by Simon Haynes
Chapter 42
Si Matthews met them in a diner, where he waved to them from a corner booth. "I ordered food for you. Is that all right?"
Hal was still reeling from the shock of losing the Volante, and for once a slap-up feast was the furthest thing from his mind. Still, it was a free slap-up feast. "I could probably manage something light," he said dully.
"I hear you're looking for work, and I've got another cargo job for you," said Matthews.
Hal felt his stomach clench. "We can't help you," he said quietly. "We don't have a ship any more."
"I heard, but that's okay because there's no flying involved. You just need to drive a truck."
"Really?" Hal brightened, just a little. Freight was freight, right? "What's involved?"
"Well, there's a shipment of —"
"Here you are sir. Your breakfast."
The waiter laid a plate on the table, and Hal thanked him before picking up his knife and fork. Then he looked down. On the plate in front of him were two eggs, half a tomato, a slice of toast … and half a dozen thick bacon rashers. Without a word, Hal put the knife and fork down and pushed the plate away.
"Not a fan of a fry-up, eh?" said Matthews. "Tell you what. They do a really good hamburger."
Hal groaned.
"Just a glass of water, then?"
Hal groaned even louder.
"All right, all right. Forget about breakfast." Matthews frowned. "Now where was I? Oh yes, the job. There's a shipment of frozen food which has to be collected from the local warehouse and delivered to half a dozen supermarkets. It'll only take a couple of days, and the pay's not too bad. It's enough to get you back on your feet, anyway. Maybe rent a motel room, or buy a ticket out of here."
Hal shrugged. It didn't sound great, but beggars couldn't be choosers. "So this cargo. What is it?"
"Let me see." Matthews glanced at his thinscreen. "Oh yes, here we are. It's a shipment of frozen bacon."
* * *
"Mr Spacejock! Your actions were totally uncalled for."
Hal and Clunk hurried away from the restaurant, where they'd left Si Matthews in the hands of several waiters. One was wiping tomato sauce from his face, another was picking bacon from his hair, and a third was trying to remove a wedge of paper serviettes from the agent's mouth.
"We spent two days fighting the B'Con, and I'll be damned if some jumped-up agent is going to turn me into a laughing stock."
"He was only trying to help."
"No he wasn't. He was trying to be funny. Bacon for breakfast, shipping frozen bacon … bacon every damned where."
"He doesn't know about the B'Con, Mr Spacejock. Nobody does."
"Amy does."
"And she won't tell anyone."
"Are you sure of that? She could go to the media and sell the story to some hyperbolist hack. There'd be a fortune in it." Hal thought for a moment. "Quite a big fortune, wouldn't you say?"
"No, Mr Spacejock. If you tried to tell our tale we'd be a laughing stock for sure."
"I guess you're right." Hal spotted a cash machine. "We'd better get some money out. Who knows where we'll be sleeping tonight."
"Agreed."
Hal accessed his account, then frowned at the nine-digit number on the screen. At first he thought it was the account number, but then he realised something rather wonderful. It wasn't the account number, it was the account balance, and it ran to half a billion credits! "Clunk, there's enough there for a whole new ship!"
"That's enough for a fleet of ships," said the robot.
"But how? Where? Why?"
Clunk accessed the recent history. "It was the Navcom. She's been busy trading."
Hal turned his face to the sky. "Navcom, all is forgiven." Then, with a whoop of delight, he started dancing madly around the terminal, giving ecstatic thumbs-up to startled passers-by.
Ker-ching!
"Mr Spacejock! Look!"
Hal hurried back to the terminal, where Clunk was pointing to a substantial deposit. "What's that?" demanded Hal.
"It's the interest on the savings."
Ker-ching! Another chunk of change hit the account.
Ker-ching! Ker-ching! Ker-ching!
Hal did a quick calculation, and his smile grew even bigger. With that much money flowing in, he'd never have to work again!
"I don't like the look of the client list," said Clunk, with a frown. He was studying the list of recent jobs more closely, and his face grew longer with every entry. "This is a who's who of criminal organisations, terrorist groups, activists …"
"It wasn't us, it was the Navcom," said Hal quickly. "And hey, maybe nobody will notice."
Buzz!
Hal frowned. A new amount had just hit the account, but the figures were red this time, and the balance had just gone down.
Buzz!
"Hey, what's happening?" he demanded, as the balance shrunk again.
"Someone noticed." Clunk pressed one button, then another, as he tried to find more details on the transactions. With each press there was another buzz, and more of Hal's money disappeared. Soon there was a cacophony of buzzing noises, and the cash fairly vapourised under Hal's distraught gaze.
Ping!
At this final noise, several lines of text appeared on the screen, right beneath an official-looking crest of arms.
This account has been closed under Proceeds of Crime legislation.
Have a nice day!
And there, underneath, was the worst news yet: Funds remaining: 0 credits.
* * *
There was a roar as a battered truck rumbled along the deserted highway, and a squeal from the brakes as it slowed for the turning. Brake lights flared in the darkness, and the headlights swung across an expanse of empty fields. The driver was a dishevelled-looking man in a grubby flightsuit, his unshaven face pale in the light reflected from the dashboard.
The truck picked up pace again, crossing a bridge before rumbling along the road. There was a railway crossing ahead, and the driver sighed as the warning signals began to flash. He slowed the truck to a stop, and waited in silence. He'd been driving the same route for a month now, and the crossing got him every time. It was fate, thumbing her nose at him. It had to be.
The engine coughed once, twice, then died.
Frowning, the driver tried restarting his vehicle, but the ignition was dead. He was about to get out when an intensely bright light winked on, directly overhead. The beam pinned the truck like a moth, encircling the vehicle and turning the surrounding shadows into impenetrable blackness.
The warning lights continued to flash, and the truck began to shake gently under an invisible force. At this, the driver rolled his eyes. "An alien abduction?" he muttered. "Really?"
Then, with a loud whoosh, the truck was sucked upwards into the belly of a B'Con scout ship.
* * *
"Are you Hal Spacejock, late of the Volante?"
The truck driver shielded his eyes against the glare. "Yeah, that's me."
"You killed Grand Admiral Lardo?"
Hal felt a chill, but there was no point denying it. "One of them, yeah."
"Please note that in the record," said a voice. "The Euman admits he ended Lardo's life."
"Am I on trial?" asked Hal. "Because if I am …"
"No, this is just a hearing. We need to establish the facts."
"Well, the fact is that murderous swine got what was coming to her. They all did."
There was a murmur of voices, quickly shushed. "Grand Admiral Lardo has already been condemned for her part in recent events. Her record has been erased, her name removed from the honour rolls."
"Good."
"By destroying your vessel with sentient beings on board, she directly contravened the orders of the —"
"Wait, what?" Hal frowned. "Lardo destroyed the Volante?"
"You didn't realise this fact?"
"I, er —"
"Oh, I understand the confusion. She didn't destroy it herself, but she did orde
r her troops to do so. Your navigation computer was killed in the process, and according to our tests, this computer was technically a sentient being."
Hal was still digesting this information when the B'Con spoke again.
"We have no wish to go to war with the Euman empire, and as such we must offer reparations for Lardo's actions. We would like you to accept this gift as a token of the friendship between our races." So saying, a B'Con in full dress uniform approached Hal, carrying a polished metal briefcase.
Hal eyed the case. "The Volante wasn't cheap, you know. It'll take quite a bit of cash to replace her."
"We believe Eumans place great value on these devices, and this small collection should be enough to replace your trading vessel." The B'Con held up the case and opened it. Nestled inside, embedded in grey foam padding, were two dozen zeedeg power modules. Their status lights winked balefully, and several were already showing orange alerts.
"That's, er, very good of you," said Hal. He hesitated. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but you couldn't organise a couple of suitcases stuffed with cash instead?"
"We can't gain access to your currency without leaving a trail."
"Gold would do," said Hal.
"We're not here to negotiate," said the B'Con stiffly. "If you don't want our gift, we can just as easily withdraw the offer."
"No, the gift is fine," said Hal quickly. "I'll take it."
"Excellent." The B'Con hesitated. "You should probably sell them in the next few hours," he advised. "You know what they say about primitive technology."
"Sell them quickly. Will do."
The B'Con stuck out his arm. "It was a pleasure meeting you, and I hope to renew your acquaintance in future."
Dazed, Hal shook the general's trotter. Then, before he knew what was happening, he was sitting in the truck at the railway crossing, with the briefcase full of unstable power modules on the seat beside him. The baleful spotlight winked out, and there was a faint rumble as the huge B'Con vessel departed.
Hal eyed the case, then glanced at his watch. Then he started the truck, turned it towards the city, and floored the accelerator.
* * *
"What about this one?" Hal indicated the screen. "One careful owner, only driven on Sundays, generous discount for cash buyers."
Clunk eyed the listing. "No, it's a death trap."
"So was my first ship, but I still made a living."
"Eked out an existence, you mean. And it nearly killed you in the process."
"But it didn't, did it?" Hal picked up the handset and dialled the seller. "Hello? I'm calling about your ship."
"I'm sorry, it's no longer available."
Hal frowned. "If you sold it, why didn't you remove the ad?"
"I didn't sell it. It blew up on the landing pad, and my lawyers told me —"
"Say no more." Hal replaced the handset and turned to the screen. "Okay, what about this? Fixer-upper to suit skilled pilot."
"No."
"All right, negative nelly. What have you come up with?"
Clunk sighed. "Nothing, Mr Spacejock. I'm afraid we don't have enough for a decent vessel."
"Yeah, well I still think you sold those zeedegs too cheaply."
"If I'd waited any longer there wouldn't have been any zeedegs to sell. Or, indeed, anyone left to sell them to."
"We could get a loan," suggested Hal.
They looked at each other.
"All right, bad idea." Hal rubbed his chin, which still itched even though he'd got rid of the straggly beard. "Why don't we invest the cash? If we pick the right investment we could double our money."
"Halve it, more like." After a moment's hesitation, Clunk wiped the list of available ships. "Mr Spacejock, can I make a suggestion?"
"Does it involve me hanging around seedy little Spaceport bars?"
"Not this time."
"Go on, then."
"Why don't we take a break from the cargo business? We have a large sum of money at our disposal, and if we travel the galaxy we're bound to encounter interesting opportunities. And who knows, if we take our time we might come across a bargain. A suitable ship at the right price."
Hal thought for a moment. He was a freighter pilot, not a space tourist, but it was a bit hard to be a pilot without a ship. And Clunk was right … if they travelled widely enough, something would fall into their laps. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. "All right, let's do it. Book a couple of tickets out of this dump, and let's see what happens."
"Will do, Mr Spacejock."
"And Clunk …"
"Yes, Mr Spacejock?"
"If you want to bring Amy along, that's fine with me."
The robot stared at him in surprise. "Why would she travel with us?"
"Because she fancies you, you idiot. You're too blind to see it, and she's too shy to tell you." Hal picked up the handset and passed it to Clunk. "Go on, ask her."
"I couldn't possibly. It's … inappropriate."
"No it isn't. You're both adults."
Clunk eyed the handset as if it were going to bite him. Then, gingerly, he took it. He got through immediately, and his eyes closed as he heard Amy's voice. Before he could speak his nerve failed him, and he shoved the handset at Hal. "You do it, Mr Spacejock. I … I can't."
Gently, Hal pushed the handset back. "Ask her."
Reluctantly, Clunk held the device to his ear. "H-hello? Amy?"
"Clunk! Is everything all right?"
"Mr Spacejock and I are about to leave."
"Oh, that's a shame. Well, goodbye then."
"Goodbye Amy."
It was all Hal could to not to snatch the handset back. "Clunk, I swear, if you don't ask her …"
"Amy, don't go! Tell me, do you have any holidays coming up?"
"Yes, term ends next week. Why?"
"Would you like to travel with us?"
"Travel? Where to?"
"I don't know," said Clunk desperately. "Around the galaxy."
There was a long silence. "Okay," said Amy at last.
"Really?"
"Sure. I'd like to."
"I'm so very pleased. Thank you. Thank you!" Clunk hung up, then beamed at Hal. "She said yes, Mr Spacejock."
"Of course she did, you idiot. Now book us three tickets out of this place before she comes to her senses."
Clunk left for the booking desk at a run, and Hal grinned to himself as he sat back in his seat. He and Amy might not get along, but he was willing to put up with her for Clunk's sake. Anyway, if she distracted the robot it would leave Hal free to do whatever he wanted … and with all that money in the bank, there were a lot of things he wanted to do with his life.
Hal smiled to himself as he took a sip of coffee. Sure, they'd lost the Volante. Sure, they'd almost started an intergalactic war. Sure, they'd pulled the plug on a vital dam and escaped death a dozen times over. But look on the bright side … they had a boatload of money and an entire galaxy to explore at their leisure.
Who could ask for more?
Epilogue
* * *
Water hell happened?
That's what residents of planet Chiseley are asking themselves, after the much-touted new dam failed to live up to expectations. Engineers are struggling to explain why the planned lake is emptying faster than they can fill it. Social media is rife with rumours, covering the spectrum from #alienplot to #blackhole, with special mention for #thedamreallysucksnow.
In other news, the price of used zeedegs has crumbled following a sudden flood of devices onto the market. The military are scrambling to check their stocks, although initial reports indicate the devices were sourced from long-lost vessels.
Finally, three commercial pilots have been stood down following an ill-advised media appearance, during which they claimed to have sighted an alien vessel in the skies above Chiseley. Experts dismissed their claims, pointing out that bright lights moving in the sky could be explained by regular, human spaceships travelling to and from th
e planet. The pilots insist the vessel was of alien origin, and all we can say is … what were they drinking? There's must be something odd in planet Chiseley's water … if you can find any!
About the Author
Simon Haynes was born in England and grew up in Spain, where he enjoyed an amazing childhood of camping, motorbikes, air rifles and paper planes. His family moved to Australia when he was 16.
Simon divides his time between writing fiction and computer software, with frequent bike rides to blow away the cobwebs.
His goal is to write fifteen Hal books (Spacejock OR Junior!) before someone takes his keyboard away.
Simon's website is www.spacejock.com.au
For new releases and updates:
Facebook Page, Twitter & Mailing List
This edition published 2013 by
Bowman Press
ISBN 978-1-877034-48-0 (mobi ebook)
ISBN 978-1-877034-54-1 (epub ebook)
ISBN 978-1-877034-42-8 (Paperback)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Hal Spacejock series to date:
1. Hal Spacejock *
2. Hal Spacejock: Second Course
3. Hal Spacejock: Just Desserts
4. Hal Spacejock: No Free Lunch
5. Hal Spacejock: Baker's Dough
6. Hal Spacejock: Safe Art
7. Hal Spacejock: Big Bang
www.spacejock.com.au
* Also available in French & German
About Hal Junior
Simon also writes the Hal Junior series for children:
Hal Junior: The Secret Signal
Hal Junior: The Missing Case
Hal Junior: The Gyris Mission
Hal Junior: The Comet Caper