by Simon Haynes
There was a slithering, rustling sound outside.
"Landing successful," said the Navcom. "Local time 6.45 p.m."
"What's that noise?"
"We made a hole in the rubbish. The sides are falling in on top of us."
"Can we fly out?"
"If we use the engines, debris will be sucked into the vents. We could start a fire."
Hal snorted. "Who cares? It's a rubbish tip. Get us out of here."
The engines roared and the ship rose into the air, flame blasting from its landing jets.
There was a ring from the console.
"This is Forg spaceport calling the Black Gull. Please reply."
"This is the Gull," said Hal. "We're fine. The rubbish cushioned our landing."
"That was the intention," said the operator. "Please don't move. Our retrieval crews are on the way."
"Retrieval crews?"
"Yes. If you take off you'll set fire to the tip and it will burn for weeks. Sit tight and we'll dig you out." The speaker clicked as the operator disconnected.
Chapter 21
Beep, beep, beep! Beep, beep, beep!
Clunk groaned and opened his eyes. A distant memory came back - a haggard-looking programmer trying to explain the symptoms of a hangover with the help of a bucket and a glass of alcoholic beverage. Now, with his sight wavering and wobbling like a dodgy display screen, it all made perfect sense.
Clunk raised a hand to brush at his eyes, and was shocked at the effort required to move his arm. It felt like he'd aged a hundred years! Then he spotted the rising bubbles.
"Beep, beep, beep!" went his leakage monitor, as water trickled in through his worn seals.
Clunk looked up. The surface was several metres above him, and he had the swimming skills of a brick. He glanced around, but there was no discernible slant to the sandy bed under his feet. Sampling the water, he discovered that it was fresh. A lake, then. The Volante had been approaching Forgberg, which meant he'd plunged into one of the lakes surrounding the capital city. Unfortunately, there were dozens of them, ranging in width from a few hundred metres to several kilometres, and it would do him no good to set off in the wrong direction.
For a split second he considered giving up. All he had to do was lie down and let the water flow in, and his problems would be over. Why struggle on, when Jerling was going to have him scrapped anyway?
The thing puzzling him was Terry and Farrell. Jerling wasn't one to throw robots away, so why had they dumped Clunk in a lake? It didn't make sense.
Then there was Mr Spacejock. He was bound to get into more trouble, and who better than Clunk to help him out? Anyway, what kind of robot left a human to its own devices?
Inspiration struck. He had a map of the planet in memory, so all he had to do was plot his location and find the nearest shore. Working quickly, he tuned his receivers to a couple of satellites and the Forg Orbiter. The signal underwater was very weak, but within seconds he'd triangulated his position on the map and found the shortest route.
Getting to his feet, Clunk began the slow trudge across the lake bed, leaning forward as though fighting a strong headwind. His legs rose and fell like pistons as they drove him across the undulating sand, and he barely noticed the fish which swam past, shooting him curious glances before vanishing with a flick of their tails.
"Beep, beep, beep!" went the leakage alarm, more insistent now the water was reaching critical components. Already, Clunk had lost feeling in his legs, and only by looking down could he confirm they were still moving.
Finally, his head broke the surface. The shore was only metres away, a grassy slope surrounded by lush green bushes. Hurrying forward, Clunk staggered up the slippery bank, dripping mud and slime and blinded by weeds and grit.
As he was wiping the muck from his eyes and ears, he became aware of frantic screams and loud, panicky shouting.
Blinking the last of the mud from his eyes, Clunk looked around to see what was happening. The first thing he saw was two humans running towards a row of trees, screaming faintly and scattering serviettes and plastic cutlery in their wake. On the ground nearby lay a picnic rug, a wicker basket and overturned bowls and plates.
"Wait!" called Clunk, hurrying after them to calm them down. "I'm just a robot!" At least, that's what he tried to say. Thanks to the water in his mouth his reassuring words emerged as a series of hair-raising groans.
The terrified humans took one look at the stiff-legged, arm-waving, mud-caked figure and ran even faster. They vanished into the trees and there was a bang of car doors followed by the whine of a groundcar departing at speed.
Clunk lowered his arms. So much for reassuring them.
He glanced at the picnic rug with its generous piles of food. His first thought was that it was a terrible waste. His second was that while he couldn't eat the food himself, Hal might appreciate it should they eventually meet up again. So, casting furtive glances at the nearby trees, Clunk hurried round gathering up supplies. When he'd finished brushing dirt off bread rolls, wiping the grass and sand off pickled onions and digging gravel out of the sliced pork he wrapped everything in the cleanest paper serviette he could find and jammed it into his thigh compartment. Feeling pleased with himself, he set off for the trees and the road beyond.
* * *
Hal stepped off the beltway and entered the spaceport's car rental office. The counter was manned by a tall youth with a mop of dark hair, who watched Hal's approach with a huge welcoming smile.
"Good afternoon, sir! What brings you into this fine establishment?"
"I need a car. Just for today."
"Certainly, sir. That's eighty credits, and I'll need your approval on this."
Hal reached for a pen and scrawled on the insurance waiver. He dropped several credit tiles on top and handed it back.
The youth glanced at the signature and slid a key-tag over the counter. "Bay 7C, Mr Jerling. Enjoy your stay on Forg!"
Hal nodded, scooped up the key and walked outside. There was a brown haze in the air, and he coughed as the smoke got into his throat. He crossed the road to the parking lot and walked along a row of gleaming groundcars. As he approached the last row he heard a rumble and looked up. A spaceship was lifting off, rising higher and higher in the late afternoon sky. He watched it until the trail began to dissipate, the ship hanging in the sky like an evening star.
"Lucky bastards," muttered Hal. "One day I'll have a ship that can do that."
Once the ship vanished, Hal looked around for his rental. He spotted it nearby, a sleek model with a raked-back canopy and twin chromed exhausts. Hal grinned, mentally thanking Farrell for the credit chips. Nothing but the best where crooks were concerned.
He climbed in, settled in the soft leather seat and surveyed the driving controls. It didn't take long because the panel was bare apart from a handful of buttons and switches. Unsure of his next move, Hal cleared his throat. "Hello?"
The dash flickered into life and the car began to vibrate. "Good afternoon, sir or madam. What is your destination?"
"Nosica ... I mean, the Forgberg casino."
"A fine choice, sir or madam," said the car, as it rose and headed for the exit. "Would you care for some relaxing music during your trip?"
"Sure."
A panel opened, revealing a compact music centre. Hal selected a classical station, and the orchestra welled up as the car joined the flowing traffic.
"Our journey will take twenty minutes at an average speed of three hundred kilometres an hour," said the car, in its cheerful perky voice. "Now, sir or madam, is there anything else I can do for you?"
Hal nodded. "Yep."
"And what would that be?" asked the car.
"You can shut the hell up so I can hear the music."
"Understood, sir or madam."
The car accelerated hard, trembling slightly as the motor poured on the power. Behind it, a tall column of smoke rose above the spaceport as the rubbish dump burned out of control.
; * * *
Clunk slowed his pace, eying the road ahead. Several four-legged creatures were gathered in a group alongside the strip of turf, cropping the grass with bored looks on their placid faces. His database assured him they were harmless cows, but the misunderstanding at Incubots had shaken his faith in computers.
Clunk took a cautious step towards the cows, and the nearest raised its head and bellowed at him. It was a loud, groaning sound that ended with a gurgle and a belch, and resentment washed through Clunk's circuits. Why couldn't they leave him alone? He looked down at the brown and green gunk caking his lower legs like a pair of muddy boots. It was bad enough being hunted around a darkened cargo hold. Worse still to be tossed out of a spaceship in mid air, to plummet thousands of metres through the air, and to splash down in a vast lake. But having to walk through a minefield of sloppy, ankle-deep fly-encrusted cowpats and deal with the loud rumblings of four-legged mammals was the last straw.
Clunk heard the growing whistle of a groundcar over his shoulder. Already, half a dozen had passed by, taking as much notice of his frantic waving as they had of the grazing cows. Until now he'd moved out of the way every time, but after watching them skim over the cows he realised the vehicles were fitted with collision avoiders. Logical really, and he was annoyed at himself for not making the deduction earlier. If groundcars had no way of avoiding the large ruminants, the highway would have huge fences down both sides to keep them out instead of being open to the country. Either that, or the roads would resemble giant hamburger strips.
The car approached rapidly, throwing twin cones of light down the highway, and Clunk felt an itch between his shoulder blades. Resisting the temptation to duck, he kept walking down the middle of the road, assuming the car would pass over him.
It didn't.
As a new robot, Clunk's reflexes would have kept him out of trouble. As an old robot, caked with manure and oozing pond weed from his joints, he was barely quick enough to get his head out of the way.
Moving at three hundred kilometres per hour, the groundcar struck Clunk a glancing blow on the shoulder. His sideways dive turned into a mid-air flip, hurling him into the cropped grass lining the highway. Fortunately, the car only grazed his shoulder, doing little damage. Unfortunately, the cows had been there first.
It took several handfuls of grass before Clunk could see properly. Then, doggedly, he got to his feet and walked on, stepping over liberal cowpats and swatting at the torpid flies that buzzed around his head. Although they couldn't hurt him, he had a human-like urge to grab something smaller than himself and beat the living crap out of it.
"Moo!"
Clunk looked up. One of the cows was standing across the road, and beyond it sat the groundcar, pulled over to one side of the road. A lift! Realising his luck had changed at last, Clunk hurried towards it.
* * *
The groundcar raced along the grassy highway, rising and falling like a boat in a gentle swell. The setting sun barely warmed Hal's face, and he adjusted the climate control until warm air blew from the vents. The new-car smell was strong as he relaxed in the comfortable leather seat.
He had no idea what he was going to do when he got to the Forgberg Casino, but at least he was getting there in style.
The headlights clicked on, throwing out powerful cones of light which turned the twilight on either side of the road pitch dark. White-painted posts supporting the dividing barrier flashed past, and Hal yawned and reached for the radio controls. Soft instrumental music filled the cabin and he felt his eyes closing in the delicious warm environment.
There was a chime, and Hal opened one eye to see an orange light blinking on the dash. He opened the other eye, and saw a herd of cows grazing on the highway, away in the distance. They raised their heads as the car bore down on them, chewing rhythmically, their eyes liquid in the bright headlights.
A split second before impact, the car shot into the air. "Wurg!" said Hal as he left his stomach behind. "Bor!" he growled as the car dropped on the far side of the creatures. Having done its job, the orange light stopped flashing.
Hal was just about to close his eyes again when he saw something in the distance, caught in the powerful glare. A muddy figure was limping along the middle of the highway, stepping over cowpats. Further up the road another herd of cows was cropping the grass.
There was a clang of metal-on-metal as the figure vanished under the front of the car, which then shot into the air to clear the cows. Stunned, Hal looked back at the fallen figure, which was lying face down in the grass alongside the road. As it faded into the distance, he saw it getting to its feet, yellow eyes blazing. Hal frowned at a sudden memory: the same eyes in a crinkled bronze face.
Glowing yellow eyes.
"Stop!" he cried.
The car analysed the level of emotion in Hal's voice, and a millisecond later it activated the brakes. The reverse-thrust unit could bring the car to a complete halt in two seconds flat, but despite the warning stickers plastered all over the cabin, Hal hadn't bothered with the bulky-looking safety harness. He had a split second to regret this decision before he found himself hurtling towards the front of the car. An emergency force field activated just before he smashed through the windscreen. The blue glow caught and held him neatly in its tingly embrace before dropping him to the dash with a thud. He was just sitting up, dazed, when a metal finger tapped on the canopy.
"Are you all right in there?" said a concerned voice, muffled by the thick perspex.
Hal saw Clunk peering through the canopy. An expression of surprise washed over the robot's muddy face, followed by a look of pure joy. "Mr Spacejock, it's you!"
Hal opened the door and gripped his nose as an overpowering smell of cow dung wafted in. "Pfwar!" he cried. "That's not mud!"
* * *
"You never found out where he was taking my cargo?" asked Hal incredulously. He was sitting as far from Clunk as possible, which was not very far in a groundcar. Despite repeated dunkings in a muddy puddle, the robot stank of manure.
"I thought he was working for Jerling. When he locked me up I thought it was punishment for escaping Incubots."
"I bet I'd have twigged what he was up to," said Hal. "I'd have come out of that closet, captured the ship and flown it straight to Jerling's."
"And earned a massive reward."
"That too," agreed Hal.
"Before tea, naturally."
"Eh?"
"And after tea, you'd have eradicated all known diseases and brought peace to humanity in every corner of the galaxy." Clunk opened his thigh compartment and took out the soggy serviette. "Speaking of tea, I thought you'd like this."
"Where did you find it?" asked Hal, eyeing the contents with suspicion.
"When I emerged from the lake I scared a couple having a picnic. They left all their food behind."
Hal sniffed the serviette. "Hey, this smells good! Thanks!"
"You're welcome."
"It's great to have you back," said Hal, clapping him on the shoulder. "I thought you'd be orbiting the planet for years."
Clunk frowned. "Yes, I notice you didn't bother looking for me."
"Me? Farrell told me he was getting up a search party!"
"The same Farrell who just threw me in a lake?"
"Yeah, that's him."
"I thought I was going to burn up in the planet's atmosphere," said Clunk quietly.
"Well you didn't, did you?" Hal pressed a button and the strains of an ancient concerto filled the cabin. Closing his eyes, he waved a chicken drumstick in time to the music, and was just dealing with a particularly twiddly bit when the music faded. He glanced at the dashboard, where the orange light was flashing on and off. "Hang on to your seat," he said. "More cows."
"Mind you don't run into them," said Clunk. "I wouldn't want to see the poor creatures hurt."
Instead of rising into the air, the groundcar slowed. And instead of cows, they spotted the tail lights of another vehicle.
"What's going o
n?" asked Hal as they closed on it. "Why are they crawling along like that?"
Clunk peered ahead through the perspex bubble. "There are several people in there."
Hal's jaw tightened. "This could take ages. How do we tell our car to go over them?"
"You can't," said Clunk. "Exposure to anti-gravity fields can have serious long-term health effects."
"How come we can drive over cows?"
"Humans have one set of rules for themselves and a different set for everything else."
"There must be some way I can make this thing go over them," said Hal, pressing buttons and flipping switches on the dashboard.
Clunk saw Hal reaching for a large red button. "I wouldn't press that one, Mr --" There was a loud bang and the perspex canopy blew off, leaving a narrow strip across the dash for a windshield.
"At least it smells better!" shouted Hal over the rushing wind.
Clunk looked at him with an unreadable expression.
"Now what are they doing?" muttered Hal as the car ahead slowed even more. "Why can't we overtake it?"
"Do you see that fence down the centre of the highway?" said Clunk. "On this planet, groundcars are controlled by a central traffic computer. If you get too far from that fence they cease to respond and you die in a raging fireball. No, you cannot overtake it."
Hal dragged a small manual out of the glove box and flipped the index to 'W'.
"What are you looking for?" asked Clunk.
"Weaponry."
"You won't find weaponry in a groundcar manual."
"No?"
Clunks shook his head. "Try Armament."
Hal flipped the pages. "Here we are: 'Your Chieftain Mk VII can be fitted with twin pulse lasers or a single, centre mounted photon cannon.' What's the asterisk? Damn! Excludes government and rentals." He turned a few pages. "Manual controls, eh?" Hal read a couple of sentences, then glanced at the dash. He saw the knob he was looking for and gave it a twist, bringing the groundcar to a halt. "'Take the control stick from the glove box, insert in mounting point A for left-handed or B for right-handed driving position.' Pass it over, Clunk."