The summons was a welcome interruption, as he had been attempting to master a lesson on physics, and though he had grasped the principles, it had been hard going. To his disappointment, Katerina was not waiting for them. Instead, a lieutenant commander greeted them as they arrived.
Harry saluted the waiting officer and said, “Midshipman Heron and TechRate O’Connor, sir. We are summoned to Surgeon Commander Myers. Where may we find him?”
The officer returned the salute. “I’m waiting to take you in. This way, gentlemen.” Opening the door to the surgeon commander’s conference room, he led them in.
Saluting the surgeon commander, they greeted the science team consisting of Silke Grüneland, Rhys Williams and Frederik Maartens.
Len acknowledged the salutes with a smile. “Harry, Ferghal, please sit down.” He waited as they sat. “We need to discuss something very important with you today. It will have a big impact on your future, and you will need to decide what you want to do.”
The pair seated themselves and smiled nervously at the assembled team. “We will be guided by you, sir.” Glancing at Ferghal, Harry added, “If it will help us gain the knowledge we lack, we will do whatever you advise.”
“That will be a first in my career,” exclaimed the lieutenant commander, laughing. “And yours, Boss.”
“I should think so.” Len laughed, winking at the pair before him. “After all, none of the victims we usually have to patch up have much choice in the matter.” Indicating the assembled company, he said, “Harry, you and Ferghal know our friends from the scientific office, but you haven’t met our neurologist before. This is Lieutenant Commander Thomas Blakewell. He is an expert in neural implants.”
“A pleasure, sir,” Harry responded, and Ferghal nodded his acknowledgment. “What is a neural implant, sir?” Harry asked.
“It is a permanent implant in the cerebral cortex portion of your brain that will give you access to a vast amount of knowledge.”
Both looked alarmed at this. Harry asked, “Do I understand you correctly, sir? You wish to open our heads and place some device inside?”
“That is almost correct, Harry, only we don’t need to open your cranium,” interjected Lieutenant Commander Blakewell. “I will only have to make a small insertion at the base of your skull where it joins your spinal cord. The procedure will be completely painless.” He nodded in the direction of Len Myers. “The Boss and I have these implants, and so does the Captain and several of the other commanders. The procedure is very safe, and as I mentioned, we will make it painless, but it does require you to be awake and alert.”
Harry’s face blanched at the thought. He noticed that Ferghal was sweating, and his leg was twitching nervously under the table. The whole procedure sounded very alarming. He’d seen men suffer dreadfully after their heads had been opened, and some men had been paralysed or killed instantly through damage to their necks. Yet these people seemed to consider it no great thing.
Remember his leadership position as an officer, Harry asked what he knew was in Ferghal’s mind too. “What precisely will this do for us, sir? Is it necessary? I can assure you that my men and I will apply ourselves fully to our tasks and any skills we need to learn with no slack on our parts.”
“We have no doubt of that, Harry,” replied Rhys Williams. “You have both shown yourselves to be able and willing learners, but much has changed since 1804. This implant will give you access to all the machinery that runs the ship. You will be able to learn everything you need to know as and when you need it. As soon as you think it, you will understand it.”
Len interjected. “That is correct, and it has another advantage. You can learn information while you sleep, which allows you to expand your knowledge base into non-essential and non-technical areas as well, if that interests you.” Watching the expressions of fear and doubt chase themselves across both youths’ faces, Len considered how best to reassure the boys. “Dr Bischof from the science team will help you cope with the burden of learning such a vast amount of knowledge in such a short time.”
Harry was not convinced, and by Ferghal’s expression, he knew that his best friend from childhood was remembering ghost stories about banshees and other supernatural beings. He didn’t want to be turned into some strange machine-like creature. “Meaning no disrespect, sirs,” Harry said, “but I have seen our former surgeon, Mr Watson, attempt to repair a man’s head, and it did not go well for the patient or the surgeon. I have some reluctance to having my head opened up.”
“That is understandable, Harry. We have another method that might be more suitable to you. It involves placing a cap on your head. We have the kit here, so perhaps if Dr Williams and Commander Blakewell can fit it to you, we will see what we can achieve with it.” Len glanced at the others, and the lieutenant commander nodded in agreement.
Ferghal let out an audible sigh of relief, and Harry remained composed, but he was sceptical. I wonder why they didn’t suggest this in the first place? Having your head opened and a bit of machinery placed inside it—utter nonsense! What would my father say about all this?
“TRY IT AGAIN, PLEASE, HARRY.” Tom Blakewell frowned, his attention on the display in front of him. “I think I’ve got the sensors lined up on the neural paths we need now. You chaps are a little different to the way us modern types function, it seems.”
Harry was not enjoying this at all. He felt like one of Rev. Bentley’s butterflies pinned to a display. The helmet was uncomfortable, as it held a mass of tiny sensors against his scalp. The purpose, he’d been told, was to link the computer with key areas in his brain. He concentrated on the thought routine they had given him, and suddenly he could hear the computer in his mind. He concentrated on a question: What is Newton’s third law of motion?
The answer sprang into his mind as if from memory, which he realised was entirely possible, since he’d learned that fact and more in his lessons with the Reverend on the Spartan. He tried again, seeking an explanation from his studies of the previous evening. Once again, it was as if he remembered the answer, but now he encountered a new problem: the answer was incomplete.
Silke Grüneland nodded. “Try asking the computer about relativity and tachyons.”
Harry tried it. The maths filled his head, and he could see the logic of normal physics and the rules that the universe obeyed concerning the relationships between mass, gravity, matter and the physical universe. His love of mathematics enticed him to demand more information, and he revelled in it, but quickly became aware of a sort of stutter in the flow. While it seemed the information flowing into and through his mind had always been there, the stutter meant it was incomplete.
Ferghal sat transfixed as he too experienced the opening of an exciting new realm of knowledge. Being more of a practical mind, he explored some of the mechanical devices that had taken his interest. Like Harry, he found he could understand all manner of things from the theory of their operation through to their construction—but, like his friend, there were missing pieces to his new knowledge.
“It is like attempting to read an engrossing book from which key pages have been torn,” Harry told the team, and Ferghal agreed.
Glancing at the others, Tom Blakewell said, “I was afraid that would be the case. Even when it’s working perfectly, this method relies on the electrodes remaining fixed in exactly the right positions, which is very difficult to achieve since the scalp secretes a very thin layer of oil.” He paused then added, “We can carry on like this and try to improve it, or we can go for the implant solution.”
Addressing the boys, Len said, “We know that you can master the access to the computer—you’ve just proved it. The problem is this cap method isn’t going to work as well as we need it to because these caps have to be set up every time you need to be connected to a machine. That takes time, as you’ve seen, and you can’t use the cap if you are asleep. So, the choice is yours—struggle on with this method, or allow us to insert the implants s
o that you can access the information whenever you need to.”
Harry looked at Ferghal and raised one eyebrow. Ferghal nodded his reluctant assent.
“Very well,” Harry said. “I will do this—but I must ask that you allow Ferghal to see what is involved, and if anything happens to me as a result, I ask that he and Danny be spared the risk.”
The lieutenant commander gave Harry an appraising look. “You have my word as a gentleman. There is no need to worry, Harry. The routine is relatively simple—much easier than trying to fit those caps to your heads properly.” He looked at Len and said, “I suggest we use the emergency medical station right aft, and I’ll get Fritz Dieffenbach to put a block on access to the records from that station for the duration of this procedure.”
“Good thinking,” replied Len, knowing that Blakewell was concerned about the presence of a spy on board the Vanguard, which the Captain had alerted them to.
“When do you want to do this?” asked Silke Grüneland.
“Ideally I want to start immediately,” Blakewell said. “Can we do it?” He asked this of Harry as much as Len.
“I’ll clear it with the Owner if Harry is up for it,” replied Len. “I’ll make sure you have the right people around you. Give me half an hour to get everyone in place without arousing suspicion.” He stopped short when he saw Blakewell’s glare. Len never had been one for putting a guard on his words, and too often, he said whatever he was thinking, protocol be damned. Acting as if nothing had slipped out, Len said to Harry, “I can promise you the procedure is nothing like the one you witnessed in eighteen whenever.”
Harry nodded, repressing a smile. He enjoyed Len’s acerbic wit. “If it will help us to catch up with everything and fit in better, I see no alternative, sir.” The trial with the caps had given him a glimpse of the vast amount of knowledge he could have, and encouraged him to accept the alternative. Pausing, Harry added, “But I think I should first ensure it is safe and that it works. Then if Ferghal wishes to try it, he should be allowed to make his own decision once he has seen how it affects me.”
Rhys Williams interjected. “What’s this about suspicions?”
“Ah, sorry,” exclaimed Len looking a little uncomfortable. “We’ve discovered who sent the boys’ data to the Johnstone people, and we’d like to keep that under wraps in case we can use the same channel to our advantage later.”
Harry and Ferghal listened to this exchange with befuddled expressions, and Len realised that the topic of conversation needed to be explained to the pair.
“Harry, Ferghal, your arrival on board has caused quite a stir in scientific circles, some of them not quite ethical. You are considered prime specimens by certain parties. It’s known they have people on all the ships in the Fleet, but we underestimated their ability to send messages out when we acquired you.” Hesitating, he watched their expressions. Putting it simply, he said, “Let’s just say that certain people will stop at nothing to get their hands on you and Danny, and not for good purposes as we are doing with the implant, which is to help you be the best you can be in your positions here on the Vanguard.”
“Why should they wish to seize us?” Harry asked, trying to understand this. “Are we considered dangerous to them?”
“Not dangerous—valuable.” Len glanced at the others. “They are willing to pay a lot of money to get you under their control so they can carry out tests and experiments on you for their own purposes. We’ve identified the mole and taken steps to limit the risk. You don’t need to know the details at this time. You are safe as long as you remain with this ship and under the care of Captain Heron and Executive Commander Grenville.”
Tom Blakewell nodded. “Once the computer link is installed, we will be able to find you no matter where you are, provided you are near a computer network, should they manage to seize you.”
Shaking his head, Harry said, “I still do not understand why anyone would wish to seize us, or why we should be considered valuable to such people. Why would they wish to test us or experiment on us?”
“It is difficult to explain, Harry, but perhaps we should try.” Dr Maartens glanced at the others. “You have heard us speak of something called DNA.” Harry nodded. Having what his father called an incorrigible thirst for knowledge, he’d asked and learned about DNA and a whole lot more almost as soon as he’d heard the term.
Len picked up the thread from Dr Maartens. “Your DNA is unique. It is undamaged by the chemicals, hormones and medicines that the human race exposed itself to in the industrialised age you never saw. Many think that by extracting undamaged segments of your genetic code they might be able to repair or reconstruct the damage in others. The person who controls access to the code and the data could make a fortune from it.”
Len nodded. “You have antibodies for diseases we have no defence against, and that alone is worth a lot to the people who are trying to get control of you.” He laughed. “But I think there is no chance of that happening now that our Captain has guardianship. Plus, his brother-in-law is a top legal expert—and very well connected.”
Silke Grüneland watched Harry’s face and saw the worry on it. She intervened. “Harry, you should not worry. My colleagues and I will do everything we can to help you and Ferghal gain all the knowledge you need, and we are already working to reduce the threat of this other nefarious party.” Turning to Len, she said, “I think I have the answer to your problem for the spy. Let Frederik’s team request some assistance. He and Thomas Scheffer have several fairly complex and involved procedures they will need a medical technician to help them complete, nicht wahr, Frederik?”
“Ja!” exclaimed Dr Maartens, his face breaking into a wide grin as he guessed her intent. “Give Thomas and me ten minutes and we will have a series of medical trials for them which will be very time consuming and pointless, but completely convincing. Let us see what your spy does with the information after that.” He gave a bark of laughter.
SEATED IN A STRANGE BACK-TO-FRONT CHAIR in a small operating theatre, his chin resting on a padded support and his head secured in a clamp, Harry waited. Thomas Blakewell prepared his patient and the entry point on Harry’s neck with care. Harry and Ferghal watched in fascination as several devices scanned Harry’s brain activity and displayed images while the lieutenant commander worked.
“Almost ready now, Harry. The actual procedure doesn’t take very long at all. Once we go in, I will work quickly to place the implant so that it connects with the neural pathways we need.”
“How will you know them?” Curiosity overcame his nervousness.
“Glad you asked that. See the monitor to your left? It shows which parts of your brain are active when I talk to you. This is one reason I need you to be awake. I have to be able to see the response to certain stimuli. Want to see what I’m going to install?”
Focussed on the monitor, Harry almost didn’t reply. His attempt to nod was prevented by the device holding his head in place, so he said through clinched teeth, “Indeed, I would.”
“Okay. Look at the screen directly in front of you. The actual implant is only just visible to the eye, so I’ve put it under the microscope. That’s a magnification of two hundred times. It’s encased in a super alloy, which is sterile and neutral to your body’s defences. It draws electrical power from your nervous system so there’s no need for any form of battery either.”
Harry stared at the thing on the monitor. “It resembles a Chironex Fleckerii—a member of the Cubazoa family. Our parson, Mr Bentley, was most interested in them, and several of our people were stung in encounters with them in our voyage through the waters of New South Wales.”
“Well, this one won’t sting you or attempt to kill you,” said the surgeon as he removed the viewer. “It will sit within the base of your skull and allow you direct access to all the information you need.”
Senior MedTech Dick Hopkins kept Ferghal amused as he ran through the routine checks of all the equipment to be use
d on Harry. “Here we go then. You know what they say—the officers need these ’cause they haven’t got the knowledge the Rates have about how things really work. Techies don’t need ’em. Course, now you’re getting one they’ll have to make you an officer.”
Ferghal chuckled. “Me? An officer? Not likely—leastways, not unless they can change my head as well.”
Next to Harry, Surgeon Lieutenant Commander Bridget Jepson—BJ to her friends—set to work administering minute amounts of anaesthetic to the tissue at the desired entry site. To Harry, she said, “This will numb the spot on the back of your neck so that you don’t feel any discomfort when Tom inserts the beastie, kind of like when your foot goes to sleep, and you can’t feel anything if someone touches it.” When Harry nodded and smiled his understanding, BJ chuckled and added, “Can’t have you jump at the wrong moment and mess up his work.”
“Ready?” asked the surgeon, and received an affirmative response from Bridget. “Okay, Harry, I’m going to insert this needle. I’d like you to watch the screen and tell me if you can feel anything.” The surgeon slipped the needle beneath the skin as he spoke and tracked its passage with the scanners.
Harry felt nothing, which surprised him. Soon he was absorbed in watching the monitor, astonished by the images relayed by a tiny imaging tool in the needle. Next to him, BJ explained what he was seeing, and her commentary kept both Harry and Ferghal engrossed.
As each tiny interface was attached to a different section of Harry’s ganglia, he was asked to perform some mental task, each one different, each one simple in itself, yet crucial to identifying the areas of his brain the device needed to work through.
“Solve the equation on the screen, please, Harry. I need to see where the link connection will be effective. Don’t say anything. Just do it in your head, please.”
Harry Heron: Into the Unknown Page 15
