by Simon Haynes
"Why not? The Peace Force does it all the time." Hal thought for a moment. "What if he shoots first and misses, and then I shoot him?"
"That's ludicrous."
"We've got to do something! I'm not standing around here like a rat in a barrel."
"You mean a fish."
"No I don't."
"You do!"
"How can I stand around like a fish? They don't have legs." Hal glanced around the room, seeking an escape. "I've got it," he said suddenly. "Quick, give me a hand."
Chapter 23
Next door, Barry was trying to call the Volante. Unfortunately, the thick concrete walls were playing havoc with reception, and Ace's commset wasn't that flash to begin with. "Where d'you get this piece of junk anyway?"
"Same place I got the watch," said Ace, who was sitting on a chunk of fallen masonry. "And it ain't junk."
Barry threw the commset back. "We can't get no orders, so we'll use our initiative."
"What's that, then?"
"We order ourselves around." Barry rubbed his chin. "We're supposed to give Spacejock that money for the crate, right? Only we got the crate already, and he's locked up."
Ace nodded.
"So, who's to know if we keep the cash too?"
"We gonna leave Spacejock here?"
"Yeah, tucked away. There's gotta be forty grand in that old toolbox, and all he done was drive a crate around."
"What if they get out? They've seen your face."
"True. That bloody robot's probably taped my voice, too."
"So what we gonna do?"
Barry thought for a minute, then picked up his blast rifle. "Only one answer, ain't there? This way there's no witnesses, right?"
"Can I do it?"
"This ain't one of your video games." Barry pushed him roughly towards the door. "You shift that crate across. Put the trucks together first."
"I get to drive? Neat!"
Barry threw him the keys and waited until his footsteps faded. Then he switched on the weapon's built-in torch, which threw a powerful beam of light down the corridor. Moving quickly, he slipped along the wall and unlocked the metal door. He eased it open with his foot, and the torch cut a swathe through the darkness as he pointed it from side to side. "I spoke to the boss," he said, rattling the change in his pocket. "Come an' get your money."
There was no reply.
Barry entered the room, flashed the torch behind the door then jerked it from one corner to another, sighting along his rifle. His finger tightened on the trigger as the light fell on a robot hanging from the back wall, and before he could stop it the gun unleashed a torrent of energy bolts which slammed into the slumped form and exploded with ringing concussions. When the firing stopped, only the robot's upper torso remained.
Shaken, Barry approached the remaining robots, moving his torch over their dusty shapes. He spun round at a noise, real or imaginary, and swept the room wildly as he imagined stealthy footsteps right behind him. There was nothing there.
Turning back to the wall, he moved slowly along the robots. Near the end his light fell on a breast plate, half blinding him as it reflected off the shiny metal. Slowly, he raised the torch over the robot's chest until it was pointing in its face. Barry frowned as the light picked out the robot's deep-set eyes, and when he pointed the torch right into them, the pupils narrowed to pinpoints. "What the -?"
Barry went for the trigger but had barely moved before a metal-clad fist came down on his skull, knocking him out cold.
*
Hal stepped away from the wall, rattling and clanking in his hastily-assembled costume of robot parts. "I told you it would work. I even let him shoot first!"
"I can't believe he fell for it," said Clunk. "Your legs are different colours, the body is falling apart and your head's too big for your torso."
"Have you looked in the mirror lately?"
Clunk crouched to examine Barry. "He's out cold."
"He's lucky," said Hal, slipping off the metal robot hands. "These things could have knocked his block off." He removed the rest of his impromptu disguise, then put his hand out. "Pass me that gun."
Clunk looked down at the bulky weapon. "I think it might be best if I carried it."
"Well I don't. Sling it across."
"Oh, very well." Clunk held the weapon out. "Remember the safety is off."
Hal jerked the gun away, accidentally grabbing it by the trigger. There was a chattering roar as it discharged energy bolts towards the floor, and a SPANG SPANG SPANG as they ricocheted towards the line of robots, blowing all their heads off. Fragments of hot metal and blobs of plastic rained down, and while Hal was distracted Clunk plucked the weapon from his grip. "Better if I have it."
"You held it out wrong," said Hal, grabbing it back.
"It's too dangerous in your hands," said Clunk.
"There's no point you carrying the thing. You can't shoot anyone."
"I don't want you to shoot anyone either."
"That guy came here to kill us Clunk!"
"Even so, we must avoid bloodshed."
"There won't be any blood." Hal hefted the weapon. "Just big smoking holes."
"But —"
Hal gestured towards the door. "Check the corridor. I'll cover you."
Clunk looked at the headless robots hanging from the wall, then shifted his gaze to the legless torso at the end of the row. "I'm not moving until you put the safety on."
Hal turned the weapon over and pressed a red button. There was a flash and a boom as the gun fired, followed by a thump as Clunk threw himself on the floor. "Well, at least we know the corridor's clear," said Hal, peering through a fist-sized hole in the wall.
Clunk took his hands from his head and looked up. "Mr Spacejock, can I at least give you some instruction on the controls?"
"All right, but no grabbing."
Clunk approached warily, keeping well clear of the gun's gaping muzzle. When he was close enough, he stretched out a finger and pointed. "First, the red button. That fires the weapon."
Hal glanced at the hole in the wall. "I got that one."
"This dial changes the force. You can vary it from one to ten."
"It's only on two!" said Hal in amazement. "What's ten like?"
"There are anecdotal tales of people surviving a setting of eight, but it's usually fatal above six."
Hal pointed to the headless robots. "More fatal than that?"
"Fatal to the person firing the gun."
Hal prodded a green button. "What does this do?"
"Battery charge indicator."
"These two? And this readout?"
"Countdown alarm and time zone select. The readout shows the date and there's a compass in the stock."
"And this lever here?"
"That's the safety."
"What about this handle thingy?"
"Field charger. Crank it to refresh the battery."
"You're winding me up!"
"I'm serious. Most combat zones are a little short of power sockets."
"What will they think of next, eh?" Hal turned the gun over, shaking his head. "I would have killed for one of these as a kid."
"I think I know what you mean. Now, are you confident you can operate the weapon correctly?"
"Yeah, no problem. Are we set?"
"Not until you activate the safety."
Hal flipped the lever and the whole gun turned fluorescent pink. "Hey, what happened?"
"Photovoltaic polymer," said the robot. "You can see at a glance when the gun is safe."
"Bugger that," said Hal, flipping the lever back again. "I'm not running around in a firefight waving a big pink weapon."
"But —"
"I won't do it, Clunk. Walk behind me if you're scared."
"My self-preservation routines may be weighted towards the cautious side, but I do not get scared," said the robot stiffly. "Now, unless you want to stage a last stand in this room, I suggest we get moving."
"Cover me!" Hal ducked
his head and weaved towards the doorway, slamming into the wall back first. He risked a quick glance, then nodded. "Clear."
Clunk strolled to the door and pushed it open, and Hal darted through with his rifle at the ready. They proceeded up the corridor; Clunk walking normally and Hal zigzagging like a rabid squirrel, freezing now and then to aim his weapon at imaginary targets. At the factory entrance they stepped through the broken doors and slid along the rough wall, placing their feet carefully to avoid making a sound.
Hal risked a quick look round the corner and saw their battered truck parked tail-to-tail with another, larger and brand new. On the back, a shadowy figure was heaving and straining as he transferred the crate across.
"So, what's the plan?" asked Hal. "Should I open fire from here or sneak up and shoot him in the back?"
Clunk eyed the weapon, but Hal moved it out of reach. "I'll go to the opposite corner and make some noise. The man will come to investigate and you can run to the truck in safety. I'll follow, and then we'll drive away."
"How will you attract his attention?"
"Leave that to me."
"Wait a minute!" whispered Hal.
"What?"
"Keep quiet until he's loaded the crate. That way we don't have to shift the bloody thing."
Clunk melted into the darkness, and Hal took the opportunity to check over his weapon. He just knew the robot's feeble plan was going to fail, and when the shooting began he intended to be the last one standing. The charge indicator was slightly below full, so Hal flipped the handle out and wound it enthusiastically. Then he checked the compass, and finally his gaze fell on the power dial. Two was a wimpy setting, no matter what Clunk said. Sure, it had poked a hole in a concrete wall, but the whole factory was falling down. And what if someone fired at him with a gun set to five or six? Hal changed it to seven, which seemed like a safe bet, until it occurred to him that his opponent would have thought of that and set his to seven first, so he moved the dial to eight. Sure, Clunk had warned him against the higher settings, but the robot always issued warnings in the same doom-laden tones, whether he was talking about pocketing hand grenades or eating too much sugar. And if Clunk was wrong about eight being fatal, then it followed that settings nine and ten were fine, too. With a deft twist of the recessed knob, Hal turned the power dial to maximum.
Weapon at the ready, he peered round the corner to watch. The man was using a pole to lever the crate from the old truck onto the new one, cursing volubly as he shifted it. Hal slowly brought his weapon up until the shadowy figure was centred in the sights. Not that he had any intention of shooting; that was just bravado for Clunk's benefit. If the robot treated him like a sulky teenager, wasn't he entitled to act like one?
His aim shifted, moving along the side of the truck. It was brand new, with a gleaming white paint job and a stylish Herlion Robots logo on the driver's door. Through the tinted windows Hal could just make out the comfy seats and climate-controlled cabin, a complete contrast to the bench seat and broken windows in the noisy old wreck they'd stolen. He moved his sights onto the army vehicle, and was just cataloguing the defects when a bolt of blue light streaked across his vision. Surprised, he tightened his grip on the gun and the next thing he knew he was lying flat on his back, half blinded by a vivid red after-flash and almost totally deafened by a thunderous detonation. Slowly, he sat up, and he quickly realised it wasn't an after-flash: the sky really was red, and when he looked towards the trucks he saw why. The older vehicle was a raging furnace, and through the flames he could just see a ragged hole the size of a railway tunnel blasted right through the cab. The shadowy figure was running for the trees, trailing smoke, and then Hal felt footsteps on the ground. He turned to see Clunk running towards him. "When you said you were going to make a noise —" began Hal.
Clunk grabbed the rifle off him and swung it at the wall, smashing it in two.
"What did you do that for?" demanded Hal.
"I'm revoking your gun licence," said the robot grimly. He grabbed Hal by the collar and hauled him into the open, and together they ran full-tilt over the rough ground, leaping over rubble and side-stepping oily puddles. As they approached the trucks Hal felt the heat of the flames on his face, and with a shock he saw they'd reached the crate.
"Get in," said Clunk, pushing him towards the cab. As Hal obeyed, the robot leapt onto the tray and started beating out the flames engulfing the crate with his bare hands.
Meanwhile Hal examined the controls. In the flickering light he saw the starter, and had just got the engine going when Clunk appeared in the driver's door. "Move over."
"I thought I'd drive." Hal saw Clunk's expression and thought again. He shifted across the cab and swore as his ankle connected with a battered old toolbox in the foot well. He was reaching down to chuck it out the window when Clunk stamped on the accelerator, hurling the truck forward. Hal hung on tight as they wheeled round, smashing through the undergrowth and sliding from side to side as they raced towards the gravel track.
"Mind the trees!" shouted Hal, as they skimmed a thick, mossy trunk.
The truck shot onto the main road and slewed sideways, leaving thick trails of burnt rubber. Once they were aiming the right way, Clunk flattened the accelerator.
"What's the hurry?" shouted Hal over the screaming engine.
"The other man could be armed." Clunk glared at him. "And unlike you, he might know how to use his weapon."
They roared along the road for a kilometre or two, then pulled over and stopped.
"So, now what?" asked Hal, in the sudden quiet.
Clunk sighed. "I told you forty thousand credits was too much for a cargo job. Ortiz clearly had no intention of paying us."
"Oh yeah? What if those guys had our cash, and they decided to get rid of us and keep it? What if she's on the level?"
"Even if that's true, they're trained killers and we're just cargo pilots. We can't go back and confront them. It's too dangerous."
Hal kicked the toolbox in frustration. "I want my money, Clunk."
"Then we have to find Ortiz."
"Good idea. How?"
"We could search this truck in case there's a clue."
Hal switched on the overhead light. On the seat beside him were two pairs of folded overalls with Herlion Robots logos, and when he opened the glove box he found two Herlion Robots caps and ID badges. "Nothing," he said sourly.
"Show me those badges."
Hal passed them over.
"These are for a local fair."
"I've seen enough of those for one day," muttered Hal.
"No, it's a trade fair. The Consumer Robot and Animated Pals expo. It starts tonight." Clunk brandished a cap at him. "We can disguise ourselves and get inside!"
"You think Ortiz might be there?"
BUZZ BUZZ!
"What the hell was that?"
Clunk pointed out a commset lying against the windscreen.
BUZZ BUZZ!
"Should we answer it?" asked Hal.
"Let me." Clunk took the commset and put it to his ear. "Hello?" he said, in a fair approximation of the older man's voice.
"Where are you? Why aren't you at the trade fair?" demanded Jasmin. "You were supposed to be there an hour ago!"
"Gorblimy squire, give us a bleedin' chance," said Clunk, getting into the swing of things. "Straight up, narmean?"
Hal closed his eyes.
"Barry, you do have my crate?" demanded Jasmin.
"Not a problem, my son. Sorted, innit?"
"Did you fix Spacejock up?"
Hal and Clunk exchanged a glance. "Fix 'im up?"
"Yes. Settled with him, like I told you."
"Yeah, we done that."
"So get the crate to the fair! The doors close at six."
"On the way, my son. Straight up." Clunk hung up and put the commset back on the dashboard.
"What the hell was that all about?" demanded Hal.
"I was impersonating Barry to gain information." Clunk looked
at him. "You heard, didn't you? She expected him to fix us up. That means kill us."
"She also said settled. That means payment."
"Do you believe that?" Clunk waited in vain for a reply. "Mr Spacejock, I want to handle this my way."
"What way is that, exactly?"
"We have to confront Ms Ortiz in person. I'm certain she's up to no good."
Hal snorted. "Look at Mr Perceptive over here."
"I mean really bad. Who's she working for? How did she get to Jordia? How come the Volante disappeared when it did?"
"You think she's responsible for that too?"
"It's possible."
Hal shook his head. "I reckon it was that tool from Hand-E-Mart. He threatened me when I refused to pay, and … Hey, do you reckon they're working together?"
Clunk seized his opportunity. "Undoubtedly, Mr Spacejock. That's very perceptive of you."
"It all fits, doesn't it? He sells the coffee makers to unsuspecting pilots, and she nicks them back again."
"Right. So now we're going to impersonate the delivery men, take the crate to the trade fair and make a few discreet enquiries. If we're subtle about it we might find out what's going on."
Hal looked doubtful. "Subtle?"
"It's a novel concept, I know, but I believe it's the only way."
"Don't be sarky," muttered Hal. "I know what subtle is, I just think we should charge in there and —"
Clunk handed him an ID badge. "Can we at least try?"
"All right, we'll do it." Hal hesitated. "Listen, about retiring and all that …"
"Let's get the Volante back first, Mr Spacejock. We'll discuss our future afterwards."
Hal nodded, then glanced at the badge. "Hey, why do I get a stupid name like Ace?"
Clunk declined to comment.
Chapter 24
On the outskirts of Jordia City, a black limousine powered through the evening traffic, preceded by a pair of slab-faced robots on heavily armed jetbikes. A flag bearing the Cathuan coat of arms fluttered from the limo's bumper, and a catchy version of the national anthem played repeatedly from a set of airhorns mounted on the roof. If that wasn't a big enough clue to the occupant's identity, posters on the doors bore an unflattering photo above the words "Welcome, Pres!"