Harry Heron: Into the Unknown

by Patrick G Cox

  “Looks like someone took an axe to it. Good God, no wonder the ventilation went out.” The Commodore laughed despite his concerns. “I shouldn’t think they’d know what that controls. Let me guess, that control unit is for all the ventilation—so destroying it didn’t just stop the fan in this tunnel.”

  “That’s the matter in a nutshell, sir.” The captain smiled. “Oh, and the medics found high levels of psychotropic drugs in many of the bodies as well as in the food and water supply. That probably explains the war they fought amongst themselves. They were out of their minds. The Consortium’s legal team plan to bring a case against Trelawney and his men.”

  The Commodore’s brows snapped into a frown. “Do they? We’ll see about that. What about the Consortium general and his staff?”

  “We have them in custody, sir.”

  “Good. Now, any sign of our people and this ship of theirs?”

  “So far, nothing, sir. Our skimmers searched the shipping channels normally used between the island and Pangaea City, but found nothing. We did a scan of the area and only found what appears to be drifting debris. No electronic signatures to show any active propulsion or navigation systems, and no trace of the neural links.” Hesitating, the captain said quietly, “We can’t rule out the possibility they were attacked by a rather ferocious sea creature that lives in those waters—the pleurodon. Apparently they have been known to attack ships.”

  “Sir,” the staff officer interrupted the report. “Apologies, sir, but we’re being signalled by the flagship. Vengeance is requesting a link, sir.”

  “Open the link.”

  Vanguard’s scanners lit up as a fleet of large ships dropped out and entered the system. “Vengeance to Vanguard, Admiral Cunningham advises you should prepare to receive him when we arrive in your orbit,” the speaker announced.

  Recognising the voice as that of the fleet flag captain, Commodore Heron replied, “I shall be delighted to receive him—and yourself, of course, Andy, but I have to ask: What brings you out this far off the diplomatic circuit?” Despite his light-hearted response, he was rather intrigued by the unusual nature of the advice; captains and commodores usually visited their admirals, not the other way round.

  “I think I’ll take the opportunity to tell you in person. In fact, the Admiral wanted to tell you we were on our way around two days ago—but somebody let loose with a nova in hyperspace and fried all the hypersignal transmitters. No one you would know, of course.”

  “Well, I might know them, but that depends on whether you want to give them a medal or a court martial.” He laughed. “I hope you have a repair ship in tow. We have several badly damaged ships and need at least partial docking ourselves.”

  “You’re in luck then. We just happen to have two with us, and several more troops and fighter squadrons. How does it feel to be the man who has exposed a major conspiracy, damaged a commercial empire, caused a political upheaval of earth shattering proportions and exposed the corruption in Brussels? You’re a hero, old friend—among some sections of the population anyway.”

  THE COMMAND TEAM ASSEMBLED in the starboard lateral hangar with the Marine Guard of Honour and Side Party as the flag officer’s barge rolled to a standstill.

  The band major raised his baton. “Band! Ready.” The Marine Band readied their instruments.

  “Side Party, ’tention!” Pipes rose to lips as the eight ratings stamped to attention. The shrill call of the pipes sounded as the Admiral stepped through the hatch, his hand raised in acknowledgement of the salute. As the pipes stilled, the band played the General Salute as the Admiral descended and advanced to meet the Commodore.

  He held out his hand. “Well done, James. You’ve brought the house down around some people’s ears with your action. You and your squadron have performed magnificently—a real credit to the Fleet.” He smiled as they shook hands, adding, “But you had better tell me what the hell you sent into hyperspace. The shockwave is causing havoc.”

  Commodore Heron grinned. “I think it may be the remnants of a certain enemy ship. It reacted rather badly to being hit by our primary as it entered the hyperspace singularity.”

  The Admiral gave a short laugh. “Well, that would certainly explain the disruption cloud we encountered. Your Weapons Control hit him as he entered the singularity?” His penetrating glance found Commander Petrocova. “That is damned good targeting—the disruption field is tremendous, and you have only a couple of micro-seconds to fire.”

  “I agree, sir. May I suggest we go to my quarters, and I can give you a full report,” said the Commodore.

  “You may, and we won’t.” The Admiral’s eyes twinkled as he gave the Commodore a long look. “I have come to see your ship and to tell you that you are promoted. Full Commodore as of this moment, so you will be eligible to appoint a Captain to take full command of this ship—which I assume you will wish to keep as your flagship. I have also come to meet and congratulate your team. You and your people have achieved something truly remarkable here, James. Fleet are fully aware of it, and I am here to tell you that you will remain in command here while your ships are repaired. I am taking the main fleet on to deal with the bases the Consortium has set up elsewhere. We will hunt down their ships and destroy them. We will find their bases and secure those too, thanks to the innovative work-around you’ve applied to their screening system.”

  “It was a team effort, sir—all my people have performed remarkably.”

  “They certainly have. Just one thing....” The Admiral turned to Commander Gray. “Who came up with that visual targeting system? I’m told it’s more effective than the computers.”

  Nick Gray laughed. “We call that the Harry Sight, named after our Napoleonic navy midshipman. He gave us the idea. It’s very effective, according to my crews.”

  “And who is this Napoleonic Navy Midshipman?” began the Admiral, then his memory clicked into place. “Weren’t there three of them?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Commodore Heron gravely. “Unfortunately, they were abducted on the surface with another officer and two of my midshipmen while on shore leave. We are searching for them at this moment.”

  Chapter 33

  Flotsam and Jetsam

  THE COURSE DICTATED BY THE WIND took the little Victory a long way from the track searched by the Fleet’s skimmers and aerial patrols. Several times during the week following the battle, they saw contrails high overhead, and once caught a glimpse of an aerial patrol far to the west as the sun set.

  “More wreckage to windward, sir.” Paddy Murphy pointed to a huge piece of wreckage lifting to a swell. “Looks like part of a ship.”

  “Can’t make out what it is, but you’re right, I think. Some of the internal fittings probably.” Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney turned away. The sea creatures they had seen swarming around this and other wreckage suggested there might also be something edible present. “Poor bastards.” When he saw Harry come on deck, he said, “How much longer do you think before we can turn toward the coast again?”

  “Probably another twenty-four hours, sir.” Uncovering the map he was working from, he indicated his latest estimated position. “I calculate that we must reach this point. Then we may turn west. If this present wind stays in this quarter, though, we may have to make a tack on this line.” He traced a line that would take them in a west-north-westerly direction. “Then tack south again, and repeat the exercise, but that will mean a longer passage. Our food will last, thanks to our friends’ skill at catching fish, but our water stocks are already becoming barely drinkable even after boiling.”

  Nodding, the sub-lieutenant digested this. “Well, there isn’t a great deal we can do about it unless we can come up with the means to distil some. No point in fretting about it, at present.” He grinned. “I expect you, Danny and Ferghal are used to this slow pace—I must say I’m enjoying it. What a story for my grandkids someday.”

  Laughing, Paddy sat on the edge of the covered hold. �
��Even a month ago I’d have said this wasn’t possible—crossing an ocean with wind and sails and no NavComp. Now I’ve seen it done, learned to handle the sails and steer, and if you give me long enough, I’ll even get the hang of that sextant thing you use. Going back to the gunroom and a starship is going to be boring.”

  “You can always teach the rest of them to dance the jig or play the hornpipe,” Harry quipped. “Assuming you can untangle your feet after the heel and toe.”

  Hans joined them on deck as the others laughed, and Trelawney thought privately that this little voyage had quite possibly been the most amazing learning experience of his life. Harry, Ferghal and Danny were in their element. Harry’s natural leadership qualities shone like a beacon. The sub-lieutenant even found himself deferring on occasion to this very junior and—in modern eyes—totally unqualified youth. Ferghal, a mere boy seaman and now a Junior TechRate, displayed similar qualities. Self-confident, capable, and clearly in his element, he too showed the ability to teach, to lead and to command when necessary. He’d make a fine engineering officer if given the chance.

  “Permission to take a stand easy, sir?”

  Ferghal’s request startled the sub-lieutenant, who was lost in his own thoughts. “Er, yes. Yes, it is time to stand easy.” He smiled. “Are you enjoying this, O’Connor?”

  “Aye, sir.” Ferghal grinned. “This is real sailoring, sir.” Casting a possessive glance at the sails, he added, “She sails well, though our old sailmaker would consider these sails too light I think.” He glanced at Danny as the boy joined them carrying his pipe and another that Ferghal had made. “May we make some music, sir?”

  “Of course.” Smiling, he turned to Harry. “You have the watch, Mr Heron.” Laughing, he added, “Rank has its privileges—I’m going to enjoy the music.”

  Harry smiled, stood and saluted. “Aye, aye, sir.” It had become the habit in the last few days for everyone to gather in the dog watches to relax, usually with music from Ferghal or Danny, and often with some of the dances Ferghal and Harry had learned in Ireland. He took his place near the helm, glancing at the compass card automatically and then at the pad on which the log line casts were recorded. Nodding to the saurian helmsman, he smiled, receiving a brief acknowledgement in return. Progress on understanding each other was slow, but they had managed to learn that these creatures called themselves Lacertians.

  One ear on the music, his eyes and senses on the motion of the ship, Harry settled into his role as Officer of the Watch almost without conscious effort. Idly he calculated in his head the distances traversed and the distance still to run if the wind held steady.

  The sub-lieutenant glanced at the Lacertians, who were apparently enjoying the music. He wondered again about their fascination for Harry, and to a lesser extent, Ferghal. The language remained a serious barrier between the human crew and the Lacertian group, but their leader understood what was said to him and passed this on to the rest of his people with success. His name at least the crew did master—albeit in a humanised form. The nearest they could get to it was Sersan, and it was immediately apparent that the small courtesy of calling him by his name had a profound impact on him and his people.

  One rather strange aspect of their behaviour, which puzzled him, was that, while they treated him with courtesy and deference, they never let Harry out of their sight. One of them was always close to him and careful to stay between him and the ship’s side. In addition, they showed a degree of respect and courtesy to him quite out of proportion to his apparent rank—even as sailing master and navigator.

  “WE FOUND ANOTHER LARGE PIECE OF WRECKAGE, sir. The ocean’s littered with it. As far as we can make out, it’s from the Consortium cruiser Isfahan. The outer skin has burned away. Just the main structural members remain, and some of the internal bulkheads, plus a lot of fittings.”

  “Any human remains?”

  “Not a lot, sir. I’m afraid the marine life has, er, been rather busy.”

  “I see. Keep me informed.” Standing, the Commodore shrugged into his jacket. “I’ve a meeting with the Admiral. It seems there is far more to this business than meets the eye.”

  EVER SINCE THEY’D TURNED WESTWARD, the wind had proved fickle, but at least remained in a quarter that allowed them to hold a westerly course. Aware of everyone’s dependence on him, Harry felt the strain. With no sight of land since they’d left the shoals and rocky islets south of New Caledonia, he was acutely aware of just how much depended on his ability to navigate with his crude instruments. Now, four days since the turn, he calculated they should be approaching the coast somewhere near Pangaea City.

  A roaring noise from astern made him look round. “An aerial ship,” he shouted. “It’ll pass directly over us!” Hurrying to the wheel, he focussed on getting an idea of the direction the landing barge was taking, relieved to find it was just a little north of their track. “Steer on that mark,” he ordered the helmsman, pointing to the bearing on the compass card.

  Racing forward as the now distant speck descended, he clambered up the weather ratlines and scampered to the crosstrees in the hope of a glimpse of land. Moments later, he was joined by one of the Lacertians who gave him a rather hurt look, apparently put out by the fact that he had moved too quickly to be accompanied.

  To the west, the darkness was still lingering, but, even as he watched, the sunlight penetrated the gloom and, as the ship lifted lazily on a swell, Harry caught a sudden glimpse of a hill. He kept his eye on the shoreline as the ship dipped and rose again, and this time got a good glimpse. He shouted joyfully to the group on deck “Land ho! Fine on the starboard bow.”

  Even his Lacertian companion seemed to catch the excitement and called to his companions on deck. Harry paused to take another look as the light cleared the night shadows. He fixed a picture in his mind that he could match to the maps on deck, and then he began his descent. He was halfway down the ratlines when a monstrous shape reared out of the sea and slashed its jaws at him and the Lacertian. Only the boarding nets saved them.

  Entangled, the beast fell back, its weight dragging the ship to windward as it thrashed to free itself. Harry almost lost his footing on the ratlines and had to cling tightly to save himself from falling. Pandemonium broke loose on deck as the crew dashed to shed the dragging load of the beast, which was pulling the ship’s head round and threatening to cause them to come about.

  Ferghal and Sersan released the netting and its entangled burden. They worked feverishly, dangerously close to the thrashing beast’s fearsome jaws slashing this way and that. Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney found the weapon that he had been given on the island, and readied it as rapidly as he could. Shaking it clear of the covers, he armed it. Noting that it was fully charged, he activated the targeting device.

  To Ferghal and Sersan, he yelled, “Get back! I need to have a clear shot.”

  They jumped away, and with that, the nets tore loose from their anchor points as the beast’s struggling overstressed them. Trelawney steadied himself, got his sighting lock on the brutish head, and fired. The result was not quite what he expected; the weapon fired and the pulse smashed into the huge head, but apart from a brief moment of stillness and a darkening of the area where the pulse had struck, the strike appeared to have no effect.

  He shifted his aim to the junction of the neck and skull and fired again. This time a huge wound ripped open the flesh exposing muscle and blood vessels. This sent it into such a frenzy that its thrashing threatened to capsize them. Desperately the sub-lieutenant fired again—this time severing the creature’s head completely—and the great head crashed to the deck still snapping and grasping for a victim while the thrashing body tore the remaining nettings from their moorings and fell away astern.

  The helmsman struggled to recover the ship’s course while everyone avoided the slashing jaws. It fell to the Lacertian crew to ensnare it and drag it to a position where it could be thrown overside, still wrapped in a tangle of torn net and li
nes. It was then that Ferghal and the others realised that Harry was still aloft, pinned to the ratlines and secured firmly in place by the Lacertian who had hauled him higher and pinioned him to the rigging.

  “Thank you,” Harry said, his breathing difficult under the pressure of the creature’s grip. “I think I can manage to climb down now.”

  The creature hissed something in response, and Harry looked aft. A chill gripped him when he saw another of the ghastly monsters closing on them. His shout of warning was drowned by a sudden roar as an atmospheric fighter craft rushed across their bows, banked in a tight turn and dropped several metal objects into the sea between them and the oncoming beast. The sea erupted around the monster, lifting it clear of the water. As it crashed back into the sea, a second fighter swooped and delivered another crop of bombs. This time, when the sea erupted, it was bloodstained.

  HARRY REACHED THE WHEEL AS THE FIRST FIGHTER returned and took up a hover position just on their quarter.

  There was a click as the craft’s hailers were turned on and the voice of the pilot said, “Identify yourselves.”

  Cupping his hands, Harry bawled back, “Crewmembers of the Vanguard—on the cutter Victory!”

  He gesticulated at their streaming colours as the sub-lieutenant joined him and shouted, “Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney and crew, returning to duty.”

  The hailers clicked into life again, and the metallic voice boomed, “Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney? God, the Squaddies have almost torn the planet apart looking for you guys. Hold your course—an escort will be out to collect you in an hour. You’ll be home soon. We’ll ride herd and make sure none of those damned pleurodons attack you again. The sea around you is full of them—must be their hunting grounds.”

  Sersan, who had somehow managed to ensure he was between Harry and the bulwarks, hissed, “Isss their mating groundssss.”