That James was shocked to see her was an understatement, give what he had been told of her medical condition, but he hid his surprise. “Please have a seat, Ms. Hollister. Some refreshment please, Adriana.” When Theresa was seated, he continued. “The Admiral put it about that you were still in Medical Recovery. I didn’t think I’d see you so soon! Are you here for the trials on the PBW? We’re due to test fire it tomorrow.”
“Part of his doube-double-bluff, I’m afraid.” She smiled. “That’s the main reason, yes. The secondary one is to make sure everything is as it should be before we try. I took the liberty of sending my team to Commander Petrocova to give it the once-over.”
He chuckled. “I bet that went down well. Heaven help the person responsible if they do find something wrong!” He paused. “I believe Felicity has taken up her new post. I hope she’ll enjoy it.”
His visitor laughed. “I won’t comment on that one. Let’s just say it took a lot of persuasion.” Her expression sobered. “But it is for the best. A long period in isolation like that plays havoc with an agent’s psychological well-being. This way we can ease her back to full operational health gently.”
“I wondered about that. When we were on holiday in Ireland, she told me how she kept herself sane while she was trapped in that isolation room. She’s an admirable woman.” He paused. “The Irish coast was just what she needed after getting out of that wretched place.” He met her gaze. “And I hope she will have the chance to accompany me there again soon.”
Theresa held his gaze. She could see the depth of unspoken emotion in the Captain’s eyes, but she skirted the topic. “I’m sure Felicity would enjoy that, but it’s a decision for the two of you.” She changed her tone. “About the trials. Can I run over the requirements with you?”
“We’re in the designated trial area, sir.” The Navigation Commander’s quiet voice on the link broke the hush in the Command Centre.
“Thank you, Pilot. Weapons, full scan of the target zone. Identify all observer vessels and drones.”
“Observers in position, clear of the target zone. Drones active and in position, sir.”
“Escorts in position, Captain. Escort Leader reports area is secure, no intruders detected.”
“Acknowledge.” Captain Heron turned to the Rear-Admiral (Weapons). “Ready to commence the tests, sir.”
“In your own time, Captain. The target asteroids are identified by beacons. We’ll take them one at a timeto allow the observers to record the results before we commence the next firing.” He consulted his tablet. “You may begin when you’re ready.”
“Weapons, Target One. Entering firing authority now.”
“Target One, firing authorised. Target locked. Firing.”
The display in the Command Centre showed a purple-green beam extending outward to the target, a medium sized asteroid. When the beam made contact, the asteroid glowed briefly then vanished in an incandescent burst of charged dust. Sharp intakes of breath broke the silence, and the Rear-Admiral said, “It’s the most powerful weapon we’ve yet created. A show stopper, we hope.”
“Target destroyed, sir,” Commander Petrocova’s matter-of-fact report made Captain Heron smile.
“So we noticed. Did you get a record of it?”
“Yes, sir. Ready to shift to Target Two when required.”
He looked toward the Admiral and his staff studying their instruments. “Line it up, but wait for my order.”
Five asteroids, each larger than the last, followed the first in becoming clouds of dust and atoms scattered into space.
“You may secure the PBW, Captain.” The Admiral waited while the orders were conveyed, then added, “Call the escorts and return to Mars orbit.”
“Yes, sir.”
Captain Heron issued his orders and watched the holographic display as the other ships formed up on his.
“Shape course for Mars, Pilot.”
Marcus Grover crossed the production floor to where Heiko Fahrer was checking the latest batches of their modified fungal-pork culture. “Everything testing correctly?”
Heiko grinned as he pushed his glasses onto his forehead. “These are the best we’ve had yet. I can’t wait to see the bacon the replicator turns out from it.” He frowned as the door opened and Hurker entered with two strangers following close behind. “What’s he want?” he murmured to Marcus, and tapped his tablet screen to change the display to something mundane.
“Who knows…” Marcus muttered, and turned as Hurker called his name. “Yes, Hurker? What is it this time?” His tone was droll and bored.
“Is that any way to greet your business partner, Grover?” Hurker’s smirk suggested he had bad news. “These gentlemen are from Pangaea Foods, and they’re here to make us a proposition.”
“Proposition?” Marcus studied the pair. “I’m not selling, and I’m certainly not taking in any more partners. You gentlemen have wasted your time.”
The smaller of the two smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Proposition is not the right word, Mr Grover. We’re here to tell you that the Governor has issued a requisition order giving Pangaea Foods control of all food culture production. This plant must be shut down or handed over to our control.” He paused. “Effective immediately.”
Marcus felt the rage surging inside him. His family built this business from nothing. His grandfather developed the first genetically modified fungal growths that formed the basis of the cultures the replicators used to produce prime beef, pork, chicken or the meat from any other fowl. Until the Johnstone mob arrived, his firm enjoyed a reputation for producing the very finest meat substitute cultures—and still did, though who actually got it was an open question.
It took some effort to control his temper. “So I’m supposed to just hand everything over to you and walk away from my life’s work?”
“Not quite, Mr Grover.” The taller man glared at Hurker and his companion. “Can we go to your office and discuss the matter? What we propose will be easier and more profitable for you, but we need to discuss it in private.”
The exercise briefs had been detailed and specific. There were, however, the ‘wild cards’ to take into account. Each Commander had a certain amount of leeway in their interpretation of the orders, and the mix of ships, strike fighters and personnel was likely to produce some surprises.
Captain Heron studied his displays and analysed the positions of his ‘enemy’, the smaller and newly upgraded starship Kiev and her fleet now in position to defend the moon Calisto from Vanguard and her ‘attacking’ fleet.
“Yuri’s gone for a standard defence deployment, Richard. He’ll try to draw us away from Emden so his smaller units can take her and prevent her launching the landing barges.” James Heron frowned. “He’s two frigates to our two, and a flotilla of corvettes which he’s split. Half of them are on the reverse side of the target.”
Richard Grenville studied the display then checked his data. “Yes, but his strike squadrons aren’t launched.”
“I wonder.” The Captain touched his link. “Run our surface scanner on the Kiev. Focus on his hangars and launch bays.”
“Hangars and launch bays. Yes, sir.”
“That upset him.” The Executive Commander smiled. “Damn, his fighters aren’t aboard!”
“Sneaky. Okay, so he’s got them lurking in hyperspace.” The Captain chuckled. “Nice try, Yuri.” He touched the link again. “Wings, launch your defence screen. They’ve set up a little ambush for us, and I want to spoil it. Warn your crews that I plan to transit as soon as they’re launched, but they’re to remain until we transmit the coordinates.”
“Yes, sir.” In the Flight Control Director room, Commander Nick Gray signalled his team. “Launch the screen. You heard the instruction, Nils? Make sure our people know.”
“Everyone ready?” Captain Heron checked his counterparts in his frigates and the Emden. “Corvette flotilla?”
The confirmations acknowledged, he watched the last of the strike craft a
ssume its position in the screen around the starship. Satisfied, he settled into his chair.
“Transit,” he ordered.
The drop-out from transit was textbook, and it wasn’t where the Kiev’s commander anticipated. As Kiev’s strike squadrons flashed into view, Vanguard’s vanished then reappeared between the Kiev’s escorts and the moon’s surface. Moments later Vanguard dropped out almost alongside the Kiev, while Emden dropped into place and launched the landing barges with a swarm of strike craft around her.
Kiev’s captain reacted with commendable speed, his ship powering away from Vanguard in a desperate attempt to break the weapons locks.
Aboard Vanguard, Commander Petrocova calmly ordered her teams to direct their weapons, and showed her pleasure briefly when her key team, the Target Tracking Unit, managed to maintain their lock on the ‘enemy’ through four micro-transits and the intervention of one of the enemy frigates.
“Good work, team. Don’t lose him,” she urged them. “He’s a tricky bugger—one of their best.” She checked her plot. “He tried to get behind us to change sides, and he’ll attempt to go end for end next.”
“End for end?” blurted the Lieutenant leading the team. “Bloody hell! That’ll spill someone’s coffee. Shit!” He watched as the Vanguard matched the manoeuvre. Exclamations of surprise and alarm were cut short as Valerie Petrocova ordered, “Lock the PBW targeting on him.” She waited.
“Primary locked to target, ma’am.”
“Game over!” she announced. “And he knows it.”
In the Command Centre, Captain Heron saw the flashing signal surrounding the Kiev. “Well done, Weapons.” Turning to the Observer, he remarked, “Target eliminated, sir. Terminate the exercise?”
The FOST officer smiled. “The Admiral confirms. Exercise is terminated. Your Weapons team locking the PBW on them—bloody good targeting, especially holding the target locks with manoeuvres like those.” She paused. “Recall your strike craft, Captain.” She waited while the orders were conveyed. “Debrief when we’re back on the Dock. Any structural damage reported after that—ah—emergency manoeuvre?”
“According to the ship, no damage to the hull or structure.” James Heron smiled. “Some reports of people losing their footing for a few seconds, though, when the artificial gravity was briefly thrown off.”
“I think Yuri will be a bit surprised that you did it.” The FOST officer consulted her tablet. “It isn’t a manoeuvre most of us would try with a ship this size.”
The Kiev was smaller than the new Vanguard, but still impressive, and her newly installed upgrades on weapons and systems made her a formidable opponent. But her Captain, Yuri Kolenskya, had to acknowledge that the ship he was supposed to be attacking had been overwhelmingly better. To his second in command he said, “Captain Heron must be as insane as we are, Andreas. He has out manoeuvred us, and his weapons commander—let me just say that Val Petrocova should be in our crew!”
“He used his planetary scanners on our hangars,” his Executive Commander replied. “We should try it when we’re required to change roles. I do not like having to defend. Attack is always better than defence.”
“Our turn will come,” said the Captain. “For now, the exercise is over. We have spent too much time playing in simulators. Now we must develop our skills in real time and real manoeuvres.”
The latest simulated battle against the smaller Kiev and her wily Captain provided an excellent trial of wits.
Aboard the Vanguard, the Exercise Director checked his programme. Time to insert a random wild card. He scrolled through his list. Yes, a fire and reactor damage in Engineering hadn’t featured in the training yet.
The alarm blared in Engineering Control. Smoke billowed through a vent and built up in layers in Engineering Control.
The Engineering Master Warrant reported from his console. “Reactor Five. Containment failing. Fire in Reactor Compartment 376 Alpha-sub-Epsilon-Xray.”
“Execute SCRAM. Vent the atmosphere. Everyone into survival suits now!” Commander Allison’s orders were clear and rapid-fire. The simulated fire compartment adjoined the Control Room. “Non-essential personnel evacuate. Transfer manoeuvring control to Emergency Control Room.”
Pressure began to fall as the atmosphere vented from the fire compartment and the control room. Sealing her survival suit, Mary Allison realised one of the observers had failed to don his suit—in fact, he didn’t have one. He was a big man, but she grabbed him by the arm, manoeuvred him across the deck, and shoved him into the escape airlock, then ordered a TechRate to take care of him before she slammed the door.
Furious, she checked that control had been successfully transferred to her deputy in the Emergency Control, and then set about completing the routine to ensure the damage was contained and didn’t endanger the ship. Satisfied, she reported.
“Command, Engineering. Reactor Five now shut down. Reaction stopped. Fire in Compartment 376 Alpha sub Epsilon X-ray extinguished. One casualty during evacuation.”
“Acknowledged, Engineering.” The Captain hesitated. “Who’s the casualty?”
“Commander Bretagne. He didn’t have his survival suit with him. He’s been evacuated to compartment 375 Alpha, Deck Zero One.”
“Understood. Secure the Control. The Exercise is now terminated. Restore atmosphere and resume operations as soon as you’re ready.”
Mary Allison confirmed the order then turned to her remaining staff. “Bring the atmosphere back up and check all systems for damage or disruption. Reactor team, get the reactor primed for a restart.” She glowered at the idle gauges. “I wonder which genius dreamed up that little bit of fun? Exercise may be over, but we’ve got several hours of work to get the reactor back in operation!”
“James,” Yuri Kolenskya greeted his opponent. “I think I must demand to have Valerie Petrocova returned to me. You have stolen the best weapons Commander from us, and we want her back!”
“Yuri, I think I’d have a mutiny on my hands if I even suggested she give up the weapons department she has created here.” James Heron smiled. “Your own weapons people did a magnificent job though. I thought you had the edge on us for a while, but then our heavier punch did you in. Tell you what, how about a dinner between our ships after the debriefing? I’ll invite the Admiral and his staff.”
“Good idea,” Yuri acknowledged. “I accept. What is it, you say? Your place or mine?”
Both Captains laughed. “Why not both?” said James. “My ship can entertain yours first and then we can swop over for a second party aboard yours. I think our people deserve it, don’t you?”
“Agreed,” Yuri Kolenskya replied. “Name the day and the time.”
“It will have to be tonight and tomorrow,” Captain Heron responded. “In four days’ time we start a new set of evolutions. That will take at least a month, and I’ll need my people sobered up by then.”
“Very well,” Yuri replied with a chuckle. “We look forward to it.”
Yelendi Dysson looked up as Piet Brandeis approached her table in the restaurant.
“May I join you?” he asked.
“Of course, please do. Everything alright, Commander?”
“Running smoothly for the moment.” He gave a rueful grin. “Worryingly so. I keep waiting for something to go wrong, but so far, so good. By the way, I saw your assistant the other day. Dylan tells me he had a very enjoyable holiday. How was yours?”
She laughed dismissively and shrugged. “Eh, pretty boring actually, but restful. Have you eaten? I haven’t ordered yet.”
“You beat me to it. I’m starved. Before we order, I have something to show you.” Piet fished a small brooch from his pocket and slid it across the table. “This belongs to a business contact of yours, I believe. Found it a few days ago in Felicity Rowanberg’s office. The rep must have lost it when she called on Ms Rowanberg.” He paused. “Mr Brown mentioned you’d talked about someone losing one.”
“So that’s where she lost it. Thanks, I
really appreciate your bringing it back. Nothing particularly valuable, but she rather liked it.” Picking it up, she studied it. A clever piece of jewellery, it hid a microchip. She had a similar one, but this wasn’t it. “I’ll make sure it’s returned.”
“Great, I’ll be grateful if you could get it back to the owner.”
Yelendi stowed the brooch carefully. She did indeed recognise the piece. She’d last seen it being worn by one Ms Cardington, also known as Bast. She would have to get it to her Director of Security. That was the deal she’d made with Mr Brown. She wondered if Commander Rowanberg had any idea what it contained. She had a fair idea of what the price would be from her side of the bargain.
Marcus Grover threw himself into a chair. “These bastards have us over a barrel. Hurker more or less told me today that all our stock formulae are now the property of the Pangaea Food Corporation. He demands I hand over control of production to his supervisors. And he has the backing to enforce it.” He laughed bitterly. “From now on I just get a salary for working in my own plant!”
“Including your new process? Surely not?” His wife slipped her hands onto his shoulders and kneaded them.
“Not the new process.” He grinned. “I’d not put it on the system yet. They know I was working on something, but they won’t find anything on it. It’s all in my working book—writing stuff by hand has its uses. And they won’t find that. Even if they do, they won’t be able to make much sense of it.”
“They can’t get away with it forever, love.” She kissed the top of his head. “Then you’ll have a head start on everyone else.”
He sensed her mood, and turned his head to look up at her. “You think so? Why, my love? They seem to have everything going for them at present.”
“They think they do, love.” She smiled. “I’ve had a message. Uncle Peter and Fionn are safe, and running a resistance cell. I don’t know when or how they got the message through to Fleet, but if they and others are working against the mob running Pangaea City, we can hope….”
Marcus laughed. “I wish I could bloody well join them! How did they get a message through to you?”
Captain James Heron: First into the Fray: Prequel to Harry Heron: Into the Unknown of the Harry Heron Series Page 30
