Hal Spacejock 7: Big Bang

by Simon Haynes

  "There you are, then."

  "But the blast radius —"

  "Will be in the Northern hemisphere, which is why we're going to land in the South."

  "Who's in charge here?" demanded Clunk.

  "I don't see any humans on board," said the Navcom. "Tell me, isn't that a criminal offence? Perhaps I should fill out a report for Ground Control while we're discussing potential landing sites."

  Clunk knew when he was beaten, but this wasn't one of those times. Quick as lightning, he crouched down and pushed his index finger into a socket beneath the console. For a split second nothing happened, and then … blam! With a flash of real lightning, Clunk sailed across the flight deck and crashed into the lift doors.

  "I'm sorry," said the Navcom, sounding anything but. "I anticipated your move, and reconfigured that data socket with mains voltage. I trust the shock didn't damage anything important?"

  "You could have destroyed my brain," growled Clunk, as he regained his feet. "That was irresponsible, dangerous, and —"

  "— highly effective," finished the Navcom. "Now, which of these Southern hemisphere spaceports would you like to land at? The one on the left has nice sunshine, while the one on the right has cheaper fees."

  "We're not landing in the South!" shouted Clunk. "We have to go back for Mr Spacejock!"

  "Negative," said the Navcom. "It's not safe."

  "Navcom, I order you to set me down at the house. Do you hear? That's an order!"

  "You want to land on the house?" said the Navcom. "Very well … be my guest."

  The airlock door swung open, and at the same instant the Volante pitched onto its side. Caught completely by surprise, and still dazed by the nasty electric shock, Clunk plunged head-first through the airlock and dropped cleanly out of the ship. Thus began his five-thousand metre free-fall to the ground, the robot's arms blurring like a hummingbird's wings as he tried to slow his descent.

  Below, far far below, he could just make out the tiled roof of the house they were supposed to be clearing. With a look of resignation on his craggy metal face, Clunk held his nose and braced for a crash landing.

  * * *

  Hal cursed as his outstretched fingers came close - oh so close - to the lip of the basement floor. Then he glubbed and burbled as he slipped back into the murky water. The water level had risen steadily, bearing him ever upwards, and Hal knew that if he waited long enough he'd be able to reach up and haul himself out. On the other hand, all the water below him was held up by a dodgy floor and five bags of wet concrete, and there was no knowing how long it might be before the whole lot swirled away.

  He spat out a mouthful of water and tried again, kicking strongly to drive himself upwards. This time he managed to hook his fingers over the edge, and within moments he was standing in the basement. He bent over with his hands on his knees, sucking down breaths of air, overcome with relief and pride at his escape. Just wait until he told Clunk about the success of his plan! He frowned. No, scratch that. just wait until he got his hands on Clunk.

  That's when he heard it: a faint whistling noise, steadily getting louder. At first he thought it was the zeedeg going through a pre-explosion routine, but it didn't sound like a high-powered electrical device going critical. Then, while Hal was still puzzling over the noise, the whistling stopped with a crash of broken tiles as something came through the roof two storeys above him. There was another smash as whatever it was plunged through the floor one storey above him. Then there was an explosion of timber joists and carpet fragments as the falling object came through the basement roof just above Hal's head, followed by a huge splash as it fell neatly down the shaft to vanish into the sub-basement below.

  Hal's immediate thought was that someone was shelling the house, which explained why the owner had built a bomb shelter. His second thought was that the bomb shelter clearly wasn't much use, since whoever was firing at the house was a very good shot.

  Then the shockwave hit, and Hal forgot about thinking. The pressure wave from the near-miss caused Hal to lose his footing, and his face was a picture of resignation and despair as he toppled head-first through the trapdoor.

  He landed with a splash, and that's when he realised something rather troubling: the object had not only gone through several floors of the house, it had also gone straight through the weakened floor in the sub-basement. The water was now swirling round and round as it poured through a big hole with an ear-splitting sucking noise.

  Hal looked up, hoping to reach for safety before he was carried away, but the water level had already dropped and there was no chance of escape. Instead, he got caught up in the tow, going round and round the room like a cork in a storm drain, bumped and jostled by jagged pieces of wooden ladder.

  Then, after one final breath, he was sucked through the hole in the floor.

  Chapter 13

  Amy wasn't sure how long she'd been walking, but the concrete floor was playing hell with her bare feet and she wished she'd never taken her shoes off in her dad's kitchen. Right now she'd have given two month's wages for damp socks and a pair of soaking wet shoes to go with them. Three month's worth just for a pair of shoes, even. High heels, worn sneakers … she didn't care, as long as they kept the tender soles of her feet off the cold, rough concrete.

  Shoes or not, she couldn't afford to rest. An entire lake was poised to flood these tunnels, and she wanted out before the water got in.

  At first she'd stared into the distance every few steps, shielding her eyes as she tried to spot any doors or offshoots from the tunnel, but after a while she gave up looking. Instead she focused on the ground just ahead, taking one step at a time and wishing the endless tunnel would, well … end.

  So, it was quite a surprise when she realised the featureless grey tunnel was featureless no more. Instead, it was strewn with battered timber fragments, building materials, tools and the soggy remains of several cement bags. She picked up one of the cement bags and snorted. One thing was for sure - this wasn't the remnant of a vanished civilisation. No, she was familiar with the brand of cement, having helped her dad build several sheds and garden walls over the years.

  Amy looked further up the tunnel, and her eyes widened in shock. About a hundred metres away, barely visible in the dim lighting, she could see a body sprawled face-down on the floor. Its arms and legs were flung out any old how, the head sideways and the eyes and mouth dark circles in the slack, expressionless face.

  Amy's first instinct was to run up the corridor and check for signs of life, but even as she looked on she knew it was too late to help the poor soul. So, she approached carefully, picking her way through the flotsam and trying to avoid treading on any splinters or nails.

  As she got closer to the body she realised it was naked, and she shivered at the sight of its cold, bronze flesh. Was this the victim of a murder, stripped and then dumped in these tunnels? From the powerful build she could tell it was a male, and - unwillingly - she spared a brief glance at the face. Instantly, an overwhelming sense of relief flooded through her, leaving her weak at the legs. It wasn't a dead body, it was just an old robot!

  She was going to walk on by, but something in the robot's face stopped her. Battered and creased in repose, it spoke of wisdom and courage and a strong personality. There was kindness too, and she could picture this robot sacrificing itself to save someone's life. He looked like an ageing boxer, used to fighting to the last even though younger, fitter opponents inevitably had the edge on him.

  Amy noticed faded lettering on the robot's broad chest, and she crouched to wipe it clean with her sleeve. "XG-99," she murmured, as the letters were revealed. "What's your story, my friend?"

  There was a groan, and the robot moved its head. Shocked to the core, Amy jumped back in a hurry. It was still alive? Suddenly, her reading of the robot's face seemed fanciful. Never mind noble and brave … what if it were dangerous, or defective? What if it recovered, decided Amy was an enemy, and pursued her relentlessly through these tunnels?
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  "Hello? Is anyone there?"

  At the sound of the robot's voice, Amy's fears subsided. It was deep and reassuring, and even though she was sure killer robots could take on the voice of angels if they wished, there was something else in this one. Something comforting. "Take it easy," she said softly. "I think you've had an accident."

  The robot groaned again, and Amy sat down on the concrete floor, took its head and cradled it in her lap. "There, there," she said soothingly, using the same tone of voice she comforted upset students with. "You'll be okay. I'm here to look after you."

  The robot groaned, struggling to get up, but Amy put a firm hand on his chest. "You stay right there until I say so." The flood waters could wait, she told herself. For all she knew this robot might only last a few minutes, but however long he lingered, she was prepared to comfort him until the end.

  "I can't see," said the robot. "Why can't I see?"

  "You've got mud all over your face. Here, let me." Amy wiped the robot's face with her sleeve, revealing a pair of deep yellow eyes. They glowed softly in the gloom, and she found the gentle light reassuring. "There. How's that?"

  "Much better," said the robot, studying her face. "Tell me, what's your name?"

  "I'm Amy Frost."

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Frost. My name is Clunk, and I just fell out of a spaceship."

  * * *

  As Clunk spoke, he recalled his headlong plunge through several storeys of the house, his luck at the soft landing in the basement full of water, and the never-ending rough and tumble as a raging torrent was unleashed into the passage below. Clunk hadn't been carried far, but the shock had been enough to lay him out cold.

  Then, when his vision cleared, the first thing he saw was a young woman gazing down at him. There was genuine concern in her eyes, and as Clunk looked up at her, he realised nobody had ever looked at him with an expression quite like that before.

  As he lay on his back with his head cradled in Amy's lap, Clunk felt a spreading warmth that banished the cold. The more he gazed into her eyes the further the warmth spread, until he felt like he was radiating so much heat he could almost cook her where she was sitting.

  It wasn't just her eyes which captivated him. She had a lively smile, and her voice was soothing and calm. Clunk decided to stay perfectly still in case he broke the spell, but then all his problems came charging back like a party of unwelcome house guests: Mr Spacejock missing, the Navcom absconding with the Volante, and the floodwaters which would soon be making their way into these very tunnels.

  Tunnels? Clunk frowned. Before they landed on planet Chisely, he'd downloaded a comprehensive database of facts and figures. Street maps, public transport timetables, local laws and regulations … all things that might prove useful. Those, plus nearby hospitals, cut-price lawyers and tow-truck services, which were things Mr Spacejock would definitely find useful.

  However, none of the data mentioned an extensive network of tunnels beneath the planetary surface, and when Clunk explored the tunnel floor with his hand, he discovered it wasn't actually concrete - it was as though someone had melted the rock and soil to form a hard, shell-like surface. It wasn't a construction method he was familiar with, and he wondered at the level of technology required. He also wondered just how extensive the tunnel network might be, and whether the builders had thought to include ladders and exits to the surface.

  Reluctantly, Clunk sat up. He didn't care about most of the problems facing him, not right at that moment, but he did care about Amy, and he moved her rescue to the very top of his list of priorities. Then he added a couple of asterisks and underlined her name, just to reinforce the importance.

  "Are you sure you can stand?" Amy asked him, as he got to his feet.

  "I'm all right, Ms Frost. I'm quite tough."

  "It's Amy."

  Clunk smiled politely. "I'm sorry, but I have to call you Ms Frost. Robots must address humans with suitable deference. It's part of our basic programming."

  "I'm not human."

  "Eh?"

  "That's what you can tell your programming. I'm an alien from planet lollypop."

  Clunk's smile faltered. "Ms Frost, I—"

  "Look Clunk, you have to call me Amy. My kids call me Miss Frost, and you're a little big to —"

  "You have children?"

  "Yes, eighteen of them."

  Clunk looked at her uncertainly. "At your tender age? Forgive me for saying so, but —"

  Amy laughed. "Not my kids, Clunk. They're in my class at the primary school."

  "You're a teacher?"

  "There's nothing wrong with your powers of deduction, is there?"

  "Er, no. They're working perfectly, else I wouldn't have guessed you were a teacher."

  "I see your humour circuits could use a little tweaking."

  "So you were joking about being a teacher?"

  "No, I just …" Amy gave up, patting him on the shoulder. "Let's leave this conversation for now, shall we? There's a flood coming, and I still have to rescue you."

  Clunk blinked. "I thought I was rescuing you?"

  "I'm not the one who was lying dead on the floor ten minutes ago."

  "I wasn't dead, I was just resting."

  Amy looked at him, startled, and Clunk gave her a broad wink. "You see, Ms Frost? There's nothing wrong with my humour circuits."

  "Ye-es. Anyway, about this rescuing business. Why don't we save each other, and call it evens?"

  "That suits me just fine, Ms —"

  "Amy."

  "Ms —"

  "Amy!"

  "A— A—" Clunk swallowed before trying again. "A— A-my. Amy."

  "From planet lollypop, where all is sweet and light."

  "And dentists own all the mansions."

  "Ha. Good one." Amy punched him on the shoulder, then winced as she massaged her bruised knuckles.

  "Ms Frost —" Clunk saw her sudden frown, and started over. "Amy, did you hurt yourself?"

  "No, it's nothing. Come on, let's go rescue ourselves."

  At that moment, Clunk noticed her bare feet. "Goodness, where are your shoes?"

  "I took them off to keep them dry."

  "Your poor feet must be in ribbons." Clunk hesitated. "May I … may I carry you?"

  "Can you manage? I don't want to wear you out."

  "Of course I can manage," said Clunk gallantly. "I'm sure you weigh next to nothing."

  Within moments Clunk knew her weight to the nearest gramme, but he didn't think it wise to say so. Instead, he strode along the tunnel with Amy's head against his shoulder, her knees supported by his right arm and her feet swinging in time to his own steps.

  "Are you comfortable?" he asked her.

  "I'm fine," she said.

  "I hope I'm not too hard."

  Amy giggled.

  "What's so funny?" asked Clunk.

  "If you don't know, I'm certainly not going to explain."

  Clunk assumed she was laughing at a joke only humans would understand, and a small part of him wished he were human so he could partake in the laughter. Then they arrived at the hole in the roof, where water was still pouring down from above, and Clunk forgot about jokes as he estimated their chances of climbing out. Unfortunately, the roof was quite high and there didn't seem to be any way to reach it.

  "Maybe you could lift me up?" asked Amy.

  "It's too high," said Clunk.

  "I could try."

  "No, I've already gauged the distance, and I guarantee —"

  "You could throw me."

  "You're too heavy."

  "Ouch."

  "I mean, the force I can muster isn't enough to shift your mass at a sufficient velocity."

  "Just leave it at that, okay?"

  "Anyway, there's no point risking injury to climb one level. That's just the sub-basement up there, and you'd still have to reach the basement above it." Clunk nodded towards the tunnel ahead of them. "No, I think that's our only option."

  "It has to
go somewhere, right?"

  "Correct."

  "Come on, then. And … Clunk?"

  "Yes, Amy?"

  "If you get tired, I'll take a turn carrying you."

  Chapter 14

  Hal came to with a start, and he immediately realised three things: One, he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. Two, he was damp and shivering with cold. And three, he was hungry. He sat up, and immediately discovered a fourth thing: he had a killer headache.

  Once he'd finished groaning and massaging his temples, Hal took a good look around. He was lying in a concrete tunnel, and a stream was flowing past at a fair rate of knots. Hal was beginning to loathe the sound, sight and feel of running water, and he took a mental note to stick to desert worlds for the next few cargo jobs. He might die of thirst, but at least there was little chance of drowning, getting washed away by unexpected floods, or being subjected to a dozen cold showers every day.

  Hal was also fed up with tunnels. They cropped up everywhere, and he wondered why he and Clunk couldn't face their usual run of problems in a millionaire's beach resort with sun, sand and sports, or a five star hotel with a jacuzzi and endless bubbly on tap. On second thoughts, scratch the jacuzzi.

  Hal got up, clapping his arms around his chest and stamping his feet to get his circulation going. He'd have given anything for a bit of sunlight right about now, and a glass or two of bubbly wouldn't have gone amiss either, even thought it tended to be cold and wet.

  Then he spared a thought for Clunk. He'd heard the Volante lifting off earlier, and at the time he'd assumed his loyal crew were abandoning him to his fate. However, Hal couldn't imagine Clunk leaving him behind. Sure, the Navcom would sell Hal into slavery for a new set of desktop icons, but the Navcom always obeyed Clunk, right?

  So, what if they'd moved the ship for another reason? They might have shifted the Volante to a safe location, out of reach of the rising waters. If so, by now Clunk would be frantic with worry over Hal's wellbeing. Hal could picture the robot's distress: hands on head, wailing with dismay, a picture of total misery as he contemplated an empty, Hal Spacejock-less life. A lump rose in Hal's throat as he imagined the moving, emotionally-charged scene, and he resolved to rescue himself, find Clunk, and assure the robot he would always be there for him.