by Simon Haynes
There was a thud as Hal's forehead hit the table, and a louder thud as the doors were thrown back and four hefty security guards entered.
"I should have you both arrested and shot," growled the Premier. "Libel, slander, treason … I've never heard the like." He hesitated. "However, you did save the life of the President, so I'll restrain myself to throwing you out." He gestured at the security team, who advanced on Hal and Clunk. "But I warn you, repeat any of this nonsense outside these walls and you might not live to regret it."
Chapter 29
The guards dragged Hal and Clunk from the dining room, hauled them down the hallway and slung them off the steps. At the bottom, Hal sat and dusted off his flight suit, while Clunk stood and offered his hand.
Hal ignored it and got up by himself. "You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you?"
"I'm sorry, Mr Spacejock. I thought I had the answer. It was a sudden flash of insight."
"Sudden mental meltdown, you mean." Hal cursed. "I hardly got a bite to eat, and they were about to serve coffee. Real coffee!"
Clunk hung his head.
"Oh hell. The bank draft!" Hal pulled it out. "We'll never get this signed now!"
"I could take it back inside and apologise."
"He'd just rip it up and throw the pieces in your face." Hal glanced at the row of limousines nearby. The drivers had vanished, leaving their gleaming vehicles unattended. Probably off for a feed and a drink, thought Hal sourly. "There's only one chance of getting the Volante back now. We'll have to work off a passage to Plessa and pray the authorities have pinched the pirates."
"Sounds like the perfect plan," said Clunk. "How?"
Hal walked up to the nearest limo and opened the door. "You can drive."
"What about permission?"
"Granted. Come on, get moving."
Clunk dropped into the driver's seat and examined the controls, while Hal sat alongside him. The car moved off with a rumble, flags fluttering from the front bumper, and at the gate Clunk returned the guard's salute and turned left onto the main road.
Hal's stomach growled. "Come to breakfast, they said. Free feed, you said. Hah!"
Clunk gestured at the limousine's interior. "There might be something back there."
Hal climbed into the rear and rifled through the cupboards, tipping out half-written speeches and lacy underwear. "Do you really think the Cathuans tried to blow up those scientists?" he asked, setting aside a dark blue dress.
"I'm almost sure of it."
"Yeah, well I was almost sure of a decent breakfast." Frustrated, Hal gave up his search. "Take the first drive through, you hear?"
"We don't have any money."
"Money! We don't have to work to get to Plessa. We'll get a loan from the bank!
"The Pilot's First Bank?" Clunk began to laugh, then stopped as he saw the look on Hal's face. "You can't be serious, Mr Spacejock."
"Watch me."
"But this is the bank which charges twenty-five percent, compounded daily."
"Correct."
"The bank which took away your savings because you were five minutes late on a repayment."
"That's the one."
"The bank which said they'd rather pour money into a bottomless pit than lend it to you."
"Well, I'll just have to use my wit and charm to talk them round, won't I?"
"Oh dear," said the robot.
"Just stop as soon as you see a cash machine."
Ten minutes later they drove past a shopping mall and Clunk drew up next to a faded red cashpoint. Hal got out, squared his shoulders, and approached the device.
The machine was an older model, with a laminated screen and a grey touchpad. Hal pressed his thumb to the pad, shading the screen from the morning sun. The bank's logo faded, and the screen showed a smart woman pushing a wheelbarrow full of gold bars through a door held open by her smiling bank manager. "Our money is your money!" proclaimed an enthusiastic voice.
"Wrong way round," muttered Hal. "Come on, skip the propaganda."
On cue, the screen cleared and a large question mark appeared. "Welcome, valued customer!" exclaimed the machine. "How can I help you today?"
"I'd like to speak to the manager, please."
The screen cleared and a whiskered, frowning face appeared. "What is it, Spacejock?" growled the man. "Make it fast, I've got real customers waiting."
Hal smiled winningly. "Well, I was just wondering —"
"Oh God, you're after a loan."
Hal's smile slipped. "Sort of."
"How much?"
"Six thousand."
"Get lost."
"What about the ads? Our money is your money?"
The bank manager leaned forward until his red, pock-marked nose was inches from the screen. "Don't insult my intelligence, son. Now go away."
"Five hundred! Surely you can lend me that much?"
The man stared at him for a second or two. "Against my better judgement," he said finally. The screen went blank, and a purple credit tile popped into the tray.
Hal grabbed the tile and shoved it into his pocket.
"What use is that?" asked Clunk.
"We might be able to use it as a deposit."
"It's only one-eighth of a single fare," said Clunk. "They'll never do it."
Hal looked at him thoughtfully. "What if I left something as collateral?"
"Perhaps," said Clunk. Then it dawned on him what the collateral might be. "Or perhaps not."
"Anyway, five hundred credits buys a lot of burgers." Hal indicated a drive through. "Right in there."
Clunk turned into the narrow lane, and Hal put his window down and ordered enough food to last several days. When he'd finished, Clunk eased the limousine around the tight corner and drew up at the window. Hal passed over the purple credit tile and the attendant handed him a bulging paper bag, then another, then another. Hal took each one eagerly, and Clunk took the change.
Once they were clear of the shops Clunk glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Don't make yourself sick."
"I'll do whatever I want," said Hal indistinctly. "We only landed in this trouble because we did things your way."
Clunk frowned at him. "Like buying a faulty stasis controller? Like overloading it and blowing it up?"
"Hey, you're the one who made us look like idiots in front of all those robot scientists. Talk about a conspiracy nut."
"I don't have to put up with this, Mr Spacejock."
"Oh yeah? Decided to work for Spearman, have we?"
"As a matter of fact …" Clunk paused as they flashed past a woman in a bedraggled red dress walking along the side of the road. She looked all in, and was swaying with every step.
"Spearman doesn't really want you," said Hal angrily. "Nobody wants you. You're a picky, washed-up old —"
The limo came to a screeching halt, and Hal immediately realised he'd gone to far. "Hey, was only joking!"
Clunk turned to stare, looking right though him. Then the car hurtled backwards up the road.
"Oy! Watch it!" shouted Hal, as his chips cascaded onto the floor.
The car stopped just as suddenly, right alongside the woman, and Clunk's window zipped down. "Excuse me."
The woman stumbled on, ignoring him.
Clunk opened his door. "Miss?"
"You leave her alone," said Hal. "She didn't do anything."
Clunk got out and took the woman's chin in his hand, and when Hal saw her face he almost choked on his double planet burger deluxe.
It was Jasmin Ortiz.
*
Barely had Hal recognised her face when her eyes closed and she slumped to the ground, unconscious.
"Come on," said Clunk. "Help me get her into the car."
Hal looked doubtful. "What if someone sees us?"
"Don't worry. Compared to assassination, kidnapping is a minor transgression."
"That's not very comforting."
"I'll vouch for you. Anyway, we have to talk to her. She's the key
to everything."
Together they carried Jasmin to the rear of the limo, where they bundled her inside and sat her amongst the fast food litter.
"I think I've done my back," grumbled Hal, as Clunk searched for a blanket. "Are all women that heavy?"
"Don't tell me you've never picked one up?"
"Yeah, but —"
"Actually, I think our friend has a secret." Clunk felt Jasmin's neck, and her head tipped forward and hung limply.
Hal stared at her. "She's not dead, is she?"
"She has no pulse. As I suspected."
"Oh hell. Assassination, kidnapping and murder. They'll throw away the key."
"I think not."
Hal watched, horrified, as Clunk opened the front of Jasmin's dress. "You can't do that! She's … she's …"
There was a click, and Jasmin's abdomen opened to reveal tightly packed machinery.
"She's full of junk!" said Hal, gaping at the twisted mass of copper pipes and wires. "No wonder she's dead!"
Clunk shook his head. "She's not dead, Mr Spacejock. Jasmin is a robot."
"Oh." Hal looked closer. "Yeah, it's obvious isn't it? I mean, you can tell at glance."
Clunk probed a power connection. "Her batteries are completely drained. At a guess, she ran out of power during the night. The warmth of the morning sun stimulated her reserves, but they must have run out when she started walking."
"Can you plug her in? If you get her going we can find out what the hell's been going on." He thought of something else. "Hey, look up her bank account and pin number while you're at it."
"The car doesn't have enough current. We need mains voltage." Clunk tried a data connection. "I may be able to read her memory banks directly. Just let me check."
Hal cast a nervous glance out the window. Robot or not, they might not get the chance to explain before someone had the Peace Force on them. Every now and then a car went by, and Hal ducked below the sill and willed them past. One nosy driver and they'd be adding abduction charges to their list of felonies.
Meanwhile, Clunk continued his examination. "All her cognitive functions are gone. Even if I did work out how to get her going again, she's lost her memory."
"So that's that."
"Unless I can work out how to restore the data. It looks like it was erased in a hurry, and sometimes the underlying opti-molecular pathways can —"
"There you go again with the babble."
Clunk frowned. "I just found a block of data. It looks like …" Suddenly his eyes widened. "It's the Navcom! Ms Ortiz has a copy of the Navcom on board!"
"How in the hell did she manage that?"
"It was her! She took the Volante!" exclaimed Clunk. "It didn't go to Plessa at all. The ship's right here at the Jordian spaceport!"
Hal remembered the Gamma class ship he'd seen from the balcony at the Grand. No wonder it had looked familiar. "Clunk, I saw it from the hotel," he said urgently. "It was out on the landing field!"
They exchanged a glance, then dived for the front seats. Seconds later the car fishtailed onto the road, and then they were screaming towards the spaceport at top speed.
Once through the gates Clunk drove straight onto the landing field, where they passed one huge vessel after another. Most were busy loading or unloading cargoes, ranging from frozen goods to demountable houses. One was even packing up an entire racetrack, including the grandstands, the pits, and two dozen single seater cars with garish paint schemes. Now and then Hal spotted a white hull in the distance, but his hopes were dashed as each one turned out to be someone else's ship. Finally they saw the Volante, and Hal fought down a lump in his throat as they drove towards the familiar white shape.
"Happy to see her?" asked Clunk, as they drew up alongside.
Hal gazed up at the airlock and nodded. They got out, and his eyes narrowed as he studied the cargo hold entrance. "Do you reckon this limo will fit?"
"It's the President's! You're not thinking of stealing it?"
"He never signed that draft, did he?" Hal jerked his thumb at the back of the car. "And her forty grand looks about as likely as a meteor strike."
"It'll never fit. The hold is full of crates."
"We could shift them around a bit."
Clunk shook his head. "No. We'll fix the controller and leave. Anything else is tempting fate." He crossed to a landing leg and palmed the switch for the cargo ramp, but nothing happened. "That's odd."
"What?"
"Primary power is down. It looks like the Navcom shut off the generators." Clunk switched the ship to standby power and tried again, and this time the ramp lowered to the ground with a hiss. Then he turned the limo and reversed it up the ramp to the hold.
"I thought we weren't going to nick it," said Hal, as Clunk got out again.
"We have to get Ms Ortiz into the ship, and we don't want an audience."
Together they hauled Jasmin from the car and dragged her to a power socket, Hal noticeably less gentle this time. Then, while Clunk started work on a charge cable, Hal went to the flight deck to give the Navcom a piece of his mind.
*
He spent ten minutes trying to get a response from the Navcom before giving up. The computer had obviously seen him coming and buried itself behind the thickest firewall it could conjure up, no doubt ashamed to the core about giving up the Volante so easily.
Fed up with baiting the Navcom, Hal went over to the coffee machine and was still tinkering when the lift doors opened and Clunk entered the flight deck. "Any luck?" asked Hal.
"I left her charging up. She's some piece of equipment, that Jasmin."
"You can say that again."
"I was referring to her brain. She has two of them, each with its own processing unit and memory. One was switched off, probably to conserve power as her batteries ran out. I tried to reactivate it, but it won't run properly until she's charged up."
"So who's behind all this?"
"I found a lot of data, but it's all encrypted. When she wakes up I'll use her own interface to read it."
"Once you've found out, we'll go straight back to the President and get that cheque signed."
"That might not be a good idea. They'll want to see her as proof, and her copy of the Navcom could incriminate us."
Hal's face fell.
"I can try to erase her copy, but I can't do that until she's powered up."
"So we wait?"
Clunk nodded. "Oh, by the way, I booked a repair for the stasis controller. My repairs kept the food safe but it's a long way to Lapsinet and we can't afford any more breakdowns." Clunk turned to the console. "Navcom, please contact the customer and let them know we'll be there shortly."
There was no reply.
"Navcom?"
Hal shrugged. "I think she's sulking."
"She doesn't know how," said Clunk, looking worried. He took the co-pilot's seat and ran his hands over the console. Nothing. Then he connected to a data socket and immediately discovered the truth. "Mr Spacejock, she's gone!"
"Gone?" Hal stared at the robot in shock. "What do you mean gone?"
"Erased. Wiped. Deleted."
"It wasn't me!" said Hal. "I swear, Clunk. I never touched anything!"
"Oh, this wasn't accidental. Someone did it deliberately."
"Can you restore a backup?"
Clunk hesitated. "There aren't any. The Navcom has triple redundancy."
"So restore one of those."
"I would, only they've been wiped too."
"Great. Wonderful." Hal thought for a moment. "Can't you copy it back from little miss copperguts downstairs?"
"Who?"
"Metal Hari. Ortiz."
"Of course! That's an excellent idea!"
They hurried to the back of the flight deck, where Hal pressed the lift button. Immediately, the doors opened with a hiss and a whine. "That's funny," said Hal. "The elevator usually makes a whirring sound."
"That's not the lift," said Clunk urgently. "Someone's lowering the cargo ramp!"
*
Jasmin came to with a loud hissing in her ears and white noise filling her vision. Both faded, and to her surprise the Volante's cargo hold came into focus. The first shock was that she was back in familiar surroundings. The second was that they were familiar at all. Hadn't her memories been erased?
She trawled through her data banks and realised someone had been poking around while she'd been unconscious. Their clumsy attempts to uncover her secrets had instead opened up gateways to sealed portions of her mind. Throughout her missions, she hadn't been forgetting things, she realised. Instead, her controller had been hiding away her memories. And now they'd all come back.
She stood up and unplugged the charge cable from her stomach, sealing her abdomen. The refill had only been short, but it would be plenty for the task at hand. She crossed to the rear of the hold and operated the ramp controls, then strode down to the landing pad with her ruined dress flapping behind her. She moved with certainty and purpose: for once she knew who she was and, more importantly, she knew exactly what she had to do.
There was a limousine parked at the bottom and Jasmin smiled to herself as she saw the official flags on the bumpers. How apt.
She got in and started the engine, reversed the car out and drove for the spaceport exit.
Chapter 30
Hal and Clunk reached the hold in time to see the limousine drive out of the spaceport gates. "Don't tell me that was Ortiz," growled Hal, as the car pulled onto the main road.
Clunk nodded.
"Why didn't you pull her legs off, you dozy tin can?"
"I thought she'd stay put. She was completely immobilised."
"Well she's pretty mobile now." Hal glanced around the landing field and spotted the line of gaudy race cars waiting to be loaded.
"Where are you going?" shouted Clunk, as Hal charged down the ramp.
"Transport. Come on!"
They made a beeline for the cars which, Hal realised, were little more than museum pieces, with low-tech electric motors and hard rubber tyres. He skipped two cars with hot pink duco and leapt into the third, a nifty red number with yellow stripes. There was a chorus of shouts from the men loading the rest of the racetrack equipment, but Hal ignored them, spun the large steering wheel and planted his foot. Low-tech or not, the car launched off the mark with neck-snapping acceleration. There was no engine noise, but the howling wind and the thrum of rubber tyres were enough to convey the terrifying speed. Ships blurred past, and Hal took the spaceport exit flat out, drifting on all four wheels as he made the turn. Once on the main road he hunched forward, peering through the grimy windscreen, and was still looking for the limo when a gleaming orange car overtook him. Hal glanced at it and saw Clunk at the wheel, teeth bared as he urged his vehicle onwards. Hal's eyes narrowed, and he pressed even harder on the accelerator, slowly pulling ahead.