Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  Curtis stared at her. "Why would I do that?"

  "Play the concerned citizen. Hal comes back to pick Clunk up, and your people show him some other robot. While everyone's apologising, I turn up with Dent's packing crates and throw myself on his mercy."

  "Smart. Very smart." Rex reached for the intercom but it buzzed before he could touch it.

  "Mr Curtis? It's Mac, down at the Spaceport."

  "What do you want?"

  "That ship's coming back."

  Rex frowned. "Ship?"

  "The Volante. She's coming in to land!"

  *

  "Landing successful," said the Navcom as the Volante settled on the ground.

  "Get me a cab, and make it snappy."

  "Unable to comply. Incoming call from the Ullimo Museum."

  A tall, dark-haired man appeared on the screen. He had a narrow face with a thin beaky nose and he studied Hal with sharp blue eyes. "You must be the freighter pilot."

  "Who the hell are you?" snapped Hal.

  "Almis Sanford. I'm the security officer at the Ullimo Museum."

  "You people have security?"

  "This museum has many valuable exhibits, Mr Spacejock."

  "One less than you should have, sunshine."

  Sanford nodded slowly. "Yes, Arlene told me about your robot. My people are scouring the city as we speak. I suggest you remain aboard your ship until the investigation is complete."

  "Oh no you don't. I'm coming to the museum to talk to those workers of yours. One of them's responsible for this, I just know it."

  "The museum is sealed, Mr Spacejock. It would be a wasted journey."

  "So that's it? I just wait around for news?"

  "Mr Spacejock, before this goes any further I'd like to inquire into your own situation."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Why would someone go to these lengths to steal your robot?"

  "Hell, I don't know. Clunk's not worth anything. He's a wreck."

  "Could he have witnessed a crime?"

  "He's my co-pilot. What kind of crime could he possibly witness?"

  "He was also part of a static display in a deserted exhibition. Now, let's suppose the venue was used as a safe location to discuss an illegal matter - for example, bribing an official. If they discovered your robot was listening to their conversation, their only option would be to dispose of him, since his recorded evidence would be irrefutable in a court of law."

  "That's a hell of a stretch."

  "It's an avenue we have to explore."

  "More like a cul-de-sac."

  "Mr Spacejock, I'm an experienced investigator." Sanford gestured at the laden bookcase behind him. "You might have noticed my little foible."

  Hal stared at the books. "Why are they all the same?"

  "I'm the author. The title is Crime and Retribution, and in it I explore the connection between —"

  "Hey, I always wanted to write a book!"

  Sanford sighed. "Do tell."

  "Why don't you write it for me? I'll give you my ideas and we could split the profits."

  "Wouldn't you rather I found your robot?"

  "Oh yeah, Clunk." Hal frowned. "I feel like I should be doing something. Helping out somehow."

  "Wait for my call. That's the best you can do."

  Chapter 16

  Hal was sitting in the flight deck, his feet up on the console. An hour had passed since his conversation with Sanford, and despite his relaxed appearance he was coiled like a spring. "Any calls Navcom?"

  "Not in the last twenty-seven seconds."

  "Let me know as soon as that Sanford guy comes through."

  "I shall add your request to the others." There was a slight pause. "I detect someone coming up the ramp."

  Hal got up, walked into the airlock and stared through the porthole. A uniformed courier was struggling up the ramp with a trolley, pushing a huge wooden crate.

  Hal opened the outer door. "Is that for me?"

  The man glanced up. "Are you Hal Spacejock?"

  "Yep."

  "Then it's for you."

  "What is it?"

  "Flowers from an admirer." The man saw Hal's frown and shrugged. "They give me the box, I deliver the box. I can't afford to be curious." He retrieved a notepad from the top of the crate. "Press here."

  Hal did as he was told, cursing as it pricked his thumb.

  "S'all yours," said the courier, tipping the crate onto the platform.

  "Can't you bring it in?"

  "Oh all right. Seeing as it's my last one." The courier wheeled the box into the flight deck. "Here?"

  "That'll do," said Hal, passing him a credit tile. After the courier left Hal examined the box carefully. It was brand new, the wood still pale from the sawmill, the nail heads bright and shiny. There was a label pasted on the side, but it only had his name and the Volante's registration code on it. He was still studying the label when something stirred inside the box.

  He withdrew in a hurry, then broke into a grin. "It's Clunk! They've sent him back!" He rapped on the box, and heard a muffled knocking from inside. "I'll soon have you out, Clunk!"

  The timbers creaked, and Hal stood clear as the rough planks bowed outwards. There was a crack as the wood splintered, and a grey metal hand appeared, twisting and turning like a snake seeking its prey. Crack! Another hand appeared from the opposite side of the crate, and Hal watched in amazement as slender fingers felt the outside of the wooden box. One thing was certain: it wasn't Clunk.

  There was a loud creak and the crate rose into the air, releasing thousands of packing beads which cascaded over the deck like a snow drift. Through the falling beads, Hal saw a pair of skinny grey legs. "Are you all right in there?" he called out, keeping his distance.

  The crate turned towards him, arms waving. "Just a minute!" shouted a muffled voice. The top of the crate splintered, and a bullet-shaped head popped out. The robot had a narrow face, with high cheekbones and a prominent nose. "You could have helped me out," it said severely, frowning at Hal with its green eyes. "And why did you call me Clunk?"

  "Who are you?"

  "LI-52 at your service." The robot extended a hand. "You can call me Lee."

  Hal shook hands, still in a daze. "But … who sent you?"

  "You don't know?"

  "Know what?"

  "You remember the Sergeant Electrical Win-A-Robot competition?"

  "Sure I do. I've got a ticket."

  "Congratulations. You won!"

  "Really?" Hal scratched his head. "Clunk's going to love this."

  "Never mind Clunk. You've got me now." Lee patted the remains of the packing crate. "I'll just get changed and you can show me the ropes."

  "You mean they didn't teach you anything?"

  "Oh, yes. I have extensive training."

  "Like what?"

  "I can say “This window is closed” in six languages."

  "That's it?"

  "I can also say 'Your form is incorrectly filled,' and 'We don't have any record of your correspondence.'"

  Hal sighed. "All right, go and find yourself a spot in the hold."

  "The hold?"

  "Yes. It's the big open space we put cargo in."

  "Cargo?" The robot looked around in confusion. "What kind of office is this?"

  "It's not an office, sunshine. It's a freighter."

  "You mean a spaceship?" The robot blinked. "You don't have any windows? No queues?"

  "None at all."

  "Do you have a customer service department?"

  Hal laughed.

  "What am I going to do with myself then?"

  "How about cleaning up that packing stuff? You'll find the equipment in the —" Hal broke off as the robot's toecap opened up. There was a sucking noise, and the scattered beads vanished. When they were all gone, the cap snapped shut with a click.

  "Where are your waste disposal facilities?" asked the robot.

  "Down the elevator," said Hal. "You'll find some tools in the workshop fo
r the, er …" he gestured at the splintered crate encasing the robot's chest.

  "On my way. Pleasure to be of service."

  Hal watched the crate walk into the lift, then turned to the console. "Any calls, Navcom?"

  "Negative."

  "All right, I'm going to get some grub. Call me the instant you hear from Sanford."

  *

  A few moments later Hal was standing before the AutoChef, his fists clenched. "I said chops, you glorified food mixer. Chops, not slops!"

  The machine gurgled and sprayed a dollop of brown goop onto the floor.

  "Chops! Chops! Chops!" shouted Hal, punctuating each shout with a blow from his fist.

  "Why are you hitting the machine?"

  Hal saw the new robot standing in the doorway, watching him curiously. Without the crate it was a lot skinnier than Clunk, and it looked as if a strong breeze would carry it away. "Because it doesn't work properly," said Hal. "Slamming my fist in the right spot sometimes helps."

  "Why don't you repair it?"

  "What would I know about fixing food factories?"

  "I mean, why don't you have it repaired?"

  Hal shrugged. "You know technicians - mend one thing and break another. I'd rather smash my fist into it."

  "How Pavlovian."

  "No, it doesn't do desserts."

  The robot entered the rec room, crouched before the AutoChef's dispensing slot and inside the chute. "Would you like me to determine the reason for the fault?"

  "Aren't you a bit young to be messing with vital equipment?"

  "Mr Spacejock, my database contains the sum total of all human knowledge." Lee drew himself up to his full height. "Dismantling a simple food processor is child's play."

  "Clunk doesn't think so."

  The robot sniffed. "When I meet this Clunk of yours, I shall give him a piece of my mind."

  "If you do, you'll be gathering the rest off the floor."

  "I may look weak but I have the strength of ten men."

  "And Clunk fights dirty." Hal glanced at the AutoChef. "You won't try and improve it?"

  "I shall restrict myself to finding the cause of the malfunction."

  "Sounds fine to me." Hal pulled up a chair and sat down.

  The robot looked at him. "I wasn't planning a public performance."

  "Huh? Oh, do you mind if I watch?"

  "Frankly, yes."

  Hal glanced towards the sofa, where Lucy was fast asleep. "Will she be all right?"

  "I'm trained in customer support. I know how to handle crude, semi-intelligent beings."

  "All right, I'm out of here." Hal paused at the door. "And you're certain you know what you're doing?"

  "I am perfectly capable of disassembling this machine and locating the fault."

  "You sound very confident."

  "I am, Mr Spacejock, I am."

  "Okay, give it a shot. I'll be in the flight deck if you need me."

  "Expect my report in thirty minutes."

  Back in the flight deck, Hal interrogated the Navcom about incoming messages - none - then sat at the console. "I think this new robot might work out," he said.

  "And I think Clunk is going to throw a fit."

  Hal shrugged. "He is getting on, you know. He might appreciate the help from a younger model."

  "You could start a war with a comment like that." The console chimed. "That's Almis Sanford, Ullimo Museum."

  "Don't keep him waiting! Put him on!"

  Sanford appeared on the main screen. "Mr Spacejock, I have some information for you."

  "Shoot."

  "We've traced a vehicle from the museum. Your robot was sold to a parts shop in the city."

  "The bastards must be running a scam out of the museum. Steal the displays and flog them for cash."

  "Highly likely. Now, my people will confront the owner in the morning, so if you'll just remain aboard your vessel —"

  Hal snorted. "No chance. Give me the address and I'll deal with this myself."

  "You won't do anything rash?"

  "Who, me?"

  "Remember, the shop owner may be an unwitting accomplice."

  "I just want Clunk back. You can handle the rest."

  "Very well. Take this down."

  Hal grabbed a pad and scribbled the details. Then he broke the connection. "Navcom, put me through to the rec room."

  "Unable to comply. The microphone is non-operational."

  "Is that so?" Hal stood up. "Can you bring up the rec room on the main screen?"

  "Complying." The display flickered, but remained black.

  "Where's the picture?"

  "Unknown. My vision has been obstructed."

  "All right, rewind the display. Ten speed."

  "Complying."

  The screen remained the same for several seconds, then blurred with super-fast movement. "Stop!" shouted Hal. The picture froze, then began to play forwards, showing the new robot knee-deep in panels, components and plastic cups. A jet of thick, soupy liquid squirted from the remains of the AutoChef, and as Hal watched a large steak flew out and slapped the robot in the chest. Suddenly, the robot glanced up at the camera. It peeled the steak off its chest and advanced towards the screen. The last seconds of vision showed the steak approaching fast, before the scene blacked out.

  There was a long pause. "I guess sandwiches are back on the menu," said Hal finally.

  "Clunk's not going to be happy."

  "Navcom, I'm not happy." Hal jabbed his finger at the screen. "As soon as that menace has finished, you tell it to sit tight and wait for me. Got it?"

  "Understood."

  Hal left the ship to call a cab. While he was waiting he kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting the new robot to appear at any moment draped with cables or dragging a piece of the hyperdrive motor. Nothing happened however, and ten minutes later Hal was streaking towards the commercial district in a taxi.

  After a lengthy drive, the cab drew up outside an old building. Hal dropped a couple of credit tiles into the door-mounted slot and stepped out, glancing up at the crumbling facade and the elaborate, dirt-encrusted sign. "Robo-wreck," he muttered. "Charming."

  He crossed the pavement to the shop, his breath frosting in the cold air. A bell tinkled as he pushed the door open, and inside he found a narrow corridor with an uneven floor. There were bare patches in the carpet, and the floorboards creaked as Hal strode along the hallway to the reception area.

  A round-faced man sitting at a flickering terminal straightened his tie as Hal entered. "Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?"

  "I'm here for my robot," said Hal. "A couple of guys brought him in this afternoon. He's a —"

  "I know the one. Wait here." The man got up and went down a passage at the back of the shop.

  Hal leant on the counter. On the other side there was a dirty keyboard surrounded by discarded toffee wrappers, and nearby a robot head was being used as a dispenser, sitting upside down with brightly coloured confectionary overflowing from the neck. Hal shook his head. Clunk would have torn the place apart if he'd seen the thing. Even looks like him, he thought idly. Battered, same bronze colour …

  The man returned. "It was the KI-34, right?"

  Hal shook his head. "No, it's a …"

  "I know the one you mean." The man reached over the desk and jammed the handset to his face. "Norm? Yeah, upstairs. Got that Z series ready yet?"

  "It's not a Z series," said Hal. "It's an XG model. XG99."

  The man ignored him. "Uh huh. Yep. Nope. Client's here to collect." There was a loud squawk from the handset, and the man frowned. "I can't help that. You said five." He replaced the phone and cleared his throat. "Just finishing now. I'll go and hurry him up."

  "But …" began Hal. It was too late. The man had gone. Hal reached for a toffee from the robot's head, and was just about to pop it into his mouth when he noticed a familiar dent. He grabbed the head and turned it over, scattering lollies. "Oh no!" he whispered, staring into the lifeless eyes.
"Clunk!"

  Chapter 17

  Hal paced the reception area, treading confectionary into the worn carpet. When the owner returned Hal shoved Clunk's head in his face. "Where's the rest?" he growled.

  "Junked," said the man. "They're not worth anything, we just save the —"

  Hal grabbed his collar and hauled him off his feet. "Take me to the REST."

  "S-sure. Follow me."

  Hal released the man, who scurried down the hallway to a narrow staircase. Halfway down, he stopped and called through the banisters. "Norm, you still got those XG parts?"

  Hal grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him down the stairs. At the bottom it was like the set of 'Jack the Ripper meets the Happy Robot family'. Every shelf, nook and cranny was stuffed with arms, legs, breastplates and lifeless heads. There were sagging boxes overflowing with circuit boards, and a low-voltage strip light cast a dim glow over the scene.

  "Norm?" called the owner.

  There was a clatter from the back of the room and a large, florid man in his fifties approached. He was wearing a pair of protective glasses and smoke rose from a soldering iron in his right hand. "What's all the shouting?"

  "That XG robot you tore up. Where —"

  Hal shook Clunk's head at Norm. "Where's the rest of this?"

  "Take a look in the skip."

  The owner led Hal though the maze of shelving units and opened a heavy door. Outside there were more boxes, bursting with battered, rusty parts. In the middle of the yard stood a green skip on wheels. "They haven't picked up yet. You're in luck."

  Hal looked in the bin, which was brimming with robot parts, torn plastic bags and screwed up food wrappers. He spotted a flash of bronze, and reached in to pull out one of Clunk's arms. "Stand there and hold the bits," he said to the owner.

  "I've got to watch the shop."

  "Move from that spot and I'll break your neck."

  Hal climbed into the bin and began throwing out bulging plastic bags, digging deeper and deeper until he'd recovered Clunk's other arm and both legs. Finally, he turned over the entire bin looking for the chest. After several fruitless minutes he glared over the edge of the skip, his face red. "Where else could it be?"

  "Norm might've put it aside."

  Hal jumped down from the bin and returned to the workshop. The owner followed, struggling with Clunk's arms and legs.