Hal Spacejock 4: No Free Lunch

by Simon Haynes

  Chapter 12

  Walsh had withdrawn to her cabin prior to take-off, declining the offer of a guided tour. It was obvious from Spearman’s snappy clothing and the whole aftershave thing that he wasn’t just out to conquer space, and she was determined to keep out of his way. As for the tour, she decided that as soon as she got back from Forzen she’d use her savings to pay for a small trip aboard the Volante. Even if it was just into orbit and back, it would be long enough for Hal to show her around the whole ship.

  Feeling a little happier, she explored her cabin, marvelling at the clever use of space. She was just reaching out to draw the shower curtain aside when a low rumble shook the entire cabin. The engines were running!

  Behind her, the terminal buzzed. ‘Miss Walsh, I’m just getting clearance from ground control. We’ll be leaving shortly.’

  ‘Do I have to do anything?’

  ‘Nothing at all. Artificial gravity is on, so you won’t even notice when we take off.’

  ‘What about safety procedures?’

  Spearman laughed. ‘If it makes you feel better, there’s a life jacket in the locker outside your cabin.’

  ‘Tiger, this is ground. Clearance granted, have a safe flight.’

  ‘Tiger out,’ said Spearman. ‘Stand by, Miss Walsh. We’re off.’

  The terminal pinged as Spearman disconnected, and Walsh stood there uncertainly. She’d expected to strap in, or buckle up, or at least grab onto something prior to take-off - it hardly seemed right to just stand around while the ship blasted into space. Then her gaze fell on the darkened terminal screen, and she decided to explore the ship’s systems.

  Something thumped underfoot, and she sat down hurriedly as the engine noise increased. The terminal lit up at her touch, displaying a topographic map with forests and rivers depicted in breathtaking photo-realism, with Dismolle City right in the middle of the screen. Then she realised it wasn’t a picture - it was a live image of the planet. They were on their way to Forzen!

  While she was inspecting the view a window opened in the corner of the screen. In it, Walsh saw Kent Spearman relaxing in a comfortable armchair. There was a low table by his elbow with an assortment of snacks and drinks and a large screen in the background was showing a sporting event. ‘Ah, you found the terminal. Everything okay?’

  ‘Fine.’ Walsh watched Spearman take a handful of potato chips from a bowl. ‘Shouldn’t you be flying this thing?’

  ‘Autopilot,’ said Spearman. ‘Don’t look so surprised. This baby is so advanced —’

  ‘Look? You mean you can see me?’

  ‘Of course. It’s a two-way system.’

  ‘I could have been undressing! Taking a shower!’

  Spearman downed another handful of chips. ‘Is that likely?’

  Walsh flicked the terminal off, then fetched a towel from the shower cubicle and draped it over the screen, covering the tiny camera lens. What do you know, she thought. Towels were useful in space.

  With the screen covered and the door locked, Walsh decided she might as well make use of the facilities. A nice hot shower would ease away her worries, and she’d arrive on Forzen freshened up and ready for business.

  She entered the toilet cubicle and turned the shower controls on full. There was a hiss of water behind the dividing curtain, followed by a startled cry, and Walsh leapt back as the fabric bulged towards her. Instinctively, she crouched into a fighting stance, and as the curtain-wrapped figure charged she drove her foot into its midriff. The figure stumbled and Walsh followed up her kick with a quick one-two to the bulge which appeared to be its head.

  The figure went down with a thud, dragging the curtains from the shower rail like a funeral shroud. Water sprayed the cubicle, quickly drenching the floor and soaking Walsh’s legs. She tapped the control panel to cut it off, then crouched to examine her attacker, ready to whack them again at the first sign of trouble. As she sought to untangle them from the curtain her mind threw up all kinds of possibilities. An assassin from Forzen, determined to halt her investigation before it began? Or Kent Spearman himself, having used a recording to pretend he was in the Tiger’s rec room while he really watched her from the shower? She wouldn’t put it past the creep.

  Finally, she managed to free the unconscious attacker. He was face down, but even before Walsh rolled him over she recognised him.

  It was Hal Spacejock.

  * * *

  Clunk hurried to the workers, who were dragging a robot torso towards the heap. They were holding an arm each, allowing the rest of it to scrape across the uneven ground, the delicate components inside its chest gouging trails in the baked dirt. ‘Stop!’ shouted Clunk. ‘Carry it properly!’

  The men ignored him, and threw the damaged robot on the junk pile.

  ‘Is this how you treat your workforce?’ demanded Clunk.

  ‘It’s not ours, mate. It’s yours.’

  ‘Found it on your ship,’ said the second man, ‘stuck under the engine room floor.’

  The men left, and Clunk bent to examine the robot. Its tough metal skin was thick with grime, and he winced as he looked inside the chest. Many of the components were crushed and twisted, and with its missing legs, the dents and the internal wreckage it was no wonder someone had abandoned it. Clunk sighed. Perhaps it would have been better to allow the workers to throw it away.

  He was just inspecting a wiring loom when Bob appeared in the doorway, looking contrite. ‘What is it?’ asked Clunk sharply, still less than impressed with Bob’s childish antics with the magnet.

  ‘We’ve hit a little bit of a snag.’

  Clunk felt a surge of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, snags were bad, but on the other his help was needed! ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘We need the protocol codes for the ship’s components. Right now they won’t talk to each other, and without the data network your ship is as useful as a concrete football, and about as airworthy to boot.’

  ‘It’s a little out of my league, but I’m happy to take a look.’

  ‘Do you have technical manuals for the data hubs?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How about the protocol codes?’

  ‘Not on me, no.’

  ‘Then you can’t help.’ Bob shrugged. ‘We need an expert, and it’s not going to be cheap. We’ve got to fly them in, put them up for the night, pay for meals and everything. You’re going to have to contribute.’

  ‘You said you’d put the ship back together for free!’

  ‘This will be extra,’ said Bob firmly.

  Clunk looked worried. ‘I can’t authorise expenditure, not without speaking to Mr Spacejock. And even if he says yes, we don’t have any money.’

  ‘Maybe he can take out a loan.’

  ‘Highly unlikely.’ Clunk glanced at the stricken robot and had a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘I believe this robot was part of the Volante’s original construction team. If I can get it working, it might have the information you need.’

  Bob snorted. ‘Looks like a pretty big if.’

  ‘Will you let me try? I just need a workshop, and I’m happy to pay for any parts I might need.’

  Bob nodded. ‘Use one of the sheds. You’ll find tools, parts, the lot.’

  ‘That’s very kind. Thank you.’

  ‘In the meantime, we’ll keep working on the rest of the ship.’

  Honest Bob left, and Clunk picked up the robot and carried it to one of the engineering sheds. Inside he found workbenches and neat rows of hand tools, and while most were larger sizes designed for use on spaceships, he managed to gather what he needed by raiding all the sheds in turn. Then he set to work.

  * * *

  Hal caught his breath as he saw the beautiful face hovering inches from his own. Wide, doe-like eyes were framed with a halo of golden hair, and when the apparition spoke her soft voice was full of concern.

  ‘Oh, look at your poor head! I’m so sorry, Hal. You startled me!’

  Hal was pretty startled himsel
f, but memories were slowly coming back. Unpleasant ones involving him being half-drowned, bundled up in a shroud and belted over the head. ‘Was it an assassin? A vicious mugger? Kent Spearman?’

  ‘Not quite. You were knocked out.’

  Hal nodded, and reached for his head as a sharp pain threatened to blow the top off his skull. Amidst the agony, the shimmering light cleared and he recognised Harriet Walsh. ‘Hey, you’re no angel!’

  ‘Thanks a lot.’

  ‘You’re not even a vision!’

  ‘Want me to knock you out again?’

  ‘Wait, I didn’t mean —’ Hal squinted as Walsh got up, letting the overhead light shine in his eyes. ‘I was just —’

  ‘Now you’re back to your old self, you can tell me what you were doing in my shower.’

  Hal sat up, wincing and sopping wet. ‘I came to give Spearman some advice on the cargo job, because he’s new at this stuff, and I didn’t want him smashing into a planet with you on board. Then the ship took off without warning. No safety checks, nothing.’

  ‘Why didn’t you find Spearman and tell him you were on board?’

  ‘Not likely. He’d have taken me straight back and billed me for the fuel.’ And if he finds my disguise he still might, thought Hal. He’d borrowed the hard hat, blue overalls and toolbox from a maintenance shed in order to sneak aboard the Tiger. ‘So, I hid in a cabin, and when I heard footsteps I ducked into the shower.’ He frowned. ‘That’s the last thing I remember. It was all splash, kick, pow after that.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought you were attacking me.’

  ‘That’s okay. I’ll survive.’ Hal did his best to look hurt and wounded, which didn’t require a whole lot of acting. Then he shivered.

  ‘Look at you, you’re freezing!’ Walsh felt his hand. ‘Wait there a sec, I know how to warm you up.’ She entered the shower recess, and while she was busy Hal chanced standing up. The cabin swayed a little, but he put that down to Spearman’s amateur flying skills.

  When Walsh came back she was carrying a thick white bathrobe. ‘Here you are. Get changed.’

  Hal reached for the fasteners on his flight suit, then saw Walsh’s startled look. ‘I’ll just be a minute,’ he mumbled, retreating into the shower cubicle. He peeled off his flight suit, dried himself and donned the dressing gown, revelling in the luxurious warmth. When he emerged Walsh was sitting at the terminal, holding up the edge of a towel to read a page of information.

  ‘Is that our flight plan?’

  Walsh shook her head. ‘I was just checking Forzen’s immigration laws. Did you know unauthorised arrivals are jailed on the spot?’

  Hal stared at her in alarm. ‘You’re not turning me in?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Walsh tapped her lip. ‘You can’t get off the ship and you can’t stay. That only leaves one solution.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I’m making you my deputy, backdated to our time of departure. You’ll have to stay out of Spearman’s way, but once we’re on Forzen we should be able to tough it out.’

  ‘A deputy? Me?’

  Walsh nodded.

  ‘Hey, we can be partners! A crime fighting team busting crooks wherever they lurk!’

  ‘Don’t get any ideas. It’s only until Clunk picks you up in the Volante.’

  ‘Do I get a badge?’

  Walsh shook her head.

  ‘How about a gun?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘And you won’t tell Spearman I’m here?’

  ‘Not unless you pocket his silverware.’ Walsh touched the screen and another page of data appeared. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘More immigration laws?’

  ‘No, the lunch menu. Fancy a steak?’

  Hal opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Are you all right in there?’ said Spearman. ‘I thought I heard voices.’

  ‘I was filing a report.’

  ‘One was a male voice.’

  ‘Yes, that would be my computer.’ Walsh winked at Hal, then continued. ‘I was just looking over your lunch menu. There’s quite a selection.’

  ‘Oh, don’t bother with that old thing. I thought we could dine together in my suite.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but I feel like a nap.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Well, if you change your mind —’

  ‘I’ll let you know.’

  Hal waited until Spearman’s footsteps receded. ‘If you ask for a meal, he’ll want to bring it in.’

  ‘I’ll lock the door. You’d better dry your clothes, too. We can’t have you lurking all over the ship in that dressing gown.’

  ‘I don’t lurk. That’s Clunk’s job.’ Hal frowned. ‘Damn, I never told him where I was going!’

  ‘Relax, I’ll get a message to him after we land.’ Walsh turned to the menu. ‘Two of everything might be a tad suspicious.’

  ‘Go for extra-large instead,’ advised Hal.

  Twenty minutes later Spearman knocked on the door. ‘Lunch is served.’

  ‘Can you leave it outside?’ said Walsh. She winked at Hal. ‘I’m just getting changed.’

  The door handle rattled.

  ‘Mr Spearman, if you open that door I’ll do you a nasty injury.’

  ‘Why don’t I leave this outside?’

  Walsh crept to the door and listened carefully. A moment or two later she heard Spearman’s muttered curse, and after his footsteps faded she nipped out, grabbed the tray and locked the door again. ‘Grub’s up,’ she said, setting the food on the desk.

  ‘That doesn’t look too bad,’ said Hal. ‘Not as good as the nosh aboard the Volante, but edible.’

  After they had polished it all off, Hal yawned and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘You look all in. Why don’t you have a sleep?’

  Hal glanced at the bunk longingly. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Go on. I’ve got plenty of study to do,’ Walsh grinned. ‘If you snore loudly enough, Spearman’s bound to leave me alone.’

  Chapter 13

  Walsh came to with a start, slumped on the desk with her head resting on her arms. For a second she thought she was at the Peace Force office, daydreaming at her terminal, but then she heard Hal’s gentle snoring. She sat up, stretching her aching muscles, then realised something was different. The background noise of the engines had ceased.

  She checked the screen and discovered they’d arrived on Forzen. According to the terminal it was just after noon local time, though it was still evening on Dismolle. And if they’d landed, Spearman would be knocking on her door at any moment.

  She shook Hal awake, putting a hand to his mouth in case he made a noise. He opened his eyes and stared at her for a moment, his gaze unfocussed. ‘We’ve landed,’ whispered Walsh. ‘Into the shower. Quick!’

  Hal nodded, and Walsh stepped back to let him out of the bunk. He’d barely hidden himself when her terminal chimed.

  ‘Wakey wakey, rise and shine!’ said Spearman. ‘Hello? Anyone there?’

  Walsh ducked under the bunk and saw Spearman on the screen. He was in the flight deck, sitting in the pilot’s chair and looking up at the camera. ‘We’ve arrived then?’

  ‘Safe and sound. I came to warn you before we set down, but you must have been out like a baby.’ Spearman stroked his goatee. ‘You’ve been cooped up in that cabin for the entire trip. Why don’t you come down to the games room and have lunch with me?’

  ‘I’ve not had breakfast yet.’

  ‘Breakfast, lunch. Whatever you want.’

  ‘I’ll grab something on Forzen.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘Mr Spearman, you’re becoming a nuisance.’

  ‘I’m just doing my job! Captains have to be sociable, keep tabs on their passengers. Surely you understand?’

  ‘I don’t need my tabs checked, and I’m not a passenger. I’m a law enforcement officer undertaking an investigation, a
nd if you do anything to jeopardise it I’ll have you thrown in jail.’

  ‘You’re a what?’

  ‘I’m Peace Force.’

  ‘Bloody Spacejock! I’ll kill him!’ growled Spearman. Then he turned pale. ‘I -I didn’t mean it like that. I —’ Before he could finish explaining, the flight computer interrupted, and he turned to look off-screen.

  ‘Incoming message from Forzen ground.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘This is Alfred Price of Best Decorations, welcoming you to Forzen. I’m sure Ms Morgan explained everything, but I thought I’d go over the details again. Your job is to take a container of decorating supplies back to Dismolle so Morgan’s people can complete a renovation. Unfortunately we were unable to deliver this container to the spaceport on time, but it’ll be ready by the time you arrive with the truck. There’s a map programmed into the vehicle’s navigation system, and you’ll find the warehouse approximately 880km from your current location. It’s rather a long way, but the roads are pretty good and it won’t take more than twelve hours in each direction. Thank you for your attention, and we hope to see you tonight. Oh, and please drive carefully, since you’re responsible for the excess on the truck.’

  ‘Are they bloody kidding me?’ Spearman sat completely still as the message finished playing, but his expression betrayed the volcano brewing within. ‘I must have heard it wrong. Repeat it, Sam.’

  Sam played the message again.

  ‘Nine hundred kilometres in a truck?’ groaned Spearman, when it had finished. ‘That’s going to take all day!’

  ‘There’s a caller at the airlock,’ said the computer. ‘He’s from the Truck-U rental company.’

  Spearman glanced up at the camera to see Walsh looking on, and he gestured to cut the feed.