Harry Heron: Into the Unknown

by Patrick G Cox

“You’re right.” The Captain looked at Adriana. “Can you find a bit more information concerning these boys, please? I need all the official reports and correspondence on the incident in which they were lost.”

  DOCTOR JOHNSTONE, HEAD OF THE JOHNSTONE Foundation and member of the board of a number of pharmaceutical companies, strode into the hastily called meeting barely able to contain his excitement.

  “Good, you’re all here. This won’t take long.” He pulled out a chair, and launched right in. “We’ve got the opportunity to get full control and possession of three live specimens from the eighteenth or early nineteenth century. We’re not sure yet which.”

  “We’ve already got plenty of tissue and other specimens from that period,” said a saturnine man in a bored tone. “What’s so special about these?”

  “They’re alive, that’s what is special. There’s an embargo on any news of their arrival—an accident, apparently, caused by the new transit gate. Don’t know the details, but when the latest Fleet squadron left, they lost some equipment and got three living youngsters in return. Our contact on board the Vanguard sent this.”

  Inserting the chip into a port in the desk, he activated a holographic screen on which images of Harry, Ferghal and Danny appeared. “My contact on the inside advises me that the trio are genuine. They have no official record in the Confederacy or any other WTO state, which makes them non-persons. I’ve begun efforts to acquire them. I expect there’ll be some objections, but we have people to deal with that problem.”

  “What will we gain by having them?” asked a younger woman in a well-tailored business suit.

  “They’re goldmines. We all know the human genome has been altered in the last two hundred years. These specimens will give us a supply of genetic material that we can use to create engineered cures, not to mention access to antibodies we’ve lost.” Hesitating, he looked round the table. “There’s also the opportunity to try some of our mind control and mind altering drugs once we have sufficient material to work with. Our recent work has shown that the genetic splices failed to take account of some of the changes in the subjects’ genomes. With these three we will be able to run a check on how a pre-industrial specimen’s genes respond.”

  “I don’t wish to be awkward,” an older member of the Board interjected, “but surely that will be—er—morally open to challenge. The last set of trials gave us a great deal of valuable information, but the trial subjects all developed serious, and ultimately lethal, abnormalities. As you are aware, they all had to be put down, as they were of no further use. We are already under scrutiny because of that outcome. This might push our opponents into action.” The man fidgeted nervously. “Certainly a repeat of the last trials is likely to raise some very awkward questions if exposed.”

  Nodding dismissively, the doctor rebutted with a hasty, “Only if it were to become public that we are using human subjects. As soon as we acquire these specimens, they will be taken to one of our phantom facilities. Once there, we may do as we please with them.” His gaze swept the table. “This will bring us profits beyond belief. Each of you will benefit, and your companies will have exclusive access to our findings.”

  Ejecting the data chip, he stood. “I’ll keep you all up to date. As soon as we have the specimens, you’ll get confirmation. For security reasons, I won’t share anything about their location. I have to get to the spaceport. I’ve a meeting with the chairman of the Consortium.”

  RICHARD GRENVILLE ENTERED THE CONFERENCE ROOM in the Captain’s quarters and wasted no time giving his report when requested by the Captain.

  “We’ve got a priority signal from the Admiralty, sir. It has to do with the request we got earlier concerning the three lads.” His faint emphasis on the word request showed that it was a thinly veiled order. “The Confederate Department of Science and Exploration is demanding that for security purposes, we should isolate the three aliens—their words, not mine—and hand them over for scientific study on our return to Fleet headquarters.” He paused. “It comes from the Minister himself. A certain Doctor Johnstone is apparently the Department’s independent expert in xeno-biology and pre-industrial alien societies. He wants our specimens—again, his word, not mine—preserved until his team of experts can examine them. It states they wish to carry out tests on them and their preserved memories.”

  “Are we ordered to return?”

  “No, sir. The Admiral’s reply states that since we already have a scientific team of the highest order on board, which includes recognised experts in all the disciplines Doctor Johnstone refers too, he is not recalling us. The Admiralty are leaving it up to you to decide what action to take in cooperation with Doctor Grüneland.”

  “I see.” The Captain’s face betrayed nothing. “Thank you, Richard. Doctor Grüneland, have you heard of this man?”

  “Not only have I heard of him, but I have also, as you say, crossed swords with him several times. He is very influential and well connected politically—and very wealthy. But his research is the subject of some debate in the scientific community and may even breach the codes of ethics for such work.”

  “Some debate?” snorted her Dutch colleague, Dr Maartens, his face darkening with anger. “He is a fraud, Silke, and his work breaches every code of ethics as we all know!” He would have said more, but he paused when he heard the door opening behind him.

  Dr Williams had heard enough to pick up the thread. “You can’t hand these boys over to that fiend Johnstone. I hope you can tell the Minister to go to hell by the most direct route—preferably taking Johnstone and all his people with him. I will not let anyone hand these kids over to that damned murderer and his crackbrained vivisectionist associates.” He had worked himself into a rage. “That man’s research foundation is nothing more than a front for some decidedly illegal and unethical activities. If he wasn’t so well connected, they’d have arrested him and his assistants for unethical, immoral and....”

  Holding up a hand, the Captain interrupted the flow. “I have no intention of handing these boys to anyone, Doctor, but thank you for your opinion.” To the group, the Captain said, “I’ll send a response to the effect that we do not understand the request since we do not have any aliens aboard.” Giving a short laugh, he added, “It’s the truth, and it’s to the point.” Changing the subject, he said to Richard, “I’d like you to arrange a private link to the person at this address for me.” He passed over a printed card. “He’s my brother-in-law, Theo L’Estrange. I’ll arrange with him to put in place some protection for these youngsters.” His anger showed briefly. “They are not bloody aliens, as Johnstone claims, and they are not laboratory specimens to be prodded and poked.” Touching his link, he said, “Adriana, priority link to the Admiral, full scramble code.” Leaning back, he studied his hands then looked at the scientists. “I will not comply with this request. May I count on your support, Doctors?”

  “That you need not ask,” said Dr Maartens. “We will support you, of course. That Johnstone is no scientist—he is a fraud, and as Dr Williams said, his methods are not only unethical but totally unacceptable and illegal as well.” The others murmured their agreement.

  “I might not use such a strong term, since many of the accusations are unproven,” said Silke, “but I have heard that some of his more recent experiments with mental and perhaps terminally ill patients have not been as ethical as he would have the world believe. But I certainly share Frederik’s view of the conduct of the Johnstone Foundation. You may be very certain that we will argue strongly for the boys to remain under your care—and I hope ours.” She gave the Captain a careful glance. “Have I your permission to communicate directly with my superiors?”

  “Commander Dieffenbach will set up a secure channel for you,” said the Captain, acknowledging his assent. “I would much rather have your team looking after the boys and helping them adjust than this Johnstone fellow.” He frowned. “I’ve seen some of his published work, and I am not sure I would all
ow him anywhere near these boys—even if one were not a relative of mine.” His comlink chirped. “Yes?”

  “I have a channel open to the Admiral for you, sir.”

  “Thank you, Adriana. Put it on screen.”

  THE DISCUSSION WITH THE ADMIRAL lasted half an hour. Afterward, the Captain turned to the three scientists and said, “Thanks for your support. I think we may have won a breathing space—but it’s only the first round. I am sure Dr Johnstone and his allies will try something else to get their hands on the boys. At least the Admiral agrees that we cannot treat them as if they were animals or criminals, no matter what the politicians want.” He smiled, his eyes glittering. “And we certainly haven’t any aliens aboard. I may have sorted out the problem of their status by the time we get back if Richard here can get me that private channel.”

  Richard Grenville knew his Captain well. “I’ll have it for you in a couple of minutes.” He checked the time difference. “At least we won’t get him out of bed, sir.” He chuckled. “I think this may blow a few heads off, though.”

  “Probably not a minute too soon,” said the Captain, which left the three scientists wondering what information he had given Richard.

  “If you will excuse us, Captain,” said Silke, “I will contact my superiors, and Dr Maartens and Dr Williams may wish to add their views to mine.”

  “Thank you, yes.” He smiled and added, “I am sure Fritz Dieffenbach will be only too pleased to oblige you.”

  THE CAPTAIN’S LINK CHIRPED, and Richard Grenville announced, “I have your channel set up, sir. The privacy screening is active with full encryption.”

  “Thank you, Richard, put it through to my desk screen please.”

  “Good evening, James.” The slightly accented tones did not fit the rather austere features of the older man in the holographic projection. “To what do I owe the pleasure of being hauled away from my dinner?”

  James Heron smiled. As succinctly as possible, he told his brother-in-law what had occurred and what was now being attempted by the Ministry.

  “I’m forwarding all the information we’ve pulled from the archive banks. I can tell you I’m in no doubt that I have Henry Nelson-Heron on board. He is Niamh’s and my twelve times great uncle. She is probably familiar with the memorial plate in the village that commemorates his death. Ferghal O’Connor and a child called Daniel Gunn landed here along with Harry—that’s the nickname Henry uses.”

  “I wondered why we had several calls from the Ministry of Science about the status of non-citizens and aliens. What do you need? You’ve confirmed the DNA? Is he who he says he is?”

  “Our medics and scientists confirm he’s related to me, yes. I need full guardianship of all three, Theo, and I need it as soon as possible. At the very least we need an injunction preventing interference with or seizure of the three, and an award of guardianship, or some such, to me or Niamh, or whoever you consider appropriate.”

  The older man smiled. “So, it’s a miracle you’re wanting then. Leave this with me. I will see what I can do. In the meantime, I’d be obliged if you would get your scientific people to let me have all the available information on the work of this Doctor Johnstone. If all else fails, tying him up in legal challenges may be the better way forward. And now, my dear brother-in-law, it is early evening here in Dublin, and I think I am going to have my clerks out of their homes and clubs and working on this through the night. This will cost you, you know.”

  “Thanks, Theo, I knew I could count on you—put it on my bill and I’ll add it to my list of debts to you and Niamh. Would meeting the boys be suitable part payment the next time my feet touch planet Earth?”

  “You know how much Niamh enjoys having guests in our home, and yes, that will be more than enough payment if they are who you say they are.” Laughing, Theo L’ Estrange said, “Good night.”

  For several minutes, James Heron stared at the replica memorial plaque then keyed his comlink. “Richard, thanks for that. Now, one more thing: run a check on the transmission logs since we entered transit. I want to know who told the outside world that we have three boys from the nineteenth century on board. Aliens my bloody foot!” Signing off, he checked the ship’s navigation readouts before turning in, but sleep eluded him for some time.

  FAR ASTERN, A STRANGE TRIANGULAR CRAFT slipped silently along in their slipstream, its outer hull changing from black to lighter shades of darkness like a chameleon blending in with its environment.

  Weapons Scan Operator Ignatius De Santos studied his scanner then touched his key pad and summoned the officer of the watch.

  “What have you got, ST?” The Lieutenant Commander peered over the operator’s shoulder.

  “I think we have a phantom ship following us, sir. He comes and goes, but I can’t get a lock on him because he stays behind us matching our speed exactly. The distortion of our wake hides him and masks my scanner frequencies.”

  “Tag him and I’ll report it to the Captain. Notify me if there is any change of pattern or he attempts to close us.” To the ComsRate, the lieutenant ordered, “Contact Bellerophon and Sydney. See if they can get a scan.”

  Chapter 10

  Glimpse of the Void

  THE SLEEPING QUARTERS SET ASIDE FOR HARRY, Ferghal and Danny gave them a space in which they could find some relief from their strange new surroundings. But there was a difficult moment when Ferghal and Danny realised that they were expected to all sleep in the same space.

  “’Tis not fitting, Master Harry,” Ferghal said. “You cannot share a berth with us nor we with thee.”

  “It’ll be as it was the night we shared a room in Chatham, Ferghal, and the many we slept in the stable at Scrabo. And the stable was much less comfortable than this, my friend.”

  “Aye, Master Harry,” Ferghal conceded. “If you think so, then we will do it.”

  Len Myers had shown Harry how to control the lighting, which was never completely extinguished, and which operated on a circadian cycle giving the illusion of night and day—a necessity for psychological health. He left and strode briskly down the corridor, not noticing that an android steward entered the suite almost as soon as he departed.

  Making his way to the wardroom and his own suite, Len put his mind to the problem of how to help the three boys adjust. Throwing himself into his favourite armchair, he told the android steward, “Bring me a double, SU. I need it tonight.”

  Silently the android moved to the bar, poured a double measure of Irish whiskey and returned to the surgeon’s side. “Your favourite, sir. Will you need anything else?”

  “A miracle or two for those boys, but I don’t think those are part of your program.” Remembering the lost watch, he used his link to leave a message for the science team to check the midshipman’s original clothing for the missing watch.

  At least, he thought, taking a sip of the whiskey, the boys will have all the help and support we can give them. They are tough and resourceful. That young midshipman is the same mould and stamp as the Owner.

  “A man worth watching in the future,” he murmured, and settled back into his chair to enjoy his whiskey.

  THE ANDROID SU23 STOPPED ITS WORK as Ferghal emerged from the sleeping cabin, Danny in tow. “Do you require something, sirs?” the droid asked.

  Danny dodged behind his mentor. “It’s t’ mechanical man. It’s come ter eat us’n.”

  SU23 persisted in being helpful. “Do you require food? I shall fetch something. What do you require?”

  Ferghal hesitated. He was curious about this interesting manlike machine. “Can you fetch me something t’ make a screen, Mr SU23, sir?”

  “How large a screen do you need, and for what purpose?”

  Ferghal thought for a moment. “I needs t’ divide the cabin. Danny and me are s’posed to sleep in separate quarters from Mr Heron.”

  The android paused a moment as if listening to something. “Of course, sir. If you’ll wait here, I shall bring a s
uitable screen.”

  Ten minutes later, Ferghal and Danny watched in amazement as SU23 rolled in a low wall on wheels and put it in place, separating them from their immediate officer Harry, as was fitting and proper in their minds.

  “How did you make a wall with wheels, SU23?” Danny asked, suddenly no longer afraid of this helpful mechanical man.

  “I requisitioned it from our Supply Service, Mr Danny. Is there anything else you need?”

  Ferghal answered, smiling at Danny’s wide-eyed amazement. “I think we are now better kitted out than we’ve ever been, SU23. You are a generous messmate. Thank ye!”

  The android steward departed their quarters, and Ferghal chose one of the beds and sat down on the edge of it, easing himself into a reclining position with some hesitation. Used to sleeping in a hammock, the openness of the bed felt strange, especially because it adjusted to match the shape of his body. He was astounded at the fine quality of the sheets, and the quilt was the lightest he’d ever seen.

  Above him, Danny curled into a foetal position, wrapping the quilt around him as he wedged himself into the corner behind the pillow to sleep. He’d never had an entire bed to himself, and found it a little frightening. Then he thought of his new friend, SU23. He had decided that the mechanical man wasn’t frightening at all. It had been very eager to help them put up the screen once Ferghal had explained why it was needed. He grinned at the memory of the care it had taken not to disturb Mr Heron, who’d get a right surprise in the morning.

  He drifted off to sleep smiling and feeling altogether warm, safe, happy and well fed for the first time in his life.

  THE COMSRATE GLANCED AT THE INCOMING SIGNAL. “Odd,” he murmured, checking the download. “Nothing there.” Checking the log, he noted that the receiver for the hypercom unit had activated upon receipt of something then reverted to standby mode. “Very strange.” Signalling the communications officer on duty, he said, “We have a ghost in the receiver, sir.