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Chapter 13 — The Southern Ocean
The excursion to the castle provided Midshipman Barclay with the excuse to attack Harry. "Don't think your being in the Captain's favour will get you any favours here," he sneered when Harry returned to the Gunroom. "Currying favour with the Captain will get you no credit from me."
"I beg pardon?" Harry was caught off guard by this assault. "I asked for no favours or for this assignment to accompany him. It could as easily have been anyone else."
"Don't think I don't know that your family is thick as the thieves they are with the Captain's family," Barclay snapped. "Be warned, I'll not suffer your running to the officers any longer with tales. I'll not have my position undermined by a whelp like you."
Harry's temper was rising and he would have made a retort had Tom Bowles not arrived at this moment. "Eamon, the First is demanding your attendance. You're to accompany the Purser to arrange fresh supplies." He took in the fury in Harry's face and the sneer on Barclay's and said gently, "I'd not keep Mister Bell waiting if I were in your shoes. Nor should you be so quick to seek to provoke an argument."
"Damn you," Barclay spat. Over Tom's shoulder he addressed Harry saying, "I've not forgotten your standing up for that traitor O'Connor, Heron, nor that you brought me into disrepute with the Captain over it. I'll repay that when I find an opportunity."
"As I recall," Harry shot back. "It was not I that concocted a false story in order to have a man flogged for my own vanity."
For a moment it looked as if Barclay would attack him, but then Tom Bowles stepped between them again. "The First awaits you Eamon." He said levelly. Over his shoulder he said to Harry, "I cannot permit you to escape punishment for your disrespect for your seniors either. You can accept a caning from me – or spend your off watch time for the next week in the mizzen rigging."
For a moment Harry considered rebelling further and refusing to accept any punishment, then he drew himself up to his full height, the contempt in his eyes as he said, "Then apply the cane, if I must be punished for no better reason than to uphold someone's authority let us finish it."
"You'll get a thrashing from me alright," Barclay snarled moving to seize Harry.
"Leave him be," Tom Bowles snapped, restraining the bigger man. "You've done more than enough already, don't make it any worse! The First is waiting for you – go now before he comes looking for you and makes further enquiry as to what delayed you."
Rage and disappointment chased each other across the bully's face, finally he moved toward the companion ladder and threw over his shoulder, "I'll have your hide yet, Heron, don't think you'll get away easily."
***
As a result of the Captain's visit and with the Governor's approval boats were soon ferrying working parties ashore to collect the supplies and water. For many of the trusted men there was also the opportunity to go ashore and enjoy a brief freedom from the confines of the ship.
"Fergie, lad," the Boatswain called Ferghal too him. "Get yersel' in the boat wi' t' Purser. Ye an' me are goin' ter see what may be got fer me stores." He winked. "An' mebbe a mug o' something ter keep us refreshed."
Ferghal found that several of the older boys were also in the boat and it made for a memorable run ashore, though the fruit with which they were plied and the heat worked on the stomachs of several in an unpleasant manner.
Mister Bentley was almost beside himself as he tramped collecting specimens of plants, insects and the occasional bird, and he soon made plans for an expedition to the lower slopes of the mountain.
"Mister Heron, Mister Tanner." He addressed the pair. "I have obtained the First Lieutenant's permission for you to accompany me ashore on a little expedition. There are a number of fascinating blooms to be obtained on the mountain and I may never have another chance. We will be rowed ashore at eight bells in the morning watch – it's best to get to the mountain before the heat is too great."
"Aye, aye, sir," Harry was still carrying the bruises from his caning and he found walking or sitting uncomfortable. But at least it would take him away from the constant provocation of Barclay and his crony Peterson. "Shall I bring my sketch pad and paint, sir."
"Essential," exclaimed the Parson. "I am certain there will be any number of things to be recorded."
As he departed Kit shook his head ruefully. "I think it will be hot, dry and a long walk to see these flowers. I suppose we may hope that he at least arranges some refreshment for us." He glanced at Harry. "And it will take us out of Barclay's way for a few hours."
"Aye, and give him something else to resent and use against us," Harry said. "Senior he may be and though he beats me daily, I'll never learn to show him respect – my contempt for him grows with each gibe."
"Learn to bend a little and it will all soon pass," Kit remarked in an attempt to lighten Harry's mood. The glowering presence of Midshipman Barclay overshadowed the Gunroom and divided it into three camps, a small group of sycophants who used his protection to carry out their own petty campaigns of bullying against the smaller and younger members, those who resisted and tended to suffer the bullying in silence but without surrendering their allegiance and the third group who tried to run with both the hares and the hounds. Harry and Kit both fell into the second group. Harry knew he had no hope of ever avoiding Barclay's attention, though he had at least drawn a line against some of the sycophants who now knew they could not expect him to kowtow to their egos.
The expedition started badly with Midshipman Peterson protesting that he was having to undertake extra work because Harry was going ashore. Unfortunately for him he made this protest within earshot of Mister Beasley.
"Mister Peterson," the lieutenant said. "I suggest that the moment you cease trying to evade work and passing it to others, you may find yourself being offered opportunities for advancing your knowledge. Until then, it may be best for you not to draw attention to yourself in the manner you have just done. Be warned, I have my eye on you and your abuse of your juniors – now, see to your duties."
The Parson's party reached the saddle between Table Mountain and the great cone known as Devil's Peak by mid-morning thanks to the use of a small pony trap driven by a "Malay" coachman who spoke almost no English – at least nothing intelligible to the Parson, the midshipmen or to Ferghal, also tasked with carrying the Parson's equipment.
They dismounted at the invitation of the coachman and Mister Bentley immediately spotted a bloom he had not before seen except in books. "A Protea," he exclaimed. "I must have seeds and a specimen of this. I will need the bloom sketched, Mister Heron, and the leaves if you please. Mister Tanner, your assistance in collecting a good specimen – the presses are in my case, O'Connor – a large one will be required I think."
The watching coachman seemed amused by this mad activity. After all, these plants were plentiful on the mountain, though, as Mister Bentley soon discovered, they grew only in certain areas and in certain soils. Within the hour though he had identified and sampled at least six varieties, demanding Harry sketch an example of each. By the mid afternoon the list had grown in extent as other varieties of plant were added and Harry found himself almost overwhelmed by the sheer number of plants he was asked to draw.
"There will not be time to do all of these in detail, sir," he protested. "Can I not make notes and then complete the drawings from your specimens when there is time aboard?"
The Parson checked in his latest examination and smiled. "Indeed, most unreasonable of me, Mister Heron. Unthinking in my excitement is what it is, I am forgetting the labour I am putting you to. Dear me, yes, of course, take notes and let us arrange for you to complete the drawings and colouring when it may be done in more leisurely fashion." He studied the sketches Harry had already completed and said, "Though you have captured the detail of these so wonderfully already."
They returned to the ship at sunset, dusty, tired and laden with the Parson's specimens. The next expedition saw Harry accompanying Mister Bentley and Eamon Bar
clay who did not enjoy the experience of dashing hither and thither on the mountain's slopes collecting blooms and insects for the Parson.
On returning to the ship he complained long and loudly, "These starts of the Parson's are not work for an officer. Children's games; that is all they are." He turned to where Kit and Harry sat completing their Journals. "I shall see to it that the juniors are sent with him in future."
Tom Bowles forbore to point out that it had been Barclay himself who had protested at not being assigned a place on these 'pleasure expeditions' as he had called them.
From Harry's perspective at least it silenced his constant complaints at what he considered the 'favouring' treatment accorded Harry and Kit.
The Dutch inhabitants treated these mad Englishmen with courtesy, but the language remained a barrier despite the recent occupation by the British. The 'Malay' slaves intrigued Harry. Their alien speech; somewhat exotic dress and their obvious adherence to their Islamic faith were all interesting and new to him. His brush with the Barbary slavers and his own family history though made him very dubious concerning the entire question of slavery and the ethics that underpinned it.
The Maid of Selsey and the sluggish Chertsey sailed two days after their arrival for the shelter of Simon's Bay on the other side of the great finger marked on the chart as the Cape Peninsula, escorted by the frigate Virago, herself seeking a place in which she could be careened and her copper repaired.
A fortnight sped by and then word came that the transports were repaired and ready to sail. A last round of official visits followed and then, in the early light of a new day, Spartan and her diminished flock weighed and stood out of the bay, the course, south toward the long finger that was the Cape itself and the great Southern Ocean.
Harry was on watch as they drew abreast of the famous Cape and the lookout spied Virago and her charges leaving False Bay on its other side. Looking eastward himself, he noticed the manner in which the two oceans seemed reluctant to mingle and exclaimed in surprise.
Next to him Mister Wentworth chuckled. "Aye, look well on it, Mister Heron. The Indian Ocean and the Atlantic meet here – see the waters are dark on our side and lighter where Virago stands onward. There the waters of the tropics; here the water of the Southern ice." He pointed to the south west and added, "See that line of dark cloud? It foretells hard weather and we are standing down toward it. Our course from here will be through hard winds and seas that do not forgive mistakes."
They were interrupted by Midshipman Peterson's voice. "Swallow is signaling, sir," he reported. "She seeks permission to detach herself and the Indiamen and join Virago."
"Lucky devils," Mister Rogers commented, "Not for them the southern route, they go east and north to Madras." He nodded to the waiting midshipman. "Very well, acknowledge. Permission to proceed."
"They'll not escape the blow those clouds predict," the Master told Harry, his attention on the slowly closing transports. "At least they will have the warmer weather sooner than we but the coast they must pass toward Ile de France is a treacherous one in wild weather."
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Chapter 14 — Trials and delays
Commander Valerie Petrocova was not satisfied. There was a malfunction somewhere in her target location and tracking system and it was proving elusive. The change in management of the Dock Platform and the project had had an unforeseen side effect. Now all the civil servants played strictly by their "rules" and refused to allow anything, no matter how trivial, unless it was first requested using an endless and time consuming set of forms. She stabbed at her tablet, completing yet another "case" for a change that would make the unworkable, work.
"It's bloody obvious the damned thing can't work in this configuration – but that moron in the Installation Office refuses to allow me to do what is needed, even though it won't cost a single cent – unless I have filled in this damned form yet again so he can cover his fat backside. Even then he'll find reasons why I haven't completed it to his satisfaction and will want it rejigged and then refer it to another bloody meeting!" She was angry and her fellow Commanders sympathized.
"They're all the same, supposed to be here to make our jobs easier 'and allow you to focus on your specialty'." Commander Grenville mimicked their least favourite bureaucrat. "Interesting that – I seem to end up filling in endless requests for the services they are supposed to be delivering so I can do my job – yet more than sixty percent of my time is spent asking for the things I need to get on with it."
"Bloody waste of space," snapped Mary Allison. "At least we've now got the right kit for our reactors. Damned fool could have killed the lot of us with his substituting inferior equipment."
"Relax team and learn to play their game." Richard Grenville seated himself in the group. "It's all about control. If they can make you jump through hoops it makes them feel important and of course means their job becomes indispensable. Learn to beat them at their own game – every time they ask for something like this, put your request to them in writing with copies to Fleet, the Captain and the Admiral Constructor. Then include a statement in your submission to the effect that the delay in providing whatever it is, is costing- 'x' per day."
Commander Petrocova laughed. "And you say that they are devious? You make even the great Machiavelli look like a saint. I'll do it, where can I get a figure for 'x' that will be authentic?"
"I'll give you one." The Executive Commander smiled. "I got it from the Chief of Construction, it's the cost per day of this build – every day they add to the build time costs an arm and a leg – and probably another ship as well."
"I bet," snorted Mary Allison. "Just look at the cost overruns they are trying to push now we have identified all the 'cheap' and underspec components they substituted on their little cost cutting exercise."
"You can rest easy on that one," the Executive Commander replied. "Fleet have invoked a contract clause – all costs to be borne by the responsible parties. The bureaucrats are squirming because they had creamed off a massive profit as 'savings' and diverted it. Now they have to pay it back with interest. I suspect that is why they are trying this new game."
***
The Captain surveyed the newly fitted out Command Centre carefully. It was certainly novel and he had the impression that he was suspended in the centre of a vast sphere, everywhere he looked he could see the space surrounding the ship, even the vast docking arms that still tethered her to the construction dock were in the picture and that was not distorted but showed the 'real' distances and relationships to the ship. Even the suited figures of the workers still swarming over parts of the hull were in the view. He walked forward to his Command Chair and sat. Immediately the displays built into the arm rests came to life and he rotated himself slowly, taking in the surroundings yet again from this vantage point. Nothing seemed to interfere with his view, not even the many work stations arranged around the space. He nodded to his Executive Commander and the anxious technicians gathered for this first trail run, "It's good, even better than the simulator." To the Command Team he said, "Take your stations and let's run the tests."
The officers and rates moved to their workstations and took their seats, each logging in and confirming their status as the computer responded.
"Vocal command simulation," the Captain ordered. "Commence voice pattern checks and recognition."
"Welcome, Captain," the ethereal 'voice' of the ship was brisk. "Voice recognised, Captain James Heron, officer in command. Your orders, Captain?"
"Simulate undocking and preparation for transit. Simulation only, repeat, simulation only."
"Simulation only. Undocking procedures ready, awaiting your command."
"Navigation online please," the Captain ordered. "Navigation; simulation undocking. Course required for orbit preparatory for entering transit from this location."
"Course laid in, sir." The voice of Commander Ben Curran, the Navigating Officer sounded on the Captain's link. "Helm on standby."
"Confirm, simulat
ion only, helm on standby. Engineering, simulation of manoeuvring power to attain orbit for transition to transit. Commence."
"Engineering online, manoeuvring power for undocking. Ready."
"Ship, commence simulation, show movement as if the ship is undocking."
"Commencing simulation, please activate docking locks release."
Captain Heron looked across at the officer responsible for this function and said, "Enter the release code." He grinned. "And make sure you have the simulation command entered, it would upset the workforce no end if we moved her now!"
***
In Weapons Control, Commander Petrocova glared at the displays, like the Command Centre she had a three sixty view around the ship in all directions and seated around her were the weapons targeting staff and operators. The batteries of weapons each controlled by an officer and a small team of targeting Rates, could be fired independently or in groups. The ship would ultimately have an outfit of short range plasma cannon, longer range particle beam projectors and finally batteries of long range missiles. The Vanguard was also equipped with a doomsday weapon, based on a particle accelerator. It had never been tested in full size, though the small scale tests had certainly shown that it was practical and potentially devastating. It was so secret that very few of the ship's own crew, and certainly none of the builders, actually knew what it was that they were installing. On paper it was a 'High Penetration Scanner' but this masked the fact that its penetration was simply destructive.
Their Lordships Request: A Harry Heron Adventure Page 11
