by Simon Haynes
Jasmin watched him go, idly rubbing her shoe on the doormat to remove a chunk of pie crust. The lift creaked alarmingly as the courier got the crate inside, and once the doors closed on him Jasmin returned to her apartment. Now to find a ship.
*
Hal strode up the Volante's landing ramp, much more comfortable in the familiar surroundings. Going planet-side was like braving a storm in an open boat, tossed upon the whims and wiles of bureaucrats and conmen, whereas on board the ship he was answerable to nobody but himself. He'd enjoyed the duel with Kent though, and was pleased he'd put the jumped up throttle jockey in his place. Big Tip was right - a tip full of rubbish. And fancy anyone getting done over by Bent Jimmy!
As he entered the flight deck he saw Clunk kneeling on a suitcase, desperately trying to fasten the catches. He looked relieved when he spotted Hal. "Thank goodness you're back!"
"Is everything okay?"
"It is now." Clunk snapped the catches and stood up. "I managed to put a temporary fix in place with the stasis controller. You see, there are parallel circuits with zero-state transistors, and by overriding the …" He noticed the blank expression on Hal's face and decided to summarise. "It'll keep the food fresh while we're gone."
"Good. Well done."
"However, had you returned a little earlier you would have found me in a state of disarray."
"Why?"
"Packing," said the robot. "I can never decide what to take."
"Clunk, you don't have to pack." Hal rubbed his forehead. "I didn't get a ride."
"Oh, I've arranged everything." Clunk gestured at the suitcases. "We must leave right away. The ship departs from the Orbiter in one hour."
"Ship?" Hal stared him. "What did you get, a day trip on a garbage scow?"
"Nothing like that. This is a modern liner with all the amenities. The brochure was very professional."
"Are you out of your mind? I told you we're not paying for tickets!"
"That's the best part. They're paying us! I tried everything to get us a free trip to Plessa, and I was just about to give up when I came across a job listing. I signed us both up on the spot."
A warning bell tinkled in the back of Hal's brain. "Tell me it's not the Luna Rose!"
Clunk gasped. "How did you know?"
"I just spent an hour chatting to the captain while he soaked up enough alcohol to sterilise a hold full of surgical instruments. I was right there when he took the call. A pair of clueless morons, he called them." Hal paced the flight deck. "You'll have to cancel this thing."
"I can't. It's a binding contract."
"Tell them I broke my leg."
"They'll want a medical certificate."
"Tell them someone hocked your batteries for lottery tickets."
"They won't believe a lie. They'll want proof."
"Who said it was a lie?" Hal stopped pacing. "We're not going on the Luna Rose and that's flat. I told the captain we were mates with the Emperor. He'll never believe me now!"
"Mr Spacejock, be reasonable. We must have this part for the controller, and this is the only way we're going to get it."
Hal resumed his pacing with short detours around the luggage. "Maybe we could have him arrested for drunk in charge. Or we'll get him paralytic, and you can fly the ship."
"Why are you so concerned?"
"You want me to put my life in the hands of an over-confident drunk!"
"And?"
"And I'm never happy when someone else is at the controls. They might screw up."
Clunk raised one eyebrow. "You're worried when you're not flying?"
"I didn't say that," snapped Hal. "Anyway, why do we both have to go? I'll stay here, you fetch the part."
"They hired us both."
Hal looked down at the suitcases, which bore large dents from the robot's knees. Clunk had gone to a lot of trouble, and how bad could a trip aboard the Luna Rose really be? "I guess you did right," he said gruffly. "And Clunk?"
"Yes, Mr Spacejock?" said the robot hopefully.
Hal gestured at the cases. "You ruined my goddamn luggage."
There was a buzz from the console. "Incoming call," said the Navcom.
"Main."
The screen fizzed and crackled and a sparse lounge room appeared, with a tall, attractive woman in a classy red dress standing alongside a chrome-plated table. She looked at Hal and smiled. "The port commander tells me you have a freighter for hire."
"We do indeed."
"I understand you're good. The best."
"Oh, I am." Hal straightened his flight suit. "And you are?"
"Sadly mistaken," murmured Clunk.
"Jasmin Ortiz," said the woman.
"So, Jasmin. How can I help you?"
"I have a cargo for Jordia. One item, overnight delivery. It will arrive at your vessel before eleven am tomorrow." She paused. "Are you getting all this?"
"My first officer is taking down every word." Hal nudged Clunk. "Every word, right?"
Clunk nodded.
"It's vital this delivery arrives on time," said Jasmin. "Otherwise there will be … consequences."
"Don't worry, it'll be there." Hal paused. "Where is there, exactly?"
"Just land at the spaceport and my people will be in touch."
"What about payment?"
"Cash on arrival."
"How much?"
"Thirty thousand credits."
"Oh, is that all?" said Hal in a strangled voice.
Jasmin's eyebrows rose. "Very well. Make it forty."
"Forty thousand credits?"
"That's my last offer. Take it or I'll get someone else."
"We'll take it," said Hal hurriedly.
"There is just one thing," said Clunk. "What's in this item?"
Jasmin frowned. "I'm paying you to carry it. The contents do not concern you."
"Is it legal?"
Hal cleared his throat. "What he means is, how much does it weigh?"
"No I don't," said Clunk. "I mean — ow!"
"Two hundred kilos," said Jasmin, while Clunk rubbed his side.
"What about customs?"
"They'll be expecting you."
"That's what I'm worried about."
Jasmin shook her head. "There'll be no trouble from that direction, trust me. Now, is there anything else?"
Clunk opened his mouth, but Hal got in first. "Eleven o'clock tomorrow and forty grand. That's all I need."
"Excellent." Jasmin gestured at the screen, cutting the call.
"Wow," said Hal, staring at the darkened display. "All my birthdays in one go."
"Forty thousand is four times the going rate," said Clunk. "Something isn't right."
"Sounds like the perfect job to me."
"It's someone else's job."
"You don't know that."
"Listen." Clunk opened his mouth, and a recording of Jasmin's voice emerged. "I understand you're good. The best."
"So?" demanded Hal.
Clunk stopped the playback. "I am a loyal and enthusiastic supporter, Mr Spacejock, and I have tremendous faith in your abilities. However, I would not be comfortable describing our little outfit as 'the best'." He shook his head. "It's a case of mistaken identity, pure and simple."
"By the time she finds out we'll have her cash in the bank."
"You're forgetting something. We already have a cargo job!"
"Now we have two."
"And we don't have the part for the controller."
Hal nudged a suitcase with the toe of his boot. "We will soon."
"But —"
"If you think I'm letting this one slip, you can think again."
"There must be a catch. It has to be illegal."
"Nonsense. She's just a cut above our usual customer, that's all. Rich. Throws money around like water."
"In my experience, rich people don't pay any more than they have to. Not only that, she looked like a member of the armed forces."
"The short hair, you mean?"
&nb
sp; "Short? It looked like carpet!"
Hal shrugged. "Rich and fashionable. The perfect customer."
"But —"
Hal made a zipping motion across his lips. "Enough. We'll dash over to Plessa, get the part and be right back here for delivery tomorrow morning."
There was a ring from the console. "Delivery for Mr Spacejock," said the Navcom.
"What?"
"A delivery. They're waiting outside."
"But —"
"I think I see what's happened," said Clunk. "Her shipment must have been waiting at the spaceport depot, and they're delivering it already."
"No kidding. Did you work that out on your own?" Hal strode into the airlock and opened the door. The courier waiting outside held out a pen and clipboard.
"Mr Spacejock?"
"That's me."
"Sign please."
"Why?"
The man shrugged. "Company policy. Can't hand over the goods without a signature."
Hal looked past him and saw a large truck parked at the foot of the ramp.
"I haven't got all day," said the driver.
Hal took the pen and scrawled on the docket. The driver tucked the clipboard away, and together they walked down the ramp to the truck. In the back there was a pallet swathed in plastic wrap. Hal reached up and poked a hole in the plastic, but all he could see was an expanse of orange cardboard. "What's in it?"
"How should I know? I just deliver."
"I only just finished speaking to your boss. That's some operation you have here."
The driver glared at him. "It's not my fault! There was a mix up with the delivery address."
"Really? It's still amazingly fast."
"Sarky bugger," muttered the driver. He slid a collapsible lifter out of the truck, shook it open with a flick of his wrists and set it down on four tiny wheels. Then he raised the hook over the pallet, connected the straps to the corners and jerked it off the back of the truck. "Stand clear," he called as it swung round, narrowly missing Hal's head. The pallet thumped on the ground, and the driver unhooked it and folded the lifter up. "Save the complaints next time," he said, hopping into the cab. The truck roared into life and rumbled away, leaving Hal staring after it with a puzzled expression on his face.
"What's the cargo?" called Clunk from the top of the ramp.
"How should I know? It was just delivered." Hal widened the gap he'd made in the plastic until he could see printing: "Caution, hot water is dangerous!" With a sinking feeling he hooked his fingers under several layers of wrapping and pulled with all his might, ripping away an entire section. Then he groaned.
The pallet was crammed with Hand-E-Mart coffee makers.
Chapter 7
Jasmin rinsed the mop and applied it to her floor, removing the last traces of apple pie. Not that she was particularly bothered about the mess, but for all she knew her next task would be to invite some dignitary to her flat for blackmail material, and it'd be hard going if he slipped over and knocked himself out.
Despite being kept in the dark about her mission, Jasmin had to admit she was enjoying herself. Her tasks were simple, and the only sour note was the taste of punishment the controller had given her. Still, she wouldn't have to worry about that if she continued to perform.
She'd just finished mopping up when her controller chimed in. "It is time for the next stage."
"Go ahead," said Jasmin, leaning on the mop.
"You must employ two delivery drivers. You may spend up to twenty-five thousand credits, and ideal candidates will have criminal records and access to weapons."
"Weapons? What kind of mission is this?"
"Are you questioning orders?"
"No, of course not. Just curious."
"Curiosity is a luxury you cannot afford. Now, these men will be travelling to Jordia with you, but the destination must be kept from them."
"How are we getting to Jordia? Passenger liner?"
"No, you will travel with the crate."
"I didn't ask Spacejock about passengers! He's not expecting any!"
"You will arrive at the spaceport before he leaves. Offer additional funds, to a limit of twenty thousand credits."
"That should do it," admitted Jasmin. "But where am I supposed to find a pair of criminals?"
The controller didn't reply.
Jasmin frowned. Trust her to crow about simple tasks. Look what she'd been given now! She thought for a moment, then realised she could turn to the same place everyone did when they wanted something questionable, immoral or completely illegal: Galnet, the massive network of interconnected computers that spanned the galaxy. It was a huge collaborative effort containing thousands of years of human history and knowledge, and the average person still used it to download music. Jasmin reasoned that if they could get away with such a heinous crime against humanity then finding a couple of toughs for hire would be easy.
Her initial searches returned endless links to music and little in the way of actual killers, but once she filtered out names of common bands and singers the results looked more promising. Eventually she discovered two sites based on Cathua. Rent-a-killer turned out to be a pest control company, and she doubted they'd fall for the it's-just-a-bigger-pest line. She selected the other, "Mercs R Us - we do anyone", and was surprised when a stocky man with cropped grey hair popped up on the screen. His thick forearms rested on a scarred wooden table and his muscled torso strained his camouflage T-shirt, although a cynical observer might point out that anyone wearing clothes a size or two on the small side was going to fill them only too well. Behind him sat a skinny teenager with huge baggy trousers, a T-shirt with a gigantic zero in the middle and a cap with the peak hanging over one ear. He was wearing a bandolier stuffed with spare batteries, and his belt was laden with compact grenades.
"Welcome to Mercs R Us," said the grey-haired man. "Who do we do?"
"You're not a used car salesman, are you?"
"Nah, miss. It's Barry and Ace, guns for hire. I'm Barry, he's Ace."
"G'day," said Ace.
"And you kill people, do you?"
"Sure. Lots."
"Have you been doing this long?"
"What's with the questions, lady? You got a job or not?"
"It's not whether I have a job, it's whether you can handle it."
"Course we can. What is it?"
"I'm embarking on a trip and I need support crew. There may be shooting."
"No sweat."
"What experience do you have?"
"Football hooligans, vandals, rent-a-mob, violent debt collectors, standover men —"
"You handle all those things?"
"No, miss. We are all those things."
Jasmin smiled. "Excellent. Meet me at the spaceport tomorrow. Eleven am."
"Wait a mo! You don't know our rates yet! And where are we going?"
"The destination is a secret, and I'll pay double your going rate. Just be at the spaceport with your weapons."
"We want overtime," said Ace, "and meal breaks."
Barry shushed him. "Which vessel?"
"The Volante," said Jasmin. "And don't be late."
*
Hal shot into the flight deck and skidded to a halt in front of the console. "Navcom, get onto that Hand-E shop. There's been a terrible mistake."
The screen whirled and the Hand-E-Mart logo appeared. "Do you want orders or payment?"
"Neither. Complaints."
"Connecting you now."
A grubby office appeared, complete with a battered filing cabinet, sagging desk and dog-eared piles of records. Sitting at the desk was a large, bearded man in shirtsleeves. He was toying with a pen, and as he spotted Hal he dropped it on the desk and reached for a sheet of paper. "Mr Spacejock?"
"Yes, I just got —"
"Bob Knutchem, Hand-E-Mart. My people tell me there's a problem with your delivery."
"Damn right there was! I ordered one of your coffee makers and —"
"No, a problem on our part. T
he driver should have collected your payment."
"But I wanted one machine and you sent a whole pallet of the things!"
"It's a popular model. One of our best-selling items."
"Not to me they're not. I want them picked up."
Bob frowned. "Picked up?"
"Yeah. I'll keep one, but the rest have to go."
"We don't do pickups."
"So hire someone who does."
"We don't take returns. All sales are final."
Hal shrugged. "I'm going to leave them outside my ship. Either you collect them or they'll get burnt to a crisp when I leave."
"Mr Spacejock, I don't care what happens to your coffee makers. It's the money I'm interested in."
"Send someone over and I'll pay them."
Bob smiled. "It's so much better when people are reasonable."
"I'm only paying for one," warned Hal.
The smile vanished. "Ah." Bob took up the pen and tapped it lightly on the desk. "This is where things get unpleasant."
"Don't threaten me, buster. If you want to blame someone, get hold of the idiot who programmed your shop."
"My shop works perfectly."
"It's rigged!"
"Say that again and I'll sue for slander."
"I'll bet you get every sucker who lands here. Increase the order, ship the stuff out and hide behind the local laws."
"Mr Spacejock, you placed an order and I delivered the goods. Unless you pay me immediately I shall resort to other methods."
"Get stuffed, you cheap crook."
The pen broke with a splintering sound. "You'll regret that," snapped Bob.
"What are you going to do, send the boys around for a little chat?"
"I wouldn't call them little, mister, and they don't talk much."
"I'll be gone before they're anywhere near me," said Hal, thumbing the disconnect. The screen cleared and he drummed his fingers on the console, deep in thought. Bob's enforcers didn't worry him, but Clunk's reaction when he uncovered the bill for the coffee makers was going to be truly frightening.
At that moment the lift opened and Clunk entered the flight deck. Hal glanced at him fearfully, but the robot's face was only mildly disapproving: in other words, normal.
"I've secured Jasmin's cargo, Mr Spacejock. Oddly enough, it was twenty kilos lighter than expected."