Hal Spacejock 7: Big Bang Read online

  Suddenly, Hal hit on the answer. He'd pack up the dry goods for now, and later he'd ask Clunk to fetch him something from the stasis cabinet. The robot would soon let him know if there was something … unexpected … inside. Clunk would let him know at great length, no doubt, but a second-hand horror story was nowhere near as bad as experiencing it yourself. Even with Clunk's gift for turning minor setbacks into an endless series of novels.

  A gentle whine from the dog caught Hal's attention, and he felt a stirring of guilt. Here he was worrying about his own stomach, when the poor creature hadn't seen a decent meal for days. Scanning the shelves, Hal was relieved to find a stack of large tins with Dog-e-nosh labels. He selected a can, and returned to the kitchen to find a suitable bowl. The dog followed, her eyes tracking the can with precision.

  Hal opened one cupboard after another, locating any number of glasses and mugs without finding the one thing he was looking for. In the end he gave up and emptied the tin straight onto the floor. After all, the whole place was going to be underwater in hours, so nobody was going to worry about a little bit of mess.

  The dog didn't seem to mind either - she tucked in, wolfing the food down as though she hadn't been fed for weeks. Watching her eat made Hal hungry, and after tossing the empty can into the sink he returned to the larder to supply his own needs. He assembled a crispbread, pickled onion and mustard sandwich, and within minutes he and the dog were eating together in contented silence.

  * * *

  "Mr Spacejock? Are you there?"

  By the time Clunk returned from his survey, Hal and the dog were both full to bursting. After the snack, and the second snack, and the afters, and two lots of desserts, Hal finally got around to packing up some of the gear they were supposed to be moving. He started with the tins of coffee, moved on to some decent-looking tinned food, and was just scavenging a few packets of cereal when the kitchen door opened and Clunk rushed in.

  "Excellent! I see you've made a start," said the robot, beaming at a stack of cardboard boxes. His tone was slightly less favourable when he looked inside the nearest carton. "A start on the food, at least."

  "You heard the agent. Help ourselves to the grub, that's what he said." Hal nudged the larder door shut. He wanted Clunk to discover the stasis cabinet for himself, when Hal was out of the way. A long way away, such as safely aboard the Volante, for example. "So, what's up? Did you find anything interesting?"

  "I finished my survey, and the furniture will fill the Volante's hold to ninety-eight percent capacity provided you allow me to supervise the job."

  Hal waved his hand airily. "Supervise away. Just make sure you leave room for the new stores."

  "Stores?"

  Hal nodded towards the larder. "The supplies."

  "Of course. Now, we have a lot of work to do, so perhaps you could give me a hand with some of the larger pieces of furniture?"

  "I thought you wanted to supervise?"

  "Yes, but I still need a manual labourer."

  "Sorry Clunk, I'm full up. I need to let my dinner go down."

  "There's no time for resting. According to my roster, if we work for the next eight hours straight we should be able to get everything to the ship. Then, if things go smoothly, I can allow you four hours of sleep at around two in the morning, while I'm arranging the cargo in the hold. After dawn, I'll need a couple of hours help tying everything down."

  Hal almost choked on a pickle. "Eight hours carrying furniture? Four hours sleep at two a.m.? Getting up at dawn?"

  "The house won't empty itself, Mr Spacejock. Not only that, I've checked the rate at which the floodwaters are rising, and if we delay more than half an hour we'll be up to our knees in water before we've finished. I'd really like a bigger margin for error, but I thought four hours sleep was the minimum you'd settle for."

  "You were wrong. Eight hours is the minimum, or seven if you wake me with fresh coffee and a three course breakfast. Four hours is a cat nap."

  The dog barked.

  "See? She's on my side."

  "I'm sorry, Mr Spacejock. Time is of the essence, and we have to make an immediate start."

  "All right, all right." Hal eyed the door to the larder. "Listen, I need something from the Volante. Why don't you clear the larder while I'm gone?"

  "But my roster …"

  "I'll work much harder if I know there'll be a decent meal at the end of it," said Hal. "Go on, Clunk. Do this for me."

  The robot sighed. "Very well, Mr Spacejock. I will start with the larder while you visit the ship. But please, don't delay."

  "I'm sure I'll be back in no time," said Hal honestly.

  * * *

  Hal walked straight into a heavy rain shower as he left the house, and he ducked his head and ran full tilt towards the Volante to avoid the worst of it. He'd read somewhere that running through a downpour made you wetter than walking, but he couldn't bring himself to trudge along while the heavens emptied themselves onto his head. Better wet than slow, that was his motto.

  The Volante's cargo ramp was down, and Hal jogged straight up it to the shelter of the hold. He shook his head to throw off the rain, then got another shower as the dog alongside him did likewise. He hadn't noticed her following him, and he was pleased she'd braved the downpour to stay by his side. The dog looked up at him, scattering raindrops with her hyperactive tail, and Hal was certain she was grinning even though the rain had turned her coat into a bedraggled mess.

  Hal dug through a couple of equipment lockers until he found a tatty old towel, then crouched and held it out to the dog. "Here girl," he called, shaking the towel. The dog trotted over and he rubbed her all over, drying her coat thoroughly. In return he got a grateful lick.

  When he'd finished he stood up, dried his own hair then tossed the wet towel back into the locker. His original plan had been to hang around the ship for a few minutes while Clunk opened the stasis cabinet and discovered the contents, then return to hear the worst. However, now that he was aboard he figured he might as well take a breather.

  "Come on you," he said, and headed for the elevator. Without hesitation, the dog followed, trotting along at his side.

  After a brief ride the doors opened on the flight deck. "Hi Navcom. Anything to report?"

  "Negative."

  "Clunk's just organising things in the house, so I thought I'd pop over for a coffee."

  "Did you know there's a hairy quadruped in the flight deck?"

  Hal glanced at the dog, who was looking around for the source of the voice, her ears up and her nose quivering. "It's all right, girl. The Navcom won't hurt you." He turned to the console. "I think she was abandoned. Someone decided she was more trouble than she was worth."

  "Can she help load the ship?"

  "Not exactly. She's friendly though." Hal hesitated. "Clunk hasn't called, has he?"

  "No. Do you want me to contact him?"

  "Don't bother. I'm sure he'll be on the blower in no time." Hal crossed to the coffee maker and ordered up a treble shot with extra cream, and when the machine had finished thundering and gurgling he took the mug and tested the brew. "Is it just me, or is this coffee getting worse?"

  "It's not you."

  Hal remembered the stores in the larder, and smiled. Tins of coffee, cakes, fruit … it was going to be great.

  "Incoming audio call," said the Navcom. "It's Clunk."

  "Surprise surprise." Despite expecting the call, Hal still felt a tightening in his stomach. Had the robot found the stasis cabinet? And … had he opened it? "Put him on."

  "Hello, is that Mr Spacejock?"

  "Yes Clunk. What is it?"

  "I found a stasis cabinet in the larder."

  "No! You didn't!"

  "Yes, I did. And then, when I opened it —"

  "Yes? What is it? What did you find?"

  "To be honest, I think you should come and have a look."

  "That's all right, you can tell me."

  "No, I think you should see it."

  "
I want you to tell me, Clunk."

  "Sorry, Mr —" ggicht, crackle, spit "— you're breaking up. Will see you here short—" iccht. Over and —" ggggiccchtt.

  Hal frowned. Something in the cabinet was messing with the comms, or the robot thought it was so bad he wanted Hal to have a look. Either way, the sensible option would be to hang around the Volante until Clunk came to report.

  So, ten seconds later, Hal set off for the house.

  Chapter 5

  Hal entered the kitchen cautiously, treading carefully in case he stepped on a bit of Clunk's brain, or a twisted fragment of the robot's bronze metal skin. Not that he expected to find Clunk blown to pieces, not even if the stasis cabinet contained a box of hand grenades without pins, but he could hardly fetch help - or a dustpan and brush - if he had a three-inch metal shard embedded in the bottom of his foot.

  However, there was no sign of any shrapnel, nor brains for that matter, and when Hal opened the larder door - slowly, and with much care - he spotted Clunk in front of the open stasis cabinet. The robot's face was illuminated with an eerie blue glow coming from inside, and when Clunk spotted Hal peering into the larder he beckoned eagerly.

  "What have you found?" asked Hal from the doorway, still determined to keep his distance. He didn't think corpses glowed with weird blue light, but it was possible the old geezer had died from some alien skin-glowy disease, and Hal didn't want to go the same way.

  "Come and see."

  "I'd rather you described it for me."

  "Don't worry, it's perfectly safe …"

  Hal edged closer.

  "… for now," finished Clunk, once Hal was in range.

  Despite himself, Hal couldn't help peeking inside the cabinet. Sitting on a shelf inside was a silver egg about the size of his head. It was perched on a metal base bristling with sockets and wires, and the blue glow was coming from a row of indicator lights. "What is it, a novelty easter egg?"

  "No, it's a zero-degree power module. A zeedeg, for short."

  "Like a kind of battery, you mean?"

  "Technically, in that it supplies power. On the other hand, batteries don't contain particles from a collapsed neutron star."

  Hal delved into his sketchy knowledge of astrophysics. "They're the heavy ones, right?"

  "Correct. A fragment the size of a full stop would weigh more than your ship." Clunk gestured at the glowing egg. "Only the military has access to this technology."

  "To power their ships?"

  "Correct. Also for weapons and shields."

  Hal's face glowed, and it wasn't just the blue light from the egg. "Hey, imagine if we fitted that to the Volante! No more fuel bills, no more refuelling, no more —"

  "No more Volante," said Clunk gravely. "I'm sorry, but these devices aren't available to civilians. They're highly temperamental, and require a team of trained personnel to maintain them. In fact, they're almost as dangerous as a liquid which can melt anything."

  "There's no such thing."

  "Actually …" Clunk was about to elaborate, then changed his mind. "Anyway, the zeedeg is far too hazardous to take with us."

  "Pity." Hal had a sudden thought. "So, what's it doing here then?"

  "I suspect the home owner salvaged it from a wreck. Perhaps he was looking for a buyer when he died."

  Hal backed away quickly. "You don't think that glow is —"

  "No, Mr Spacejock. There are no dangerous emissions." Clunk looked grave. "It does, however, pose a tricky dilemma. What do we do with it?"

  Hal shrugged. "Take it with the rest of the stuff."

  "That won't work." Clunk gestured at the blue indicator lights. "I'm no expert, but I believe the zeedeg was placed in stasis just as it was about to go off."

  "Off, as in power down?"

  "No, off as in ka-boom. Fortunately, the stasis field has kept it frozen in time, but switch off the field and —"

  "Yeah, I get the picture." Hal backed away even further, almost to the door. "What's the damage radius?"

  "Don't you mean diameter?" asked Clunk, his lips twisting.

  "This isn't the time, Clunk. What's it going to do?"

  "It will vapourise everything within two hundred metres. Around, above and below."

  Hal wiped his brow. "Thank goodness for the stasis field."

  "It's not that simple."

  "What do you mean?"

  "This house has its own generator, located in the basement. Once the waters reach the house, we'll have to turn the generator off or risk electrocution. That will disable the stasis cabinet, and after that, it's only a matter of time before the zeedeg explodes."

  Hal swore under his breath. "So now we have two deadlines?"

  "Only one of them is fatal, Mr Spacejock."

  "Yeah, that's a big comfort." Hal eyed the stasis cabinet. "We'd better get a move on with the house clearance, then. I want to be miles away when this thing goes off."

  "It's not going to go off, Mr Spacejock, because we're going to call the authorities and have them dispose of it."

  "Handball the problem to someone else? I like it, Clunk. Make the call."

  "I shall relay communications via the ship."

  Hal's eyes narrowed. "It's not going to cost me, is it?"

  "You're worried about the cost of a call, when lives might be at stake?"

  "Only ours are in danger, right? So how much?"

  Clunk sighed. "No more than five credits, Mr Spacejock."

  "Place the call."

  There was a purring sound, and then a flat, emotionless voice answered. "Chiseley military base. How may I direct your call?"

  "My colleague and I have come across a zero degree power module …" began Clunk.

  "That's okay, we have plenty of those already. Thanks for calling, and remember to consider us next time you require military might at half the price."

  "But —" Clunk slapped the side of his head. "Hello? Hello?"

  "Hung up, huh?" said Hal.

  "Let me try again."

  "Another five credits?"

  "I'm sure I can make them understand this time."

  "Go on, then."

  Clunk placed the call.

  "Chiseley military base. How may I —"

  Clunk spoke rapidly, outlining the situation with a few carefully-chosen sentences. "And it's dangerous!" he said, when he'd finished.

  "I can send a team within the hour," said the operator crisply.

  "Excellent. I'll give you the address."

  "Not so fast, sir. We need to clear the financial details first. How will you be paying for the callout?"

  "I'm sorry, what?" said Clunk, looking confused.

  "The Chiseley military operates on a user-pays system. Is cash on arrival acceptable, or would you like to hear about our favourable credit terms?"

  "This is a matter of public safety!"

  "Then the public won't mind paying for it, will they? Now, how will you be —"

  With a gesture of disgust, Clunk cut the call.

  "No more than five credits, eh?" crowed Hal. "I told you."

  "It's a travesty," muttered Clunk. "What happened to serving the public?"

  "That went out the window along with democracy, elections and the free press." Hal nodded towards the zeedeg. "So, we leave it behind and run for cover?"

  "A wise plan, under the circumstances." Clunk hesitated. "I just hope the owner hasn't left any more surprises for us. This zeedeg is quite enough of a headache as it is."

  * * *

  With the zeedeg lurking in the kitchen - and also looming large in his mind - Hal threw caution to the wind, and it was all Clunk could do to stop him pushing cupboards, chairs and beds straight down the stairs. Even so, it wasn't long before they were hurrying back and forth, carting as much as they could carry to the ship before jogging back at the double. The dog loped alongside, enjoying the whole process a lot more than Hal did.

  They completed half a dozen trips before it started to spit with rain, at which point Hal added H
ouse Clearances to his lengthy list of 'jobs we're never doing again.'

  Still, Hal was glad the Volante was parked some distance away, despite the long walk. Clunk had been pretty certain about the zeedeg's blast radius, but Hal wasn't about to risk his ship in an all-consuming explosion.

  "You're very quiet, Mr Spacejock."

  "I'm thinking."

  "That's what I was afraid of."

  "If that zeedeg thing blew up, taking the house and contents with it, we wouldn't have to carry any more furniture."

  "You're not suggesting we trigger the device, are you?"

  "You have to admit, it would save a lot of work. And it'd be kind of an accident, so it wouldn't be our fault."

  "I wouldn't bet on that."

  "We'd still get paid."

  "Mr Spacejock, we're getting paid to clear the house contents, not vapourise them."

  "A gigantic space bomb would clear the contents pretty good, as far as I'm concerned."

  "Yes, well perhaps we can consider your plan later, if it looks like we're not going to finish in time. For now, let's try and keep up, shall we?"

  Chapter 6

  Hal leant into the driving rain, labouring under the weight of a waterlogged sofa which threatened to drag his arms from their sockets. Squinting, he could just make out Clunk ahead of him, the robot's angular shape reduced to a blurred bronze outline by the relentless rain.

  Six hours had passed since Hal had been snapping biscuits in the Volante's snug, warm lounge, and he would have given anything to be back there right now, and out of this particular nightmare.

  They were making their way along a muddy path between scattered trees. The trees weren't large enough to provide shelter from the rain, but they were big enough to drop buckets of water down Hal's neck every time he went near them. To the left, the ground fell away sharply, and a metre below the path a body of dark water surged and swirled against the bank. A tree floated past, with ripped and torn branches pointing skyward like the masts on a wrecked ship, only to vanish into the mist. Fall down there, thought Hal, and he'd disappear for good.

  Hal pressed on, adjusting his grip to keep the sofa level. The rain and the aches were bad enough, but the most annoying thing was the way Clunk had worked every single trip so that he, Hal, always carried the heaviest end. From solid wooden tables to huge, unwieldy mattresses, the robot dealt himself the lightest possible workload every single time. Oh, the robot assured him the load was equal, quoting laws of physics, mass equations and gravity diagrams, but Hal intended to raise the issue again … and he would, the minute he could open his mouth for longer than ten seconds without drowning. Assuming his arms didn't fall off and he didn't plunge into the rising waters first.