"Thank you," Harry smiled and accepted the bowls. "Please thank the cook for me." He turned to the Dutch boys and said, "Here, Pieterzoon. Let your fellows try some of this – it is made from ship's biscuit and is quite acceptable." He ladled a helping into a bowl and offered it to the boy as he spoke.
The other studied it with a mixture of interest and distaste on his face. Carefully accepting the offering just as Ferghal returned with a pitcher and a box of biscuit. Harry had a hard task to refrain from laughing as Pieterzoon tasted the porridge, but hunger overcame his reluctance and he nodded, "Dank Uwe wel." He said something to the others and they accepted bowls from Ferghal and beakers of juice.
Harry noted with interest that they seemed to know how to deal with weevilled biscuits. Then it was time to find them a corner of the space he and the younger Midshipmen occupied on the Gundeck in which to make their beds. Reluctantly he gave up his own tiny cubbyhole and showed Pieterzoon and two of the smallest boys how to make themselves comfortable in it.
"I'll make up a hammock for you shall I?" asked Ferghal when he saw this. "And perhaps for these others next your cuddy?"
Pieterzoon, watching this exchange as Harry stripped his few small mementos from the cubby, suddenly said, "Ik slaap hier met Uwe – die klienes slaap binne." He moved his own bundle to Harry's chest and spoke to the rest of the boys in their own language.
Ferghal caught his meaning first and said, "Aye, Master Harry, it makes sense. If I rig two hammocks in the cuddy for them, the smallest can share them and the others on the deck. I'll attend to it."
Harry was in the middle of explaining this to Pieterzoon with gestures and carefully chosen words when Midshipman Barclay arrived loudly demanded that Ferghal "Stop wasting time on these brats and get me some food." He glared at Harry. "Another favoured task! I'll change that quick enough. Peterson can deal with it and you can take his duties while he does. Go and fetch him."
Harry was about to protest when another voice cut in, "Stay where you are, Harry. Eamon, I told Harry to deal with this and I see he's given up his berth to them. More than you or Peterson would do." Tom Bowles voice was cold as ice and Barclay flushed dangerously. "Perhaps you'd care to discuss it with Mister Bell?"
"That's right, always stand up for your favourite," snarled Barclay. "You can't protect him forever."
"If you have an accusation to make, take it to Mister Beasley or Mister Rogers. I'm sick of your insinuations and your constant bullying of our juniors." He turned to Harry, "Now then, what have you done?"
Harry told him.
"Good, report to Mister Bell your arrangements. O'Connor, rig a small screen for Mister Heron and," he indicated the Dutch boy hovering at Harry's chest, "a hammock for this young gentleman." He seated himself and drew out his journal, "If you need anything see the Boatswain."
On deck Harry found the First Lieutenant engaged in conferring with one of the Dutch ship's officers. The wind had increased in strength and the topmen were piped aloft even as he reported his actions. Glancing aft he saw a huge bird soaring along the crest of a swell. Fascinated he followed its flight.
"Beautiful aren't they?" said the Third Lieutenant. "The great wandering albatross. Do you know that they are said never to land?"
"Aye, sir, though Mister Bentley says it is not true," he replied. Adding, "Though no man knows where they do land." Watching the majestic bird, he marvelled at its seeming mastery of its element.
The storm, when it broke upon them, was a fierce one and the topmen struggled aloft again and again to re-secure sails, replace fraying halliards or to further shorten sail. Little bar the occasional glimpse could be seen of the other ships, and the hardship of their human cargo only imagined. Day followed day until a weak sun broke through the storm wrack and the winds subsided.
Once the ship was restored to her usual state of order, Captain Blackwood gave permission for a "make and mend".
From his favourite perch in the fore top Harry listened to the strains of Ferghal's fiddle, another, a fife and then a sound he had last heard in Chatham. He looked down at the fo'c's'le and saw the small figure of the Dutch boy, Pieterzoon, plying a bellows-like device he did not recognise, but realised that it must be the accordion Ferghal had once spoken of. He watched, fascinated, as the boy pumped the square boxlike instrument and coaxed from it a medley of sound to accompany the fiddlers.
'Truly,' Harry thought as he watched and listened. 'Music is the one language all can understand – a language of mariners.' He glanced at the blaze of stars. 'And perhaps of the very stars themselves.'
-
Chapter 16 — Take her off the dock
Captain Heron looked around the Control Centre as he took his seat in the Command Chair. The Centre seemed crowded with all the Command Stations manned and the additional 'passengers' – all the Dockyard Heads of Department and representatives of Fleet – along for the ride. Of course it ran far deeper than just a joy ride, in reality every representative had some function to observe or was simply there to advise on any troubleshooting that may be needed. Still, it was a pity they couldn't all have been consigned to the Flag Command Centre further aft, but unfortunately, as yet, not operational.
He keyed his link. "Engineering to stand-by."
"Engineering standing by." Mary Allison's voice sounded quietly confident.
"Docking Party, release all but the lateral tethers and confirm."
"Releasing bow and fin tethers; bow and fin tethers released, lateral tethers still engaged."
"All tugs – confirm your lines are engaged."
"Tug Powerful here, Captain," reported the senior tug commander. "We're ready to draw you out."
"Very good, Powerful," the Captain made one more check of his readouts and glanced at his Executive Commander. A smile flashed between them as he said, "Release the lateral tethers – Powerful and consorts; take us off the dock if you please."
The order's acknowledgement went almost unheard as the group seemed to hold its breath. At first nothing appeared to be happening, then, slowly, almost painfully, the spherical display began to change. Imperceptibly at first the Dock arms began to move slowly past, the view of the planet below began to change and the light brightened as it did so. And then the ship was clear of the Dock and turning slowly, majestically, until the Building Dock filled the Port side of the display.
"Powerful to Vanguard, we're casting off now Captain, your head is at three-four-nine lateral, zero-one-five positive angle. We'll be stood by if you need us."
"Thank you, Captain," James Heron acknowledged the tug commander's message and checked his own readouts, confirming the release. "Hopefully we won't need you until we berth again." To his team he now said, "Helm, set course for the trial zone, Engineering; manoeuvring power to three quarter output."
Those crowding the Control Centre watched as the vast ship began to gather way, the only indication of movement the changing display as the ship turned away from the dock, changed aspect and plunged toward the area designated for the trials.
In Navigation, Commander Curran watched his chart displays and checked the waypoints against his plotted course. He made a small adjustment and said to the helm operator, "Watch your heading, we seem to have a small propulsion imbalance." He contacted Engineering, "Mary, we seem to have a slight helm bias to starboard, can you check output for the port and starboard lateral thrusters; one of them seems to be delivering a little more than the other."
"On it," Mary Allison responded. "Starboard cluster was giving around one percent more than portside. Is that better?"
Ben checked the helm and nodded as he said, "That's got it, now she's behaving perfectly. Everything ready for the first Transit?"
"Ready when you are, the pods are online any time you want them."
"Standby, we'll be on the marker to go to transit in four minutes." Commander Curran rechecked the Navigation solutions and then contacted the Command Centre. "Navigation to Command, ship is approaching marker for firs
t transit, all systems checked and ready on your order."
"Thank you, count us in and enter transit on my mark." The Captain listened to the countdown and as it reached zero, said quietly, "Engage Hyperpods."
***
There was a slight sensation of acceleration and then normality returned except that the display now showed nothing except a swirling greyness around the ship. A few of the passengers expressed some surprise at this, but soon refocused on their tasks. With everyone busy, the ship seemingly hung suspended in her envelope of grey, then a signal sounded and the voice of Commander Curran announced, "Exiting transit in five minutes."
"Very well," the Captain acknowledged. Around him the various technical people checked and rechecked their readouts, instruments glowed as data streamed through the ship's own neural net, packets of it finding the way to a variety of different instruments. He looked at the Construction Chief and asked, "Everything working as planned?"
"It's all functioning extremely well. Of course, we don't have the weapons online, but the particle shields are functioning exactly as designed and the power plant is stable and performing better than specification," the Chief Constructor replied.
"I'm glad to hear it." The Captain kept his face straight, concealing his smile. "I'm so glad the replacement equipment is performing as it should, my Engineering Commander will be relieved."
* * *
"The Vanguard's first trials have shown that she is even more capable than we were led to believe," the agent reported to the Consortium Head of Security. "She's just completed her full power and transit trials and she has proved faster and more manoeuvrable than the required specification."
"That shouldn't be possible. Didn't we arrange to have her propulsion reduced in spec? What happened?"
"Her Engineering Commander picked up the underspec on just about everything – and there's been a bit of a row about it. Ribble was dismissed and is under investigation, the whole place is now under the control of a Fleet Flag Officer and they've replaced everything in the propulsion systems and engineering that we'd managed to downrate."
"The Chairman isn't going to like that at all," the Security Director replied. "He doesn't like failure. OK, leave that one with me, I still have a couple of aces in my hand, including some changes we've slipped in on her weapons fit." He paused, "Anything else on the trials?"
"Yes, she's going back onto the dock to complete the fitting out and then she goes into workup. They are saying she'll be operational in nine months. And her full complement of strike craft is to be shipped in the next two."
"Right. What about her sister ship?"
"Vengeance? She's been brought forward. By the time the Vanguard starts her workup, Vengeance will be fully plated and under atmosphere. Twelve months tops and she'll be operational."
The Director of Security cut his link and leaned back. Bad news, he'd done his best and his agents had worked hard. Someone in Fleet had obviously spotted the substitutions and the plan had fallen apart a bit. And the Chairman wasn't going to be happy. Ari Khamenei wasn't a man who forgave failure either. He frowned. He'd never really been able to get a handle on the Chairman, half the time he seemed reasonable and very pleasant, but then you saw the other side of him when things went wrong – and that was something you didn't want to see too often. He straightened up and keyed a link code, well, if you have to hand out bad news, choose your day and your time carefully.
* * *
"The trials have gone far better than expected," the Admiral told Captain Heron as they relaxed in the Captain's quarters resplendent in Mess Undress uniforms. "Thanks largely to your Heads of Department I suspect." He sipped his drink appreciatively. "Your Engineering Commander may be small and petite looking but I think a few of the staff here won't be keen to get on her wrong side again in a hurry. I could use her here you know. Think she'd be interested in a transfer?"
"Mary?" He grinned. "She just might be, you could ask her at dinner. Though I should, of course, object to her taking it, sir. I think my need is greater than yours, with respect. New ship, untried tech on board? I need the very best here."
The Admiral studied him for a moment over the rim of his glass, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth as he said, "I could insist, but I take your point," he said. "I might just demand her services in future – rank does have some privileges."
"Of course, sir," the Captain replied. He knew the Admiral well and this was a game they often played. Changing the subject he said, "Fritz tells me that the AI system exceeds everything the designers expected. In fact he's pretty convinced the ship is at least partly self-aware."
"So he told me. I must admit that since they began fitting these implants into all us senior officers I have occasionally wondered about that. Sometimes I only have to wonder where I can find the information I need and it appears on my screen or tablet. It's a bit disconcerting."
"I know what you mean – it happened a couple of times today in the Control Centre. I had just begun to assemble a request for performance data and it appeared on the display, likewise when I was wondering about the vector and orbital distance as we swung round Neptune and there it was on the display." The Captain's link chirped and he answered it. He put down his glass and rose, "Dinner will be served soon, sir, my officers are waiting for us in the Wardroom with our other guests."
"Good." The admiral got to his feet. "I have to admit I'm ready for it. Lead the way James."
***
Three decks below the Wardroom the ship's Coxswain, a Chief Master Warrant Officer surveyed the dining room and nodded in satisfaction. Everyone was here, barring the gangway dutymen. He tossed back his drink and said to his companion, "Something to celebrate alright. She performed like a thoroughbred. And the Owner certainly knows how to look after the people – he's paid for the bar tonight." He grinned. "But there are some limits I understand."
His companion, the ship's Regulating Master Warrant chuckled. "Oh yus. An' my lads are enforcing it."
"Well, they've earned a knees up so let's get to work on it, looks like the Chief Steward's ready."
"Yup." The ship's policeman nodded. "But I notice you've put all the lad's that really need a clear head tomorrow on ship duty – so they will at least be fit for work."
"Yes." The Coxswain frowned. "And the rest of them better be too – or they'll be taking a transfer. Our Strike Squadrons start arriving tomorrow, we're getting 617 and 854 in first and the handling crews better be spot on."
"True," the RMW responded. "There'll be no room for mistakes loading them. The barges and boats coming aboard are going to be a bit of a juggle I should think. Especially the barges, they're flipping huge."
***
In the Wardroom Captain Heron raised his glass, "A toast. To our ship – may she be all we hope she can be."
-
Chapter 17 — Tempest
Captain Blackwood gripped the nettings tightly as the ship heeled steeply under the thrust of the howling south westerly gale. The ship staggered as another gust caught the triple reefed topsails. Overhead topmen worked to resecure the maincourse as the sail was showing dangerous signs of working loose as the gale explored the tight holds of the furled canvas. In the mizzen rigging other hands struggled to replace one of the topping lift tackles that had suddenly parted earlier in the predawn of this storm-wracked day. In these latitudes the wind could be expected to be powerful – after all there was little to disturb the power of it between the shores of South America and New South Wales, but at this, the height of the Southern summer season, storms such as this were supposedly rare.
He glanced around the quarterdeck, taking note of the positions of his lieutenants as they encouraged their men at their tasks. His gaze paused for a moment on the figure of Midshipman Heron, diligently recording something on the watch keeper's slate at the binnacle under the watchful eye of the ship's Sailing Master, Josiah Wentworth. He caught the exchange of some comment between the young midshipman and the youth watchi
ng the half hour glass. He recognised the boy as O'Connor, the Irish fiddle player who entertained them all from time to time with his enthusiastic and skilful playing.
The First Lieutenant approached and touched his hat. "The wind is steady sir. No change in either the direction or the strength in the last hour. The Master thinks it has peaked."
"Very good, Thomas. These seas are monstrous – but the distance between them makes it easier to rise to them. How is the helm – there is a danger of broaching as they pass."
"Indeed, sir. With only our fore and main topsails drawing with the headsails it seems to have eased the strain on the helm," the first lieutenant smiled as a burst of spray rose above the nettings and slashed across the gangway, penetrating the gratings on the upper gundeck. Both he and the Captain were soaked despite their oiled coats. " 'Tis lively work sir, but we have logged above ten knots on the last three casts of the logline. The ship is flying even under such reduced canvas."
Their Lordships Request: A Harry Heron Adventure Page 13
