by Simon Haynes
Hal was about to turn away when he spotted the KleenUp dispenser. He'd heard of the things, of course, but had never progressed beyond the basic toothbrush. However, his brush was aboard the Volante, wherever that might be, so he pressed the lever and caught the neat round ball in his hand. It started to buzz the moment he popped it in his mouth, and it felt like a ping pong ball stuffed with angry bees as he rolled it around with his tongue. The KleenUp's micro tools were a huge advance on two minutes with a miniaturised toilet brush: within twenty seconds it could clean your teeth, fill cavities and even rebuild a dodgy molar at the molecular level. Like all computer-controlled devices it had the occasional bug, but nothing a couple of weeks in intensive care couldn't fix.
Ablutions complete, Hal returned to his room. He took one look at the grey pinstripe and threw on his flight suit instead.
"We're attending a high-level government function," said Clunk as Hal came out of the bedroom. "You have to dress properly."
"I just did." Hal gestured at himself. "This is it."
"You can't go like that!" said Clunk, scandalised. "They'll think you're a delivery man."
"I am a delivery man. Fancy clothes won't change that."
"They'll think you don't care!"
"Stuff 'em. I don't."
"They'll sit you at the foot of the table and feed you scraps."
"You know what? I'd kill for scraps right now. Even slightly dirty ones."
At that moment there was a polite knock on the door. Hal pulled it open to find a chauffeur waiting outside. "Please tell your master his limousine is ready."
Hal shut the door in his face. "Clunk," he hissed. "They've sent a limo!"
"Of course they have. It's an official reception."
"I can't go like this! I look like a delivery man!"
There was another knock on the door, less polite this time.
"It's too late now," said Clunk. "Come on."
They opened the door and walked out, Hal keeping behind Clunk as much as possible. The chauffeur raised one highly trained eyebrow at the flight suit, but said nothing. They took the lift to the garage, where a huge black limousine stood waiting, and Hal shrank into the back seat as the car bore them smoothly towards the spaceport entrance.
*
Jasmin opened her eyes and stared at the blades of grass blowing back and forth, back and forth just beyond her nose. They were brilliant green in the morning sun, with beads of moisture that glinted like fabulous diamonds.
Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings. She was lying on her side in a ditch, wearing a muddy red dress, and when she looked down she noticed her lower legs were submerged in a bubbling stream. I'd better pull them out before they rust, she thought idly, and activated the relevant motors. Rust? Motors? With a shock, she realised she was a robot, and with an even bigger shock she discovered her memory was blank. Who was she? What was her function?
She looked around and saw a red handbag lying nearby, but when she reached for it she discovered it was empty. No clues at all.
Slowly, she sat up. The rising sun was shining into the ditch, and the warmth had given her depleted energy stores a fraction more power. She looked up, gauging the distance to the top of the bank. She had enough reserves to reach the top, if she took it slowly, but after that she'd need a recharge as soon as possible.
As she crawled up the bank, Jasmin explored her data store. She had no memories at all, but there was a large block of third-party data covering the adventures of someone with the improbable name of Hal Spacejock. It seemed to be a lame reality show, following the daily life of some bumbling pilot and his creaky old robot, and Jasmin found herself wondering which of them was going to be voted off first. After a while she jumped to the end, where Spacejock and his robot had both been evicted and a tall young woman with fuzzy blonde hair was hiring mercenaries, stealing a spaceship and evading capture. Jasmin frowned at the unbelievable series of events. What sort of show was this?
She reached the top of the bank, where she found a deserted road. Unsure of her location or destination, she put the sun at her back and started walking.
*
The limo drew up at Government House and liveried staff ushered Hal and Clunk up the steps to the grandiose entrance. Cameras whirred and clicked as they entered the building, and Clunk's freshly polished skin gleamed in the sunlight.
At the top they were met by a doorman, who checked their invites and gave them security passes with their pictures on. Hal clipped his to a lapel, while Clunk discovered his was magnetic.
"We do get some robots through here," said the doorman.
"Yes, but I'm alloy," said Clunk. "It won't stick."
"Just carry the thing," said Hal. "Come on, I don't want to miss the first course."
They hurried along a carpeted hallway towards a huge pair of wooden doors, glancing up at the portraits lining the walls - paintings of politicians in ceremonial garb, their faces as dour and severe as a high court judge with a penchant for long sentences. "What a fun looking bunch," remarked Hal. "This meal is going to be a blast."
As they approached the end of the corridor they heard the buzz of conversation, and passed through the doors to see fifty or sixty people sitting around a table running the length of the room. Unlike Hal they were all smartly dressed, and there was more finery than a parking inspectors' annual ball.
Hal glanced towards the head of the table, where two ornate chairs sat empty. "Do you reckon those are for us?"
Clunk shook his head.
They stood there, looking lost, until a waiter spotted them and hurried over. "Outside, the pair of you. No servants in here."
Hal tapped his badge.
"Oh, I am sorry sir. Please, take a seat." The waiter stopped Clunk. "You can stand in the hallway."
Clunk displayed his Order of Bravery and the waiter's eyes nearly fell out.
"Your Excellency! I had no idea!"
Clunk sniffed. "You just can't get the help these days."
"I'd have him flogged," said Hal cheerfully.
Chastened, the waiter led them to a couple of empty chairs on opposite sides of the table. Hal's was between a fat man in a grey suit and a matron in an emerald green dress, while Clunk sat between a young man with slicked back hair and an elderly gentleman in a cream suit with red pinstripes.
"Yum, raspberry ripple," remarked Hal, as he took his seat.
Clunk frowned at him.
Each place setting had multiple sets of cutlery, ranging from tiny knives and forks to spoons the size of ladles. Hal picked up a fork to estimate the silver content, then put it back quickly when he caught Clunk's warning look. Along the middle of the table there was a row of steel balls, and it took some time for Hal to realise they were salt and pepper shakers. About the size of an apple, they looked like huge ball bearings and must have weighed at least a kilo each. Hal jumped as the matron in the green dress put her hand on his knee. "I don't think I've seen you at one of these events before," she said, eyeing his flight suit. "Are you a keen gardener?"
Hal shifted in his seat. "Er …"
"I grow root vegetables myself," the woman winked. "Some say I'm quite handy at it."
Hal dug in his flight suit and took out a crumpled card. "I'm a pilot, see?"
The woman took the card gingerly. "Hal Spacejock. Guaranteed cheap."
"That's me."
"I like the space rocket rampant."
"My robot drew that." Hal nodded across the table at Clunk, who was watching the exchange with enjoyment.
"Tell me, did you pose for the picture?"
Hal might have been as perceptive as a house brick, but he was beginning to realise there was another layer to the conversation. "Er, no. That's my space ship."
The woman nudged him, almost cracking his ribs. "I bet you say that to all the girls."
Hal was just about to defend himself, or switch places with Clunk, when the doors opened and everyone scrambled to their feet. The President of Cathua
made his entrance with an older man in a dress uniform with a row of medals. He was wearing a ceremonial hat, a gaudy purple affair ringed with long green feathers and topped with a huge gold emblem. His piercing gaze rested on Clunk for a moment before he smiled and guided the Cathuan President to the head of the table. As they sat, the gathering followed suit.
"Who's the tin soldier?" asked Hal.
"That's our Premier," said the woman sitting next to him. "He's a war hero, you know. Extremely brave man."
"With a hat like that, he'd have to be." Hal paused. "Does he use freighters, do you know?"
"I really couldn't say."
Hal was debating whether to pass his business card along the table when the waiter entered with a laden trolley. He stopped right behind Hal and whipped the cover off a dish overflowing with crisp bacon, which he offered to the woman in green. She took a decent helping and passed it to her left, and Hal could only watch as the dish vanished down the table. Then the waiter uncovered a dish brimming with poached eggs, with soft yolks and the whites just so. He offered this to the fat man sitting to Hal's right, who took three eggs and passed it on to his neighbour, and Hal watched in despair as the eggs disappeared even faster than the bacon.
By the time the dishes got back to him there was a smear of yolk on one and a scrap of bacon rind on the other, but before he could help himself the waiter reached in and whipped the dishes away. Annoyed, Hal looked across the table and saw Clunk had an empty plate. "Couldn't you have saved me some?"
Clunk nodded towards the doors, where the waiter was gathering another trolley. Hal clicked his fingers and beckoned, and the waiter made a beeline for his seat.
"What the hell are those?" demanded Hal, as the cover came off to reveal small piles of green froth.
"Spinach mousse, sir. Freshly beaten this morning."
"Freshly sneezed, you mean. Here, you haven't got any more of that bacon?"
"Flogged if I know, sir."
Defeated, Hal transferred one of the mounds to his plate and sat looking at it while all around him people tucked in to bacon and eggs.
Across the table, Clunk engaged his neighbours in conversation. Both men worked in robots, the younger one as a programmer and the other as a designer. "What a coincidence," said Clunk. "Here I am, a robot, sitting right between two people whose jobs involve robots."
The men looked puzzled.
"What did I say?"
"We all work in robots," explained the young man. "Didn't you know?"
Clunk glanced around the table. "Everyone?"
"This is the cream of Jordia's robot industry. By the way, good job at the factory yesterday. I would have saved the President myself, of course, but as a scientist and a man of intellect …"
"You ran for cover."
The man looked embarrassed. "We can't all be heroes."
"Tell me, were all of the people at yesterday's gathering scientists?"
"Nearly all. It was a robot fair."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Clunk slowly.
The Jordian Premier rapped his glass with a fork. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make."
The room fell silent.
"The Cathuan President came to Jordia on a goodwill trip, and to our eternal shame he was almost killed by an exploding gas main at the opening of the Robot Expo."
The President looked down at his plate, and a sour-faced man alongside him fidgeted with his serviette.
"Who's the smile factory?" Hal whispered to the lady in green.
"Wallis. The President's adviser."
The Premier continued. "Fortunately my great friend here was unharmed, due in no small measure to our special guests. So, please give a warm hand to Hal Spacepoke and his robot, Clink."
Applause rang out, and Hal and Clunk nodded to those seated around the table.
"Speech," said someone, and the call was quickly taken up.
Reluctantly, Hal stood. "We didn't do a lot, but I'm glad we did what we did when we had the chance to do it."
There were a few puzzled glances.
"I'm a pilot, not a hero. My job is carrying freight, and if anyone here wants the best price on a quick delivery, Spacejock Freightlines will see you right." Hal looked down the table and saw the President frowning at him. "I'm also in the food business, so if you've got any of that bacon left I'd like you to pass it over for inspection."
There was some polite applause, which got louder when Clunk stood up.
"I have something more serious to share," he said gravely. "In fact, I'm going to expose a devious plot which almost cost the President's life."
*
Clunk's announcement was greeted with breathless gasps and clattering cutlery, and at the head of the table the Cathuan President looked like he'd bitten into a lemon. "That explosion must have addled your brain," he said sharply. "Perhaps we should discuss this later, in private."
Clunk shook his head. "I must speak out. If I don't, lives will be lost."
The President turned to Hal. "I insist your robot hold his tongue."
"He hasn't got one."
"Oh, let him speak," said the Jordian Premier. "We can discuss his conspiracy theories over coffee."
The waiter took the hint, and disappeared through the double doors.
"Yesterday I promised to keep a secret, but I believe it's now time to break that promise." Clunk pushed his chair back and began to stride the carpet, hands clasped behind his back. "What's the motive? Who stands to gain? Those are the first questions in a crime of this nature, and I turned my mind to search for answers."
Hal watched the robot fondly. Talk about getting carried away … he could almost see Clunk twirling an invisible moustache.
"After weighing up the variables I realised your trade pact was the trigger. Of the three planets in this system, Plessa has the most to lose from the agreement, and only by taking such drastic action could they prevent it."
"Damn those Plessans!" exclaimed the Premier, thumping his fist on the table. "Should be hung, the lot of them!"
The woman in green gave Hal another rib-cracking nudge with her elbow.
Clunk ignored the interruptions. "Over the past two days I've heard several tales of Plessan agents infiltrating Jordia. Why, the Cathuan President himself told me a rogue vessel evaded capture and crash-landed next to a fairground. However, that wasn't the Plessans."
Hal stared at the robot. Was he going to dump them right in it?
Clunk spread his hands. "I believe that vessel was a red herring. A decoy."
Hal breathed out.
"Meanwhile the real agent slipped in through more conventional means. A regular freighter, perhaps. Or a passenger liner."
"Told you they were sneaky," said the Premier with satisfaction. "Snakes, the lot of 'em."
"That's what I thought, until I realised it wasn't the Plessans."
"Eh?"
"Plessa is a wealthy planet. Eighty percent of their trade takes place outside the Oxed system, and to be perfectly frank neither Cathua nor Jordia is worth bothering with."
"Well!" exclaimed the Premier.
"I reached that conclusion on facts and figures alone," said Clunk hurriedly. "But that led me to the next possibility. What if another planet were behind the attack?"
"Someone from outside the system?" asked a young man.
"Actually, no. I'm referring to Jordia."
There was uproar around the table, with people shouting and clamouring to be heard. The Premier banged on the table, and in the confusion Hal managed to transfer several slices of bacon from his neighbour's plate. All the while the Cathuan President watched Clunk with barely concealed loathing.
Eventually the hubbub died down and the Jordian Premier pointed a shaking finger at Clunk. "If this ridiculous charade is your idea of a joke it's in pretty poor taste!"
"I'm not joking," said Clunk mildly. "I'm just covering the facts as I see them."
"Then you're wearing blinkers you … you metal moron."<
br />
Clunk frowned. "Please. Let me explain."
"Yes, you do that. Tell all these good people why they tried to kill the Cathuan President."
"To set Cathua against Plessa."
"Preposterous!"
"I don't know. Jordia has ambitions, but alone you'll never match the economic might of Plessa. United with Cathua it would be two planets against one."
"But we would never contemplate killing a head of state! Why, the ramifications —"
"I agree. If the President were killed here you'd be the prime suspect, and a Jordian plot would have the entire galaxy refusing to trade with you. Therefore, I discounted that theory. Clearly, it wasn't the Jordians." Clunk stopped pacing and turned to point at the Cathuan President. "And that leaves you. The Cathuans."
The President laughed. "Why would my own people try to kill me?"
"They weren't after you, they were trying to kill the Jordian robot scientists." Clunk gestured around the table. "All these people were present last night. Had they been killed, the Jordian robot industry would have been set back decades and Jordia would have been forced to buy all their robots from Cathua."
"But they'd have killed me too!"
"Clearly, and that fact was rather troubling." Clunk resumed his pacing. "The resurrection of your ailing robot industry is vital to a great many people, but to kill their own President?" He shook his head. "Inconceivable."
"I'm glad you think so."
Clunk turned to the table and threw his arms wide open, encompassing his spellbound audience. "And then it came to me!"
Everyone leant closer, holding their breath.
"What if the President wasn't at the trade fair? What if he never came to Jordia at all?"
Hal almost choked on his bacon. "Clunk, he's sitting at the head of the table."
"But that's it you see, he's not the President!" Clunk turned and pointed. "This is clearly a robot in a wig!"
This time the uproar was deafening, and Hal managed to score two poached eggs from his distracted neighbour.
"You've gone too far!" said the Jordian Premier above the noise. "Why, I've known Daniel since —"
The President shushed him. "Allow me to demonstrate," he said, taking one of the Premier's medals. He pricked his finger with the pin, and displayed the welling drop of blood for all to see. "I know they've made advances in robotics, but I think you'd agree this is a little beyond our current technology."