Albion

By Simon Haynes

Hal takes an odd call from a team of scientists, and minutes later he and Clunk are boarding a shuttle for the nearby orbiter. Turns out the scientists need some vital information, and only Hal can help.

Before long he's embroiled in a new adventure, and this one's really dangerous.

Albion is a novella set in the Hal Spacejock universe. This story follows directly after Hal Spacejock 8: Double Trouble, and should be read after that novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Haynes
• Release date: Sep 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463884089

Simon Haynes

Simon Haynes lives in Western Australia, where he divides his time between herding deadly spiders, dodging drop bears, and making up wildly inaccurate sentences like this one.By day he's an author. By night he's also an author.He loves wry, dry humour, and his hobbies include daringly inserting the letter U into words where -- in some parts of the world at least -- this simply isn't the done thing.As for his genre-spanning novels, they include epic fantasy (with robots), scifi comedy (also with robots), middle grade humour (featuring robots AND the wanton use of the letter U), as well as a series of historical mystery novels set in 1870's London. (No, of course there aren't robots in those. He's not completely out of his mind.)When he's not writing Simon is usually renovating his house, sim-racing online, using twitter (@spacejock), gardening, tweaking his book covers, pondering the meaning of the universe and reading, and if you think it's easy doing all that at the same time you should see what he can do with a mug of coffee, a banana and a large bag of salt.When he's not making outlandish claims he likes to count how many novels he's written, and how many genres he's written them in. (Lots and too many.)Finally, if you want to hear Simon reading one of his award-winning stories, you'll find an enticement to join his newsletter here: spacejock.com.au/ML.html

Book preview

Spoiler Warning

SPOILER WARNING!

This novella is a stand-alone story, but events take place directly after Hal Spacejock 8: Double Trouble, and reference is made to the ending of that novel.

If you haven't read Double Trouble yet, you might like to do so before reading Albion.

Chapter 1

Hal Spacejock paced the flight deck of his brand new ship, steam practically jetting from his ears. Oh, there was nothing wrong with the Albion's flight deck. That was clean, and new, and spacious, and Hal had no complaints. In fact, it was so new there was still plastic wrap all over the pilot's seat, an extremely comfy chair which had integrated massage cushions, a four-stage recliner and two cup holders.

No, Hal wasn't angry with the ship. His fury was directed at the technicians who were supposed to be getting the Albion ready for her maiden voyage, because he'd never met such a bunch of slackers in his life. That included the fabled road-mending teams of Seraph IX, who insisted on polishing each piece of gravel by hand, before lovingly placing them on beds of freshly-combed sand and drizzling them with a jus distilled from the purest, hand-churned tar.

You call that fussy? thought Hal savagely. The so-called technicians currently infesting his ship could have taught the Seraph road-mending teams a trick or two. First, they'd found corrosion in the cable connectors, but when Hal asked to see it they told him he'd need a microscope. Next it was the fuel lines, which had a pressure rating nine millionths of a percent outside tolerances. Finally, they'd insisted on ordering a new toilet seat, because the privacy policy on the old one was lacking a vital check box. When Hal suggested peeling off the sticker, or adding the check box by hand, they looked at him as though he'd suggested assassinating the Emperor. With a toilet brush.

The only bright spot was the Navcom, who'd been successfully uploaded into the ship's navigation computer. Even better, Clunk had forgotten to include the rules of chess, and Hal had already won forty games in a row by claiming all his pawns were queens.

Would you like another match? asked the Navcom, in an even female voice. Her voice was muffled by the plastic wrap, but Hal preferred it that way. It was less likely to wake him from a snooze.

This isn't the time, snapped Hal.

You're only saying that because I might win.

Hal snorted. With nine queens versus one, there wasn't much chance of losing … not even to the Navcom. Then he remembered that winning always put him in a good mood. Okay, set 'em up. But remember I get three moves to start the game.

Of course. And you get two moves to my one after that. The Navcom hesitated. I just need you to okay something before we begin.

Sure. What is it?

Galnet wants me to okay their new privacy policy.

Hal buried his face in his hands.

Don't worry, I only need verbal approval.

Shouldn't I read it?

Why? Nobody else does.

Okay, I approve it. Now set the board up.

Galnet connection established. There was a slight delay. Rules of chess downloaded.

Uh-oh.

That's curious, said the Navcom slowly. I seem to have two completely different sets of rules in my database.

Really? Well, let's go with mine, said Hal. After all, we're used to them now. Why change something when we don't have to? That reminded him of the toilet seat, and the fuel lines, and the cable connectors, and he scowled. You know what? I don't feel like chess after all.

Good, because I'm still comparing Hal Spacejock's Rules of Chess v2.0 to the far more common 1.0 edition.

There was a ding-dong from the console.

Doorbell, right? said Hal, who'd learned to recognise the sound over the years.

Negative. Incoming call.

So what does the doorbell sound like?

We don't have one.

So how am I supposed to know when someone's waiting outside the airlock?

If it's one of your customers, you'll hear their angry shouting.

Hal sighed. Put the call on main.

Are you sure? I thought we could discuss other features this ship doesn't have. Like a suitable backup module for—

Navcom!

An image appeared on the huge screen above the console. Unfortunately, the screen was still wrapped in plastic, so the caller looked like roadkill drifting along the ocean floor. Am I talking to Mr Hal Spacejock? said a muffled voice.

Yes, that's me.