by Simon Haynes
"Oh, it's nothing. Nothing at all."
Clunk glanced at Hairpiece, sitting nearby on its pedestal, and again Hal could have sworn the robot looked relieved. Then again, the robot's face was always a bit wonky. "Anyway, we can leave the artworks here overnight. Meri says they're locking up until the morning."
"That's good news. I was looking forward to relaxing aboard the Volante this evening."
"Yes, about that. Do you think it's worth going all the way to the ship and back again?"
"It does seem a waste of time, but what about accommodation?"
"Meri says it's fine to stay here overnight. Get some rest, and make a start on the packing first thing."
"I like the idea. It's … efficient."
"Good." Hal patted the robot on the shoulder. "I'll see you in the morning."
"I'm sorry?"
"You can stay here. I've made my own arrangements."
Clunk turned to look at Ryder, who was touching up her lipstick with the help of a compact. She flicked back a lock of hair, straightened her cardigan and smiled at Hal. "Yes, Mr Spacejock," said the robot at last. "I believe I understand your arrangements. Enjoy your evening, and don't worry about me."
Hal hurried away, relieved the robot hadn't objected. Sometimes Clunk was as bad as two parents and a room full of nannies, all rolled into one. He caught up with Meri near the door, where she was just saying goodbye to several of the guests. They left the hall together, and Meri shivered theatrically in the cold night air. Hal draped his jacket across her shoulders, and she snuggled against him as they walked to the car.
"You're very warm," she said, putting her arm around him.
Chapter 21
Hal watched the suburbs rolling past, the lighted house windows revealing little snapshots of comfortable family life. He was sitting in the back seat of Ryder's car, his arm around her shoulders. She was leaning against him, the top of her head against his cheek. The car had its instructions, and was driving quickly and efficiently towards their destination.
Houses flashed by, and Hal gazed through the big, well-lit windows. In one house, a robot was serving drinks at a small gathering. A wedding reception, perhaps, or a celebration. In the next, a group of teens were lounging around a big screen. In another, a couple were sitting down with their kids, enjoying a late supper. Hal felt an unfamiliar stirring as he watched the vignettes unfold. These people were settled in their comfortable homes, enjoying normal lives with their families. His own life aboard the Volante seemed cold and transient by comparison.
"What are you thinking about?" asked Ryder.
"Nothing much." Hal saw a sign flash by. "Looks like the spaceport coming up."
"Already?" Ryder sat up to check. "That was quick."
Hal said nothing. The Volante would be sitting on its landing pad, cold and dark. And inside, Harriet Walsh would probably be waiting for him … equally cold.
"Hal …" began Ryder.
"Yes?"
"Are you hungry?"
Hal's stomach growled in response. The snacks from the art exhibition had been tasty, but hardly filling.
"I'll take that as a yes," said Ryder. "Listen, I know this little place in town. They do great food, and they're not fussy about dress code."
"But the Volante …"
"Come on, it'll be fun. We can be in and out in no time, and then you can get back to your precious ship."
Hal wavered. A quick meal couldn't do any harm, and it would give Harriet a bit more time to cool off. Plus, if she was going to shoot him on sight, he'd rather have a slap-up meal for his last supper. "All right, let's do it."
"I knew you would." Ryder gave the car new directions, and ten minutes later they pulled into a busy carpark in front of a nondescript building. There was a big animated sign on the wall, and Hal was shocked to see where they were: Tabbie's Nosher, the same restaurant he'd picked out for an evening meal with Harriet.
"You know, this might not be a great idea," he said.
"Nonsense. We're here now."
"Do they have takeaway? I could grab something and —"
Ryder kissed him on the cheek. "Stop playing hard to get."
Meekly, Hal got out of the car and followed her across the carpark. There was quite an assortment of vehicles, from battered pickups to brand new luxury models, and just outside the entrance was a taxi rank with half a dozen automatic cabs.
As they approached the entrance, a red beam scanned them from head to toe. "Welcome to Tabbie's," said a mechanical voice. "Please enjoy your evening."
They passed through a short entrance hall, and Hal stopped at the sight which met his eyes. The restaurant was huge, with at least a hundred tables arranged in neat rows, and most of the seats were full. The noise from all the conversations was thunderous, and he could barely hear himself think.
There were three bars serving drinks and food: one in the middle, built into a stainless steel cylinder, and another at each end of the restaurant.
"We have to order at the counter," shouted Ryder.
Hal nodded, and led her into the crush. They were halfway there when he saw a familiar face: Olivia Backsight, sitting at a large table with two dozen guests, two of whom he'd hoped never to see again: Rodney Backsight, the thug who'd held a knife to Hal's throat, and his buck-toothed friend. Both the youths were staring directly at Hal, their expressions hard and calculating.
"It looks pretty full," said Ryder. "Can you see any spare tables?"
Hal looked around the restaurant. There was a small table nearby, laid for two places, and a lone diner was sitting with her back to him, just finishing a coffee. She pushed back her chair and stood up, revealing a pretty dress which shimmered in the light. Hal was just admiring it when the woman turned to face him, and his stomach dropped into his boots when he realised it was Harriet Walsh.
Harriet gave Hal a long look, then walked directly towards him. "You two can have my table," she said, sparing Ryder the briefest of glances. She looked directly into Hal's eyes. "I'm done."
"That's nice of her," said Ryder, oblivious to the byplay. "Which seat do you want?"
"Wait here, okay? I'll just be a second."
"Sure."
Hal hurried towards the exit, where the doors were just closing. He ran outside and saw Walsh getting into her car. "Harriet, wait!"
She hesitated, on the point of closing the door. "What is it?" she asked coldly.
"You're getting this all wrong. She's just buying me dinner."
"No, Hal. You're getting it wrong. I'm a Peace Force officer investigating a smuggling racket. I have no interest in your private life."
"But —"
"I'll be requesting a transfer to another ship first thing in the morning. They'll send another officer, and maybe my replacement will be able to deal with you properly."
"What about tonight? Don't you need somewhere to stay?"
"I'll find a hotel. Enjoy the rest of your life."
Walsh slammed the door, and a second later the car pulled away, leaving Hal alone in the car park. He stood in silence for several minutes, his thoughts churning, and then he returned to the restaurant.
By the time he got there, Meri had shifted to Olivia's table and was deep in conversation with the other guests. Hal watched her from the doorway, then turned to leave.
Outside, he trudged to the taxi rank, and had just reached the first cab when the vehicle came to life and drove off. Frowning to himself, Hal approached the second cab, which drove away even quicker than the first. That left one cab, and this time Hal stood directly in front with both arms out, almost daring it to run him over. The lights came on, the electric motor whirred, and he was just bracing for impact when the car went backwards, turned ninety degrees and sped off into the darkness.
Hal swore under his breath. He didn't know the area and he didn't fancy a long walk on an empty stomach. Still, at least the Spaceport wasn't too far.
The first kilometre passed quickly, and Hal began to enjoy
the fresh air and silence. The city wasn't far from the ocean, and the tangy smell of salt and seaweed was invigorating. After a while he reached the commercial district, with big open carparks and rows of tilt-slab buildings. It was deserted, although once or twice he thought he heard footsteps. Each time he stopped, turned, and scanned the darkness. Each time, he saw nothing.
After a while Hal increased his pace, lengthening his stride but also placing his boots carefully to minimise the noise. He pushed a hand into his pocket, balling his fist to stop the loose change rattling quite so loudly.
Hal was nearing the ocean now, and he wasn't far from the bridge connecting the spaceport to dry land. He could already see the colourful billboards in the distance, advertising such essentials as overpriced watches, overpriced perfumes and overpriced holidays.
There was a low whistle behind him, and Hal turned to look. Just up the road was a group of youths in dark clothing. He was just deciding whether they were following him or not, when one of them activated a short, glowing blade. In the blue light, Hal recognised several of Rodney Backsight's cronies from the restaurant. Rodney himself wasn't there, no doubt too important to get his own hands dirty.
Not for the first time, Hal wished Clunk were there. Sure, the robot was a pacifist, but he could have pacified half the group while Hal punched out the rest. As it was he was heavily outnumbered, and his only chance was a strategic retreat.
One of the youths let out a catcall, and the others quickly followed suit. There was a thunder of footsteps as they broke into a run, and Hal turned and fled.
He reached the main road which ran parallel to the beach, and turned for the spaceport gates. Two hundred metres … one hundred … the gates were almost in sight when a flashy car drew up. Two youths got out, and Hal stopped as he recognised Rodney and his offsider.
The footsteps behind him got closer, and Hal turned left and sped across the road. He crossed an expanse of walkway beside the seaside, where a series of darkened marquees had signs advertising beachwear, towels, and other junk. Every one of them had 'Backsight Industries' logos plastered all over their fabric sides, and every one was sealed up.
Without pausing, Hal ran around the nearest marquee, slashed a hole in the wall and dived through the gap. He found a safe spot and huddled amongst the displays of inflatable toys, buckets, spades and beach balls. All around, the air was thick with the smell of sun tan lotion, old vinyl and stale chips.
He heard cautious footsteps, and a shadow fell across the canvas wall. The shadow moved around to Hal's makeshift entrance, and then …
"I've found him!" someone shouted. "He's in here!"
Despite Clunk's efforts, Hal had managed to keep one or two weapons, and he struggled to free a set of nunchuks from his trousers. The long hard poles had been pressing into his leg all evening, and he wondered whether Ryder had noticed them in the car.
Putting such things out of his mind, Hal stood, swinging the nunchuks in circles, measuring the balance. Then, as the youths poured through the opening in the marquee, he launched into a fearsome display.
"Heee-yaaah!" shouted Hal, spinning the nunchuks around his arms and torso in a whirling, flailing, clattering storm of wood and chain.
The youths paused, disconcerted, and Hal redoubled his efforts as he advanced on them. There was a whirring sound as he stepped past a display cabinet, and the young men were showered in torn vinyl as Hal's weapon devastated a display of beachballs, popping them and tearing the sagging remains into fragments under the onslaught. Then he hit a tray of sunscreen, popping the bottles and spraying their contents all over the interior.
The youths took one look and fled, ripping half the wall out of the tent in their hurry. Hal ran out after them, dripping with sunscreen and shedding pieces of beach ball. "And don't come back!" he shouted.
Chapter 22
Caaaww! Caaaawwww!
Hal opened his eyes, and for a moment he was completely disoriented. He was lying on his back, and when he tried to open his eyes he discovered someone was shining an incredibly bright lamp in his face. He closed them again quickly, blinking away tears. Clearly it was an alien abduction, and it was only a matter of time before the unpleasant experiments began.
"Ow!" There was a sharp pain on the tip of his nose, and Hal shook his head. Immediately there was a flutter of wings, and when Hal opened his eyes he got a glimpse of a startled seagull beating a hasty retreat across the beach.
The beach! Everything came back in an instant: the pursuit through the town, his last stand in the beach shop, and the youths staking out the spaceport entrance in their car, taking it in turns to fetch supplies while Hal huddled in the darkness. They'd been there for hours, and in the end Hal had snuck away and curled up on the beach.
Hal licked his dry lips, wincing at the salty taste. Then a shadow blotted out the sky, and Hal looked up to see a small boy with a plastic bucket standing over him. The boy was about four years old, and if he was surprised to find a man sleeping on the beach, he hid it well. "What you doin'?"
"Wakin' up." Hal licked his dry lips. "Rough night."
"You wan' some water?"
Hal nodded.
"Here y'are," said the boy, tipping the contents of his bucket onto Hal's upturned face. Seawater cascaded down, followed by a thick sandy sludge. Several large shells bounced off Hal's skull, and then a big chunk of seaweed wrapped his face like an amorous squid.
Hal spat out a mouthful of salty water. "Thanks kid, that was just what I needed."
* * *
Inspector Boson leaned close to his terminal, his face looming on the screen. "Trainee Walsh, do you have any news?"
Walsh was sitting in her hotel room. It was early in the morning, and she'd barely had time for a fortifying coffee before calling Boson on a secure connection. "I—"
Before she could explain, Boson frowned. "Is that a hotel room? Why aren't you aboard the Volante?"
"I left the ship last night. I—I had a disagreement with the pilot."
"Is Spacejock causing you problems?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes."
"Strange. He didn't seem the type to me."
"Not that sort of problem. It's … complicated."
Boson gestured airily. "You're authorised to shoot him. I'll sign the paperwork afterwards."
"I'd rather you assigned someone else to the Volante."
"You know how stretched we are at the moment, and you want me to move officers around to accommodate your wishes? I'm sorry, but your request is denied."
"But sir —"
Boson raised his hand. "You will return to the Volante and attend to your duties. That's an order."
Harriet's stomach clenched. "Yes, sir."
"Now tell me about the artworks."
"The cargo is heading to Niaritz for a private exhibition at a Backsight Industries weapons factory."
"Really?" Boson's expression changed instantly, becoming lean and hungry. "Do you have a decrypting tool with you?"
"Yes sir."
"Excellent. When you get to Niaritz, I want you to get any data you can from Backsight's network."
Walsh frowned. "I did mention this is a weapons factory? Security will be incredibly tight."
"Disguise yourself as an exhibition worker. Use Spacejock … I'm sure he'll be able to get you in."
"But —"
"Trainee Walsh, a copy of their records could yield vital evidence." Boson leaned towards the screen, his eyes bright. "You can't let this chance slip through your fingers! You must gather intel on the enemy, whatever the cost."
"But —"
"No buts, Trainee. That's an order." Boson signed off, and Harriet was left staring at a blank screen. Well, she thought, that's simple enough. All she had to do was disguise herself, sneak into a secure facility, find an unlocked terminal, download all the records, make it back to the ship undetected and deliver everything to her crazy boss … presumably with a nice little bow on top.
What could b
e easier?
* * *
The exhibition break-down was well under way by the time Hal arrived at the hall. He found Clunk manoeuvring a loaded sled towards the truck, and he hurried over to lend a hand. The robot spared him a quick glance, taking in Hal's dishevelled appearance and crumpled clothing. "Mr Spacejock, you look terrible. Did you get any sleep?"
"Not much, no."
Clunk picked a strand from Hal's hair. "Is that seaweed? Have you been to the beach?"
"Not by choice," muttered Hal.
"How was your date with Ms Ryder?"
"Don't ask."
"Did you clear the air with Ms Walsh?"
"Don't ask that, either." Hal relented. "Look, I went for a quick bite with Meri, and Harriet was there, and then those idiots from the art show chased me with their gang, and then I was forced to sleep on the beach. Are we clear now?"
"Why didn't you tell me where you were? I could have helped, Mr Spacejock."
"How was I supposed to do that?" Hal gestured at a nearby courier driver, who was talking into a commset. "I need one of those."
Clunk shook his head. "Galactic roaming charges would bankrupt you in a matter of hours."
"That bad, huh?"
"You have no idea. Plus they won't let you have one without a fixed address."
"What do other pilots do?"
"This may come as a surprise, but some pilots do own houses."
"Rubbish. Banks own houses. Pilots just get to pay the mortgage." Hal gestured at the sled. "Let's just pack this stuff up and get out of here."
"Will you get the doors?"
Hal obeyed, opening the back of the truck wide. The sled whined as it rose higher into the air, and when it was level Hal and Clunk started transferring the artworks.
They were almost done when Hal saw movement outside. He looked up and saw Harriet Walsh, wearing her uniform and a pair of dark sunglasses. Her face was expressionless, and one hand was resting on the butt of her gun. "Good morning," called Hal.
"You look terrible," remarked Harriet.
Clunk cleared his throat. "Mr Spacejock is worn out after a very busy night. He barely got any sleep after he left with Ms Ryder."