Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  Hal stared at him. "Jasmin's … ?" Suddenly he realised a golden opportunity had presented itself. If Clunk thought the coffee makers were Jasmin's, why correct him? Explanations could wait until later. Much later. "Very good. Excellent."

  "I confess, I don't understand why anyone would pay forty thousand credits to ship coffee machines to Jordia."

  "We're couriers, not economists. And she told us not to worry about the contents."

  Clunk shrugged. "Perhaps there's a shortage."

  "Forget about Jasmin. We've got a shuttle to catch and time's running out."

  "You're right. Can you give me a hand with the luggage?"

  Hal reached for the nearest suitcase, then stopped. "Hey, wait a minute. We're only going for a few hours, aren't we?"

  "Correct," said Clunk.

  Hal tapped his suitcase with his boot. "So what have you packed?"

  "Winter clothing, in case it's cold."

  "And the other one?"

  "Summer clothing, in case it isn't."

  "What about yours?"

  "A few tools and spares."

  "Put it all back. We're travelling light."

  "But —"

  "If we need anything, we'll buy it."

  "But —"

  "No buts. Put it away and meet me outside." While Clunk struggled into the lift with the cases, Hal extracted his battered cardboard box from the locker and took the ramp to the ground. He saw movement at the far side of the landing field, where a wedge-shaped shuttle was getting ready to leave, with navigation lights flashing and heat-haze rising from its slatted vents. The ship's engines fired, and thunder rolled across the landing field as the nose tilted up. It hung in mid-air for several seconds, getting louder and louder, until there was a massive thunderclap and the ship streaked into the sky atop a blinding flare of light, leaving rolling clouds of dust and smoke in its wake.

  "Wow," muttered Hal, squinting at the receding shuttle in awe. He'd be travelling aboard a similar vessel, and if the ride was anything like that he was in for one hell of a trip. He felt the ramp move and looked round to see Clunk shutting the airlock. As the robot finished Hal sought out the shuttle, which was now just a flickering speck in the sky, bright against the deep blue. He gathered his cardboard box as Clunk came down the ramp. "All set?"

  The robot nodded at the box. "I thought we were travelling light?"

  "I am," said Hal, handing it over. "You're travelling with this. Come on, we don't want to miss our flight."

  *

  Hal and Clunk entered the terminal and followed the signs to Departures, navigating lifeless escalators and unattended security checkpoints. Upstairs, they found a waiting area with rows of hard plastic seats and a 180-degree view of the landing field. There were no passengers to be seen, and the only person in evidence was a cleaner rearranging dust with a large broom.

  "Excuse me!" called Hal. "We're booked for the Luna Rose. Can you tell me where the shuttle leaves from?"

  The cleaner jerked his thumb at the window.

  Hal looked out. Apart from the Volante and the derelict freighter, the landing field was empty. "So where is it?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I asked you where the shuttle is."

  "No you didn't."

  "I did!"

  "You didn't. You asked where it leaves from." The cleaner pointed to a bare patch of concrete. "And it leaves from there."

  "Okay, wise guy. Where's the ship?"

  The cleaner pointed to the sky.

  "It hasn't landed yet?"

  "Landed?" The cleaner shook his head. "It just left!"

  "You must be mistaken," said Clunk. "They employed us for shipboard duties. It can't have left."

  "He's right. It's gone," said Hal. "I saw the damn thing taking off while you were messing about with all that luggage."

  "But it wasn't supposed to leave until eleven thirty!"

  "Some bigwig made them take off early," said the cleaner. He fished a bedraggled toothpick from his breast pocket and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. "President, they say. Going to Jordia."

  "So how do we get to the Orbiter?"

  "There's always Joe," said the cleaner.

  "Joe?"

  "He runs the ship shop on the other side." The cleaner nodded towards the landing field. "Always moving his stock around. If you ask nicely he might take you up."

  Hal glanced across the field. On the far side he could just make out a garish sign with the words "Joe's Ships of Distinction" above an image of a rocket ship.

  "It's a long walk," said Clunk. "Do you think we could hire a taxi?"

  "That's my money you're throwing around."

  "But if we don't get to the Orbiter in time we'll miss our flight to Plessa."

  "I'm just saying you could be a bit more frugal."

  "Who bought a whole box full of mouldy confectionery? Who signed up for a commset without checking the contract? Who —" Clunk lowered his voice. "Who bought a self-exploding stasis controller from Bent Jimmy?"

  Hal's gaze dropped to the ground below, where a collection of service vehicles were parked in a neat line. "No need for a cab, Clunk. Come on."

  Chapter 8

  "Are you sure you don't want me to drive?"

  "Shut up and get on," said Hal, who was sitting at the controls of a luggage truck, revving the engine impatiently.

  Reluctantly, Clunk climbed aboard and lowered himself into the passenger seat. As he was reaching for the seatbelt, Hal rammed the truck into gear and pressed the accelerator to the floor, launching them across the landing field in a series of fits and starts.

  At the far side he parked the truck under the Joe's Ships sign and killed the engine. They jumped down and hurried into the sales office, which was set up like a lounge room. There were comfortable armchairs, side tables laden with sales material, a bubbling coffee maker and a large desk. As they entered, a fat man in a lemon yellow suit sprang up and hurried across to greet them. "Good morning, sir! Welcome to Joe's Ships of Distinction!"

  Hal shook the pudgy ring-laden hand. "Are you Joe?"

  "That's me. Need a ship - just ask Joe. I got everything from hoverbikes to megafreighters and my prices can't be beat." He glanced at Clunk. "You're not going to offer that as a trade?"

  Hal shook his head. "He's my co-pilot."

  "Fallen on hard times, eh?"

  Clunk frowned at him. "What did you say?"

  "Leave it, Clunk." Hal cleared his throat. "Look, we have to get to the Orbiter, and —"

  Joe groaned. "Not another one."

  "Can you help us?"

  "No way. Serious buyers only."

  Hal looked thoughtful. "As it happens, our fleet does require an additional freighter."

  Clunk looked surprised. "It does?"

  "Sure. You're always moaning about the cost of fuel. We could use a small ship for the little jobs." Hal glanced at Joe. "Can we have a look at the stock?"

  "Well of course, but you've caught me a little short at the moment. The bulk of our ships are spread amongst the other branches, and the big stuff is up there." Joe jerked his thumb at the ceiling.

  Hal looked up. "What, on the roof?"

  "Ha ha. Sir has a wonderful sense of humour."

  "So where do you keep them?"

  "In orbit, sir. Our largest vessels are not suitable for planetary landings."

  "We're not interested in big ships. I want to see the smaller stuff."

  "As I said, we're a little short of stock right now. However, if you'll come this way I may have just the ship you're looking for."

  "Do you have anything available for immediate purchase?"

  Joe grinned. "Everything's for sale, sir. Now, if you'd like to pass into the hangar, I'll fetch my notes."

  As Joe trotted off, Hal and Clunk strode towards the hangar doors, which were open a metre or so.

  "What are you playing at?" hissed Clunk. "Acquire a vessel for our fleet? What kind of -?"

  "We need a ship,"
whispered Hal.

  "We can't afford to buy one!"

  "He doesn't know that, does he?"

  "Not yet, but the penny will drop when it comes to paying the bill."

  "No it won't," said Hal, with a chuckle.

  "Ah. So what's the plan?"

  Hal tapped the side of his nose. "Just play along, Clunk. Don't contradict me."

  "I never do that, Mr Spacejock. I just straighten out the occasional misunderstanding."

  "Well leave them bent." Hal glanced into the dingy hangar and whistled at the sight of a huge rusty hull. "If that's small, I'd hate to see the bigger stuff."

  They approached slowly, craning their necks as they took in the ungainly craft. The rounded nose cone was covered in thick heat shielding to withstand re-entry temperatures; there was a large air intake in front of each stubby winglet, and behind the trailing edges the body of the ship flared out to incorporate an oversized engine. The joint was pierced with a double row of rivets, and beyond the rivets the rest of the ship was just a huge, rusty exhaust cone.

  Clunk reached up and scraped several layers of grit from the compliance plate. "Alpha II class," he said, with a faraway look in his eyes. "This vessel belongs in a museum."

  "I think it just came out of one."

  Clunk studied the rivets. "It wouldn't have looked like this when it was new. Someone's cut the back off the original hull and welded on the booster rocket from a Titanic-class orbital insertion module."

  "Is that good?"

  "It's powerful," said Clunk. "I wonder how they modulate the thrust?"

  Hal walked to the back of the ship and peered up at the exhaust cone. "This is bigger than the ones on the Volante," he said, his voice echoing inside the hollow shape.

  Clunk nodded. "Titanics were used for very heavy payloads. They used to have six of these jets." He looked at the ship through half-closed eyes and shook his head gently. "Totally impractical. Heavy on fuel and a pig to fly."

  "Will it do?"

  Clunk stared at him. "Do? It's a grab-bag of spare parts assembled by a home mechanic with a death wish."

  "I kind of like it. It's quirky."

  "The word you want is “lethal”."

  Hal pointed to a bulge running the length of the hull. "I wonder what that is?"

  "I don't believe it!" said Clunk, staring in horror. "They put the fuel tank on the outside!"

  "Just look at the size of it. It must have a terrific range."

  "At least ten kilometres."

  "Eh?"

  "Yes. If you land heavily, you'll destroy everything within a ten kilometre range. And I don't have to remind you about your landings."

  "You can handle that part."

  "I don't think I'd care to try."

  "Anyway, we don't need to land. A quick blast to the Orbiter and we're set."

  "Gentlemen, I see you've discovered the Phantom-X1!"

  Hal glanced around and saw Joe entering the hangar. "Clunk reckons this thing's a death trap."

  "Nonsense, man. The X1 is a spacer's dream! Open the throttles on this baby and you'll be peeling your eyeballs off the rear wall. Treated right she's as gentle as a lamb, but when you need the power you just dial it in and …" Joe thumped his fist into his cupped hand. "Boom!"

  Clunk raised one eyebrow. "It blows up?"

  Joe glared at him. "Why don't you go and polish yourself. The captain and I have to talk business."

  Clunk leaned forward. "You are speaking to a chief financial officer. Wouldn't you agree that “sir” is a more appropriate form of address?"

  "Oh," Joe blinked. "But certainly, sir."

  Hal smothered a grin. "How much?"

  Joe weighed him up. "For you sir, a mere one point eight."

  "Gack!" Hal's grin vanished. "Two million for that piece of junk?"

  "Junk? This fine vessel was recently serviced!"

  "Salvaged," said Clunk. "And they forgot to sweep the cobwebs out of the exhaust cone."

  "If the price is beyond your means, feel free to make an offer."

  "One two-fifty in cash," said Hal firmly. "And that's with a full load of fuel."

  Joe turned pale. "That's not an offer, it's an insult! Why, you couldn't replace the engine for that!"

  "You can't replace the engine at all," said Clunk, tapping the side of the ship. "It's welded in place."

  "Even so, one two-fifty is preposterous."

  "It does seem a little low," said Clunk.

  Hal glared at him. "Maybe you should go outside and polish yourself."

  "One six-fifty," put in Joe.

  "One four."

  Joe mopped his brow. "It's going to kill me, but you have a deal."

  "Thank you. Could we have the rego transferred immediately? We're in a hurry."

  "Takes a week, sir. That is, unless …"

  "One four-fifty."

  "She's all yours. A pleasure doing business with you."

  "There's just one thing …"

  "Yes?"

  "I'm not buying this ship without a test flight."

  "Aha!" exclaimed Clunk. "Now I see what you're —"

  "Just a quick trip up and down," said Hal hurriedly.

  "I'll have the ship prepped. Would you like a drink in our customer lounge while you wait?"

  "Sounds good. I could use a coffee." As they left the hangar Hal glanced back at the rusty old vessel. "I wonder who gave it such a dumb name? Phantom-X1 sounds like something out of a trashy science fiction novel."

  Clunk nodded. "A very astute observation, Mr Spacejock."

  *

  The Phantom's triangular flight deck had a console wedged into the pointy end and banks of poorly fitted lockers across the rear wall. Above the console was a concave viewscreen with a rippled surface and a yellowed plastic border. Multiple lines of text scrolled by on the screen, listing system failures, the precise distance to the nearest hospital and the likelihood of the whole shooting match exploding in a raging fireball the minute the engines were started. "In case of fire," said a sign at the rear of the flight deck, prominently displayed above an axe in a locked cabinet.

  Hal crossed the flight deck, ducking his head to avoid the low roof. He sat at the console, and while he looked over the flickering lights and faded gauges Clunk settled into the co-pilot's seat alongside him. There was a loud creak and the robot sprawled on the deck as his chair sheared off.

  "That never happened before," said Joe, kicking aside fragments of crumbly metal. "I'll have it fixed."

  Clunk inspected the broken support. "Metal fatigue. Stress fractures. Rust." He looked at Joe. "Exactly how old is this vessel?"

  "It's been refurbished."

  "According to these instruments, this ship is overweight and underground."

  Joe ran a finger around his collar. "Would I be here if it wasn't safe?"

  Hal finished inspecting the scarred console and reached for a recessed knob. "Everyone ready?" He pulled the knob without waiting for a reply, and a dull roar shook the Phantom from nose to tail. "What the hell was that?"

  Clunk frowned at him. "You just activated the afterburners."

  "Really? I hope nobody was behind the ship."

  "If they were, you just saved them the expense of a cremation." Clunk pushed the knob back in. "Don't touch that again. It'll drain the fuel tank in less than fifteen minutes."

  Joe cleared his throat. "I don't want to teach you guys your job, but there's a checklist for taking off."

  "There is?" Hal looked around. "Where?"

  Joe mopped sweat from his forehead. "First, you have to clear the area."

  "I think we can skip that part," said Clunk.

  "Not with the engines. You have to announce your intention to depart."

  Hal cupped his hands around his mouth. "Listen up everybody. We're about to leave, so grab on to something and hang on tight."

  Joe shook his head. "Through the microphone."

  "This one?" asked Hal, grabbing a stalk on the console.

 
; "No," said Joe, as the ship tilted. "The silver one with the black grille on top."

  "Got it." Hal leaned closer to the microphone. "Phantom-X1 departing. Please vacate the area immediately." He glanced at the salesman. "Okay?"

  "You didn't switch it on." Joe saw Hal's expression and continued quickly. "But I'm sure it won't matter just this once."

  "Damn right," said Hal. "Clunk, get this thing moving."

  "Yes, Mr Spacejock," said the robot smartly. He leaned forward, flipped a couple of switches and pressed a button. "This console reminds me of your old ship," he said, as a multitude of red lights began to flash.

  "The Black Gull?" Hal looked around. "What, solid and dependable?"

  "No, incredibly dangerous." Clunk looked up from the instruments. "We're ready to leave. Do you want to do the honours?"

  "Sure." Hal cleared his throat. "Computer? Can you hear me?"

  A crackle emanated from a battered speaker grille. "Waddya want?" growled a male voice.

  "Hello, I'm Hal."

  "Oh great. Another human."

  Hal frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Last time I had one of your lot on board it took a week to get the stains out."

  Hal heard footsteps, and looked round to see Joe halfway to the exit. "Where do you think you're going?"

  "I'm going to leave you guys to it. Lots of paperwork to do. You understand."

  "Aren't you supposed to keep an eye on us?"

  "I'll watch from the ground," called Joe as he hurried from the ship.

  "Probably has this thing insured for twice its value," muttered Hal. He turned back to the console. "Computer, take us to the Orbiter."

  "Get stuffed," said the computer with a flash of the console lights.

  Clunk looked apologetic. "Mr Spacejock, I'm afraid this ship doesn't work like that."

  "Oh?"

  "It's a manual system. Everything by hand. You know."

  "I jolly well don't," said Hal. "Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

  The computer chimed in. "If you want to go someplace, you damn well find it yourself."

  "Okay, how's this for manual?" said Hal, bringing his fist down on a large green button. There was a cough from the back of the ship, followed by a howl from the engine as it sucked in fuel and blew it out the exhaust cone in a jet of super-heated plasma. The deck flexed visibly as the roaring pounded Hal's ears. "Whoo-hoo!" he yelled. "That's what I call a lift-off!"