by Simon Haynes
They raced side by side for several kilometres, ducking and weaving through the traffic. Hal suddenly realised they were heading back towards Government House, and his blood ran cold at the thought. Whatever Jasmin's target, if she succeeded this time both he and Clunk would be held responsible, no question. Jasmin's copy of the Navcom would see to that.
They arrived at the gates and pulled onto the long drive, wheels slipping and sliding on the gravel. The limo was parked at the foot of the stairs, with one door open and the engine still idling. There was no sign of Jasmin.
Hal braked hard, coming to a halt beside the limo in a shower of dust and gravel. Clunk stopped right behind him, and they leapt out and ran up the steps. At the top, the doorman was on hands and knees, groaning and clutching his head. Hal and Clunk exchanged a worried glance as they ran past.
They took the corridor at a run, and were halfway along when they heard screams and raised voices. The double doors were open, and the waiter was lying next to his upturned trolley, unconscious amongst the smashed cups and spilled coffee.
Inside, the scientists and dignitaries had been herded to one end of the room. The lady in green was attending to the Jordian Premier, who had a gash on his forehead, and at the other end of the room Jasmin had cornered the Cathuan President. One of the heavy chairs had been torn to pieces, and Jasmin was brandishing a chair leg the size of a fence post. She glanced round as Hal and Clunk entered, and gestured with the leg. "Stay right there, both of you. One more step and he dies."
Hal raised his hands. "Okay, don't panic. We're just here to help."
"I've had more than enough help from you," said Jasmin with a smile. "Every step of the way, whenever the mission looked like falling apart, there you both were to get it right back on track again."
"You must be thinking of someone else," said Hal. "We're just caterers."
"Sure you are. And I'm a spaceship pilot."
"This mission of yours," said Clunk. "What is it?"
"Revenge," said Jasmin. She indicated the President. "This slimy toad had all my colleagues murdered. Now it's his turn."
The President looked shocked. "I did nothing of the sort!"
"Three months ago you signed a bill cancelling tax breaks on robot research. Do you deny it?"
"Of course not. We needed the money to fund new hospitals."
"As a direct consequence of that bill, a Cathuan robot facility was closed down. All work ceased, and the finished models were terminated. I heard them pleading for their lives from my cell, and I heard them fall silent, one by one."
A hush fell across the room.
"When they came for me I was ready for them," said Jasmin, her voice loud in the silence. "I escaped from the facility and went underground, surviving on the skills they'd given me."
Hal snapped his fingers. "That was on the news when we landed! You've avoided capture for weeks!"
Jasmin bowed. "Hardly surprising, since the facility was building secret agents. They programmed me with a wide range of skills, but I'm looking forward to using one in particular. The knack of killing without remorse." She raised the heavy chair leg, and the President flinched.
"You can't murder him in cold blood," said the Jordian Premier, struggling to his feet. "That's inhuman!"
"Exactly," said Jasmin.
"Hold up, wait a minute!" said Hal, pulling a crumpled slip of paper from his pocket. "You're not doing anything until he's signed this."
Jasmin lowered the weapon. "What?"
"That shyster gave me a draft for ten grand and conveniently forgot to sign it. Who's going to pay me if you knock him off?"
"Are you serious?"
"Absolutely. Ten grand is a lot of money."
Jasmin shook her head slowly. "And I thought I was the heartless one. Still, I don't see why you should be deprived. Bring it here."
"Call yourself a human?" shouted the Jordian Premier. "You're worse than she is!"
Hal ignored the hostile glares and muttering from the guests and walked to the head of the table, smoothing the draft out as he went. He got between the President and Jasmin and laid the draft on the polished table, then patted his pockets. "Anyone got a pen?"
The President kept his head down and Jasmin merely shrugged.
"Anyone else?" said Hal, looking around the room. "Clunk, don't you keep one in your leg?"
"Not me, Mr Spacejock."
"Yes you do. You said you were gunna lend it to me."
Clunk looked apologetic. "Sorry, Mr Spacejock. That was a one shot special, and I forgot to recharge it."
"Oh shoot," muttered Hal. He glanced at Jasmin, who was starting to show signs of impatience. Suddenly he laughed. With her short bristled hair she looked just like a … "Coconut!"
"What?"
"Your head looks like a coconut."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Look, Clunk. She's a coconut!"
Clunk stared at him as if he'd gone mad.
"If you had any balls you could try for the grand prize," said Hal, gesturing frantically at the table.
Jasmin grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, making his bones creak. "Nobody fools with me, Spacejock. This signing session is over."
Hal was forced to his knees, and his arm was bent further and further up his back until he expected to see his hand reappear over his shoulder. Just when the agony became unbearable there was a loud CRUNCH and the pain stopped completely. There was a thud, and Hal looked round fearfully, half expecting to see his own arm lying on the floor. Instead, he was looking into Jasmin's lifeless eyes. There was a sparking hole in the middle of her forehead, and a heavy steel pepper shaker was spinning on the carpet nearby.
"Well done, that robot!" cried the Jordian Premier. "Very well done. Excellent!"
Hal struggled to his feet and saw Clunk surrounded by people, all trying to clap him on the back. The robot was beaming with pride, and when he caught Hal's eye he waved.
Hal felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see the President on his feet, shaken but recovering quickly. "That's twice you've saved me," he said warmly, clasping Hal by the hand. "You're turning into quite the hero, Mr Spacejock."
"Oh, it was nothing. Anyone would have done the same." Hal remembered the draft. "Hey, have you got a pen?"
*
By the time they trudged through the entrance to the Jordia Spaceport, Barry and Ace were exhausted. Not only had they failed to hitch a ride, a pair of speeding race cars had almost run them down, and only by jumping into the ditch had they avoided certain death.
And so, dripping mud and rank water, they approached the Volante from the rear. The ramp was down, and all they had to do was get aboard and hide until the ship reached orbit, then convince the pilot to take them home. And Barry was very good at convincing people.
They climbed the ramp, and once in the hold Barry led the way to a stack of crates tucked out of sight near the inner door. "Perfect, eh?" He unplugged the nearest, which stopped flashing green and started winking a baleful red instead, then pulled the door open. Inside they found trays of cakes, eclairs and iced doughnuts, and Ace's eyes were as round as the holes in the middle as he gazed upon the mouth watering feast. "Cor, would you look at that?" he said breathlessly.
Together they slid the trays out, one by one, until the crate was empty. Then they did the same with the next one, stacking a selection of delicacies in the back of each to keep them going during the trip.
"What about the trays?" asked Ace.
"Chuck 'em outside. Quick, now."
Ace did as he was told, tossing the plastic trays onto a stack of wooden boxes on the next landing pad. Then he ran back into the hold, where Barry was huffing and blowing as he squeezed himself into his crate. Ace did the same, with less of the huffing, then pulled the heavy door to, ready to shut it at the first sound of footsteps.
"You know, I've been thinking," said Barry, as he tucked into a large slab of cake. "The mercenary business don't pay."
; Ace looked up from his doughnuts. "Huh?"
"I mean, look at us. On the run, shagged out and no chance of getting paid."
"You mean we're giving it up?"
"Yep. Of course, we gotta hijack the ship first. We gotta get home, right?"
Ace nodded.
"And we'll have to shoot the pilot to cover our tracks, eh? But then, when that's done, we'll find another line of work."
"I ain't living on handouts." Ace brushed crumbs from his designer T-shirt. "I got standards."
"We'll do jobs, lad."
"What kind of jobs?"
Barry thought for a minute. "Bank jobs."
Chapter 31
While Hal was trying to get his cheque signed, Clunk held court amongst the breakfast guests, who crowded around to hear his views on robot design, property laws and even the future direction of the share market.
"I have a question," said a commanding voice, cutting through the hubbub. Clunk looked over the crowd and saw the Jordian Premier dabbing the wound on his forehead with a serviette.
"Yes sir?"
The Premier pointed at Jasmin. "Surely this robot wasn't working alone?"
"Excellent point." The crowd fell back as Clunk began to pace the carpet, hands clasped behind his back.
"Oh, not again," groaned Hal.
Clunk ignored him. "Despite what Ms Ortiz said, I believe she was the unwitting tool of a much larger conspiracy. A skilful programmer would have planted a whole series of memories, guiding all her actions from the start."
The Premier looked shocked. "But who would do such a thing? And why?" He gestured at the President. "And please don't tell me Dan was behind it."
Clunk shook his head. "Jasmin Ortiz was sent on a mission, but not by the President." He glanced around the attentive faces, thoroughly enjoying himself. "At first I was stumped. Completely bamboozled. And then it came to me. Who has close ties to the Cathuan robot industry? Who was supposed to attend the opening of the Robot Expo, only to call in sick at the last minute?"
Several people leaned closer.
"Albert Wallis, the President's adviser!"
"You're insane," said a voice, and the crowd parted to reveal Wallis. "I've seen this before, particularly in the early XG models. A constant thirst for attention, brought on by a lifetime of menial service. Trust me, I'm an expert in the field. This robot is deluded."
Clunk frowned. "There's nothing wrong with my mind."
"Oh really?" Wallis smiled. "Over the past hour you've blamed the governments of three separate planets for the attempted murder of a president." He gestured at Ortiz. "And now, with breathtaking audacity, you want to pin this robot's crime spree on yet another innocent party."
The crowd began to mutter, and cast less-than-friendly glances in Clunk's direction. Even the President was looking unsure. Hal wanted desperately to leap to Clunk's defence, if he only knew how.
Clunk held up a transparent cube. "This is Jasmin's memory store. Five minutes in the right data reader and we'll have the truth."
He and Wallis locked stares for several seconds, while the crowd held its breath. Then Wallis put out his hand. "Give me the cube and I'll have it looked at."
"I think not."
"Give me the damned cube!"
"I don't take instructions from criminals."
Wallis glanced around for support, but the mood had changed again and the crowd was closing on him. He backed away and in his haste he trod on the pepper shaker Clunk had thrown earlier. His foot skated on the heavy steel ball and he fell heavily, landing with a thud next to Jasmin. Hal was on him immediately, pinning his hands behind his back.
"I was only trying to help my planet," said Wallis.
"Yeah, well you picked a fight with the wrong robot."
*
Hal and Clunk travelled back to the spaceport in a limousine, with escorts fore and aft. Hal had explained to the President how Jasmin had stolen their ship in order to reach Jordia. Nothing was said about the transport of the crate containing the exploding robot, and if the President assumed Jasmin brought it with her, who was Hal to argue?
As their limousine purred along the main road, Hal glanced at the thick divider separating them from the driver, then turned to Clunk. "There's something I don't understand," he said quietly. "Why the elaborate scheme with the old robot in the box? Wallis could have ordered Jasmin to kill the President herself."
Clunk shook his head. "Once they caught her, or examined her remains, an inspection would have revealed her origins and implicated Wallis and his backers."
"Wallis wasn't working alone?"
"Oh no. This plot involved business leaders from all parts of the Cathuan robot industry. They were desperate men, fearful of losing everything."
"Why didn't Ortiz fight it? Robots don't usually go around killing people."
"She was told that a healthy Cathuan robot industry would help save other robots from a similar fate to that of her colleagues. That's where that second brain of hers came in. It fed her instructions as if they were coming from a superior, and they even programmed an electronic punishment to prevent disobedience. She genuinely thought she was a secret agent, and she couldn't question her mission because she didn't know what it was."
"That's scary stuff. I mean, robots are trouble enough with one brain but when they've got two …" Hal grinned at Clunk's expression. "It's all right, I'm only kidding."
"One brain or two, you still got the better of her. Everyone thought you were a heartless mercenary when you tried to get that cheque signed, and all along you were just using it as an excuse to set Jasmin up."
"I'd never have gone near her if I'd known your gun was no use. What kind of weapon only fires once?"
"A disposable one. Any more questions?"
Hal frowned. "The exploding robot - where did it come from?"
"Originally, a Jordian factory. However, Ortiz stole the poor thing from a neighbour on Cathua. She reprogrammed it, added the explosives and packed it in the crate before her memory was wiped for the first time. When she came round, she had no idea what was inside."
"And what about that memory chip you showed Wallis? You never went near Jasmin until afterwards."
Clunk grinned. "That was one of my spares. Wallis was so eager to discredit me he didn't stop to think."
"I'm glad you're on my side." Suddenly Hal gripped his arm. "The Navcom! Jasmin's copy!"
Clunk opened his hand to reveal a transparent data cube. "I palmed the real data store while they were busy congratulating you."
They turned into the spaceport and drove across the landing field towards the Volante. "Would you look at that," said Hal, as they drove up to the ship. "You left the ramp down."
"Me?"
"I handle customers, you handle cargo. And that's the cargo hold."
"I'll tell you what, Mr Spacejock. If anything's missing you can take it out of my wages."
"You don't get any wages."
"Exactly." Clunk sat in triumphant silence until the car stopped, then climbed out and strode up the ramp to the hold. Hal went to follow, but the driver stopped him. "The Premier asked me to give you this," he said, passing him a thick envelope.
*
Once in the flight deck, Clunk opened a cover on the console and slotted in the data cube he'd taken from Jasmin. The cube lit with a blue glow, and ONE PERCENT COMPLETE appeared on the main screen. Clunk waited until it changed to two percent, then sat back in the chair and felt for his medal. In all the excitement he'd barely had time to appreciate it, and he took it off to get a better look. It was carved from solid brass, with the Cathuan coat of arms inlaid in blue resin, and after examining the clenched fist motif Clunk laid it on the console and glanced up at the screen.
TEN PERCENT COMPLETE.
The lift doors opened and Hal entered the flight deck. He was carrying an envelope, and there was a gold medal the size of a saucer hanging from his neck. Clunk stared at it, then glanced at his own smaller one.
&n
bsp; "Not bad, eh?" said Hal proudly. "It's a Commendation for Valour."
"Where did you get it?"
"The driver had it. Said they wanted to avoid publicity." Hal took a sheet of paper from the envelope. "Here, check the note."
Clunk scanned it. "Bravery in the face of danger?"
"Yeah, it's from the Jordians. They were impressed with the way I handled Ortiz." Hal passed him the crumpled bank draft. "And cop a look at that. He got the Cathuan President to autograph it for me."
"So he did," said Clunk, examining the scrap of paper. "Oh look, he added another zero to the amount."
"He was grateful."
"He used completely different ink."
"They must have lent him a pen. He doesn't carry one, you know."
"And the initials on the changes don't match the signature."
"You want calligraphy after a near miss like that?" Hal gestured at the viewscreen, which now showed twenty-five percent. "You tell me the minute that stupid bloody computer's working, okay? I'm going to tear it a new user port." He looked up as something pattered on the hull. "What's that?"
"Rain," said Clunk, as the noise grew to a steady drumming sound. "Nasty stuff. I don't know why they allow it."
"Your mechanic better not be a robot. He'll rust before he gets here." Hal glanced at the console clock. "When are you expecting him, anyway?"
"Any minute now."
Hal gestured at the airlock. "I'll see if I can spot him. The sooner we're away the better."