Harry Heron: Into the Unknown

by Patrick G Cox

  “Damn. Any indication of the origin?”

  “Negative, sir. Receiver came online, received something, then reset.” The ComsRate ran several search checks. “Nothing. No origin, no acknowledgement.”

  “Could be a radiation burst, I suppose.” The young officer looked dubious. “Anyone else report anything?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Right. Log it. I’ll flag it up with the commander.” He straightened. “Funny, these ghost signals always show up when those phantom ships are around. The commander won’t be happy about it,” he added, returning to his post.

  THE AI SYSTEM REGISTERED THE PRESENCE of a phantom visitor, though the visitor did not immediately communicate, and disturbed nothing as it embedded itself where it could access the systems and routines, and instruct the AI to carry out a search of the database. Even in the database of all the computer activity, this would show simply as the computer carrying out a routine check of its systems.

  The phantom watched the data streaming through the system, reading the flow of instructions and communications. It stopped searching when it found the record of the transit gate and the arrival of the three ancient mariners, which was the name someone with a sense of humour had given them when labelling the file. After examining the information, the phantom searched the system for the location of the boys.

  The data access records would not be examined routinely for at least twenty-four hours unless someone conducted a specific search. What Commander Dieffenbach noticed about this entry when he found it was that it had not been made from any access node or terminal on the Vanguard.

  It worried him, and it worried the Captain, that Harry, Ferghal and Danny were now under observation by an unknown entity.

  HARRY AWOKE AS THE LIGHTING IN THE CABIN transitioned from darkness to the early light of dawn. It was certainly the best sleep he could recall in quite a while. Turning on his side to check on his companions, he found himself staring at a wall that hadn’t been there the night before. He swung his legs to the floor, reached for his trousers, and stopped. Where he’d left his carefully folded trousers, neck cloth and stockings, there now lay fresh underwear, a neatly folded shirt and clean stockings. His trousers hung with his jacket in a different place.

  “Ferghal?” he exclaimed. “Is this your handiwork?”

  “Good morning, sir.” A mechanical figure stepped round the edge of the screen. “I have placed clean clothing for your use, as you see. Please let me have your shirt and underclothes when you have taken your shower.”

  “Clean shirt? Small clothes?” Staring at the droid, Harry objected. “I thank you, but the drawers and the shirt I am wearing are still clean, and I would not wish to abuse the messman’s goodwill by having him laundered needlessly.”

  Ferghal stepped round the screen and stood next to the android. “Master Harry, SU Twenty-Three is a steward—a sort of messman, he says—and his orders are to see that we bathe and have clean clothes.” His grin widened. “And his knowledge is at least equal to that of the Reverend Mr Carrigan.”

  Considering this information, Harry guessed the origin of the screen. “O-ho. Ferghal, you rogue, did you have him place the screen between us? How long have you been awake and about? Where is Danny? I did not hear you rise.”

  “No, Master Harry.” Ferghal grinned. “Twenty-Three crafted t’ screen last night. He works quieter than a mouse, and this morning, we was extra quiet so we’d not wake you.”

  “I see.” Harry wasn’t sure what to make of the mechanical stewards. When he was a child, he’d seen a clockwork figure that danced when wound up, but it had not been capable of speech or thought as this one apparently was. As for the mechanical woman named Adriana who worked in the Captain’s office...well, he could only liken her to a shiny metal goddess.

  “Have you both bathed?” Harry asked Ferghal, regaining his composure. “I see you are dressed.”

  “Aye, sir,” piped Danny, scowling at Ferghal. “I sez to ’im that I still be clean frum yusterdee, but he pushed me under t’ water anyway.”

  “I see,” replied Harry, suppressing a smile. “But I see you didn’t melt, and you haven’t drowned, so I had better go and bathe myself.” He grinned at Ferghal and teased, “May I use the same, er, shower as you men?”

  Ferghal frowned and then smiled, struggling not to let it become a laugh. “Master Harry, you may be as careless as you please of your dignity, but we only wish to show these people that you’re our officer.”

  “I know, Ferghal, I know. But you were my friend through many a scrape ere ever we had to follow our stations in life, and I would hope we’ll see this one through as friends as well. We are in this together, and we’ll sink together or swim together.”

  “I dasn’t swim, sur,” exclaimed Danny in fright.

  “A figure of speech, Danny.” Harry laughed as he headed for the shower.

  THEY BREAKFASTED ON A MEAL PREPARED by the android in a servery to one side of the living area. Twenty-Three apparently had been persuaded to allow Ferghal to serve Harry’s breakfast separately, a fact that annoyed Harry when he first learned of this.

  “Do not tell me you have already eaten,” Harry snapped. “For I know you have not.”

  “When you have done, then we will eat.” Ferghal remained firm. Behind him, Harry could see Danny watching the steward and the food locker in hungry anticipation.

  Resignedly he tucked into the breakfast of fresh eggs, bacon and fresh baked bread with what he took to be butter of a very creamy texture and real coffee. “I cannot fathom how they are able to produce such fresh food, nor yet the newly made clothes,” he said to Ferghal. “It seems as if someone anticipates our every need and provides for it before we can even think it ourselves.”

  “As you say, Master Harry,” Ferghal replied setting food in front of him.

  When he’d finished, he pushed the plates aside and said, “And now, my friend, I insist that you and Danny eat. I shall remove myself and this coffee to the comfort of that chair. Now eat.”

  Sitting comfortably with his coffee, Harry tried an experiment. Recalling the Captain’s ability to apparently open a window by a simple command, he looked at what he considered likely to be an external bulkhead and said carefully, “Vanguard, display view abeam.”

  A voice, apparently from the air around them, made him jump and Danny squeak in fright as the bulkhead suddenly darkened giving a view of a strange-looking ship and several smaller ones. As before, the ships glowed with a ghostly blue white light, suspended in a black void. There was nothing beyond it, nothing below it and certainly nothing above it, giving the impression of vast depths and distances. The three boys stared at it in awe, and Harry advanced and touched the surface, feeling a slight tingle in his fingertips.

  Next to him, Ferghal whispered, “What devilment is this? And what manner of craft is that?”

  “I believe this is something well beyond our understanding,” said Harry. “But as to yonder ship, the Captain yesterday named her Bellerophon, though she is nothing like our old Billy Ruffian.”

  Twenty-Three approached. “This is the starboard view, sir. The view is much better in normal space.”

  They stared at the ship for a long moment, noting its blunt snout, its tapered after end with the strange looking pods attached at the extremities of slender fins, with even greater fin-like structures at its midships point rising and descending, and apparently similar structures in the lateral plane as well. From this vantage point, it looked less like a whale to Harry than some sort of fantastic creature of some even stranger deep, and it fascinated him.

  “Can we shut the port, Master Harry?” asked Ferghal. “That void looks uncommonly like Father Murphy’s description of hell!”

  “Shame on you, Ferghal!” Harry smiled. “You know I am not supposed to know of your Papist persuasions.”

  “Aye, sir, I know.” Ferghal crossed himself. “But that void makes me uneasy, and yon ship lo
oks uncommonly like a whale or a ghost. Could she be the Flying Dutchman?”

  “I doubt it, Ferghal,” said Harry. “I do not think these are his waters—if indeed they are waters.” He looked around and saw Danny hiding behind a seat. “No need to be afraid, Danny. This is just a picture.” He struck the panel with his hand. “See, it is not a true opening. But perhaps I should close it before anyone comes.” He tried to recall the Captain’s commands for the closure of the port and said, “Vanguard, close port.”

  The voice responded, “Command not understood.”

  Twenty-Three asked, “Do you wish to close the view?”

  “Yes, please.” Harry heaved a sigh of relief when the bulkhead returned to its usual opaque colour, but he was puzzled by the fact that Twenty-Three had made no command to the mysterious voice to make that happen.

  Ferghal coaxed Danny out of his hiding place just as the door slid open and Surgeon Commander Len Myers strode in accompanied by two newcomers dressed in what the boys recognised as civilian clothing. Harry stood politely and gave a small bow to the commander since he did not have his hat, while Ferghal hauled a trembling Danny to his feet and forced him to stand to attention.

  Len smiled. “At ease, lads. I want you to meet our scientists. They are very keen to talk to you.”

  Chapter 11

  The Harry Effect

  “HARRY, WE HAVE GOOD NEWS FOR YOU,” said Len as he entered the room accompanied by Dr Williams and Dr Maartens.

  Harry bowed his salute. “Good morning, sir, doctors.” Remembering that the doctors hadn’t met his friends, he made an introduction. “May I present my men, Ferghal O’Connor and Daniel—Danny—Gunn.”

  Smiling, the scientists acknowledged the introduction, taking the opportunity to tell the boys that they hoped to become better acquainted by working together.

  Noticing that Len looked rather pleased with himself, Harry said, “You have good news for me, sir?”

  Len fished in a pocket and produced a small fat silver disc with an attached piece of intricately knotted leather cord. “Is this what you were asking for last night?”

  Harry beamed in delight. “My pocket watch! Thank you, sir. It was given me by my father when I went to sea. It is an excellent timekeeper—but I fear it will have stopped, as it must needs be wound at least daily.”

  Taking it, he held it to his ear then touched a small lever. The lid popped open to reveal a clock face.

  “As I feared,” he murmured, but set about winding a small spindle between finger and thumb. A faint ticking sound began, and he nodded in satisfaction. “Now it will be right as rain. May I ask the correct time, sir?”

  Without thinking, Len keyed his comlink and said, “Give me the ship’s time please.”

  The voice the boys had heard earlier when the view screen activated said, “Ship Standard Time is now zero eight hours, twenty-one minutes, forty-two seconds.”

  “There you go,” said Len cheerfully, then realised his mistake when he saw the puzzled expression on Harry’s face. He thought frantically how the time would have been stated in their day, but was saved by Doctor Williams.

  “I think Commander Myers means it is now twenty one minutes past eight o’clock,” he said.

  “Thank you, sir,” replied Harry concentrating on setting the watch. “So it wants but a few minutes to one bell of the forenoon watch. Do you have an assignment for us today, sir?”

  “Assignment? Well, I think you could call it that.” Len was glad to see that the boys seemed more at home in their environment today. “Doctor Williams and his fellow scientists would very much like the opportunity to talk to you about your lives aboard the Spartan and possibly before that.”

  Harry looked a little surprised that anyone should be interested, but nodded and said, “Then, with your permission, Commander, we are at their disposal.”

  “THIS IS THE BEST WE CAN GET?” Captain Heron studied the faint image, a difficult task because it changed shape continually.

  “That’s it, sir, always the same with these ships. No one can get a scan on them. Soon as we try, they shift, as if they’re able to change form. Either that or they have some sort of disruptive system that blocks us.”

  “Hmm...that’s not good.” Straightening up, Captain Heron turned to the communications officer. “That ghost signal—could it have originated from these ships?”

  “Possibly, sir, but we can’t be certain of anything except that it didn’t come from a hypercoms relay or transmitter, and it didn’t come from Bellerophon, Sydney or any of our escorts.”

  “Have there been similar reports from any of the others?”

  “Yes, sir. Bellerophon got a similar signal six minutes after we did, and Sydney got one seven minutes later.”

  “And they can’t get a scan on these ships either?”

  “No, sir.”

  Turning to Val Petrocova, he said, “So you have no way of targeting them or of knowing what they are capable of?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Right, so we have a problem.” He frowned. “We need to find a solution, and quickly. Get everything available on these ships and any reports of encounters with them. There has to be some information that will prove useful.”

  THE STRANGENESS OF THEIR EXAMINATION by the scientists was more than a little surreal to Harry, Danny and Ferghal; it was downright intimidating. The scientists used recording equipment, some of it hidden, and a range of tasks to capture the boys’ language usage, the technology they were seeing for the first time, and their skills and abilities.

  The linguists struggled at first with Danny, who was unwilling to be separated from Ferghal and nervous as a cat confronted by aggressive dogs. His answers to questions were monosyllabic and barely audible—until an android steward arrived with refreshments.

  “Twenty-Three!” he exclaimed. “Be ye sent t’ serve us’n ’ere?”

  “I am the service unit for all of this section, Mr Danny. Is there something you need?”

  “Yus,” he whispered. “I needs somethin’ t’ ’elp me unnerstand wut folk sez t’ me.”

  For a moment, the android didn’t respond. “Ah fink I gets t’ drift, Mr Danny. Yer needs a bit o’ ’elp wi’ modern speak? Whyn’t yer ask t’ doctor? She kin ’elp yer if’n yer asks nice.”

  Harry and Ferghal gaped, and the scientists stared in surprise. Recovering first, Len Myers laughed. “Well I’ll be damned. There’s an answer, I think. Perhaps the SU can interpret for you.” He looked up as the door opened and Dr Maartens entered. “Hello, Hendrick, what are you after?”

  The Dutch scientist smiled. “I was wondering if the young gentlemen would consent to giving me some hair samples.”

  “I think you might have to explain why, but it’s up to them.” Turning to Harry, he said, “Harry, in your travels, did you encounter anyone who collected samples of everything they saw?”

  “Why, yes, sir. The Reverend Mr Bentley would have filled the ship with specimens had the captain allowed it.” He smiled. “I did many paintings of birds and unusual plants for him. Why do you ask?”

  Grinning, Len indicated the scientist. “Some things don’t change—Dr Maartens here wants some samples of your hair for his collection.”

  Harry laughed. “I should think I can spare some, sir.” Curious, he continued, “May I enquire the purpose, Doctor? Mr Bentley always wanted the whole beast. I trust you do not need all of my hair as a specimen. I don’t want to be bald as our cooper Mr Gosling just yet!”

  “No, no, just a small sample, a lock is all.” He caught Harry’s amused expression. “Human hair can tell us a great deal about a person, such as where he has been for the past three or four months, what foods he has eaten, and what he has been exposed to, whether seawater or a tropical climate, for example.” Seeing the keen interest in Harry’s eyes, he added, “I could show you how we do it, if you wish—but perhaps once Rhys and his people have finished.”

 
“I would like that, sir, if it does not interfere with your work.”

  “Then we’ll arrange it.”

  The scientist carefully snipped several strands from Harry’s head then did the same with Ferghal and Danny. As they watched Danny trying not to squirm underneath the scissors, Len asked, “Harry, do you think having the SU—Twenty-Three, I think Danny called it—as a guide would make it easier for you to adjust to life aboard the Vanguard? It seems to have mastered the way Danny speaks quite well.”

  “Twenty-Three has been most helpful, sir.” Laughing at the memory, Harry explained how Ferghal had persuaded the android to divide their sleeping quarters. “And he—SU Twenty-Three—has arranged two tables for us to dine at.” He thought for a moment then added, “And he has obtained some paper, pen, ink and a pencil for me—though, to be sure, I had first to explain the constituents of the ink, and the manner of making a quill pen.”

  Intrigued, Rhys Williams asked, “What do you need the paper for, and a pen?” He hesitated. “And what is a pencil?”

  “Why, to keep my journal, Doctor. Until I can obtain some pigments to make a suitable paint wash, I use the pencil to make a sketch of anything I wish to record. Do you not do something similar?”

  While Harry talked, Ferghal was engaged by others of the science team, and they very quickly learned that he was a skilled worker with fine instruments and tools as he explained his hobby of carving ship models with available materials.

  “Where did you learn this delicate work? Surely not from a blacksmith.”

  “And why not, ma’am? Sure, and I learned to make the nails for the shoeing o’ the horses from the ’smith. And Mr Billing, the boatswain, taught me the making of miniatures on t’ Spartan.”

  By the end of the day, the scientists had gathered a mass of information from the three and discovered that Danny was an accomplished musician as well as having considerable skill in the observation and recall of things seen and studied. Someone succeeded in getting a set of watercolour blocks created in a replicator unit for Harry, and he was encouraged to demonstrate his ability. He glanced at his surroundings, taking in the unique features of the room, and within minutes, had captured the setting in watercolour. The science team were astounded at how remarkably accurate and detailed his painting was.