Hal Spacejock 4: No Free Lunch

by Simon Haynes

  ‘Which friend?’

  Walsh reddened. ‘Just someone I met. A pilot.’

  ‘This is highly irregular, Trainee Walsh. What if his intentions towards you are less than honourable?’

  ‘I’m sure they’re not.’

  ‘And you do realise you can’t take a weapon? You’re not licensed, and Forzen won’t allow it.’

  ‘I’ll manage.’

  ‘Very well, on your own head be it.’ Bernie turned to leave. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. If I stand on tip-toe I can just see the top of a tree or two.’

  Walsh closed her eyes. She’d half a mind to let Bernie roam the streets of Dismolle, even though the robot was officially confined to the office. After all, what harm could she do? She would probably run flat thirty metres up the road.

  Walsh was still sitting there, head in hands, when her terminal buzzed. She gestured at the screen and felt a thrill as she saw Hal’s robot looking down at the camera, with blue sky behind him. ‘Clunk, isn’t it? How can I help you?’

  ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news.’

  Walsh sat up. ‘It’s not Hal, is it? Is he all right?’

  ‘Mr Spacejock is in perfect health. No, it’s the Volante I’m calling about. I’m afraid we can’t take you to Forzen today.’

  ‘Oh no. What’s the matter?’

  ‘The dockyard received erroneous instructions overnight, and when we arrived this morning we found our ship completely disassembled.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘I wish I was. Mr Spacejock is taking it hard. In fact, he’s so distraught about letting you down that he couldn’t bring himself to talk to you personally.’

  ‘He must be feeling terrible. Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘There is one thing.’ Clunk hesitated. ‘The ship should be ready this time tomorrow, and if you could just delay your trip until then, Mr Spacejock will be happy to take you.’

  Walsh considered it. She really wanted to, but she couldn’t put her personal life ahead of an official investigation. It was a pity about Hal, but Bigan wasn’t going to pay, so she’d just have to get a lift with someone else. ‘I’m sorry, Clunk. I really have to get to Forzen as soon as possible.’

  ‘I’ll tell Mr Spacejock. He’ll be most disappointed.’

  She sighed, and called Bigan, whose secretary assured her there was no way they could provide an advance payment for her ticket. ‘We can only reimburse on receipt of your receipts.’ she said.

  Harriet sighed again as she called the Volante.

  ‘Clunk, before you go …’

  ‘Yes, Miss Walsh?’

  ‘I’m sure you’re busy with the Volante, but can you ask around the spaceport for me? I need a lift to Forzen and I don’t know where to start.’

  Clunk nodded. ‘Leave it with me.’

  * * *

  ‘Who was that?’ asked Hal, as Clunk lowered the PDA.

  ‘Nobody,’ said Clunk. How could he ask Mr Spacejock to find another lift for Walsh? He’d sooner take his own arms off with a laser cutter.

  They were standing near the Volante, and Hal shaded his eyes as he watched the dockyard workers reassembling the ship. ‘Reckon we can help them out? Speed things up a bit?’

  Clunk nodded. ‘I know the ship well; they might appreciate my assistance.’

  ‘And me?’

  Clunk thought of laser cutters and arms, then decided Mr Spacejock could hardly feel any worse than he already did. ‘Perhaps you could think about alternative travel arrangements. For Miss Walsh, I mean.’

  ‘Isn’t she taking the passenger ferry?’

  ‘Apparently the Peace Force budget doesn’t stretch to such things.’

  Hal’s face lit up. ‘You mean she’s coming with us tomorrow?’

  ‘She really wants to get there today.’ Clunk looked down at the PDA. ‘She was just wondering …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘She asked whether …’

  ‘Spit it out, Clunk.’

  ‘We need to find her a lift, and I thought of Mr Spearman.’

  Hal snorted. ‘You think I’m going to let that criminal get his mitts on a defenceless girl?’

  ‘Miss Walsh is hardly defenceless, and dealing with criminals is her job.’

  ‘She’s never met one.’ Hal kicked a stone, sending it skimming across the concrete. ‘Is there any chance the Volante will be ready?’

  ‘No, Mr Spacejock. But it will make Miss Walsh very happy if you can present her with a solution.’

  ‘Old Spearhead will be absolutely delighted,’ muttered Hal.

  ‘If you explain, I’m sure he’ll say yes.’

  Hal kicked an entire pile of stones, scattering them. ‘When I get my hands on whoever ordered the Volante stripped —’

  ‘You’ll have to join the queue,’ said Clunk. ‘Now go. Ask Mr Spearman, and then inform Miss Walsh of the outcome.’

  ‘I’d like to lock Spearman up and steal his ship,’ said Hal. ‘We could stick him in the hold, pretend it’s the Volante, take Harriet to Forzen and do Morgan’s cargo job, all at the same time.’

  ‘Humour in the face of adversity.’ Clunk smiled. ‘That’s what I like about you, Mr Spacejock.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m a real comedian,’ muttered Hal, but he looked thoughtful all the same.

  Chapter 11

  Hal arrived at the Tiger to be met by the delicious smell of fried bacon. Spearman was leaning against the inner door, a heaped plate in one hand and a piece of bread dripping with egg yolk in the other. As he spotted Hal he took a huge bite and made appreciative noises, rolling his eyes in sheer delight.

  Hal’s stomach growled in reply, and he never felt less like asking Spearman for a favour. In fact, he desperately wanted to grab the plate and smear the contents in the smug bastard’s face, and only the thought of letting Walsh down stopped him.

  ‘So, what brings the jockster to my domain?’ asked Spearman through a mouthful. ‘Going to steal another job off me?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Looking for a decent breakfast, then?’

  Hal tore his gaze from the plate and shook his head, not trusting himself to speak in case he drooled all over his flight suit - Spearman’s flight suit, he corrected himself.

  ‘If you came to give that back, don’t bother,’ said Spearman, with a sniff. ‘I know it wasn’t new when you borrowed it, but … Hey, I know why you’re here! You want to pool our resources, eh? Sign your ship over to me and I’ll find you as much work as you can handle for ten percent off the top.’ He crunched a piece of bacon. ‘No, better make it fifteen. It’ll help to cover the insurance claims.’

  ‘This isn’t about me or my ship,’ said Hal. ‘There’s someone who needs our help. I offered them a lift to Forzen today but I - I can’t do it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The Volante needs a couple of repairs. Nothing major, but it’s going to delay us a day or two.’ Hal watched Spearman’s face closely as he said this, but saw no trace of guilt. ‘Anyway, I promised I’d get them to Forzen today, but now we can’t.’

  ‘Right. And you thought of good old reliable Spearman.’

  ‘No, I tried to put her off but she’s in a real hurry.’

  Spearman’s ears pricked up. ‘She?’

  ‘Yes, a local girl.’

  ‘Hal Spacejock, you old dog! Tell me more! Is she a looker? Pleasing to the eye?’

  Hal wondered whether he could ram Spearman’s plate right into his big mouth in one piece, or whether he’d have to break it in half first. But no, Walsh needed his help and beating Spearman to a pulp wouldn’t achieve anything, even though he itched to drive the slimy grin through the back of his neck. ‘Her name is Harriet Walsh, and if you lay one finger on her I’ll —’

  ‘You’ll what?’ Spearman bit into a piece of bacon. ‘Way I see it, you’ll be stuck here fixing that ship of yours while I’m taking her deep in space.’

  Hal frowned at the thought of Walsh i
n Spearman’s greasy clutches, then remembered her Peace Force training. If Spearman tried anything he’d be lucky to escape with a broken arm. Unless she just shot him first.

  ‘What are you grinning at?’ demanded Spearman.

  Hal shook his head. ‘So, can I tell her you’ll welcome her aboard?’

  ‘Sure thing. I’ll make up a cabin for her.’ Spearman winked. ‘Not that she’ll be needing it.’

  ‘Can I see?’

  ‘See what?’

  ‘The cabin. I’m not sending her off in some grotty little cupboard.’

  ‘Sure, come in.’ Spearman dumped his plate on the console and led Hal to the lift. ‘I’ll show you how we treat passengers aboard a real ship.’

  They emerged on the second deck, and Spearman showed Hal to a door on the left. Hal pushed it open and saw a cabin remarkably similar to those aboard the Volante. The bunk was attached to the wall at shoulder height, with a desk underneath bearing a terminal screen and a selection of books and magazines. At the far end was a pair of doors.

  Spearman reached up and patted the bunk. ‘Specially strengthened, these are. Wouldn’t want it collapsing at the wrong moment.’

  Hal entered the cabin and slid the doors open. Inside was a small toilet, and behind the dividing curtain he found a shower cubicle.

  ‘Satisfied?’

  ‘It’ll do,’ said Hal grudgingly.

  ‘Good. So how much is this bird paying?’

  ‘Nothing. She’s hitching a lift.’

  ‘You’re doing free trips now? No wonder you’re always broke.’ Spearman clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You have to get with the program, Spacejock. Extract every credit while you’ve got them on the ropes.’

  ‘I was just doing her a favour.’

  ‘Well she won’t get any favours from me. I want two grand up front.’

  ‘She can’t pay that kind of money!’

  ‘What about you?’

  Hal shook his head. Then he remembered something. ‘Look, you know that job of Morgan’s?’

  Spearman frowned. ‘Are you trying to be funny?’

  ‘Well, as soon as I’ve done it I’ll pay you the two grand. Okay?’

  ‘No it’s not okay. That was my job in the first place, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to fly passengers around for peanuts while you’re hogging the real work.’ Spearman crossed his arms. ‘There’s only one way I’m taking this gal to Forzen, and that’s if I’m bringing back Morgan’s cargo.’

  ‘Okay, you bring the cargo back and when I get paid I’ll —’

  ‘No, Spacejock. I get paid. I take the passenger. You get nothing.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’

  ‘No, it’s business. You want fair, go work for the government.’

  ‘Next time you need a favour —’

  ‘I’ll use some of my twenty grand to buy one.’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  ‘I’m not haggling, Spacejock.’

  ‘Maybe not, but I did.’

  ‘Oh, this is good. I was supposed to do the job for twenty, and now you’re letting me do it for five less and lumbering me with a passenger. Are you trying to ruin me?’

  ‘Take it or leave it.’

  ‘All right, all right. But if this bird’s late you’ll have to find another sap to carry her.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And Spacejock?’

  ‘Yes?’

  Spearman put his hand out. ‘It’s a pleasure doing business with you.’

  * * *

  Clunk felt a stab of sympathy when he saw Hal coming back from the Tiger. Not only had Mr Spacejock seen his ship taken apart, now he’d been forced to ask his rival for help. He looked angry and frustrated, and the reason was clear. ‘He’s giving her a lift then?’

  ‘That’s not all he wants to give her,’ muttered Hal. ‘And it gets worse. He’s taken Morgan’s cargo job back.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘What was I supposed to do? He wanted two grand for Harriet’s fare.’

  Clunk hesitated. ‘You did the right thing, Mr Spacejock.’

  They both turned to look at the ragged outline of the Volante.

  ‘It’s not fair, Clunk. First she had to leave the party early, then she was supposed to be our guest aboard the Volante, and now I’m setting her up with Kent bloody Spearman! It’s a conspiracy!’

  ‘I think your concerns are unfounded. Yes, Mr Spearman has a nicer ship. He’s also wealthy, he dresses well, lays on sumptuous meals, acts the perfect host and has extremely good manners …’ Clunk decided to change the subject. ‘By the way, Bob’s people are going to fill up the Volante’s tanks, which means we’ll be able to leave Dismolle for another planet. We’ll find a nice place with lots of repeat business, and we’ll have things back on track in no time. You’ll see, Mr Spacejock. Things will work out fine, just like they always do.’

  There was no reply.

  ‘Mr Spacejock?’ Clunk glanced round, only to discover he was alone. He looked back along the hangars and across to the workers, but Hal was nowhere to be seen. Clunk shook his head sadly. The human was clearly hurting, and a little time alone wouldn’t go amiss.

  * * *

  Walsh strolled up the Tiger’s passenger ramp with a rucksack over her shoulder, enjoying the warm sunlight. The metal ramp seemed to go on forever, taking her closer and closer to the clear blue sky, and by the time she stepped onto the platform she could feel prickles of sweat all over.

  At the top she turned to look across the landing field. Nearby, a maintenance worker was carrying a toolbox towards the ship, his bright yellow safety hat gleaming in the sun. Further away, the runabout which had dropped her off was returning to the terminal, and beyond that, in the dockyard, a partly built ship swarmed with workers. In the distance the spaceport gave way to urbanisation, and then lush green fields hemmed in by rolling hills.

  There was a swish behind her, and she noticed a strong smell of aftershave. The airlock door stood open, and in the entrance was a tall man with a mane of straw-coloured hair and a sculpted goatee. He wore a dark open-necked shirt and pale slacks, and light glinted off the gold chain nestled in his ample chest hair. ‘Mr Spearman, I presume?’

  ‘Welcome to the Tiger, Miss Walsh.’ The man smiled wolfishly, and the aftershave enveloped her like a toxic cloud. ‘And please, call me Kent.’

  * * *

  With Hal gone, Clunk threw himself into the Volante’s reconstruction. He couldn’t do anything about Mr Spacejock’s disappointment over Miss Walsh, but getting the Volante back together would surely be something of a consolation. He was prepared to work his fingers to the metal if necessary.

  Bursting with purpose, Clunk strode to the supervisor’s office, where he found Bob poring over schematics and circuit diagrams. ‘I’d like to offer my services.’

  ‘I thought you’d be along.’ Bob took him by the arm. ‘Come with me. I have just the job.’

  Outside, they made their way towards the Volante’s keel. Great curved beams lay in the dirt nearby, and thick hull plates had been stacked alongside, leaving a series of narrow alleys. As they walked past, Clunk brushed the white plates with his fingertips. He’d put on a brave face for Hal’s benefit, but deep down he was wondering whether the Volante would ever take to the stars again.

  They emerged from the rows of hull plates and stopped before a heap of ship parts. Amongst the junk Clunk picked out a fuse board from the generator room, a tangle of thick cables stripped from the engines and even the big hydraulic pistons which drove the cargo doors up and down.

  ‘Here you are,’ said Bob.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Sort the parts. Engine room, flight deck … you get the idea. Neat little piles so we can find what we’re looking for.’

  ‘How will that speed up the Volante’s reconstruction?’

  ‘Trust me, it’s vital work.’

  Bob left without another word and Clunk stood there, deflated. Then he picked up a small piece
of metal and looked around for a suitable spot for the sorting. He found a bare patch of ground between the base of a gantry crane and a collection of heavy machinery, and after a few minutes he’d scratched a number of large squares on the ground, labelling each with parts of the ship such as flight deck, cargo hold and rec room. Throwing the piece of metal aside, he returned to the pile and began to drag out pieces. Hauling them off to his sorting area, he matched their images with entries in his database, then placed them in the correct squares before returning to the pile for another load.

  He’d just picked up a couple of circuit boards when he heard a rumble from the landing field, and moments later the Tiger lifted off for its trip to Forzen. The ship turned gracefully as it powered into the sky, sunlight glinting off the chrome strips on its tail, and Clunk shook his head sadly as he pictured Hal watching the departure from some spaceport dive. Then he turned away. He had work to do.

  A couple of workers were dragging discarded parts towards the pile, and Clunk took them out of their hands and carried them to his marked squares. He was just about to place the first part when he spotted something strange: His squares were still there, but all the sorted parts had vanished.

  Clunk looked around, startled, but there was no sign of the parts anywhere. Was someone undoing his every move behind his back? If that was the case he’d just have to watch closely to see what happened with this load.

  He sorted the new parts then hurried back to the pile, pulling bits out at random until he had a decent load. Then he raced back to the sorting area, but once again everything had vanished. He bent to inspect the ground, wondering whether it was swallowing the parts whole, but the dirt was rock hard and he could still see the scuff marks and footprints he’d left on the surface.

  A shadow raced towards him, and Clunk looked up to see a huge electromagnet hovering overhead. It had no effect on him, thanks to his alloy chassis and skin, but the junk in his arms shot into the air and stuck to it. The magnet swept away and Clunk ran after it, shouting and waving his arms, but before he could rescue his parts the magnet dropped them into a hopper. A huge grinder sprang into action with an ear-splitting roar, and a fountain of metal pellets spewed onto a pile.

  Clunk stared at the smoking pile of scrap, then at the empty squares he’d carefully marked on the ground, and then up at the control cabin on the gantry crane, where the operator was laughing himself sick. They’d been playing a trick on him! Clunk grabbed a chunk of metal and drew his arm back, intending to launch it straight through the crane and the operator sitting inside. Then he saw two men dragging something towards the pile of junk, and when he realised what it was, the lump of metal fell unheeded from his slack fingers.