Recovering his bags from the pavement, Harry grinned as he shifted his weight. “Well, let us see if we can find our way to the officer of the day and report aboard. Who knows, we old-fashioned sailors might have something to teach these mates.”
Ferghal hefted his bag and equipment. “Right you are. We’re cadets now. Officer’s College, here we come! Let’s steer to starboard. The entry port for us lies there.”
Harry looked at the entrance Ferghal indicated. “That looks like our way right enough. Away, boarders!”
Ferghal laughed at Harry’s use of an expression from their time in the navy of Admiral Nelson. “At least our arrival on these decks will not be opposed — I hope.”
“Aye.” Harry grinned. “And there is not the same stench with it. Do you recall the first time we boarded the Billy Ruffian?”
“I’m not like to forget that stench,” acknowledged Ferghal.
“I do not mind admitting that I sometimes wish for a return to those days when everything was familiar,” said Harry.
“True, ’tis a right strange world we live in now, but I’m enjoying entering this College more than I did boarding the Billy Ruffian, climbing the tumblehome with the line for your chest and my bag while trying to discover where I was allowed to enter the ship. The entry port was not for the likes of me then, but here, I can walk right through the front door wi’ the best of ’em.”
Harry didn’t quite know how to respond to Ferghal’s plain honesty, and the two fell silent as they neared the building. Reaching for the door, Harry was almost knocked down when it was thrust open with some force. A well-built youth in the uniform of a midshipman barged through it, pushing Harry aside.
“Get out of my way,” the newcomer snarled. He stormed past then stopped and turned around to stare. He planted his feet in a wide stance and crossed his arms. He looked Harry over, sneering. “New here, aren’t you? Well, you’d better learn to keep out of my way or you won’t last long.”
Harry bristled, his fiery temper rising. Ferghal took a step forward, squaring off with the youth, and Harry signalled him to stay out of the argument. He felt there was something familiar about the midshipman. Trying to place it, he said, “I know you not, Mr—”
Harry waited for affirmation, but the youth just glared at him, looking as though he couldn’t be bothered to give Harry his name.
Harry continued. “You may be assured that I did not intentionally impede your passage.”
“You’ll learn my name soon enough, you posh little jerk,” snarled the large midshipman. “And you’ll stay out of my way if you know what’s good for you. How did you put it so properly? Oh yeah, if you dare to impede my passage.”
Having just endured yet another dressing down for his treatment of a fellow classmate, the bully was in no mood to suffer any cheek from a newcomer. Even his Divisional Officer’s recent warning couldn’t hold Eon Barclay’s temper in check. He hated this place and he hated the Fleet. He was only here because he had to be. His father and uncle had insisted on it and arranged this assignment for him. Damn them both.
“I won’t stay out of your way,” said Ferghal quietly, his tone deadly serious. “I’ll seek you out if I have to.” He squared up again to show he meant it. He had no clue what “posh little jerk” meant, but he could tell from the tone that it was an insult. He hated bullies and had almost intervened on Harry’s behalf on Spartan more than once, risking being hanged for mutiny, the standard punishment in those days.
Barclay shifted his gaze and noted Ferghal’s broad shoulders and well muscled build. He modified his tone somewhat, but not his expression. “I’m not talking to you, Irish.” He glowered and folded his arms across his chest again, giving an unspoken invitation for either of them to take him on.
Ferghal’s eyes blazed. He would have said more but Harry spoke first.
“I know your sort. You do not frighten me, sir, and I do not like being abused for no reason but to appease your ego.”
Something familiar about the face and the look of this boy nagged at him, but he couldn’t quite place it.
“What do you mean, my sort?” spluttered the big midshipman, clenching his fists. “You’ll learn not to mess with me, you proper little twerp. Why don’t you talk like a real man and not like some butler named Jeeves in an old movie.”
Harry ignored the insult, partly because he had no idea what this bully was talking about. “I have served with one such as you, and he was as big a bully as you are. I endured his floggings in the Gunroom, mastheading and being triced up in the ratlines for his ego, but I’ll not stomach it in this place from anyone but an officer. You have the same attitude as that bully, but he could not cow me, and neither will you. Have no fear, I shall not seek your company unnecessarily, and I hope that you will do me the same courtesy.” He retrieved his bags.
“Come, Ferghal, we must report to the Officer of the Day.” Ferghal was still glowering at the speechless midshipman.
Stepping past the bully, Harry sensed rather than saw a fist aimed at his head. He ducked instinctively, and the fist whistled over him as he turned swiftly, his attaché case catching the bully squarely in the groin.
“I beg pardon,” said Harry, with a calmness that belied the temper he wanted to unleash.
The youth turned a sickly shade as he staggered and fell to his knees clutching himself.
“Do you wish to call me out?” Harry taunted. “Ah, I see you have other things on your mind. Perhaps later.”
Ferghal grinned as he followed Harry through the entrance. “You’ve made a dangerous enemy there,” he remarked as soon as the door closed behind them.
“I know it,” responded Harry. “But I could not allow him to strike me, nor you to strike him for me. If there is trouble from this encounter, it is my trouble and not yours.” For all his cool appearance, it worried him to have got off to such a bad start, and it stirred the memory of his long dead adversary on HMS Spartan. It was unnerving to him in this place that seemed so calm and orderly on the surface.
He stopped at the registration desk, placed his bags on the floor, and saluted the Master Warrant Officer who stood to greet them.
“Midshipmen Heron and Cadet O’Connor reporting as ordered, Master.”
“So I see, sir.” The Master Warrant Officer’s face was impassive as he studied the pair before him. Noting Harry’s tidy mop of dark brown hair and Ferghal’s thick shock of red hair and muscular heft, which made Harry’s build seem smaller, he sized them up with interest. A thirty-year veteran, he’d seen a lot of budding officers in his time, but uniforms apart, these two were something different. It was obvious in the way they carried themselves.
“I noticed your incident with Midshipman Barclay. Don’t try it again. Do you understand me, sir?”
Harry flushed. “I understand, Master. To whom should we report?”
“You have your joining instructions with you, I presume.”
Harry produced his data card.
“Very good, sir, place your card in this slot, please. Thank you. Midshipman Henry Nelson-Heron. Any relation to Commodore Heron, sir?” Before Harry could answer, the Warrant Officer exclaimed in surprise. “This data card must be wrong. Says here you were born in seventeen eighty-nine! That can’t be right. Damned networks have screwed up again.”
“I’m afraid the information is correct, Master,” replied Harry.
“Ah!” The Master Warrant Officer gave Harry a piercing look. “I should have remembered. You’re the midshipman who fought off the Consortium crew to escape their underground labs, and then you built and sailed a ship from an island on Pangaea. It was all over the news.” His glance covered Ferghal. “Well, I’m damned! Never thought they’d send you gentlemen here. Weren’t there three of you?”
“Danny has been sent to school in Dublin since he is too young to join this Fleet” said Harry. “And it seems our heroic story has been a little exaggerated, Master. Ferghal and a nu
mber of others did most of the work. We only rigged the ship. I just navigated them home.” He grinned.
“Well, well, our Mr Barclay had to pick on you two. I think I’m going to enjoy watching you gentlemen this semester.” He gave Ferghal an appraising look. “I hope you haven’t brought that sword with you, Cadet O’Connor.”
It was Ferghal’s turn to redden. “No, Master, the Commodore said it wasn’t appropriate here.”
“Well, thank God for that,” laughed the older man. “Now gentlemen, a few rules for you to follow. Absolutely no fighting with your fellow officers no matter the provocation, and there will be some. I am Master Warrant Officer Winkworth, and I am the Master Warrant for your class this semester. You are junior officers, but while you are here, I am the law. Your Divisional Officer is Lieutenant Haäkinen. He is expecting you as soon as you have deposited your duffel in your cabins. You, Mr Heron, are in Cabin Two Zero Two on Deck Zero Two and you, Mr O’Connor, are in Cabin Two Zero Four alongside him. I will warn you that Mr Barclay is in Two Zero Three, opposite you, Mr Heron. Don’t let him provoke you. Report to Lieutenant Haäkinen as soon as you are ready.”
Once they were out of earshot, he strolled over to the Royal Marine Colour Sergeant. “This should be fun, Jim. I think we will have some interesting times this semester. That pair were the lads from Pangaea — the ones transported four hundred years into the future by that accident in the Indian Ocean Transit Gate.”
“Oh?” exclaimed the Colour Sergeant. “My oppo on Vanguard said they were quite a pair. Took on a squad of Marines using knives, axes, and fire extinguishers.” He laughed. “The word is they escaped from some high security facility after contaminating the food replicators. The older one, O’Connor, is the bloody devil himself when he’s in a fighting mood, according to the lads who trained him. The Mid’s a very cool fish in a tight spot as well. I hope Mr Barclay crosses them again. That will be entertaining, to say the least!” They both laughed. “Has O’Connor got that sword with him? What did they call it — a cutlass, I think?”
“No, thank God, or so he assures me. I think I’m going to have my hands full as it is based on the fire in his eyes — that I couldn’t miss.” He paused. “But I’ll keep an eye on them both — odd pair, those two.”
“O’Connor broke a guard’s neck barehanded during their escape, then made the cutlass in a replication unit and used it on a villager when the fool tried to attack him. Took the fellow’s arm clean off and damned near his leg as well.” Hesitating, he added, “Never batted an eye, according to the Mid who was here last month. I wonder if I can get him to train some of my lads to use a weapon like that. Never know, it might be a handy skill to have.”
Chapter 2 – Shades of the Past
Harry turned sharply at the outburst of a rude exclamation, half expecting another attempt at assault. “Where do you think you’re going?” Eon Barclay demanded to know.
“To my assigned cabin, since you ask. You have some objection to that?” Once again, the resemblance of Eon Barclay to someone he knew tugged at his memory and stirred up a nebulous sense of anxiety, but he responded calmly, meeting the other’s eye. Then the name surfaced a memory. Barclay! That was the connection — this must be a descendent of that other Barclay who had been the Gunroom bully aboard HMS Spartan. Surely a mean streak could not run in a family for so many generations, or could it?
Scowling, Barclay thrust his face closer to Harry’s. “Think you’re so damn smart, don’t you? What’s the name? What division?”
His own anger rising at being addressed like this, Harry bit back the urge to tell this bully to mind his own business. “Heron. Britannia Division.” His annoyance prompted him. “And who enquires? What is your name and division?”
“None of your damn business. Just stay out of my way.”
“It is my business to know whom I am addressing, especially when I am merely answering a question. You demanded to know where I am going. I see before me a man wearing the same uniform and displaying the same rank as mine, yet you demand my name and business as if you’re a senior officer. Not only that, but you made this demand without introducing yourself first. As to staying out of your way — well, that will be determined by which classes we must attend and which other activities we must engage upon. Now, since I have made myself known, perhaps you’d do me the same courtesy.”
Glowering, Barclay clenched his fists, aware that the exchange had attracted witnesses. Through the anger driving him, the name belatedly sparked a warning. “Oh, so you’re Heron, are you? Well, I’m Barclay, Dreadnought Division.” He glanced at the audience. “I’ll be watching you. Put one foot wrong, and I’ll—”
“I do not meekly accept attempts to assault me — particularly from behind, as you tried to do when first we met.” Harry stood firm. “Good day to you, Mr Barclay. My cabin is on this flat, so if you would care to move aside, I shall install myself in it.”
Barclay made a big show of reluctantly stepping aside.
When they reached their cabins, Ferghal muttered, “A fine start to College life, eh, Harry.” He breathed out slowly, his eyes on the man glowering at Harry.
“You know we dealt with his like on Spartan,” Harry said, shooting a quick glance at Eon. “Same surname, too. We’ll have to watch this one. See you in a bit.” He went into his cabin.
“It didn’t take Eon long to make a new enemy then,” said a voice behind Ferghal, just as he put his hand on the keypad to his cabin door. He turned to see who spoke.
“Hi, I’m Keiron Whitworth, and I’ve come to escort you and Heron to our Divisional Officer.”
Ferghal nodded. “That’ll be welcome. Who is that fellow?” As if in answer, Barclay slammed the door to his cabin.
“Eon?” Keiron sighed. “A burden we all have to bear. You must be O’Connor, and I gather that was Heron.” He held out his hand. “For my sins, today I’m the Divisional Go-fer. Welcome to the Yotties. Stow your gear while I make my number with your friend.”
THE WALK TO LIEUTENANT HAÄKINEN’S OFFICE proved a long one, made simpler by Keiron’s demonstration of the system used to navigate the massive campus.
“If you enter the department code and a room number, it displays the building and a green line to follow.” Keiron handed a tablet to Ferghal. “Here we are. I better rush. I’ve another newbie to round up. See you in the dining hall later.”
As Keiron hurried away, Harry read the door label and eyed the lights on the indicator. Applying his knuckle to the door, he made a brief staccato knock. There was no response, and he was about to knock again when the door slid back to reveal the Lieutenant, his hand still on the switch. Harry stepped back in surprise, recovered quickly, and saluted. “Sir. Midshipman Nelson-Heron and Cadet O’Connor, at your serv—I mean, reporting, sir.”
The Lieutenant smiled. Returning the salute, he stepped back. “Come in, gentlemen. You’ll find using the door pad is the usual way now, Mr Heron.” Taking a seat behind his desk, he signalled them to chairs facing him. “So, you are the famous Heron and O’Connor,” he continued in slightly accented but otherwise flawless English. “I think you’ve heard about the College and what will be expected of you here, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Harry.
“Good, then I won’t waste time going through it all again. As you’re aware, most of what you will get here is the opportunity to develop your abilities with the goal of commissioning aboard a ship of the Fleet.” He glanced at his desk display. “I see from your reports that you have done very well in getting the underpinning knowledge. You’ll build on that using our simulators and by participating in real-time exercises to develop your knowledge and abilities in the required fields.”
He observed their reactions. “You bring a range of experiences most of your classmates don’t have, which may or may not help in what you’ll be doing here. You’ll discover that the competition among your fellow midshipmen and cadets is quite fierce an
d sometimes a little rough. Some of it will be in good fun, and some of it will be aimed at testing your limits. The line between what is acceptable and what is not is very thin indeed, but the way to know the difference is to consider the setting within which you’re tested. If it is during an official exercise, that is part of your training. If it is outside of those parameters and during your free time, it is most likely a bullying tactic. Don’t let yourselves be provoked, and don’t let anyone bully you. The Fleet won’t tolerate bullies here or aloft, at all.”
He held their gaze. “I expect that you will know the signs and how to deal with it should it occur.”
Harry gave a wry smile, wondering whether the Lieutenant knew of his encounter with Barclay.
“I think so, sir.”
Changing the subject, Lt Haäkinen said, “I understand that you are both able to use a direct link to the AI network. That will give you a distinct advantage during your studies here, so it’s best not to make that known to the other cadets and officers, or you’ll be seen as having privileges not earned. I gather it is not the usual link provided to senior officers by the Fleet.”
“Aye, sir,” replied Ferghal for them both. “At first it was, but since the Pangaea laboratory incident, Harry’s been unable to switch it off, and mine is now doing a similar thing. Surgeon Commander Myers on Vanguard thought it was because of something called a gene splice the Consortium people did to us.”
“I see.” The Lieutenant hesitated. “According to your medical records, they performed an illegal genetic modification on you both. I gather you have been given a briefing on the implications of that.”
Harry glanced at Ferghal. “I think we may have the general idea, sir. Surgeon Commander Myers did try to explain it, and I looked up the information on genetic engineering, but I confess neither of us fully understands it.” In this Harry was being a little reticent. While he now understood what a genetic splice was, he also knew that the particular gene that had been modified governed the body’s ability to heal itself and regenerate lost or damaged parts. It worried him that no one knew the full impact of this on a human subject, and he was very much afraid that it might result in unwelcome changes to his person.
Harry Heron: No Quarter Page 2
