Hal Spacejock 7: Big Bang Read online

  Not a moment too soon: barely had he drawn his legs up than half a dozen soldiers returned to the garage, herded in by an angry-looking officer.

  "I don't care if you've searched this fornicating garage twice. Do it again, and do it properly this time!"

  The soldiers hurried to obey, peering into toolboxes and empting crates of spares onto the floor. Clunk would have been lucky to get both of his large, flat feet into some of the small containers they were searching, but the soldiers were determined to show just how thorough they could be, no matter how illogical.

  After twenty minutes the officer barked another command, and the soldiers lined up in front of her. "Well?" she demanded, as they shuffled their feet.

  Nobody said anything.

  "You. What's your name?"

  "Sidov, sir."

  "What have you found?"

  "Nothing, sir."

  "And you? What's your name?"

  "Firesh, sir."

  "Did you find anything?"

  Firesh glanced at his fellow soldiers for support, then shook his head.

  "And you call yourselves B'Con? You're a bloody disgrace." The officer glanced around the garage, then looked up at the ceiling. Clunk fought the impulse to draw further back into the gloomy crawl space, knowing any sudden movement would be spotted. Then the officer gestured at the soldiers. "Sidov and Firesh, check the roof space. The rest of you, ready your weapons."

  Clunk looked around in despair. It would be impossible to move without making a noise, and when they heard him the soldiers would blast him to fragments through the false ceiling. Then he looked up, and he spotted a row of screws holding the tin roof sheet down just above his head. The sharp ends all pointed down towards him, and like lightning he snipped them all off. Then he eased the roof sheet upwards, and before the soldiers could react to the flood of daylight, he was perched on the roof. There was a shout from below, and the tin roof erupted with ragged holes as the soldiers opened fire. Clunk darted along the ridge, dodging and weaving as energy bolts and metal fragments zinged and whizzed around him, and then he leapt onto the roof of the tunnel connecting the barracks to the garage. He was moving fast now, but still the soldiers kept up the barrage. The shots were angled rather than erupting from directly below, and Clunk dodged several near misses before he was able to clamber onto the roof of the barracks.

  Still the soldiers kept firing, but now their shots were passing through several thicknesses of wall and roof sheeting, and instead of bursting through they left molten bubbles in the tin. Clunk didn't slow down, though: he kept running at full pace, leaping off the far side of the roof and charging along the next tunnel, expecting more gunfire at any time.

  Finally, after two more buildings and another set of tunnels, he took a flying leap over the chainlink fence, landed in the dirt on all fours, regained his feet and ran for the safety of the forest.

  Clunk headed to his left as soon as the compound was out of sight, hoping to circle round to the main entrance. He knew the commander would send troops to scour the forest, and his only chance of escape was to slip back into the base and hole up somewhere quiet. Only then could he find out where Hal and Amy were being held, and hopefully come up with a rescue plan.

  * * *

  "Why aren't they grilling us? What are they waiting for?"

  Hal shrugged. For all he knew the B'Con were digging out their biggest frying pan, and he was in no hurry to join them in a feast.

  Hal and Amy were locked in a poky little cell, with only a couple of grotty mattresses and a filthy-looking bucket for company. Hal wasn't sure whether the bucket was a makeshift toilet or their lunch, and he had no intention of getting close enough to find out.

  "I wish they'd get on with it," said Amy irritably. "All this waiting is killing me."

  "The longer we wait, the more chance Clunk will rescue us."

  Amy's expression softened. "You're right. I just … I can't stand waiting for things, you know?"

  "Yeah, I know." Hal gave her a reassuring grin. "Don't worry, we'll be okay."

  "Hal, we're stranded on an alien planet. We've been captured by a bloodthirsty race of pigs. We're probably going to be killed then eaten, or vice versa, and our only hope of rescue is an elderly robot who can't even say boo to a fly." Amy spread her hands. "Let's face it, we're screwed."

  "We're still alive, aren't we?"

  "However long that might last," muttered Amy. Then she froze. "Listen … footsteps!"

  Moments later, a couple of soldiers marched into view. They opened the door, and one of them gestured at Amy with his gun. The meaning was clear: follow me.

  "You're not taking her anywhere," growled Hal. He stepped forwards to stop them, and got a hefty shove for his trouble. The B'Con soldier was immensely strong, and Hal was still sprawled on the floor when the cell door clanged shut.

  "Amy, don't be a hero!" he shouted. "Tell them everything! Tell them whatever they want to hear!"

  Amy only managed one word before she was hustled out of the cells, and it struck Hal with the force of a hammer blow: "How?"

  "How indeed," muttered Hal in despair. They couldn't understand the aliens, couldn't speak their language, and couldn't make themselves understood. If only Clunk had been captured with them! He could have helped out by translating during the interrogation, and then —

  Hal snorted. And then he could have watched on helplessly while Hal and Amy were put to death. Oh well, look on the bright side: at least Amy didn't have to pace up and down while she waited impatiently for something to happen.

  Chapter 34

  "The Euman female is waiting outside."

  Commander R'ash glanced at the clock on his desk. Twenty-five minutes had passed since the intruders had been captured, and the manual recommended stewing prisoners for at least two hours. Despite that, the commander wasn't the patient type, and he was curious to find out where these terrorists had come from, and more importantly, what they were after. Were they trying to seed revolt amongst the natives of this insignificant little planet? Was the puny Euman race making a move on the incalculable might of the B'Con empire? Either way, their approach was suicidal and clearly destined for failure.

  On the other hand, the Euman woman had single-handedly disarmed a squad of B'Con soldiers, and that was a worrying sign. Sure, she'd taken them by surprise, but improvisation and rat-cunning were dangerous traits in one's enemies.

  R'ash eyed his terminal, which was displaying his much-edited report on the Euman situation. He'd outlined most of the events so far, although he'd omitted his embarrassing capture and subsequent release, but he wasn't satisfied with the summary. Phrases like 'I expect to find out more soon' and 'interrogations will begin shortly' didn't exactly sound firm and decisive, and he was tempted to hold off submitting the report until he knew more. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option, since any rebellion, conflict or contact with aggressive species had to be reported to the Council immediately.

  With a sigh, he submitted the report. The Council would despatch a higher-ranked officer to take over, and that would be the end of R'ash's chances of making a splash and getting promoted off this insignificant little planet. Still, maybe the officer would put in a word for him, especially if the interrogations yielded results before they arrived.

  R'ash glanced at the clock. Oh, damn the manual, he thought, and he nodded at the soldier. "Okay, bring her in."

  He watched impassively as the Euman was marched into his office between two huge soldiers, and he grunted to himself as they pushed her into a chair. "Gently now. We're not savages."

  The soldiers retreated to the door, blocking the exit with their bulk.

  "Good afternoon, my child," said R'ash, giving the Euman woman his most winning smile. "Now, my dear lady, would you like to explain what this is all about?"

  The Euman said something short and curt.

  R'ash tried another tack. "If you could just tell me where the metal-man is, I'd really appreciate it. We could use h
is help in translation." Before the words had even left his mouth, he realised how daft that was … naturally, she didn't speak his language.

  Not surprisingly, the woman said nothing.

  R'ash opened a desk drawer and took out a couple of shot glasses and a bottle of vintage apple brandy. There was only a small amount left, and he had no idea whether he'd ever get his trotters on another bottle, but he was determined to show this Euman how civilised and friendly the B'Con could be. Setting the shot glasses on his desk, he tipped a measure into each before putting the cap back on the bottle and stowing it carefully away in the drawer. Then he raised his glass and knocked it back in one quick motion, smacking his lips and blinking away tears as the potent liquid ran down his throat like molten lava.

  His prisoner watched impassively.

  "Go on, dear. It'll do you good." R'ash slid the second glass across the table towards the Euman woman. "It's apple brandy. The best money can buy." R'ash mimed drinking, then pointed at the woman.

  Instead of accepting the drink, she shook her head.

  "Oh well. I tried." R'ash downed the second shot of brandy, then put both glasses away. "Yum," he said, rubbing his stomach. "Very nice."

  The woman looked away.

  "I'm going to cut your head off and feed it to my troops," said R'ash conversationally.

  There wasn't even a flicker of reaction, and it dawned on R'ash that interrogation was going to be all but impossible. He'd been hoping the Euman understood enough of his language to get by, but clearly their speech training had been as slapdash as the rest of the preparation for their crazy mission.

  "Okay, take her back to the cells."

  "Yes sir. Should I bring the other one?"

  R'ash shook his head. One failed interrogation was bad enough. Two would be a disaster. "Leave them until support arrives. With any luck they'll bring a Euman specialist." Too late, R'ash realised he should have asked for a Euman specialist, and it dawned on him that there was a good reason he was commanding an insignificant little planet instead of, say, a mighty B'Con battle fleet. He licked a spot of apple brandy off his upper lip, and as he savoured the fiery liquid he wondered whether there was time to send a second message.

  * * *

  Hal paced the cell impatiently, dreading what the savage pig-creatures might be doing to poor, harmless Amy. Well, maybe not completely harmless, but certainly unarmed and outmatched.

  What he wanted to do was bust open the cell door, overpower the guards with his bare hands, march to wherever they were holding Amy and rescue her. Admittedly, she was a pain in the arse, but he knew it would make Clunk happy.

  Yes, about that. Where exactly was his loyal, dependable robot? Hal frowned. If he discovered Clunk had fled the planet … but no, the robot was probably waiting until nightfall to put some devilishly clever plan into action. Either that, or he was busy carving 'Hal', 'Amy' and today's date onto matching headstones.

  Hal heard footsteps, and he pressed his face to the bars to look along the corridor. He saw Amy between two hulking soldiers, but before he could call out to her they'd pushed open the door and bundled her into the cell. Then, without a word, they left.

  "Are you all right?" demanded Hal. "Did they hurt you? What did they want to know?"

  Amy rubbed her wrists. "I don't know, do I? They sat me down with the commander, and he just growled and oinked and snorted at me. He kept baring his tusks and grunting."

  "Probably trying to intimidate you."

  "I don't know that he was," said Amy honestly. "I think he's trying to work out what we're doing here."

  "He's not the only one," muttered Hal.

  "He offered me a drink, too. It smelled like apple brandy or something."

  Hal brightened. As interrogations went, getting loaded on fine spirits sounded like a pleasant twist. "Was it good?"

  "No idea. I refused to touch it."

  "Probably for the best. It might have been poisoned, or he might have laced it with truth drugs."

  Amy gave him an odd look. "It's not that. I don't drink alcohol."

  Hal glanced through the bars. "I wonder when they'll come for me?"

  "They might not bother. They need Clunk to translate, so they'll probably devote all their resources to hunting him down."

  "Good luck with that," muttered Hal. "I can never find him when I need him, and I know all his hiding spots aboard the Volante."

  "They have a lot of soldiers."

  "Yeah, and he's got a whole planet to hide in."

  * * *

  Two dozen soldiers formed a guard of honour in front of the teleport chamber, expressions severe, boots polished and blasters at the ready. They barely flinched as the official party arrived in a blaze of light … and an even bigger blaze of high-ranking uniforms decked with brass epaulettes and battle ribbons. That was just the adjutant and three of his staffers, and once they'd cleared the teleporter the real star arrived: Grand Admiral Lardo, commander in chief of the B'Con battle fleet.

  Lardo briefly stood to attention as the guard of honour saluted her, and then she strode past them to the waiting commander. She'd left the entire fleet under the control of her second-in-command, and she was eager to get back before the young idiot flew her precious ships into the nearest star. Not that he'd be blamed for it, of course … not with his family connections.

  "The prisoners," barked Lardo. "Where are they?"

  R'ash saluted hastily. "In the cells, sir."

  "Did you get anything out of them?"

  "Not yet. I tried a gentle approach with the female, but she wouldn't cooperate. As for the male, I left him in the cell to ponder his future."

  "He doesn't have one," said Lardo curtly. "Bring him out and I'll begin the interrogation immediately."

  "He doesn't speak our language," R'ash warned her.

  "Nonsense. He'll be as fluent as we are."

  "But —"

  "You're not suggesting the Eumans would mount a raid like this without fully preparing their operatives?"

  "I was originally of the same opinion, but my questioning revealed —"

  "Your questioning revealed nothing. My techniques are a little more … direct." Lardo withdrew a businesslike bayonet from a sheath strapped to her bulky thigh. It had a long straight blade, and there were traces of dried blood on the serrated edges. "Five minutes with the Euman male, and I guarantee he'll sing a different tune."

  R'ash eyed the blade. "Or the same tune, only in a higher pitch."

  Lardo grunted, then gestured to the adjutant. "Just in case, I want you to get back to the ship and find me a Euman specialist."

  The adjutant saluted smartly, set the address on the teleporter's control panel, and left in a flash of light. Once he was gone, Lardo signalled towards the waiting guards. "Fetch the male prisoner. And on the way back here, I want you to chat to each other about the torture I'm going to put him through. Make it good, do you understand? Bloodthirsty."

  The guards stood to attention, saluted her, then left with a clatter of steel-shod boots.

  "That should do it," said Lardo in satisfaction. "By the time he gets here he'll be a quivering wreck. I'll only have to hack off a limb or two before he squeals."

  The commander reserved judgement. Lardo seemed convinced the Eumans had sent a team of crack saboteurs, but he was beginning to suspect the truth was much more mundane: Simply that the Eumans and their metal companion had stumbled into a disused teleporter and —

  R'ash felt his gut constricting. He'd forgotten to mention the metal man in his report! Was there anything he'd got right in this sorry mess? Why oh why had the silly Eumans chosen his nice peaceful corner of the galaxy for their pointless mission?

  R'ash scratched the bristles on his chin. He had to get hold of the search squad, to make sure they only reported back to him. With any luck he could pretend the metal man was a completely separate incident, unrelated to the Euman couple. Or maybe it would be best if his troops didn't find the thing at all? He resolved
to contact them as soon as possible, calling off the search. If he increased the perimeter guard at the same time, the metal man wouldn't be able to get in, and Lardo would never learn of his existence.

  Lardo was still inspecting her dagger, and R'ash brightened as a pleasant thought occurred to him. Perhaps, when the admiral had finished with the prisoners, they could hold a regimental barbecue! Morale had been a bit shaky recently, and a decent feast would really egg the B'Con troops on.

  * * *

  Clunk evaded the B'Con search party without too much trouble. Stealth was clearly a foreign word to the big, heavy pig-creatures, who crashed and bashed their way through the forest as they hunted him down. Clunk wasn't exactly the nimblest of robots, but even so he managed to slip away every time a search party bulldozered its way through the forest in his general direction.

  After an hour the noises grew fainter, more distant, and thirty minutes after that they ceased altogether. From his current hiding spot Clunk could just see the camp's main gate between the trees, and he watched with satisfaction as the search squad trooped home empty-handed. A senior officer met them near the barracks, and after a brief exchange the soldiers split up, spreading out over the entire compound. Clunk watched closely, and he saw the soldiers spacing themselves around the perimeter, each facing the fence. They were all within earshot of each other, and with a sinking feeling Clunk realised it was going to be pretty difficult getting back inside to rescue Amy and Hal.

  Clunk eyed the sky, estimating the minutes until darkness. Ever the optimist, he hoped the B'Con would treat Hal and Amy to a nice meal before beginning a round of gentle questioning.

  * * *

  Hal eyed the massive pig creature in concern, wondering what she had in store for him. He knew immediately she was in command, and she didn't need the elaborate uniform to prove it - the way the others deferred to her made it clear enough. She had an impressive row of campaign ribbons on her chest, and the five gold rings on her sleeve encompassed a stylised spaceship. Probably an admiral, thought Hal, unless the B'Con were even bigger rankers than their human equivalents.