Harry Heron: No Quarter

by Patrick G Cox

  Now it was Harry’s turn to snort, and Keiron’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

  A cadet from the Dreadnought class chose this moment to faint. When he saw this, MWO Winkworth growled in a barely audible voice, “Britannias, don’t you even think about fainting. I’ll be after your guts for sausage-making if any of you even waver.”

  That almost sent them over the edge, and their snorts actually caused the Master Warrant’s mouth to twitch in amusement.

  Various prizes were awarded during the ceremony, and suddenly Harry heard, “Midshipman Ferghal Sean O’Connor, Britannia Class, for his score in the Micro Engineering Project.”

  Flushed with pleasure, Ferghal snapped to attention and went forward to receive his prize, while the officer making the announcements continued. “Midshipman O’Connor has excelled in his studies, a remarkable feat considering that he has had to adapt to an age of technology. He has shown remarkable resourcefulness on the practical exercises, and has taught us some old skills which we have found very informative.”

  Harry’s delight at Ferghal’s award turned to amazement when he heard his own name called. “Midshipman Henry Nelson-Heron, the prize for Astral Navigation.”

  He snapped to attention and marched out even as Elize whispered, “Well done!”

  “Good going, you devil,” Keiron murmured as he passed, incurring another glower from the Master Warrant.

  As Harry strode forward, the commentator continued. “Midshipman Heron is also receiving the Fleet Commendation for his part in manually navigating the cruiser Der Große Kurfürst when her command interfaces were sabotaged.”

  Harry’s face was scarlet as he arrived at the dais and exchanged salutes with the Grand Admiral. He barely heard the Commander-in-Chief’s congratulations and just managed a coherent reply. As he accepted the trophy, shook hands and saluted, he caught a brief glimpse of the pride showing in Commodore Heron’s face. He set the trophy on the table set up to receive them until after the dismissal.

  He returned to his place wondering anew at the fuss everyone seemed to be making about his having performed so simple a task in so ordinary a manner. It seemed to him a far less spectacular achievement than the remarkable things done with modern technology — or the ability to create such thinking engines.

  He had barely regained his place when he strode forward again with Ferghal, Keiron, Senzile, Elize and Howard as each had led one of the teams or crews for the class.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the commentator’s voice followed them out. “Today you see history being made. This is the first time the Class Cup for the Regatta has been awarded to the Britannia Class.”

  The Grand Admiral surveyed them as he returned their salute. He smiled and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, as a former Yottie, you may imagine the pleasure this gives me!”

  There was an appreciative laugh from the onlookers.

  “I do not think I have ever seen a class of Yotties so determined and so focussed, and that is saying something. I doubt any of us will forget the spectacular display this team provided in the sloop race, where the crew not only gave a demonstration of sailing in conditions which, frankly, were marginal, but pulled off two rescues and the most spectacular demonstration of iron nerves I have ever seen. I can only guess what it was like to be aboard her, and I suspect that those who were will never forget it. I understand the strain on the Sparrow’s fittings will mean an extensive overhaul, and our research teams are revising their textbooks concerning the strength of certain indestructible materials.” He paused as a ripple of appreciative laughter went through the crowd.

  “As for the man who commanded that crew — well, it speaks for itself that he not only crammed on more sail than anyone thought safe, but he judged it perfectly, and abandoned the sail when it had served its purpose. Skill and determination, knowledge and its application have been demonstrated by this Class in ways that have been refreshing and reassuring. Ladies and gentlemen, I think we may safely say that the future of the Fleet and of our society is assured as long as we have young men and women like these to carry on the best traditions, the best practices, and to offer the very best in leadership. Thank you.”

  The applause was deafening as he stepped down from the podium to shake each of them by the hand. Behind him the assembled visitors rose to their feet, the sound of cheering from their fellow classmates and their rivals adding to the noise.

  The remainder of the ceremony passed in a blur, but as they broke away from the dismissal, Harry found the Master Warrant Officer alongside him.

  “Well done, Mr Heron,” growled the senior. “Quite a joker on parade, I noticed.” The man’s face was stern, but his eyes twinkled. “You almost had me laughing on parade, and that would never do. I figured you’d give us some interesting moments, and you didn’t disappoint, I’m happy to say. Keep up the good work.”

  And with that, he was gone, leaving Harry speechless as Ferghal, Elize and the others clustered round him demanding to know what the Master Warrant had said.

  AFTER THE PARADE, ALL THE CANDIDATES ASSEMBLED in the main auditorium to be presented individually with their certificates, and for the cadets, their Warrants as Midshipmen. Each candidate was handed a wallet that contained a data chip with orders for posting to a ship. Harry found himself wishing he had his tablet with him so he could read this information — and anxious to know where Ferghal’s posting would take him. Not for the first time he wondered how he would feel if they were to be separated. He confided this to Elize as they sat waiting for the presentations to be completed. “I hope Ferghal and I are posted to the same ship,” he whispered. “It will be very strange not to be together after all that we have been through.”

  “You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you? And I notice you aren’t saying you’d like me to be on the same ship!” she teased. “I know I am due to go back to the Vengeance, so I suppose we won’t be together, unless you’re posted to that ship.” She gave him an enquiring glance. “Will you write to me? One of your real letters in that lovely handwriting of yours?”

  Surprised and flattered, Harry returned her smile. “Of course. But you must reply to mine.” He had enjoyed her company and his flirtation with her, even if some of the others considered it so stilted as to hardly qualify as flirtation. He realised he was rather old fashioned, but he was fairly certain Elize liked that about him. He would miss her companionship when they parted, but he was also very unsure of how he should respond to a lady so obviously interested in his company. After all, in the nineteenth century, young men rarely got close to a young lady unless she was in the company of an older chaperone, always a woman. Furthermore, despite a great deal of searching through the Discipline Handbook, he was not at all sure that it was proper for him to pay court to a fellow officer. It was yet another of the very confusing things he wrestled with whenever he was unable to sleep.

  Eventually the assembly was dismissed, and Harry rushed to his room to get his tablet with Ferghal hard on his heels. Anxiously they inserted their data chips and used their security codes to access the orders. “I am posted to the Leander — Fleet frigate. What ship are you sent to?”

  “Leander as well,” breathed Ferghal with relief. “I was afraid they would send us to different ships now, but all’s well. I can continue with you, Master Harr . . . I mean Harry,” he finished, for the first time in months falling back to his old form of address, a sure sign that he had been deeply concerned about the possibility of their being separated.

  Harry looked across to where Barclay was talking with Laschelles. “I wonder who will have the pleasure of their company in future. Not we, I hope!”

  THE SMALL MAN LEANED BACK IN HIS CHAIR and steepled his fingers. His mild appearance and mannerisms belied a steely resolve. Not for nothing did the sign on the door to his suite of offices say simply Director of Corporate Security. Myles Campbell-Jones was deceptive. Outwardly the epitome of a loving family man, his desk displayed
holographic images of his wife and their children, now all at top public schools in England. Soft spoken and always very polite, he was dressed impeccably, every stitch of clothing tailor made and perfect in its fit. Yet even this did not make him stand out, but seemed to enhance his very ordinariness. It was a carefully cultivated front, one that served him well. In meetings with outsiders he always let his number two do the talking, and most people fell into the trap of thinking that this mild mannered and innocuous little man was a nobody. In fact, after the Chairman, he was the most powerful man in the Consortium, the one man even the Chairman dealt with carefully.

  And today, he was not pleased.

  “Tell me again how this simple operation failed?”

  “We don’t know,” his deputy replied, shifting uncomfortably. “All we have for certain is that the team apparently failed to return to the College to collect our contact there. There is nothing on the security scanners to indicate that anything may have gone awry, and there was no sign of any attempt to place the device. As you know, the intention was to detonate it once the boats had been manned so that we could be sure of the maximum number of casualties among the spectators, particularly among the Fleet Command Staff.” He wished he were brave enough to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead, but he didn’t want to draw further attention to his nervousness, and he was afraid the Director would see it as an insult to the perfect temperature in the climate-controlled room. “All we know for certain is that the transport returned automatically to the garage it left from — and the device was still in it. When it detonated, the entire building collapsed.”

  “That is something else we will need to look into then,” replied the small man. “That building was supposed to be impervious to the explosion from a device of that size.” He touched a control and spoke to a secretary. “Have Mr Brandfort look into the construction contracts for the Global Security Group. I want him to look at who built their HQ and why it failed. If there was any…” he searched carefully for the right word “…misalignment between our specification and the construction, those responsible must be made aware of their error. If necessary, we will make an example of them. We cannot allow anyone to think we will accept sub-standard work. Thank you.”

  He turned his attention back to his deputy. “Let our agents at the College know that I am very disappointed, but at least they have delivered one useful piece of information. It seems that our targets have been assigned to the frigate Leander. I understand from Fleet HQ that she is part of a group taking a convoy to Pangaea and then to New Eden to do a survey. That will give us more than one opportunity to remove them, and if we can’t, it would be very unfortunate if she were to be lost en route, would it not? See to it, please.”

  “We may have a problem at the College,” his deputy reported. “It seems that Lieutenant Commander Vallance had a visit from Fleet Security and is now under surveillance. Our other operatives at the College want out as soon as possible in case he implicates them.”

  “Ah.” The small man nodded. “Well, perhaps it’s time to get him moved to a new post. I’ll see to it. Is there any indication as to why he failed to warn us things had gone wrong?”

  “Yes.” The big deputy gave a sour smile. “It seems that the security clamp-down left them all unable to get a message out that would not be intercepted and traced. I suppose we should have anticipated that. Still, Vallance had planned to leave with the team, and none of us anticipated them being intercepted. We still don’t know how that happened. All I have is some garbled story about some sort of special ops security team.”

  MIDSHIPMAN EON BARCLAY MADE SURE THE PRIVACY SCREEN was activated in the public communications booth. He’d not dared to use his unregistered private communicator at the College. Now he addressed his uncle, a florid faced and rather corpulent man.

  “I’ve been posted to a destroyer being sent to the Seraphis sector.”

  “Good. Cheer up, Eon. That will put you in a good position when we are ready to move you. Just keep your nose clean and it will be to your advantage soon. “Things will be moving very quickly in the not too distant future, and you stand to benefit.”

  “But what about Heron and the others?” Barclay scowled. “I wanted to see them pay for all the trouble they put me through, not to mention what happened to Liam.”

  “Liam was in the wrong place at the wrong time — and involved in activities you would do well to stay clear of. As for those boys, forget about them. They’re not your problem. Our people will deal with them. Their survival is not important to anyone except Dr Johnstone, and he’s out of favour at the moment.”

  “But there was a big reward for their return to Johnstone,” protested Eon. “I could use that!”

  “As I said, Johnstone isn’t in favour with the Board at the moment, and they don’t support his attempt to have those boys recaptured. So keep out of it. Don’t mess this up like you did the other business. We don’t need to upset the Chairman just now if we can help it. Is that clear?”

  With obvious reluctance, Midshipman Barclay agreed. Privately, he vowed to take the soonest possible opportunity to exact revenge on those fossils. O’Connor would definitely pay for the humiliation he had forced on him, and so would Heron.

  Part Two – Fleet Deployment

  Chapter 23 – New Ship, New Challenges

  Harry studied the frigate as the transport approached the huge docking station. Considerably smaller than any of the ships he’d been aboard since his precipitate arrival in this age of interstellar travel, she had a sleek beauty suggesting speed, power and manoeuvrability. Dwarfed by the orbital dock, she still managed to project the grace of a predator even among several of the Fleet’s ships.

  “She’s a beauty,” Ferghal remarked. “I hear the Engineering Commander is a tiger.”

  Harry nodded, his eyes on the weapons pods and the navigation array. “Aye.” He grinned. “Or a bear. I heard she is known as Mama Bear. They say she takes care of her people though.” Shifting his attention as the transport moved further round the dock, he pointed to some larger ships. “The Darings, I think, a new class of destroyer.”

  “Aye, and Barclay was assigned to one — the Driad — but he resigned his commission. No loss to the Fleet.” Ferghal indicated a larger ship in the next berth. “The DGK. I wonder if we will have time to see our friends aboard her.”

  “We can but hope. I believe we are not due to depart for a few days yet. Perhaps we may also explore this dock station or at least a part of it.”

  The transport manoeuvred carefully, and with the slightest tremor slid into a vast open bay. Behind them the huge doors closed silently as the transport aligned with the deck.

  The Loadmaster made the usual announcements. “Your dunnage will be available for collection at Security. Please proceed directly to Boarding Control. Have your ID and assignment orders ready. Transport to your ships will be assigned once you have cleared Security. Officers may disembark through the forward ports. All other ranks through the after ports.” He sounded bored. It was obvious he had given these instructions many times before.

  STEPPING THROUGH THE BOARDING PORT, HARRY and Ferghal found themselves in a wide-open space. Against the forward bulkhead was a large board on which were the Battle Honours of all the previous Leanders stretching back to the earthbound navy of the 17th Century. A Quartermaster, two TechRates and the Officer of the Day in Number One dress stood at allotted posts with two Marines in parade dress on sentry duty.

  Saluting the Honours, as he’d learned was customary, Harry addressed the Officer of the Day. “Midshipmen Heron and O’Connor reporting in accordance with our orders, sir.”

  “Welcome aboard, Mr Heron, Mr O’Connor. I’m Lieutenant Orloff. I’m responsible for your welfare and development on this commission.” She signalled one of the TechRates. “Show these gentlemen to the Gunroom and then to the Exec’s office. I’ll notify him you’re on your way.”

  Saluting again they f
ollowed the TechRate aft then down a deck.

  “The Gunroom, gentlemen. Your cabins are ready.” The TechRate operated the door and stood aside. “I’ll wait here for you.”

  “Thank you,” Harry responded, returning the salute. “Lead on, Ferghal. Best not keep the First waiting.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr Heron, Mr O’Connor.” The android steward moved to meet them. “Service Droid 14 at your service, sirs. Mr Heron, you are assigned Cabin Four. Mr O’Connor, you have Number Six. Sub-Lieutenant Istafan is the Gunroom senior. She is currently in the Command Centre.”

  Harry grinned. The android seemed even fussier than Herbert, the Heron family butler droid at Scrabo House. “Thank you. We are awaited by the Executive Officer, so we can make your acquaintance properly later, perhaps.”

  He was about to stow his kit when the steward said, “Leave your bags, sir. I will see them properly stowed. If the Commander expects you, best hurry.”

  The interview with the Executive Commander was brief. She wasted little time beyond the normal pleasantries, assigning Harry to the Navigation Department and Ferghal to Engineering.

  “Captain Rafferty runs a tight ship, gentlemen, and I make sure it remains that way.” Commander Philippa Sönderburg smiled briefly. “Your files indicate that you have some special abilities. Your Heads of Department will find good use for them.” Her link chirped. “Carry on. You have your assignments.”

  The Navigation Officer acknowledged Harry’s arrival with a grin after he returned his salute. “Mr Heron. Great, just in time. I hear you’re a wizard at astro-nav maths. You can get to work with me immediately — we’ve to run checks on all these updates for the Pangaea system and another we’ll be visiting.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” The Navigation Officer was younger than he’d expected, a Lieutenant Commander named Dalziel. Glancing round the Navigation Centre, Harry took in the position of the various operational stations including the helm and manoeuvring controls. “Where shall I work, sir?”