by Simon Haynes
As the pieces settled, Hal poked out his tongue and licked coconut milk from his upper lip. "You might have overdone that just a tad."
"I hit it, I hit it!" cried Clunk, bobbing with excitement. "What do I win?"
The attendant hurried over. He stared at the damaged stand, then at the neat holes in the rear wall, then down at the floor, which was strewn with pieces of coconut shell. "What have you done to my bloody stall?"
"We hit the coconut," said Hal. "Good and proper, this time."
"We?" The attendant glared at Clunk. "Did you do this?"
"No," said Hal.
"Yes," said the robot. He leaned over the counter. "I'd like my prize, please."
"Oh, you would?" The attendant scooped up a handful of shell and plonked it on the counter. "Enjoy."
"I don't understand."
"That's the prize, tin man. You win the coconut."
"But it's all broken!"
The attendant shrugged. "Ain't my problem."
"I see." Clunk thought for a moment. "In that case, I'd like another three balls."
*
"Why did you want the thing anyway?" growled Hal as they pushed through the crowds. "You can't even eat it."
Clunk tapped the coconut with his forefinger. "Like your replacement chocolates, it's the principle that matters."
"Sheer bloody-mindedness, more like. And why did you insist on knocking it off his head?" Hal spotted a sideshow and stopped suddenly. "Hold up, I've always wanted to try this."
"Test your strength?" Clunk looked up. "What's that bell for?"
"You hit the base with a mallet and that little hammer thingumabob whizzes up the track. Give it a good wallop and it will ring the bell."
"It won't," said the robot.
"It will if I hit it properly."
"No it won't."
"Are you saying I'm a weakling?"
"I'm saying there's an obstruction in the track. Nothing can hit the bell."
"Really?" Hal squinted. "I can't see anything."
"You couldn't knock a coconut down either. That doesn't make it impossible."
"This whole place is one big fix," growled Hal. "And your five minutes is up."
"I was just thinking the same thing." Clunk turned to leave, just as a burly young man in combat fatigues stepped towards the strength tester with a raised mallet. They tangled, and the robot's big flat foot came down on the man's polished boot while the falling mallet almost knocked Hal's head off.
"You clumsy piece of junk," snapped the man. He glared at Hal. "This pile of scrap belong to you?"
"Yeah, he's the Aunt Sally."
"Really?" The young man brightened. "Save some for me."
"What's an Aunt Sally?" asked Clunk.
"Kept in the dark, huh?" The soldier grinned at him. "They sit you over a tank of water and folks throw balls at a target. When they hit it, you drop into the tank."
Clunk frowned at Hal. "In light of my recent aquatic adventure, I find that somewhat less than amusing."
"Oh, don't be wet." Hal picked up the mallet and handed it to the soldier. "Here, I bet you can't ring that bell."
The man's eyes narrowed. "How much?"
"Fifty credits."
"Done." The young man wound up and delivered a sickening blow with the mallet, sending the little hammer flying up the track. It rebounded off something just below the bell and came down twice as fast.
"Nearly," said Hal. "What about double or nothing?"
Panting, the young man nodded. He swung the mallet again, shaking the ground with his massive effort, but the bell remained stubbornly silent. Red-faced, he threw the mallet aside, thrust a handful of credit tiles at Hal and strode off.
"That was somewhat immoral," said Clunk. "Incidentally, you owe me ten credits."
Hal handed him a tile. "Ring that bell and I'll give you the rest."
"Ninety credits? Really?"
Hal sensed a catch. "You've got to make it ring, though."
Clunk turned and threw the coconut. There was a BLANNGG as it struck the bell, and as bits and pieces of shell rained down on the crowd they both ran for the exit.
"I meant with the hammer, you metal-clad shyster," puffed Hal, as they dodged through the crowd. "You trying to get me arrested?"
A few moments later they burst into the car park, where an olive-green pick-up sat amongst the civilian cars. "Over there," said Hal. "Quick!"
"Why, what is it?"
"Plan B." Hal cupped his hands to the truck's window and saw a dress uniform on the back seat, along with a peaked cap and baton. The uniform was swathed in plastic, fresh from the dry cleaner.
"What do you have in mind?" asked Clunk. Then he saw what Hal was looking at. "No, Mr Spacejock. You can't. You mustn't."
Hal tried the door handle but it was locked. "Come on, open it up."
"I can't do that. It's —"
"Locked, yes. And that soldier called you a clumsy piece of junk."
Clunk's eyes gleamed. "Give me thirty seconds."
*
At the Jordia training barracks, Private Jenkins was enjoying a rare afternoon of peace and sunshine. He was on guard duty in the sentry box, a boring and thankless task, but traffic was at a minimum because all the senior officers were attending a productivity course in the capital. More like a booze up and a show, thought Jenkins, but his was not to question why.
The sun was pleasant, and he'd just loosened his top button and discarded his tin hat when he spotted the olive-green truck rumbling down the road towards him. Unfortunately, officers had recently taken to driving themselves instead of being chauffeured around in army limos, as was proper, and so Jenkins had no idea who was approaching. To be on the safe side, he grabbed his hat, fastened his button and straightened to attention, eyes front. Whoever it was, Jenkins hoped they'd bugger off quick before the sun went behind a cloud.
*
"He looks suspicious," muttered Hal, fiddling with the shiny baton lying across his lap.
"He's not the only one," said Clunk, eyeing Hal's uniform, which consisted of a deep red jacket with gigantic gold buttons and epaulettes the size of shark fins. Across the chest was an expanse of campaign ribbons large enough to serve as a place mat, and the maroon piping on the black trousers was as thick as breakfast sausage. "I'm still not convinced it's real. For all you know it could be a fancy dress outfit."
"Too late now. Here's the cavalry."
"This isn't going to work, Mr Spacejock. They're going to arrest you for impersonation and lock you up for life."
"Shhh! Just play along!"
A middle-aged soldier emerged from the gatehouse and strode towards them, smoothing his crumpled uniform. As he got close, Clunk slid his window down.
"Please state your business," said the guard.
Hal stared straight ahead. "You will address me as sir."
"Yessir."
"Corporal Clunk, please inform this man of my intentions."
"Aye aye, sir," said Clunk, with a vigorous salute. "Guard, this is a surprise visit to test the readiness of your salvage division."
"An inspection?"
"Correct."
"But the officers —"
Hal cleared his throat. "Clunk, take this man's name. Two demerits."
"Two! But I —"
"Two, SIR. But I, SIR!" snapped Hal. "Where are you going?"
"To call the others," said the guard. "Sir!" he added hurriedly.
Hal raised the baton and swished it experimentally. "I don't think so."
"But it's R&R! Nobody's ready!"
Hal turned to give the guard a haughty stare from under his peaked cap. "My good man, that's why they call it a surprise inspection."
Chapter 21
Ten minutes later K company was lined up in the shadow of their salvage vessel, confused by the suddenness with which their peaceful afternoon had been shattered. Hal strutted along the line, waving his baton and issuing demerits for everything from crooked teeth to misspelle
d tattoos. One or two tried to argue their case, but after he doubled their punishment the message sank in.
By the time he reached the far end the whole group was hanging on every word. "Attention!" he shouted suddenly, making them flinch. "Your clothing is a shambles, your appearance is revolting and most of you can't spell “mum”. You're a horrible bunch! What are you?"
"A horrible bunch," muttered several men.
Hal cupped a hand to his ear. "I can't hear you."
"A horrible bunch!" bawled the entire line.
"A horrible bunch, SIR!" shouted Hal. "Corporal Clunk, ten demerits each. The whole bloody lot of 'em."
"Yes sir," said Clunk, saluting smartly.
"Now, rabble or not, I'm willing to erase every last demerit if you prove yourselves where it matters most."
The men looked doubtful.
"Nearby, a stricken vessel lies on the sea bed." Hal waved his baton gently, then swished it upwards to point at the salvage ship. "Using your salvage expertise, and under the supervision of Corporal Clunk and myself, you will retrieve that vessel."
A hand went up.
"Yes?" snapped Hal.
"Is this a simulated exercise, sir? Only, the computer's down."
"Son, this is the real deal. Pull this off and you'll be the pride of Jordia."
Several men grinned at each other. Further along the line another hand went up.
"Sir, what kind of vessel are we retrieving?"
"Oh, just an old hulk."
"We need specifics, sir. We have to pack the correct slings."
"Very well. She's a modified Alpha class spaceship with —"
"Sir?"
"Yes? What?"
"I thought it would be a seaborne vessel, sir."
"You did? How so?"
"Because you're a navy officer. Sir."
Hal glanced at Clunk. "Troublemaker," he muttered. "There's always one."
The young man went pale. "I was only wondering —"
"Do we pay you to wonder?"
"N-no, sir."
"Name?"
"Bates, sir."
"Rank?"
"Divermaster."
"Any more lip and you'll be understudy potato peeler." Hal glared at the rest of the line. "You and you, fetch the slings. Everyone else, get ready for departure. Now MOVE."
The troops scurried around gathering equipment, and Hal felt it was a pity he didn't get this sort of instant obedience aboard his own ship. Perhaps he just needed to be more assertive with Clunk. He glanced round and saw Clunk's expression, a mix of what-have-you-got-me-into and this-had-better-end-well, and decided their current arrangement suited him just fine.
The ship was soon ready, and the men formed two neat lines alongside the ramp as Hal and Clunk strode into the flight deck. A few minutes later the vessel blasted off, heading for the "training area" which Clunk had thoughtfully highlighted on the map.
*
Bleep!
"Range three hundred, height one hundred, depth forty."
Hal glanced across the flight deck to the scanner, where a young man was twirling knobs and studying a screen full of dots.
Bleep!
"Range two-fifty, height one hundred, depth forty-five."
Bleep-bleep!
"Vessel located, sir!"
"Very good. Well done. Five bonus points to that man." Hal turned to Clunk, who was leaning casually against the wall with one finger plugged into a socket. "Any luck?"
"I have yet to discover the cause of the mysterious breakdown in our communications systems," said Clunk loudly.
Hal smothered a grin. "Okay, proceed with the salvage."
Clunk stared at him. "How?" he mouthed.
"Just repeat what I say," murmured Hal. He cleared his throat and raised his voice. "Proceed with the salvage!"
"Proceed with the salvage," said Clunk.
"Proceed with the salvage!" shouted the man at the scanner.
"Proceeding with the salvage!" shouted the helmsman.
"You see?" said Hal.
"You see!" shouted Clunk.
The crewmen turned to stare.
"Not that bit," hissed Hal. He raised his voice. "You men, proceed!"
"Salvage proceeding," called the helmsman.
"Salvage proceeding," said Clunk, getting into the swing of it.
"You only have to repeat what I say," whispered Hal.
"But why?"
Hal shrugged. "So everyone knows what's happening."
Clunk looked around. "Which everyone?"
"Just … everyone. Here, watch." Hal raised his voice. "You there. What's our status?"
"Proceeding with salvage, sir!" snapped the helmsman smartly.
Clunk looked from one to the other. "I don't think all this shouting achieves anything."
"You're not supposed to think, Corporal."
Clunk's eyes glinted dangerously. "What?"
"Sir," murmured Hal. "You have to say, “What, sir.”"
The robot pulled his finger from the socket. "Oh look, I've found the communications problem. Now we can chat to the nice men at headquarters."
Hal's eyes widened. "You can't do that!"
Clunk stuck his finger back in. "Oops, failed again. Must be a flaky piece of electronics."
"You said it," muttered Hal. He grabbed for an upright as the ship lurched suddenly. "Report!"
"Report!" shouted Clunk.
"Hover mode activated," called the helmsman.
Hal stepped into the middle of the deck, keen to motivate the men with a stirring speech. "Right, listen up. You with the bleeper, cut that out. I want you to work as a team, bring home the bacon, take every week as it comes and finish the job on time every time. Got it?"
The helmsman and the console operator looked blank.
"Proceed with the salvage!" shouted Clunk.
"Yes, sir!" The men saluted and turned to their controls. "Slings away!" shouted the helmsman.
"Divermaster Bates under water!" shouted the console operator. "Wreck in sight!"
"Slings attached. Increasing thrust," called the helmsman. He tugged a lever, and there was a howl from the engines as the X1 came away from the seabed. The deck rushed upwards as the spaceship rose through the water and the screen showed her breaking the surface, foam cascading from her rusty flanks.
"Caution," said the console operator. "Target surrounded by seamen."
"Tell them to pull out," said Hal.
"Pull out!" shouted Clunk.
"Commencing extraction."
The operator counted off the returning divers, and when the last one was aboard he turned to report. "Divermaster Bates in the hold with the away team."
"Raise the X1," called Hal.
The engines roared, and there was a loud sucking noise as the stricken spaceship came free of the water. Immediately, the console operator snapped half a dozen switches and spun a knob. "Load secured. Mission complete sir."
"Well done, men!" shouted Hal. "Now, for maximum points I'd like you to drop the X1 on the beach."
"Drop the X1 on the beach!" shouted Clunk.
"Dropping the X1," said the helmsman. He eased the ship around until they were pointing at the narrow strip of sand, then increased the thrust until they were hovering above it. After they levelled off he pulled a lever, and the salvage vessel leapt into the air. A second later, there was a massive crunch from below.
"You know," began Hal, "when I said “drop” I actually meant “place gently”."
"I thought it was a wreck, sir," said the helmsman.
"It is now, you idiot." Hal gestured with the baton. "Return to base."
"Return to base!" shouted Clunk.
"Returning to base," said the helmsman, putting the ship about. They roared over the fairground and a few moments later set down. The troops filed out, and Hal couldn't resist one last line up.
"Well done, you men," he began, striding along the row with the baton under his arm. "All demerits are cancelled, and I want
you to take the rest of the week off."
"You'll get them in trouble," murmured Clunk.
"They shouldn't have shot us down in the first place," muttered Hal. He raised his voice again. "Now break out the officer's booze and have a party. Dismissed!"
The men gave him three cheers then filed off to their quarters, chattering amongst themselves. Meanwhile, Hal and Clunk hurried to the army truck and jumped in. Hal saluted the gate guard on the way out, and they'd barely reached the fairground when a column of trucks passed them, heading for the base. "Put your foot down," advised Hal, as the vehicles rumbled past. "That lot's for real."
They found the turn-off for the beach, and the truck bumped and bounced along the rough track as they threaded their way between dense trees. They rounded the final corner and Hal winced as he saw the Phantom half-buried in the sand two hundred metres away. Even from this distance it didn't look good, with large dents in the fuel tank and jets of vapour streaming through cracks in the hull.
Clunk stopped the truck and they got out. Hal sniffed the air and winced at the strong, acrid smell. "Can you analyse that?"
"Yes. It's a wreck."
"The smell, Clunk. I meant the smell."
There was a loud sniffing sound. "Fuel vapour. The tanks have ruptured."
"Isn't that dangerous?"
"Only if it catches fire."
Hal leaned against the truck. "Right, I'll give it the once-over from here. You go look round the back."
"My electronics aren't shielded. I could trigger an explosion if I get any closer."
"What do you suggest?"
"I suggest I don't get any closer."
"We've got to get that crate out somehow. Put that brain of yours to work."
"I'd rather put my legs to work."
"You're not chicken?"
"Mr Spacejock, that ship isn't just unstable. It's a firecracker with a hissing fuse."
Hal looked surprised. "We're safe here, though?"
Clunk shook his head. "The blast radius is considerable."
"So we're goners whether we're here or right up close?"
"Correct."
Hal eyed the ship, then felt in the back of the truck for his flight suit.
"That won't help much," said Clunk, as Hal changed out of his uniform.
"Maybe not, but if I go down it'll be as the captain of the Volante, not a refugee from a third rate pantomime." Hal straightened his collar, pushed off from the truck and began walking across the sand.