Hal Spacejock Omnibus One

by Simon Haynes

  Hal got up. "I'll need one of those trolley things. And no dicky wheels."

  Clunk wrestled a serving trolley from its alcove and manoeuvred it into the aisle. "Remember, you're just a faceless nobody. If you don't draw attention to yourself they'll forget you the minute they leave the ship."

  Hal grabbed the handles, took a couple of deep breaths, then plunged through the curtain into the passenger cabin. "Listen up!" he called. "I'm a pilot, right? I ended up in this embarrassing situation because I lost a bet with a mate."

  All the nearby passengers turned to look, and Clunk buried his head in his hands.

  "If anyone gets clever, I'll space them. If anyone monkeys about, I'll beat them up and then space them. Got it?"

  Everyone nodded.

  "Good. We understand each other." Hal pushed the trolley up to the first passenger and stopped. "Drink?"

  "N-not for me," said the timid-looking man.

  Hal turned to the other side. "You?"

  A woman and her companion both shook their heads vigorously.

  "Good," growled Hal, proceeding up the aisle.

  Clunk watched him go, wondering whether perhaps he should have coped on his own. Hal's idea of award-winning customer service was to include a napkin when he handed clients their own head on a plate, and Clunk was still debating whether to drag him back into the safety of the galley when a loud voice caught his attention.

  "Hey, robot! Gimme a drink!"

  Clunk turned to see a large man in a floral shirt sitting in the aisle seat. His face was flushed, and the overhead lights bounced off his stubbly scalp. "Certainly sir. What would you like?"

  "Gearbox oil on the rocks," said the man. He gave a shout of laughter and slapped his thigh. "Kills 'em every time, you gotta laugh."

  "Tee hee hee," said Clunk, his face set. "What would you really like?"

  "Hydraulic fluid!" said the man, looking around to judge the effect his words were having on the other passengers. "No! Make it battery water with a twist of lemon!"

  "I only have these beverages, sir." Clunk gestured at the trolley, which contained a range of sugar-laden drinks in garish cans. "You're welcome to any of these."

  "I don't want any of those."

  "In that case, perhaps you'd let me serve the other passengers."

  "You stand there until I say so."

  Clunk's hands tightened on the rail which ran around the top of the drinks trolley, squeezing it out of shape. "I have to serve the others."

  "You're serving me."

  "But you're not ordering anything I can help you with."

  "And there's nothing you can do about it," said the man triumphantly. "If you don't obey I'll report you to the captain."

  "You think so?" Clunk tore the rail from the drinks trolley, clamped the man's wrist to the armrest and trapped it with the rail.

  "Hey, you can't do that!"

  Clunk finished the stiff metal off with a neat bow and repeated the process with the man's other arm. Then he took a roll of cloth tape from his chest compartment.

  "Let me go, tinpants!" yelled the man, straining against the improvised cuffs. "Let me go or I'll —"

  "Go to the captain. So you said." Clunk tore a decent strip off the roll and slapped it across the man's mouth, cutting him off mid-cry. "Sit tight. I'm going to serve the other passengers."

  "You can't leave him like that!" said the woman across the aisle.

  "You're right, he'll get thirsty." Clunk took a can of drink, popped the seal and set it on the man's table. Then he selected a straw and punched it through the sticky tape covering the man's lips. "Problem solved." He straightened and looked down the aisle. "Now, would anyone else like a drink?"

  Nobody took him up on the offer.

  Clunk returned to the trolley, and as he set off down the aisle he spotted a young boy watching his every move. The boy was clutching a cowboy teddy bear dressed in a tatty suede jacket, with a wide-brimmed hat on its head and bandoliers across its chest. "Would you like a drink?" asked Clunk, crouching in the aisle alongside.

  "N-no sir!" said the boy, shaking his head.

  "Where's his gun?" said Clunk, tapping the bear's empty holster.

  "One night, it got lost."

  His mother leaned across. "We don't encourage violent tendencies."

  "I'm afraid it's in the genes," said Clunk. "Better if they work it out of their system as youngsters."

  "Oh, so your programmers were experts on child rearing?"

  "I have adaptive intelligence," said Clunk. "I learn from my environment." He looked down at the boy, who had tied the bear's arm to the chair and was force-feeding it salted nuts.

  "Like a child?" said the woman scornfully.

  "Just like a child," said Clunk. Suddenly he tipped his head to one side. "What was that?"

  "What? Is something wrong?"

  "No, I'm sure it's nothing." Clunk set the brake on the trolley and hurried back to the galley. That flutter he'd heard - was his hearing playing up, or was it an engine running hot? He found the crew intercom and pushed the button, but there was no reply. Frowning, he examined a safety diagram of the ship. The engines weren't accessible from the passenger cabin, and so his best chance was to alert the captain.

  Pushing through the curtains, he squeezed his way past Hal as he made for the front of the ship.

  "Where are you going?" asked Hal.

  "I have to speak to the captain."

  "What happened to serving passengers?"

  Clunk ignored him and pushed through the curtains into the deserted first class section, hurrying past comfy armchairs, side tables laden with glossy magazines and a huge video screen. He tapped politely at the door leading to the flight deck, then knocked slightly harder, then gave it a right banging with his fist. He was just about to kick it down when he saw the intercom. "Hello, is Mr Spearman there?" he said, pressing the button. "I'm Clunk, one of the crew."

  The door hissed open and Clunk saw Kent sitting at the console, working on a floating keyboard. Kent pushed the keyboard aside and spun his chair, sizing the robot up with a glance. "How can I help you, metal man?"

  "I don't mean to impose, but I noticed the port engine was running hot. It's two percent over optimum and burning more fuel than it should."

  "It's two point two percent, and I'm well aware of the problem." Kent tapped a display. "Shitty fuel from Cathua. Literally. They distil it from manure."

  "It's better for the environment."

  "Yeah, but you try flying a ship on cow farts." Kent shook his head. "I have to strip the injector array twice a month. Now that's a crappy job if ever I saw one."

  "You do it yourself?" asked Clunk, impressed.

  "Only when I'm short handed. This baby takes care of herself pretty good, but a decent pilot has to do more than yank the stick. Know what I'm saying?"

  "Indeed."

  "Are you getting gyp from the passengers? You being a robot and all."

  "A little. Nothing I can't handle."

  "Experienced, huh?"

  "Actually, I'm a qualified pilot. First class."

  "Really?" Kent looked impressed. "That's rare, these days. Most folk prefer a human at the controls."

  "Yes, well humans are odd creatures." Clunk looked mortified. "Oh, I didn't mean you!"

  "I'll take that as a compliment," said Kent with a grin. "Hey, how'd you like to handle the docking?"

  "Me?"

  "Sure, it's a snip."

  "I'd better tell Mr Spacejock what I'm up to. He might —"

  "Tea-with-the-emperor Spacejock? My cargo's worth half-a-mil Spacejock?" Kent pointed at the door. "He's out there serving drinks?"

  Clunk gasped. "I wasn't supposed to say!"

  "I'm glad you did. So, what's his story?"

  "We're fetching a part from Plessa. Our stasis controller failed."

  "I've heard about those. Flaky pieces of junk."

  "That's what I said to Mr Spacejock, but he insisted."

  "So
you're his robot."

  "No, we work together."

  Kent stroked his beard. "I shouldn't really say this …"

  "What?"

  "In the bar, Spacejock told me he was looking for someone to take you off his hands."

  "He did?" Clunk blinked. "Why?"

  "Said he preferred to work alone."

  "But —"

  Kent slapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it. I've got a solution."

  "What's that?"

  "You do twelve months with me, award wages, and I'll grant your freedom at the end of it. What do you say?"

  *

  After Clunk dashed past, Hal continued to work his way towards the front of the passenger cabin. His drinks trolley was emptying fast, and he'd almost completed the run when he noticed the price list peeping out from a pile of peanut flavoured snacks. With a start, he realised he was supposed to be charging the passengers. No wonder they'd helped themselves to three or four drinks and handfuls of snacks at a time! Hal glanced back down the aisle and saw most of them busy munching and slurping before their good fortune was reversed. Oh well, he thought. At least they're happy.

  He passed the last few rows and stopped at the set of velvet curtains stretched across the aisle. Uncertain whether he was supposed to go beyond them, he poked his head through for a quick look. His eyes widened at the sight of the luxurious lounge with its soft lighting and hushed ambience, and he shook his head as he scanned the empty seats. What a waste.

  He pushed the trolley through the curtains and adjusted them to cover the gap. A few moments later he was relaxing in a chair with his feet on the table and a refreshing drink in his hand. He found a dinner menu and a headset in the seat pocket, and was tossing up between the curried lamb and the grilled fish when the door at the front of the lounge swished open and Clunk came in. The robot was looking thoughtful, but his expression turned to anger when he saw Hal. "What do you think you're doing?"

  Hal lowered the menu. "I'm entitled to a rest break, aren't I?"

  "Rest break? What happened to serving passengers?"

  "Hey, you abandoned yours first." Hal gestured at the door. "What were you doing? Giving Spearhead a bit of personal service?"

  "For your information, the port engine was running hot. I went to advise the captain on the correct course of action, but he was already aware of the issue. That's because he's a qualified pilot, unlike some I could mention."

  "Qualified drunk, more like." Hal waved the menu at him. "Here, can you grab me one of these curries?"

  Clunk's face darkened. "Can I what?"

  "I thought I'd get in before the rush down back. Oh, and a bottle of red if it's not too much trouble."

  "Not-too-much-trouble? Mr Spacejock, if Mr Spearman finds you in here we'll be in more trouble than you can possibly imagine."

  "He won't though, will he?" Hal nodded towards the door. "He's up the pointy end waggling his joystick."

  "Did you ever hear of autopilot?"

  "That's where the ship flies itself, isn't it? Here, watch out!"

  Tired of arguing, Clunk had simply grabbed Hal by the shoulders and hauled him from the chair, scattering the headset and menu. He manhandled him to the trolley, pushed him back into the aisle and pointed towards the back. "Serve," he said, before stalking off to retrieve his own trolley.

  Hal straightened his jacket and rolled his eyes at the nearest passenger, a woman in a trim suit. "Robots, eh? Can't take a joke."

  "I'd like a scotch on the rocks."

  Hal poured the drink, looked up the price then doubled it. After giving away most of the stock for free he had some catching up to do.

  Chapter 11

  The Luna Rose arrived safely at the Plessa Orbiter and docked without loss of life or limb, despite Hal's best efforts. In the crew quarters, he tore off his uniform, kicked off the shoes and donned his flight suit and boots. The hubbub from the passenger compartment died down as the passengers left the ship, and when the last bag had been retrieved from the overhead lockers and the last inflight magazines had been shoved back into the seat pockets, Hal stepped out of the stairway and headed for the exit.

  "We should talk to Mr Spearman before we leave," said Clunk.

  "No bloody way."

  "He seemed eager to speak to you."

  Hal stared at him. "You told him I was aboard? Are you crazy?"

  "Not at all. He seems like a nice man."

  "Nice? Kent three-grand-for-a-commset Spearman?"

  "Are you sure we're talking about the same person? The man flying this ship was very polite and efficient."

  "Yeah, well you want to watch yourself around him. Stay away from airlocks if you know what I mean." Hal pushed aside the curtain but stopped as he saw the captain waiting near the exit. "Oh hell."

  "Hey, it's Hal Spacejock, intergalactic drinks waiter!" Kent eyed him up and down. "Seen any emperors around lately? Or were you too busy serving my customers?"

  "I did this for a dare," growled Hal. "And now that it's over I'd just like to say —"

  Clunk cleared his throat. "Mr Spearman, we'd like to confirm our return trip."

  "Sure thing, metal man. Just keep Spacejock here away from the booze. Anything stronger than orange juice and his brain melts."

  Hal took a step towards him, but Clunk grabbed his arm and hauled him off the ship.

  "You shouldn't have interfered," said Hal as they strode along a padded tunnel. "I would have knocked that smarmy grin right off his face."

  "What about the trip back?"

  Hal brightened. "You're right! I'll wait until we get to the other end."

  "That's not what I meant."

  "Come on, we don't want to miss another shuttle."

  The padded tunnel led to a small departure lounge, with deep comfortable chairs and brand new carpet. The air was cool and fresh, and after a few deep breaths Hal sank into one of the armchairs and put his boots on the polished coffee table, almost knocking a dish of peanuts onto the floor.

  "We can't stop here," said Clunk. "We have to get down to the planet. We need to book fares."

  "Look, my feet are killing me. Why don't I wait here while you organise them?"

  Clunk looked at him doubtfully. "Will you be all right?"

  "Fetch the tickets. I'll be fine."

  After Clunk left Hal set to work on the peanuts. Before long the dish was empty, so he moved to the next table and started on a fresh supply. As he was busy munching a cleaner bot rolled into the lounge. Low and rounded, it ran on three small castors with a large rubber driving wheel. A flexible tube protruded between a pair of optical sensors, with a vacuum head which seemed to have a life of its own. The cleaner darted around the lounge, picking up specks of dirt and litter with sharp sucking noises. Hal lifted his feet as it approached the table, and the device cleaned up several spilled nuts. When the floor was clear, it sat and waited.

  Hal transferred a handful of nuts to his mouth, and as he tilted his head back he saw the bot watching him. Unnerved, he spilled several peanuts.

  The cleaner got them before they hit the ground.

  Hal reached for the bowl and scooped up the last handful of nuts. He picked one out and flicked it across the lounge, grinning as the cleaner darted after it. As it came back Hal flicked two more, and for several minutes he had it gathering nuts from all points of the compass.

  Then the peanuts ran out. "Sorry lad," said Hal, spreading his hands. "All gone."

  The bot waited.

  "No more nuts," said Hal. "Shoo."

  The bot turned its sensors on the empty bowl. There was a moment of silence, and then … whoosh! It blew the contents of its dust bag all over the table. When it had finished, the bowl was overflowing with sweet wrappers, dust balls and … peanuts.

  Hal grinned and reached for a handful.

  *

  "Mr Spacejock, I'm back!" Clunk hurried into the lounge waving a pair of tickets. "Look, I got two for the —" He jumped back as the cleaner bot whiz
zed past, pursuing a speeding nut. "What's going on? Are you all right?"

  "Fine, fine." Hal looked around, gradually becoming aware of the damage to the lounge. It was a ruin - half the tables were overturned and there were empty bowls and crushed peanuts everywhere. "Time to go," he said, jumping up.

  The cleaner bot stopped its pursuit and looked at him.

  "I'm off now," explained Hal. "Can you clean this up on your own?"

  The cleaner surveyed the room, moving its lens from one torn chair to the next, across the battered tables and over the powdery coating of lint, dust and crushed nuts. Then, without a sound, it turned and scurried away.

  "You're unbelievable," said Clunk as they made their escape. "I can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?"

  "It was just a bit of fun," said Hal defensively. He gestured at the tickets. "So, when does the shuttle leave?"

  "We're not taking the shuttle," said Clunk. "These are for the space elevator. It's cheaper."

  Hal snorted. "Why don't we just throw ourselves out the nearest airlock and float down to the surface? It won't cost anything."

  "Mr Spacejock, the space elevator is the pinnacle of engineering know-how. It was constructed from A-grade recycled materials and the seasonally adjusted safety record is one hundred percent."

  "What else does it say on the back of the ticket?"

  "No liability admitted for injury or death, and no refunds."

  "In that case, I'm going by shuttle."

  "But we don't have enough money left for two tickets!"

  "I only need one. You're taking the elevator."

  Clunk's face fell. "I thought you'd enjoy the view."

  "What, from a glass box on a rope? How long does it take, anyway?"

  "Half an hour." Clunk looked hopeful. "You mean you'll come?"

  "Just this once." Hal held his hand up. "But if I end up a seasonally adjusted statistic, you're going to be A-grade recycling material."

  They left the lounge and made their way to the boarding gate, where they found a line of people waiting. Hal went to join them, but Clunk pulled him aside.

  "We don't have to queue. I purchased first-class tickets."

  "What happened to cheap?"

  Clunk looked embarrassed. "First class seats are next to the windows. I thought the view would be better."