Harry Heron: Into the Unknown

by Patrick G Cox

  TERRIEN HURKER, CHAIRMAN OF THE VILLAGE COUNCIL appointed by the Consortium, opened the door of his house, angry at being disturbed from his comfortable bed. The curses died on his lips when Ferghal’s cutlass point met his Adam’s apple.

  His eyes hard, Ferghal forced the man backward into the room, Hans Dinsen slipping in behind him to search for any weapons. A gasp made him swing round, his plasma projector pointing toward the sound, even as the council leader said in a strangled voice, “Quiet, Melia—don’t....”

  He shut his eyes as Ferghal hissed, “If she makes a sound, you’re dead, mister.”

  “Hush, Melia—don’t make a fuss,” he pleaded, relief flooding him as he heard her stifle a scream, unable to see that Hans had stepped near her holding a weapon and signalling her to remain still.

  The pair herded Hurker and his wife to a closet where Ferghal expertly tied them with strips of cloth torn from the robes hanging there. Then, having gagged them, he thrust them into the closet and shut the door.

  “Right, Ferghal, I have their comlinks and another personal plasma projector. Do you want it?”

  Hurker felt cold fear clutch his heart as the sword wielder said almost contemptuously, “No thank ye, Mr Dinsen, sir. My cutlass makes less fuss and is more effective up close.”

  There was a sound of footfalls, and their prisoners heard the first voice say, “I’ll signal Mr Trelawney then.”

  THEIR ACTIONS FOLLOWED A SIMILAR PATTERN in the next five houses, with the added complication of children in the first three. Wisely, the sub-lieutenant left it to Danny to deal with them, who made them promise to remain in their rooms to “keep yer safe like.” In the last, it almost went badly. A woman opened the door, and Ferghal thrust Paddy aside just in time to avoid the plasma stream from the projector wielded by a man who stood behind her.

  “Beware, sir,” Ferghal snapped, thrusting Paddy against the woman while hurtling past her. The man stepped back, the fast-moving Ferghal difficult to track.

  With an animal snarl, the cutlass swept in a vicious arc, the plasma fire from Paddy’s weapon and the panicked shot taken by the defender highlighting the blade.

  A scream broke from the man’s lips as the cutlass severed his arm just above the elbow. He made to snatch up the fallen projector with his remaining hand, screaming curses. Ferghal didn’t hesitate. All the pent-up anger boiled to the surface. This man was an enemy, and he’d tried to kill them. The cutlass flashed again, this time connecting with the exposed flesh of the man’s thigh, slicing deep. He drew back, preparing for the killing thrust as the man collapsed and the woman’s screams shattered the night.

  Harry grabbed Ferghal’s arm. “Stay, Ferghal! Stay. He’s done.” Kicking the fallen projector aside, he sheathed his dirk and dropped to his knees. “Easy, man. If we bind the leg, we may save it. Your arm is beyond help.” Ripping a length of cloth from a cover on a nearby table, Harry wrapped it round the stump and twisted it tight. “Danny, hold this firm.” Opening the first aid pack Hans thrust at him, he said, “Hans, press the edges of the wound together firmly. That will stop the bleeding.”

  Ferghal’s wild Irish temper subsided as quickly as it had flared. Wiping his blade clean on the remains of the cloth Harry had torn, he addressed the sub-lieutenant. “Shall I search t’ house, sir?”

  Shaking his head to dislodge the memory of the savagery he’d just witnessed, Trelawney swallowed. The stench of blood made him want to retch. “No. I mean, yes. Yes, check the house.” He turned to the woman. “Your man will need proper medical treatment. He should not have tried to fight....”

  Nearly hysterical, the woman sobbed. “Murderers! He was only defending us. This is our home—what do you want from us? You won’t get away with it! The Civic Guard will find you and make you pay for it.”

  “Maybe.” Trelawney struggled to control his nausea, the smell of blood overpowering his senses. The sound of heavy feet running past the house made him turn to find Paddy holding a group of men at bay with his combat projector.

  Ferghal joined the sub-lieutenant facing the newcomers while Harry worked to control the blood loss and secure the wounds. Finally satisfied, he nodded to Hans. “That will do for now. At least the bleeding is stopped.”

  Unsteadily, Hans stood, and to Ferghal he said, “I am glad you are my friend and not my enemy. I think this fellow will live, but he’ll be wingless, and his leg will not be much use either. You’re right—that sword is bloody lethal up close.”

  Harry remarked as he bound the man’s stump, “I think Master’s Mate Treliving taught Ferghal the cutlass drill well.”

  “Aye, Master Harry, that he did.” A flicker of a smile crossed Ferghal’s face as he heard this.

  THE WOMAN’S EYES WERE WIDE WITH FEAR as she watched the group occupying her home. She realised for the first time that one was a child. Her own child suddenly filled her thoughts, and she called frantically, scrambling to her feet, “Illia! My child! What have you monsters done with my child?”

  “Nothing madam,” replied Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney, sharply. “Calm down, please. We’ll find him. Check the rooms again, Mr Dinsen, the kid may be hiding. Danny, you go with him.”

  Moments later a wail of fright told them the child had been found, and Paddy emerged with a struggling boy in his arms, who he thrust toward the woman. Danny’s impish grin told the tale of one small boy having known where another would be hiding.

  “Safe and sound,” Hans announced. “We don’t fight kids, ma’am, unlike your friends up the hill.”

  “Lieutenant,” Paddy called from the door. “The villagers have rounded up the people we secured in the other houses, and they want to talk to you.”

  The villagers’ leader, Marcus Grover, smiled as he advanced toward Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney. “We wanted to show our appreciation for whatever you’ve done to the research station. They seem to have gone completely mad up there, and the snakeheads are having fun with anyone they can find. What do you want us to do for you?” He jerked a thumb toward the sullen prisoners. “We’ll deal with this lot. We’ve a number of scores to settle with them one way or another.”

  “Well, I can’t let you dish out vigilante justice, I’m afraid,” said Trelawney. “If they are guilty of any crimes, then they must face trial in a duly constituted court of law. And as the only legitimate authority around here since the declaration of martial law in Pangaea City a couple of weeks ago, I must insist that you hold these prisoners and keep them in good health until a full investigation of all complaints can be held and a court assembled to try anyone charged.”

  “You’ve got a nerve!” bellowed one of the men at the back of the group. “Who’ll stop us, you and these kids?”

  “I’m afraid so. Ferghal, show them your cutlass. Harry, let them see what Ferghal did to the last man that attacked him.”

  There was a long moment of silence as the group gazed in fascinated horror at the bandaged stump and the mutilated thigh of the man lying on the floor in a congealing pool of blood. Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney reflected on how much cleaner a kill was from a plasma projector. The cauterising effect meant you didn’t see the blood or smell it. The villagers stared at Ferghal and the weapon he held. His stony expression told them he knew how to use it, and would do so without hesitation. They looked again at the young sub-lieutenant and realised that he meant exactly what he said.

  The leader surrendered. “Okay, we’ll play it your way. What do you want us to do?”

  “We need a communications station and transport back to the capital,” said Trelawney, not skipping a beat.

  “Can’t help you with either of those,” growled Grover. “Our governors have confiscated all power craft and communications links—the only transmitter station was up there.” He indicated the mountain. “And I doubt it is still working, even if you can persuade them to let you use it. I don’t know what you guys did, but the place looks like it’s been attacked by a full assault team—and that’
s only the perimeter and surface level. As for transport, they used submersibles to shuttle to and from the facility.”

  “Submersibles? Why would they use those?”

  “They didn’t want anyone seeing who or what they brought here,” one of the men interjected. “A lot of people have disappeared, supposedly abducted by the snakeheads, but the snakies are just slaves of the Consortium.”

  “How far are we from Pangaea City?” Trelawney asked.

  “We’re only a day from the mainland by wave-piercer—if you can get past the pleurodons in our ocean.” The man gave a short laugh. “Another reason the Consortium use submersibles. At least with our wave-piercers we could move fast enough to outrun them, but now? Well, we have some boats, but nothing powered.”

  “We’ll take a look in the morning,” said Trelawney. Events had taken their toll on him physically, and he was still shaken by the fury and sheer violence of Ferghal’s attack on the man who’d resisted. “Right now we need food and sleep.”

  As he arranged a rest rota and sentry duties, Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney had the uneasy feeling that he was being watched. He was alert and observant, and he could see nothing, but the feeling persisted. He posted his sentries with care then took the first watch himself, allowing the younger men to sleep after a light meal the villagers prepared then shared with them. He was slightly concerned about this, and would have preferred to have one of his own party do the cooking, but was reassured of no poisoning attempt when the villagers joined in the meal without hesitation.

  To his relief, dawn eventually found them all rested and still at liberty. It also showed a plume of hazy smoke issuing from several points on the mountain and brought the news that the guards at the holding enclosure for the saurians had apparently been overwhelmed. The reptilian slaves the locals called snakeheads were gone.

  “Bloody spooky, they are,” Marcus Grover commented. “They can be right next to you, but you can’t see them without special goggles. Some trick they have with their scales.” He indicated Harry. “That youngster’s looking a lot healthier than he did last night. He was a mess when you caught me—now he looks like nothing happened.”

  Trelawney followed Grover’s eyes. Sure enough, Harry was fully recovered—miraculously so. The wounds he’d suffered in the laboratory were just faint marks on his skin. He glanced at Ferghal and noted that his injuries had also healed. “Damn, I hadn’t noticed. I’ll have to find out about that.” Indicating the house in which the fight had taken place, he asked, “How is the fellow who took a shot at us?”

  Grover shook his head. “In a bad way. We’ve no medics, and only basic medical supplies.” Looking across at Ferghal, laughing and teasing Danny, he added, “You’d never think he was the same fellow that put the fear of God into Hurker and his friends.” He shook his head. “As for the way he went for Glinka...there’s a few here will walk carefully around him.”

  Chapter 28

  Battle Ready

  THE SMALL BAY AND ITS JETTY was some distance from the town and surrounded by a huddle of sheds and working areas. Several craft were docked there, but only one in a condition to remain afloat. The others had been deliberately damaged to prevent their use. Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney looked at the large boat moored alongside the jetty. It lacked any sort of engine, and it was evidently designed to carry containers of equipment, but it would have to do.

  Following Trelawney’s eyes and reading his scepticism, Marcus Grover said, “First thing the Cons people did when they arrived was to impound all our skimmers. Then they disabled all the other power craft. All they left was this floating cargo transfer barge. She was originally powered to work between here and the capital—but the pleurodons attack anything they think is slow enough for them to catch. So she was rejigged to be a tender for the big wave-piercing twin-hull container carriers we had access to. But when the Cons arrived, they dismantled the barge’s power plant.”

  “So the Johnstone people transported supplies from the mainland using submersibles, I’m assuming.”

  Grover nodded, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Everything they wanted came in. What we needed took second place, and they charged an arm and a leg for it.” He grimaced. “Mostly we just made do and kept our heads down.”

  “Thanks, Mr Grover.” Trelawney sighed as he turned away from the jetty. There didn’t seem to be any practical way to get his people back to Pangaea City or to find out what was really happening there. “I can’t see how we could use what they’ve left you, and I doubt we could get our hands on the submersibles—we don’t even know where they are.”

  “I agree, Lieutenant, but you did ask to see what ships or boats we had.”

  “Well, I hoped there would be something we could use.” He paused at the sight of Harry gesturing and explaining something to Paddy and Hans. Half-jokingly, he asked, “Well, Mr Heron? Have you some means to move this boat without an engine?”

  Harry had to suppress his surprise. Unlike his twenty-third century companions, who were more used to the high-speed hulls of power craft, his eye had been drawn to this vessel. Even though she had obviously been built to carry containers from the quay to larger vessels lying in deeper water, someone had given her seamanlike lines and produced a trim little hull, which seemed almost decorative considering her more mundane purpose. The boat builder must have been a true master of his trade with an eye for symmetry and detail.

  Taking care not to sound too jaunty, Harry said, “Certainly, sir. We could rig her and sail her to the mainland.”

  “That’s right, sir,” Ferghal chimed in. “’Tis simple work, that.”

  “Rig her and sail her?” It was the sub-lieutenant’s turn to look surprised. “I think you’ll have to spell that out for me.”

  “Sorry, sir?” Harry was caught off guard by the colloquialism.

  “Explain what you mean by rig her and sail her, Harry. We modern types aren’t quite with you on some of these concepts of yours.”

  “Oh, my apologies, sir.” Harry smiled. “That hull is about the size of a small brig, and has something of the lines of one, although a little finer in the bow and stern. There are a number of spars here we can use to give her one or two masts, and we can use some large sheets of cloth to make sails. With the hold covered, we’d have an accommodation space. If we give her a simple rig, perhaps as a gaff cutter, and ballast her down properly, I think we can sail her to the mainland and find our troops.”

  Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney looked at Harry then at the lighter. He looked at the expectant faces of the rest of his party, then at the puzzled expression on Grover’s face. He made his decision. “Well, it’s better than doing nothing, but none of us knows anything about ship rigging, so you’re going to have to explain everything carefully and supervise the whole thing. Paddy, Hans, are you fellows up for being skivvies and labourers?” Receiving their cheerful acknowledgement accompanied by Danny’s enthusiastic, “I kin help ’em, sir! I’m used to hard work,” he turned to the villager. “Mr Grover, I’ll need you to organise some volunteers to assist us.”

  “I’m on it,” said Grover, feeling for the first time in a long time that his fate was in his own hands.

  THE SECURITY DIRECTOR WAS NERVOUS. He did not want to deliver this news. “Chairman, we’ve lost contact with the research station and the command centre on New Caledonia.” Hesitating, he added, “And the facility at Minehead has been taken by the Marines.”

  “I see.” The chairman was dangerously calm. “And what other news of incompetence and bad planning have you got to report?”

  The man swallowed. The chairman’s expression frightened him, and he wasn’t used to being frightened. “We’ve lost all communication with our people aboard the Fleet ships at Pangaea. We think they may have been compromised by the operation to abduct the youths involved in the reported time slip.” The speaker gulped as the chairman’s face darkened with barely contained fury.

  “What? Who authorised that?”


  “Doctor Johnstone was insistent,” the head of the Consortium’s operations gabbled. “He demanded the operation, and we thought it....”

  “He demanded?” The chairman’s rage exploded. “You thought? You’ve compromised everything we’ve built there, and you have the audacity to say you thought?” He jumped to his feet, his face a mask of fury. “None of you are capable of thought. If you were, you would not have allowed Johnstone and his ambitions to compromise our operation on Earth and elsewhere. Instead, you let him pursue research!” He spat the word as if it was some sort of curse. “You should have known that was bound to provoke an unpleasant response.”

  “But, Chairman,” a slightly overweight member of the Board protested. “That research has paid enormous dividends to both the Consortium and to Interplanetary Development. We all agreed to it when he tabled the proposals. Our returns on his research into mind control and work-enhancing drugs is paying handsomely—so is his technique for cloning replacement organs. And the DNA he is hoping to recover from these time travellers—well, the profit potential is enormous.”

  “Mr Katanin, I agree it has paid the dividends we hoped for—but it should not have been conducted anywhere that the Fleet or the European Confederacy or their allies could find out about it!” His voice dropped to menacing low tone. “Overconfidence and incompetence—those are the hallmarks of failure. You people seem all too familiar with them. You’ve given us no option. We must strike now and strike hard against this force the Fleet has sent to Pangaea.”

  “But this is a declaration of war, Chairman. It’ll be disastrous for our operations.”

  “Yes, it’s a declaration of war, but our weapons and tools are superior to theirs. Our people have been embedded on their ships for several months now arranging a major malfunction of their weapons systems—those were my orders, and they are being carried out by my people.” His finger stabbed the table. “I have personally placed special agents aboard those ships—agents with the training and expertise to disable those weapons. Thanks to your incompetent meddling in allowing Johnstone to get his way, our entire plan is in danger. We have no choice but to destroy this Fleet squadron and this colony world as a warning of our capability.”