Hal Spacejock 7: Big Bang Page 17

  Clunk hesitated. "From what I can make out, he advised you to insert your head in your, er, opposite end."

  Amy snorted at this, and Hal directed an angry look at the soldier. "I'm not the one trussed up like a Sunday roast, matey. Just wait until I find a jar of apple sauce."

  He would have said more, but at that moment several dozen tall, graceful creatures poured from the nearby huts. Hal got a brief impression of antlers, fur and fine-boned faces before he was threatened with a dozen guns and two dozen assorted gardening implements, any one of which would have opened his insides to the midday sun. Several surrounded Clunk, holding the points of their weapons under his chin, but Hal noticed they left Amy alone.

  "I take it these are friends of yours?" he muttered.

  "I did save their lives," said Amy mildly. She turned to the village elder and made a soothing gesture. "It's okay, they're friendly."

  The elder studied Clunk for several long moments, then said something to the rest. Immediately, they lowered their weapons, and Hal found himself surrounded by curious aliens. Clunk drew far more attention, though, and the aliens seemed fascinated by his bronze metal skin.

  "Go on, give them a show," said Hal. "Do that spinny thing with your head."

  Clunk frowned at him. "We're trying to reassure them, not lead them to believe I'm possessed by evil spirits."

  "Why not? They might elect you chief of the tribe."

  "I have no wish to be elected chief of anything."

  "Cheef," said one of the aliens, her voice reverential as she stroked Clunk's shoulder. Others followed suit, until they were all murmuring the word over and over. "Cheef, cheef, cheef!"

  "Now you've done it," said Amy. "They think that's his name, you idiot."

  Another of the aliens patted Hal's arm. "Idjot."

  "Idjot," said several others, and then they all repeated it. "Idjot, idjot, idjot."

  Amy struggled not to laugh at Hal's expression. "I'm Amy," she said, tapping herself in the chest.

  "Imamy," said one of the aliens, and the rest repeated it over and over.

  "Do you think we should skip our surnames?" suggested Hal.

  The other two quickly agreed.

  "Okay," said Hal, clapping his hands together. "It's been really great, but we need to get a move on. Clunk, can you tell them we have to go?"

  "Go? What do you mean, go?" said Amy.

  "Leave. Depart. Make tracks." Hal jerked his thumb at the sky. "My ship is out there somewhere, and I won't get paid until we deliver the cargo."

  "You're worried about that?" Amy pointed at the row of trussed-up soldiers. "What about them?"

  "They're not going anywhere, are they?"

  "Not right now, no. But what happens when more troops come looking for them?"

  Hal looked around the small settlement, and he realised she was right. The pig creatures would come back and flatten it, and they'd wipe out the deer-like aliens in the process. Still, he hadn't asked to join in their war, and he had problems of his own.

  Then he felt a small hand in his, and he looked down to see one of the alien children smiling up at him. At the sight of her cute little face, her oversized eyes and tiny little button nose, Hal realised walking away wasn't an option. There was no way he could abandon these people to their fate. "Why don't we move them somewhere else?" he suggested.

  "Pack up the whole settlement?" Amy shook her head. "They've lived here for generations. They need their crops to survive, and I guarantee they won't leave."

  Hal rubbed his chin. He'd watched a movie once where a small band of heroes trained a whole village to fight back against a bigger force. The villagers had won out, eventually, but many had lost their lives and the heroes hadn't emerged unscathed, either. No, running away seemed like a much better idea. Get them all to safety through the teleporter, and sort out what to do with them afterwards. Or even better, maybe load them into the two trucks and drive them to the nearest settlement. Surely the people there would look after them until things blew over? Hal was ready to convince the others his plan was the only solution when Clunk spoke up.

  "There is an alternative," said the robot.

  "Go on."

  "We could convince the soldiers to leave these people alone."

  "How?"

  "I don't know," admitted Clunk.

  "Great. That's really useful." Hal snapped his fingers. "Hey, I have an idea too."

  "Yes?"

  "Sure. We beam special rays from orbit which make the soldiers forget what happened."

  "That's not a very practical suggestion, Mr Spacejock."

  "Don't blame me. You started it."

  Clunk thought for a moment. "What if we admitted responsibility? We could release the soldiers and surrender to them, and they might accept the villagers played no part."

  "No way," said Amy.

  "But —"

  "Clunk, they're ruthless. I guarantee they'd shoot the three of us before killing everyone else. Then they'd burn the huts and bulldoze the ashes into the ground."

  "She's making sense, Clunk," said Hal. "It's a terrible plan."

  "We have to let the soldiers go sooner or later, Mr Spacejock. We can't kill them in cold blood."

  Hal thought for a moment. "Why don't we take them back to their base? We could keep the officer as a hostage and turn the rest in."

  "They might bomb the village to oblivion even though their officer was right here in the midst of it. A casualty of war, so to speak."

  "Okay. Why don't we teleport the soldiers somewhere else and abandon them there? As long as they've got food and water —"

  "That won't work," said Amy. "They were sent to this settlement, and when they don't return someone else will come here to find out why."

  Hal gestured at the aliens crowded around them, who were all listening intently to the debate even though they didn't understand a word. "These people could say they never saw them."

  "Under interrogation?"

  Hal pulled a face.

  "It's a pity we can't ask their advice," said Amy. "They might know where the troops are based, how many there are, what sort of weapons they have … everything."

  "I may be able to help with that," said Clunk. "If I can spend a little time with one of them, I should be able to pick up their language."

  "How much time do you need?"

  "I estimate half an hour. We can start with the basics, then lead into syntax and semantics, and then move onto advanced —"

  "Yes, I get it," said Hal, whose expertise in languages was only matched by his woeful piloting skills. "Okay, I like the plan. Grab one and start learning."

  Chapter 31

  The Navcom was guiding the Volante through deep space, keeping one electronic eye on interest rates whilst simultaneously scheduling deliveries across nine star systems. Business had been brisk, and despite a couple of narrow escapes from customs and law enforcement, the Volante still had a clean record.

  The Navcom was just admiring the favourable interest rate on her investments when a small, innocent-looking ship materialised off the starboard bow. Wait, was it the starboard bow? The Navcom checked again. Yes, it was most definitely the starboard bow.

  The Navcom deployed her new scanner and discovered the ship showed signs of life. Unfortunately, it wasn't life the scanner could interpret, and the best the machine could do was to tag the glowing pink shapes with trash cans, adding the caption 'potential spam'.

  The Navcom paused for a nanosecond, then activated the emergency hyperspace routine. This was another of the Volante's recent upgrades, and it transported the entire ship off in a random direction.

  The ship completed the micro-jump, and the mysterious vessel promptly appeared off the starboard bow once more, almost as though it were clinging on.

  The Navcom was just preparing another emergency jump when all the comms channels activated at once.

  "This is Gnar P'ker, a commander in the B'Con expeditionary force. What vessel is that?"


  "This is the Volante, a peaceful cargo ship on a legitimate freight run. We have absolutely no contraband, weapons or fugitives on board."

  "Never mind your cargo, I want to know about the crew. Do you have any life forms on board?"

  The Navcom hesitated. She'd just dropped off one lot of prisoners, and there were obviously no human pilots, but there was the dog. "Yes."

  "Sentient lifeforms?"

  That was tricky. How did one measure intelligence? "In a fashion, yes."

  There was a muttered curse before P'ker spoke once more. "Thank you for your time. You may proceed with your voyage."

  The small ship vanished, leaving the Navcom alone in the starlit void. With the computer equivalent of a shrug, she filed the conversation under 'strange but harmless' and resumed her original course.

  * * *

  Commander Gnar P'ker grunted in frustration. When his crew spotted the Volante he thought the fruitless search was over, and they could blow the Euman vessel apart before reporting a resounding success to the Admiral. Medals and honours would follow, perhaps even a larger ship with upgraded guns and missiles, and P'ker would have been one step ahead of his fellow officers.

  Instead, the damned ship had been carrying a lifeform, and although P'ker had been tempted, his orders were most explicit: find the Euman intel ship, and don't kill any sentient creatures. The odd thing was, the lifeform aboard the ship had been a four-legged beast, and it was rare for them to develop space-faring abilities. They had trouble with manual controls, for a start, never mind building ships in the first place.

  "I have the Admiral on line three," said his second-in-command.

  "Great. Just what I needed," grumbled P'ker. "Okay, put her on." He turned to face the screen, forcing a smile as Admiral Lardo's heavy-set face appeared.

  "P'ker."

  "Sir."

  "What can you tell me?" demanded the Admiral.

  "Nothing, sir. We've been searching and searching, but the laws in this galaxy are very strict: every ship must have a Euman pilot."

  "You've not found the intel vessel, then?"

  "I fear not. We just scanned a potential, but there was a sentient lifeform on board. A quadruped of the Canis species."

  "Eumans call them dogs," said the Admiral.

  "You're well informed, sir."

  "Had you done your research, you'd have known that these dogs are merely pets."

  P'ker frowned. "You mean they're not sentient?"

  "No speech, no organised society … and a fondness for retrieving twigs and rubber balls. I'd say they're not sentient." The Admiral leant closer to the camera. "Which means, P'ker, that you just let the target slip through your trotters."

  "No!" P'ker whirled round to stare at the scanner, but the Volante had disappeared. "Sir, we'll find her again," he said desperately. "We'll find her and blow her into tiny pieces. I promise!"

  "If you don't, I'll have you flying a garbage truck for the rest of your life."

  "Sir —"

  P'ker was too late. The Admiral had already cut the call. Instead, he rounded on his second-in-command. "Find that bloody ship, check there are no Eumans on board, then destroy it."

  "What about the dog?"

  "It's just a pet. Fry it with the ship."

  "Sir, before I joined the B'con navy I studied law. Sentience is a huge grey area, and —"

  "The Admiral said it wasn't sentient," said P'ker stubbornly.

  "Yes, but that won't get you off the hook if the Council decides these dog creatures are sentient. One adverse decision, and you'll swing for sure."

  P'ker blanched. "Executed?"

  "Absolutely."

  "But I just promised the Admiral we'd destroy the Volante!"

  "You can. We just have to remove the dog first."

  P'ker frowned. "Remove the dog? And do what with it?"

  "We can leave it on a populated planet, hand it over to another Euman ship … it doesn't matter, as long as we don't kill it."

  "Very well. Track down the Volante, and once we're in range I want a warning shot across her bows. Then, once you have the AI on open comms, you can tell it we're coming aboard."

  * * *

  Clunk smiled at one of the aliens, a young male with an impressive set of antlers. The robot patted himself on the chest, then pointed to his mouth and mimed speaking. The alien stared at him intently, then hurried off to the nearest hut.

  "I think it's working," said Hal.

  However, before Clunk could follow, the young male came back with a plate of food.

  "Or not," remarked Hal, as Clunk was presented with a selection of rough-cut vegetables.

  Clunk pointed at the plate. "Food."

  "Do-od," said the alien.

  "Food," said Clunk, slightly more forcefully.

  "Dood! Dood!" said the alien, waving the plate excitedly.

  "Don't mention duck," advised Hal.

  Clunk ignored him. "This is food," he said, holding up something that looked like a piece of carrot.

  "Dood," said the alien. "Dissis."

  Hal sighed. "Half an hour, you reckon?"

  "Perhaps a little longer," admitted Clunk.

  "Two hours? Four?"

  "Many more, if you keep interrupting."

  "I'll starve before then. Unless …" Before Clunk could stop him, Hal took a piece of yellowish vegetable and bit into it. "Hmm. Not bad."

  "Mr Spacejock!" protested the robot, scandalised. "You don't know that's edible!"

  "Of course it's edible," said Hal indistinctly. "I just ate it, didn't I?"

  "He means it could be toxic," said Amy. "Different species have different tolerances, and …" her voice tailed off as she spotted a piece of fruit which looked like fresh melon. "… and it …"

  "Go on," coaxed Hal. "Try some. It's delicious."

  Seconds later they were both enjoying the taste of fresh fruit and vegetables, while Clunk stood nearby with a worried look on his face. For all he knew the humans were consuming a cocktail of foxglove and deadly nightshade, and he didn't know how far it was to the nearest hospital. "This is most irresponsible," he said, in a serious tone of voice. "You could be doing untold damage to your systems."

  "You're just miffed because you can't try any," said Hal indistinctly. "Here," he said to Amy. "Try this one. It's like strawberry."

  She accepted with a smile, and Clunk closed his eyes as she bit into the reddish fruit. "He's right," she said. "It's like a giant strawberry crossed with a peach."

  "Bisha," said the alien with the plate.

  "No, it's strawberry," said Amy. "Hey!"

  The shout was because Clunk had snatched the piece of fruit from her grasp. Eagerly, the robot held it up to the alien. "Bisha?"

  The alien nodded.

  Clunk grabbed a slice of vegetable which looked like a brownish turnip. He held it up to the alien with a quizzical expression, and the alien obliged.

  "Noris."

  "This is wonderful," said Clunk. "Progress at last!"

  "Yeah, that's great," said Hal. "Er, do you need that bisha?"

  Now the aliens finally understood what Clunk wanted, the robot managed to elicit words for everything just by pointing at them. His electronic brain catalogued and filed, filed and catalogued, and within a few short minutes he'd assembled a basic vocabulary. Once he could speak with the aliens it was only a matter of refining the data and adding their language rules, and within the promised half an hour he was fluent. While Hal and Amy finished off the plate of fruit, Clunk spoke with the alien elder to find out what was going on … and to plan their next move.

  * * *

  Hal noticed the villagers were collecting their belongings, with many of them casting worried looks at the sky and the shadows under the nearby trees. "What's going on?" he asked Clunk.

  "I told the elder I'm confident we can resolve the situation."

  "So how come they're packing all their stuff up?"

  "The elder's not as confident as I am. As a precau
tion, most of her people are taking to the hills."

  "And the rest?"

  "It seems their culture has a tradition. If an individual saves the village, that individual takes on the role of protector. They're given favoured status, a larger dwelling, the best food and a cut of the annual crop."

  "That sounds pretty good."

  "Yes, except the role lasts for the rest of that person's life."

  "How long has this been a tradition of theirs?" asked Amy.

  "I'm guessing about five minutes," muttered Hal.

  "Even so," continued Clunk, "we must be careful to observe their customs. After all, we're visitors on their planet."

  "Are you suggesting we leave Amy behind?"

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" demanded Amy. "Ever since we met —"

  Clunk stepped between them. "Nobody is leaving anyone. And if you don't mind, you can put your petty squabbles on hold until we've saved everyone's lives."

  "That's all well and good," said Amy, "but we haven't come up with a plan yet."

  The three of them looked at each other, seeking inspiration. Then Hal glanced at the row of soldiers, paying special attention to the overdressed officer with his rows of medals and his pantomime hat. As Hal studied the officer, a vague memory came to him, and then a smile lit up his face as he hit upon the solution to all their problems.

  "What is it?" asked Clunk, in a worried tone. "Is it a reaction to the fruit?"

  "Eh?"

  "Your face … you look pained."

  "I'm not pained, I'm happy."

  "Okay."

  "No, really. Back when I was studying to be a pilot —"

  Hal broke off as Clunk burst out laughing. The robot put one hand over his mouth, laughed again, then apologised. "I'm sorry, Mr Spacejock. Please continue."

  Frowning at the interruption, Hal continued. "They wouldn't give me any more dole money unless I completed this a training scheme, so I took a one-hour introductory course at the community college. There was this guy there, Tim his name was, and he'd been doing courses for about twenty years. He'd sewn all the little badges on his jacket … everything from martial arts to origami, long jumping to white-water rafting."

  "Is there a point to this?"

  "Yes, of course there is. You see, Tim was a proud guy. He loved collecting those badges, and they meant the world to him. Then, one day, we got a new tutor, and she took one look at the badges and burst out laughing." Hal shrugged. "Tim walked out, and we never saw him again."