Hal Spacejock 4: No Free Lunch

by Simon Haynes

  ‘But I don’t have any survival training!’

  ‘Pity.’ Clunk walked to the airlock, but before he was halfway there Spearman caught up with him.

  ‘Okay, okay. I’m sorry about the fire drill. I won’t do it again.’

  ‘That’s not all. Mr Spacejock is convinced you had his ship dismantled on Dismolle.’

  Spearman looked shocked. ‘I’d never do something like that! A ship is a pilot’s lifeblood, as vital as a - as a vital organ. You have to believe me!’

  Clunk nodded. ‘I do.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ said Spearman, looking relieved. ‘Er, he’s not coming over is he? Only things might get a bit heated if —’

  ‘Mr Spacejock is safely aboard the Volante, and has no means of crossing. However, he’s in a hurry to reach Dismolle and he’s not going to want me to remain here working on your ship.’

  Spearman thought for a moment. ‘How about a deal?’

  ‘What do you have in mind?’

  * * *

  Walsh came to slowly, feeling as though her head were smothered in cotton wool. Sounds were muffled, her mouth tasted like a cleaning brush and when she opened her eyes a searing white glare assailed her vision, forcing her to close them again. She strained her ears to pick up any clues as to her whereabouts, but all she could hear was the sound of typing.

  Her memory started to return, and she recalled Herringen’s office and something about the computers. Had she collapsed? And if so, why was someone typing away on the terminal instead of helping her?

  Walsh lapsed into unconsciousness, and when she came round again her senses were sharper. She realised she was sitting up, but when she tried to move she discovered her hands were tied behind her back. She tried opening her eyes again, peeking out through her lashes, and realised the intense glare was just an ordinary row of overhead lights. She was sitting on the floor, and as her eyes adjusted she realised she was in the control room deep beneath the mine offices. Her face was level with the top of the desks, and when she peered over the nearest she saw Newman working on a terminal. ‘So, you’re awake,’ he said, without looking round.

  ‘Do you know the penalty for kidnapping a Peace Force officer? You’ll be lucky if they don’t execute you on the spot!’

  ‘Yes, because your fellow officers will be here any moment now.’ Newman laughed. ‘You’re alone, Harriet Walsh. Just like you’ve always been.’

  Walsh struggled with the ropes, but they were too tight. ‘Did Herringen set you up for this?’

  Newman looked surprised. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I never trusted him from the beginning,’ muttered Walsh. ‘Playing the innocent, hard-working boss while behind the scenes he was making people disappear.’

  ‘But Herringen didn’t —’

  ‘Loyalty amongst crooks.’ Walsh snorted. ‘So what’s your cut? Or is he blackmailing you?’

  ‘No, he —’

  ‘Yeah, I know. You’re a good man really. He just led you astray.’

  ‘I —’

  ‘Save it for the jury, Newman. Let me go and I’ll put in a word for you.’

  ‘Will you shut up!’ Newman stood up so fast he knocked his chair over. He strode over to Walsh and lowered his voice to a menacing growl. ‘You automatically assumed the big bad boss was behind this whole thing, didn’t you?’

  ‘Well yes. It’s obvious you don’t have the brains for it.’

  ‘Herringen wouldn’t know a criminal enterprise if it stole his wallet in the street! He’s so upright you could hang a flag off him!’ Newman tapped his chest. ‘I’m the mastermind, not that flabby old git!’

  ‘You!’

  ‘Do you really think he’s smart enough to program the miner bugs? Override all their safeguards and turn them into killing machines?’

  ‘But all that stuff about hive minds and linked intelligence …’

  Newman snorted. ‘They’re as dumb as the rocks they dig up. The only intelligence behind them is my own.’

  ‘You ordered them to attack Cooper? But why?’

  ‘You can blame Herringen for that. I made up a special set of accounts for the audit, and then he went and gave her his bloody password. Once she had access to the real accounts, it was just a matter of time before —’

  ‘That’s it, isn’t it? Your flash house, the cars, all the home theatre gear … Herringen told me there was money in your family, but you’ve been stealing it from the mine, haven’t you? Cooper would have noticed the losses, and —’

  ‘Goodbye lifestyle,’ said Newman. He sat at the terminal, drawing the keyboard towards him. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a master plan to set in motion.’

  ‘They’re going to work out what happened. You might as well give up now.’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Newman touched the cut on his forehead. ‘I’ve already succumbed to the rampaging bugs, an innocent victim cut down in the prime of life. Nobody’s going to be looking for a dead man. Anyway, once these bugs hit the rest of the planet they’ll be too busy saving their own necks to bother with audits.’

  ‘What about Herringen? He’ll raise the alarm!’

  Newman laughed. ‘Who do you think you’re tied to?’

  Walsh started. She thought she’d been leaning against the wall, but now realised it was the mine boss. He was out cold … or worse. ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘Who cares?’

  ‘Jonathan Newman, I’m charging you with murder, conspiracy, fraud, emb —’

  ‘Save your breath, trainee. I’m the law down here.’

  ‘When I get free -‘

  ‘But you won’t.’

  ‘Someone will find me!’

  ‘Who? Hal Spacejock?’ Newman laughed. ‘Your trusty deputy is halfway to Dismolle.’ He finished typing instructions and stood up. ‘Any last requests?’

  Walsh mentioned one, a physical impossibility.

  ‘That’s not very nice. Hey, look what I set up for you.’ Newman turned the screen and smiled proudly as a large digital timer appeared. ‘It’s just like they have in the movies!’

  Walsh stared at the digits, which showed 60:00. ‘That’s your evil plan? You’re going to show me sixty minutes?’

  ‘You won’t be laughing when the time runs out.’

  ‘No fuss. If it’s as shonky as the rest of your code it’s bound to crash.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my programming!’

  Walsh snorted. ‘Those bugs of yours attacked a robot while I got away, and they were too stupid to follow me out of a window.’

  ‘Those were hardware faults!’ snapped Newman. ‘It took all my coding skills to —’

  ‘If that’s an example of your skills I’m confident of getting rescued.’

  ‘Oh, very amusing. Now laugh at this!’ Newman turned to the keyboard and entered a sequence. The timer immediately showed 59:59 then 59:58 … and as it reached 59:55 Newman dropped the keyboard on the floor and stomped on it, scattering keys far and wide. ‘I’d love to stay and trade insults, but I have a flight to catch.’

  ‘Wait! One last question?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you have an unhappy childhood?’

  Newman swore at her, then hurried to the lift. The doors closed on him, and Walsh heard the creak as it carried him to the surface.

  On the screen, the timer showed 58:31, 58:30, 58:29 …

  Chapter 28

  Hal had watched Clunk’s departure with interest, but after five minutes of slow progress he realised it would take ages to reach the Tiger. So, he switched channels.

  ‘Later on Forzen Facts, a special report on wanton vandalism in our fair city. But first, the results of our wet T-shirt contest.’

  Hal settled back. This was more like it.

  ‘Yes ladies and gentlemen, in nine out of ten cleaning cycles Zappo dry-power will remove the stains those old-fashioned water-based washes cannot touch. Just look at these wet T-shirts! On the left —’

  ‘G
reat,’ muttered Hal. ‘False advertising.’ He switched channels at random, but the others weren’t much better.

  ‘And now, our special report. This morning brazen vandals attacked the —’

  Hal switched channels to check on Clunk, and was just in time to catch the robot’s thumbs-up. He waved, then turned back to the news.

  ‘- where a spokesperson described the damage as severe. The office was completely ruined, with years of valuable records reduced to confetti. Damage estimates —’

  Bored, Hal got up and went to make a coffee. He caught snatches of the bulletin as he filled his cup, but they mostly consisted of hand wringing by early childhood experts and the threat of a really good talking-to for the perpetrators. By the time he returned to the console a smart young woman was discussing the weather, and Hal knew exactly what she’d say: snow, ice and cold winds interrupted by the occasional blizzard. He wondered how Walsh was getting on in the Peace Force office, and hoped she’d remembered to put the heater on. Not for the first time, he wished she’d let him stay.

  After enduring another advert Hal switched back to the external camera, which showed the Tiger hanging in space like a toy ship. He debated calling to check on Clunk’s progress, then remembered the robot had already tried that without success before going over there. But what if there was something sinister aboard the ship? Clunk was pretty handy, but there were known cases of robots tangling with strange beasts and coming off second-best.

  Just as he was picturing the worst Clunk’s face popped up on the screen, almost startling Hal into dropping his coffee.

  ‘Mr Spacejock, can you hear me?’

  ‘Yeah, Clunk. What’s going on?’

  ‘It looks like fuel contamination. The engines and generators shut down to avoid damage, and Mr Spearman is lucky to have cleared orbit before they did so. I’ve notified Forzen in case they fill any other ships from the same source. And I’ve got the generators online, but it’s going to take a while to clean the filters.’

  ‘Never mind, he’s got nothing better to do.’

  ‘I believe I should stay and help.’

  ‘That’s a negative. I need you here so we can deliver our cargo.’

  ‘It’s a long way to Dismolle, Mr Spacejock, and the Tiger will have to be nursed all the way.’

  ‘Why don’t you land on Forzen?’ Hal cursed as he remembered. ‘That’s right, they don’t have a service department.’

  ‘Correct,’ said Clunk, looking surprised. ‘I just had to look that information up. How did you know?’

  ‘Someone mentioned it in passing,’ said Hal quickly. ‘Okay, so it’s got to be Dismolle. Why do you have to stay on board?’

  ‘To be here in case anything else goes wrong. It’s the only way Mr Spearman can deliver his cargo on time.’

  ‘You mean you’re going with him to the delivery?’

  ‘I can hardly leap out of the Tiger before we land.’

  ‘What about me? What am I supposed to do?’

  ‘The Navcom will get you to Dismolle. You can deliver your own cargo and wait for our arrival.’

  Hal rubbed his chin. It could just work - if he offloaded the cargo before Clunk arrived, he could grab the robot as soon as the Tiger landed and get the hell out of there before Spearman discovered the empty container. He’d get the cash, Clunk would be none the wiser and Spearman would be left with nothing. ‘So, it’s a race, eh?’

  ‘Hardly. I estimate we’ll arrive several hours after you.’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Hal.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I mean, it all sounds fine to me.’

  ‘There’s something else.’

  ‘There is?’ said Hal warily.

  ‘Mr Spearman is offering half the fee in exchange for my help.’

  Hal was about to point out that half of nothing was still nothing, but caught himself just in time. ‘Can you get cash in advance?’

  ‘I’ll try.’ Clunk glanced over his shoulder. ‘Here’s Mr Spearman with the tools. I’d better go.’

  ‘Take care of yourself.’

  ‘And you, Mr Spacejock. Have a safe trip.’

  Hal disconnected and took a sip of his coffee as the Forzen news came back on. Things had looked sticky for a while there, but they were now back on track. All he had to do was get to Dismolle and unload before the Tiger arrived. No sweat.

  ‘Navcom, set course for —’

  ‘Dismolle course programmed in and ready,’ said the Navcom.

  ‘Okay, let’s —’ Hal broke off as the screen displayed an interior shot of a large room. The floor was a mess of broken rubble littered with scraps of paper, and as the caption appeared he sat bolt upright: ‘Forzen Peace Force Office.’ With shaking fingers he turned the sound up, and he sat dead still as the announcer spoke.

  ‘These exclusive pictures show the damage inflicted on the disused Peace Force office this morning. The Council has yet to comment on the cause, and while there are no reported injuries —’

  ‘Harriet!’ exclaimed Hal. With his heart in his mouth, he turned to the console. ‘Quick, Navcom. Set course for —’

  ‘Dismolle. Complying.’

  ‘Not there,’ said Hal desperately. ‘Forzen!’

  ‘Impossible!’ said the Navcom. ‘According to my predictive algorithms, the likelihood of your choosing Forzen as a destination is less than zero point six percent.’

  ‘I don’t give a stuff about your algo-thingies. Get me back to Forzen, now!’

  ‘Planet Dismolle is the only likely destination,’ said the Navcom stubbornly. ‘And that’s where we’re going.’

  ‘What if I told you they’re giving away a million credits to the first person to land on Forzen?’

  ‘I’d say that person would be dead,’ said the Navcom. ‘It’s a long way to fall.’

  Hal closed his eyes. ‘In a ship, Navcom. The first person to land in a ship.’

  ‘That would increase your chances of returning to Forzen to forty-nine percent.’

  ‘Excellent. Let’s go.’

  ‘Unfortunately, you’re still fifty-one percent more likely to visit Dismolle.’

  ‘Will you turn this thing around and land!’

  ‘Not likely.’

  ‘All right, I’ll do it myself.’ Hal slid the throttle to full emergency reverse and hauled the stick to the left. Nothing happened.

  ‘There was a ninety-nine percent chance you were going to do that,’ said the Navcom. ‘Therefore, I disabled the controls.’

  Hal jumped up and hurried into the airlock, where he yanked open the suit lockers until he found a space-hook. This was functionally identical to a boat hook, the only difference being it cost ten times as much. Weapon in hand, Hal returned to the flight deck. ‘Guess what I’m going to do with this?’

  ‘I’m eighty percent certain you’re not going boating,’ said the Navcom. ‘As for the rest, I’m reluctant to voice my thoughts aloud.’

  ‘Navcom, how well do you know me?’ asked Hal, with a few experimental sweeps of the space hook.

  ‘I believe I have a fair understanding of your nature.’

  ‘When I make threats, do I usually carry them out?’

  ‘I’ll answer your query in a moment. But first I have to program our course for Forzen.’

  Hal smiled to himself and took the pilot’s seat, but his smile slipped as he thought of Harriet. What had happened to her? The news presenter said there were no injuries, but what about disappearances? Or even … deaths?

  The Volante’s engines rumbled as the ship prepared to move, and at the last second Hal remembered the passenger ramp. ‘Navcom, retrieve the —’

  ‘Already done,’ said the computer.

  The ship heeled round on its new course, and the engines roared as they drove it towards Forzen. Meanwhile, Hal wondered about Clunk. Would the robot notice he was heading the wrong way? ‘Navcom, whatever you do, don’t tell Clunk we’re going back to Forzen. If he calls just tell him we’re getting a
run-up.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that,’ said the computer.

  Chapter 29

  Hal eyed planet Forzen on the viewscreen, trying to work out how quickly he could land. Every minute could mean the difference between seeing happy, cheerful Harriet Walsh again and … he gritted his teeth, refusing to think of the alternative. He’d never forgive himself if something had happened to her. He should have stood firm and taken her aboard his ship.

  ‘Volante, this is Forzen ground control. Please state your intentions.’

  ‘I’m going to land.’

  ‘I’m sorry, could you repeat that?’

  ‘Clear the field. We’re coming in.’

  ‘Sir, that isn’t approved traffic control language. Please state your intentions once more.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll repeat myself, you —’ With an effort, Hal bit off his intended reply. Ground control could easily bar him, and then where would he be? Racking his brains, he dredged up the right words. ‘Interstellar freighter Volante requesting landing clearance.’

  ‘Reason for visit?’

  ‘I, er, forgot my jacket.’

  There was a lengthy silence, during which the controllers were either laughing themselves sick or discussing Hal’s mental stability. Finally, the voice came on again. ‘Volante cleared for landing on pad twelve. And don’t forget to put the brakes on.’

  Hal cut the connection and reached across the console for the controls needed to land the ship. With one eye on the screen and the other scanning the instruments, he judged the precise moment and then pressed the button marked ‘Autoland’.

  ‘Autoland engaged,’ said the Navcom. ‘Would you like the scenic approach or the direct route?’

  ‘Navcom, I want this tub on the ground so fast they’ll think we fell out of the sky.’

  ‘That’s the third option,’ said the Navcom. ‘Buckle up.’

  There was a roar from the engines, and the ship seemed to stop in mid-air. Hal grabbed the armrests to stop himself sailing into the viewscreen, then clung on for dear life as the ship plunged towards the ground, shuddering wildly from end to end. On the viewscreen the planet raced towards them, the surface quickly resolving into mountains, oceans and rivers.