Hal Spacejock 6: Safe Art

by Simon Haynes

  Olivia's grip tightened on the commset. "Are you telling me someone stole Bright's art? All of it?"

  "That's what it looks like."

  "Well, you'd better find them again, hadn't you? Look for tracks, follow them, get the cargo back, and eliminate whoever is responsible."

  * * *

  "That was the spaceport entrance," said Clunk, as a sign flashed past.

  They were driving through a swirling blizzard, and all Hal saw was a snow-covered bump.

  Crash!

  "That is - was - the carpark boom gate," said Clunk calmly.

  The truck soared into the air and came down on all four wheels, rocking on its springs.

  "Parked car," said Clunk, as though he were repeating the time from a speaking clock.

  Bump!

  "Another car."

  Crash!

  "A caution sign," said Clunk calmly. "When you're ready for it, the brake pedal is on the left."

  Hal finally reacted, transferring his foot to the brake and stamping down hard. The wheels locked, shuddering under the immense strain, and the truck squirrelled and squirmed as it washed off speed. Through the windscreen Hal saw the aerials whip forward like fishing rods casting for the far side of the ocean, and lumps of snow and ice broke free and shot into the distance like cannonballs. There was a creak behind them, and Hal realised Max Bright's immense 'Hairpiece' was trying to join them in the cab. The bulkhead bowed inwards as though it were made out of bubblegum, and cracks appeared in the stressed metal.

  The truck finally shuddered to a halt, ticking and creaking all over. Clunk sat dead still for several seconds, then released his grip on the strap and undid his seatbelt. "I'll organise a forklift while you're explaining to the insurance company."

  "You'll need a jumbo-sized forklift."

  "And you'll need a jumbo-sized excuse," said Clunk drily. He slid out of the truck and slammed the door, and the last Hal saw of him was a flash of bronze, quickly swallowed up by the swirling snow.

  Hal decided to leave the tricky business of insurance until later. It wasn't that the company was hard to get hold of - Clunk had the claims hotline on speed dial - it was just that Hal was on a first-name basis with every one of the vast conglomerate's employees. From what some of them told him, they liked to recount Hal Spacejock disaster tales to while away the time between coffee breaks.

  So, Hal decided to make himself useful. While awaiting the forklift, he'd surprise Clunk by loading the rest of the cargo all by himself. Semi-Colon and Fish in a Jar were a piece of cake, so to speak, but the big stuffed cow was another kettle of, er, fish. It was too heavy for him to carry on his own, and he knew some fussy customer would complain if he dragged it into the hold by its mangy tail. He was just working out whether he could roll it inside without snapping the horns off when Clunk came back.

  "I'm sorry, Mr Spacejock. They don't have any machinery big enough to —"

  "Fork that?" said Hal, with a gesture at the giant rock.

  "Correct."

  "Give me a hand with this cow. I'll have a good think while we're moving it." He took hold of the horns while Clunk moved to the opposite end. They strained and heaved until the hooves cleared the trailer, then staggered up the cargo ramp. Hal's feet skidded and slipped on the slick surface, and he kept losing his balance. "What did they stuff this thing with? Gravel?"

  "It is rather heavy," admitted Clunk.

  "They should have used foam beads," grumbled Hal, as they struggled into the hold. They set the cow down, and he remembered he was supposed to be thinking. "I don't suppose you can carry that rock on your back?"

  "I estimate Bright's Hairpiece weighs upwards of twenty tons. I could only manage two when I was new."

  "So that's a no."

  "Anyway, we can't carry it in the hold. As I explained, there's no way to secure it."

  "Yeah, yeah. And I said we'd figure something out." Hal frowned as he stared down the ramp. They'd reversed the truck up to make unloading easier, and he could see the huge rock in the shadowy interior. They could lever it out of the truck without much problem, but it would be a devil of a job rolling it up the cargo ramp. One slip and it would tumble all the way down again, crushing the truck.

  Next he considered reversing the truck up the ramp to the hold, but then they'd have to push the rock onto the cargo hold floor. It was a drop of a metre or more, and Hal could only imagine what twenty tons of falling rock would do to his ship.

  Hal eyed the back of the hold, wondering whether they could take off with the truck inside. Unfortunately, the hold wasn't tall enough - and the ceiling still had the scars to prove it. Then it hit him … what if they raised the cargo ramp until it was level with the back of the truck? There would still be a substantial slope - too steep to push the rock up - but that's where the really good part of his plan came in. Hal clapped his hands together and rubbed them with glee. It was perfect!

  The only problem would be getting rid of Clunk so the robot couldn't interfere.

  * * *

  Harriet slammed the car door and sat back in the padded seat. She'd put the men into different rooms inside the house, and had gone from one to the other until she'd got as much as she could out of them. From the sound of it, the gang had been shocked to discover their valuable haul consisted of nothing but obscure artworks. They'd immediately realised they were impossible to sell, and they'd decided to hide the lot and cut their losses by selling the truck for its parts.

  She'd questioned them further, trying to discover how far the gang's tendrils reached into the shipping business, and she'd scored a couple of useful leads. One was the cargo handler who'd alerted the men to the truck. The other was a contact in the spaceport's shipping department.

  Now she faced a difficult choice. Should she waste time reporting back to Peace Force Command, or chase down the leads while they were still hot? Forzen didn't have a Peace Force office, and getting new orders could easily take a couple of hours. Wait around too long and the men would get free, and then they'd raise the alarm. The gang responsible for the thefts would go to ground, and the case would slip through her fingers.

  On the other hand, if she followed up on her own she could possibly nail those involved and present the closed case to her superiors. It was tempting, but risky.

  Walsh started the engine, still undecided. Hal and Clunk weren't crooks, she knew that, but Boson was obsessed with his smuggling theory, and he'd have her mopping jail cells for months if she let the Volante leave Forzen without a Peace Force officer on board.

  The car pulled into the road, and as it sped up Walsh decided on her course of action.

  * * *

  Hal revved the truck's engine and inspected his carefully planned setup in the reversing screen. The back of the truck was pointing at the Volante's hold, which was about a hundred metres away. The ramp was angled just so, the end raised to match the height of the truck's bed. And, most important of all, there was no sign of Clunk.

  It had been a real struggle getting rid of the robot, but in the end Hal had demanded a list of all the local companies who rented out heavy lifting equipment, and when it came he'd sent Clunk off to interview them all.

  Hal revved the engine again, enjoying the feeling of power. The truck was more visceral than the Volante's clinical jets, and the heavy rumble from the huge motor shook his eyeballs in their sockets. He eyed the screen, and saw the ship's landing lights glistening on the strip of tarmac behind the truck. Swirling snow made it hard to see clearly, and with his eyes narrowed in concentration, Hal selected reverse gear and gripped the wheel. Then, after a last minute check, he planted his right foot.

  The cabin groaned as the engine piled on the power, and after a shuddering, chirping spin from the rear wheels, the huge vehicle began to move. Hal juggled the steering wheel, adjusting the angle as he tried to keep the Volante centred in the reversing screen.

  The truck hurtled towards the ship at full speed. Reverse gears whined, protesting at the p
unishment, but Hal gripped the wheel and kept his foot planted.

  Thirty metres … twenty … ten!

  At the very last second, Hal shifted his foot to the huge brake pedal and leant his full weight on it. He pushed so hard he was practically standing up in the drivers seat, and only his hands on the wheel stopped him flying up to the roof.

  SSsshhhh-shh!

  Hal frowned. He'd expected squeals from the huge tyres, not a slippery hiss. The brakes didn't seem to be working either, hardly slowing the truck at all. When he looked at the camera he saw the half-raised cargo ramp coming at him like the blade on a gigantic guillotine. Before he could twist the wheel, or shout for help, the truck hit with a massive CRRUUNNCCHHH!

  Hal was thrown back in his chair, winded despite the thick padding. Dust and grit flew, and when it cleared he saw the rock sitting neatly inside the Volante's hold. "Score!"

  Pleased with himself, Hal put the truck into forward gear and accelerated. The engine roared, but instead of driving away from the ship, there was only a strange clattering noise. A dark shadow rolled by, and Hal gaped as he recognised one of the big rear wheels with its giant rubber tyre. Slightly worried, he leapt down from the cab and went to look.

  What he found was more than slightly worrying. The Volante's cargo ramp had sliced the truck's rear axles off, and the back of the huge vehicle was propped up in mid-air. Hal eyed the damage for a minute or two, then jogged up the ramp and hit the close button. Hydraulics whirred and hissed, pulling the ramp up, and there was a creak of tortured metal as the rear end of the truck rose into the air. By the time it slipped off the ramp, the huge vehicle was standing on its nose, and the momentum carried it right over onto its roof.

  Thud!

  Snow was falling hard, and flakes began to coat the stricken truck before it had even finished rocking. The ramp rose faster without the extra weight, and closed neatly against the back of the ship. Hal activated the doors, straightened Fish in a Jar, then dusted himself down and headed for the flight deck.

  * * *

  "Yes, but how did you load it?" asked Clunk again. He'd returned to the ship to find the cargo neatly inside the hold, and he still couldn't figure it out.

  "I used ingenuity and skill." Hal waved his hand airily. "You wouldn't understand."

  Clunk's eyebrows had gone up at the sight of the huge rock in the hold, and ten minutes later they were still up. Hal wasn't sure whether the robot was genuinely surprised, or whether he'd driven his eyebrows so far up his head they'd got stuck. He guessed he'd find out when the robot tried to frown, which was due any second.

  "I did say we wouldn't be able to secure the rock inside the hold," said Clunk.

  "It looks pretty snug to me."

  "It will move around in flight. It should be transported under the ship, using a cargo sling."

  "Why don't we see if it moves when we take off?"

  Clunk frowned, popping his eyebrows back into place. "Because it could fly across the hold, smash through the cargo doors and fall onto the spaceport. Or worse, demolish the city."

  Hal clapped the robot on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll leave the minor details to you."

  "Ye-es."

  "So, what do we know about the delivery planet?"

  "Pegzwil is a temperate world —"

  "No snow? Good."

  "— with a large number of tourist resorts. It's famous for sandy beaches, mild weather, crystal clear oceans and five-star restaurants."

  "Sounds like my kind of place. What's the catch?"

  "None that I can see."

  "Huge landing fees? Expensive fuel? Freedom fighters round every corner?"

  "The landing fees are usually sky-high, but they've been waived thanks to our cargo."

  "How does that work?"

  "Because we're importing artworks, our fees are subsidised by the cultural enrichment program."

  Hal laughed. "They obviously haven't seen the art."

  "The nature of the pieces is irrelevant."

  Hal looked thoughtful. "So if I dab paint on a few canvasses, we can land anywhere for free?"

  "Certainly, once you've made a name for yourself. The enrichment program only applies to recognised artists."

  "How do you get recognised?"

  "By exhibiting artworks on prestigious planets."

  "But unknown artists can't afford to land there!"

  "It does seem like a chicken-and-egg situation," admitted Clunk. "Still, thanks to Max Bright, we can land on Pegzwil without having to pay."

  "Do you know anything else about this place?"

  "Fuel is cheap and plentiful, and life is peaceful and safe."

  "We ought to settle there," remarked Hal.

  "Unfortunately, that's not an option. Their longest tourist visa is for two weeks."

  "We could emigrate."

  "Only if you agree to an operation. All immigrants have their middle fingers surgically removed."

  Hal blinked. "Why?"

  "Like I said, it's a tourist planet. They take polite customer service very seriously."

  Hal shot the robot a suspicious look. "You're not making this up, are you?"

  "Absolutely not!"

  "In that case, I think we'll just deliver the cargo and leave."

  "An excellent idea. I'll arrange delivery as soon as we enter orbit." Clunk hesitated. "Incidentally, where did you leave the truck keys?"

  "In the truck."

  "Is that safe? What if someone steals it?"

  Hal remembered the huge wheels rolling away from the wreckage, and he could still hear the crunch the vehicle had made when it landed on its roof. "I don't think that's likely."

  "Did you engage the anti-theft mechanism?"

  "In a manner of speaking."

  "Excellent. That's a load off my mind."

  And an even bigger load off the truck's axles, thought Hal, but he remained silent.

  Clunk turned to the console. "Navcom, can you organise departure clearance please?"

  "Complying."

  "Don't forget Harriet," said Hal. "She should be here any second."

  "I'm just saving time," said Clunk. There was a series of bleeps and bloops as he worked the console, prepping the flight systems and controls. Then …

  "Departure clearance denied," said the Navcom.

  Clunk's eyebrows rose. "I'm sorry?"

  "Clearance denied."

  "Says who?" growled Hal.

  "We're not allowed to leave, under section twenty-seven, paragraph nine of the emergency powers act."

  "That's impossible," snapped Clunk. "Paragraph nine deals with questionable audio-visual material. We have no such thing on board."

  A guilty look stole over Hal's face. He'd just remembered an exotic magazine stashed behind the starboard engine. "Er … we do, you know."

  "Mr Spacejock, what have you done?"

  "It's not mine!" protested Hal. "One of the ground crew left an adult magazine behind when they were servicing the ship."

  "I find that impossible to believe."

  "You don't think ground crew would read this stuff?"

  "No, that I believe. I just can't imagine you having the ship serviced." Clunk frowned. "Anyway, why didn't you throw it out when you found it?"

  "There were some very interesting articles," mumbled Hal. "Anyway, I thought they might come back for it."

  "Oh, the shame. If customs think you've been smuggling filth your face will be all over the news in no time. And what will Ms Walsh say?"

  "Hey, don't go hypocritical on me. I've seen you ogling those vacuum cleaner catalogues you keep in the rec room. Your tongue was hanging down to your chin."

  Clunk drew himself up. "I was merely comparing their salient features."

  "Snap." Hal frowned at the console. "So how do we sort this one out?"

  "They'll send a team to search the ship for questionable material. We must ensure they find nothing amiss."

  "Better get rid of it then. Shove it down the recycler?"r />
  "No, it could be retrieved. Bring it to me and I'll feed it into the ship's exhaust chamber."

  Chapter 10

  Harriet climbed the stairs to the control tower, her boots thudding on the metal steps. So far she'd spoken to half a dozen ground staff, and it had taken longer than expected to pin down the gang's insider. She'd followed rumour and innuendo from one department to the next, and waving her Peace Force badge had uncovered a postage racket, a printer cartridge fraud and a kitchen supplies scam. Eventually, after threatening an official investigation into the entire Spaceport, she got a name.

  Through the swirling snow she could just see the Volante on the landing field. The ship was ringed with bright lights, and she could see half a dozen customs agents hurrying up the passenger ramp, guns at the ready. She felt a twinge of guilt at the raid, especially since she'd organised it, but she told herself it would be okay. After all, Hal didn't have anything to hide, and delaying the Volante for an hour or two was the answer to all her problems. She could wrap up the truck hijacking case and inspect the artworks on the quiet once the Volante left Forzen.

  Harriet reached the top of the stairs, where she found a heavy metal door. There was a grey touch pad alongside, and she pressed her palm to it.

  Buzz!

  The indicator flashed, but the door remained firmly closed. Walsh tried again, with the same result, and then she pounded on the door with her fist. There were hurried footsteps on the other side, the door slid open and a dark-haired woman looked out.

  "Are you Mia Higgs?" demanded Walsh.

  "Y-yes. Can I help you, officer?"

  "Allson gave me your name."

  Higgs started, but recovered quickly. "I'm sorry, who?"

  "Nice try. Face the wall and put your hands behind your back."

  "Y-you're arresting me?" Higgs backed into the room, hands half raised. "What did I do?"

  "To be honest, I don't care. I need a name and I'm running out of time." Walsh cuffed the woman's wrists and glanced around the room. It was a poky office with a large desk and a set of filing cabinets. On the desk was a terminal, a keyboard and a couple of family pictures.