Hal Spacejock 6: Safe Art Read online

  First there was the gang of local hooligans who might put in an appearance. It seemed they enjoyed parking their hotted-up cars outside nice, peaceful venues and disturbing everyone with their loud music. Then there were the usual freeloaders who appeared at these events for a free feed and as many drinks as they could get their hands on. Finally, there was the most troublesome of all … the jealous artists whose works hadn't been accepted into the exhibition. According to Ryder, they were capable of sabotage, vandalism and - in some cases - arson.

  Clunk frowned. If only Mr Spacejock would turn up!

  A movement caught his eye, and he turned his head to analyse an individual approaching the museum. Dressed from head to toe in worn denims, the man was swaggering - or rather, staggering - under the weight of metal studs, buckles and chains adorning his person. His hair was loaded with gel and combed into spikes so sharp you could spear memos on them, and an impressive collection of knuckle-dusters, nunchuks and fighting knives jiggled and swung from every belt loop. A pair of wrap-around sunglasses completed the ensemble, their broad black lenses covering half the man's face.

  Clunk swallowed nervously. From the chunky silver bracelets to the length of heavy-duty chain swinging from one shoulder, the figure screamed trouble. This was exactly what Ms Ryder had warned him about, and Mr Spacejock wasn't there to help!

  Steeling himself for an unpleasant confrontation, Clunk stepped in front of the man and raised his hand. "I-I'm sorry, sir. This is a private function. I can't let you in."

  * * *

  Hal pushed the wrap-around sunglasses up to his forehead and eyed Clunk critically. "Talk about wishy-washy. Try that again, and this time put a bit more oomph into it."

  Clunk's eyes widened in shock. "Mr Spacejock?"

  "Pretty good, eh? Here, cop a look at this." Hal rolled up his sleeve to show off a huge tattoo. It was a multi-coloured effort depicting a comet smashing into a spaceship, and it covered his entire arm from wrist to shoulder. "All the security people have these. They show how tough you are." Clunk reached for the tattoo but Hal swatted his hand away. "Don't. You'll smudge the paint."

  Clunk stared at him, completely speechless.

  "And look!" said Hal, pulling a pair of nunchuks of his belt. He adopted a crouching stance and began swinging the weapon with vast quantities of enthusiasm and very little in the way of skill. After half a dozen near misses the leading nunchuk whipped a fighting knife off his belt and sent it humming past Clunk's left ear. It buried itself in the door frame with a loud doinnnggg.

  Clunk's hand blurred out, whipping the nunchuks from Hal's grip before they did any real damage.

  "Hey, I was just getting started!"

  "And the rest," said Clunk, gesturing at the assorted weaponry dangling from Hal's belt.

  "Oh, come on. How am I going to defend myself from a crowd of yobs?"

  "Mr Spacejock, if you greet elderly arts patrons in that getup we'll be knee deep in the newly departed."

  "What if there's any trouble?"

  "As of this moment, you are the trouble. What possessed you to dress in such a fashion? And where did you acquire all these weapons?"

  "Happy Sam's takeaway foods and martial arts emporium." Hal burped. "You get a free weapon with the all-you-can-eat buffet, but after I polished off six courses they loaded me up with gear and kicked me out."

  He was going to explain further, but at that moment the doors opened and Meri Ryder looked out.

  "Mr Spacejock! What the devil are you wearing?"

  Hal froze. Ryder was moving towards him in a short skirt and high heels. Her legs were going double time with the tiny steps, and her expression was equal parts shock and surprise.

  "I—I— can explain," began Hal, before tailing off.

  "Don't bother. I love a man who can pull off the rugged look." Meri drank him in from head to toe. "I'm not sure about the tattoo," she said at last. "It's a bit … vivid."

  "It'll grow on you."

  "Especially if you touch it," added Clunk.

  Meri ignored the robot. "Go and take a look around," she said to Hal. "Make a final inspection, and then I need you both out here for the first arrivals. Okay?"

  "Understood," said Hal.

  * * *

  Inside the gallery, Hal and Clunk skirted the major exhibits before taking a side passage, where they found smaller rooms with lesser artworks. One was a plate with a hole drilled through the middle, and another was the grate from a barbecue, standing upright with an egg drizzled over the bars. The tag read 'free range', and Hal gave an incredulous snort when he spotted the price.

  The final room contained a display of found art, with shovels and picks arranged in rough tripods, and a fenced-off square of wet concrete in the middle. Nearby was a shelving unit, half-assembled, and sitting on top was a pile of nuts and bolts.

  "The life of an artist, eh?" Hal shook his head in disgust. "Bung any old junk together, stick a huge price on it and wait for the rich and gullible to open their wallets."

  Clunk peered at the nuts and bolts. "This one's rather clever."

  "Clever how?"

  "Let me interpret it for you. First, the spiral patterns represent the twists and turns of modern life. The groove is a constant depth, reminding us of the rut we might fall into, and the effort we must put into escaping it. The peak is the pinnacle of achievement, the ultimate aspiration." Clunk pointed to a nut. "Now this, on the other hand … the six sides clearly represent the senses, and the hole in the middle …"

  "Matches the one in your brain." As Hal turned to leave he tangled with one of the shovels. He tried to catch it as it fell over, but it hit the ground with a clatter. Off balance, he had to hop over the shovel to avoid treading on it, and he put his hand out to grab for support.

  Unfortunately the 'support' was just a piece of ribbon tape, and the tape and supporting poles crashed to the ground in a heap. Still falling headlong, Hal tried desperately to regain his balance.

  Too late.

  Trailing hazard tape, cursing wildly, and with just enough time to roll his eyes in resignation, Hal splashed face-first into the big square of wet concrete.

  Clunk hauled him out and helped brush off the worst of the concrete. Fortunately, it was firmer than it looked, but Hal's industrial-strength bouncer uniform was still thickly coated with grey goop. Then, once Hal stopped spitting and cursing, he realised the square of soft concrete was now imprinted with a perfect outline of his body: spread fingers, shocked facial expression, gaping mouth and all. Guiltily, he looked around. The shovels and picks could be stood up again, but there was no way he'd get the concrete smooth before anyone noticed the damage. Then he spotted a dropsheet in the corner. "Come on, grab that thing. We'll spread it over the top."

  "Shouldn't you clean up first?"

  "It won't set if I keep moving."

  They grabbed the sheet and dragged it over the concrete, folding it double to prevent it sagging in the middle. They were just replacing the shovels when they heard a voice.

  "Hey you! What do you think you're doing?"

  A man in a suit was hurrying towards them from the gallery, his polished shoes clacking on the wooden floor. Hal turned his back, hiding his concrete-laden side from the room while Clunk handled the newcomer.

  "This area is off-limits," said the man. "What are you doing in here?"

  "We're the security detail," said Clunk. "My colleague and I were just inspecting artworks."

  "So what are you doing in here?"

  "My good man, these lesser works deserve the same consideration as those of greater artists."

  "Works?" the man snorted. "This area is being renovated, you fools. It's supposed to be closed off!"

  "We're just checking the windows," called Hal over his shoulder. "We'll be right out."

  "Very well, but don't touch anything."

  "Of course not."

  The man left, and Hal scowled at Clunk. "Renovations! And you with all that gumph about the bolts represen
ting twists of modern life."

  "Anyone could have made the same mistake."

  "Still, at least we know what the nut represents."

  Clunk raised one eyebrow. "Yes?"

  "Yeah. You."

  * * *

  Harriet finally got her chance with the terminal, placing her call quickly before anyone else bumped her aside. Boson's face appeared on the screen straight away.

  "What's this nonsense about a gang of thieves on Forzen?" he said, without any preamble. "It says here you want three people rounded up and charged over various misdemeanours."

  "Hijacking, theft and assault are hardly misdemeanours."

  "Really?"

  "Sir, one of them knocked me out and restrained me with my own handcuffs."

  "We don't want that getting around, do we?" Boson regarded her steadily. "A Peace Force trainee subdued by an office worker? Imagine what the press would do with that little gem."

  "She got the drop on me!"

  "I don't need to hear it." Boson tossed the report onto a big, teetering pile. "I'll file this for now, and if those suspects of yours bob up again I'll get someone to follow it up."

  Walsh stared at him. "You're letting them go?"

  "Officer Walsh, I'm trying to crack a major smuggling ring and bring down the Backsights. I'm not interested in petty thieves, and I don't want you wasting any more time on this Higgs woman."

  "Yes, sir." Walsh regarded her superior officer with a level gaze. "Would it be possible to attach my objection to the report?"

  "No it damn well wouldn't," snapped Boson. "Now give me your report on the smuggling case. What have you found out?"

  "The cargo appears to be clean."

  "Appears to be?"

  "My inspection didn't turn up anything suspicious."

  "I suppose you were thorough?"

  "Of course, sir."

  Boson didn't seem to be convinced, but Harriet doubted he'd have been happy even if she'd taken a chainsaw to Bright's precious works, pounded the hacked-up fragments with a sledgehammer and fed the granulated remains into a mass spectrometer.

  "Very well, Trainee. I want you to remain with the artworks until they reach their final destination. Understood?"

  "But if they're clean …"

  "They are now," said Boson, "but there's every chance someone could introduce illicit goods in transit."

  "I thought the smuggled diamonds were coming from Forzen?"

  "Diamonds aren't the only commodity Backsight are interested in."

  Walsh fought the sinking feeling in her stomach. Boson's suspicions had turned out to be nothing at all, and instead of giving up he was just going to clutch at straws. Still, she was under orders and had no choice but to play along. "Very well, sir. I'll return to the exhibition and keep a close eye on the pieces. I promise nothing will slip past me."

  "Excellent, Trainee. That's the attitude."

  * * *

  Hal used an executive bathroom to clean himself up, and his denim outfit was still warm and toasty from the auto-dryer. As for Hal's skin, the express shower had removed not only the concrete, but also his vivid tattoo.

  Now he was hanging around the gallery entrance, getting ready for the big event. He glanced back inside, through the doors, and saw Ryder darting around the exhibition like an excited hummingbird. A tweak here, an adjustment there, and it was suddenly time. A limo drew up at the foot of the stairs, and a uniformed chauffeur hurried round to get the doors. Hal got Clunk's attention by blowing a piercing whistle. "We're on. Guests at five o'clock."

  "The expo doesn't open until six-thirty."

  Hal pointed down the steps. "No, that five o'clock!"

  Clunk hurried over, his big metal feet thudding on the floor. He repositioned Hal behind one of the ornate columns, and hissed in his ear. "That's the patron, Olivia Backsight. You stay here and let me do the honours."

  Hal shrugged. "Go for it."

  As Clunk passed the doorway, he spotted the fighting knife sticking out of the wooden frame. There was a creak as he yanked it out, and Hal watched the robot glide down the steps with a wide smile on his face and the lethal dagger concealed behind his back. Easing his way around the column, he saw Clunk chatting brightly with an elderly, smartly-dressed woman, all the while holding the knife out of sight. Finally, he bowed and let the old lady past, stuffing the knife into his thigh compartment as soon as her eyes left him. Hal backed around the column as Olivia Backsight strode past, his cover almost blown when a stabbing pain lanced into his arm. He bit his tongue as he rolled up his sleeve, only to discover a sharpened chopstick he'd concealed in his jacket. "Ow, ow, ow!" he gasped, pulling it free.

  "What's happening?" demanded Clunk, right behind him.

  Hal jumped in surprise, accidentally stabbing the chopstick into the opposite arm. "OW!"

  "Give me all your weapons, Mr Spacejock. I won't ask again."

  Sullenly, Hal took out one device after another, passing them to the robot for safe keeping. When he'd finished he was about ten kilos lighter and Clunk was shaking his head in disbelief.

  "Who did you think was coming to the exhibition? Ghengis Khan and the Mongol hoards?"

  "Is that a rock group?"

  "Not quite. Legend has it they colonised the first planets with their rusty steeds."

  "Why rusty?"

  "I don't know … perhaps they got wet. That's how they're described in the database, anyway."

  Hal saw another limo driving towards them. "Never mind rusty steeds. You'd better stand by for more punters."

  Chapter 19

  Hal and Clunk let a stream of guests through, taking tickets and greeting one and all with polite conversation. Then came a brief lull, during which Hal asked Clunk to fetch him a coffee.

  No sooner had the robot left than an old lady came slowly up the steps, digging around inside a large handbag. "I know I put that ticket in here," she mumbled to herself. "Where has it gone?"

  Hal was about to help her when a car drew up, showering gravel. Hal frowned to himself as a couple of youths in leather jackets and white trousers hopped out. They sauntered up the steps, elbowing the old lady aside and knocking her bag out of her hands.

  "You can pick that up again," said Hal, gesturing at the scattered contents.

  "Says who?" demanded one of the youths, a skinny buck-toothed lad with downy cheeks and a floppy haircut.

  Hal crossed his arms. "You want to spend the night in hospital, son?"

  The youths tried to step around him, but Hal put his hands out, blocking the doorway.

  "Get out of my way," said the second lad coldly. He was shorter than the first, with a gold chain and matching bracelets. He smelled strongly of aftershave, and his hair was slicked back.

  "No ticket, no entry," said Hal firmly.

  The youth pulled out a couple of creased tickets and tucked them into Hal's breast pocket. "Now move, you brainless turd."

  "Make me," said Hal.

  "You want to watch your lip, mate. I have friends in high places."

  "Where, aboard an orbiting prison?"

  There was a flash, and a shimmering blade appeared in the youth's hand. It wavered gently in the darkness, and the slender energy beam ran the spectrum from red to violet and back again. "Get out of the way. I'm not going to ask again."

  Hal shrugged a length of chain off his shoulder and wound the loose end around his fist. He'd managed to hide this particular weapon from Clunk, convinced he'd need it sooner or later. "Me neither," he said, standing tall and swinging the chain gently from side to side.

  The blade flashed, and several links of chain tinkled on the floor, leaving Hal with a shorter and slightly less impressive weapon. The youth raised the blade until it was just under his chin. "Say goodbye, you —"

  "Is there a problem?" said a deep, booming voice from the doorway.

  The blade vanished, and the youths backed away as Clunk emerged from the exhibition. He towered over them by a head, and with his battered face
he looked more like a retired prize fighter than a sensitive new-age droid. "No sir," said one of the youths quickly. "No problem."

  "They knocked the lady's handbag all over the steps," said Hal. "They get the death penalty for that, don't they?"

  "Not if they pick it up."

  The youths did so, gathering the scattered belongings and stuffing them back in the bag. The lady thanked them distractedly, then resumed her hunt for the missing ticket. Meanwhile, the youths headed for the entrance.

  "I need to see your tickets," said Clunk.

  "We gave them to him!" protested the skinny lad.

  Clunk looked at Hal, who shook his head.

  "But we did! They're in his pocket!"

  "I don't think so." Hal smiled politely. "Still, it's a nice evening for a walk. Why not stroll around the gardens?"

  The youth shot him a poisonous glance. "You're going to spend the rest of your life in jail, meathead." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flashy commset, flicking it to open the screen. "Once I make this call, you'll be — Hey!"

  Fed up with the posturing, Hal knocked the commset from the lad's hand and crushed it under the heel of his boot. "Looks like they hung up on you."

  The youth turned to his mate. "Lend us yours, will you?"

  "Can't. I used up my credit."

  "Give me your phone!"

  His mate shrugged and handed it over, then watched as the shorter youth examined the screen. "It's dead."

  "I told you. No credit."

  Incensed, the first youth hurled the phone against the wall, shattering it. Then he marched off down the steps.

  "Nasty piece of work," said Clunk. He stirred the molten chain links with his foot. "Can you tell me what happened?"

  "He had some kind of electric blade. It cut the chain like butter."

  "Ah, an energy weapon. You can get them on the black market, but they're very expensive. It's illegal for citizens to own them."

  "Reckon he nicked it?"