on a peaceful hunting trip, communing with nature, when this deluded city-dweller came out of the woods with a rambling tale of crumbling civilisations and armed rebellion. He'd even bought his robot along, and the crowd laughed even harder when they heard about Hal's request for a charge point.
Hal tried to put his side of the story, but his wild eyes, ash-streaked person and leaf-matted hair were already pitted against him. When he explained about the teleporter and the lightning strike, the crowd roared. So, while Kurt recounted the high points for the third time, Hal slinked away to find Clunk.
The pair of them had been unresisting as they were gently loaded into the bus, and soon they were rattling and bouncing along the rough track. Kurt had declined the offer of a lift. After all, he said, he was perfectly capable of finding his own way home whenever he felt like it.
Half an hour later the bus turned onto the main road. A stiff breeze came through the open windows, and the bus left a cloudy white trail in its wake as the ash blew from Hal's clothes. Before long they arrived at base camp, where a battered old passenger flyer sat near a prefab building. Clunk was manoeuvred to the generator while Hal was manoeuvred into the shower.
Half an hour later, divested of his patchwork fur quilt and half-empty tin of peaches, Hal was feeling human again. The camp operators still chuckled every time they saw him, but he was alert enough to scowl back at them. He checked out the gift shop, ignoring the snorts of laughter as he inspected a scale model of a village hut. When he reached for the commset cover with the campfire motif they cackled.
He gave up and headed for the exit.
"Hee hee hee!"
Hal frowned. Surely they'd all heard the joke by now?
"Ha ha haaaa!"
There was a slip and a clang, and Hal emerged from the office to see Clunk rolling in the dirt by the generator. His hands were clutched around his middle and his head was thrown back as though he were struggling for breath. He spotted Hal and froze, his eyes bulging from his head. Then the pent air exploded from his plasteel lips.
"Haw haw haw haaaaaaw!"
Hal scowled. Great. Now he'd never hear the end of it. "All right, all right. Wind it up, will you?"
Clunk sat, his eyes glistening. "I'm sorry, Mr Spacejock. But you have to admit, it's a very funny tale."
"Couldn't you explain about the teleporter? At least tell them that was real?"
"Alas, no. Even my solemn word wouldn't be enough to convince them."
"Did you hear what Kurt said? He was in the woods by choice, slaughtering wildlife and skulking around on a camping trip." Hal shook his head. "I don't know why they believed him and not me."
Clunk stood up and removed the charge cable. "I'm afraid you'll have to chalk this one up as an interesting and novel experience, Mr Spacejock."
"Just promise me one thing," growled Hal.
"Yes?"
"Don't tell the Navcom. If one more person finds out about this mess I'm sunk."
*
"No!"
"Yes! And then —" Clunk changed gears smoothly as the lift pinged. "And then we need to check the fuel lines for contaminants."
"Anything in particular?" asked the Navcom, in a neutral, female voice.
"Ash particles," said Clunk, and he dissolved into laughter.
The doors opened and Hal strode into the flight deck. His hair was ne
atly brushed, his second-best flight suit was as clean as it was going to get, and his moukou boots gleamed under the flight deck spotlights. The only jarring note were the various bruises, contusions and scars about his person, but they'd heal with time. "Any news from the scientist guy? He was supposed to transfer those shares."
"Nothing yet," said Clunk. "I suspect they got lost in transit."
There was a strangled hiss from the console, and Hal frowned. "Let me know as soon as they get here."
"Yes sir."
"And order some more shampoo, will you? The last lot ran out."
Clunk's lips twisted, but he held it together. "Mr Spacejock, I just heard from our furniture customer."
"Great. What's her problem?"
"None at all. She mentioned you to everyone she knows."
"Really? That's fantastic!"
"Better than that. Her brother is the chairman of a media company, and they've published a write-up."
"Local media?"
Clunk shook his head. "Galaxy wide."
Hal beamed. "This is it, Clunk! Everyone's heard about me. I'm famous!"
"Yes." Clunk hesitated. "You most certainly are."
"What is it?"
"Well, our customer has a second brother."
"More media? More exposure?"
"Not exactly. He runs a tourist operation."
"So what?" Realisation dawned. "Oh no. Not … Authentic Prehistory Tours?"
"One and the same. And I'm afraid they've connected you, so to speak. The article … it included some rather amusing photos."
Hal closed his eyes. It was bad enough getting laughed at by tourists and gift shop staff, but now the humiliation was complete. Slowly he turned away, walking towards the waiting lift with slumped shoulders. He'd have to hide in the Volante's rec room until the end of time, with only the AutoChef for company.
"There is one more thing."
"Yeah?"
"I need your help selecting a job."
Hal gestured. "You find one. I'm going to lie down."
"It's not a matter of finding a job, Mr Spacejock. It's a question of selecting the best offer."
"Eh?" Hal turned. "What are you on about?"
"Let me show you." Clunk gestured, and the main screen filled with thousands of messages. Many were strings of LOLs and ROFLs, some were all smileys and grins, but most were freight jobs for 'the ash guy'.
"All that for me?" said Hal, unable to believe his eyes.
"Of course, Mr Spacejock." Clunk smiled. "Remember, there's no such thing as bad publicity."
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
www.spacejock.com.au
* Also available in French
Simon also writes the Hal Junior series for children:
Hal Junior: The Secret Signal
Hal Junior: The Missing Case
www.haljunior.com
Simon Haynes was born in England and grew up in Spain, where he enjoyed an amazing childhood of camping, motorbikes, air rifles and paper planes. His family moved to Australia when he was 16.
Simon divides his time between writing fiction and computer software, with frequent bike rides to blow away the cobwebs.
His goal is to write fifteen Hal books (Spacejock OR Junior!) before someone takes his keyboard away.
Simon's website is www.spacejock.com.au
What are readers saying about Hal Spacejock? (No spoilers!)
"I would just like to say these novels are probably the best I have read in a long time, and that is no mere comment as I am a avid reader. They give me so much joy to read them it is one of the few stories that consumes me, I actually feel like I am there - a part of the adventure you might say."
"An excellent effort with the books. Truly an excellent effort. Your characters are a welcome relief from the everyday boredom that surrounds us. This is the funniest series I've read."
"It was a laugh a minute, it really was. I carried it around for three days reading whenever I had some free time. I think this is the first series I've read where the books have done nothing but get better."
"Hal Spacejock was the damn funniest sf book I have ever read and I have read a few! Keep this up and you might just shock people with a bloody bestseller!"
"Can't wait to read the new book, absolutely love the series so far. They are p--s-my-pants laugh-out-loud hilariously funny."
"I love your books. When I got my hands on the first one I read it in a couple of hours. I was so absorbed. I read the other two by the end of the week. Can't wait to get my hands on No Free Lunch."
"To let you know how much I enjoy your books, I feel that Hal and Clunk are not just characters in a book, but friends of mine."
"I absolutely love your books! They're brilliant! I couldn't stop laughing and i couldn't put them down."
"I loved the first three Spacejock books and can't wait for No Free Lunch. (My daughter loves them too) Thanks for such a great read."
"Thanks for the wonderful, amazing, brilliant books! Keep on writing!"
Read more feedback at spacejock.com.au
