"What is it this time?" Valerie demanded.
"The tracking lock is non-functional, sir," the lieutenant in charge of the particle weapons targeting said, his annoyance plain. "We had that working until they tried to adjust the ranging function. Now we can read the range but we can't lock."
"Ship," the Commander said. "Identify fault please."
"Component incompatibility in Node 626Beta. The component fitted is incapable of processing all the functions you are asking of it."
"Blast," the Commander's face was grim. "Another one. Very well, power everything down, lieutenant, and get that node open. I want everything in there checked against the original specifications and the problem identified. If it's another substitution someone is going to be in deep trouble – and I know exactly how it will be recorded."
***
Environmental Engineering specialist Bernie Baum watched with satisfaction as the readouts gave positive indications of the purifiers' functions. "The water purity is at ninety-five, that's better'n you get planetside in all the major centres," the technician with him observed. "This ship will have the best water supply in the Fleet – a lot better than most of the planets she'll be visiting too I shouldn't wonder."
"True, and the algae cultures are doing well – the air quality is getting better and will be first class once they stop welding and cutting all over the place."
"Yes, and the horticulture crews are getting the recreation space tricked out, looks like a proper park that does." The TecRate installing monitors laughed. "It will make a great place just to get away when they've finished, Chief."
"That's the point," the Master Warrant replied, checking his readouts. "It doubles as a space for people to get some 'nature' and it acts as a filter for our plant – like the algae."
"This is the first ship to get spaces like that, how many will they have?"
"Three. One in each of the major sectors except right aft – too much engineering stuff crammed into that end."
"I hear they're having trouble in Weapons, something to do with underspeced kit again," the TecRate remarked. "Commander Petrocova is spitting blood over it."
"You better believe, but I also heard she's found a way to make life miserable for the people responsible and not a thing they can do about it." He laughed. "Serves the bastards right. They tried to stop the installation of the recreation spaces – on the grounds that military personnel don't qualify for space-side recreation spaces. They do, of course. Have you seen the CS Club on this platform? Better than the Officer's Club I can tell you."
"So how did we get them then?"
The Warrant Officer laughed. "The Admiral found a loophole in their rule book. And offered to have their Club expropriated for the TecRates like you. The fallout is still coming down. Turns out there was quite a fiddle in the budgets to get it and rather than own up to it, they simply caved in on the agreement that now they have it they can keep it – but the auditors are watching the income and expenditure on it like a hawk."
"So what about the kit my oppo in Weapons says has been swapped out for sub spec stuff? Will that get replaced?"
"Count on it. This ship is going to be the best there is and Fleet has some top people working on it to make sure she is. Engineering got the reactors swapped out for the right ones and you watch Weapons – she'll have everything she wants before anyone is allowed to sign off anything."
Several decks from this conversations location and further forward the Medical Centre, again one of several mini-hospitals, was nearing completion.
"These Medunits are state of the art," the Surgeon Lieutenant currently overseeing the work reported. "Right on the edge of our tech at this stage, but the clinical trials have shown they produce some remarkable results with regenerating damaged tissue."
"So the manual says – and broken bones. Says here they can reduce deep wound healing by around three quarters of the time required for natural healing and bones in days rather than weeks. Burns and even nerve damage can be repaired." The MedTech was an older man with long experience. "That will certainly be useful if we get into a brawl anywhere."
-
Chapter 15 — The sinking Dutchman.
Harry dangled his legs from the fore top and stared upwards at the blaze of stars spread across the southern ocean sky. For the first time in the fortnight since departing the Cape it was clear and reasonably still as the ship rolled and pitched slowly and steadily under the thrust of her sails. His latest confrontation with Gunroom made the Orlop and Gunroom and its aggressive senior things to be avoided for the moment. Retreating to the rigging where he could think and relax his guard on his temper was a sensible action and it had the added benefit of escaping the all pervading smell of the lower decks. The constant need to watch for the malicious and bullying of Eamon Barclay and his cronies and the need to guard his own temper at all times could get very wearying. In the fighting tops he had found the perfect place for a little peace and quiet reflection when he was off duty.
From here he could contemplate the unfamiliar southern skies and pick out the cardinal stars, there the great Southern Cross, there Orion and other bright markers useful to navigators. Idly he wondered yet again what it might be like to travel among the stars, something he knew to be impossible. The strains of a fiddle floated up from the forecastle, the clear notes of a fife accompanying it, and Harry smiled to himself as he recognised the tune. Ferghal needed little encouragement to play the music of their home in County Down overlooking the great sea lough of Strangford.
Harry loved music but, with no talent for making it could only envy his friend's skill. Though he was an accomplished artist and mathematician, he considered the gift of music superior to his own and longed to be able to play even a simple instrument. Ferghal could seemingly pick up any instrument and coax it into making music to make men weep. The fiddle soared into a vigorous jig and Harry looked down to see several men dancing in the space cleared for them by their watching messmates. He glanced aft and smiled again as he saw several of the lieutenants gathered at the Quarterdeck rail to watch and listen. A movement caught his eye and he stiffened slightly as he saw that Captain Blackwood had quietly joined his officers, standing apart from them, on the windward side of the deck.
"Yon Ferghal has the music in his soul, sir," commented a topman Harry knew as Giles.
"He has that," said Harry. "It seems to flow from his fingers."
"Aye, sir," responded Giles. He studied Harry carefully, trying not to make his scrutiny obvious. Ferghal's loyalty to Harry was well known and the men in Harry's Division had begun to understand why. It went beyond his care of 'his people', unusual in a boy of just thirteen. He was scrupulously fair but his innate courtesy masked an explosive temper with an iron will and his resistance to the constant bullying was known throughout the ship. Mister Midshipman Heron was not a man to take liberties with – not if you wished to remain in his trust. He would stand up for his men even if it meant taking a punishment upon himself where he felt it necessary to protect them from injustice. Changing the subject he said, "He's a fair hand at the scrimshaw too. The Boatswain seeks him out for delicate work – lucky devil."
Harry laughed, "Aye, and a handy man with his fists as I recall." He grinned at the seaman, "The red in his hair speaks of the fire in his heart – as some have already discovered I believe?" He chuckled at the surprise in the man's face, "I know the signs and the broken knuckles he sometimes displays were never broken in scrimshaw or the playing of his fiddle."
Giles laughed, "He'll be mortified that you've guessed his secret, sir." He cocked his head to listen as the fiddle took up another more haunting strain.
"Tell him then to have a care. I would not wish to see him flogged for fighting – and you may tell him that Mister Bell is suspicious already," Harry said, his voice serious.
His head swung sharply and he said, "What is that? There, a light, low down to larboard."
Giles drew his breath sharply. "I see it, sir,
it is not one of our'n." He drew in his breath and bellowed, "Deck thar! Sail to Larboard." He changed his stance and then called a moment later, "Broad on the Larboard bow."
Harry jumped to his feet and swung himself onto one of the great shrouds, rapidly sliding to the gangway and then hurried aft to the Quarterdeck.
"Steady, Mister Heron," the first lieutenant called, "What have you seen?"
"A light, sir, low down. Possibly a ship. It moves oddly, as if to catch the eye, sir."
"Very good, Mister Heron," Captain Blackwood interjected, "Mister Bell, have the Master alter course to close with this mystery ship. We shall see who or what ventures this far south besides ourselves." To Harry he said, "Mister Heron, take a night glass to the main crosstrees and see what you can of it."
The climb to the crosstrees was a long one with the telescope slung on his back. He was, despite his youth, a little breathless and took a minute to steady his pulse as he joined the lookout.
"I sees it, sir," the man said. "Now fine on our bow. I thinks they's in distress – see; the light moves strangely."
Harry put the glass to his eye and focussed it carefully. The night glass inverted the image turning sea into sky, something he had to mentally correct. He found the target and held it, a merchantman lying low in the water, the stumps of masts carrying scraps of sail. Someone in her remaining rigging was swinging a light. He said to the lookout, "You're right, she's been dismasted." He shouted to the quarterdeck, "Ship, sir, merchantman. Low in the water and jury rigged."
"Very good, Mister Heron," the First's voice carried up to him. "Remain where you are and do not lose them."
"Aye, aye, sir," Harry called back. To the lookout he said, "We shall have to haul our wind close. It will be lively up here."
The seaman's teeth flashed as he grinned. "Aye, that it will, sor!"
As he spoke the ship heeled steeply and the mast spiralled even as more hands swarmed up the rigging and spread out along the great yards. With the seas now on the beam Spartan staggered and rolled deeply under the thrust of sea and wind.
At his masthead perch Harry clung to the rigging as the mast described figures of eight across the sky and he had a sudden image in his mind's eye of clinging to the tip of the baton wielded by the conductor of an orchestra he had once been taken to hear. Despite the motion he managed to hold the bearing of the fat merchantman, her damage still shrouded by the night. At last he heard the voice of the third lieutenant. "We have her now, Mister Heron. You may come down."
Gratefully, for the night cold was now striking through his uniform coat, Harry slid down to the gangway and stumbled aft to the quarterdeck. Returning the night glass to its rack, he reported himself to the Lieutenant.
"Well done, Harry," said Lieutenant Beasley. "We'll be up on them soon now. It looks as if they will require some help in making their ship seaworthy enough to reach land."
"Aye, sir," Harry glanced at the boat tiers where the Boatswain was already busy with a number of men preparing to hoist out one of the large cutters. "Will we take them off, sir?"
"Likely," replied the lieutenant, "Mister Bell will take the quarterboat across first to ascertain what assistance is needed." He walked away to confer with the Sailing Master and Harry turned his attention to the shadowy outline of the distressed ship.
The merchantman was very low in the water and moved sluggishly in response to the sea. He could now see that her foremast had sheered below the foretop and the main had evidently failed at the main top. The vessel's mizzen had been lost in its entirety. As the distance closed between them, further damage became apparent with gaps in her gangway and bulwarks where the masts had torn away parts as they fell.
Harry studied the ship closely, noting her high poop and the ornate gingerbread decorating her aftercastle and the beakhead. A voice beside him made him start.
"A Dutch Indiaman," commented Captain Blackwood. "And an old one at that. I'm surprised she is still in service."
"Aye, sir," said Harry, touching his hat. "I beg pardon, sir, I do not believe I have ever seen a ship of that type before."
"Then look well, for there are not many left, most have been either rebuilt or lost, this one is well past her intended service," he indicated the high poop and continued, "Those high sterncastles made them unhandy ships and their draft is shallow to allow for their native waters in the Low Country. I wonder what brought her this far south?"
***
Dawn spread its early light slowly, the rosy glow extending across the horizon and causing the Master to mutter that it presaged a further blow. The light revealed the full extent of the damage to the Spartan's companion. Not only had she had her masts carried away, but in going these had torn away sections of her bulwarks, and, more seriously, staved in her planking deep below the water.
"She's taking water faster than the pumps can remove it. They were dismasted in the gales four days ago and her Master fears she cannot be saved," reported the first lieutenant on his return. "She has passengers aboard as well, several ladies and children who were on passage to join their families in Java. At most I believe she can be kept afloat for another day, no longer. Her Master asks that we save his people."
"Very well," said Captain Blackwood, "Mister Wentworth says there is another gale coming. See to it Thomas."
"Very good, sir," responded the First. "Mister Rae, take the cutters, Mister Barclay and the Mister Bowles can take the smaller boats."
***
Three hours later, Spartan reset her topsails and gathered way. With the pumps now idle the Oliphant gave up her fight against the sea even as they bore away to regain the convoy and resume their course to Botany Bay.
Captain Blackwood stood beside the Dutch Captain as he watched his old ship settle slowly, leaning further and further over, until with a great rush of air and spray through her hatches, she rolled beneath the surface.
"Mijn oude schiff is no more," Captain te Water said sadly. "De Oliphant was een goede Schiff. Oud, maar gesond."
"It is a sad thing indeed to lose a ship," agreed Captain Blackwood. "Now, sir, my first lieutenant, Mister Bell, has made arrangements for you and your passengers. We are bound for Botany Bay and I am sure you will find a ship to take you to your destination from there – or perhaps a return to the Cape."
"T'ank you, Captain," the Dutchman managed a smile. "You and your men haf been goet. Ve vill assist you vere ve can – mijn manne vill be villing to vork if I tell zem."
"Thank you, Captain, I am sure my officers will find tasks for them, perhaps with the assistance of your own? Very good." He nodded. "Perhaps you will join me for some refreshment below, I'm afraid my quarters have been given over to the ladies from your ship, but the Chartroom will serve us."
***
In the Gunroom Harry found himself assigned to take care of some seven boys, all younger than his own thirteen summers, Midshipman Bowles saying, "Harry, these fellows need showing how we do things, take them in hand and deal with it, there's a good fellow."
"Aye, aye," Harry studied the exhausted youngsters, their eyes bright with fear or excitement and wondered how he could coax them into relaxing their obvious guard. He smiled at the eldest boy and said, "I'm Harry." He held out his hand, "What is your name?"
For a moment the boy stared at his hand, suspicion and incomprehension chasing each other across his face, then he solemnly took Harry's hand and said, "Ik is Pieterzoon."
Harry smiled and said, "Pleased to meet you. Now I expect you are hungry and find our arrangements rather strange." The look of incomprehension warned him that the boy did not understand, so he tried miming eating and added, "Are you hungry?"
The puzzled look was replaced by a brief smile at his comical exaggeration, and a nod, "Ja, ja asteblief."
Harry led his charges to the table. To his relief Ferghal O'Connor hurried across and asked, "Would you like me to see if I can get something from the cook Master Harry?"
"If you please Ferghal," said Harry. "S
ome biscuit and some lime juice perhaps? And something warm – I expect they have had a cold time of it."
Ferghal was not long away, returning with a large steaming pannikin and several bowls. Placing these on the table he said, "I'll fetch some biscuit, Master Harry, but Cook said to let them have this bread porridge to begin."
Their Lordships Request: A Harry Heron Adventure Page 12
