Harry Heron: Into the Unknown

by Patrick G Cox

  All three boys demonstrated an ability to see and memorise small and apparently insignificant details when shown something. Harry’s sketches attracted a great deal of interest, particularly when he was asked to explain what he could describe of Port Jackson and Port Phillip in New South Wales. On request, he produced sketches of the Heads to Sydney Harbour and its environs, which showed the area as it had been in 1802—a state of natural vegetation long since disappeared with the expansion of the human population.

  Danny let slip that they had seen the strange glowing ship in the black void, and asking if it was the Flying Dutchman.

  “Flying Dutchman? No. Where did you see it?”

  “When Mr Her’n opened t’ port in our mess t’is mornin’.”

  Rhys Williams approached Harry, interrupting his explanation of the method of navigating by means of the sun sights at noon, and the manner in which the calculations would be done manually. Since this method had not been used for nearly two hundred years, his audience had several questions.

  “Excuse me, Harry,” said Rhys. “Danny has just told us that you all saw a strange glowing object earlier today. You told him it was a ship. Did someone activate a view screen for you?”

  “It is true, Doctor, we did see a ship, one I think the Captain told me was the Bellerophon, except she is unlike the Bellerophon on which Ferghal and I served. I hope we have not committed an offence—I only wished to see if I could operate the port on this ship. I used the command I heard the Captain give when he showed me the outside from his quarters.” A look of concern crossed his face. He feared that he had committed an infraction. He hastened to add, “It frightened Danny, so Twenty-Three closed it again just before you fetched us from our quarters. I did not hear a command given to close it, which I found curious.”

  Rhys wondered why he was surprised an intelligent youth such as Harry had discovered how to make something as simple as a view screen function. Seeing Harry’s concerned expression at his silence, Rhys said, “All is well, Harry. You haven’t broken any rules by opening the screen. We’re just surprised you were able to do it so easily because you had not been shown how.” Nodding to the person who had been interviewing Harry, he said, “I’m sorry to butt in like this, Piotr, but I feel I have to know. Harry, could you tell us your impression of what you see out there?”

  Harry thought for a moment. “Well, sir, I think that what I am seeing is unreal, but it looks much like what a fish might see when it is swimming beneath the sea. This ship appears like a great whale, or perhaps even one of the great sharks. It may be that we are below the ocean, although I do not know how such a thing could be managed. It is said that such a submarine boat was made and rowed from Westminster to Greenwich beneath the surface of the Thames in King James’s time—and the glow is caused by the phosphorescence in the water as she makes headway, I should think.”

  Rhys smiled. “Very good, Harry.” He glanced at his companions. “That’s probably the best explanation anyone could have produced.” He had almost said “anyone from your time,” but stopped himself before it slipped out. “In fact,” he continued, “that’s pretty close to the reality.” He looked thoughtful then added, “Come to think of it, I’ve never learned how to activate the screen. Would you show me, please?”

  Harry did as he was bid and spoke the same command he had used earlier, facing the bulkhead he thought most likely to be the position. In fact he was ninety degrees out and had the screen open to his immediate left, and to his surprise, it showed a different ship. This he noted immediately, and the scientists wondered how he could be so certain.

  “It is in the detail, sirs,” he explained carefully, puzzled by their inability to see that immediately. “This ship has shorter fins than the other, her bows are finer and seem to have a greater sheer—and aft, those great remora-like sections attached to her tail fins are a different shape and size to the other ship.” He studied the ship again. “Ah, I see it now, we are on the larboard side here, and our quarters are to starboard. The Bellerophon must lie on our starboard beam.”

  “Have you seen this ship before?” asked Rhys.

  “No, sir, only the Bellerophon,” replied Harry.

  “And you have seen the Bellerophon how many times?”

  “Just twice, sir, from the Captain’s quarters and from our own.” Harry studied the faces of the two men carefully. “Is something amiss?”

  “Amiss? Good heavens no,” exclaimed Rhys. “You have a remarkable ability to see totally unfamiliar things and yet to make such a detailed observation.”

  “I suppose so, sir,” replied Harry politely, wondering why this should be thought unusual. After all, it was an essential ability if one was to survive at sea. “If this is another ship in company with ours, sirs, may I know the name of it?”

  “Er, yes, of course,” replied Rhys. “I think that is the Sydney—and do you know, I would not have been able to tell the difference between her and our other consort without comparing the two.”

  “Thank you, sir. It was named for Sir Phillip Sydney, no doubt.”

  “Actually, no, it was named for the city now occupying the shoreline around the places you know as Port Jackson and Port Phillip. It is the largest commercial centre on the Pacific Rim. It stretches right down the coast almost to the Australian Continental Capital at Canberra.” Seeing that this puzzled Harry, he quickly changed the subject and, having got him to shut down the view screen, left him to the mathematics of navigation with Lieutenant Piotr Łopata.

  “FOUR HUNDRED YEARS IS A MASSIVE HURDLE for them. Just the knowledge base alone is a problem. Science has advanced, technology is beyond anything they’ve encountered—even the language is causing problems.” Len ran a hand through his thinning hair. Two weeks of testing the boys and gradually introducing them to modern technology had been a somewhat exhausting experience.

  “If it wasn’t for the fact that they have turned SU Twenty-Three into a sort of mobile encyclopaedia and translator for themselves, I think they would be in real trouble,” Len added. “Harry confided that he is afraid they will be no more than curiosities unless they can adapt and learn. He’s more concerned for the welfare of Ferghal and Danny than himself, I think.”

  Silke Grüneland nodded. “I agree. Harry’s mathematical ability helps him, but Ferghal, skilled though he is in fine and delicate work, is struggling to bridge the gaps. He didn’t have a broad education like Harry’s—such as that was—so it is difficult for him. The biggest difficulty is that they are having to unlearn some things while learning several new things at the same time.” She laughed. “The one with the least difficulty is Danny. Having no real education beyond reading and writing, he’s like a little sponge—he simply absorbs knowledge. He doesn’t have to wrestle with discarding concepts he never had. The older two feel a little overwhelmed, I think.”

  Captain Heron listened, his relaxed pose in his chair belying the fact it had been a very difficult week both for his command and at a personal level. “I was afraid of this.” His fingers tapped restlessly on the armrest, his eyes focussed on the ship models. “Are your team getting the sort of data they hoped from them?”

  “That and more!” Silke’s response was enthusiastic. “It will take years to fully analyse it all. The genetic and physiological material alone is a lifetime study. As for the psychometrics, and of course, the first-hand experience of history, they have an incredible range of manual skills and knowledge that we’d long lost and have no experience of. And Harry—well, categorise someone who can draw and paint almost photographically, perform complex mathematical calculation in his head with just a piece of paper and a pencil, and calculate logarithms and anti-logarithms so he can resolve navigation problems—that’s what we’re dealing with. And Ferghal—do you know, he can make a simple flute with only the crudest tools, and the instrument plays true to the note.”

  Silke was quiet for a moment.

  “Anything else I should know about?
” the Captain asked, reading her frown of concern.

  “We’re being bombarded by demands for the genetic data—someone in the Ministry insists it is state property and must be released. What he means is sold to the highest bidder.”

  She had his full attention now. The captain sat up straight and leaned his elbows on his desk. “I’m hoping to be able to block that soon.” Impatiently, he stood and paced the room, a habit his staff recognised as his way of wrestling with a problem. “There is a political storm brewing at home about this. I’m being accused of obstructing progress and blocking research that would benefit all of humanity—at least, that is the version touted in the popular media channels. My brother-in-law has identified the source of that, and he will deal with it. Worse, I have several politicians asking—no, demanding—our recall and the incarceration of the boys as assets for commercial exploitation. They base their claim on some obscure clause in the asteroid mining legislation.” He sat down again as his android steward entered with his morning coffee. “Thank you, Zero One.”

  Len laughed. “Aha! The Harry affect at work.” Meeting his captain’s surprised look, he grinned. “Harry is punctilious about treating the SUs with the same courtesy he shows us—and I notice everyone else is now doing it, saying please and thank you to them.”

  Turning to the android, he asked, “What do the other SUs think of Midshipman Heron and his companions?”

  “We think the boys are very nice, sir, always acknowledging our work, and Vanguard likes them as well. He wishes to assist them if he can.”

  For a long moment, there was absolute silence in the room. The captain was the first to speak. “Well, I’m damned. Vanguard wishes to help them? You are, of course, referring to the ship’s AI, are you not?”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “I think Fritz had better hear this.”

  Len stared at the android then addressed the Captain. “You know, I think this suggests a possible solution—but I’ll need clearance from the top.” He straightened up. “With your permission, sir, and yours, of course, Silke, I’d like to try linking the boys to the AI.”

  “You mean with the cerebro-cortical implant?”

  “Maybe, but that would require top-level clearance. No, we can try using the old way, with a sensor cap. It isn’t as efficient, but it can at least give some idea of whether it would help.”

  “Implants will need clearance, but I see no reason you can’t conduct the trials using the neurological cap. If it works, I’ll work on the clearance.”

  “The other thing we need to address is the rumour mill. You know how it goes. At the moment, it is saying that we have time travelling aliens—one of them a genius, and the others speaking an unknown language.” Len laughed. “Perhaps it’s time to give the boys a tour of the ship to meet the crew.”

  “I think I’ll put out a briefing first. That will reach everyone, and it won’t compromise anything your team are doing, Silke.” A smile spread slowly on the Captain’s face. “And it’s time I accepted an invitation to dine in with the denizens of the gunroom. I’ll get Richard to have a word with Sub-lieutenant Trelawney.”

  Chapter 12

  Intrusion

  KEYING HIS COM SCREEN DISPLAY, the Captain smiled when the face of Theo L’Estrange appeared on the screen looking relaxed and pleased with himself.

  “Theo,” he greeted his caller. “I hope this means you have some good news for me.”

  “What? When you have stirred the most horrendous hornet’s nest? My dear James,” his brother-in-law said, raising a glass toward the screen, “I have had quite an interesting fortnight sorting out your three young men, I can tell you. But I have the papers now duly signed by the Chief Justice of Ireland himself.”

  “Theo, I am in your debt, my friend. How have you arranged matters?”

  “Well, it’s a little complicated, but I’ll forward the records to you, and you can take it from there. Essentially, Henry Nelson-Heron is now your ward as a direct relation, and you have full guardianship of him. Ferghal O’Connor is assigned to your wardship by virtue of your being the heir to an estate and the will of Harry’s father, which required his heirs and descendants to have a care to the dependents of the estate—the exact wording of that document. As Ferghal is such a dependent—at least the Chief Justice accepted my argument, as did the Court of Rights in Aachen—he is also assigned to your wardship until he reaches his majority. The youngest boy has proved more difficult and, I have to say, much more interesting. You are made his guardian subject to there being no living relatives. He hasn’t a single close DNA match among the living on any European Federation, North and South American and Australasian databases, so it may well be that he will be in your care for some time to come. We’ve no access to the Sino-Asian Imperium database, and the Southern African and South American ones are incomplete, but they are unlikely to have any matches there.”

  “Theo, I don’t think I can ever thank you enough.” The Captain hesitated. “Any further news of Dr Johnstone and his attempts to get his hands on the boys?”

  “As to thanks—no need. Niamh is delighted, and is looking forward to welcoming them into the family. As to Johnstone, I should warn you that he has a research facility, or so they call it, on Pangaea. I believe this is the planet you are heading for, is that correct?”

  He paused as Captain Heron confirmed this information.

  Theo continued. “There are some serious concerns about the kinds of research being conducted in his facility. I have placed certain information in the hands of some very interested people, so he may not be a threat in future—but you should exercise great care for the duration of your mission. Dr Johnstone is known for spreading lies and making them sound very believable, and you are in his cross hairs. There is an investigation underway into the activities of one of his facilities. Some very questionable practices are taking place there, but we have no solid proof that would allow us to bring charges. Be very careful—he is well protected by the Consortium and its agencies.”

  INGRID SWART, THE TOP MEMBER OF DR JOHNSTONE’S legal team dreaded making the call. Johnstone was known to be moody and erratic, and this news would send him over the edge. Her guess was correct.

  “What do you mean the three specimens have been given legal status and won’t be handed over?” Johnstone demanded, glaring at her image on the screen.

  “Just that—the Fleet has successfully applied to the Court in Aachen. The specimens are human, and there is an application in progress for a living relative to be granted guardianship.” The attorney paused. “We did our best to block it, of course.”

  “Not good enough, obviously.” Johnstone fumed, his fingers drumming a tattoo. “Very well, I’ll have to employ other means to get them, but that court decision can’t be allowed to stand. I want it struck down. They’re far too valuable to be allowed to slip through our fingers.”

  “Take care . . .” Susan hedged. “They’re already causing something of a sensation in the media. If they were to be taken from the Vanguard, there would be a massive outcry.”

  “I don’t care.” His expression changed as he considered. “Of course, if they met with a fatal accident or what appeared to be one.... Well, never mind that for now. I will have them, by god. Which planet is their destination?”

  “Pangaea. The Vanguard is leading a squadron of forces to restore the colonial government there.”

  “This just gets better and better.” Brightening, Dr Johnstone leaned back in his seat. “Thank you, Ms. Swart. Continue your efforts to overturn that ridiculous court order, please. I’ll have those specimens one way or another, but getting rid of that legality will make things easier all round I think.”

  “Will do, Doctor Johnstone. Will that be all for now?” Ingrid Swart’s face didn’t betray her eagerness to close the connection. She was a professional to the end.

  “Yes, that’s it for now. I’ll contact you if something else comes up.”


  Johnstone pondered his options. Despite the fact that he was aboard the corporate yacht and enjoying two weeks of pampered luxury, he was tense as always. He had no time for pleasantries when something obstructed him from getting what he wanted.

  Not ten minutes had passed when Ingrid Swart’s screen indicated an incoming call from Dr Johnstone. Groaning audibly, she nodded to her legal assistant to step out of her office and shut the door behind her.

  “Hello, Doctor Johnstone. You must have thought of something else,” she began, hoping he didn’t detect the note of irony in her voice. She gambled on the fact that Johnstone was too obtuse to notice, and she was right.

  “About those boys, Ms Swart,” he launched right in. “I need fresh tissue to retrieve their DNA, and that means having them in my laboratory in isolation. I want this done now.”

  “Surely the data you’ve obtained from your agent on the Vanguard is sufficient. Do you really need to have the boys physically in your custody?”

  Thumping the desk for emphasis, Dr Johnstone scowled into the imager. “The material we can get from their fresh tissue is worth billions.” He wagged his finger at the screen. “Don’t screw this up. If you tie the Fleet and the Ministry in knots with legal challenges, they’ll cave in. See to it.”

  “We’ve very little to go on so far. There is no doubt that at least one of the boys has living relatives....”

  “Then go after the ones that haven’t. From what you’ve sent me, the claim of guardianship for the eldest is based on the flimsiest of evidence, and as for the youngest—he’s from the absolute dregs of society. He would have been considered no more than an animal in 1804, and now he hasn’t even that status as far as I’m concerned. I don’t give a damn what the court says! These boys have no legal existence, and it’s your job to make damn sure you get that court decision reversed.”