Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  "I disabled the weapon," called Clunk. "You could hurt someone."

  "I'm trying to!" shouted Hal. "Turn it on again!"

  "I mean you could hurt someone else. This is a built-up area."

  "Trust me to get saddled with a do-gooder," muttered Hal to himself. After giving the joystick a couple of experimental twiddles, he gave up and watched the limo. He saw the passenger window go down, and then Farrell leaned out. There was a fizz, and bright energy bolts zinged from the weapon in his hand.

  "They can't hurt us with that," called Clunk.

  The shots went lower and lower until there was a loud bang. The armoured car started to wobble, and Hal saw a black shape fly off the ride. "They shot a wheel off, you crazy robot! Quick! Turn the bloody gun back on!"

  "Hold on tight."

  "I am!"

  There was a terrible squeal as Clunk applied the brakes. Thick tyre smoke obscured the rear view, and then the limo burst through like a shark, still travelling fast. There was an almighty crunch as it slammed into the back of the armoured vehicle, and Hal saw Farrell and Terry hurled forwards, only to be caught and held in a blue forcefield.

  There was a powerful roar as Clunk gunned the motor again, while behind them the limo weaved across the road, belching black smoke. "Take that you pricks!" shouted Hal, gesturing at the screen with his finger. Slipping off his seat, he descended the ladder and joined Clunk up front. "Neat move."

  "It won't hold them up for long."

  "We can worry about that later."

  "I'd start worrying now," said Clunk, gesturing at the forward screen. "We're approaching a toll booth and the barrier is down."

  "A little strip of wood isn't going to hold this thing up."

  The engine note changed as the heavy vehicle slowed. "I have to stop," said Clunk. "My programming forbids —"

  Hal pointed out the side window. "Hey, what's that over there?"

  As Clunk turned to look, Hal leaned over and pushed the joystick. There was a roar from the engine, and the armoured car burst through the barrier with a squeal of tortured metal.

  Clunk frowned at him. "I don't like being fooled."

  "And I don't like being caught by gangsters. Drive on!"

  *

  "I told you he'd make for the spaceport," said Farrell, as the limo passed the buckled barrier. The cabin reeked of smoke, even with the windows open, and the car lurched along the road like a drunk.

  "How did you know?"

  "Where else would you hide a spaceship? Come on, move it. We've got to get there before they lift off in the Volante."

  "We'll be lucky to get there at all," said Terry, as he fought with the controls.

  "Turn right at Haywood's copse. We'll take the back road."

  *

  After winding through the trees for several hundred metres, the approach road split in two. Clunk took the left-hand fork, and before long they came to a heavy fence guarded by a row of booths, unlit and deserted except for one at the far end. Inside, the uniformed guard was watching a small portable vidset.

  Hal grabbed Clunk's arm. "Pull over."

  The vehicle stopped and Clunk looked at him expectantly.

  "We can't just drive in with this thing." Hal gestured at the fence. "And we'll never bust through that. It's ten times stronger than the one at Farrell's place."

  "It's all right," said Clunk. "I have a plan."

  "Yeah?"

  "From the outside, nobody can see into this vehicle."

  "That's a good plan. I can see that working like a charm." Hal waved his hands. "Here Fred, let this heavily armed vehicle through. Can't be a wrong'un, because there's no-one in it."

  "Perhaps you'd let me finish?" Clunk tapped his chest. "I can impersonate Farrell."

  "Oh, sure."

  "I can!"

  "You don't look anything like him! He's got hair and you're a robot. Even the most dim-witted, thick-headed guard on the planet would see through it before you got within fifty metres."

  "Who said anything about seeing me? I was talking about impersonating his voice."

  "They'll never buy it."

  Clunk gestured at the fence. "Would you rather scale that?"

  Hal eyed the dense coils of razor wire. "All right, go for the impersonation."

  The armoured car rumbled up to the toll booth, powerful engine growling. Clunk stopped alongside the booth, his eyes flickering as he reprogrammed his speech pattern.

  Hal looked at the side viewscreen, where he could see the guard staring at his vidset. On the screen, several tiny figures were chasing a jet-powered ball around a sky-hockey pitch. The score read 300-1, and from the look of it the Rhinos were just about to make it 300-2.

  "I'm ready," said Clunk.

  Hal put a hand on the robot's arm. "Wait."

  Inside the hut, the guard reached out and pressed a button without taking his eyes from the game. A ticket spooled out of the dispenser, and Clunk cracked his door open and took it. Immediately, the barrier rose out of the way.

  "Go," muttered Hal. "Come on, move it!"

  The armoured car belched smoke and the heavy vehicle rumbled under the barrier, barely squeezing through the narrow gap. "There goes his employee of the month award," remarked Hal, as the barrier dropped behind them.

  Clunk gunned the motor and the armoured car roared along the access road, emerging on the spaceport apron between a pair of maintenance vehicles. "Do you remember where you left the Gull?"

  "On the landing field, of course."

  "Do you know which pad?"

  Hal shook his head. "I was in a hurry to inspect the damage."

  "Damage?" Clunk looked at him. "What damage?"

  "Fire. Ground control diverted us into a rubbish tip. We were coming in too fast, see? The rubbish cushioned the landing, but it, er, caught fire."

  "And was there any damage?"

  "It was a bit hard to tell. I mean, the Gull wasn't exactly pristine to begin with."

  "But still spaceworthy?" Clunk shook his head. "Don't answer that."

  They drove past a passenger liner, her brilliant white flanks gleaming under batteries of floodlights. Two men were pushing a trolley past the carpeted passenger ramp, heading for a cargo lift. As the lift rose towards the belly of the ship, they leaned on the railing and watched the armoured car pass by.

  "I remember that ship," said Hal. "Turn right here."

  The car swung past a refuelling cluster. "There she is," said Hal, as he spotted the distinctive outline of the Black Gull. However, Clunk turned in the opposite direction. "Where are you going?"

  "If they got here first, they could be watching the ship." Clunk drove the armoured car behind a fuel tanker and switched the engine off. "I'm sure they guessed our destination, and if they're not here now they soon will be."

  "So we just sit here and die of old age?"

  "Perhaps I could suggest a more workable alternative."

  "Shoot."

  Clunk pointed towards the back of the car. "I'll make my way to the Black Gull. If I'm spotted they'll think I'm just another robot. In fact, with this suit on they might even mistake me for a human."

  Hal looked him up and down. "If you say so."

  "Once I'm aboard I'll run up the engines and prepare for take-off. When everything's ready, I'll flash the landing lights three times. That's your signal."

  "Three times. Got it."

  Clunk opened the door and stepped out.

  "Hang on," said Hal. "Turn the gun on before you go. If they come nosing around I'll give you some cover."

  Clunk reached up and tapped the bulging side of the fuel tanker. "Best not. One stray shot …"

  "Ah."

  Clunk went to close the door, then hesitated. "If I don't make it Mr Spacejock, it was a pleasure working with you."

  "Skip the speeches, okay? We're the good guys. We're going to win."

  Clunk gave him a brief nod, and them he was gone.

  Hal opened the door and looked back along the
vehicle's flank, watching the shadowy figure heading for the Black Gull. The robot had only just reached the ramp when a car drove past, stopped and reversed. Hal stared at the glossy black limo in shock. Farrell and Terry! And they'd seen Clunk!

  Hal dropped into the driver's seat and gently closed the door. He found the master switch and flicked it on, bringing up the outside views on the screens. On the smallest screen, labelled 'Rear', he saw Terry and Farrell sitting in the limo, their backs to him as they studied the Black Gull.

  Chapter 29

  "That's the third time we've come along here," remarked Terry, as the limo emerged from the shadow of a huge freighter. "I told you they wasn't coming to the spaceport."

  "He's a pilot, Terry. Where else would he meet the bloody ship? Here, go left."

  The car turned sharply and darted under a passenger liner, narrowly missing a pair of baggage handlers. "Keep your eyes open."

  "What if he's disguised? A well-organised gang like this … they could have uniforms or something."

  Farrell glanced back at the handlers, who were still gesticulating. "Spacejock's a freelancer, not a criminal mastermind. He'll be here eventually, and when he turns up we'll nab him and find out where the cargo went. Then he can vanish permanently."

  "He keeps vanishing, that's 'alf the problem."

  "You got a better idea?"

  "You've got Peace Force contacts. Surely they can spot an armoured car?"

  Farrell winced. "I'd rather not."

  "They do know you've got those things?"

  "Yeah, but I don't want them looking too closely."

  "Why, are they stolen?"

  "No."

  "Illegal weaponry?"

  "No, nothing like that." Farrell glanced at a scarred, rust-streaked ship. A bronze robot in a flashy suit was making its way up the passenger ramp, looking around furtively as if it were up to no good.

  "So why —" began Terry.

  "I haven't paid the rego."

  Terry stared at him. "You're barmy! You get twenty years for that!"

  "Hey, wait a minute!" shouted Farrell. "Stop! Go back!"

  The car reversed sharply.

  "That was him," said Farrell, pointing at the rusty freighter. "I just saw Spacejock's robot, all done up in a dinner jacket."

  "You did?" Terry looked at him doubtfully. "It's been a long day, boss. You don't think …"

  "I know what I bloody saw!"

  "It can't have been Clunk. You chucked him in a lake."

  "Then he got out again, didn't he? And don't you recognise the ship?"

  Terry looked. "Hey, it's that heap of Spacejock's."

  "Naturally. He didn't teleport here, you know." Farrell looked at him. "Your little box of tricks didn't work, did it?"

  "He didn't hyperspace, did he? It only works if you hyperspace."

  Farrell settled in his chair. "Spacejock's got to be around here somewhere. He must have sent the robot ahead to prepare the ship."

  "So where's the Volante?"

  "Probably halfway round the planet. You can see what they're up to - their stooges have taken the cargo somewhere quiet in my ship, and now Spacejock's going to follow in his ship and transfer the cargo. They'll torch the Volante and use this piece of junk to deliver Jerling's parts."

  Terry looked at him with respect. "You've really got them sussed, boss."

  "Don't sound so surprised. Spacejock is hardly an intellectual giant."

  "No, but neither …" Terry's voice tailed off under Farrell's cold stare. "So, what do we do now?"

  "That robot's getting the ship ready." Farrell glanced out the side window. "Spacejock must be skulking nearby. We'll get him when he tries to go aboard."

  "What if we miss him? We can't chase them in this."

  "That's right."

  "And if we shoot them down, we'll never find the cargo. When his mates hear what's happened they'll scarper with the Volante."

  "Very perceptive."

  "Your brother won't half be pissed if you lose his ship."

  "You leave Gordon to me." Farrell's face cleared. "That's it! He wanted me to collect his flyer!"

  "Shouldn't you get the cargo back first?"

  "You don't understand. Gordon's flyer has just been serviced, and it's right here at the spaceport. We can use it to follow Spacejock's ship!"

  At that moment the Black Gull's landing lights flashed three times. Immediately, there was a roar from a powerful engine.

  "He's taking off!" cried Terry, as the roar got louder and louder.

  "That's not the ship," said Farrell. "It's coming from …" He twisted in his seat just as the armoured car slammed into the side of the limo, tipping it up and rolling it over and over, tumbling Farrell and Terry inside like a couple of mannequins in a washing machine. It finally came to rest, and there was a squeal of tortured metal as the armoured car drove clear.

  *

  The Black Gull was airborne before Hal was halfway across the flight deck. As he sat down, the ship turned sharply and roared across the landing field, heading for Jerling's factory on the opposite side of the planet.

  "I got them, Clunk. You should have seen it!" Hal raised a hand and drove his fist into it. "Smashing!"

  "It was very dangerous," said Clunk severely. "You could have hurt someone."

  "They're all right. I saw them shaking their fists at me." Hal clapped the robot on the shoulder. "We've done it, Clunk!"

  "I'm very pleased, Mr Spacejock."

  Then Hal's face fell. "Of course, if those robots of yours don't turn up …"

  "They're not my robots. You brought them along."

  "You let them out of the shop, didn't you? And you gave them the Volante."

  "They'll be there."

  "Jerling will have you scrapped if they don't turn up."

  The robot's head dropped. "That's closer to the truth than …"

  Beep!

  "Vessel approaching from astern," said the Navcom. "Range three hundred metres."

  "Probably just traffic," said Hal.

  Clunk looked up from the instruments. "It's directly behind, Mr Spacejock. Closing fast."

  "It's nothing."

  "It's matching our course."

  "All right, all right." Hal waved a hand. "I'll take a look if it'll make you happy."

  One of the smaller screens flickered and a fuzzy blob appeared. Hal laughed at the sight. "Ooh, scary."

  "They're right behind us. Our exhaust is interfering with the picture." Clunk adjusted the controls and the ship heeled round. The image sharpened, showing a trim, powerful flyer banking to match their course. The image zoomed rapidly until Farrell and Terry could be seen sitting side by side in the cockpit.

  "Not those jokers again!" exclaimed Hal. "Hey, let's slam the brakes on! Maybe they'll run into the back of us."

  "It won't work. That little ship is much more agile than ours."

  "So what are we worrying about? They can't knock us down with that little thing!"

  Clunk watched the picture. "They're doing something."

  "Eh?" Hal squinted at the image. Farrell was flying, and alongside him Terry was taking a black tube from a padded case. "What's he going to do with a telescope, glare me to death?"

  "That's not a telescope, Mr Spacejock," said Clunk gravely. "It's a photon cannon."

  "Armoured cars, photon cannons … what next, orbiting lasers?"

  Clunk pursed his lips, puckering up the stiff plasteel. "I'm getting an idea," he said slowly.

  "Oh, great," said Hal. "Go on, let me have it. I haven't had a good laugh for ages."

  "Down to the hold, quickly."

  *

  The noise from the Black Gull's engines was overpowering, and Farrell struggled to maintain course as the fragile craft bucked and leaped in the turbulence. "They must have seen us," he said, as the Gull weaved from side to side. He eased the stick forward, dropping out of the twisting, roaring exhaust. "They'll never lead us to the Volante now."

  Alongside
him, Terry continued to assemble the photon cannon. He slotted the barrel into the chunky grip, laid the weapon aside and took up a hefty clamp with a swivel on top.

  "Mind the upholstery," said Farrell. "Gordon's in love with this thing."

  Terry opened the side window and dropped the clamp over the door sill. He twisted a handle, and there was a muted bang as the grip fired an anchor straight through the bodywork.

  Farrell stared, speechless.

  "Sorry boss. These things need a stable platform." Terry mounted the cannon on the swivel and took out an oblong powerpack, which he slotted into the weapon. After swinging it through a couple of arcs, he flipped the arming switch. "Keep them round this side," he said, gesturing at the Black Gull. "I'll get their port engine first."

  "They won't crash?"

  "Nah. They can land on one engine."

  Farrell eased the stick to the right, angling the flyer so the Black Gull drifted towards Terry's cannon. Suddenly he saw the cargo doors swung open. "What are they doing?"

  "Watch them closely," muttered Terry. "Spacejock's a tricky bastard."

  Farrell squinted as two figures appeared at the back of the hold. One of them shook his fist wildly, overbalanced, and would have fallen right out of the ship if the second figure hadn't grabbed him by the flight suit.

  "If he falls out you won't be able to ask him anything." Terry gestured at the cannon. "What shall I do?"

  Farrell glanced over the side and saw houses dotting the landscape below. "We can't do it here. Follow them for now."

  *

  At the back of the hold, Clunk was trying to explain his plan.

  "We throw scrap at them," he said, raising his voice over the Black Gull's thundering exhaust. "All we need is one piece of metal in the air intake."

  Hal stared at the robot in disbelief. "You dragged me down here for a coconut shy?"

  "A what?"

  "You're unbelievable," shouted Hal. "You want to throw a lump of metal into the air intake of a flyer three hundred metres away? It's impossible!"

  Clunk spread his hands. "I'm sorry, Mr Spacejock. It was the only idea I could come up with."

  "It's dumb enough to be in a movie," shouted Hal. "Anyway, you stripped the ship on Seraph, remember? We don't have any scrap."

  Clunk tapped the hydraulic pistons dangling on either side of the open doors. "These were for the ramp. You don't need them any more."