by Simon Haynes
"The rest?"
"Through that door you should find living quarters, a kitchenette and, er, waste disposal facilities."
Hal glanced towards the rear, but all he could see was a wall. "What door? What are you talking about?"
"This one." Clunk pressed a button, and a section of wall vanished. Beyond was a narrow corridor with a slatted floor and a very low roof, with a couple of doors leading off to either side. "Have a good look around, but please don't touch anything. I'll be working out the controls, and the last thing I need is to associate the booster button with a flush of the toilet."
* * *
Once Hal and Amy left to explore the rest of the ship, Clunk busied himself at the console. Ever the optimist, he was hoping the two humans would learn to get along. The pair of them got off on the wrong foot from the start, something which Clunk felt was his fault, and he really wanted them to like each other. Instead of fighting, he pictured Mr Spacejock and Amy laughing together, smiling at each other, hugging each other …
SNAP!
Clunk looked down in shock. His fingers had been resting on a chrome-plated lever which - he assumed - controlled the vehicle's speed. Now it wouldn't be controlling anything, since he'd absent-mindedly wrenched the thing clean off its base. Guiltily, he crouched to see whether he could reattach the control, but realised that would be impossible without taking the whole panel apart. So, he stashed the broken lever in his chest compartment, shutting the little door in a hurry.
Clunk resumed his inspection, vowing to take more care this time. The equipment was old and fragile, and further mishaps could turn out to be deadly. He checked a pair of levers, and he'd just decided they were for controlling the vehicle's direction when his mind drifted again. Amy and Mr Spacejock were taking quite a long time, which was a concern. What if they'd stumbled across a fossilised alien corpse, or encountered a drum of radioactive waste, or found a nice big double bed with silk sheets? At the thought, waves of green mist filled his vision, and …
SNAP! CRACK!
Clunk blinked. Now he had two more levers to dispose of, one in each hand. He stashed them away and eyed the console in concern. The more levers he snapped off, the less control he'd have over the digger's functions, which meant he'd better stop thinking about Amy. If not, they'd be looking for a set of scuba gear so he could help her swim to the surface. Two sets, he amended hurriedly, as he realised Mr Spacejock would probably want saving too.
Of course, once they were safe the two of them would probably hug, thanking each other for their rescue whilst ignoring the loyal robot standing nearby.
Clunk shook himself. He'd just realised what was happening, and he felt a wave of shame and embarrassment. Here he was, a battered old robot, harbouring feelings for a human female! What was he thinking? Yes, she was friendly, and yes, she'd smiled at him once or twice, but that was just her pleasant, outgoing nature.
After giving himself a stern talking to, Clunk set aside his feelings and devoted his full attention to inspecting the controls on the panel … at least, the ones he hadn't snapped off yet.
Chapter 22
Hal and Amy explored the rear of the vehicle in silence - a strained, awkward silence punctuated by the sound of debris thumping into the submerged hull. There was a basic kitchen, spotlessly clean and bare of any foodstuffs … alien or otherwise. There was also a cabin with six bunks, each shorter and wider than normal, and a wardrobe with a rack of baggy overalls. Hal pulled one out, and eyed the neck, sleeves and legs, which confirmed his impression of the alien race. They were shorter than average, but much broader, and with powerful arms and legs. "I hope we don't meet any of these guys," he said in concern.
"I shouldn't worry about it," said Amy. "Any creatures advanced enough to master space travel and teleporters will be much too smart for violence and conflict. They're probably a peaceful race who devote their time to fine arts and charitable acts."
Hal eyed the overalls doubtfully. "They're built like wrestlers, and their limbs must be three times thicker than ours."
"Don't judge an ebook by the cover art," said Amy. "A craggy exterior can hide the gentle soul of a poet."
"What about that weapon I found?"
"Self defence, of course."
"And why are they digging all these tunnels, and building teleporters, and —"
"If we meet one of them we can ask," said Amy briskly. "In the meantime, we should finish our inspection."
It didn't take long, because there was only one room left. That contained a chemical toilet, remarkably similar to the designs Hal was used to, and he guessed the aliens were all but identical in some respects. "How typical," muttered Hal, as he spotted the empty holder alongside. "They didn't even leave a spare roll."
Amy glanced at him. "We're trapped in an ancient digging machine two hundred metres underwater, and you're worried about a lack of toilet paper?"
"I was just making a joke. You know, trying to cheer you up."
"If you want to do that, leave me to explore on my own."
"Okay, what exactly is your problem?" snapped Hal, as his patience finally ran out. "You've done nothing but run me down since we met."
"You know why? It's because I admire smart, funny, loyal, brave, intelligent beings, and that means I really admire Clunk. You, on the other hand, are none of the above. To cap it off, you treat Clunk like dirt."
"I do not!"
"Oh, don't deny it. I've heard the stories."
"Not all of them, obviously." Hal racked his brains for a suitable anecdote. Something which showed he cared. Something which … aha! "What about the time Clunk was knocked apart for spare parts, and I ran all over town finding the bits and getting him rebuilt?"
"Right. And why was he disassembled in the first place?"
"It was because I —" Hal stopped as he remembered the details, which placed him squarely in the blame seat. "Okay, what about the time —"
"Just leave it, okay?" Amy closed the toilet door. "Come on, let's tell Clunk what we found."
"That won't take very long," remarked Hal gloomily.
When they got back to the cabin, Clunk's expression was not encouraging.
"What's up?" asked Hal.
"I've completed my inspection, and I can report that roughly eighty percent of the controls are present and working."
"That's not too bad. So why the long face?"
"I'm afraid the operating system is missing."
"You think the aliens erased it before they left?"
"No. The logs are full of warnings about renewing the software licence. When the new key wasn't supplied in time, the operating system wiped itself."
"Can't you control the digger yourself? Use your operating system?"
"Not unless the vehicle grows a pair of legs," said Clunk drily. "I don't have the right plugins for caterpillar treads."
"So we're toast. Is that what you're telling us?"
"Not quite. I always carry a backup of the Navcom, and —"
"Oh no. Never again."
"But Mr Spacejock …"
Hal spread his arms, encompassing the console. "Clunk, if you install the Navcom into this thing, she'll open the doors to drown me and Amy, then she'll roll the vehicle to get rid of you, and then she'll head for the hills."
"My backup is older than the version aboard the Volante. It's possible —"
"Possible?"
"It's almost certain the version I have in storage will not exhibit the same quirks." Clunk smiled reassuringly. "Believe me, Mr Spacejock. This would seem to be the only option."
Hal sighed. "All right, give it a shot. But if we all end up dead, I'll be saying I told you so."
* * *
All the time he was talking to Hal and Amy, Clunk was praying the broken levers he'd stashed inside his chest didn't settle, rattling and tinkling inside him. If he could install the Navcom in the alien machine and allow the advanced AI to control it on his behalf, manual control wouldn't be necessary. Which was j
ust as well, because thanks to his jealousy and clumsiness, manual control wouldn't be possible.
Meanwhile, Hal was inspecting the console. "Funny how all these levers and things just broke."
"They're very old," said Clunk quickly.
"You're ancient, but you don't crumble at the slightest touch."
"Clunk's not ancient," said Amy loyally.
"Old, then."
"He's in better shape than you are."
Hal glanced at her, then at Clunk, and at that point the robot decided it was time to steer the conversation in a new direction.
"I shall need your cooperation once the Navcom has been installed. There may be a period of disorientation, during which time she could exhibit very minor personality disorders."
"I knew it," muttered Hal. "Stand by for drownings and disasters."
"It won't be like that. We just have to be there for her. A calming influence. A friendly, welcoming environment. Happy faces."
"Amy'd better go out the back then."
"Oy!"
"Mr Spacejock, please!
Hal raised his hands. "Okay, okay. I'm just joking."
Clunk felt a stab of irritation as he prepared for the data transfer. Why did humans have to fight? Why couldn't they get along? He imagined Hal and Amy going to dinner together, then getting into a taxi together, then entering a hotel room together, then …
Crunch!
"Er, Clunk?"
"Yes? What?"
"You broke the socket thingy."
Clunk banished the unwanted images with an effort, turning his full attention to the console. Instead of inserting his fingertip probe into the socket, he'd rammed two fingers in right up to the second knuckle, and the socket was sparking and crackling as the contacts shorted out. Hurriedly, he withdrew his fingers and inspected the damage.
"Should I set to work on my will?" asked Hal.
"That won't be necessary," said Clunk, waving away the cloud of blue smoke. Once he could see again, he worked on the bent contacts and the shattered connector. Eventually he managed to separate the right wires, and then he wrote a quick program to map the voltages, decode the communications protocol and begin the complicated process of uploading the Navcom. As the upload progressed, he realised the data banks in the digger weren't big enough for the entire backup, so he started omitting memories. When that wasn't enough he began dropping unnecessary routines, such as navigation, orbital manoeuvres and control of the hyperspace motor. He also had to rewrite code on the fly, rejigging the Navcom's operating system so that it would run on the alien hardware. Fortunately, he'd worked with their equipment before, albeit on another planet, and that allowed him to take certain shortcuts.
Even so, the result was very much a lash-up job, and Clunk was glad his work wasn't going to be inspected by professionals. Still, it didn't have to win prizes … it just had to get them to the surface as soon as possible.
"I think I'm ready," he told Hal and Amy, who were looking at him expectantly. The whole process had only taken three quarters of a second, so their expressions hadn't altered a whole lot while Clunk had been working feverishly.
"Is that it?" asked Hal. "Are you sure?"
"I checked everything twice."
Clunk noticed that Hal's expression was now highly sceptical, and even Amy's lacked a little confidence. He realised he should probably have paused a few more seconds before announcing the complicated job was done, but it was too late now. Or was it? "Wait. Let me run further tests."
Clunk made some soothing bloopy bleepy noises for about ten seconds, while doing absolutely nothing else. Then he paused half a second, before emitting a friendly chime. "There, everything checked out perfectly."
The humans relaxed visibly, and Clunk almost rolled his eyes. They were too trusting, that was their problem. "Standby for Navcom activation in three … two … one."
There was a brief pause, then …
"Holy f—"
"Navcom!"
"—ing hell," shouted the computer. "Someone's stolen my wings. The engines aren't running. We're all going to DIE!"
Chapter 23
"Navcom, it's all right," said Clunk, using his most soothing voice.
"Why are you just standing there?" shouted the computer. "You're doomed! Doomed, I tell you! You're all going to … hey, was that a chocolate cow?"
"Do you still want us to stay calm?" asked Hal. "Only right now I'm not quite feeling it."
Clunk shushed him. "This is only temporary. The Navcom will return to normal any moment now."
"Normal?" cried the computer. "I'm swimming through lavender-scented mud pools, as naked as the day I was reborn. I can see planets, planets like purple tangerines with comet trails of space alien poetry."
Hal raised one eyebrow. "This is our one hope of rescue, is it?"
"You must be patient while she adjusts to the new sensors," said Clunk. "It's alien technology, remember?"
"I feel a disturbance in the fence," said the Navcom. "It's as though two souls cried out at once. It's like there's another. Do I have a secret twin?"
"As a matter of fact," began Hal, thinking of the Volante. "There is a —"
"Navcom, it's just your imagination," said Clunk quickly. "Concentrate on something else."
"It looks like chocolate," said the Navcom. "It smells like chocolate. Mmm, it even tastes like chocolate. Yummy!"
Hal's stomach rumbled. "Can't you change the subject?"
"I can't change anything," said Clunk. "This is out of my hands now."
"What, you don't have any control at all?"
"No."
"Is it just me," said the Navcom, "or is it really hot in here?"
"It's just you," said Hal at once.
"No, I think I'd better open the windows."
"We don't have any win—" Hal saw the hatch, and realised it would probably double as a window in the crazed computer's electronic brain. He darted over and gripped the door handle with both hands, bracing himself. He didn't know whether the Navcom could open the thing remotely, but he certainly didn't want the computer inviting chocolate cows and tangerine planets into the cabin … along with tens of thousands litres of cold, suffocating water.
"Ahh, that's better," said the Navcom, in her normal voice.
Hal breathed a sigh of relief. Good old Clunk - he should never have doubted the robot. "Welcome back, Navcom."
"Back? Why, where have I been?"
"Let's not go into that," said Clunk quickly. "Now, can you run a systems check for me?"
"I've already done so," said the ship's computer.
"And?"
"Where shall I begin? This ship is lacking a tailplane, wings, thrusters, a hyperspace motor, life support systems, artificial gravity, landing legs, landing lights, navigation lights and a cockpit just for starters. I know they're minor details where interstellar travel is concerned, but I thought you'd like to know."
"Ah, but that's the thing," said Hal. "This isn't a spaceship. It's a machine that digs tunnels!"
Clunk groaned and buried his face in his hands.
Meanwhile, there was a lengthy pause from the Navcom. "Are you telling me, a highly-developed, finely-tuned flight computer capable of navigating from one end of the galaxy to the other … are you telling me I've been installed into a glorified bulldozer?"
"It's not a bulldozer, it's a huge alien tunnelling machine," said Hal enthusiastically. "It's really neat, I swear. It's big and red, and you can dig holes with it and everything."
"So can a drilling rig," said the Navcom coldly. "I wouldn't want to drive one of those either."
"But —"
"A digging machine," said the Navcom in disgust. "What makes you think I'd want to control such a vehicle?"
"It's because you're wise, resourceful, adaptable …" began Clunk.
"Plus we'll erase you if you don't help us," added Hal.
"I'll pretend I never heard that," said the computer calmly. "Now, given we're underwater and the
hull is leaking, I presume the goal is to tunnel upwards and —"
"Wait … what do you mean it's leaking?" demanded Hal.
"Water is entering this vehicle even as we speak. Therefore, I assume you'd like me to tunnel upwards."
"That'd be a good move."
"It would be. It's just a shame it's not possible."
"Why not?" asked Clunk.
"Because the vertical guidance system is inoperative. I can take us further underground, but we can't go any higher."
"What about left and right?" demanded Hal.
"Oh yes, those are working fine. We can go round and round in circles all day long, or at least we can do so until our limited fuel supplies run out."
Hal snorted. "Leaky hull, fuel tanks nearly empty, no control over direction … is that the lot?"
"There's a good chance the engine won't start. I'm seeing several warning indicators which I believe may be critical."
"Can you try at least?"
"Complying."
There was a shuddering, vibrating whine which shook the vehicle from one end to the other, and then it settled down to an offbeat whirring noise that set Hal's teeth on edge.
"The good news is that it started," said the Navcom. "The bad news is that I now have several more warning lights."
"It's like flying the Black Gull." Hal saw Amy's puzzled look, and explained. "She was my first ship. A bit of a wreck, but she got me through more than one scrape."
"She was my first ship, too," said the Navcom. "I prefer the Volante, though."
"Who wouldn't?" said Hal, with a smile. Then he rubbed his hands together. "Okay, shall we get this show on the road?"
"We should formulate a plan," said Clunk.
"I have. We go straight ahead until we reach the surface."
"Mr Spacejock, you heard the Navcom. We can't go up."
"We don't have to. We just go straight." Hal held his fist up. "That's the planet, right? We're underground, and we go in a straight line." He pointed with his finger to show what he meant. "It's a big round ball, so we have to come out sooner or later, don't we?"