Harry Heron: Into the Unknown

by Patrick G Cox

  He made a sound that Trelawney could not interpret, but he understood what the creature was saying.

  “Amazing,” he said thoughtfully, realisation of their unwitting error dawning. He hoped that would not complicate matters. The bombs seemed to have driven the creatures away from the little ship as she made her steady way toward the shore.

  WITHIN THE HOUR, THREE HEAVILY ARMED FAST PATROL skimmers came out to meet them. The first closed in, and Captain Bob Wardman of the Vanguard’s Marine Corps emerged on her open deck to hail them. “Mr Trelawney, glad to see you have all survived. Who are your companions?”

  “Thanks, Captain. These folk are the Lacertians, prisoners we released from the facility on New Caledonia. They will not harm you. We have learned to communicate, and they’ve helped to sail this vessel.”

  “That’s good to hear. We found a few more down a mine. I’ll take you all back to Pangaea City. The Commodore is anxious to see you all.”

  The sub-lieutenant looked round the little ship that had served them so well. Catching Harry’s disappointed expression, he studied the Lacertian crew standing around expectantly, and made his decision. He called, “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I think it would be better if we completed the voyage as we started it. I don’t think it would be right to simply abandon our little Victory at this point. Besides, I think it will make quite a statement when we sail her ashore.”

  Bob Wardman looked surprised. “Okay, I’ll make a signal to that effect. How long do you think you’ll need to bring her in?” He paused for a moment then said, “Is it the wind you’re using to drive her, or do you have a motor of some sort?”

  “Just wind power.” Trelawney laughed. Nodding toward Harry, Ferghal and Danny, who were standing nearby listening with interest, he added, “Our three ancient mariners have been giving us a crash course in sailing these last few days.” To Harry he asked, “How long before we get to the harbour?”

  “Difficult to say, sir. How far is it?”

  “How far is it to the harbour?” called the sub-lieutenant, and watched as the question was relayed to someone inside the catamaran.

  “About sixteen miles in old money,” came the reply.

  “If the wind holds steady and we can keep this speed, we shall reach the port in a little under three hours, sir,” announced Harry.

  “My navigation officer tells me we will be there in three hours,” called Trelawney with a big grin.

  “Does he indeed!” The Marine officer laughed. “Okay, we’ll ride herd and keep the beasties at bay, but I’m going to move in close and drop a comlink aboard for you. My voice won’t hold up to all this shouting.”

  Chapter 34

  Delivered

  WITH HER ESCORT OF SIX FOIL-RIDING SKIMMERS making heavy weather of the slow speed of the Victory, the little barge cutter entered the massive lock gates of Pangaea City’s harbour at the top of the tide. The oversized ensign fluttered from the peak of her gaff, its red cross quartering the white field, and the red, white and blue in the upper quadrant at odds with her weathered and multi-hued sails. Her sedate progress was a marked contrast to the wallowing skimmers ahead and astern as she slipped through the lock and entered the harbour proper.

  “We seem to have a reception committee on the quayside,” Trelawney remarked to Harry.

  Concentrating on judging his approach and the point at which he should make the turn, Harry nodded. “I suppose we are unusual here, sir,” he said absently. “Brail up the mainsail. Stand by the flying jib, and take in the foresail. We shall wear ship directly.” With her sail reduced to just the triangular topsail and the small jib, their speed fell noticeably.

  Trelawney peered at the approaching quayside. A large crowd had gathered to welcome them, but his eye was drawn to a small group standing near a man signalling where they should berth. “Looks like some senior officers are there to meet us. I’m probably up for a court-martial,” he joked.

  If Harry heard this, he didn’t respond. Judging the moment with care, he ordered, “Helm a-lee.” He watched the swing. “Midships, meet her.”

  Ferghal threw the heaving line ashore and watched as it was caught by several hands. A second line soared ashore and was caught by a figure in an officer’s uniform who passed it to two TechRates, after which the mooring line was hauled in and secured.

  “Strike the topsail! Strike the jib,” Harry called as the small ship settled with a bump against the quay. “Secure the springs.”

  Applause from the crowd drew his attention at last. “Oh.” Recovering quickly, Harry called forward. “Man the side. Side Party, fall in.”

  Looking up, Ferghal realised what was required. “Our pipes, Danny—quick now, and Mr. Heron’s dirk.” Turning to Paddy Murphy and Hans Dinsen, he continued smoothly, “If you’ll be so good as to fall in with Mr Heron facin’ the entry port, sirs.” Pushing and pulling, he had the Lacertians form a line along the gunwale, and had an improvised gangway in time to put Danny on the forward side of it, facing aft. He fell in beside him, taking the proffered pipe from the boy. “Side Party, ’tention!” From the corner of his mouth, he said, “Hearts of Oak,” and launched into the tune.

  Slightly bemused by the turn of events, Trelawney found himself stiffly at attention in front of his officers, which now included the Lacertian called Sersan. Raising his hand in a textbook salute, he swallowed and said, “Welcome aboard, Admiral.”

  Admiral Cunningham, recognising both the importance of the moment and the gesture, stepped off the bow, returned the salute and held out his hand. “Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney, I believe.” As the sub-lieutenant shook hands, the Admiral said, “This has to be the most unusual welcome I have ever received.” Stepping aside, he smiled. “Commodore, I believe these are your missing men.”

  “So it seems, sir.” He smiled. “Mr Trelawney, please introduce us to your officers and crew, then you may fall them out.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Trelawney responded without thinking. “Admiral, sir, may I introduce Mr Midshipman Heron, the man behind this venture and our navigator; Mr Midshipman Murphy, Vanguard’s gunroom senior and my first officer; and Mr Midshipman Dinsen, my second and member of the gunroom. This, sir, is Sersan, leader of his people the Lacertians, without whose help I think our voyage would not have been possible.”

  The admiral hesitated. “I think you mean The Sersan, Mr Trelawney—their Leader of Leaders.” He mimicked the Sersan’s gesture of greeting. “A pleasure to meet you. Your people will be delighted you have survived.”

  “I AM VERY WEARY OF ALL THIS POKING AND PRODDING.” Harry’s temper was fraying, though he tried not to show it. “We are in good health—a trifle sunburned and perhaps a little undernourished, but they seem to fear we have returned carrying a plague.”

  Ferghal laughed. “Aye, Master Harry, but our companions are also suffering this fate.”

  “I cannot fathom what they are looking for,” grumbled Harry. “Perhaps if I knew, I could tell them and be done with it.”

  “Since we gave them those data crystals from the island, Commander Dieffenbach and his people have been busy—and since they talked to the surgeon, he’s been busy with us.” Ferghal chuckled at his friend’s expression. “Come now, Master Harry, they wish only to ensure we do not sprout warts or horns, and begin biting others.”

  Despite himself, Harry laughed. “The last series of tests, they had me explore the AI for some hidden file. It was so easy I found it in minutes, but they were dumbfounded. They said that I should not have been able to find it. If that is so, why ask me to do it?”

  “Because they want to know why you have that ability, I suppose.” Ferghal was pragmatic about it. “The scientists say that something was done to our genes when we were trapped in that wretched place. They wish to discover if that is what has done this. Dr Grüneland explained it to me.”

  The door slid open before Harry could respond, and Surgeon Commander Myers entered with two of the sci
entists. “Sit down, please. I think we’ve done enough tests for one day.” He waited for them to sit, taking a seat himself. “Something odd has happened. According to the Johnstone lab records, they gave you both a drug based on the enzymes that are released by the Lacertians’ RNA when they are injured.” He saw their blank expressions. “I won’t bore you with the science. You’re quite capable of looking it up for yourselves now. Put simply, they wanted to see what effect it had on your body when you were run to exhaustion and your tissue developed stress problems. Do you remember getting injections, or perhaps overhearing someone saying something about that?”

  On the point of replying in the negative, Harry paused. “I recall some discussion, sir. They spoke of having some serum that would speed my recovery while they tested my endurance of fatigue.” Frowning, he paused. “Something strange resulted. I thought I was seeing things because of the drugs. You appeared in my cell, sir, and my father. It was strange because you did something, and it felt very peaceful afterward.”

  “I appeared to you?” Len asked quizzically, his expression one of bemusement.

  Ferghal nodded. “I had a similar occurrence, sir, but you weren’t my visitor. My father appeared in their laboratory as they injected something.” He glanced at Harry. “Like Mr Heron, I felt very easy after that.”

  “When did you first notice you could hear the AI operating systems?”

  Frowning, Harry thought. “When I awoke, sir. I thought that it was people talking, but then I realised that I could see and hear the operating commands.” Glancing at Ferghal, he added, “I listened to it for a while, and then I found the surveillance system. I saw where Ferghal was held too, sir.”

  Exchanging glances, the scientists made notes, and Dr Grüneland asked, “Can you hear the AI here?”

  Both nodded. “Yes, Doctor,” Harry replied. “It is like having someone speaking continuously in the background, but in quiet voice.”

  “And you can’t shut down the link at all?”

  “No, Doctor. It is constantly in our heads. The shutdown routine no longer functions.”

  “SOMETHING ODD HAS HAPPENED TO HARRY and Ferghal. It isn’t what the Johnstone people intended. They were using them to trial a serum that is supposed to shorten recovery times from exhaustion, but it seems to have gone wrong. Somehow, they’ve spliced a segment of the Lacertian gene that controls the regeneration of tissue and other damage, and they’ve inserted it into the boys. To a lesser extent Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney, Danny, Midshipmen Murphy and Dinsen all have something similar. The records in the crystals they brought with them state that what was intended was a test of a serum to promote healing. So, either the Johnstone people got it wrong, or someone altered the serum and has created a genetic splice.”

  The Commodore’s frown deepened. Steepling his fingers, he asked, “Is it likely to shorten their lives or introduce a risk of genetic defects?”

  “Given that the Lacertians have a lifespan of a hundred fifty to two hundred of our years, I’d guess it’s likely to extend their lives rather than shorten them. As it promotes rapid regeneration of tissue—and seems to do it better than our own genes—I think we’ll find they are actually at less risk.”

  “Let’s hope so, then. But, how did that affect their neural implants? Why are they now able to manoeuvre about in the AI? Why does it let them?”

  Fritz Dieffenbach answered. “In straight terms, sir, we don’t know. The AI recognises them, apparently, as extensions of itself. Everything I’ve tried has no effect on that.” Hesitating, he added, “It’s as if there is some part of the AI that protects their link to it.”

  “I see—I think.” Consulting a report, he asked, “Is this how Harry—Midshipman Heron—managed to contaminate all the water and food in the New Caledonia facility?”

  “So it appears. He did such a thorough job of it that probably the only way to correct it is to dismantle it and build a new AI there.” Fritz paused again. “I was wondering, sir, would you authorise their being taken down to that facility so that we can get them to remove the block they put in the system? We need to retrieve all the data there—the Advocate Admiral’s Office and Security want it.”

  The Commodore considered. “Very well—but make it voluntary. Len Myers is concerned the trauma they went through may affect them badly if they are made to relive it.”

  His link chirped.

  “Commodore.”

  “The admiral has signalled, sir. RPC aboard the flagship.”

  He laughed. “Call my barge.” Standing, he said, “One more thing, Fritz—I want to see O’Connor. Arrange a time with my SSU Adriana, please. Oh, and tell him to bring his cutlass.” Adjusting his jacket as everyone prepared to leave, he added, “From what I’ve seen of the wounds he inflicted on that Glinka fellow, I think my office is the safest place for that weapon.”

  Chapter 35

  Return to New Caledonia

  “TECHRATE O’CONNOR, SIR. TechRate, four paces forward. Off cap.” The Master Warrant Officer saluted, stepped back and waited.

  The Commodore smiled as the nervous youth assumed a rigid stance in front of him. “At ease, TechRate. You may stand easy.” He waited until Ferghal adjusted his stance. “I haven’t had much opportunity to talk to you before this, but I hope to correct that.”

  The Commodore smiled, and Ferghal looked puzzled. In his world, captains barely noticed ordinary ratings, and commodores seldom even acknowledged their existence. He waited for the Commodore to speak or to request a response.

  “I’ve been rather preoccupied, so I’ve not had the opportunity to get to know you as well as I should have—especially since you are my ward.” He watched as Ferghal’s expression changed from concern to surprise then back to concern. “So I’ve decided to do something about it.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “On the advice of several of your officers, Sub-Lieutenant Trelawney and Commander Dieffenbach, I’ve consulted the Admiral and the Drafting Office. You will need a very crash course in formal education, but we’ve decided to make you an officer candidate. You’ll move to the gunroom, of course, and you’ll join young Danny in the classroom we will provide. You have approximately six months to get to the education level required for a Cadet, but I think you are more than capable of achieving it.”

  Ferghal swallowed several times, found his voice and eventually croaked, “Thank you, sir.”

  Chuckling, the Commodore smiled. “You’ve earned it, Ferghal. By all accounts, you’ve the makings of a good officer, so we’ll get you up to speed as quickly as you can learn. One thing, though—you’ve brought the cutlass as I ordered?”

  “Aye, sir. I was ordered to leave it with your SSU...ah, Adriana. I handed it to her before coming in to see you, sir.” Ferghal blushed a fiery red just thinking about her. He’d rather have her as his personal steward than plain old SU-23. Maybe one day when I’m an officer, his mind wandered briefly.

  “Good. I’ll keep it here then.” Indicating the ship models on his bulkhead in their display case, the Commodore added, “I’ve already got Harry’s dirk safely put aside. I can’t have the pair of you terrorising any more settlers with these ancient weapons. I think they’re best suited for display.”

  Ferghal saw the laughter in the Commodore’s eyes. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  The interview was over. “TechRate O’Connor, ’tention! On cap, salute. About face, quick march!” Once past the Royal Marine sentry, the Master Warrant ordered, “Halt.” Then he held out a hand. “Well done, my lad. Once you’re through the College, you should specialise.” He winked. “You get to spend more time at home that way.”

  Alone again, James Heron sat down, his eyes going to the replica brass plaque now partly concealed by the dirk Harry had surrendered to his keeping. Quoting a line inscribed on it, he said, “Looks like a bit of ‘resurrection and the life of the world to come’ for you lads. I think you’ll make it.”

  THE PASSAGE BACK T
O NEW CALEDONIA was a lot faster than their voyage to Pangaea City had been. Skimming the waves in the large foil-riding surface effect vessel cruising at sixty knots bore no resemblance to the unhurried passage on the little cutter they’d used on their previous passage.

  Seated in comfort with the panoramic view ahead, Harry laughed. “Did you hear the reason they could not find us in the Victory? None thought of the necessity to follow the wind. They searched along this line and missed us completely.”

  Ferghal grinned. Still getting used to his new position as a Candidate Officer, he wasn’t yet comfortable with it. “Aye, Master Harry, they thought we were just wreckage. Nor could they see us with the scanners because we used no electronics, and that meant they could not find us using the tracing mechanism in our neural links.”

  Captain Wardman laughed as he overheard this. “Yes, you fellows didn’t follow the course everyone expected—a direct path from Islay Haven to Pangaea City. Instead, you wandered all over the ocean in that sailboat. Next time, though, we’ll take a closer look at any wreckage that moves around.”

  Harry laughed. He’d seen the aerial survey images, and upon closer inspection, it had become obvious that the little ship had been visible all the time. It just wasn’t where anyone had expected.

  The bay, its harbour and the cluster of domes below the ridge that concealed the Johnstone Research Facility and the deep command centre opened ahead of them.

  “How long will we be here, sir?” Harry asked.

  “As long as it takes you to unlock that computer.” The marine captain smiled. “We need access to it, and someone planted some rather dubious instructions in it.”

  Ferghal looked guilty as Harry nodded. “We could not be sure who would retrieve the data, sir. So I asked Ferghal to make it impossible, then I added my own instructions.”

  “You succeeded. After you’ve unlocked it, I’m to send you straight back to the city, and they’ll get you back to the Vanguard.”