Harry Heron: Into the Unknown

by Patrick G Cox

  Flinging his heavy dress uniform coat with its gilt epaulettes and gold-laced facings onto a chair, he loosened his cravat. “By God,” he breathed. “That is better. This heat and humidity is almost as bad as that in Bombay. I know not how these settlers stand it.”

  Tom Bell smiled. “I’ve often thought a lighter coat for these climes would be useful, sir, but I expect the body adjusts to it if one remains in such a place, as they seem to do in India and the New South Wales colony.”

  He waited while the Captain splashed his face with water and settled in the seat beneath the great windows. “I have begun the striking down of topmasts and yards, sir. Mr Tweedy thinks we can rig a sheerlegs using the fore and mizzen with our spare spars to draw the main and effect the repair.”

  “Excellent, Thomas. The governor informs me that there is a wood of uncommon hardness available here. Arrange for the carpenter to go ashore and see about obtaining some if he deems it the right timber for the repairs.”

  He paused as the servant handed him a cup of tea and presented another to the first lieutenant. “I have a mind to send the purser ashore with Mr Beasley to put in hand the looking out for some fresh victuals for the men. I think we had best post a guard boat as well, as some of our “guests” may be tempted to swim ashore, and there are several flesh eating fish here who will make short work of any such rash attempt. Besides, there is a locally brewed liquor here which we should avoid allowing aboard at all costs.”

  “I believe the surgeon wishes to see you as well, sir. He too is anxious concerning the potential for an outbreak of fever, and he says there are herbs ashore that he can use for all sorts of ailments. I believe he has some suggestions which may have merit in that regard.”

  “Very well, Thomas.” The Captain nodded. “Pass the word for him.” Seating himself at the open stern windows, he plucked at his shirt adhering to his skin from the dampness of perspiration. “I have written to Major Heron—I know the family as it happens—and am sending the letter and copies of my report on with the Rajasthan. A bad business all round, and one we do not seem likely to resolve. I have asked Lieutenant Rae to make copies of his drawings, and Mr Bentley has produced a good facsimile of the rubbings he took. Perhaps someone in the Royal Society may explain that device. I certainly hope so, because I cannot.”

  “BARGE COMING OFF, sir. It’s Mr Rogers and the carpenter with the timber we obtained.”

  Swinging his legs from the bench seat beneath the windows, the Captain mopped his forehead. “Excellent. Make sure the men have a rest from the heat, Thomas. Double the ration of fruit juice while we have such a plentiful supply. The surgeon informs me it is essential the men drink as much fresh water and juice as possible in the heat.”

  “Already in hand, sir. We have several men in his care due to the sun.” Thomas hesitated. “The planks we’d sprung are made good, sir. She’s as tight as a drum again.”

  “Good.” The Captain paused. “I’m taking dinner tonight with our French guests. Would you join us? I hope to learn more from them of the device that sank L’ Revolution. I am still not convinced they have told us all that they know.”

  “With pleasure, sir.”

  Watching the lieutenant’s departure, the Captain sighed. The Rajasthan should be approaching the Cape by now. Hopefully the Dutch would let her pass unmolested. He’d entrusted copies of his reports, logbook and several private letters to her.

  Dinner, he hoped, would provide some information for him and perhaps a little relaxation for his officers. God knows they deserve it, he mused.

  MAJOR JAMES HERON JERKED AWAKE, bathed in sweat, yet feeling cold despite the warmth of the bed and his wife next to him. For a moment, he lay still, remembering. It had been years since he’d had this particular dream, and it concerned him that he’d had it again now because his son Harry had been on his mind lately, along with a nagging worry that something was amiss.

  The dream was always the same: a great white stallion, riderless but with saddle and bridle, galloping across an endless field. Known as the family dream among those who had “the sight,” it was dreamed only when a close member of the family was in danger.

  But this time the dream was different. The horse was galloping across a very strange landscape unlike any the Major could identify. The vegetation was misshapen and strangely coloured, and utterly unrecognisable to him.

  Next to him, his wife stirred, murmuring softly in her sleep. He lay still, not wishing to disturb her, and waited until she’d settled again, with one arm across his chest. Her steady breathing, the warmth of her body against his and the stillness of the house lulled his senses, and he slipped back into sleep and returned to the dream.

  The great white horse reared up, his forelegs clawing at the wind, then dropped to the earth, and, with a shake of his head, took off in a gallop toward a great chasm. The landscape through which the horse ran now seemed familiar. The chasm appeared as a distant break in the landscape through which the horse raced. Then, suddenly, the chasm was right in front of the running steed. Without checking its pace, it gathered itself and leapt.

  This time, the Major jerked fully awake. His sudden movement disturbed his wife.

  “What?” she whispered. “What disturbed you, husband?”

  “Nothing, my love, just a dream.”

  Silence descended for a period. “What dream could make you leap up, my love?”

  For a moment, he didn’t answer. “It was the horse dream, my dear, twice.”

  “Twice?”

  “Aye, and stranger than the dream I had when my late uncle passed and we inherited the holdings.”

  Now wide awake, Susanne Heron pulled the bedclothes up to her chin and stared at the canopy. “Do you think it’s about Harry?” she whispered.

  “Perhaps, my dear, but I cannot be sure. It was not clear. It does not always imply a death. Sometimes it only signifies danger.” Pausing, he considered his words carefully. “There was a chasm, and the horse jumped it. That was when I awoke.”

  Later that morning, the Major spread butter on his toast, his mind so far from the task that he spilled a bit on his plate. The dream nagged at his mind. A stormy sky in the dream usually indicated trouble or illness. He tried to recall the sky in this latest visitation of it. The light had been a sort of twilight with great streaks crisscrossing the sky, but there had been no indication of a storm.

  Standing, he walked to the sideboard and helped himself to some of the crisp bacon, three fried eggs and some devilled kidneys. The chasm in the dream worried him. What could it mean? The dream always occurred when someone close was in danger, but this time certain aspects of it were out of the ordinary. If Harry was in danger, why did the horse not appear next to the sea? Had there been a shipwreck? Perhaps the chasm represented something that separated Harry from the world—and he was sure it must be Harry the dream was about—but he felt certain he would know if his son were dead.

  Wrapped in these thoughts, he consumed his breakfast without tasting it, drained his tea and rose from the table. The estate needed his attention, and there was much to do. Shrugging into his coat, the Major made a decision. This evening he would write to Cousin Henry in London and request that he discover the whereabouts of HMS Spartan.

  Chapter 7

  Meeting of the Herons

  THE WALK BACK TO THE MED CENT, as Captain Wardman called it, gave Harry the opportunity to observe this strange ship more closely. Harry made good use of this time to form an idea of the layout of this place they called a ship, yet whose deck did not move in harmony with any movement of the seas as he was used to. They passed many people in uniform, male and female, some evidently officers or warrant officers, others evidently seamen or Marines. Twice, they passed what he took at first to be armoured men, but realised these were in fact mechanical beings in the shape of humans. At intervals, they passed through heavily reinforced doors that drew aside as they approached. Harry recalled his first interesting
encounter with these magical doors, and his curiosity got the best of him.

  “These doors, sir—is there some servant waiting in readiness to open them?”

  His companion glanced at him, his expression a mix of amusement and surprise. “A servant? No, a sensor detects our approach, and the ship opens the door. It can be overridden, of course, and not all doors are automatic. Some need to be controlled, and others can’t be....” He saw Harry’s confused expression and remembered he would not have encountered anything like this in his life. “Well, let’s just say there are some doors that can only be opened by a person with the need and the authority to pass through them.”

  Accepting this explanation, Harry nodded. “It would be unwise, I think, to have a door in the hull open and admit water.”

  “Exactly.” Bob felt a moment of relief at this acceptance and didn’t try to explain further.

  “What is the meaning of these strange figures?” Harry indicated a set of numbers and letters on a bulkhead as they passed a door.

  “Compartment addresses. They tell us where we are in the ship.” Without thinking, Bob continued. “Zero Two is the deck—we’re one below the main deck here—the next set is the frame number, and the letters show the compartment, sub compartment and so on.” Standing aside, he waved Harry into the medical centre. “Here we are, and just in time.” He lowered his voice. “I think the surgeon commander was afraid I’d kidnapped you by the look of him.”

  “Good, you’re back.” Len greeted them as Harry entered the unit labelled IsoLab 1 on the door. “Time to make you presentable, young man. We’ve an appointment with the Owner.” He indicated a pile of clothes Harry recognised as his uniform, but appeared to be brand new. “As you can see, we’ve your uniform ready. MedTech Harris will show you the shower and toilet so you can get cleaned up.”

  Indicating the clothes, Harry baulked. “I do not have my purse with me, sir, and until I can apply to Captain Blackwood for some funds, I cannot pay the tailor for these.” He grimaced. “I do not wish to be difficult, sir, but I cannot afford, on a midshipman’s allowance, to incur any debts. My father would not be pleased.”

  “Pay for...?” Len’s eyebrows rose. “No, these won’t cost you anything. Consider them—ah—compensation for helping us deactivate the cannons.”

  Harry hesitated. He’d no wish to be offensive, as it would serve no purpose to alienate these people, whoever they were. “Then I thank you, sir. Perhaps, when I am able to access my allowance, I can purchase some simple garments for my men Ferghal O’Connor and Danny Gunn.”

  It was Len’s turn to hesitate. He couldn’t remember ever coming across any similar attitude. “I think we can sort that out later. For now, we have to get the little fellow you brought with you out of the med unit, and we have an appointment.”

  Taking his cue, the MedTech stepped forward. “This way, sir, and you can get a shower and freshen up before getting dressed.” Leading Harry to a door at the rear, the medic ushered him into a small chamber. “Toilet, if you need it. Wash basin and shower,” he added, pointing toward each. “You can shove the clothes in this unit for recycling. We’ve everything you need outside when you’re finished. If you need anything else, just ask.”

  “Thank you. Pray, where is the pump handle?”

  “I forgot you would not have seen our arrangements before.”

  Harry coloured. “If you would indicate the pump, sir, I think I may manage.”

  The medic smiled. “It’s automatic. Just put your hands under the spigot and the water will flow. If you use the toilet, closing the lid flushes it, sir. Now then, the shower is a little more complicated. That bottle has a soap solution. Use it to wash your hair and body. When you’re ready, take a good measure of the soap in your hand and say, ‘Water on.’ If you want to adjust the temperature, just say ‘warmer’ or ‘cooler’ until it suits you.” Hesitating, he asked, “Clear on that?”

  Harry considered this, reminded of the image of a small Javanese boy sat behind a screen endlessly tugging a rope to operate the punka fan to keep him and others cool. He looked round. “Where is the servant who operates the water flow, sir? Surely I could operate the pump myself, and release him to some more fulfilling task.”

  “Servant?” The medic’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Ah. I see what you mean. There is no servant, Mr Heron. The ship....” He hesitated again, wondering how to explain this.

  Harry made the connection.

  “Is it somewhat like the doors that open and close upon one’s approach and entry into a chamber?”

  “That’s it exactly. The ship has sensors that detect our presence, and it hears certain commands. Well, I think that’s sorted.”

  FEELING CLEANER AND MORE ALIVE than he had in a long time, Harry dressed in his newly made uniform. He marvelled at the material and the fit. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and stood up straight and tall. He was once more a Midshipman of His Britannic Majesty’s Navy.

  He returned to the main room of the med centre and stood to the side, his feet planted apart just so, his shoulders squared and his hands clasped behind his back. He awaited further instructions.

  To Len’s observant eye, Harry seemed to shed his youth and age now that he was in uniform. He handed the youngster his dirk and the replacement belt and sling.

  Surprised, Harry accepted it. He’d noticed that no one aboard this ship seemed to carry or wear a sword, and he had difficulty working out precisely what his status was. He was even more surprised when the surgeon commander handed him a brand new version of his hat.

  “Thank you, sir. I do not know how this has been done, or indeed what manner of cloth these clothes are made of, since they are much lighter and more comfortable than my old ones.” He grinned, adding, “They fit me better also, because I had grown a trifle since having my coat made in Bombay.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it,” Len said with a genuine smile. “We have amazing machines these days that allow us to replicate just about anything. Well, Harry, now that you’re in uniform, you have an appointment with the Captain.”

  THE WALK TO THE CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS took them along passageways and up several decks in what was referred to as a lift tube. To Harry, this seemed like a dumb waiter he’d heard had been installed in Mount Stewart to lift food straight from the kitchens to the dining room pantry.

  The companionways were very broad with ceilings high enough for the tallest member of the party to walk without having to duck or bend as Harry was used to having to do beneath the beams on the lower gun deck.

  “This is the main deck, Mid,” Commander Curran told him. “There are gangways like this down either side. We’re on the port side at the moment, and walking aft to the key flat. I expect you had something similar?”

  Shaking his head, Harry considered this. “No, sir. Our upper gun deck housed the wardroom right aft, then the Royal Marines’ barracks, and the open space carried forward beneath the gangways and boat tiers to the infirmary beneath the fo’c's'le right forward. The gunroom was located at the after end of the lower gun deck with the seamen’s messes and galley forward of us.”

  “I expect the Captain had his own quarters though.”

  “Oh yes, sir, the great cabin, it is called, and very comfortable. It is aft of the quarterdeck beneath the poop.” Harry smiled. “I expect your Captain has similar luxury.”

  The three commanders walking with him laughed. “Oh yes! And one or two other little perks, but we can’t complain—our accommodation is probably a lot more generous than yours was.”

  Flight Commander Gray remarked casually, “We seem to have a lot of loungers about—anyone would think we had an alien in tow.”

  Embarrassed, Harry coloured slightly. Obviously, he was the object of this curiosity, and he could understand why. The uniforms worn by everyone they passed were strikingly different to his own. As if to underscore the difference, he, a midshipman, had three commanders as an escor
t. That distracted him as he considered the fact that this seemed to be a single ship with a full Post Captain in command, yet she also had three commanders. In Harry’s experience, the title Commander was accorded the person having command of a ship, however small that ship might be, and regardless of his status, whether commissioned or warranted.

  “Here we are, the key flat,” announced Commander Gray, automatically acknowledging the salute of the Marine sentry and corporal at the key desk. “We cross this and go up one deck to the Owner.” He caught Harry’s awed expression as he looked round the wide-open compartment, the bank of cabinets, presumably holding the mysterious keys occupying the full width of the bulkhead through which they had just entered. Ascending a set of stairs, they entered a short passage.

  This, reasoned Harry, is either a very different order or a very different navy. He had barely reached this conclusion when they arrived at a door, which opened to reveal an antechamber. A Marine sentry stamped to attention as they entered, warning him this was the entrance to the Captain’s great cabin.

  An attractive metallic female statue rose from her desk, causing him to gasp.

  The metallic woman—and there was no doubt of her gender in Harry’s mind—said in a cheerful tone, “Go in, gentlemen. The Captain’s ready for you.”

  Seeing Harry’s expression, Len laughed. “SSU1, or Adriana as the Captain prefers to call her, is his personal clerk.” He acknowledged the android’s greeting. “The SSUs are assigned only to Captain-Commodores and Flag Officers, so we’re all still getting used to her.”

  Laughing, the three commanders stepped aside as Nick Gray said, “After you, Mid. You’re the guest he’s waiting for.”