Harry Heron: Into the Unknown

by Patrick G Cox

  The attorney bit back her protest. She was all too aware of her client’s view of any law that thwarted his operations, and considering her own dreary mood on this bitter cold rainy day, she was having a hard time feeling compelled to jump at Johnstone’s command. She could just picture him lounging on the Consortium yacht somewhere barking orders at her, unaware of the beauty and magnificence of his surroundings. The man was utterly ruthless, extremely wealthy and had very powerful backers—people who could make her future very uncertain, even non-existent, if she pushed back.

  “I’ll take it to our head of corporate action,” Susan said, keeping her voice calm. “He’s bound to find some loophole we can exploit, but we are up against the L’Estrange Group, and you know how connected they are....”

  “Then we use our political leverage—damn it all, must I think of everything? We pay enough politicians and civil servants to look after our interests—get them to earn it for a change!” He leaned back, his finger hovering on the key to end the call. “I want those boys, and I want them no matter what it takes. Vanguard is bound for Pangaea. If necessary, I’ll arrange to get possession of them there. If I can’t depend on you legal types, I have plenty of ways to get what I want, but mark my words—if you slip up and cause any difficulty, your career is over.”

  THE COMMISSIONER OF POLICE put down the slim tablet he’d been reading. “Finally we have the evidence we need to obtain a warrant.” Staring out of the window for a long moment, he turned back to his visitors. “I’ll put the application in motion immediately. How was this acquired?”

  The pair of investigators exchanged glances. “Several of our people went undercover. We had to create false cases and court records to insert them into the prison system, sir.”

  “I understand. Once you had them in the system, they were sent to a prison run by J4E Prison Services I take it?”

  “Exactly, sir. We suspected J4E were losing prisoners as a front for something else, but we weren’t sure exactly what. We thought it was a recruiting method for some of their associates.” Pausing, the senior investigator gestured. “It turns out that was just the tip of the iceberg. They vet prisoners very carefully and select only certain types. Some, as we suspected, escape and end up in one of their off-world units where they are given specialist training, new ID and recruited into one of the Consortium security units.”

  “But how does that link to what we’re interested in?”

  “Those who don’t get with the agenda get a different route, sir. It leads to one of three facilities the Johnstone Medical Foundation operates. What we’ve brought to you is from one of those.”

  “Yes, I gathered that. Have you extracted your agent?”

  The two exchanged glances again. “No, sir.”

  “Why not? You have the evidence.”

  “We don’t know exactly where it is located other than beyond somewhere on Pangaea, and the fact we have these recordings and data means both agents are no longer alive, sir.”

  The Commissioner didn’t speak for several seconds. “I see. Do we know what happened?”

  “They were subjected to a series of trials, sir. It is all in the recordings you have. We implanted recording devices, which we planned to recover when we extracted the agents. As a failsafe, there is a transmitter as well. The transmitter can be triggered remotely to download the captured data, but normally we would remove the recorder and retrieve the data. The transmitter is automatically activated if it detects the death of the host.”

  “So we have evidence of the murder of the agents and illegal medical testing and trials?”

  “Yes, sir, and a bit more: We’ve evidence that J4E is operating the prisons as recruiting posts for the Consortium’s forces and supplying the Johnstone organisation with specimens for their trials and experiments.”

  Steepling his fingers, the Commissioner leaned back, staring at his visitors. “Specimens.” He shook his head. “That explains a great deal. I’ve reports here of over forty deaths in custody—prisoners whose bodies were cremated and next of kin handed an urn with the ashes. All very neat in a twisted sort of way. Death certified by a doctor provided by Johnstone Pharma. Is that the way your agents went?”

  “Yes, sir.” There was a pause. “Our people volunteered, sir. They knew there was a risk, but we thought we’d be able to trace them and get them out before....” The younger of the two shuddered. “We couldn’t, and now they’re dead. But we know who killed them, and we know what they went through.”

  His face twisted in an expression of distaste. “We tested a sample of the ashes the families received, sir. Animal remains.” He held the Commissioner’s eye. “I want to be there when we take them down, sir. I want to see the bastards go the same way they’ve sent all their victims.”

  For a moment, the Commissioner didn’t speak. “Yes, I can understand that, and privately, I think I support your view.” He paused, an expression of horror on his face as he watched the hologram replaying the events recorded by each victim in his or her last minutes of life. “I’ll get that warrant. Johnstone won’t be able to evade us forever, nor will any of the scumbags in this video.”

  INGRID SWART FACED THE HOLOGRAPHIC IMAGE of Dr Johnstone and took a deep breath before levelling the bad news at her client. “Brace yourself—there’s been a serious leak. An international warrant has been issued for your arrest on charges ranging from abuse of research subjects and denial of human rights, all the way up to murder.” Before Johnstone could emit an angry reply, the attorney added, “The evidence comes from one of your facilities. One of your test subjects must have had an implanted recorder.”

  “Impossible, and anyway, they’ll have a problem making any of that stick.” Dr Johnstone sneered. “For one thing, there are no bodies; for another...well, there’s no way they can connect the source to the lab.”

  “I don’t think I heard that, Doctor.” The attorney held up a hand. “They’ve issued warrants for the arrest of all your top research scientists.” He hesitated. “As yet they’ve not been able to serve those warrants.” She smiled. “It seems someone alerted your security personnel, and they are all off-planet.”

  “Ha. Well, let me make one thing clear: I expect your firm to have these ridiculous charges quashed as soon as possible. Murder? Our work is of the utmost importance to humanity. So what if a few criminals are lost during the research. They’re criminals, damn it, the dregs of society.”

  “Doctor, I’m afraid the courts don’t agree with you.” The attorney held up a hand. “I do understand your position, and the value of the work you are doing to humanity, but that is not appreciated in some quarters. My advice is that you scale back the research for a period. Let my firm get this cleared up first. It will take several months, but these things can’t be rushed.”

  Dr Johnstone was somewhat appeased. “This whole affair may just be an irrelevance. I’ll leave it to you to see it’s quashed. Surely, they can’t have anything concrete.”

  The attorney hesitated. “Actually, they have. It’s going to be very difficult to discredit. If we can’t....”

  “If you can’t, then I’ll find someone who can.” Johnstone closed his connection. He neither cared for nor wanted to hear another excuse.

  “THE COMMUNICATIONS LOGS show a single message from the Department of Science and Exploration originating in the med centre,” a lieutenant reported to Commander Reinhard “Fritz” Dieffenbach, “but there’s another to an unregistered address twenty seconds later. It has a very short duration, but a very high data transfer rate. Someone used an encryptor and a re-router.”

  Fritz studied the log. “Leave it to me. I have ways of tracking that. Secure the log and create a backup file.”

  “Yes, Commander.” The lieutenant, one of Fritz’s trusted few, entered the commands needed. “Done, sir. The file is labelled FYIO.”

  “Good.” The commander straightened. “Keep scanning the access to hypercoms from the time of
our departure until now. Monitor all signals for any of these encryptions. Check them against all Command authorised transmissions. I’m going on coms myself. I have a call to make to Hannover, and then Cheltenham.”

  Moving to his own console, the commander called up the hypercom access, entered his code and waited. Several minutes passed before the image changed.

  “Guten Tag, Fritz. Was gibst?”

  “Tag, Frieda. Viele. Wir haben ein Rätsel.” Quickly he explained the nature of the problem and the unauthorised signals. In German he continued, “I need a trace of the recipients and the distribution. Here is the address it went to at the Ministry and the unregistered address it was copied to. How quickly can you do it?”

  “Give me an hour.” Frieda paused. “Yes, that should be enough. We’ve been watching this address, and I know it well—a front for several Consortium companies. Have you alerted Fleet Security?”

  “About to talk to Cheltenham. I’ll tell you who I’ve spoken to when I contact you in an hour.”

  “Sehr gut. Ein Stunde. Bis Später!”

  His contact in Fleet Security requested a copy of the comms log, as he’d anticipated; he forwarded it as they spoke.

  “Looks like an agent we’ve been monitoring for a while, a medic. She’s got a track record for causing problems with officers. I’ll have to get clearance, and you’ll need to watch your comms. They’re using a message encryptor and a piggyback system that attaches the encrypted package to other signals. As soon as it’s received at its destination, the whole is diverted to predetermined recipients. I’d lay money this one has gone to one particular Consortium outfit. I’ll get back as soon as I have the clearance.”

  Terminating the call, Fritz leaned back. Both calls had confirmed what he already suspected. Straightening again, he reached for his interface, accessed a screen that only three other people would recognise and entered a complex password. He went through a four-stage process before the screen cleared and script appeared at the top of it.

  Good evening, Commander, is there a system problem?

  Fritz typed the following message:

  There has been unauthorised use of the hypercoms. Access originated in the med centre at terminal MU43StM.

  The following message appeared on the screen:

  That is not correct, Commander. The terminal merely repeated a download from a portable unit. Do you require the identity of the unit?

  Fritz said, “Please switch to personal audio.” He paused until he heard the ship declare it was ready. “Yes, I need those IDs. Place them in a file for my access only.” He was surprised by this voluntary response to his original request. He reflected that no one really knew what these AI systems could do once they were fully sentient. Hesitating, he added, “I’ll also need the ID of any other such transmissions received by any of your nodes or terminals.” Seconds later, the IDs of five portable interfaces and the names of the users were sent to him in a message.

  Fritz typed:

  Thank you. Please place this information in a file for my access only. Label the folder DER ALTE FRITZ please.

  He needed only to wait for his contacts on Earth to come back to him with the remaining answers. At least he knew who had sent the message revealing the presence of the three boys. The remaining four off-siders were a bonus. He’d call in some favours and get their roles exposed as well. Time to talk to the Captain.

  “Sir?”

  Fritz turned at the voice and saw his lieutenant looking at him with a very worried expression on his face.

  “There’s another anomaly showing up,” said the lieutenant. “We have an incoming signal at twenty-seven thirty-three hours, but no message, no data package—nothing.”

  Fritz frowned. “Run crosschecks against system files, programs and sub-routines. Look for any access to databanks, operating systems—anything unusual at that time or after it.”

  “Running it now, sir.” Seconds passed, and then, “Sir! Someone has accessed every operating system and databank—the last one being the information on the boys in the med centre.” Entering several more requests, the officer watched his screen as his commander joined him. “It’s impossible, but all these entries took place within thirty-four seconds of the arrival of that signal.”

  “Let me see that signal profile. Where did it originate?”

  “According to the trace, it isn’t from any hypercom transmitter, and not from any ship of ours.”

  “Das geht nicht.” Fritz typed a command to run a scan. “Ach so!” Staring at the result, he straightened. “The scan reported a close pass from a ship that could not be scanned, and the signal originated as they scanned it. Look, the times match.”

  “So the scanners have given us this signal?”

  “No.” Fritz frowned. He didn’t like the implications of what he was seeing. “If this is correct, we may have an alien passenger aboard. We were unable to get a lock on a phantom ship that came very close...very close indeed.”

  “Incoming hypercom transmission for you, sir, encrypted channel.”

  Striding to his interface, Fritz Dieffenbach entered his pass code.

  The holographic image of his contact on Earth appeared. “You were right, Fritz. Here are the decrypts and the distribution lists. Thanks for the heads-up. We’re putting monitors in place.” Pausing, the caller added, “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

  CAPTAIN JAMES HERON STARED AT THE BULKHEAD. He was very concerned that at least five Consortium agents, possibly more, were aboard his ship. Even more worrying was the possibility that a phantom entity had somehow accessed the Vanguard’s systems. No one knew anything about these mysterious ships or the beings who manned them, and they seemed to turn up wherever human ships ventured.

  Fritz had established that the Vanguard was not the first ship to receive some sort of signal from them or to have its systems scanned in this way, but apparently they were not hostile to humans. That is, they had not directly attacked any human ship or attempted any contact that suggested hostility as far as anyone knew. What did they want?

  On impulse, he activated his neuro-cortical link. “Vanguard, is the person who accessed your system codes and files still aboard?”

  “The entity is currently in your accommodation, Captain,” he heard in his ears.

  “Clarify.”

  “I detect two entities in your quarters: you and an entity that gives an energy signature but not an infrared.”

  “Show the location of the second entity.” Aloud, he said, “I know you are here, and I know you are standing against the display on my bulkhead. Who are you? What do you want from us?” Not entirely sure what he expected to happen next, he remained in his seat. Several seconds passed, and a shimmering figure coalesced against the bulkhead. At the same time, he felt pressure inside his head, and lights flashed in his eyes. The figure took on a human form, one moment appearing as a figure in flowing robes, then as a woman, and finally a barely recognisable version of Harry.

  A word appeared on the screen in the Captain’s desk interface.

  SIDDHICHE

  A sensation of frustration followed by one of calm filled his mind. Another word appeared.

  FRIEND

  The shimmering figure remained a few moments before it faded. As it did so, the visitor’s marker on the screen faded until only the Captain’s remained.

  “Well, I’m damned,” he said aloud. “Vanguard, contact Commander Dieffenbach. Ask him to return immediately.” Hesitating, he framed the question in his mind. “Am I able to communicate with these Siddhiche through you?”

  “Only partially, Captain. I may be able to translate some of what they wish to convey, but their communication is best described as calculus in your terms. The entity is still seeking the means to communicate directly.”

  “Did you make a record of this encounter?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Good, make it available to Commander Dieffenbach.”
r />   He closed his link and sat staring at the space near the bulkhead where the Siddhiche had appeared. This was a complication they didn’t need with everything else going on. He sighed heavily. The Consortium agents were an immediate threat, and now these Siddhiche would have to be assessed. If the ship could detect them, that would be a step in the right direction. What they were and what threat they posed needed to be established. The door signal sounded, signalling a visitor.

  “Come in, Fritz. I think I know who made your mystery signal. Now we need to find out how and why.”

  Chapter 13

  Hearts toward Home

  HARRY DREAMED OF HIS FATHER. It was not a nightmare, but it might as well have been because he could not move or speak to the one person he desperately wanted to talk to right now. He also longed to see his mother, his sister, and his older brother, but they made no appearance in the dream. Instead, his father appeared to be attempting to capture a magnificent white stallion. Just at the point when Harry saw him finally grasped the bridle, he woke.

  For a long time he stared at the deck head above his bunk, trying to grasp what this dream might mean. A memory stirred of an overheard discussion of such a dream always presaging death, danger or disaster for the family. Slowly it came back to him—the galloping horse heralded danger. Saddled and bridled, it meant a death, but this horse had no saddle, no bridle, only the halter. And it had not been running, just skittish and in need of a commanding hand to calm it.