“Very well, sir, I’ll come.” It was a nuisance, to be sure, but he would do as requested. Barclay was hardly someone whose company he’d seek, and this was his off watch break, the first time, in fact, that he’d had time to seek a quiet place to be alone — his favourite being the Observatory Dome on the ship’s uppermost fin, where he had spent a leisurely hour sketching a few scenes from his memories of Planet Lycania.
He wanted time to simply be quiet and try to make sense of all that had happened while on that planet, and somehow make his peace with his God and those who had died under his command. But that would have to wait for another respite.
Gathering his sketchpad and paint-and-pencil kit, he made his way down to the Medical Centre, which had been turned over to the treatment of the prisoners evacuated from the planet.
The Surgeon Commander greeted him.
Harry saluted. “Sub-Lieutenant Heron, sir.”
The Commander acknowledged the salute. “So you’re the man that did all the damage these fellows are being treated for. What did you use? They have burns, ingrained foreign matter, puncture wounds and internal damage caused by concussive forces. We’ve had to reinvent surgical techniques we haven’t used since med-units became available.”
“I’m afraid we had little choice in the matter, sir, though I admit I did not anticipate our grenades and mortars would give them so much trouble.”
“We’ve retrieved quite a collection of stones, bits of metal and other fragments which all seem to come from your bombs,” the Surgeon replied. “The removal of which has proved a bit of a challenge. It’s made us go right back to basics.” Showing a pass to the Marine guard, he ushered Harry through the door that opened in response to the guard’s signal. “Security have cleared your visit with Mr. Barclay, and your conversations will be recorded, but don’t allow the prisoner to know that, please. We have Mr. Barclay in isolation for now. Apparently he isn’t very well liked among his people.”
Harry refrained from answering, wondering if that explained how Barclay had come to be left trapped in his vehicle. He felt that recording the visit was an intrusion but knew that objecting would achieve nothing.
“I’ll leave you to talk. Signal when you’re done.” The Surgeon Commander stepped back and shut the door.
“So you came.” The surly voice that had taunted Harry in Fleet College had lost none of its aggression.
“Of course,” Harry responded. “You asked to see me. I trust that you are healing properly.”
“Yeah, well, thanks for coming.” Barclay grimaced. “I wanted to say thanks for pulling me out of that APC. I’ve a few scores to settle with the bastards who left me there.” Barclay’s anger and his bitterness turned the statement into something less than an expression of gratitude. Not for the first time Harry wondered what it was that seemed to run through the Barclay family that made them so aggressive toward anyone they regarded as competing with them for anything.
Harry frowned as he sat perched on a stool nearby. “As the war seems to be coming to a close, and one of the clauses in the treaty requires the reduction of your forces, you will have little opportunity for that. Would it not be better to let such thoughts go? What is done is done. Perhaps they felt they had a score to settle, and all that has passed now. Surely this can only spiral to everyone’s disadvantage, including yours.”
Barclay was speechless as he gaped at Harry. “That might work for you. It all comes so easily to people like you, doesn’t it?”
It was Harry’s turn to be at a loss for words. People like me?
Barclay filled the gap. “Everybody likes you, you’re good at navigation, and now you’ve proved you can make people do what you want. I have to make them work for me. You just ask and they do it.”
“Perhaps it is because I respect them and use persuasion instead of threats and contempt.” Harry regretted his words as Barclay’s face registered that the barb had struck home. He tried to soften his approach. “The people we lead have knowledge and skills we do not. Surely it is better to make them feel their contribution is important and valued, and to feel that we trust them to do the task without fear of reprisal if a mistake is made.”
“That’s not the way my family operate,” Barclay growled. “We don’t let sloppy work go without dealing with the idiot responsible.”
“So that’s it,” Harry responded. “Your family will not be pleased with your having been captured. Are you worried they will punish you?”
Barclay laughed harshly. “No, but we will make sure that those who are responsible for the failure of our plans don’t benefit from it.” He hesitated then blurted, “I owe you this much, you’re on my uncle’s list of people he wants to make sure lose everything — and he has the power to do it.”
“I thank you for the warning,” Harry replied. “I shall, of course, have to consult the other members of my family on this, and that will mean revealing my source. If what you say of your family is true, that may have consequences for you if it were to become known.”
Barclay stared at the ceiling. “Look, I face prosecution anyway for passing information to my contacts while I was in the Fleet.” He was silent for a moment. “And I’ve been told my uncle says I’m on my own. Damn him!”
Harry suddenly felt sorry for this twisted man and his family. On impulse he said, “You are only alone if you choose to be, you know. If that is indeed the case, why not offer to speak to our Security people? They may take a more lenient approach if you do.”
“I might.” Barclay studied him. “Thanks for coming. I wanted to warn you. My uncle is not a man to forgive or forget — just ask my father. You’ll need a lot of luck from here on, or he’ll wipe you out and leave you penniless and disgraced, and he’ll pounce when you least expect it, just when you think everything’s going great. That’s the way he operates.” He smirked. “I owe you that, but I haven’t forgotten our first meeting either.”
Neither had Harry, and he chuckled. “I’m afraid I responded without consideration on that occasion. I trust there was no permanent damage.”
Barclay grinned. “Damn you, Heron. No, of course there wasn’t.” He paused. “How do you do it? I started out hating you because you’re everything I’m not — and now I’m starting to wish we could have been friends. You’d better go before I lose it completely.”
Chapter 35 — Diplomatic Manoeuvres
The Fleet’s arrival in Earth’s orbital space was something to behold. Those watching the live telecasts saw the great flares at the transit gates as some of the smaller ships dropped out, but attention rapidly focused on the seven independent flares as Vanguard and her starship consorts appeared.
The ships’ manoeuvring thrusters flared brilliantly as their command teams slowed them and brought them onto the proper bearing for their required orbits. In Navigation, Harry watched the flow of orders from inside the network, admiring the Navigation Commander’s deft and sometimes very subtle adjustments to the ship’s head as she slowed and gracefully assumed her allotted position. Stretching away on either beam, the other six starships and their individual escort groups of frigates came to rest, their formation faultless.
The Commander-in-Chief and his staff watched from their vantage point on the huge space station Orbit Three.
“They make a magnificent sight, Grand Admiral.” The speaker was a smartly dressed woman, one of the senatorial representatives.
“They do, Senator.”
“They are certainly impressive.” She indicated the smaller ships assembling around the starships, frigates, destroyers, cruisers and the smaller minelayers and hunters. “Those ships look almost too small for interstellar travel.”
The C-in-C nodded. “They don’t have the accommodation the starships provide.” He pointed to the minelayers. “Some of those set up the minefield that helped make the victory possible. Their contribution was vital.”
Niamh L’Estrange joined the pair. “I couldn’t help o
verhearing your conversation, Serazade. The crews put up with a great deal for our defence, I think.”
“Hello, Niamh. Yes, I know all too well. My eldest son is serving on the Ramillies, and my youngest was killed at Regulus when his ship was lost.” She paused. “I hope it was worth the sacrifice of the many lives lost.”
Several more ministers joined them, and Niamh found her husband beside her. “Theo, they make such a fine sight, and yet they are so vulnerable. I’m glad they’re home at last. Will we have the chance to visit James and the boys aboard their ship?”
“Perhaps sooner than you think, my dear.” Theo smiled. “We are invited to a dinner aboard the Vanguard tonight. She is acting as Fleet flagship for the signing while the Confederation is repaired. The President is attending in person, though that is not yet public knowledge.”
“Well, and so he should.” She frowned. “Who else will be there?”
“The other ministers and their wives, Grand Admiral Cunningham, some representatives of the Consortium negotiating team, and, of course, the command staff and representatives of the ship’s company.” Theo grinned. “All the usual suspects, I’m afraid. I just hope we get interesting neighbours at the table and not the usual politicos.”
“Coming from one, that is a canard.” Niamh laughed. “You’re right, it will be a relief to speak to people who aren’t trying to read political motives into everything you say. I think I should call James and make sure he arranges the table so that we have some of his officers as companions and not your fellow politicians.”
Theo smiled. “Knowing his sense of humour he’d do the opposite — as would you, my dear. No, we’ll have to trust him on this one.” His personal comlink chirped. “Yes?” He listened to the response and nodded. “Very well, I’m on my way.” To his wife he said, “I’m sorry, my dear, duty calls. I’ll be as quick as I can be.”
Rear-Admiral Heron looked at the table plan for the dinner. He knew most of the visitors by name, if not in person, and scanned the seating arrangements to check which of the ship’s officers would be seated with the various ministers and their wives. On his own instructions, he had placed Richard Grenville next to Niamh, and Commander Petrocova, the ship’s Executive Commander, next to Theo. Satisfied, he put the tablet aside and picked up the latest intel report.
The number of Consortium ships seemed to be shrinking. Some, of course, had been destroyed or damaged beyond repair, and others, converted freightliners, may well already be resuming their original role. But there was a worrying mismatch between known strength and the emerging deployment of enemy ships across known space. Added to this there were reports of survey ships of unknown type and origin mapping and exploring the very edges of humankind’s explored zone.
The elusive ships were proving as difficult to identify or get a look at as the Siddhiche had been and still were. He had a feeling it was as well this war was coming to a conclusion; there was a lot still to discover in the universe. The latest contact with alien life on Planet Lycania demonstrated it might contain more surprises as they pushed the expansion of human settlement.
His link chirped. “Go ahead,” he responded.
“The President’s yacht is approaching, sir.”
“I’m on my way.” He stood up and settled his dress uniform properly, then left his office and, with his Flag Lieutenant, made his way down to the vast hangar bay in which the President and entourage would disembark. The Royal Marine band, the same one that had greeted Harry, was formed up in full parade dress; the ship’s officers formed a solid block at one end of a representative formation of TechRates and Warrant Officers, their Lieutenants and Lieutenant Commanders in place to the front of each Division. The Admiral’s own staff formed a smaller group alongside the ship’s senior officers, and he made his way to stand alongside the Flag Captain, Richard Grenville.
“The Treaty isn’t signed yet and they’re celebrating already,” Captain Grenville commented, saluting.
“Always the way. I’ve defensive patrols out and ready to respond, and all of the outlying ships are at Defence Stations — just in case. I have no intention of being caught with my pants down, Richard.” He smiled briefly for the news team and added sotto voce, “Out of sight of the media of course.”
The blast door alarm sounded and a red light flashed as the huge pressure doors opened. Captain Grenville said, “Here we go.” Behind him the band was being called to attention. The Executive Commander signaled, and the ship’s Chief Master Warrant Officer drew a deep breath and bawled, “Vanguard company — a-ten-shun!” His voice reverberated throughout the hangar.
Harry suppressed a smile as he stiffened to attention. Ferghal, alongside him, remembering Harry’s penchant for making amusing remarks while on parade, hoped he could keep a straight face if he did it this time. The luxury shuttle trundled through the now fully opened doors and rolled to a halt in front of the parade. The door opened and the landing ramp descended.
A figure appeared in the doorway, and the band immediately launched into the Confederation anthem, which Harry recognised as Bach’s “Ein feste Burg.”
At the foot of the boarding steps, the Admiral saluted as the President emerged from the barge, and on either side, the Marine Guard of Honour presented arms smartly. The President remained standing until the salute rolled to its climax, then descended to greet the Admiral. Behind him, other figures descended to form a large group at the foot of the ramp.
Several people detached themselves to join the President, and Harry used his cyberlink to say to Ferghal and the ship, “Oh dear, now we’re in the soup! Aunt Niamh is here with the Commander-in-Chief. I wonder if we can get a ship back to Lycania.”
Ferghal’s snort attracted a scowl from the Engineering Commander, and he had to struggle to suppress his amusement. It got worse when Harry relaxed his guard and the ship AI registered his interest in the group that had accompanied the President. Ferghal found himself linked and again had to suppress his amusement as he ‘heard’ Harry explain what was happening to the ship.
“All the great and the good — and a few of the not so good, I dare say — come to tell us what a wonderful job we have done and then go back to pursuing their own interests and forget all about us until next time.” Identifying Theo and Niamh in the group, he amended his assessment. “Except for my aunt and uncle of course!”
“Have a care, Harry,” Ferghal begged. “Be a little serious and have pity on your friends.” He had long since realised that Harry’s tendency to become jokey on parade was a cover for his own nervousness and fear that he might mess up.
Behind them, Danny Gunn stood with the Midshipmen. Like Harry, he was nervous for no reason other than that he might make a mistake and let the ship down. He wondered what the President could possibly find to say or whether he even listened to the answers.
The President, escorted by the Captain and the Admiral, walked slowly along the ranks, pausing to say a few words to each in turn. Harry studied the man out of the corner of his eye, seeing a spare man with leonine hair and a finely etched face. His artist’s eye noted the delicate bone structure underlying the flesh, the firm chin and mouth; smile lines etched at the corners and laugh lines at the corners of the eyes. He noted too, the manner in which the man sought and held eye contact with each person he addressed and the fact that he appeared to listen to each one.
The President’s dress was plain, a simple suit, not what Harry would have expected, being used to his King and court always being easily distinguished from those around them by their elaborate court uniforms. Yet, despite the lack of any badges of office or Orders of Chivalry, something about the President spoke of leadership.
Ferghal found the President in front of him and heard the deep, mellifluous voice saying, “I understand you are one of the officers who led the insurrection on Planet Lycania, Mr. O’Connor. A remarkable feat, one we are extremely grateful for.”
Caught off guard and conscious of the arra
y of high-ranking officers all focused on him, Ferghal slipped into his old accent and speech pattern. “Sure, and it needed doin’, yer Honour. But ‘twas Master Harry . . . er, that is, Mister Heron that led us.”
The President smiled and glanced at Harry standing rigid farther down the line. “So I am told. But you are the man behind the missiles and bombs. Well done — your combined efforts have been a large factor in bringing this war to an end. I have no doubt I will see and hear more of you.” He turned to address the next officer as Ferghal stammered a response.
“Mr. Heron, I believe.” The President smiled when he reached Harry.
“Sir.” Harry’s eyes locked over the President’s right shoulder and found those of his Admiral and guardian. Confused, he averted them and found his gaze locked by the President’s, in his view a serious breach of etiquette. He became aware of a hand being held out to him, and automatically accepted it, grateful for the opportunity to recover his wits and dignity.
“Congratulations, young man. I understand you led your people through extraordinarily difficult conditions. Your achievement is remarkable — all the more so because you lacked almost every essential.”
“I had some of the best people around me, sir. They made it possible. I provided only the motivation and some of the ideas. Mr. Schülte-Lübeck, Mr. O’Connor, the Coxswain and my people turned it into reality.”
“Indeed.” The President smiled. His briefing had prepared him for Harry’s response and reaction. “I am sure we will have an opportunity to hear more of it later.” Imperceptibly he was already in front of the next officer and was soon among the Midshipmen approaching Danny.
Ferghal used the cyberlink to say, “Phew, did I not make a fool o’ meself? I was not expecting him to know me!”
“Or I!” Harry retorted. “And I could not avoid his eye without being disrespectful to our Admirals or the Captain.”
Savage Fugitive Page 32
