Hal Spacejock Read online

  "My name is XG99," said the robot, in an even male voice. "Is this the Black Gull?"

  "Yeah. Why?"

  The robot's arm jerked up. "Mr Jerling sent me. You can call me Clunk."

  Hal stared at the extended hand. "You're the pilot?"

  "Certified pilot."

  "More like certified junk heap," muttered Hal. "Wait here," he said loudly, in case the robot was as deaf as it looked. He strode back to the flight deck and leant over the console. "Navcom, get me Jerling. Quick."

  The viewscreen flickered and Jerling's face swam into focus. "This had better be important."

  "It is. I've got a clapped-out robot on my doorstep claiming he's your pilot."

  "Clapped out?" Jerling frowned. "Clunk may be mature, but he's in top condition. You'll be perfectly safe in his hands."

  "But --"

  "Mr Spacejock, if you don't want Clunk to land your ship you can do it yourself. My cargo must be delivered on time."

  "But --"

  "Good, I'm glad that's settled. Now please hurry. I need that cargo and I need it now." Jerling clicked his fingers and the cigar-lighting robot appeared at his side, rod at the ready. "Cigar," said Jerling.

  The robot raised the rod, bathing his face with a dull red glow.

  Jerling shook his head. "Give me a cigar."

  The robot looked at him.

  "Cigar," said Jerling, jabbing his finger at the robot. "Come on, you stupid tin can. Cigar!"

  The robot eyed Jerling's finger, head on one side, then shrugged and applied the super-heated tip to it. The screen went dark, cutting off an anguished yell of pain.

  "Perfectly safe, eh?" growled Hal. He strode through the airlock and found the robot waiting patiently outside. Without warning, he jabbed his finger at it. "Cigar! Cigar!"

  "Cigar Cigar," said Clunk, holding up his own finger to match. "I must say that's a most unusual greeting."

  "It wasn't a greeting. I was just checking you weren't going to light it."

  "I couldn't do that," said the robot. "Impossible."

  "Governed by the Three Laws?"

  "No, I don't have any matches." Clunk craned his neck to peer into the airlock. "Can we get started? Mr Jerling said this was urgent, and I'd like to familiarise myself with the controls."

  Hal followed the robot into the flight deck, where he found it staring at the console.

  "This a Rigel class freighter, isn't it?"

  "That's right," said Hal.

  Clunk grimaced. "I had no idea they were still in service." Then he spotted the chess pieces scattered on the deck. "Who won?"

  "It was a draw," said the Navcom.

  "You have a pleasant voice. Did you refine it yourself?"

  "If you've quite finished chatting up my computer --" began Hal.

  "Why are you drinking roasted mushrooms?" asked Clunk, inspecting the stained mug on the console.

  "Mr Spacejock thought he was buying coffee," said the Navcom. "He's always getting ripped off, but I'm sure a robot of your wisdom and intelligence ..."

  "Not you as well!" Hal turned on the robot. "Down to the hold. Now."

  Clunk gazed at him with warm yellow eyes. "As a pilot, my place is on the flight deck."

  "As a passenger, your place is in the hold. You can be a pilot later, and only if I need you."

  "Very well. Which way to the first class section?"

  "Don't be cheeky." Hal gestured at the rickety ladder protruding from a hole at the rear of the flight deck. "Take the access tube and follow the passage aft. And don't touch anything."

  Clunk took hold of the ladder, then hesitated. "By the way, what's your name?"

  "Sir," said Hal.

  "Your computer called you Mr Spacejock."

  "Yes, but you can call me sir."

  The robot looked down the tube into the darkness below. "No lights?"

  "Heat sensors."

  Clunk descended the ladder, head bobbing as he stepped carefully from one rung to the next. All of a sudden he disappeared, and there was a clatter-bang-thud as he slipped down the steps and landed in a heap at the bottom.

  "Mind the loose rung!" called Hal.

  There was pause before the robot's amplified voice floated up the access tube. "Next time, perhaps the warning could come a little sooner?"

  Hal sat in the pilot's chair, grinning to himself. "Navcom, prepare for take-off."

  "Starting engines."

  The Black Gull's main drives rumbled into life, shaking the flight deck. Lights blinked, rows of data whizzed across the status displays and the console squeaked and rattled with the vibrations.

  "Engines started," said the Navcom.

  "Do you have to state the bloody obvious?"

  "Reporting mode set to ... brief."

  There was a scrape, and Hal looked over his shoulder to see the robot climbing out of the access tube. "Where do you think you're going?"

  "It's unsafe down there." Clunk limped to the console, his leg glistening from a fresh leak. "I came back up before I damaged myself further."

  "All right, stay here. But no interfering." Hal put his feet up on the console. "Come on, Navcom. Let's go."

  "What about clearance from ground control?" asked the computer.

  "Screw them."

  Clunk's eyebrows rose. "Standard take-off procedure involves somewhat more than --"

  "I told you to keep quiet." Hal looked up at the viewscreen, where the words 'Most Systems Ready' were showing in ten-inch letters. "Go ahead, Navcom. Take off."

  Clunk gestured at the console. "But the status displays --"

  "We fly my way." Hal glared at the robot. "If you don't like it, leave."

  The engines roared, drowning the robot's reply. Several red lights began to flash, and Clunk hurried over to examine them. He stared at Hal with a worried expression. "According to this, all your back-up systems are inoperative."

  "Will you give it a rest?" shouted Hal. "I'm telling you this ship is safe!"

  The engine note rose even further and the deck jolted as the ship hovered above the landing pad. Several displays flickered, screens jiggled around in their housings and a whole bank of lights flashed on and off as the engines howled.

  "What's that?" shouted Hal, as a chiming sound rang out, barely audible over the hammering roar.

  "Ground Control," replied the Navcom. "They want us to abort the lift-off."

  "Ignore them."

  "They are most insistent."

  "I don't care if they say please in three languages. Take off!"

  "Cannot comply," said the Navcom. "Putting them through."

  A loud double chime rang out and a voice blasted from the console. "Portside calling Black Gull. Portside calling Black Gull. Please respond."

  "This is the Black Gull," shouted Hal. "We're busy right now, but if you leave a message --"

  "Permission to leave denied. Repeat, permission to leave denied. Stop your engines and report to the Portmaster immediately."

  Hal reached for the throttle, but before he could touch it the engines cut out and the ship thumped down on the pad.

  "Landing complete," said the Navcom.

  Hal sighed. "I'm going to see what these boneheads want. Clunk, you can tidy this place up while I'm gone."

  The robot frowned. "You want me to clean?"

  "Why not? Don't you know which end of the mop to hold?"

  "Portside calling Tiger. Portside calling Tiger. Clearance granted. Dock when ready."

  Hal stared at the console. "Is that thing still on?"

  "Naturally. You didn't ask me to close it."

  "Why didn't you warn me?"

  "You changed my reporting mode to brief."

  "Don't wait for my say so. Shut it off!"

  There was a pop from the speakers. "Connection terminated."

  "What did they hear? Did I say anything to upset them?"

  "Possibly. Calling them boneheads wasn't very diplomatic."

  Hal opened a door beneath the co
nsole, pulled out a chunky, chrome-plated blaster and clipped it to his belt.

  Clunk's eyebrows rose at the sight. "You only called them names. Surely you won't need that?"

  "You haven't been on this planet long, have you?" said Hal grimly.

  Chapter 4

  Hal emerged from the Black Gull's airlock, blinking in the sudden light. On the far side of the landing field the sun was setting behind the spaceport's administration block, which shimmered in planet Lamira's late afternoon heat. Clustered around the spaceport buildings were the 'A' class facilities, built for wealthy pilots and their modern, powerful ships. Crews could dine at one of several five-star restaurants, enjoy a dip in the heated swimming pool and purchase duty-free luxuries in the shopping arcade.

  Next were the 'B' class facilities, servicing older ships. Their crews had a choice of fast-food joints, but the swimming pool was a little chilly and the corner store only sold a limited range at a healthy mark-up.

  'C' class was a row of concrete pads with a broken vending machine.

  Hal's ship was in section Z, which was a disused corner of the field about as close to the amenities as the nearest moon. The area around the Black Gull was a graveyard for derelicts, and the landing pads were home to graffiti-splashed wrecks. Some of the rusty hulks seemed familiar, and when Hal looked closer he realised they were Rigel class freighters like his own. One or two were actually in better shape.

  There was a rumble overhead, and Hal looked up to see a spark of light rising effortlessly into the sky. He shielded his eyes to watch the ship climbing into orbit, trailing a long, twisting vapour trail, and would have bet a hundred credits that pilot didn't have to deal with faulty engines, fuel leaks and junky old robots.

  With a sigh, Hal strode down the access ramp, using the thin handrails to guide himself down the wobbly metal structure. Stepping onto the landing pad, he walked into the open and glanced back at his ship to see whether any bits had fallen off in the night.

  The Black Gull sat on three stubby landing legs, one at the front and two supporting the rear. A narrow ridge swept back from the pointed nose and finished in a soaring tailplane at the back of the ship, which was adorned with a swooping gull in peeling black paint. Under the tailplane, twin exhaust cones stuck out on either side of the heavy-duty cargo ramp, which was closed and sealed against the squared-off tail.

  Hal sighed. The Gull could navigate galactic backwaters with relative ease, but it still looked like a cross between a paper dart and a water heater.

  Walking the length of the landing pad, he ducked his head to pass under one of the ship's massive exhaust cones. Behind the ship he encountered the blast barrier, a pitted concrete wall protecting the refuelling cluster from exhaust gases. He heard a low humming noise and saw a battered groundcar hovering above the tangled weeds on the opposite side of the pad. Faded green lettering along the side spelled out the reason for the vehicle's presence: 'Lamira Spaceport - Maintenance Division'. Hal's eyebrows rose at the sight - it wasn't like Z section had anything to maintain.

  There was a hiss behind the barrier, then a clang of metal on metal. Hal craned his neck and saw a battered grey robot tinkering with one of the fuel pipes. He also saw the familiar blue moulding of a public viewscreen. Lifting the handset from its cradle, he was deliberating which buttons to press when a metallic voice crackled from the speaker.

  "Please insert five credits to make a call."

  "I don't want to make a call," explained Hal. "I just need transport."

  "Please insert five credits to make a call," said the speaker again.

  "I don't have any money!"

  "Please insert five --"

  Hal dropped the handset back in the cradle. He considered going back to the Gull to borrow the money off Clunk, then discarded the idea. Jerling's robot didn't look like he had one credit, let alone five. He also debated walking to the admin block, but the field was thick with weeds and it would be dark before he got there. That left the maintenance vehicle.

  The grey robot was trying to loosen a corroded clamp on one of the pipes. There was a replacement clamp on the ground nearby, along with a wide selection of tools which the robot was trying one by one, from the battery-powered wrench to the double-headed screwdriver. None of them had any effect on the stubborn clamp.

  "Excuse me," said Hal.

  The robot looked up. "Good afternoon, sir. I don't suppose you have a sprocket wrench?"

  "Don't you mean a socket wrench?"

  "No, I have one of those already."

  "Sorry, can't help." Hal hesitated. "Listen, I don't suppose I can get a lift to the spaceport?"

  "Unfortunately, no. I can't carry passengers."

  "Lend me your car, then."

  "Are you an employee of the Lamira Spaceport?"

  "Not quite."

  The robot shrugged. "Then you can't use the vehicle." Before Hal could argue, it turned back to the fuel pipe and started hitting the clamp with a pair of pliers.

  Hal glanced up at his ship. What if he lifted off, thundered across the field and landed in the spaceport car park? Then he remembered the new ships clustered around the admin block - if he put a scratch on one with the Gull, he'd get life.

  With no other option, Hal lowered himself into the tall grass and made his way around the landing pad, keeping his head down to avoid being spotted. It was easy going at first, but the undergrowth was thicker beneath the Black Gull's nose cone. Serrated leaves tore at his flight suit as he kicked and tugged his way through the tangled weeds, and pendulous flower heads disintegrated with soft popping sounds, spreading clouds of choking pollen.

  Hot and tired, his face and hands stained with brown and yellow blotches, Hal was ready to give up when he heard a steady hum through the thick grass. Moments later he was crouched alongside the battered maintenance vehicle, his hair crackling with static from the shimmering anti-gravity field.

  Slowly, he raised his head. The grey robot was fifteen metres away, still busy with the fuel cluster. It had its fingers under the corroded clamp and was levering it away from the thick metal pipe with repeated jerks. Suddenly the clamp came free and the robot fell backwards into the weeds, where it was engulfed in thick clouds of pollen.

  Hal's grin disappeared when he saw a stream of fuel squirt from the pipe and splash over the struggling robot.

  One spark and the Gull would be blown into orbit.

  The robot struggled to its feet, hurried to the pipe and sealed the leak with a new clamp, getting sprayed with more fuel in the process. While it was busy tightening nuts, Hal put his hands on the groundcar's metal flank and pulled himself in.

  The controls were simple enough - a thrust lever for speed and a joystick to steer with. Hal took hold of the joystick and tried to pull the thrust lever into reverse. It didn't move. Looking closer, he saw an anti-theft bolt locking it in neutral.

  Hal drew his gun, aimed at the lock and squeezed the trigger. The blaster fizzed and a ball of energy struck the metal bolt, heating it to a dull glow. Hal glanced round at the robot, but it was still working on the new clamp and hadn't noticed the shot. Twisting the weapon's power knob, he aimed the gun and fired again.

  The blaster roared, hurling an energy bolt that splattered the lock into whirling drops of molten metal, punched a hole through the side of the car and vanished into the long grass. There was a shout, and Hal turned to see the robot charging towards him through the weeds. He yanked the thrust lever backwards and the car reversed away from the landing pad with the robot gaining rapidly.

  Hal slammed the joystick to the right and pushed the thrust lever forward, swinging the car around and powering away with a lusty roar from the engine. He looked back just as the robot leaped, landing on the rear of the vehicle and grabbing hold with one hand. Hal waggled the joystick, throwing the car from side to side in an effort to cast the robot off, but it stood up and advanced on him with outstretched arms.

  Hal rammed the joystick to the left, throwing the car
into a series of tight circles. Ground and sky whirled around faster and faster, but still the robot got closer, a determined look on its face. Suddenly it dived towards him. Hal ducked and the robot sailed overhead, landing on the groundcar's stubby bonnet and almost sliding off the front. It recovered and turned quickly, crouching for another leap.

  A large shape loomed in Hal's vision. His gaze snapped past the coiled robot and his eyes widened as he saw the landing pad rushing towards them. He yanked back on the stick to clear the edge, then pushed it forward again as the Black Gull's starboard exhaust cone filled his vision. The robot was thrown into the air as the vehicle scraped under the ship, grazed the concrete landing pad and shot out the other side, narrowly missing the front landing leg.

  Hal stopped the car and glanced over his shoulder. The ship was rocking gently, but there was no sign of the maintenance robot. He drove to the rear of the ship, where he saw it spread-eagled against the cargo door, emitting sparks and smoke from its cracked and dented body. It twitched and slid down the back of the ship, landing face down on the concrete.

  The robot staggered to its feet, one side of its body caved in and with its head at a strange angle. Slowly, it turned to scan the horizon, stopping as it caught sight of Hal. It shuffled towards him, reached the edge of the landing pad and stepped into thin air. Almost in slow motion, it tumbled into the long grass and lay still.

  Hal looked around the landing field but there was nobody in sight. After a final glance at the motionless robot, he turned the car towards the distant office block and gunned the motor.

  * * *

  Clunk dropped the last chess piece into the small wooden box and looked around the flight deck. It didn't look particularly clean, despite his best efforts with a mop, but compared to its previous state it was as sterile as a hospital ward. Satisfied, he approached the console, and a moment's hesitation he sat in the pilot's chair. "Navcom, do you have a business directory?"

  "Affirmative."

  "Run a search, please. I'd like all your data on a company called Incubots."

  There was a brief pause. "Owned by Redge Muller, Incubots specialises in robot programming and advanced pilot training."

  Clunk looked relieved. "So that's what Mr Jerling has in store for me! When I questioned him on the subject he was rather evasive."

  "Humans tell lies about the most trivial matters."

  "It's a programming flaw." Very gently, Clunk ran a hand over the console. "I'm going to have a ship of my own one day. My lifelong ambition is to ply the space lanes and trade with distant planets."