Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  "No, not me. Must be your imagination." Hal ushered him towards the lift. "Come on, I want to have a look."

  *

  Hal entered the Volante's hold, following Clunk past the neat stacks of crates to the rear of the ship. Each crate had a winking red light on the front, and the effect was that of a stadium full of red camera flashes. The cargo ramp was down and Hal glanced at the elderly ship parked behind them, wondering whether they'd spare him a cup of coffee. His train of thought was interrupted when Clunk nudged him.

  "There, Mr Spacejock. See for yourself."

  Hal looked. The stasis controller was a large white cylinder covered in heatsink fins. Nestled amongst them was a status screen and a hefty power switch, and a thick black cable ran from the base to a junction box, which was connected to the silver crates via the blue wires. There were two empty sockets on the box, and a couple of blue wires were draped over the top, their plugs dangling loose. "What's the problem? That box thing still has room for the plugs."

  "That box thing is a hub, and it has room because it can be used with larger stasis controllers."

  "Have you tried switching it on yet?"

  Clunk shook his head.

  "What's the worst that can happen?"

  "Do you know what an overload protection module is?"

  Hal pictured the stricken coffee maker. "I've had one or two dealings with them."

  "Well, if we switch on the controller we could blow the module."

  "And that's non-serviceable, right?"

  "Actually, no. You can replace them easily."

  Hal shrugged. "Let's give it a shot then."

  "Are you sure? I mean —"

  "Of course I'm sure. If it hangs together we're out of here. If it doesn't, you can replace the module thingy and we'll think again." Hal patted the stasis controller, almost slicing his hand on a heatsink fin. "This is quality gear, not some cheap piece of junk."

  Clunk hesitated. "I'm still not sure."

  "It's only two crates over the limit. Are you telling me they didn't allow for a bit of give and take?"

  "Manufacturers generally allow for a margin of error," said Clunk slowly. "However —"

  "Can't you tweak the margin a bit? Upgrade the parts or something?"

  "I don't know the first thing about this machine, and you'll lose the warranty if I so much as open it."

  "There's your answer then. We'll plug it in, and if anything happens I'll get a replacement from Bent Jimmy."

  "He's five days travel from here, Mr Spacejock. If anything happens we're stranded."

  "Nothing's going to happen. Watch." Before Clunk could raise any more objections, Hal plugged in the loose wires, put his hand on the chunky power switch and pulled it down.

  Chack! The controller's status screen lit up with pulsing yellow bars, and as they climbed higher and higher the fins began to radiate serious heat. Hal glanced around the hold and saw green lights on all the crates. "It's working!"

  "For now." Clunk touched one of the fins and winced. "But will it last three days?"

  "Sure it will," said Hal. "Come on, let's go!"

  "I've got to organise clearance first, and then —" Clunk broke off. "What was that?"

  "What?"

  A second or two later Hal could hear it too: a gentle hissing, gradually getting louder. "Is that supposed to happen?"

  The controller's display exploded with a loud crack, and the glass was still rattling on the deck when Clunk pushed Hal behind a stack of crates. There was a thunderous boom and the near side of the controller disappeared in a vivid white flash, sending half a dozen fins spinning into the hold. Clunk was knocked clear off his feet, and the force of the explosion hurled the heavy cylinder out the back of the ship, leaving a bunch of torn cables whipping around in its wake. Hal's ears were still recovering from the blast when a second, deeper crash blasted his ears.

  Through the swirling smoke he saw Clunk sitting up, brushing fragments of glass from his chest. "It's all right," called Hal. "I'm okay."

  Clunk glanced at him, his face expressionless. Then he stood and walked to the rear of the hold, stepping carefully over the sparking cables. He stopped at the doorway and leaned casually on a hydraulic piston, gazing out onto the landing field.

  "Just as well it's on wheels," said Hal. "We can push it back and try again."

  Without turning, Clunk beckoned.

  Hal walked over and looked down. Through the billowing smoke he could just see the controller lying next to the old ship parked behind the Volante. The metal fins were bent in every direction and the exposed heart was a blackened knot of tubes, wires and electronics. Smouldering cables radiated outwards like arms on a barbecued squid, and flames flickered around the thick black connecting cable, which was now a strip of molten slag. "Doesn't look too good," he remarked.

  "Oh, it gets much worse," said Clunk, pointing higher.

  Hal looked. The flying cabinet had smashed into the parked ship, leaving a huge square dent in the engine housing. Various fluids were leaking out, running down the hull and dripping on the stasis controller: fuel, coolant or sewage, whatever it was, if there was anything more likely to damage the controller than hurling it at the nearest spacecraft it was soaking the thing in toxic liquids. At any second an irate pilot was likely to burst out of the ship, and it wouldn't take a detective to follow the trail of destruction back to the Volante. "We'd better fetch it and get out of here," said Hal.

  "What for? It's ruined." Clunk turned and spread his hands, encompassing their cargo. "And so are we."

  Hal caught his breath as he saw flashing red lights all over the cargo hold. "Okay, so we need another controller."

  "You won't get one here."

  "Parts, then. You can fix anything."

  Clunk's lips tightened. "Build from scratch, you mean."

  "Think of the challenge! A lone robot working against pressing deadlines. The desperate human waiting breathlessly in the wings. The triumph of success. Fame. Fortune."

  "That's the problem with humans," remarked Clunk. "You're all full of —"

  "Hey, come on! You said the protection module was easy to replace. I'd never have switched it on otherwise."

  "Are you blaming me for this disaster?"

  "Well —"

  Clunk bunched his fists. "Because if you are, I'm leaving."

  "No, never!" said Hal, backpedalling. He tripped over a cable and sat down on a crate. "Thing is, you're my only hope. I'll never get out of this one on my own."

  Mollified, Clunk crossed his arms. "Things will have to change around here."

  "Anything."

  "No more impulsive behaviour. We stick to the rules."

  "Sure."

  "No meddling with electrical equipment."

  Hal pushed the coffee maker out of his mind. "Right. Anything you say."

  "Very well. I will stay on as co-pilot as long as you keep your word." Clunk jabbed his finger at the damaged ship. "I'm going to exchange insurance details with the pilot. You're going to sit in the flight deck and touch nothing."

  "Insurance?" Hal frowned. "Is that a good idea? I mean, what about the excess?"

  Clunk's eyes narrowed.

  "Yeah, insurance. Good idea." Hal jumped up. "I'll be in the flight deck."

  "Sitting still."

  "Absolutely motionless," said Hal.

  Clunk relented slightly. "You can have a coffee, Mr Spacejock. But go easy on the sugar."

  Chapter 3

  Clunk jogged down the Volante's cargo ramp, his mind in turmoil. Had he really threatened to walk out on Mr Spacejock? He went cold at the thought. What other human would give him a home, would rely on his advice and help daily? All right, so Mr Spacejock didn't so much rely on advice as completely ignore it, but he was thoughtful and kind. Actually, on second thoughts, Clunk realised Hal was rather thoughtless, and any kindness was usually accidental. Regardless, Clunk needed a roof over his head and a socket to charge by, and the Volante was all he had.


  Lost in thought, he crossed the landing pad to the rugged little vessel, where he levered the controller upright and stood it on its castors. Once he'd hooked up the blackened cables he glanced up at the ship to inspect the damage, drawing in a sharp breath as he saw the deep square dent in the engine housing. Their insurance would cover it, but the excess would empty their account and the subsequent hike in premiums would make it impossible to earn a living.

  What if he repaired the damage himself? There was a loose flap of tin which he felt he could straighten without too much trouble, but when he touched the flap it promptly fell off. There was a crash as it hit the ground, and a coiled tube burst free of the engine, whipping around and spraying thick brown oil in a mad, random pattern. Clunk jumped clear, but not before he'd been iced with a chocolate-coloured lattice. The pipe continued to flay around, battering delicate components with abandon while the ship settled lower and lower on the ground, and Clunk felt he should step in and grab it before it did even more damage. Then again, he'd clearly made things worse by approaching the ship, and the longer he stayed the worse things were going to get, so the obvious course of action was to leave, and as soon as possible.

  The internal debate was still raging when he spotted a faded yellow sticker plastered on the ship's nose cone: This abandoned vessel has been reported to the authorities.

  Relieved beyond measure, Clunk put his shoulder to the controller and pushed it across the concrete to the Volante. After a decent run-up he forced the controller up the ramp, over the lip and into the hold. Once inside he closed the door and turned to the stasis controller to evaluate the damage. The remaining fins were bent, but that needn't affect their operation. The screen he could live without, but the large hole in the case and the blackened components inside were definitely a concern. He could replace them, but first he had to work out what they did.

  Within moments he'd mapped all the circuits to determine the purpose of each component, pinpointing the likely sources of error. He also spotted several places where he could use up-rated components to squeeze a little more performance out of the controller, hopefully enough to run the two extra crates. Once he'd listed the parts he needed he contacted the Navcom. "Can you put me in touch with an electronics supplier?"

  "Not until tomorrow. They closed at five."

  "All of them?"

  "There's only one."

  "But that means we're stuck here overnight! Are you sure we can't get parts?"

  "Not until the morning," said the Navcom.

  Clunk eyed the flashing red lights all around him. The food would survive a few hours, but he wouldn't like to leave it much longer.

  *

  While Clunk was retrieving their makeshift ship-to-ship missile, Hal had been busy in the flight deck. The robot's threats had really shaken him and it was five whole minutes before he was able to pick up a screwdriver and resume his attack on the coffee machine.

  He'd barely got within a metre of it when the Navcom chimed in. "Clunk said not to touch anything."

  "I'm not. I'm using the screwdriver."

  "Semantically correct, but I don't think that's quite what Clunk meant."

  "He should have been more specific." Hal shrugged. "Anyway, he'll never believe this thing blew up before the fuss downstairs. All I can do is fix it before he finds out."

  "But if he catches you messing with it —"

  "I'll be wearing my nuts for earrings." Hal whipped the cover off the coffee maker and peered inside. "Come on, advise me. What do I have to do?"

  "My recommendation? Put the screwdriver away and sit down."

  "You're not helping much." Hal poked around inside the machine, generating fat blue sparks as he prodded high voltage terminals with the metal tool. "It's a wreck, isn't it?"

  "You said it."

  Hal swore. "All I wanted was a cup of coffee."

  "Did you know the spaceport has an online shop? You could order a replacement machine and have it delivered to the ship."

  "You're really trying to land me in trouble with Clunk, aren't you? What's he going to say when a courier rocks up with a new coffee maker? It'll be the short-of-money speech with three encores and a curtain call and I'll be wearing my nuts for earrings."

  "I thought you were in charge of the ship?"

  "I am." Hal pictured Clunk's angry face. "Sort of."

  "Shall I bring up the shopping interface?"

  Hal sighed. "I guess there's no harm in looking."

  "What style of mall would you like? Retro, classic or bargain basement?"

  "Bargain sounds good."

  "Complying. Five credits deducted."

  The main screen flickered and a dingy-looking arcade appeared. The signs were crooked, the windows were boarded up and several derelict robots were shuffling around aimlessly. "Welcome to Rhone!" said a hand-painted banner across the entrance.

  "I'm not using that dump. Give me the classic one."

  "Accessing classic node." There was a burst of white noise and the same image came back. "Five credits deducted."

  "I said classic."

  "This is the classic."

  "How come it's the same as the other one?"

  "All nodes lead to Rhone."

  "Another bloody fiddle." Hal squinted at the gloomy image. "Is that an appliance shop?"

  The screen jumped and a store front appeared. It was a rough hack with glaring white lines where the textures didn't quite fit and a jerky waterfall animation with pixellated spray. The virtual windows were filled with poorly cropped images of white goods, overlapping to form an eye-watering montage. "Welcome to the Hand-E-Mart virtual store!" said an excited voice. "Make your selection from the following menu: housewares, homewares, hosiery, hardware, handicrafts or pets."

  "Homewares," said Hal.

  "You chose … pets. Is this correct?"

  "No."

  "You chose … no. Is this correct?"

  "Yes."

  "You chose … yes. Is this correct?"

  "Yes," said Hal, through gritted teeth.

  "Thank you. Please make your selection from the following menu: housewares, homewares —"

  "Housewares," said Hal.

  "You chose … homewares. Is this correct?"

  "Close enough."

  "Please say yes or no."

  "Yes."

  "You chose … yes." There was a delay while a fancy animated "Yes" danced around the screen. "Thank you. You are now entering the Hand-E-Mart virtual warehouse. Remember, every item is on special and delivery is included at no extra cost."

  Hal drummed his fingers on the console as a progress bar crawled across the screen.

  "Your warehouse is ready!" said the mall software brightly. "Would you like to buy this item?"

  Hal looked at the large blue toaster displayed on the screen. "No."

  "You chose … no. Are you sure about that?"

  "Yes."

  A frilly, ivory-coloured bathmat appeared. "Would you like to buy this item?"

  "No way."

  "You chose … no. Are you sure about that?"

  "I just want a coffee maker."

  The screen flickered and a squat, orange appliance appeared. It had several gleaming spouts, two dozen chrome knobs and a big warning sticker with a black lightning bolt.

  "That's it!" said Hal. "Do you have it in white?"

  The bathmat reappeared. "Would you like to buy this item?"

  "Show me the coffee maker!"

  The orange monstrosity flicked up. "Would you like to buy this item?"

  "How much?"

  "One hundred and twenty credits. Would you like to buy this item?"

  "Yes," said Hal.

  "Would you like one or two hundred?"

  "Just one."

  "Order accepted. Would you like pickup or delivery?"

  "Delivery," said Hal.

  "You chose delivery. Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  "You are calling from the Volante, docked at the Cathua s
paceport. Is this the delivery address?"

  "Yes."

  "Thank you for shopping with Hand-E-Mart virtual store. Your order will arrive within twenty-four hours."

  Hal sank back in his chair, feeling like he'd just gone three rounds with a debating team. He spotted the battered cardboard box under the console, flipped it open and grabbed a Tastee bar. Unfortunately, the chocolate had turned into a chalky white lump, and when he checked the terms and conditions on the back he discovered faulty product could only be exchanged on Plessa. "Navcom, where's Plessa?"

  The main screen displayed a system map with planets Cathua and Jordia orbiting near the primary star, Oxed, and Plessa all alone near the periphery. "Plessa is the richest planet in the system," said the Navcom. "It has the biggest economy, the busiest spaceport and the largest population."

  "Oh, that's great," muttered Hal, throwing the chocolate bar back in the box. "It'd cost us ten times this load of crap in fuel."

  "Not to mention port fees," said the Navcom.

  Hal sighed. "I'm going to check on Clunk before I turn in. I'll see you in the morning."

  "Good night."

  Hal paused near the lift. "This wasn't a bad idea about the new coffee maker, you know. I'm glad I thought of it."

  The Navcom wisely said nothing.

  Chapter 4

  A green cab made its way along Cathua City's busy main street, the light from the packed stores gleaming off its frost-rimmed windshield. Inside, the driver's eyes spent more time on his passenger than they did on the road. His fare was a tall woman with hair cropped to a blonde fuzz; her strong jaw and thin lips spoke of a driven, determined nature. Her figure-hugging white dress was a poor choice for the freezing weather, but given the eye-popping figure it was hugging, the driver wasn't about to complain.

  He hadn't complained about their route either, even though they'd just passed the Post Office for the third time in fifteen minutes. After two laps he'd realised he had a loony on his hands, but he didn't mind loonies if they were good for the fare. "Round again, love?" he said, tearing his gaze from the woman's shapely legs.

  His passenger didn't answer. She was staring straight ahead, and with a shock the cabbie realised she wasn't even blinking. Gawd. Had she carked it? "Er, miss? Hello?"