Harry Heron: No Quarter

by Patrick G Cox

  “Yes, I have the spares your Commander has ordered, but I cannot release them unless I have the authority of my Director. They’re reserved for another ship.” The little bureaucrat had the sort of smug air that got under Ferghal’s skin. “I have explained this at length to your, er, Warrant Officer.”

  Glancing at the Warrant’s face, Ferghal saw the barely suppressed fury there. “But these stores are essential, and we sail tomorrow.” Ferghal consulted his tablet. “And the order was made over a week ago, enough time, surely, for the proper authority to be obtained.”

  “Normally, yes.” The supply clerk sniffed importantly. “Yes, normally,” he repeated, as if needing to convince himself of the lie. “Unfortunately, the Director has been called to Earth for an important meeting. Until she returns next week, I can’t get the reallocation and release signed.”

  Ferghal hesitated, controlling his temper at the blatant lie. “When did this Director leave the station?”

  “Last night.”

  “Could she not have issued the authority before this?”

  “Yours is not the only ship needing anything, you know. And priority is always given to the needs of the station—” The man cut himself short when he realised he was saying too much. “We have to prioritise. The ships’ needs are important, but the station is undergoing some major maintenance at this time.”

  “I see.” Fingering his link, Ferghal called the ship and left a message for Mama Behr. He suspected he knew what her reaction would be. “So you say the authority has not been issued and cannot be until next week? And we must therefore sail without the spares we require for the transit?”

  “I have told you repeatedly. Now you are wasting my time, young man. I have a great deal of work to do.”

  Ferghal bit back his retort. An idea formed.

  “Search,” he inwardly ordered the AI. “Engineering Requisition Leander 5771 slash 77.”

  “Found. What do you require?”

  “Authorise the issue of all items on the requisition.”

  “The spares on this requisition have been reassigned.”

  “To what ship?”

  “The ACF Conveyor.”

  “That is an error. She is not a Fleet ship, and cannot draw Fleet supplies.” Ferghal considered. “Cancel the reassignment and deliver the packages to this station, and copy the allocations to NECS Leander FAO Lieutenant-Commander Behr.”

  “On what authority?”

  Ferghal hesitated then remembered the name. “Flag Officer Du Plessis, Commanding Fleet Engineering.”

  “It is done. The packages will be issued at your location in one minute fifty-eight seconds.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ferghal cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”

  The clerk looked up, feigning that Ferghal had startled him out of deep concentration as he studied a supply list on his tablet. “What is it? I told you, I’m busy.”

  “So you did, sir, but I believe my requisition has been authorised.” He indicated a display screen. “Perhaps you could check.”

  The man stared, unable to deny that there was indeed a series of pallet carriers trundling into his despatch station. “I doubt it, but—” He glared at his handheld reader. “Just a moment. I need to check this on the inventory. I haven’t entered any authorisation.”

  “Perhaps your Director did and forgot to tell you, sir.”

  The Warrant and the MechTech stared at Ferghal then at the clerk.

  “I don’t understand it.” The man turned back to the counter. “Authorised by Flag Officer Fleet Engineering?” His eyebrows rose and he paled. He was flustered now, and very unsure of what was going on. “The stores are all present according to the system.” Impatiently, he waved at the pallets. “Take them then.”

  With the clerk still puzzling over the appearance on his screen of the necessary authority, the Warrant and MechTech Klein loaded the packages on a freight lifter just as Lieutenant Commander Behr stormed into the office. “Well, O’Connor,” she demanded. “What is the delay?”

  “Mr, er,” Ferghal cast his eye quickly at the man’s badge. “Mr Lane has been most helpful, ma’am. He discovered there had been an error. In fact, ma’am, I was about to contact you and inform you. I apologise for having troubled you, ma’am.”

  Lieutenant Commander Heather “Mama” Behr was not often lost for words. On this occasion, though, she seemed to have difficulty. Her glare switched between Ferghal and the clerk. “So I came all this way for nothing. Don’t let it happen again.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” chorused the clerk and Ferghal while the MechTech had a coughing fit.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you, Klein? See the surgeon when you get back aboard. I’m not having you coughing and spluttering all over my Control Room! Now get that stuff over to the ship the pair of you.”

  MechTech Klein activated the maglift of the small freight transport and led the way, still spluttering as Ferghal followed his Commander. Behind him the clerk stared at his screen, puzzled by the authorisation. He knew it to be false, precisely because he’d arranged for these very stores to be assigned to the ACL Conveyor, a regular little fiddle his line manager was in on. The trick was to select a requisition submitted by a ship that was about to depart because it would not have time to query the delay. How had their foolproof system failed?

  IN THE CORRIDOR, FERGHAL WAS SUDDENLY AWARE that the Lieutenant Commander was glaring at him and expecting an answer to some question he had not heard.

  “Sorry, ma’am.” He gulped. “I beg pardon, I did not hear you speak.”

  “I said liar!” she growled. “That man was never being helpful. I’ve had run-ins with him many times. He found an error? That’s the biggest load of manure I’ve ever heard! He never agreed to release these items without some authority. What did you do? Out with it now — all of it.”

  He told her of his redirecting the already packed stores.

  Passers-by in the long corridor averted their eyes and hurried past at the sight of an officer of the Fleet — Mama Behr, no less — leaning against the transport howling with laughter, tears streaming from her eyes.

  Eventually she managed, “My God, you’ll get us both court-martialled. It will be worth it just to drag that shower of worthless paper shufflers in to face the music with us. Oh my God, I had better tell the Captain so he can warn Flag and Flag Engineering of the bomb ticking away there.” She shook with another paroxysm of laughter. “No wonder Klein looked so happy!”

  Relieved by her response, Ferghal used his AI link again.

  “Thank you for your assistance. I would appreciate your forwarding a complete record of all issues not made to the originating ships and delayed or declined requisitions to my ship, for the attention of Lieutenant Commander Behr.”

  “In progress.” There was a moment’s hesitation. “You are an unusual node. What is your function?”

  “I am a human node assigned to NECS Leander. Thank you again for your assistance. Leander will be grateful.”

  FERGHAL TAPPED ON THE DOOR OF MAMA BEHR’S OFFICE. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

  “So what is this list of declined or unauthorised requisitions? Mine is right there at the top marked declined. And they didn’t even have the bloody decency to contact me!” She paused, visibly controlling her fury. “I know you told me you’d redirected the stuff and altered the authority, but what I want to know is how did you get these records of all the declined and redirected requisitions?”

  Ferghal weighed up how to say what he’d done. “Um, privately, ma’am.”

  She stared at him, then her anger faded. “You’ve pulled a blinder, have you? Right, what did you do? Who else has copies of this?” She waved him to a chair. “Am I going to have Special Branch descending on me looking for you?”

  “I hope not, ma’am. The clerk said his Director hadn’t signed the authority to release, and wouldn’t be back until next week. I, um,
checked with the AI when he wouldn’t reconsider in light of our departure. When I saw the authority had been given and redirected to a private ship, not a Fleet one, I told the AI to cancel the reassignment, reauthorise our requisition and reallocate the issue to us.”

  “And the clerk didn’t know?”

  “I did it through my link, ma’am. When he checked his inventories, the requisition showed it was authorised to us.”

  Mama Behr’s expression underwent a transformation.

  “Ma’am?”

  “I’ll be damned.” She started laughing. “Oh, bloody hell. I’m glad you only gave the bull version on the station. There’ll be hell to pay over this, and bugger all they can do about it — especially the stuff issued to contractors and non-Fleet ships! Well done. There’s been a lot of this, obviously. I’ll have to pass it to SO Engineering to investigate it further.” She straightened in her chair. “Carry on, Mr O’Connor. I had better see the Commander immediately. Don’t tell anyone else how you did this.”

  ACCOMPANYING THE NAVIGATOR AND THE CAPTAIN to the Admiral’s briefing, Harry chose a seat next to Lieutenant Commander Dalziel in the lecture-style briefing room aboard the flagship. He watched and listened with interest as each Briefing Officer addressed the specific groups of specialists, though a great deal of it was of no consequence to his remit, which was navigation.

  Sitting straight as the Fleet Navigation Officer took the podium, he made copious notes on his pad, to the amusement of his commander who simply made use of his tablet to capture and record the data. The amusement turned to fascination when the briefing moved on to dealing with matters unrelated to navigation, including stores, spare parts, repair facilities and catering. Bob Dalziel watched as the swiftly moving pencil captured the faces of the Briefing Staff, the Admiral and the assembled Captains — all while Harry listened with apparent intense interest. The sketches of the Captains of Dragon, Danae, Naiad and Lysander appeared, and one of the Admiral and his Flag Lieutenant, all of which captured their likeness and personality in a few deft pencil strokes, each labelled with the name.

  The convoy coordinator took his turn at the podium. Harry stopped sketching to write a few notes, and Bob Dalziel turned his attention to the speaker, making a mental note to ask for copies of the sketches afterward.

  The convoy coordinator consulted his tablet then glanced around the room to make sure he had everyone’s attention. “You’ll have ten freighters and a colonist transport to take out to Pangaea. Details of all the ships and their cargo manifests are in your orders pack. The situation with the Consortium is getting worse with every day that passes. We have no time to lose. Several of the non-treaty governments here on Earth are actively supporting them, apparently in return for weapons and ships.”

  A murmur of anger stirred among the Captains, quickly suppressed.

  “This means that not even our own system is safe from incursion. We haven’t had a direct attack, but we’ve been the target of several scouting missions. They seem to be testing our preparedness and assessing our defences. We have to keep a substantial force in readiness. Meanwhile, they strike at colonies and unescorted freighters whenever it suits them.”

  “Something is badly wrong if their ships are coming off unscathed,” remarked one of the Captains.

  “They aren’t,” said the Admiral, “but they have well established facilities, and they’re diverting just about everything they need from our own stores.” He stood to speak, and the convoy coordinator stepped aside to give him the podium.

  The Admiral continued. “Gentlemen, there is no point in trying to fool anyone. The Consortium’s fleet is considerably larger than was permitted under their charter. In fact, it is three times that, and growing larger thanks to some very innovative conversions. Our current intel suggests they have enough ships of the starship category to pose a significant threat, and those are supported by at least the same number of heavy cruisers plus frigates, destroyer class and landing ship platforms capable of supporting planetary landings.”

  He allowed the outraged protests then held up a hand for silence. “There has been a serious breakdown in the arrangements for monitoring their building programme, and certain governments on Earth are directly supporting them in their aims, but that is a matter for the politicians and the Fleet Board to sort out. Your task is to get your convoy to Pangaea intact.”

  For the Leander officers there was the additional information that they would first take the convoy to Pangaea then another group to Seraphis, and finally a research ship, the Beagle, to a planet called New Eden.

  “Interesting name that,” commented Captain Rafferty. “Sounds like paradise. What sort of place is it?”

  “Interesting is not quite the word most people use for it,” replied the Admiral. “It’s no paradise, although it is full of vegetation. A very wet and warm place, but the oceans are so shallow they would be a joke anywhere else.”

  “THOSE SKETCHES ARE VERY GOOD, HARRY,” Lieutenant Commander Dalziel remarked after the briefing. Keeping his tone casual, he asked, “What do you do with them when you’ve finished each sketch? Why do you need them?”

  “Sir?” Harry coloured slightly, wondering if this was a mild reprimand. “I keep them for my journal. They remind me of who I have met among so many new faces. And, of course, they illustrate my letters to Aunt Niamh.”

  “Aunt Niamh?” Remembering why the unusual name was familiar, he said, “You mean Mrs L’Estrange? Commodore Heron’s sister?”

  “That is correct, sir.” Harry grinned. “Actually, she and the Commodore are my great-niece and nephew twelve times removed, but it seems a little rude to remind them they are my juniors.”

  Bob Dalziel let out a guffaw. “I expect so! I can just see the Commodore’s face if you did.” He paused. “I’d like some copies of those sketches for my own logbook, Harry, if I may. Just a word to the wise, though — take care to keep things like that secure. You never know who might find it useful to go through your notes.”

  Chapter 25 – Outward Bound

  “All hands to stations for undocking.”

  The announcement emptied the Gunroom. Harry hurried to the Navigation centre with Sheoba the Lacertian in company, and stopped as he noticed that, if she were not in uniform, she would be almost impossible to see. “Er, Sheoba, do you normally blend into the background like this? I mean, I know you do it when you wish to hide, but why here?”

  She stopped. Slowly her head and hands came into view. “My apologies, Navigator.” She made the gesture of respect. “When I am excited, I blend into the background. Does it disturb you?”

  He smiled, returned the salute and continued walking with her. “Not really, but it does look very strange to see a headless body walking to its station.” He raced up the stairs and paused at the entrance to the Navigation Centre. “Are you excited by our departure?”

  “It is something I have looked forward to, yes.” Stepping aside, she motioned. “I will follow you, Navigator.”

  Laughing, Harry took his place at the Navigation console and logged in as Sheoba took her place next to him. “Remember to keep yourself visible, please. We would not wish to distract the Coxswain while attempting to enter the transit gate in company.”

  “Ready, team?” Lieutenant Commander Dalziel looked round the Navigation Centre as each station reported ready. “Great stuff. Here we go then.” Activating his link, he reported, “Navigation closed up, helm manned, manoeuvring on standby, sir.”

  “Stand by. We’ll be undocking and using the tugs to clear the dock. Once clear we will move to the assembly position. We’re the lead ship through the gate.”

  “Standing by, sir.”

  The 3D display showed the dock along the starboard side and ahead, and a sister frigate and her tugs to port. A slight shudder in the deck accompanied the long boarding tube disengaging and retracting.

  “Manoeuvring, stand by. The tethers are being released now.”
/>   “Tugs have us, sir.”

  The dock slid away as the ship drew clear of it. The tail of the long arm they’d been attached to slipped to starboard, and the ship swung to port.

  “Tugs releasing. Tugs clear. Thirty second pulse on starboard manoeuvring thrusters.” The ship’s backward motion checked, and the swing to port increased. “Twenty seconds port thrusters. Stop thrusters.”

  The ship steadied. “Helm, steer forty-five degrees left, positive angle five degrees. Twenty seconds thrust aft thrusters.”

  “Ship will be on station in four minutes, sir,” Harry reported, tracking their position on the large navigation display.

  “Very good. Give me a mark at two minutes thirty.”

  The seconds ticked by. “Two minutes thirty seconds, sir.”

  “Forward thrusters, fifteen-second pulse.” Watching the ship’s position relative to her gathering convoy, Bob Dalziel waited until the glow of the thrusters vanished before he activated his comlink. “On station, sir.”

  “Well done, Pilot. As soon as everyone is in position, we’ll lead our sheep into transit.”

  From his station, Harry watched the display, noting the ships gathering astern. Slightly beneath them and now well off to starboard hung the huge orbital dock, and beneath that loomed a great slice of the planet Earth — home. The sight of it from this vantage point gave him a strange yet exhilarating feeling.

  THE LEANDER AND HER CONSORTS DROPPED OUT in the system of Pangaea Alpha exactly on schedule, with their small convoy intact and just inside the asteroid belt that Harry and Ferghal recalled from their earlier visit to the planet. Studying the planet and its three moons as they approached, Harry found his mind in a sort of emotional turmoil. He had not expected this reaction, and he was lost in his thoughts as the memories of the last time he visited Pangaea came flooding back.