Hal Spacejock Omnibus One Read online

  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 console, 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."

  "That's what Mr Spacejock does," said the Navcom. "He doesn't seem to like it very much."

  "I would find it most enjoyable."

  "You realise that robots don't own ships?"

  "Then I shall be the first," said Clunk. "Tell me, do you have a simulation mode?"

  "Affirmative."

  "Activate it, please."

  "What difficulty level? Medium, hard or extreme?"

  "Hard. I'd like to get a feel for the controls before taxing myself."

  "You're a little rusty, I assume."

  Clunk frowned. "Are you trying to be funny?"

  "It was merely an observation. Tell me, would you like sound effects with your simulation?"

  "Yes, make it as realistic as possible."

  "Entering set-up. Please specify parameters."

  "Height two thousand metres, wind fifteen knots from the south-east, ship descending at four hundred metres per minute. Manual override enabled."

  "Entering simulation mode. P
lease take the controls."

  Clunk put one hand on the throttle and took the flight stick with the other. With his left eye on the viewscreen and the right scanning the console readouts, he moved the ship into position and set it down dead centre.

  "Landing successful. You scored … one hundred points. Your rating is … perfect. Your high score is … number one."

  "Really?" Clunk looked pleased. "By how much?"

  "The next high score is … Mr Spacejock. His best ever result is … minus nine thousand seven hundred and fifty. Would you like to try again?"

  "No, I'd like a different simulation. Plot a virtual course for planet Aklam."

  "Cannot comply. I don't have an entry for that planet."

  Clunk sighed. "It's only a simulation. Use random coordinates."

  "Destination located and locked in."

  "Start main engines."

  There was a hissing sound from the console speaker. "Main engines started."

  "Check thrust levels," said Clunk.

  "Confirmed."

  "Seal external doors."

  "Doors sealed."

  "Initiate take-off."

  "Increasing thrust," said the Navcom. "Attitude boosters activated. The ship has cleared the landing pad."

  Clunk sat back and stared through the viewscreen with a faraway look in his deep yellow eyes. He was on his way to Aklam, centre of the mechanised universe, and the fabled planet every robot dreamt about.

  *

  Hal left the maintenance vehicle in the spaceport's outer car park and walked to the admin block. An information kiosk directed him to an elevator, where he pressed the button marked 'Portmaster'. The floor numbers flicked past as the lift dropped further and further underground. He'd expected the Portmaster to have a spacious top-floor office with a view of the landing field, but instead the office seemed to be in the basement. Below the basement, amended Hal, eyeing the elevator's control panel. He'd passed that already.

  The final number lit up and Hal's legs buckled as the elevator came to a sudden stop. The doors swept open and he stepped out into a cool reception area, his nose wrinkling at the damp smell from the bare concrete walls. A young man was sitting behind a reception desk, working at a computer terminal. He noticed Hal, and his earring sparkled as he looked up. "Can I help you sir?"