Captain James Heron: First into the Fray: Prequel to Harry Heron: Into the Unknown of the Harry Heron Series

by Patrick G Cox

  “Don’t laugh, but it was in plain view on a container in the stores we got yesterday. Clever code too. The goons had gone through it absolutely convinced there was something.” She laughed. “They didn’t think to look at the label! They were looking for a chip.”

  The Admiral watched the ferry Ventura IV lift off the launchpad. The last twelve months had been a challenge, but his team had risen to it. He wondered if any of them other than Theresa and Felicity realised how much of it had been a double bluff. Piet Brandeis knew some of it, but hopefully not too many more did. Taking down Bast had been the main objective, but he’d wanted her alive. At the moment it was still in the lap of the gods—he appreciated the irony—as to whether or not she survived.

  “She’s on it? And she has the item?” Mr Brown watched as the ferry lifted and soared away at full boost.

  “Yes. She passed through using her own ID, Dysson from Freemantle, Australia.” The agent watched his senior. “If she’s playing for the other side, Boss, we can pick her up at the other end.”

  “Very likely. More important is what she’s doing for us.” Brown turned. “And if we did stop her, we’d have the problem of trying to replace her.” He paused to consider his options. “Turn the whole place over, make them think we think the chips are still here. Make them think we don’t know who is working for their side.” He scowled. “And make the bloody Pantheon think their people are still here.”

  The man stared as his face slowly registered the implications. “The chips she’s carrying are not the plans, are they, sir?”

  “Max, sometimes the price of keeping something secure and out of the hands of someone who will abuse it is almost too high. They’ve got the plans—but when they try to build it….” He shrugged. “I hope it takes the bloody lot of them with it. Keep up the pressure. Some of her team are still here. I want them watched.” He hesitated, a frown forming. Already his agreement with Yelendi Dysson was delivering a dividend. So would their control of Dylan Raddeck, and Fuchs was a useful pawn. Deal with the identified threat but find the hidden one. And even if she didn’t recover, Bast was unknowingly providing leads to her fellow agents. Being able to put her on trial and expose the Pantheon’s connections would be a bonus.

  “It’s a dirty game,” said the Admiral, “and sometimes we just have to get as dirty as they do—but there are limits.”

  He walked away, his mind on the next problem. Raddeck wasn’t his only double agent in the Consortium, nor was Dysson, but she was the highest placed. They’d have to be recovered and given protection at some point, but not before he had what he wanted, if all went according to plan.

  He touched his special link. “Phantom One, have you recovered everything from the goddess and her daemons? Excellent. Take everything to Black Ops. They know what I want done.”

  Chapter 29

  Orders

  After all their hard work, the party for the TechRates and Officers was a welcome relief. Captain Heron was proud that his ship rose to the occasion and turned out a magnificent meal with top-billing entertainment to follow, which cemented many relationships, even across some language difficulties. And the Executive Commander was even more impressed by the fact that he was confronted by only two defaulters once the party aboard the Kiev had taken place.

  “Both of them on report and reprimanded,” he informed the Captain as the Heads of Department relaxed around the Captain’s table nursing coffees. “Silly idiots got carried away with some vodka the Russians brought with them, and both of them should have known better than to try drinking that stuff against professional vodka heads.” He chuckled. “Though I gather some of the Russian chaps weren’t too fit afterward either.”

  “Well, as long as they’re fit for duty and aren’t likely to do anything that will jeopardise the ship, I’ll leave it with you.” James Heron was strict but fair. “Warn them they’ll be off this ship faster than a strike fighter if they do.”

  “Already done, sir.” Richard Grenville had made this point very clear to both offenders earlier. “They got the message.”

  James looked at Mary. “I hear you had a word with Commander Bretagne. How’d that go?” He raised an eyebrow in skepticism.

  Mary laughed. “He said something, sir?”

  “No, but Rear-Admiral (FOST) tells me the Commander is very embarrassed.”

  “If he’s going to observe any more of these emergency drills, he’d better make sure he has his survival suit with him then.”

  “I suspect he’ll never forget it again.” Captain Heron studied the report on his display. He knew his Engineering Commander had taken the errant observer aside privately, and that Commander Bretagne had been tight-lipped about their conversation since then, but saw no reason to press for more detail. The man knew he owed his life to the diminutive Engineer—as did most of the crew. The story of her action getting him into the escape airlock had been told and retold by the TechRate she’d ordered to look after him, and it was already acquiring the status of legend. “No problems restoring the reactor? Everything survived venting the atmosphere?”

  “Pain in the rear restoring it, sir, but, no, no other problems. Everything is up and running as it should.” She paused. “FOSTie upset?”

  Captain Heron laughed. “No, FOST is very pleased with us—as they damned well should be. You and the rest of the team have pulled the ship together magnificently, and they acknowledge it.”

  Mary grinned. “Captain FOST hauled my casualty over the coals too, my spies tell me.”

  “Serves him right.” Captain Heron was less than sympathetic. “Fleet standing orders say that when we are at action stations, everyone must have their emergency survival pack with them, and of all people, he should know that if you set off a smoke canister in battle exercises, venting the compartment is what you’ll get.”

  Captain Heron removed his Mess jacket and sank into a comfortable chair in his private quarters. He had a feeling that some of what had happened in the last two years had been manipulated—specifically, the Admiral had been using him and others, especially Felicity, as pawns in a very devious game of his own. Well, it was behind them now, but at some point he would get some answers on it all.

  Now he could relax. The last guests had departed, the Admiral had returned to his Flagship, and now he had time to himself at last to consider his newly commissioned ship. He stared at the pale amber liquid in his tumbler. The rich aroma of the twelve-year-old Irish Whiskey stirred his senses as he considered the work of the last nine months. Training had finally been completed—training that was as much about teaching the ship’s AI computer its functions and responses as it was about teaching the human crew to work with it and the systems they must manage in order to make the ship as efficient as possible. For now the ship’s company could rotate to their homes on leave. In two weeks the ship would receive her orders and commence her first mission, a trip to the planet Pangaea per the Admiral’s directive. The colony there was in trouble, and a show of strength by the Fleet would cool tempers.

  The link on his wrist chirped.

  “Captain.”

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir.” The voice was that of his Executive Commander. “The Admiral has sent a package FYEO. Shall I bring it in?”

  “Please, Richard. He’s obviously keen not to let me off the hook. Come on in and join me in a celebratory glass.”

  Very few people realised that James Heron had a trick when it came to social events. While others indulged in the drinking, he didn’t. In fact he drank very little, and though it appeared that he was drinking drink for drink, he wasn’t necessarily drinking what an observer might think. It always looked like the real deal, but was usually alcohol free. Only when he knew he could relax fully and drop his guard did he indulge in the real thing. It also meant that he kept all his faculties alert in company and often heard opinions or news that under different circumstances might have been withheld. It stood him in very good stead – particularly when dealing with large numb
ers of politicians or when ‘dining in’ with junior ranks.

  He put down his tumbler and fetched the decanter and a second tumbler, and placed them on the low table between the chairs.

  Richard entered James’s quarters, and the door slid closed behind him. “This is for you, sir.” The Executive Commander handed over a small sealed package. “It was delivered by the Admiral’s assistant with a verbal instruction that it was to be handed to you immediately.”

  “I expected something, but not this soon.” The Captain accepted the package and indicated the decanter. “Join me while I see what this is all about. Is the assistant waiting?”

  “No, his orders were to return as soon as he had handed it over to the OoD. Curiously, there was no signature required for its delivery, but there was a slip with it instructing that you were to have it immediately.” Richard Grenville poured a careful measure of his Captain’s whiskey and took a seat.

  The Captain scanned the information scrolling across his tablet. “From the content, I’m not surprised. I’ll need time to consider some of this.” He put the tablet down and picked up his glass. “In the meantime, Richard, here’s to our new ship. I have a feeling she will set a standard others will envy.” He grinned. “I think we’re in for an eventful deployment.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Commander Grenville raised his glass and took an appreciative sip. “There were times I didn’t think we’d pull everything together—especially with that Bast business—but with Val, Nick, Ben, Mary and of course Fritz driving their teams and the dockyard people when necessary, we’ve done it.”

  The Captain smiled. “Yes, we have, and just in time too, if I make my guess correctly. I expect we’ll be assigned as the flagship of a force being sent to Pangaea. There’s trouble between the colonists and the Interplanetary Consortuum. All a bit hush-hush at present. I expect I’ll be told more in the next few days.”

  “We’ll be ready, wherever it is.” Richard drained his glass. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I’m for my bunk.”

  “Certainly, Richard.” The Captain stood. “I’m going to get my head down as well. I’m with the Admiral first thing. I may know who we will be shipping once I’ve seen him.” He downed his drink. “Good night.”

  Putting the decanter away, his eye fell on the replica memorial to his distant ancestor, Henry “Harry” Nelson-Heron. “I bet life was a lot less complicated in your day, Henry. I wonder what you’d make of us and the way things work these days?”

  The Captain’s sleep was troubled by a very realistic dream. He dreamed he was aboard an ancient sailing ship. Around him the sea stretched to the dark horizon on all sides, the sky lit by a blaze of stars. The creak and groan of the ship’s timbers, the thrum of the wind in the rigging and the rustle of the sails was so real that it felt like he was really there. He could smell the salt dank of the sea and an unidentifiable stench that seemed to come from the ship itself. An observer, he watched as a midshipman used a telescope to spy something to windward before he reported to an officer then hurried aft beneath the poop. The youth returned shortly thereafter followed by an older man, obviously the Captain.

  A drummer appeared, his sticks beating an urgent tattoo on a drum brightly painted with images of the Union Jack flag and the insignia of the British Royal Navy of the 1800s. Around him men were preparing the guns on either side while the midshipman hoisted a string of coloured lights in the rigging. Everyone appeared to be watching something happening some distance away, and the ship was obviously preparing to meet some threat. Incongruously, he was now joined by a woman—Felicity—but he no sooner recognised her than she was gone, replaced by Bast, and then—nothing.

  By now his dream was becoming the stuff of nightmares, his viewpoint no longer on deck, but somewhere dark and cramped surrounded by men heaving on the big guns below deck. Small boys rushed between the men, some throwing sand on the decks, others carrying canisters that looked like cartridges. There was only enough light to see that the nearest gun was being loaded by a well-drilled team. Orders were called from somewhere and answered, then the port lids opened and light flooded in.

  “Your coffee, Captain.” The SU at his bedside startled him, and for a moment he was completely disoriented. He could still feel the movement of the ship’s deck beneath his feet. He stared at the steward as if he’d never seen it before, and gazed about him as he slowly recognised his surroundings, but a strange feeling of being displaced lingered after he was fully awake.

  He swung his legs off the berth and stared at the cabin. What the hell was that dream all about? And where the blazes had it come from?

  “Adriana wishes to remind you that you have an appointment with the Admiral at 09:00, Captain. I shall prepare your uniform.”

  “Thank you.” He sipped the coffee, which helped the dream fade into a distant memory. He touched his link. “Adriana, book a holocall to Felicity, please, at a time suitable to her location.”

  Making for the washroom, he prepared for the day. The shower washed away the last vestiges of sleep and pushed the dream out of his thoughts.

  “You escaped your ship, Captain?” Felicity seated herself at the table as he stood to greet her, her smile warm and her eyes teasing.

  “I could say the same of you, Commander.” He resumed his seat, once more struck by how like his deceased wife she was in her ability to wind him up in an enjoyable way. He leaned forward slightly. “I’d better make the most of this. Got my orders today, and it looks like it will be a while before I get to enjoy the delights of Planet Earth again.”

  “Admit it, Captain, it’s why you joined.”

  That made him laugh. “True, but I need reminding from time to time.” The android waiter delivered their drinks and took their orders. “It will be an interesting deployment in more ways than one. How’s your new posting?”

  “Quieter than my last one, but not as much fun.” She paused, watching him play with the tableware. “I miss the camaraderie of your team—and their rather special leader.”

  Reaching across he took her hand. “I certainly miss the best damned head of administration I’ve ever met.” Hesitating, he said, “You’ve no idea how much your friendship has helped me get through….” He trailed off, not sure how to put his feelings into words.

  She understood, and squeezed his hand. “You know the Boss—’Mr Brown’—was using us for a little exercise of his own.”

  “I wondered. I served with him as a subbie. He was always a devious bastard even then. Damned good leader, but never showed his whole hand. Sometimes we suspected he was not only dealing off the bottom of the pack, but playing with a different pack altogether. Are you saying he knew who the other side’s players were all along?”

  “Yes—or at least some of them. And he seems to have known how to use them to get to Bast. At least two of her team were identified and are being marked by a special team.” She paused. “He had a second team in the field that we knew nothing about the whole time, and when you took out those two who roughed me up—they weren’t on his radar, though they were some of the other side’s muscle—he saw an opportunity to set you up as bait for his plan to get at Bast. You were already one of her targets, so it sort of fell into place as an easy plan.”

  Leaning back in his chair, James Heron frowned. “Remind me to break his bloody neck the next opportunity I have. I think I can plead self defence in a court marshal.” He didn’t like the thought he’d been played, and he certainly didn’t like the thought of how it could have all gone so badly wrong. “So the old bastard was using us to lure Bast? How the hell did he know she wouldn’t smell a rat? And how the hell did he know we wouldn’t end up dead?”

  “Seems he knows a hell of a lot more about her and her organisation than she or the other gods know. They’ll very likely now go to ground, but besides Bast, the second team got four others in a sting. They were all watching Bast’s little operation, and missed the fact they were the target.” She smiled. “A backhanded compl
iment to us, I suppose. He told me he knew you could handle a bunch of skunks, and had no doubt I would be alright because of my training, as he put it, which of course is a humble brag about himself.” Her smile was a rueful accompaniment to her eyeroll.

  He took a drink. “My compliments to Mr Brown when you next see him—tell him to get fu—”

  “James!” She laughed. “It’ll be my pleasure, but I’ll have to wash your mouth out with soap first, you naughty boy.”

  He grinned and relaxed at that remark. Damn, he would really miss her when she was gone.

  “I suppose we’ll not see much of each other in future.” He stopped when his voice caught in his throat, and he coughed to recover. “I don’t want our relationship to end. Do you think we can find a way…?”

  “I don’t want it to end either, James.” She held his gaze. “My problem is I don’t want to give up my career, and I don’t want you to damage yours or give it up either. Can we be friends? Perhaps have another holiday together when your deployment is over?”

  He paused as their meal was served. “Friends? At the very least, Felicity, and I hope more.” He smiled. “This deployment will be a minimum of two years. Can you wait that long for a holiday?”

  “Just about.” She laughed. “We don’t really have a choice, do we? We’ll manage, James. When do you have to go back to the ship?”

  “I’m due to take a shuttle to Dock Three tomorrow morning. My gig will meet it.”

  “Good, because I’ve a small apartment not far from here, and official transport lined up to get you to the shuttle port.” She smiled. “I thought we could spend the evening doing research to see if we’d overlooked any regulations we’ve not yet broken.”

  He laughed heartily at that cheeky remark. “I surrender, you’ve out manoeuvred me completely. Can we go past my hotel? I need to settle my bill and collect my bag.”

  “Of course.” She winked. “Or perhaps it’s already dealt with. It’s amazing what the Head of Intel Analysis can arrange at short notice.”