Harry Heron: Into the Unknown

by Patrick G Cox

  No one dared to speak. They were acutely aware that they would be extremely lucky to escape this debacle.

  Ari Khamenei made a decision as the fourth of his starships came under the concentrated fire of Bellerophon, a cruiser and several frigates.

  A gasp of horror escaped one of the board members, drawing everyone’s attention to the sight of one of the heavy cruisers. Trailing debris and wracked by internal explosions, it followed a trajectory toward the planet that would ensure its destruction, great flares from its wounds scattering debris as it went.

  “It’s a disaster,” he snapped. “Our ships are being torn apart.”

  “But the Fleet are not having it all their way,” the director of security offered. He glanced at the chairman.

  When another of his ships showed signs of being overwhelmed, he keyed his link and said, “Admiral, break off the attack and take us out of here.” His tone was cold and flat. He wanted his order followed to the letter.

  “But, Chairman, if we leave now, the other ships will be lost.”

  “We, the board, are more important than those incompetents,” he snarled. “You will do as you are told. Get us away from here. Take us to the headquarters at Solaris. I want a secure link to IPD HQ in Brussels—now.”

  No one dared to remind him that he had insisted on the attack based on the information from his supposedly reliable source. His temper, never very stable, was clearly at breaking point. Several of the board members watched, already considering how best to use this to their advantage. It was just possible, they reasoned, that this reverse might provide the opportunity they needed to recover at least some of their own power and status.

  “THE ENEMY IS BREAKING OFF THE ACTION, SIR.” The midshipman in control of primary weapons targeting watched his scan. “He’s going to transit.”

  “Lock to target. I’ll get permission to fire,” Commander Petrocova snapped, keying her link.

  “Target locked—permission to open the shields, Commander?”

  “Open shields.” She paused. “Authorised to fire. I’m entering my firing code.” She punched in her code and inserted her authority chip. “Clear. Fire.”

  Far ahead, the Consortium flagship’s hyperpods flared. The singularity opened, and the ship plunged toward it. Simultaneously, the long beam of purple-tinged darkness reached out. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then what looked like a small supernova bloomed where the ship had been. The brilliant flare hung in the sky for several minutes even as the expanding shell of particles forming the shockwave reached the embattled ships.

  As suddenly as it began, the miniature supernova collapsed on itself and vanished. Only the afterglow and the expanding shell of its atoms remained.

  THE SPECTACLE IN THE SKY WAS AWE INSPIRING and terrifying. Harry and his companions watched in silence as the battle raged overhead, gradually contracting until it was confined to an area near the southern horizon.

  “Some of that is a long way into the system,” the sub-lieutenant said quietly as he watched several small flares flash in and out of existence.

  “Aye, sir.” Harry frowned as another trail of fire tore across the sky breaking into smaller pieces. “And there is a lot of wreckage above us. Perhaps we should seek survivors if we locate any.” He broke off as something very large blazed overhead, winking out as it vanished beyond their horizon.

  “There’ll be few survivors in that lot,” Paddy commented. “I hope it was one of theirs and not ours.”

  “You’re right, though. If we encounter any wreckage, we should check for survivors. It is possible that someone in an EVA suit in an internal compartment might survive.”

  Another large object tore across the sky, this time low and within hearing. It vanished over the horizon, and minutes later, a dull roar washed over them.

  “That’s right in our path, I think,” remarked Harry. No one, human or saurian, spoke.

  The eastern horizon was just lightening when, with no warning, a great new star blazed briefly into existence then winked out. For several minutes, nothing more happened, though the rain of blazing debris continued.

  Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney looked at the others gathered on deck, and in a quiet voice, said, “Let’s hope that our side has won. Otherwise, we are in very deep trouble.”

  LATER IN THE DAY, WHEN THE WIND INCREASED in strength, the little ship responded by heeling a little more steeply and increasing her motion. This diverted attention from the random bursts of flaming contrails that scarred the skies above them. Toward sunset, the wind backed, and Harry laid the little Victory on a new tack, taking them westward and away from the island’s southern shoals. This took them into deeper water as well, and the motion changed as the swell got longer and the interval between them increased.

  “This will delay our passage, sir,” Harry explained to the sub-lieutenant. “We will have to put in a long run to the west before we can turn south again and make our next change of course toward Pangaea City. It will mean running extra miles—and may increase the chances of meeting one of those sea monsters.”

  “Can’t be helped, Harry,” Trelawney said wearily. He had spent much of the day thinking of ways they could ascertain who had won or who had lost in the battle they had witnessed. He’d come to the conclusion that one way or the other, their eventual arrival would be a small event if their people had been victorious and downright unfortunate if the other side had triumphed. He smiled at the youth’s serious expression. “The important thing is to get there, Mr Sailing Master Heron. A day later or earlier will not make any difference one way or another at this stage.”

  “I’m glad you think so, sir,” replied Harry. “I think we can probably make up the time if this wind holds.” Hesitating, he asked, “Do you think our ships have been successful, Mr Trelawney?”

  “Harry, if there is a God and he is just, I hope so.” He sighed. “If only we had some monoculars or anything that would give me a decent magnification of those satellites, I might be able to guess. Now,” he said firmly, pulling himself out of his moment of doubt, “to ship’s business, Mr Heron. We need to have a proper watch system. I can’t have you, Ferghal, Danny and the saurians doing all the watch keeping. You’ll have to show us the ropes, as I believe your expression is, so that we can be useful as well. I’ll take the watch with Ferghal, and Paddy Murphy can stand watch with you on the first watch now. Hans can stand with Ferghal for the next watch and we’ll do that until we are able to do our own watches and relieve you two. Does that suit you?”

  “Why, yes, sir, that will be a pleasure,” said Harry. “I will have to be on deck at midnight to check our position, sir. But if Mr Murphy or Ferghal call me a half hour early, I can be ready to do so before taking over the watch.”

  Impressed, Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney nodded. “Good. Then let’s make a start. Send the others to get some food sorted and some rest. We’ll take the first period.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” replied Harry, reverting to the acknowledgement he was used to. He turned away and called to Ferghal, quickly explaining the proposed system and what was required.

  Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney listened as they discussed his order in terms that were foreign to him. He caught references to first dog watch, second dog watch, middle watch and morning watch, forenoon and afternoon, then heard Harry tell his shadow, as Trelawney now considered Ferghal, to get some rest and food, and to report at “eight bells in the first dog watch” to relieve him.

  Breaking his reverie, another thought occurred to Trelawney. I need to get to grips with who these saurians are—and if they have names. He now realised there was a long list of things he needed to consider as commander of this strange ship and crew. He would think on it during his watch.

  COMMODORE HERON STARED AT THE SPOT where the enemy ship had appeared then vanished. Making a decision, he said to the communications lieutenant commander, “Albrecht, give me an open channel link to the enemy.”

  “You have
it, sir.”

  “This is Commodore James Heron of the North European Confederation Ship Vanguard. I order you to surrender your ships immediately. Your flagship has just been destroyed by our primary weapon. Two more of my ships have the same weapons capability, and we will use it on any ship that continues to fight or attempts to escape. Those who surrender can expect to be tried as pirates or rebels. You will receive the full benefit of a legally constituted court and a fair trial. If you continue to fight, my squadron will have no choice but to destroy you. You have two minutes to decide.” He leaned back in his chair and waited.

  “I am receiving surrender signals from three of the remaining ships, Commodore,” reported Captain Wes Orkadey. “They’re all in pretty bad shape. I think I’ll have to evacuate them and destroy what’s left.”

  “Thanks, Wes, do it.” To his staff, the Commodore added, “Get Fort Belvedere in to take survivors, but make sure they’re disarmed and held secure.”

  “I have two more surrenders,” came the voice of the Sydney’s captain. “Reckon they’re a bit better off, but I don’t want to leave them with their own crew—someone might get ideas.” He paused and added, “We had some damage to the hyperdrives and had to shut down the fusion reactors supplying them. I can still manoeuvre on normal propulsion, but we need assistance to sort out the hyperpods.”

  “We’ll get some assistance for you as soon as possible. In the meantime, it’s a good idea to break up those Consortium crews. Distribute prisoners as you can.”

  Contacting Richard Grenville, the flagship’s acting captain, he said, “Two have been destroyed and five have surrendered. One is still in the system somewhere. I want him found.”

  “We’re already scanning, sir.”

  THE FRIGATES LION AND TIGER AND THE CRUISERS Penelope, Phoebe, Aurora and Ariadne brought confirmation of the surrender of the remaining frigate and the rounding up of interceptors and strike craft.

  “A number of their strike fighters have made it to the surface. I’ve sent my squadron in pursuit,” reported the commander of the Aurora.

  A new voice broke in. “Pangaea Base One—Commodore, we have twenty interceptor class craft destroyed. Sixteen have landed damaged, and ten have landed and surrendered. We’re investigating another forty reported crash sites.”

  “Arrest the crews and hold them for security.” Standing and stretching, the Commodore rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Flags, I want to know the full damage and our casualties as soon as possible.” Taking several steps away from his chair, he studied the 3-D display. “We’ve accounted for three starships and four heavy cruisers. We have destroyed, damaged or disabled their frigates and escorts, but where is the fourth starship?”

  “Fort Belvedere to Commodore. We have a contact—a large ship located at the sixth planet.” The officer added, chuckling, “We’re using your trick, sir.”

  “Thanks, we’ll deal with him.” Turning to give the orders, the Commodore stopped when the staff officer spoke.

  “Ship dropping out at the enemy location, sir. She’s firing on the enemy.” He was cut off by the voice of a newcomer.

  “My apologies for a late arrival, Commodore. This is Captain Bruce Wallace of the Ramillies joining your Command as ordered. I regret we had a little internal dispute to settle first, but I see you have left us something to take our frustration out on.”

  The Commodore laughed. “Glad you made it, Captain Wallace. Deal with our runaway, and join us when you can for the clean-up.”

  Chapter 32

  Aftermath

  AT MIDNIGHT, HARRY CHECKED THEIR LATITUDE, again noting the distance between the star’s angle and the angle he had calculated, and, after some work on his pad, arrived at a position.

  “I can determine the latitude easily enough, sir. But for the longitude I must rely on my estimate of the distance run, according to our improvised log.” He shrugged. “It takes no account of the effect on our course of the ocean currents, leeway or the tides.”

  Watching Harry mark the chart with his latest estimate, the sub-lieutenant nodded. “I understand. I think you’ll have to explain all this in detail to me and to the others so we can at least help with the log line and perhaps some of the other things you mentioned. I’d like to know how you’re doing that calculation as well.”

  “Aye, sir. The calculation is basic trigonometry, though I have had to calculate my own logarithms.” He showed the handwritten table at the back of his notebook. “A simple task once one has the trick.”

  “I’ll look forward to learning it then. How are we doing? Are we making progress?”

  “We’ll need to change tack in about five hours, sir. We should now easily clear the reefs to the south of New Caledonia, but this tack has taken us west, and now we must make more southing until we reach the latitude of Pangaea City. Once there, it is a simple matter to run down the westing—if the winds remain favourable.”

  AS THE REPORTS TRICKLED IN, Commodore James Heron found his mind dwelling on the carnage around him. All over the system the scattered remains of small interceptors, and frequently their pilots, drifted in a macabre dance. Even the torn and battered ships lay amid a cloud of debris, here and there the tell-tale jets of escaping atmosphere showing where the life support systems were failing as well.

  “Congratulations, sir, we won. Your strategy paid off.”

  “Thank you, Richard, but we’ve paid a hell of a price. I just hope it was worth it in the longer game.” Commodore Heron paused. “How’s the search for survivors going?”

  “Slowly, sir, but we are recovering a few—the lucky ones.” He paused, his own exhaustion catching up with him. “A lot more corpses than survivors, I’m afraid. The cruiser that went down into the atmosphere broke up, but the chunks landed in the ocean. No survivors found so far, and none from the two frigates that ran straight into the minefield.”

  “Have the mines been recovered yet?”

  “Yes, sir, and they were damned useful. All three of their surviving major ships report they couldn’t transit because they would have run straight into the mines.”

  Nodding, the Commodore stared at the display for a little longer, noting the small flares indicating the searching craft. “Richard, I’d like to address the ship, and then the squadron.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Signalling the communications officer, the Captain ordered, “Give the Commodore a ship broadcast.”

  At the signal, he said, “This is the Commodore. We have won the battle, and I am proud to have had the privilege of being your commanding officer and the Commodore of this squadron. You have performed magnificently, and I thank you for it. Today we have confronted an enemy which comes from within our own society, and even from within our ranks. We have won this round, but there will be a bitter harvest and a difficult time ahead. We must maintain vigilance and efficiency.” He paused, his determination apparent. “We have lost many of our friends today, and we have seen many brave acts. We must not let that sacrifice be in vain. Thank you all for your loyalty and your bravery.”

  There was silence throughout the ship, and then a cheer rolled through the compartments. James Heron was not a man given to showing his emotions, but this moved him. It was some minutes before he was able to trust his voice sufficiently to call the captains of the other ships in his victorious squadron to convey the same message of praise and gratitude.

  THE COMMODORE WOKE WITH A JOLT. Disoriented from exhaustion, it took a few moments for his brain to register that his link was chirping. Snatching it up, he activated it. “Commodore,” he answered, suppressing a yawn.

  “Sir, we thought you’d want to know immediately. A Marine task group has arrived on an island called New Caledonia. They’ve found a massive underground complex, a research facility, but with a command centre beneath it.” Pausing, Richard chose his words carefully. “They report that the facility looks as if it suffered a major assault.” He hesitated again. “But the islanders say it was o
ur missing team—Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney and his group—that did the damage.”

  Sitting up and pulling on his boots, the Commodore asked, “Have they found them?”

  “That’s the problem, sir. They left the island with some of the saurians aboard a boat they constructed from a cargo barge.”

  “When did they leave? Where were they heading?”

  “They said they were sailing it to Pangaea City, sir, and they left the morning of the battle, so they’ve been at sea for three days at least.”

  “Thank you. Get me Brigadier Kernan on a link. I’m on my way to the Command Centre.”

  “THESE ARE THE IMAGES OUR TASK GROUP SENT UP from New Caledonia, sir. They’ve taken control of what’s left of the research facility, but someone planted traps in the AI, and they haven’t been able to access key elements of it. Whoever did it apparently didn’t know that they’d trapped the Consortium command team.” Captain Grenville laughed. “Our people had to blast their way in. Just in time, too—whoever did it also shut down the main ventilation system.”

  “Creative. Do we know who did it?” The Commodore hesitated. “What about the people inside?”

  “We think it may have been Trelawney and his men. They wouldn’t know about the command centre, as most of the islanders didn’t know it existed, and only the chief of the research facility had access. It seems Trelawney and his men found a way out from the AI core. They took an entire bank of memory storage crystals with them and used the main air intake tunnel to reach the surface.” He studied the images of the devastated administrative and accommodation levels. “They may not have been able to get past what was obviously a major fire fight above them, so they went out through the tunnel—but to do that they had to stop the fans.” Pointing to an image, he added with a wry smile, “Whoever did this didn’t waste any effort.”