“I don’t stand on ceremony here, Commander.” She smiled as she settled into a chair opposite him. “It tends to get in the way of what I do in the field, so I find it easier to dispense with it as much as possible. My name is Felicity. May I call you by your preferred name?”
“Of course, er, Felicity. My friends address me as Harry.” Felicity’s easy manner relaxed him, and he grinned. “Those who aren’t my friends utter my name with a less pleasant epithet, though not to my face.”
She laughed. “Harry it is then, and I think we’ll be good friends.” She paused. “I was in the live audience of the Montaigne Show that day. Well done. Unconventional, and you gave my team some headaches, but when they realised you didn’t need their help tampering with the broadcast, they sat back and enjoyed the farce.”
She smiled. “You saved some of my people a lot of work—and my chief of data recovery said to thank you. He’d been trying to gain access to their systems for some time. You gave him a window, and he got everything he was after.”
Harry frowned. He wasn’t sure he liked being involved in this spying operation. “Ah, yes, I’m afraid I did some damage in taking over their systems.” He smiled as an android assistant poured tea for him. “Thank you, Yelendi,” he said, noting the nameplate on its upper right chest. He met Felicity’s eyes again. “Your order … or rather, your message … suggested you wished to debrief me on the subject of that show.”
“Yes, we’ll get to that in a moment.” To Yelendi, she said, “I’ll have my usual.” She waited while the android made a cappuccino for her. “Yelendi, how did you know the Lieutenant-Commander wanted a tea?”
“He told me when I asked, Commodore.”
Harry laughed. “I’m afraid I often have this problem, Felicity. They simply link to me through the AI running whatever place I’m in. It is a little difficult for others to know when it’s happening, and I forget that sometimes. To explain how it works, I can hear them through my ability to link to any AI in proximity.”
“Ah, yes.” She smiled. “James mentioned that, but I’ve never seen it in action. Is this how you took over Montaigne’s show?”
“Yes. I do my best to avoid any probing, but sometimes an AI sees me as a download destination. It can be embarrassing because my memory does not respond to an erase command.”
“Thank heaven for that!” She grinned. “Right, so what I would like to know from you is how you seized control of their AI network. You seem to have sailed right past their security barriers.” She paused. “I think we’d better record this conversation. Do you agree?”
“I have no objection, Felicity.”
Harry’s frustration over the bureaucracy engulfing his and Mary’s marriage plans were, to a large extent, alleviated by sailing his pride and joy, the replica gaff-rigged pilot cutter Extravagance. It was a legal requirement that she be equipped with a ship management system including a navigation system, auxiliary engine and communications, but he preferred to sail her the old fashioned way by hand and eye and keen navigational skills. For one thing, it meant he didn’t have to listen to a computer trying to do everything for him.
He let the cutter’s head fall off the wind a few points. “Ease the jib a touch, Ferghal. With this wind we should make excellent time to Bangor.”
“Aye, we will that.” Ferghal secured the sheet and watched as Danny adjusted the foresail. “She fair flies on this heading.”
“She does.” Harry swept the surrounding water with a quick glance then looked up at the sails again. “We will need to reduce our canvas soon though. We are to go alongside this evening, and the approach is tricky.”
“So it is. Very well, Captain. We await your orders.” Ferghal glanced at his friend. “Have there been any more messages from those fools who accuse you of starting the Niburu War?”
“No, though I suspect it is only because Fleet Security are working with the police and have frightened them away for the moment.” He shrugged. “In another week I shall be taking up my shadow appointment at the Lunar Station. They will have difficulty conducting their campaign there. I am more concerned that some are now targeting Mary. There was a disturbance at her last concert. Some young fool wanted to discuss her relationship with a mass murderer—he meant me, of course.” He shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all. “I wish she would consider giving up her career so I could take proper care of her and know that she’s safely ensconced at home when we’re married.”
“Well, that’s not likely to happen, at least not until she bears your children. Mary loves performing, and I suppose I can understand that.” Ferghal paused, and Harry nodded but said nothing. Ferghal continued. “All o’ these spailpíns are damned fools.” He gazed at the shoreline as they approached.
Harry laughed. “Indeed, you are right, my friend. My only concern is how much might be known of our interaction with artificial intelligence networks now that Montaigne’s documentary has aired.”
“Aye, that and his clearly having a liking for your company.” Ferghal glanced at his friend, his expression full of mischief. “Would he like to go sailing with us again, do you think?”
“Not likely!” Harry bellowed, before he realised Ferghal was teasing. “Consider the strain it would give Aunt Niamh to have him as a house guest. She has enough to concern her with this requirement that my DNA be matched to prove my birth.”
Ferghal nodded. “True. At least we know where your parents lie buried if it must come to that. I will face far greater problems in that regard, and as for poor Danny, he doesn’t even know who his parents were—”
“Did I hear my name?” Danny joined them at the tiller.
Ferghal ruffled the younger man’s hair. “Ye did. I was sayin’ that if our captain here cannot prove his birth relationship, then ye and me have no chance at all.”
“Aunt Niamh says it’s not difficult, and she has Case Law, or some such, which will help us.” Danny grinned. “Though I suspect marriage may not be a priority for at least one of us, a certain wild Irish lad who loves the attention of all the ladies.”
“Cheek! And from a junior as well.” Ferghal playfully cuffed him.
“Bullying—and in the presence of a senior officer. I shall report you, sir!” Danny exclaimed, as he dodged another cuff, his laugh echoed by Harry’s.
“Enough, Mr. O’Connor! Set a proper example to our juniors, if you please. We cannot have him attempting to emulate such behaviour when he presides in the Gunroom of his next ship in a few weeks’ time.”
Only that morning Harry had received notification that, with the completion of his brief time on the Lunar Station, he was promoted to full Commander. He pushed it from his mind. For now, they were nothing more than three brother-friends enjoying the exhilaration of sailing this tidy little ship on a glorious afternoon with a more perfect wind than they could’ve ever hoped for.
“Good news, Harry.” Niamh joined him in the small sitting room he used as a study. The month on the Lunar Station had been almost a continuation of his leave. It gave him the opportunity to see at first hand the administration of a Support Command at work, experience he’d found informative. “We may have managed to get a court to rule for a waiver of the requirement to prove your birth date. The evidence of your friend Dr. Borner regarding any DNA we might recover from a grave, plus the changes we know were made to your DNA and Ferghal’s when you were experimented on in the Johnstone Laboratory have persuaded them to find other viable proofs of your identity.” She sat beside him and smiled as she handed him a new document. “It’s taken a bit of work, but now we can get agreement on the format of the waiver with the Registrar’s Department—and that will smooth the path for Ferghal and Danny when they decide on marriage.”
Harry leaned across the table to hug her and kiss her cheek. “Thank you. I can never repay you for your kindness or the work you’ve put into this.”
“Nonsense, Harry. It isn’t that much work. You three are th
e children that Theo and I never had. The same can be said of my brother James. You’re like a son to him, and he only wants the best for you.” She smiled. “Besides, it’s been fun to deal with legal challenges again. I hadn’t realised how much I missed it.”
Danny wandered in and stopped. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You’re not, Danny. Aunt Niamh was just telling me we have a way to overcome the difficulty of our birth dates and proof of parentage.” Harry then noticed the youngster’s grim expression. “What is your news?”
Danny took a seat. “My orders have arrived at last. I’m to join the Der Grosse Kurfürst. She’s now the training cruiser for cadets joining the Fleet. I was hoping for a more active post, not playing nursemaid to all the Snotties in a training ship.”
Harry laughed. “Now there speaks a true ancient mariner! Give him a single star and bar, and his own days as a Snottie are forgotten.” He grinned as Danny blushed. “I tease, Danny, you have much to teach them, and you’ll be a good example. The DGK is a good ship, and I think you’ll enjoy your posting with her. She’ll be stuffed full of Middies.” He laughed. “Most of them older than you, or so they’ll think. You’ll find them active enough—and do not forget the reports that the Niburu are still at large.”
“Have you news of your own posting, Harry?” Danny pushed his orders aside and eased back into his seat.
“I have. I’m posted to command one of the new River Class long-range patrol craft. She is completing in the same building dock that built 847, so I must depart in another week. I’m to take passage on the transport Jorvik Maersk.”
“Grand! I’m on her as well—the DGK is in dock at Pangaea. We can look forward to a few more weeks in company then.”
Niamh smiled. Her boys were already lost in their own world of ships, space travel and otherworldly adventures. She quietly gathered her papers and retired to her study.
Chapter 4
A Bad Start
_________________________
“We’re approaching the rendezvous point, Commodore.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Felicity stood as the display shut down. “I’ll be in the Observation Lounge.” She loved the views from this space, a recreational area for her staff and the crew of the Thermopylae, once a freightliner, but now an extremely sophisticated surveillance ship designed to give the appearance of a cargo ship that delivered supplies to remote Fleet outposts, and sometimes to deployed fleets. These were usually in the form of specialist supplies, though occasionally it could include equipment.
“Come to take us on at snooker, ma’am?” One of the senior coms operatives quipped. “Still just the usual hyperspace fog on view.”
She grinned. “Soon sort that out, Gregor. By the way, that decrypt you sent up is very interesting. Make an appointment with my SU writer Yelendi. I’m going to want you to dig a lot deeper in that direction.”
The man’s friends laughed. “That’ll teach you to get fresh with the Boss, Greg! Now you’ll cop a load of work.”
“Enough to keep the rest of you lay-abouts busy as well,” Felicity cut in, but her smile was good-natured. “Drop out in a couple of minutes, boys. Better get those snooker balls anchored.” The ship shuddered, and as expected, the balls on the table shifted position. “Damn, I missed the count!”
The display cleared, showing the spectacular view of the fleet deployed in defence array. The four great starships formed the heart of the fleet with cruisers, destroyers and frigates spread around them. Launches shuttled between ships, and strike craft weaved among the ships in perpetual movement as they patrolled. It was a sight that never failed to move her.
Her link chirped. “We’re ordered to close the Vanguard, Commodore.”
“Very well. I’ll come to the Bridge.”
Harry had to admit he was annoyed. He’d expected to be met by his new Executive Officer, but Lieutenant MacKenzie-Banks had not done so, and instead passed his excuses through a junior Warrant Officer in the Arrivals Hall.
“The Lieutenant says he’ll send someone to meet you at your accommodation, sir.” The Warrant looked very uncomfortable, sensing that he was the middleman in what appeared to be a deliberate slight to Commander Heron.
“Tell him … no, don’t bother. Have my kit delivered to my cabin, please.” Harry nodded. “Deck F, Cabin 4534.” He saw the man’s surprised expression and smiled. “Thank you.”
The Warrant checked the display. How’d he know? I hadn’t told him that. He summoned an SU and gave it the instruction. Commander Heron was already making his way to Deck F.
“Lieutenant MacKenzie-Banks,” the Warrant muttered, “whoever you are, I think you’ve just earned a load of grief.”
Harry checked his link to find out how his new ship Lagan was coming along in the construction process, and twenty minutes later, he studied her as she lay gripped in the building cradle. She was bigger than he’d imagined, but her lines were attractive, and she had a proper hangar, not just a bay in which to carry her ‘boats’. The presence of workers on the hull and on the gantries around her in no more than the usual protection suits suggested the entire bay was under atmosphere. He left the view port and made his way down to the access tube connected to the ship’s entry port.
A bored Quartermaster looked up as Harry stepped aboard, his expression changing from annoyance at being disturbed to appalled shock as he took in Harry’s uniform and rank. Standing to rigid attention, he returned Harry’s salute. “Welcome aboard, sir!”
“Thank you, Quartermaster.” Harry read the man’s nametag and memorised his name and face. “Is Lieutenant MacKenzie-Banks aboard, TechRate Dorfling?”
“No, sir—er, shall I contact him, sir?”
“Please do so, and inform him I shall expect him in my quarters at his earliest convenience.”
“Yes, sir, immediately, sir. Lieutenant Jakobsen is aboard, sir, and Lieutenant Matlock.”
“Inform them I’m aboard.” Harry hesitated. “I believe Lieutenant Matlock is in Engineering, right? Good, I’ll find her there.” He turned to leave. “Is the ship’s Coxswain aboard? Inform him I wish to see him as soon as convenient.”
“The Coxswain? Er, I mean, yes, sir. Chief Master Warrant Kemerton, sir. I’ll inform him.” He watched Harry depart with a purposeful stride through the gangway leading aft. “Oh f*ck,” he murmured. “Now the crap’s going to hit the fan. Number One better have a damned good excuse.” He keyed the coms panel. “Lieutenant Matlock? Captain’s on his way to Engineering, ma’am.” He listened to the response. “Yes, ma’am.” Then, having repeated the message to the Navigation Officer, Lieutenant Jakobsen, he called the ship’s senior Non-Commissioned Officer. “Chief, the Exec’s ashore, the Captain’s aboard, and he wants to see you at your earliest convenience.”
He winced as the Chief Master Warrant Officer expressed his feelings in terms that almost blistered the gleaming coatings on the bulkhead. He acknowledged the response, and, pale and sweating, tried to contact the First Lieutenant. There was no response. He turned as the ship’s Coxswain arrived in the gangway.
“Where’s the Exec?” asked the Coxswain. “When’d he go ashore?”
“About an hour ago. He didn’t say anything about the Captain arriving!”
“Right. Have you contacted him?” He saw the worried headshake. “Well, keep on it. Find the … man. Where’d the Owner go?”
“Aft, to Engineering. He said—”
“I know what he said. I’ll find him.” He hesitated. “Contact Warrant Proctor as well. He’s Captain’s Coxswain. He needs to know he’s going to be on call from now on.”
“Good of you to see me, James. My apologies for the disguise.” Felicity indicated her delivery uniform. “Hardly flattering.”
James Heron laughed. “On you, my dear, everything looks great.” He took the package she’d brought as a ‘personal delivery’ and put it on the desk. “You’re always a tonic. Now t
hen, what bad news are you delivering that necessitates your doing it in person? Did you see the documentary Montaigne made of my lads? A bit dramatic in parts, but overall, it passed muster.”
“Yes, I did. Good, I thought, but the Boss felt they shouldn’t have made so much of Harry’s ability to connect to any AI network he chooses, as long as he’s in proximity to it. That should be classified Fleet intel, but it’s too late now, I suppose. In answer to your other question, the bad news I’m delivering has to do with the Pantheon. We’re after someone they’re in touch with. They’re being very cautious, and we haven’t identified the target yet, but we have identified at least one of the people they’re using as a go-between—one of Senator Samland’s associates, which means she’s probably the person we’re after.”
“Nothing surprises me about her.”
“There’s something else. The Pantheon—or at least one of them, probably somebody high up—is in contact with the Charonians. That’s why I’m here. We think they’re behind efforts to get a signal monitor and repeater fitted to our ships. We’ve identified some, but they operate on frequencies we don’t have—at least not any longer.” She smiled. “It’s all in the briefing material the Boss included in the package—and in case you’re wondering, he doesn’t trust the hyperlinks to send it.”
James Heron leaned back. “So our signals are possibly compromised—again? How the hell does this keep happening?”
“We think that’s what Samland and the Pantheon are involved in it. We know some of our ships—those most recently refitted or completed in certain docks—have these installations, but what we don’t yet know is who they are diverting to. That’s why I’m going to rejoin your fleet as soon as we’ve made a visit to a mining outpost about a light year from here.”
Harry Heron: Hope Transcends Page 3
