Harry Heron: Into the Unknown

by Patrick G Cox

  Staring at the code stream, Fritz frowned. “It isn’t a program—it looks like navigation calculations.” He stabbed a finger at the pattern. “That is image code, and that looks like audio.”

  “I was wondering as much.” The Captain leaned back. “I’ve managed to get some of the images displayed.” He entered a command. “There are images of Pangaea,” he said, “and images of these ships. They’re not ours, but they are human. I suspect I’m being told these are the enemy, but I need confirmation before I do anything with that information.” He entered another command. “Then there’s this. Over time, an image of our ship appears in the same frame with one of the phantom ships, and then the phantom fades and attacks us.”

  Fritz watched the image for several seconds, deep in thought. “Ich meine...I think those ships must be capable of employing some stealth device.”

  “My thoughts exactly. I think this is a warning that we could be heading into a trap. Organise the briefing room as a laboratory where you can work on it. I’ll get the team together. Have it ready in an hour, Fritz.”

  “I CALLED YOU ALL TOGETHER FOR TWO REASONS.” The Captain waited until he had everyone’s attention. “I’ve had a rather odd visitor from the phantom ship that’s been tailing us. The visitor was able to manifest itself as a person, and my impression was that it drew from my own memory. The visitor called itself Siddhiche, which I find interesting, as that is an old Gaelic term for a phantom, which as you know is exactly what we’ve been calling their ships. As far as Fritz and I are able to work out, they are a lifeform that exists as some sort of energy field.”

  Exclamations of surprise greeted his statement.

  “I’m not sure how many we have aboard—yes, this is a matter of concern—but what I do know is that they are able to interface directly with the AI, which knows they’re here, and it apparently knows where they’re hiding. Several of their ships are tailing us, and from what we’ve been able to determine from observation, they appear to be organic and protected by some sort of force field. They are capable of hyper transit and are incredibly manoeuvrable, but how they are powered and what propulsion system they use remains unknown. As to how the visitors came aboard, our best guess is through our hypercoms.”

  He paused to let the group respond to this information. “They have decided to be friendly, and have planted several files for us to decipher. This is what I want to share with you now. Fritz and I have gone over it, and I want to hear what you think.”

  After he had presented all of the images and information to his commanders, the Captain asked, “Well, team, what do you make of it?”

  Valerie Petrocova assumed the role of spokesperson. “It seems that some sort of ambush is being prepared, or a force will attempt to intercept us at Pangaea—and quite a powerful one if these images are representative. Working under the command of that force is a reptilian race of some sort, a saurian race. These saurians are not the enemy. They aren’t native to Pangaea, but they are on that planet in some capacity, so we must assume they have been enslaved. According to Dr Williams, the key to success in this mission lies in communicating with these saurians—but that isn’t a straightforward process and will require some effort.”

  “Good. Well done, all of you.” Captain Heron glanced round the table. “Priority must be given to analysing what threat these potential enemy ships pose. We will have to leave the language and communications to your team, Paul. We’ll need it at some point, but not until we have dealt with these mystery ships and any ground forces we encounter.”

  Paul Williams nodded. “We’ll get to work on it.”

  “Very well, Paul.” Hesitating, the Captain considered his words carefully. “I should warn you that I think these Siddhiche—the entities we’ve been calling phantom ships—have the ability to monitor our systems. They may attempt to assist us by providing new data or changing what we already have in our database. Monitor and report any such interventions immediately to Fritz.” Pausing as the others exclaimed, he concluded, “Val, Nick, Ben, your immediate task is to learn as much as you can of the enemy ships mentioned in the Siddhiche message. Fritz, I need you to maintain your traces on all systems. Paul, I need hardly add that anything your people can do to unlock the language will be very useful.”

  “I’m concerned about one aspect,” interjected Nick. “If I understood correctly, these phantom ships seem to be a previously unknown class of starship manned by our own people. And they seem to be equipped with some jamming device that can block our scanners. If they can do that, they might have the ability to block our targeting system as well.”

  “Good point,” said Val, her face grim. “Some of my weapons systems can be manually targeted, but the new primary weapon, the heavy emplacements and the missile arrays rely on our main targeting system. If we can’t use that, we have a major problem.”

  “Likewise, my strike craft need to be able to lock onto the target,” said Nick looking thoughtful. “It is possible to use visual targeting, but that means getting up close and much too personal—well within range of their short range equipment. If they can lock onto us while we can’t return the favour, we’ll have trouble getting close enough.”

  “Exactly right, Nick. This is not an acceptable situation.” James Heron swept the table with his eyes. Privately he was concerned that these mysterious Siddhiche were intervening. Could they also be helping the Fleet’s opponents? He’d have to keep that possibility in mind. Then there was the latest intelligence from Fleet HQ revealing that their most sensitive information—weapons, communications and even the specifications for their systems—had been compromised by the Consortium through their control of a plethora of private contractors.

  Keeping his voice level, the Captain said, “I’ve provided Richard Grenville with the latest intel from HQ. We have a serious problem if these phantom ships are from the Consortium. It seems that they have used many of our contractor suppliers, developers and construction firms to gain access to our specifications for everything from weapons to ships. One of those items in development was a form of screen that hid ships from a scanner. Here’s the irony. The project was cut by the bureaucrats on the advice of the developer around a year ago, supposedly because it didn’t work. Not surprisingly, the developer was a puppet company of the Consortium.”

  An angry buzz ran round the table. The Captain waited for it to subside before he closed the meeting.

  “Okay—Val, Nick, I’m counting on you to tackle this problem.”

  THE TRANSMISSION OF THE IMAGES had a second and unexpected consequence. The alarm signalling a problem in the security of the AI processing unit located near the gunroom brought Commander Dieffenbach and his team to the unit immediately.

  “The dataflow is incredible.” The lieutenant checked his readout. “It’s going to terminal SPQR18992005NI—that’s Midshipman Heron....”

  Fritz moved fast. He didn’t wait for a reply to his signal, but went straight into Harry’s cabin. He froze as he saw Harry lying absolutely still on his bunk, his eyes open and staring at the deckhead. Keying his link, Fritz barked, “Captain, we have a problem. Midshipman Heron’s neural link is malfunctioning.”

  “Send for Len immediately. I’m on my way.”

  The Captain arrived simultaneously with Len, who ignored all protocol and got straight to work.

  Checking his instrument, the surgeon frowned. “The link is fine. No malfunction, but something is using it to search his memory and, I think, communicate with him. Strange. Very strange.” He stood up. “He’ll have a hell of a headache when he wakes up.”

  Oblivious of his visitors, Harry dreamed. The Reverend Mr Bentley spoke to him of the opportunities to learn. Captain Blackwood and his father spoke of being true to himself and taking care of those entrusted to his command, and Captain Heron appeared, reassuring him that he would have all the support he needed.

  Then he slept.

  Satisfied, Len shooed everyone out of the
cabin. “He’ll be alright now. I don’t know what went on there, sir. Any ideas, Fritz?”

  Frowning, Fritz consulted his interface. “I think, mein Kapitan, that our friend the phantom is responsible. This was not initiated by the boy, and it did not originate from any of the ship’s interfaces.”

  “I HEAR YOU’VE GOT A SOLUTION TO THE TARGETING.” Captain Heron walked to the front of the strike craft where several men, including Ferghal, were fitting a strange device to the fighter. Commander Petrocova joined him with Harry, who was shadowing her for the watch.

  “The answer to the targeting was right in front of us all the time.” Nick grinned as he climbed out of the cockpit. “Ancient technology, but it works. If you can see it, you can line this up on it, and now we’ve got it linked to the weapons system. They point at whatever this lines up on.”

  “Looks pretty crude. Where did you get it?”

  Nick nodded toward Harry. “Midshipman Heron gave me the idea, sir.” Producing a copy of Harry’s original sketch of the Royal Marine sharp shooter’s sighting device, he explained, “When I saw this, I remembered something I’d seen at College, and looked it up. TechRate O’Connor produced a model from the drawings I got from the archives, and we’ve been testing and refining it. It’s taken some fiddling, but we found a way to mount it so the pilot can link it into the targeting system.”

  Examining the device, Val Petrocova frowned. “Fine for your use, but my heavy weapons need a bit more than this.” She smiled briefly. “I’ve run a few tests and found that we can see something using a screening system as long as we only use the passive receivers. The trouble is I still can’t target it because as soon as the targeting system attempts a contact, it is diffused and jammed.”

  “I see.” The Captain studied the device. “A pity there isn’t a way to mount these to the main weapons so they can be directed.”

  Val Petrocova, now in the cockpit, stuck her head out. “There is! Sorry, sir. Of course there is. I should have seen it immediately. Damn, damn, damn.” She glowered at Nick when he burst out laughing. “Oh, very amusing for you, I’m sure.” Turning to the Captain, she said, “All we have to do is put an image of this target ring on the passive scanner screens and link the targeting program to that.” She pointed to the multiple rings and crosswire device on the control console. “If the operator uses the passive scanner and adjusts the ring sight to his designated target, the main weapons will track it and be usable. I’ll have to test it, of course, but I’m sure it will work.”

  “Good thinking.” Captain Heron smiled. Glancing at Harry and then Ferghal, he said, “Well done, both of you.” Turning to Val and Nick, he asked, “How long before you can have all our units fitted with these?”

  “Already on it, sir,” said Nick. “Now we have the bugs sorted, we’ll have them all equipped by the end of next week.”

  Commander Petrocova signalled Harry. “Right, Mr Heron. We’ve got work to do.” She grinned. “Or you have. I want a really accurate reproduction of that ring in an hour. Can do?”

  Harry nodded. “Easily, ma’am.”

  “Then let’s go. With your permission, sir.”

  Captain Heron smiled. “Of course, Commander.”

  LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, Harry presented his carefully drawn and calculated ring sight plan. “Will this do, ma’am?”

  “Perfect, Harry.” The commander studied the drawing. “Good, you’ve included a Vernier scale. Great.” She activated her link. “I’ve got the detail, Fritz. Can one of your boffins set it up in the system for me?”

  “I’ll send him immediately.”

  “We’re ready.” Closing the link, she turned to Harry. “Now I want you to work with the AI trainer to get this set up.” She studied him. “I want it on the passive scanner display, so the scale is important. Think you can explain it to the programmer?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Harry paused. “Will you require it to track more than one target? I don’t think it will work for that.”

  “One step at a time. If we can set this up on the passives first, we’ll work on getting it to function. If it works, we’ll look at increasing the targeting capability.”

  HAVING DIFFICULTY HIDING HIS EXCITEMENT, Harry perched on the edge of his seat next to the navigation commander’s station. Now, at last, he was about to see the stars themselves.

  “We’ll drop out on the outer edge of the system then work our way in, five micro-transits altogether. Plot, bring up the charts for the dropout zone, please. Helm, stand by. Link helms, all ships.”

  Fascinated, Harry watched the activity, struck by how different it was from bringing a ship to port.

  The ships dropped out of hyperspace on the outer rim of the system without any interference and approached the planet Pangaea via a series of short transits.

  “Dropout is always a bit risky when you don’t use a transit gate,” Commander Ben Curran told Harry, who was currently job shadowing him. “It’s always possible you can find something uncharted in the way.”

  “What would happen if we did collide with something, sir?”

  “What we call mutually assured destruction, I’m afraid.” The commander checked his screens and position data. “All ships in company?”

  “All ships in company, sir.”

  “Very well. Enter the coordinates for the next transit. Link helms.” He watched the activity. “We’re going in on a long curve.” His finger traced the path across the system chart display. “The Owner hopes that will prevent any of the Consortium’s fleet getting a good estimate of our strength and guessing where we’re going to drop out next.” Touching his link, he said, “Ready to transit, sir.”

  “Wait for my order, pilot. I want a system-wide scan before we move. All ships to remain on defence stations.”

  Apart from the obvious tension in the Command Centre as the ship passed through the singularity, Harry felt nothing, but the three-dimensional display was suddenly filled with images of planets on near trajectories and two ships in orbit around one of the planets. Having no active role, he was able to simply watch and listen to the flow of commands, responses and actions as the huge ship sped toward its destination. It was exciting, interesting and amazingly satisfying to be a part of the team controlling the ship in this crucial manoeuvre. How different it all was to the activity required to bring a seventy-four to anchor, but the precision was just as critical.

  “System-wide scan in operation. No hostile contacts detected. Two type three-four-seven freight lifters in orbit at fourth planet. Power plant on both in standby mode.”

  “Good,” replied the Captain through his link. To Commander Petrocova, he ordered, “Take another look. Kill the active scanners and use passive only. Link to our consorts and ensure they do the same.”

  “Done, sir. There’s a small echo coming from the asteroid belt between the sixth and seventh planets. Appears to be an unmanned surveillance station, sir. Not one of ours, and not registered on any Fleet or Confederate charts.”

  “I had a feeling something would be watching. Is it sending any signals?”

  “Yes, sir, three short hyperspace transmitter extra high frequency band bursts registered from that location as soon as we used the wide scan.”

  “So somebody knows we’re here. The question is who—and who do they have as a doorkeeper?”

  Chapter 18

  In His Son’s Footsteps

  MAJOR JAMES HERON STEPPED FROM THE MAIL COACH and drew his greatcoat close to shield him from the drizzle. Pausing a moment to orient himself, he collected his portmanteau from the coachman. “Can you direct me to the Star and Garter?”

  With a glance at the Major, the man grinned. “First time in Pompey, sir?” He ran an appraising eye over the talisman in the good but unfashionable coat. “Joinin’ a ship, Capting?” He straightened. “T’ Garter be that way, sir. In t’ Broad Street, near t’ dockyard gate. Yer kin get a boat from t’ steps.”

  “Tha
nkee.” The Major passed the man a sixpence. “I’m to meet someone.” He smiled. “Hopefully he’ll have a boat at his disposal should we need one.”

  “Best o’ luck, Capting.”

  The Major strode in the direction given. The streets were busy, thronged with men evidently from the ships and the dockyard itself. A veritable forest of masts rose above the roofs of the buildings on the harbour side of the street, the enclosing wall of the dockyard itself cutting off the view of the ships. The Star and Garter was the closest inn to the dockyard, and if the number of naval officers entering and leaving was any indication, it was a popular gathering spot.

  Stepping through the doorway, the Major removed his hat and unbuttoned his coat, his eyes seeking the publican.

  “Kin oi help, sor?”

  “I’m expecting to meet a Captain Blackwood. Is he known to you?”

  The man nodded. “Aye, sir. T’ Captain’s in t’ back parlour. This way, sor.”

  Following the publican to the rear, the Major caught glimpses of the gold laced uniform coats of several captains and at least one admiral sporting the sash and star of the Order of the Bath. In the rear parlour, several captains sat or stood near the fire.

  “Somethin’ t’ drink, sor?”

  Before the Major could answer, Captain Blackwood intervened. “Welcome, Major. I commend the rum punch at this hour and in this weather.” He smiled. “Especially after the journey from London.” Nodding to the publican, he ordered, “Two...I thank you.”

  “Good of you to receive me, Captain. I appreciate your taking time to do so.”

  “Nonsense. Your boy Harry was one of the best young gentlemen I’ve had on any ship.” He waved the Major to a seat. “You’ve a room arranged for the night? If not we must arrange it. How are things in Ireland at present?” He accepted the mug of punch and continued. “One hears rumours, of course, but I’ve not been home since ’99, and there is little hope I shall have leave to do so soon.”