Hal Spacejock: Visit Read online

  Hal Spacejock: Visit

  (A Short Story)

  Copyright 2011 by Simon Haynes

  Hal and Clunk are stuck in port, forced to wait two whole days for their next cargo. Hal returns to the ship after a little shopping expedition and finds Clunk in a right old state. Break out the crayons and colouring sheets ... he's organised a school visit!

  Hal and Clunk, stars of the Hal Spacejock comedy series, feature in this brand new 3500-word short story. 'Visit' slots into the series any time after Hal Spacejock (book one), but can be read and enjoyed as a stand-alone.

  "A free lunch. Seriously?"

  "Absolutely, Mr Spacejock. A local establishment is keen to meet you."

  "What kind of establishment?"

  "It's ... an educational kind of establishment."

  Hal's eyes narrowed. Clunk was being evasive, and that could only mean one thing. The robot had landed him right in it. Again. "All right, spill it. What have you done this time?"

  "I haven't! I didn't! I wouldn't!" Clunk hesitated. "I may have."

  Dedicated to

  Pauline Nolet (www.paulinenolet.com)

  Thanks for all your help and hard work!

  I'd also like to say hi to Braden from All Saints' College ... it took about six years but I finally got your name into one of my Hal Spacejock stories.

  Hal Spacejock staggered up the Volante's passenger ramp with a large parcel under each arm. Clunk had conned him into the errand by asking him to perform a 'vital recovery mission', convincing him nobody else was capable of carrying out such an important task. Or, it seemed, capable of carrying a couple of parcels.

  The robot had been evasive about the contents - never a good sign - but Hal was pretty sure they weren't snacks or chocolate bars. No, they had to be related to Clunk's mystery project.

  Hal wished HE had a project. They'd been stuck on Sendarin for three days now, waiting to trans-ship their latest cargo. Once it arrived they'd load up and go, but in the meantime they were at a loose end. This was a novel experience for Hal, and he wasn't all that keen on having a day off if it meant lugging mysterious packages all over the spaceport.

  He finally staggered into the flight deck, dumped the packages and wiped his sleeve across his brow.

  "Is it warm out?" enquired the bronze robot in the pilot's chair.

  "Yes, Clunk. It is warm out. It's hot, and sticky, and humid, and —"

  "You'd better have a shower then."

  "Why?"

  The robot sniffed delicately. "Pheromones are an attractant, but you can overdo it."

  "If you think I stink, just say the word."

  "No no! Hardly that. It's just that you need to make a good impression."

  "I do? Why?"

  "We're going out to lunch."

  "Really?" Hal frowned. "Can we afford it?"

  "Yes, it's free."

  "A free lunch. Seriously?"

  "Absolutely, Mr Spacejock. A local establishment is keen to meet you."

  "What kind of establishment?"

  "It's … an educational kind of establishment."

  Hal's eyes narrowed. Clunk was being evasive, and that could only mean one thing. The robot had something unpleasant lined up. Again. "All right, spill it. What have you done this time?"

  "I haven't! I didn't! I wouldn't!" Clunk hesitated. "I may have."

  Hal closed his eyes. The life of a cargo pilot was supposed to be simple: Pick up the cargo. Deliver the cargo. Bank the payment. How could something so easy go wrong so often? "This educational place. It's not a prison, is it?"

  "No."

  "Remand centre?"

  "No."

  "Detention facility?"

  "No."

  Hal thought for a bit. "Brothel?"

  "No! It's a local school."

  "Oh hell."

  "They were very polite, Mr Spacejock. They wanted a celebrity to speak to the children."

  Hal tried to look modest. "Celebrity, eh? Recognition at last."

  "Actually, they invited someone from a reality show but she was busy with product endorsements."

  "So I'm second choice. Typical."

  "Not exactly. They invited a weatherman from the news, but he crashed his groundcar in a sudden storm. Then they asked parents from the school, but they all had prior engagements."

  "Great. Fourth choice. Still, at least they got to me in the end."

  "No, they put an ad in the paper offering a free meal and a cash payment. It ran for two weeks and they only got one response."

  "What idiot fell for that one?" Hal raised his hand. "No, don't tell me. I can guess."

  "You said you were bored, Mr Spacejock! I was just trying to keep you busy."

  Hal shrugged. "I suppose it won't be all that bad. And what's this about a cash payment?"

  Clunk patted one of the parcels. "I used it to purchase a few items."

  "Go on, surprise me."

  "Later. When we get there."

  "So what am I supposed to do at this big event?"

  "Think of it as a community service. You're helping to spread the fun and excitement of space travel amongst a group of bored children."

  "What fun and excitement? I spend eight hours a day watching the viewscreen and three minutes holding on for dear life while you land the ship."

  "I think you're exaggerating a little. Anyway, remember the free lunch."

  "Oh yeah." Hal brightened. "When do we leave?"

  "Soon. It's quite a drive so they're sending a car."

  There was a blast from an air horn.

  "Goodness, they do know how to pick the right moment." Clunk nodded towards the parcels. "Can you bring those? My joints are a little stiff today."

  Muttering under his breath, Hal scooped up the heavy parcels and traipsed out of the ship.

  *

  "Wow, they've gone to a lot of trouble." Hal peered through the tinted windows, staring at the hastily-erected banner welcoming 'Hal Spacejoke' to the Armada Boys' School. Coloured ribbons fluttered in the breeze, and neat rows of uniformed students stood behind a line of teachers. To one side, a skinny youth in military gear stood with a cornet at the ready. "They've really gone to town, haven't they?"

  "No, they're here at the school."

  "That's not what I …" Hal patted his pockets. "Hang on. Where's my speech?"

  "Under your right foot." Clunk frowned. "I still don't see the need for a speech. I thought your plan was to eat the food and run?"

  "No chance. I'm going to make this a day these kids will remember."

  "Oh dear." Clunk eyed the sheet of paper. "Do you want me to check that over?"

  "What for?"

  "Appropriate content."

  "Relax. I was young once."

  "That's what I'm worried about."

  Reluctantly, Hal passed him the hastily-scrawled notes. Clunk took out a marker and edited with gusto while Hal stepped out to greet a bewildering succession of teachers, parents and boys. By the time Hal reached the podium Clunk was ready with the speech. Hal cleared his throat and was just about to introduce himself when a blast from the cornet almost knocked him over.

  The noise continued for several minutes, ranging from tuneless wails to nerve-wracking blares. After a final drawn-out squawk, Hal opened his mouth to begin. He was drowned out by rapturous applause.

  "Yes, very nice," he said, once the clapping stopped. He looked around the sea of faces and was immediately struck dumb. Most of the 'boys' were strapping teenagers, bronzed and hearty and very fit-looking. Half his speech covered the benefits of healthy living, particularly the importance of five minutes exercise every day. The rest enthused about reading and the importance of spelling and grammar. Oh well, it was too late now.

  S
omewhat tentatively, he began. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and—" Hal looked closer and realised 'girls' had been crossed out. "More boys," he said, scanning the speech for a sentence which hadn't been corrected, altered or completely obliterated by Clunk's blue pen. "I come here today as the captain and owner of the …" He hesitated. Volante was crossed out and 'legally obtained spacecraft' had been written above it. And then crossed out. The words 'freighter obtained in the course of my work' had been inserted, removed, rewritten and then crossed through. Twice . "… a big white ship," finished Hal, once again ad-libbing with aplomb. "In this spaceship we carry a wide range of …" he squinted at the scribbled changes "… goods where not prohibited by law, all with the correct paperwork and, er …" Holding the page up to the light, he tried in vain to make out his original words. "And, of course, we always pay our port duties, fees, charges and taxes on time."

  Hal looked at his audience. The audience looked right back. Somehow his speech lacked the original zip and verve, most of it buried under Clunk's blue pen. Quickly, he scanned the page, looking for something witty and amusing to win back his audience, but every sentence had been mangled.

  He remembered a casual joke he'd thrown in, something cribbed from the Navcom's less salacious archives. "Finally, I'd like to finish with something you'll all like," he said, frantically hunting through Clunk's scribble for the witty quip. Alas, it was gone. Sighing, he turned to Clunk's officially sanctioned joke and began. "Knock knock."

  "Who's there?" called Clunk, winking at the audience.

  "Bam!"

  "Bam who?" shouted Clunk.

  With a growing sense of unreality, Hal read the final words of his carefully prepared speech. "Bam who grows rapidly in hot climates."

  There was dead silence for ten long seconds, before someone finally started to clap. Others joined in until there was a smattering of polite applause. Nodding and smiling, Hal crumpled his speech and fled.

  "You slayed them," whispered Clunk, as Hal approached.

  "You can say that again."

  A firm hand took his elbow, and he was marched across the playing fields by a stern-looking man with a toothbrush moustache. "Good speech," said the man in a clipped voice. "Excellent. Short."

  "Thanks," said Hal. "It wasn't quite what I intended. My editor thinks a light touch is when you use the smaller chainsaw."

  "Good man." The man stuck his hand out abruptly. "Smyles. Headmaster."

  "Hal Spacejock."

  Smyles nodded.

  "But you know that already," said Hal. "Ha ha."

  "Quite." Smyles was silent for a moment. "Short speech. Excellent."

  Hal was relieved. Perhaps it hadn't been so bad after all. He felt a tug at his elbow, and he turned to see Clunk holding the parcels. "Would you like to hand out the gifts, Mr Spacejock?"

  "Is that what they are?" Hal eyed the wrapped bundles. "What did you get them?"

  "You'll see in a minute."

  Hal turned to the Headmaster. "Mr Smyles …"

  "Captain."

  "Sorry. Captain Smyles. Would you gather the boys? I have something for them."

  "Excellent. Capital." Smyles drew himself up. "Boys! Right here, at the double. Two lines, eyes forward. 'Hun!"

  In the sudden chaos, one of the parents drew Hal aside. "He's not really military," she whispered in his ear. "He was an accountant before he got this job."

  "What about this 'captain' business?"

  The woman rolled her eyes.

  By now the boys were standing in rows, hands by their sides and chins held high. Some were Hal's height, while many were taller. Meanwhile, Clunk was unwrapping the first parcel, revealing a plain brown box. "I asked the man in the shop about these. He said they were very popular with young men."

  "Follow me with the box and I'll hand them out." They moved to the end of the line and Hal put his hand out. Clunk reached into the carton and took out … a child's painting set. Hal eyed the garish tin, then looked at the six-foot teenager with the five o'clock shadow. The lad's gaze didn't waver as Hal pressed the tin into his hands.

  They made their way along the front row, then all the way back along the second. Not one word was spoken the entire time, and there wasn't so much as a cough from the parents and teachers. The only sound was the occasional rattle of a paint brush on tin.

  When he'd finished, Hal nodded to the headmaster.

  "'Ten HUN! Left TURN! On my mark … fall OUT!"

  The boys left, carrying their painting sets. As they trooped off Clunk set the empty boxes on the floor. "That was good, wasn't it? Just think of the wonderful artworks they'll create in their spare time!"

  Hal looked around for their ride home, but the visit wasn't over yet. Instead, the headmaster gestured towards the marquee. "Food. Tuck in."

  Hal walked inside and brightened at the sight. Down the middle of the marquee stood a line of trestle tables, groaning under the weight of a truly enormous feast. Glazed hams sat shoulder to shoulder with cold roast chickens, pork pies, crisp salads and a huge platter of cheese. A wicker basket overflowed with bread rolls, and a glass jug held sliced celery sticks in cool spring water. His mouth watering, Hal could only stare.

  "Grab a plate," said the man. "Need your strength for later."

  "Why? What's happening later?" asked Hal, snapping out of his daze in a hurry.

  "Older lads showing their science project. Interesting."

  Hal took a plate and loaded up. While he was busy the teachers and parents came in, waiting politely as his pile of food grew and grew. When he'd finally run out of space he balanced two bread rolls on top, stuck a piece of celery in the side of his mouth and grabbed a fork. Taking the nearest seat, he tucked in, demolishing the entire pile before the last of the teachers had helped themselves to the buffet. Someone handed him a bottle of soda and he drank deeply, draining it in a lengthy swig.

  "Don't feed you much in space?" asked the headmaster.

  "Nothing like this." Hal burped. "Stupendous nosh."

  "Least we could do." Captain Smyles looked wistful. "Course, we'd have laid on caviar and champers for a real celebrity."

  *

  After twenty minutes, the munching and slurping turned to chatting. Then someone got up and shushed the others to silence. "As you all know, we're very lucky to have Mr Spacejoke here with us today."

  Someone whispered in her ear, and the woman reddened. "I'm so sorry. Mr Spacejock. As most of you know, the children have spent the past two terms working on their science project. Now, I'm sure Mr Spacejock has seen all kinds of mechanical marvels, but even so, class 12B have excelled themselves to a large degree."

  Everyone nodded.

  "Without further ado, let us proceed to the lake!"

  There was a smattering of applause, and the crowd started to leave. Hal wanted to hang back and nab some of the cheese, but the rush carried him out of the marquee and along a narrow path. They rounded a small hill, and there laid out before them was an impressive lake. The far shore was shrouded in mist, and water birds squawked and croaked in the thick reeds.

  On the shores of the lake was an expanse of sand, and sitting on the sand was a ramp with train tracks. Puzzled, Hal followed the tracks back along the beach and up to the very top of the hill, where he could just make out three older boys and a teacher with a furled flag.

  "The boys have been studying maglev and anti-gravity," explained one of the female teachers. "Of course, we got permission from their parents first."

  "Of course," said Hal. "Er, what does it do?"

  "It's a low-orbit payload launcher," said the teacher.

  Hal stared at her.

  "Of course, this is just a scale model. It barely reaches the other side."

  Hal looked across the lake at the far bank. It was a long, long way. "What do they launch?"

  "Old junk, mostly. A local scrap merchant has been trying to get into our good books so we'll take his son next year. He's been most accommodating."

  There
was movement on the hill, and Hal spotted a dozen boys toiling towards the summit. They were carrying a figure wrapped from head to toe with packing tape.

  "Ah, an old robot. How generous."

  Hal prayed Clunk hadn't spotted the hapless victim. Clunk was a fierce advocate for robot rights, even if the robot in question was a hollowed-out shell. Luckily, Clunk was nowhere to be seen. Probably writing me a new speech, thought Hal gloomily.

  The figure was strapped into a sled perched on the tracks, hunched up like an ancient mummy. When it was securely fastened, the boys stood back and the teacher waved his flag.

  "Stand back, Mr Spacejock. That's the signal."

  There was an almighty whoosh as the sled tore along the tracks, propelled by a jet of white flame three metres long. The sled blasted by, shaking the ground with the force of its passing. It raced down to the beach and took the ramp at something approaching terminal velocity, shaking the whole structure as it arrowed up the incline.

  The cart left the end of the ramp at a forty degree angle, shooting into the sky with the bundled-up robot lashed to the controls. Hal watched it rise higher and higher, his hands still clamped over his ears after the shattering noise. The cart was just a speck in the sky when the jet began to splutter, until the fuel ran out and it died completely. Hal uncovered his ears, and in the eerie silence he could have sworn he heard distant shouting. He glanced up the hill and saw the boys pointing at the sky and laughing.

  Hal picked up the dot again. It was well over the lake, and already starting the downwards plunge which would carry it to the far shore. As he watched, a huge black shape unfurled from the rear of the sled, billowing into an enormous parachute.

  "They lost three sleds before they thought of that," explained the teacher. "Gives it a nice soft landing."

  "Very impressive," said Hal. "It's a shame Clunk wasn't here to see it. He's a bit of a tinkerer himself."

  "Is that your robot?"

  Hal nodded.

  "I saw him talking to the boys earlier. You're lucky to have such a capable helper."

  "That's Clunk. Always willing to muck in." Hal looked around as a group of boys hurried up, their faces wreathed in smiles. "That was great!" he called over their excited chatter. "Excellent. Really cool."