Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  Clunk raised an eyebrow. "We haven't left the ground yet. That's just the warm up." He nodded towards a T-bar set into the middle of the console. "Push that forward to advance the throttles."

  "How far?"

  "You have to balance the thrust requirements with local gravity, fuel load and atmospheric pressure."

  Hal stared at the lever for a moment or two, then shoved it forward to the stop. The ship responded immediately, hurling itself into the air like a shell from a naval gun, trailing streamers of unburnt fuel, a ninety-metre tongue of flame and enough noise to shatter a mountain. There was a bone-jarring crash as it burst through the hangar roof, and Hal was thrown off his seat, landing heavily on the deck. He tried to get up, but the engine kept pouring out power, howling like a wounded animal as it blasted the ship into space.

  Lying flat on the deck, Hal struggled to remain conscious against the crushing force of gravity. And failed.

  Chapter 9

  Hal opened his eyes and tried to lift his head, only to discover that he was glued to the flight deck. Dust fell from the roof onto his upturned face, and the itchy, gritty feeling led to an explosive sneeze.

  Clunk's face loomed above him. "Mr Spacejock, thank goodness you're awake."

  Hal raised his hand, and with Clunk's help he managed to fight the crushing gravity and get to his knees. The flight deck whirled around him and multicoloured lights flashed all over his vision. "I must have copped a real whack."

  "Sorry?"

  Hal twirled his finger. "My head's going round and round and there's flashing lights everywhere."

  "That's not your head, Mr Spacejock. The ship is spinning out of control."

  "I see." Hal rubbed his chin. "Where's the escape pod?"

  "There isn't one."

  "Emergency exit?"

  "Negative."

  "Seatbelts?"

  Clunk shook his head.

  "We're screwed."

  Clunk nodded.

  "Oh come on, there's always a way out."

  "Not this time. And the Orbiter is dead ahead."

  "How far ahead?"

  Clunk glanced at the console. "Pretty close, actually."

  "So stop the ship."

  "I can't," said Clunk. "The throttle's stuck on full ahead."

  Hal's eyes widened. "Computer! Show me a visual!"

  A dense starfield appeared on the main screen. The Cathuan Orbiter was dead centre, a rotating spoked wheel whose many inhabitants were blissfully unaware of the spaceship now bearing down on them. There was a large hub in the centre of the wheel, with a number of brightly lit docking bays, and as the Orbiter grew larger and larger Hal could see helmeted workers inside the bays. They all seemed to be staring at the Phantom.

  "Computer, that's close enough. You can stop zooming now."

  "I'm not zooming anything. That's a static image."

  Hal staggered to the console and grabbed the throttle lever. Muscles bunched, he braced his feet against the console and gave an almighty heave. The lever slid easily, banging against the stop, and the momentum hurled him backwards across the flight deck. He slammed into the spiral staircase, bounced off and dropped full-length onto the decking. "You told me it was stuck!" said Hal, glaring accusingly at Clunk.

  "Yes, under the console," explained the robot. "They used proprietary fixings and I don't have the tools to open it."

  Hal stared around wildly, then let out a triumphant cry as he spotted the fire axe. He darted across the flight deck, raised his arm and drove his elbow into the glass cover. Crack! The glass remained intact and Hal doubled up, clutching his throbbing arm and swearing under his breath. Meanwhile, Clunk undid the catch and opened the glass door. Hal recovered, yanked the axe from the clips and ran to the console, where he rained frenzied blows on the front edge. The axe rose and fell, chipping pieces of fake woodgrain off the console that zinged around the flight deck like angry hornets.

  Hal stopped to examine his handiwork. The edge of the console was a twisted mess, with bright gashes where the axe had done its work. On screen, the Orbiter was getting bigger by the second. Throwing aside the axe, he dug his fingers under the front edge of the console and hauled upwards with all his might. "Come and help!" he shouted to Clunk.

  The robot stood alongside, and they strained together. Suddenly Hal felt the slightest of movements. "Harder!" he yelled, redoubling his efforts. There was a creak as the console lifted, then a long, drawn-out groan as the entire cabinet rolled over and fell flat on its back with Hal and Clunk sprawled on top of it. They stood up hurriedly, and Hal gestured at the jumble of dusty, sparking cables. "Your turn."

  Clunk reached into the tangled wires. After a moment or two the main drives cut out, then came back on with a deeper roar. Despite the artificial gravity, Hal was thrown against the console, and the metal surface dug painfully into his chest.

  "We're not going to make it," said Clunk calmly, looking up at the screen. "We're going too fast."

  "Rubbish," said Hal. "We'll use one of those docking bays."

  "Only briefly."

  Hal stared at him.

  "Whoosh!" said Clunk. "Right through the back wall."

  "That's it!" cried Hal. "Aim for the gap between the spokes!"

  Together they hauled the console upright, and Clunk used the controls to fire the side thrusters. Ever so slowly, the Orbiter inched away from the centre of the screen. For a split second it seemed they would slam into the nearest spoke, a huge steel lattice packed with tubes, cables and access shafts, but somehow the ship rocketed through the narrow gap, engines howling.

  They came to a halt several kilometres beyond the Orbiter, motors idling. In the ensuing silence Hal's heavy breathing sounded like a punctured life support system.

  "D'you think they saw us?"

  "Saw us?" Clunk stared at him. "Mr Spacejock, that little stunt will be the lead item on every news service in the galaxy."

  "Really? Hey, maybe we should hang a "Spacejock Freightlines" banner out the back and do it again!"

  "I don't think that's a very good idea," said the robot. "People might get the idea their cargo is less than safe in your hands. Plus the banner might tangle on one of the spokes, and the publicity you'd get by accidentally towing the Orbiter into the local star doesn't bear thinking about."

  Hal thought for a moment. "Okay, tell 'em we had a computer failure. Doddery piece of junk almost killed us."

  "I heard that," said the computer.

  Hal turned to the console. "Come on, I need your help."

  "Why don't we tell them the truth?" asked Clunk. "The throttle got stuck because you treated it roughly."

  "We can't tell them that! They'll think I'm an idiot!"

  There was a long silence.

  "And … and it was your fault anyway."

  "Eh? Mine?"

  "You had the controls, didn't you? I was out cold."

  Clunk opened his mouth, then closed it again.

  Hal gestured at the console. "Computer, you're with me on this one, right? That's two votes to one."

  "Incoming message," said the computer.

  "Who is it?"

  "The Orbiter. Department of Infringements and Public Relations."

  "Do you want to take it?" Hal asked Clunk. There was no reply, and when he glanced to his right he saw the robot's eyes gleaming wildly through a shimmering veil of super-heated air. Somewhere, a fan was rattling as it strove to cool the robot's circuits, and there was a series of squeaks as Clunk clenched and unclenched his fists. "I'll take it," said Hal hastily, turning to face the main screen. It flickered and buzzed, then showed a spartan, white-painted office with a grey-haired man sitting at a desk. He did not look happy.

  "It was my robot," said Hal. "He treated the throttle roughly and it got stuck."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Me too. Won't happen again. Bye."

  "Names please."

  "Er … Smith."

  "And who's that with you?"

  "My robot.
His name is, um, Datoid."

  "Well, Mr Smith, I'm not really interested in your robot. My business is with you."

  "Business?" Hal's ears pricked. "You have a cargo?"

  "More of a burden." The man glanced at his terminal. "Excessive speed, dangerous manoeuvring, failure to obey signals …" he frowned at Hal. "And one of your landing lights is out."

  "But the throttle got —"

  "I don't want to hear it. Your ship will be impounded pending payment of a five thousand credit fine. Please dock immediately to accept your punishment."

  "I object!" shouted Hal as the screen went dark. "Hey! Come back!"

  "They'll have your pilot's licence for this," said Clunk.

  "Pilot's licence, eh?" Hal looked uncomfortable. "Wouldn't want to lose that. Most inconvenient."

  Clunk stared at him. "Please tell me you have a licence."

  "It's not my fault," said Hal, shuffling his feet. "They doubled the price a few years back, and I didn't have the money."

  "A few years?" said Clunk faintly.

  "Then you came along, and I figured I could share yours."

  "You just figured that, did you?"

  "Look, the payment for this cargo job will cover my licence. Happy?"

  "Not particularly."

  "Situation normal, then." Hal gestured at the screen. "Forget the fine. We'll bypass the Orbiter and catch up with the Luna Rose in deep space."

  Clunk reached for the controls, but before he could touch them classical music began to play from the speakers. "Oh dear. Too late."

  "Why? What's that racket?"

  "Docking manoeuvres initiated," said the computer. "This ship is now under Orbiter control."

  *

  Hal watched the screen as Clunk reversed the Phantom into the docking bay. Thrusters fired, lights flashed and buzzers beeped, but the robot seemed unfazed as he guided the ship into its berth. Halfway through the manoeuvre there was a gentle scrape, prompting a slight hiss from Clunk.

  "What was that?" demanded Hal. "What did we hit?"

  "Nothing," said Clunk. "Everything is going smoo —" His voice was drowned out by the sound of rending metal, exactly like train tracks being fed into a blender. He shot Hal a worried glance, then turned his attention to the console. "Computer, show me a visual."

  The main screen flickered into life, showing an expanse of stars. As the sound of tortured metal continued, the stars disappeared from the sides as if someone were drawing a pair of jet black curtains.

  "It's the docking bay doors!" exclaimed Clunk, relief evident in his voice.

  Hal looked at him. "What did you think it was?"

  "Oh, er nothing."

  "Go on. You thought we were scraping the side wall, didn't you."

  "That's a negative," said Clunk firmly.

  "You looked worried enough." Hal winced at a particularly loud screech. "How come we can hear it, anyway?"

  "The noises are being transmitted through the metal frame of the space station."

  The stars vanished and the ship rocked as the huge doors met in the middle. Concealed lights came on, illuminating the rust-streaked paint, and Hal frowned as he saw liberal splashings of graffiti. "How the hell did they get up there?"

  Suddenly a synthesised voice crackled from the speakers. "Greetings star travellers, and welcome to the Cathuan Orbiter! For your convenience this simple, easy-to-use menu will present you with all available options and interpret your voice commands. To make a selection, speak the option clearly and concisely."

  Hal got up and strode towards the airlock.

  "Where are you going?" asked Clunk. "You haven't heard the menu yet."

  "Stuff that." Hal entered the airlock, walked to the outer door and checked the display. Green. He frowned. Was that air, or no air? Mentally tossing a coin, he operated the door and took a deep breath. Okay, green was air. Rank greasy air, but breathable all the same.

  Hal stepped from the airlock and strode down the Phantom's ramp to the oil-stained decking below. At the foot of the ramp he found a narrow door, which opened to his touch. Inside was a dingy, cramped airlock, and after negotiating the familiar controls he found himself in a circular space with grey-painted walls and a computer terminal. The floor was a metal grid, and looking down he saw a similar floor several metres below, another beneath that, and so on until they faded into darkness. In places the metal grid shone with fresh welds as if it had recently been repaired. Looking up, he saw the ceiling was the same.

  The terminal screen flickered into life and an angry face appeared. The lips moved forcefully, but no sound came out, and when the man finished the terminal displayed a terse message: "Ship Impounded. Five thousand credit fine."

  Hal grinned at Clunk, who'd just hurried in. "They can get that out of Joe."

  "We were in control of the ship."

  "Oh no we weren't. You said so yourself." Hal nodded towards the exit. "Come on, let's find the Luna Rose."

  Chapter 10

  Hal and Clunk hurried along the Orbiter's carpeted passageways, following overhead signs to the Luna Rose's boarding gate. At every sign they passed Hal expected the status to change from 'boarding' to 'departed'. At the gate his fears appeared to be confirmed - a thick red cord stretched across the airlock doorway and there was no sign of either staff or passengers.

  "Don't tell me we've missed it."

  Clunk shook his head. "They're probably cleaning up after the last run."

  "Cleaning up?"

  "To be precise, hosing down. For the average traveller, space sickness and zero gravity aren't the best combination."

  Hal winced.

  "On the plus side, there'll be plenty of hot meals going around."

  There was a snick, and Hal saw a smartly dressed woman removing the red cord. "You cut it fine. We're just leaving." She looked at them expectantly. "You are flying with us today?"

  "More than just flying." Hal gestured at Clunk. "He signed us on. We're crew."

  The woman's eyebrows rose, and Hal copped a double blast from her attractive green eyes. "Crew?"

  "Positions 14-69 and 24-T," said Clunk. "They were advertised on Cathua."

  "Kent wanted the best," added Hal. "And he got us."

  "But," said Clunk.

  "But what?"

  "But he got us. Not and."

  Hal bared his teeth in an attempted grin. "Bloody robots, eh? Precise to a fault." He waved Clunk towards the boarding ramp. "Go on, off you go. You'd better get settled."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "I'll be along in a minute. Go on, vanish."

  Clunk glanced at Hal, then at the woman, then back at Hal. Without a word, he left.

  "Is that your robot?" asked the owner of the stunning green eyes.

  Hal nodded. "Unfortunately."

  "You don't look like a steward."

  "I'm not," said Hal. "I'm a pilot."

  "Okay."

  "No, really. You should see my ship." Hal spread his arms. "It's big and white and goes like the clappers."

  The woman laughed. "I'd stick with manly silence if I were you."

  "I didn't mean … I wasn't …" Thoroughly flustered, Hal gave up and fled along the boarding tunnel, not slowing until he saw Clunk waiting near the grey hull of the Luna Rose.

  "So, when's the wedding?" asked the robot.

  "Shut up," growled Hal. He pushed past Clunk and entered the ship, sniffing at the strong smell of disinfectant. Inside, two narrow aisles divided rows and rows of seats, all of them occupied.

  "Other way," said Clunk, as Hal turned for the front.

  "They have the flight deck at the rear of the ship?" Hal laughed. "Trust Spearman to fly it backwards."

  "Flight deck? We're going to the crew quarters."

  "Of course, we have to sign on. Okay, lead the way."

  Clunk shot him a puzzled look, then turned and strode along the nearest aisle. At the rear of the ship they passed through a curtained doorway, entering a small area lined with locker doors. At th
at moment, a familiar voice crackled through the cabin speakers. "This is your captain, Kent Spearman. We're cleared for departure and will be leaving shortly. Our flight to Plessa will take four hours, and you're welcome to take advantage of our delightful cabin staff during the trip." He laughed, and most of the passengers giggled politely.

  "Oh, ha ha," sneered Hal. "What a greaser."

  "There will be inflight entertainment, but I must remind you that the cashpoint on your seat doesn't give change. I trust you enjoy your trip, and I hope you'll take the Rose in future."

  "Take offence, more like," muttered Hal.

  Kent's voice crackled through the speakers again, this time confined to the crew quarters. "Doors sealed and checked, departure imminent. Find your places guys, this is the real deal."

  "We'd better hurry up," called Clunk.

  "No hurry. He can't leave until we're up there."

  Clunk opened a locker and pulled out a bundle of clothing. He checked the tag, then handed it to Hal. "Should be your size."

  "What's this?"

  "Uniform. It's part of the agreement."

  "What's wrong with a flight suit?"

  "You can't serve dressed like that."

  "Serve? What, as in the Navy?"

  "No, as in dispense food and drink."

  Gripped by a horrible suspicion, Hal examined the clothing.

  It was a steward's uniform.

  *

  One hour later the Luna Rose was in deep space, having made the first of several jumps towards its destination. Hal and Clunk were in the galley near the back of the ship, separated from the passenger cabin by a curtain.

  "Your turn," growled Hal, as a buzzer rang overhead.

  "That's not fair!" protested Clunk. He was standing alongside a drinks trolley, dressed in a trim uniform with a cap perched on his gleaming head. His metal hands poked out of the sleeves like crabs emerging from a pair of drainpipes, and his big flat feet were crammed into a pair of shoes. "You have to help. I can't keep up!"

  "I don't care." Hal glanced down at his own clothes. "Nobody's seeing me like this."

  "If you don't perform they'll charge you for the trip. Three thousand credits."