Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  "Hold on," said Clunk.

  Hal gripped the chair as the floor bucked beneath him. There were two bangs in quick succession and the holochart vanished.

  "Clunk?"

  "Concentrating."

  There was a crash and Hal was thrown out of the pilot's seat. He grabbed the chair's support with both hands and winced as the shrieking jump motors wound up to speed. His heart skipped a beat as the noise tailed off, then beat even faster as it picked up again, louder than ever. A tremendous weight crushed him for an instant, then he heard Clunk's voice loud and clear over the humming console.

  "Jump successful," said the robot. "Forg system dead ahead, ETA two hours."

  "Brilliant!" cried Hal, staggering to his feet so he could slap the robot on the back. "Thank goodness you knew about that experiment!"

  Clunk looked at the floor.

  "Clunk?"

  The robot refused to meet his gaze.

  "You mean … You mean you made it up? There was no experiment?"

  "You would never have let me attempt such a dangerous manoeuvre without suitable data," said Clunk defensively.

  "You're supposed to protect humans, not fly them through stars! You're deranged!"

  There was a loud creak below deck.

  "What's that noise? Why —" Hal's voice was drowned out by a loud crack and the sound of rushing water. The sound went on and on before dying away with a gurgle. "Was that supposed to happen?" asked Hal, in the ensuing silence.

  "I doubt it." Clunk scanned the console, tapping a dial or two and pressing several buttons. "I think all these warning lights were already glowing."

  "Don't blame me, the Gull was like this when I bought it."

  "You paid money for this ship?" Clunk read something off a monitor. "Ah, it seems the containment field for the coolant tank failed."

  "Isn't there a back-up?"

  "There is indeed, but for some reason it didn't activate." Clunk looked at Hal apprehensively. "It looks like several thousand litres of coolant leaked out."

  "Right. Where to?"

  "It settled in the lowest part of the ship."

  Hal stared at him. "But that's the cargo hold!"

  Chapter 15

  "Can't you pump the stuff out?" demanded Hal.

  Clunk shook his head. "We can't start the pumps without the Navcom."

  "Which you fried with your programming stunt."

  "I may have a solution," said Clunk. "If I download the Navcom's operating system into my own data banks I can repair the damaged code and upload a clean copy into the ship's hardware."

  Hal looked sceptical. "Do you think it will work?"

  "If it does we can start the pumps and empty the hold out."

  "And if it doesn't, we'll toss to see who gets to bail out four thousand litres of radioactive coolant." Hal sighed. "All right, give it a shot."

  Clunk leaned on the console and closed his eyes. Immediately, a moaning noise welled up, surrounding them like a crowd of wailing ghosts.

  "What the hell's that?" demanded Hal, looking around the flight deck in alarm.

  "Do you mind?" asked Clunk, opening his eyes. "This is a delicate operation."

  "Sorry."

  Clunk closed his eyes and started moaning again. After a moment he stretched his hands out, wiggling his fingers, while the moan turned into a high-pitched wail. A faint blue light shone inside the robot's chest, spilling from the gaps in his arm and leg joints, and Clunk started to shake, his jaw jabbering up and down. "Dadadadadada!"

  Hal backed away.

  "DadadadaDADA!" cried Clunk, his eyes flashing wildly. The internal light turned red, and he shuddered. "Red, red, blue … hee hee hee. Incu-incu-incu … bots … bots … bots … Mighty Muller's. Mmm. Maulers, molars, mice. Alfie, Alfie, half an Alfie. Smoke smoke steam. Brrrrrrrrrrrrr-ting!"

  The red light went out, and Clunk put a hand on the console to steady himself.

  "Are you all right?"

  "I'm cleaning the code."

  "How long will that take?"

  "Done. Now I have to upload it." Clunk closed his eyes and touched his fingertips to his forehead. The blue light flickered inside his chest, and a low groaning sound poured from his mouth. The light flashed faster and faster until it was a blur, and the sound grew to a piercing whistle. The light blazed red and Clunk spread his arms, opened his eyes wide and screamed. "YeaaaAGH!"

  Hal leapt back, falling over his feet. "Bloody hell. How about a warning?"

  "Operation complete," said Clunk. "Navcom, can you hear me?"

  "Yes, Clunk."

  "Hey, good stuff," said Hal. "Navcom, start the pumps."

  There was a groan from the bowels of the ship, and the pumps fired up with a demented, offbeat chatter. "Turn them off!" shouted Hal, covering his ears.

  The noise died down.

  "Do you understand what 'regular servicing' means?" asked Clunk.

  "Do you know what the word 'broke' means?" Hal sighed. "All right, the pumps are wrecked. What's the next move?"

  "If we landed on a planet and opened the rear doors, the coolant would flood out," said the robot.

  "We don't have time for that sort of thing. Why don't we just open the doors now?"

  "Dumping in space is illegal," said Clunk.

  "What, and dumping on a planet is all right?"

  "No, I said the coolant would flood out if we landed and opened the rear door. I didn't say we were allowed to do it."

  "Give me strength," muttered Hal. "Okay, forget about legal and not legal for a moment. What would happen if we opened the doors?"

  "Artificial gravity would hold the coolant in."

  "Wouldn't it boil away in the vacuum?"

  "No, that's why it's called coolant."

  "How about we open the doors and accelerate away?"

  "That would remove the coolant," said Clunk with a nod.

  "Great."

  "It would also remove the cargo."

  Hal frowned. "What if we only open the doors a little bit?"

  "That might hold the cargo in, but with artificial gravity enabled there's a good chance the coolant would come straight back again."

  "So we turn the gravity off."

  "It might work, but it's still illegal."

  "So is murder, but I don't see anybody standing between me and Vurdi's manic robot. Let's get on with it."

  "Very well. Under protest." Clunk addressed the console. "Navcom, cancel artificial gravity."

  "Artificial gravity off."

  Hal clutched his stomach as his inner ear forgot which way was up.

  Clunk looked at him. "I understand the sensation is most unpleasant for humans."

  Hal nodded.

  "Are you all right, Mr Spacejock? Your face has gone green."

  "Reflected light," said Hal, pointing at the console. "Open the rear doors a crack, Navcom."

  "Define crack."

  "About three inches."

  Clunk looked at him. "That's not a crack, that's a canyon."

  There was a whine of hydraulics as the cargo doors parted, and Hal eased himself into the pilot's chair, grabbing the console with one hand as he reached for the throttle. "Are you ready?"

  Clunk floated up behind the chair and put his hands on the back. It creaked as he tightened his grip. "Ready."

  Hal rammed the lever against the end-stop and the ship leapt forward with a bellowing roar, squashing him into the chair and snapping his head back. There was a strangled cry, and when Hal looked over his shoulder he saw Clunk hanging from the back of the seat by his fingertips, his body streaming out horizontal to the floor.

  There was a wrench, and the chair leant backwards. Hal lunged for the throttle lever to slow the ship, but his sudden move was enough to snap the last retaining bolt. The support tore and Hal, Clunk and the chair sailed down the flight deck towards the rear wall.

  Clunk hit first, his feet smashing into the plastic wall panels. The chair hit with a clang, and Hal's head whipped back and thu
mped into the wall, bringing stars to his eyes.

  Below decks, there was a crashing and sloshing as the contents of the cargo hold slammed into the rear doors. Once the noise subsided, Clunk put both feet on the wall and launched himself up the flight deck, sailing through the air in the low gravity. He tapped the throttle lever as he flew over the console, and there was a moment's silence as the engines cut out.

  "No!" shouted Hal as the lever switched to maximum reverse thrust.

  The ship's forward thrusters fired with a mighty roar, counteracting the headlong rush. Hal was catapulted up the flight deck to the hard, unyielding console. He bounced off the top and somersaulted into the viewscreen alongside Clunk, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the heavy chair flying towards him. He ducked and it smashed into the viewscreen above his head, scattering shards of plastic and glass.

  "Artificial gravity on!" said Clunk.

  Weight returned immediately, and Hal fell across the console, landing on his back with a thump that knocked the air from his lungs. He was still struggling to draw breath when he saw the heavy chair dropping towards him.

  *

  "Forg Orbiter ahead," said a deep, male voice. "Requesting docking clearance."

  Farrell walked to the back of the flight deck, where he took a set of overalls and a cap from a locker. He donned them, wrinkling his nose at the smell of dried sweat.

  "What's wrong?" asked Terry.

  "Nothing you'd notice." Farrell pushed his hands down the sleeves and gathered the front of the jacket. The seams flowed together and the outfit adjusted to his body. He pulled on the cap, took out a pair of scuffed leather boots and pushed his feet into them, wriggling his toes until they adjusted to his feet.

  "Clearance approved," said the computer.

  Farrell looked at the viewscreen, which showed a docking port extending from the side of the Orbiter. The deck tilted as the fore thrusters slowed the Volante, and the viewscreen darkened as a shadow cut the glare from the Orbiter's docking lights. Farrell felt a tremor as the ship connected, and there was a series of metallic clicks as the Orbiter grasped the ship and locked it in place.

  "Stand by for pressure equalisation," said the computer.

  There was a hiss of escaping air, and Farrell's ears popped.

  "Docking complete."

  "Now for this Spacejock person," muttered Farrell. "Computer, scan for the Black Gull. Get me an arrival time."

  "Complying." There was a pause. "Unable to compute ETA."

  "Are you sure? They should have been here twenty minutes ago."

  "I'm certain. The Black Gull is not in the Forg system."

  Farrell cursed under his breath. "Can you increase the range?"

  "Negative. There is interference from the Orbiter."

  Farrell snapped his fingers. "That's it. Use the Orbiter's computer!"

  "Connection established. Black Gull detected approaching planet Forg."

  "Right, stand by with the simuloid." Farrell grabbed the microphone. "It's time to give this Spacejock character some new orders."

  *

  Hal came to with a groan, then sat up with a start as a wet cloth slapped him in the face. The first thing he saw was Clunk, who was peering at him with a look of concern.

  "Are you okay, Mr Spacejock?"

  "I was until you drowned me," said Hal, blinking to clear black spots from his eyes.

  "I repaired the damage while you were unconscious," said the robot proudly.

  Hal looked around the flight deck. The pilot's chair was back in place, leaning on a slight angle, with bright patches of metal around the base where it had been welded to the deck. The hole in the viewscreen had been patched up, and the protective plastic screen was crisscrossed with yards of sticky tape.

  "Yes, er, well done," said Hal. "It looks like new."

  Clunk was still peering at him suspiciously when a ringing sound split the air.

  "Incoming broadcast," said the Navcom.

  "Put it on main," said Hal.

  There was a pop and a fizz, and blue smoke poured between the layers of sticky tape on the viewscreen.

  "Perhaps you should use another display," suggested Clunk.

  "Mr Spacejock?" said a grating voice.

  Hal got to his knees and peered at a tiny screen set into the console, where he could just make out a head and shoulders. As he tried to work out who it was, the voice grated again.

  "Where the hell are you, Spacejock?"

  "Mr Jerling? Is that you?"

  "Who else would it be? What's holding you up?"

  "We're approaching planet Forg right now," said Hal. "We should be landing at your factory in thirty minutes."

  "Right, excellent. Listen, there's been a change of plan."

  "There has?"

  "Yes. I've got a ship at the Forg Orbiter. If you transfer the cargo there it'll save you some fuel."

  "Same fee?"

  "Certainly. After you dock my men will come aboard and direct the cargo transfer."

  Hal nodded. "Understood. Oh, by the way, I'm afraid I've still got Clunk with me."

  There was a strange whispering noise from the speaker while the face on the screen stared at him. Then the lips moved and Jerling spoke again. "We'll discuss that later."

  The screen went dead.

  Hal heard a creak and looked at Clunk. The robot was shaking its head slowly, a puzzled look on its face.

  "Problem?"

  "There's something wrong," said Clunk. "I can't quite put my finger on it."

  "You can't quite put your fingers on anything," muttered Hal. "Anyway, there's no time for intrigue. We've got to clean the cargo."

  *

  Farrell frowned at the viewscreen. "Who the hell is Chunk?"

  "He said Clunk, boss. Maybe he's the co-pilot." Terry slipped the blaster off his belt and glanced at the charge indicator. "I'll deal with him first."

  "Don't worry about it. I can handle the pair of them." Farrell reached into his jacket and pulled out a deck of cards. "Want a game?"

  "I can't afford it."

  "You might win."

  Terry snorted.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "You're very lucky at cards, that's all."

  "You're not suggesting they're bent?" Farrell spread the deck to show Terry the Forgberg Casino logo on the back of the cards. "Nothing funny about these."

  "All right," sighed Terry. "But I'm only playing for a credit a game."

  "Make it five and you're on."

  *

  Hal and Clunk were standing near an open locker, halfway between the access ladder and the hold. Hal's arms were sticking out of a padded yellow jacket, which was covered with small tears through which the silvery stuffing was trying to escape - most of it successfully.

  Clunk picked fluff from Hal's shoulder and looked at it doubtfully. "Are you certain this is a radiation suit?"

  "Previous owner reckoned it was," puffed Hal as he tried to pull up a pair of padded yellow trousers.

  "You'll have to remove your boots to get those on."

  "No, they'll go through."

  "I don't think so."

  "Watch." Hal gave a tremendous heave and ripped the legs right off the trousers, scattering tufts of silver padding all over the deck.

  "I repeat, you will have to remove your boots first."

  "That was nothing to do with my boots. The bloody things snagged on something." Hal lifted his foot and bunched one of the trouser legs. As he forced the stiff fabric over his heel, the seams began to split.

  "I repeat —"

  "If you don't shut up I'll send you in there instead."

  "It's too slippery for my feet. Anyway, I won the toss."

  Hal kicked off his boots and pulled the baggy trouser legs over his flight suit. When he let go they slithered down to his ankles like discarded snake skins. He pulled the legs back up as far as he could and hobbled over to the locker, where he gripped the legs with one hand while fish
ing around inside with the other. "Aha," he said, holding up a roll of gaffer tape. "The repair kit."

  Clunk snorted.

  "Come on, stick them up for me," said Hal. "I can't let go or they'll fall down again."

  Clunk took the roll and pulled off strip after strip of tape, using them to patch the rips in the suit.

  Five minutes later, Hal was tapping his foot impatiently. "Haven't you finished yet? You must have covered the whole suit by now."

  "Nearly done," said Clunk, running his hand over a strip of tape to smooth it down.

  "They're not giving points for style, you know."

  "Just as well," said the robot. He stood back, head tilted to one side. "Done, I think."

  Hal looked down at himself. With the loose suit bound in tight tape, he looked like a big yellow sponge trussed up for the oven. "Should be all right. I won't be in there long."

  "You know, as far as radiation suits go that one's about as useful as a ballet dress."

  "I'm only going to have a quick look around."

  "Well don't look around too quickly, it won't take the strain."

  "This suit's as tough as nails," said Hal. "I got it off an asteroid miner."

  "Was he lacking in cranial hair?"

  "She was as bald as a radar dome. How did you guess?"

  "It was just a hunch."

  Hal waddled over to the door and reached for the control panel, which contained a yellow T-shaped handle and a large red button. He whacked the button with his gloved fist, driving it into the control panel with a loud crack. Slowly, the heavy door rumbled open, and a trickle of fluorescent green liquid ran into the passageway.

  Hal stepped back hurriedly.

  "It won't hurt you," called Clunk, who had retreated up the passageway and was now leaning on the flight deck ladder with the air of one expecting to be entertained. "Assuming that's really a radiation suit, of course."

  Hal looked into the hold. The cargo had been jumbled, shaken, tumbled and stirred during his aborted take-off from Seraph, leaving a mass of twisted packing crates. Now, not only were they jumbled up, they were also coated with thick, green jelly.

  "Yuk," said Hal, staring at the luminous glow. "What am I going to clean that lot with?"