Harry Heron: Into the Unknown

by Patrick G Cox

  Len found himself engaged in a tussle of courtesies, but quickly recognised the dilemma he had inadvertently created for the trio. With a laugh, he said, “Right, follow me then.”

  The half dozen MedTechs and Lieutenants seated in the easy chairs around the bulkheads and at the small group of tables at one end looked up with interest then caught their commander’s eye and returned to their conversations. Len led the boys to a table that had been set with four places.

  “Right, I hope you’ll like what I have arranged for us.” He pulled out a chair and seated himself, waving Harry to a seat opposite, indicating that Ferghal and Danny should sit between them.

  Again, Ferghal objected. “I be no officer, sir, beggin’ yer pardon. We cannot sit with you, sir. It be against the Articles, sir.”

  “Now listen, lads,” said Len patiently, to the amusement of the watching medical staff who knew his temper to be quite fiery when thwarted or obstructed. “I am an officer, do you agree?” When Ferghal and Danny nodded, he continued. “And Harry....” He thought quickly, inwardly cursing his clumsiness at their affronted looks. “Begging your pardon—Mr Heron is your officer, am I right?”

  Again, they nodded their agreement, Ferghal muttering “Aye, sir!”

  “Good! Now, Mr Heron, do you have any objection to my inviting your men to join us at this table to share a meal?”

  “None at all, sir,” exclaimed Harry. To the others he said, “Ferghal, Danny, please do as the surgeon commander asks. We would not wish him to gain the impression that Spartan’s crew were a mutinous and uncouth collection of gaol bait.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” said Ferghal, his sense of station and dignity somewhat mollified. He helped Danny hoist himself into the nearest chair and moved round to perch on the opposite one, his back rigid and his posture radiating his determination not to be trapped into any suggestion that he was there on anything but orders.

  There was almost another problem when the android steward arrived with tall glasses of fruit juice. Danny gasped in fright, cowering from the strange mechanical man as it moved round the table.

  Ferghal’s face as the first plates of food were placed before him and Danny before the officers were served had Len inwardly swearing in anger at his own thoughtlessness. He excused himself and quietly instructed the android steward to change the order of serving to fit the social etiquette the boys expected.

  The android followed a moment later and cleared away the plates from the first course. This led to a tug of war with Danny, who felt it was his task—and his perk—to clear away the meal and feast on any leftovers. The android, evidently consulting some central authority, told him, “If I can’t have the plate, sir, I can’t bring the next course.”

  “There be more to eat?” asked Danny, his question more of a challenge. He was on full alert not to be tricked by this mechanical man.

  “There is,” said Len, watching with amusement the way Danny, now over his initial suspicion, seemed to accept holding a conversation with the android. How quickly the young adapt, he mused with a smile. He couldn’t help but add, “But it will have all been eaten by that bunch over there if you keep the steward from fetching it.”

  With a furtive look behind him, Danny reluctantly gave up his soup bowl and watched with suspicion as the steward took the dishes and cutlery to a locker in the bulkhead. Placing them inside, the droid closed the hatch, waited, then opened it again to take out a tray laden with larger platters.

  Ferghal was astonished at the quality of the food, as was Harry. There were freshly cooked vegetables with slices of meat that looked like fresh beef, not salt beef or pork from a brine tub. Despite his discomfort at messing with officers and the unfamiliar tableware, Ferghal ate with gusto and cleared the plate while Harry and Len talked, as did Danny with rather less finesse.

  Harry talked of his role aboard Spartan and his life at home in the old house beneath Scrabo. Hearing his name mentioned, Ferghal looked up to see Harry explaining that Ferghal’s father Sean was his father’s head groom, which meant Sean had complete charge of the stables and horses at the Heron family home.

  Yes, thought Ferghal, Major Heron was a good squire and a good master to the farm and its people. No one had gone hungry or cold since Major Heron had come into the land. He took care of all his tenants, and they respected him for it. Harry was exactly like his father in his ability to take responsibility and to care for those under his charge. Ferghal looked at his boyhood friend and smiled; these folk would do well to see how a real gentleman officer looked after his people.

  There was another tense moment when the plates had again been cleared and Len asked cheerfully of Danny, “Well, young man, have you eaten enough, or have you some space left for a dessert?”

  “Please, sir,” said the boy, anxiously, “why would I be wantin’ t’ eat sand?”

  “Because the officer tells you to!” shot Ferghal with a shocked tone, adding to the surprised commander, “He don’t mean no harm, sir. He is but a little lad and hasn’t learned all his manners yet.”

  “Easy, Ferghal,” interjected Harry. “I do not think Danny will be beaten for his cheek here. Sir, if I may explain to the lad.”

  “Of course,” said Len. He was puzzled as to why Danny suddenly looked cowed and afraid, but the reference to Danny being beaten was what had really caught Len by surprise.

  “Danny, the commander wishes to know if you would like to eat a sweetmeat, I think,” Harry explained, glancing at Len and receiving a confirming nod. “Dessert is but another word for sweetmeats. And you should apologise for your question now ere the gunner’s mate hears of it.”

  “Please, sor, I dasn’t know the word. Sorry, sor.” Danny was obviously terrified of the potential retribution he might incur at the hands of the mysterious gunner’s mate for this latest infraction.

  “No need to apologise, lad.” Smiling in an effort to reassure the child, Len said, “Now, would you like a sweetmeat? I can assure you no one will punish you while you are in my charge,” he added, glancing at Harry.

  Chastened, Danny nodded. “Yass, if it pleases, sir.” Then he stared suspiciously at the bowl of ice cream the steward paced in front of him.

  “It’s called ice cream. I haven’t met anyone in my lifetime who doesn’t like it. I hope you enjoy it.” Len found their expressions as they carefully tried this strange delight almost too much—and he hoped the historian’s cameras were capturing it.

  Danny’s face registered shock, surprise and then delight, and within a very short space of time, he had emptied the bowl. Ferghal’s face went through a slightly more mature version of the same process. His determination not to give away his innermost feelings schooled his expressions to an almost ludicrous degree. Even Harry, who had encountered sorbet in the heady world of London while staying with his father’s bachelor cousin prior to joining HMS Bellerophon, was a study as he discovered the delight of ice cream for the first time.

  Amazement gave way very rapidly to curiosity, and Harry asked, “Is this ship capable of conveying ice purely for the manufacture of such delights as this, sir? Such a ship must be amazing indeed.”

  “We have ice making equipment,” explained Len without stopping to think what he was saying. “We can chill anything we need—this is something of a treat I thought you young gentlemen would enjoy as an introduction to our meals.” Mentally he kicked himself, as their expressions told him that ice making was not a concept to attempt to explain right then.

  To Len’s relief, Harry suggested Ferghal and Danny could assist the steward in clearing the table.

  Ferghal took the hint, seeing this as an opportunity to show proper respect for his officers. He whispered to Danny, “The officers need time to talk.” He stood and Danny followed suit, and together they disposed of the dishes, leaving Harry and the commander facing each other across the table.

  “Sir,” Harry began, “I must ask you to forgive the ill manners of my men. They are
not used to dining with their officers, and I fear we put them out of countenance once or twice.”

  “No, Mid, I should have thought,” Len said, smiling to set Harry at ease. “I am so used to our more relaxed ways and manners that it never occurred to me that they would find it strange.”

  “I shall endeavour to coach them for the future, sir, but I confess I am a trifle adrift myself with many things here.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Glancing to where Ferghal and Danny were standing against a bulkhead waiting for instructions, Len added, “Perhaps it’s time I showed you fellows to your quarters where you can get some peace and a little time to yourselves.”

  “What o’clock is it now, sir?” asked Harry. “I seem to have lost my pocket watch, and I have not heard the bells struck since we have been aboard.”

  “It’s twenty-one hundred according to the ship’s chronometer,” replied Len, again without thinking, and cursed inwardly as he saw Harry’s blank expression. “Sorry, we use a twenty-four-hour clock now. It’s nine o’clock in the evening.”

  “Thank you, sir. Two bells in the first watch. I expect the officer of the watch will be conducting his rounds at this time. If you could show us where we may sling our hammocks, sir, I would be grateful.”

  Len marvelled at the quaint way Harry had phrased the request. “Of course, I have arranged for you all to sleep in the medical staff quarters until we have everything sorted out. If you can persuade them to follow us, I’ll show you to your beds. No hammocks aboard this ship!”

  As they rose from the table, Len suddenly asked, “Harry, did you say you’d lost a pocket watch?”

  “Aye, sir, I had a rather fine pocket chronometer given me by my father. I kept it in the pocket of my waistcoat, but I fear it may have been lost when....” Harry faltered, since he scarcely knew how to describe his sudden and rather violent arrival on board this ship and did not want to suggest that whoever had undressed him or taken his clothing away might have stolen it. “I lost it when we came aboard,” he finished.

  “I’ll see if anyone has found it. Can you describe it for me?”

  “Oh yes, sir,” replied Harry. “It was about the size of a crown in diameter and as thick as three together, silver and with a locket lid to protect the glass. I had a leather sennet fob attached to the winder. I fear it will have run down by now if, as you say, we have been aboard for more than a day.”

  Ferghal and Danny hurried over and stood behind Harry. They were just in time to hear Len say, “The size of a crown? That’s a bit too big for the pocket, surely.”

  “Sir?” said Harry puzzled. “A five-shilling piece?”

  “Ah, my mistake, you mean a large coin.” Len laughed. “I misunderstood you there. I will see if it has been found. Follow me.”

  Chapter 9

  Cross Purposes

  “CAPTAIN IN?” LEN MYERS ASKED, not breaking his stride as the sentry gave an imperceptible nod. He was brought up short by the amusing scene playing out before him in the Captain’s sitting room. He hesitated then thought it best to announce his presence and get on with it.

  “Good evening, sir.” His mouth twitched in a barely suppressed smile as the Captain whipped his head around and swung his feet off the coffee table in one swift motion.

  “Cease, Adriana,” he said in a verbal command to his SSU, whose shapely and perfectly proportioned titanium body stopped mid-pose with one hip curved to the side and an arm arched above her head. Len had the distinct impression she’d been performing a dance for the Captain. This ought to be good, he mused with a smile, wondering how the Captain would dig himself out of this situation.

  With much throat clearing and straightening in his chair, the Captain said, “Come in, Len!” He sounded a bit too boisterous. He gestured. “Astonishing what she can do. I had no idea that dancing was possible, and she can produce original drawings as well. Adriana was just demonstrating a dance, a...a folk dance from Romania.”

  “Yes, I could see that,” Len said. “She’s very talented,” he added, nodding his appreciation.

  The Captain was clearly embarrassed, and seeking to explain what didn’t need to be, he outdid himself and said, “Did you know that her AI trainer was a Romanian officer?”

  “Was he now?” Len said, and he couldn’t help adding, “Must have been an excellent trainer.” He enjoyed yanking the Captain’s chain now and then, and they’d known each other so many years that he could get away with it.

  Not taking the bait, the Captain said, “That will be all, Adriana. You may leave now.”

  Len watched the lovely droid depart the room, astounded that she managed to swing her hips as she did so.

  “Amazing,” he murmured, and smiled as the Captain made an inaudible response from the sideboard where he poured two measures of whiskey. Seating himself at the Captain’s invitation, Len accepted a tumbler. “Thank you, sir. I’ve a bit more for you on our new crew members, the three lads.”

  Resuming his seat, James Heron smiled. “Good. What have you got?”

  “Well, we have confirmation of their names and some interesting bio-data on all three of them.”

  “You’re not going to tell me they’re non-human, are you?”

  Laughing, Len swilled the whiskey round in the tumbler. “No, they’re human, all right, but they’re carrying antigens to bacterial and viral diseases that we have not seen since the twenty-first century.” Pausing, he sipped. “At least it confirms their origins and ages.” He grinned. “I hope I look that good at four hundred and sixteen.”

  “Too late for us, I think.” The Captain laughed. “Anything that could put us in danger?”

  “Not anymore, and we can use these antibodies to manufacture vaccines for all our people, which will increase the protection we have against similar bio-agents we might encounter elsewhere.” Len laughed. “You should have warned me the science team included a xenobiologist and a socio-psychologist—my staff are having to hold them back, they’re that keen to get their hands on the boys’ DNA as well as tissue and blood samples.”

  “I hope they remember the youngsters aren’t specimens.” The Captain frowned. “I want them treated as human beings and not as lab animals. I’ve been in contact with the C-in-C, and he’s given me full control of them, but warned there’s likely to be a storm over guardianship of them. Someone’s already got wind of their presence on this ship, and one of the Ministries is making noises.” He recalled the other part of Len’s report. “You said you had their names?”

  “Yes, I do. Ferghal O’Connor and Danny, or Daniel, Gunn.”

  “Ferghal O’Connor?” responded the Captain in surprise. “Are you sure?”

  “As I’m sitting here. He tells me he went to sea with Harry. His father was groom to Harry’s father.” Len noted with interest the Captain’s response. “Have you heard of him before?”

  “Heard of him?” said the Captain absently. “Yes, you could say that. When I was growing up in Ireland years ago, I saw a plaque in the old church near where my family had an estate until the mid-twentieth century. If you look over there, I have a copy of it. I’ve been intrigued by the story it didn’t tell ever since I was a youngster when I first saw it. It says that Harry and a Ferghal O’Connor were lost at sea in a battle with French ships in 1804.” He paused, watching the surgeon commander as he read the plaque.

  His expression thoughtful, Len Myers met the Captain’s gaze. “There must be records. I hope Adriana can find them and give us the information we’ll need to protect them.”

  “Good thinking. Otherwise, someone is going to try to impound them under some pretext.” Putting down his tumbler, he frowned. “There is the possibility that our transit gate mishap destroyed a ship carrying around eight hundred men and boys besides these three. I doubt anyone thought of that when these anomalies started showing up.” The Captain touched his link and said, “Adriana, I need you to do some searching in the archives for me.” He gave
her the details of the information he needed.

  Adriana returned with a tablet, which she handed to the Captain. “You were right, Captain. His details are in the old Royal Navy archive. He was warranted a Midshipman first to HMS Bellerophon 74, an early one, not the same Bellerophon in our Fleet.”

  Reciting from her memory circuits, she continued, “He was transferred to HMS Spartan for a commission in the Great South Sea and the Indies. Lost in battle with two French ships, L’ Revolution 44 and Mistral 44, presumed killed at his post on the lower battery. Also lost or killed at the same time and in the same position were one Ferghal O’Connor and a boy named Daniel Gunn.”

  “What is the date of the entry?” asked the Captain.

  “The event took place on the thirtieth November 1804, sir,” she replied.

  Adriana’s circuitry working out the details of this information, she stated, “They should not have used children to carry explosive to the guns in a battle. That is not logical or optimal. Their bodies are too small for such a task.”

  “You are quite right, Adriana, they should not have, but they did, and those cartridges were quite heavy besides. The children were conscripted into the Navy by a parent, uncle or aunt—or at least adults who called themselves that—and were usually illegitimate children born of prostitutes, or young women who had no husbands, or widows or impoverished families who couldn’t support them. The Navy gave them a home, an education of sorts and food for as long as they survived—and many of them did very well.”

  Len said, “From my knowledge of British naval history of that period, I should imagine that our young midshipman was probably expected to carry a fair bit of responsibility and to lead the men he was entrusted with.” He glanced at the Captain. “I wonder if we could dig a bit deeper on this. There must be some records of the battle and a report filed somewhere.”