Harry Heron Savage Fugitive

by Patrick G Cox

  The Commander leaned forward and looked Clarke straight in the eye. “Well, I can make a stab at guessing, and I wish him and his team the best of luck. I’ll do everything I can to support them, and I expect — no, I’m damned well making it an order that every officer here does everything in their power to prevent the Consortium from finding out who it is, and if they do find out, to render assistance to the officer if there is a chance to do so. There will be no further assistance of any sort to our captors. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well.” The Commander paused. “I am aware I was not in a position to carry out the evacuation checks myself, but the Court will not consider the fact I was unconscious when evacuated by my team as mitigation of my responsibility for the loss of our ship. I doubt they will take a light view of an officer such as yourself failing to ensure those in his care were evacuated before he departed to safety. No further discussion is needed on the matter. Dismiss.”

  Lieutenant Clarke felt the bitterness rising within him. It was all so damned unfair. He hadn’t wanted this posting. He knew he battled with the mathematics, but his uncle had insisted he had to do at least one commission in this role to get the promotion he so badly wanted. And Delle — she just didn’t understand. Well, he had time. He’d find an excuse for using the standard manoeuvres. There would be a Fleet Order covering them, and the surrender could be argued round. Maybe if Heron were ‘accidentally’ killed . . .

  Lieutenant Clarke rose to his feet and saluted, a perfunctory gesture at best. As he walked out of the office and made his way to the exercise area, he was acutely aware of the averted glances of his fellow officer prisoners. He had a lot to think about.

  A few days in their new quarters provided more puzzles than answers for Harry and his group.

  “Have you noticed these rooms seem to be adapting to our use?” Rasmus indicated the space he shared with Harry. “When we first arrived, this sleeping shelf was too short for me, and now it is long enough.”

  Harry considered his own sleeping position. “You are right. Mine has adapted to the contours of my sleeping position as well.”

  Rasmus nodded. “I think the doors have done this too.” Hesitating, he said, “I noticed the panel next to where we entered had characters resembling an inscription.”

  “Really?” said Harry absentmindedly. “I had not noticed that,” he admitted. He’d been too busy with too many other problems to pay attention to that detail.

  “Have another look at it. The characters have changed since we arrived, and now resemble our script.”

  This reminded Harry of the feeling of being studied. “I can feel something else here, but I do not understand it.”

  “Is it a friendly presence or something malevolent?”

  “Friendly, I think — at least not hostile. I think we will have time to find out. In the meantime, perhaps you could see if there is a way we can manufacture some explosive powder for our own use, or some other compound with which we may defend ourselves or cause mischief when we are ready.”

  Rasmus grinned. “I’ll enjoy that. May I use the replicator?”

  “I don’t see any reason not to — save that we will need it to feed ourselves as well.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. What sort of explosive powder do you want?”

  “I should think some black powder will suffice, but something more powerful may be useful.”

  “I’ll get onto it as soon as Herr Winstanley nominates a place for us to work. I think I know what to make for you, Harry, but you will need fuses for it and igniters. It depends on whether I can find some of the base materials I need.”

  “I had not thought of that, but I shall leave it to you for now. I must find a way to contact our forces, or, at the very least, to monitor what our enemy is doing. When I have done that, perhaps you will allow me to assist you in making your concoction. Just don’t blend it with our food!” Harry grinned, knowing Rasmus could take a joke, but he was serious too.

  Rasmus laughed. “Of course not. It will be a separate process indeed.”

  Chapter 12 — Waiting and Wondering

  James Heron cringed at the angry torrent from his sister. They’d had no word about Harry and Ferghal’s whereabouts, and she was beside herself with worry and fear.

  When she paused to take a breath, James took the opportunity to speak. “Niamh, there is no evidence that the boys are dead. In fact, the contrary — I have every reason to believe Ferghal is alive and well. And if he is alive, I am pretty sure Harry is too.”

  He knew he had nothing but the flimsiest evidence to support this statement. The only thing he had was an intelligence report that a team of scientists had been sent to a special lab to investigate someone known to the Consortium contact as ‘the lab rat’. The reported description could have been either of the boys, but was most likely Ferghal due to the mention of the young man having very red hair and a violent temper.

  If I had to face one of them in a real rage, I’d rather face Ferghal. Harry’s temper was far more dangerous because it was backed by cold calculation. Ferghal’s was less focused and, while destructive, it lacked the real venom Harry could muster. It was as well Harry recognised this as one of his character flaws and kept a tight rein on it.

  A family trait, James acknowledged as Niamh fired at him.

  “You’re not even listening to what I’m saying, are you, James? Have you no feelings at all? Do you ever stop to consider anything other than your precious duty and the Fleet? Do you ever consider what those of us who care for you and the boys go through while you swan around the universe?”

  The Rear Admiral was stung by this comment. “Yes, I do, and you should know it, Niamh, better than anyone. I’m doing everything I can to find the boys. But it’s not just them — it’s every one of our people, including all of you at home and everything the Confederation represents, corrupt damned politics and all. That is what I am under oath of allegiance to defend, even when it means giving up my own flesh and blood. Do you really think I find it easy?”

  Niamh’s face paled as the fight drained out of her. “I’m sorry, James. It’s just so hard. I love those boys as if they were my own sons.”

  “So do I, Niamh. So do I . . .”

  Admiral Katrina Hartmann, Commander in Chief, Fleet One, strode into her Command Centre.

  “Flags, this report suggests our opponents have an edge on us in ships and troops.” Positioning herself at the Flag Lieutenant’s console, she activated a holographic display. “Our three starships with their six cruisers and twenty destroyers and frigates could be up against four starships, four cruisers and three landing ships with an equal number of frigates and destroyers. If the Consortium choose to fight, it’ll be a tough match.”

  “It’ll be close, ma’am, but two of their starships are conversions. The specs we have suggest they may be less effective than they appear.”

  “Get Captain Curran on the link for me.” She moved to her Command Console. By the time she took her seat, Ben Curran’s face was visible on her holographic screen. “Morning, Ben, this is going to be a tough call. They have our garrison on Planet Regulus cut off, so I have two choices — order the garrison to surrender, or go in and break the siege. The only problem is the size of their reinforcing fleet. They easily match us for fire power.”

  “I’ve been looking up the stats myself,” Ben replied. “Though it looks uneven, I think we have an edge. Our intel says they have the Khamenei, City of Richmond, Corporate Trader and ICL Conveyor with them. According to the assessments, the last two are quite a bit less powerful than they appear. Neither has the protection and compartmentation of a purpose-built starship. They’re also a lot weaker, in terms of weapons, than our oldest ship, so the balance may be a bit in our favour.”

  Admiral Hartmann nodded. “Assuming our information is correct, that will even things up. All right, we have to go with that, so let’s see what our options ar
e for a plan of attack. I don’t intend to give them a chance to organise a defence if I can help it, and those three landing ships are my priority. I want them disabled or destroyed. I’m expecting to be joined by two more LSPs of our own in the next two days. Command wants us to get them into position to reinforce the garrison as soon as we can.”

  “I agree.” Ben nodded. “If we can prevent their landing force from being withdrawn, that will give them a real problem somewhere else.”

  “Right, let’s look at our options.” The discussion turned to the overall strategy and tactics of an engagement and the disposition of their forces as they dropped out of transit. “What do you think of the latest intel assessments?”

  “The balance looks marginally in our favour, but it is close.” Ben paused. “The Khamenei is Admiral Gratz’s flagship, and she’s based on an earlier design of ours. They will have upgraded her systems, but possibly not her layout and structure.”

  “Good. That gives me a basis to work around. Conference in my quarters at fifteen hundred. We can start putting some flesh on the bones.” Cutting the link, she ordered, “Flags, I want to game some options. Get me some players, please.”

  Danny joined Spike Rajput in the Gunroom. “I managed to out manoeuvre the cruisers while simulating the enemy cruiser force command.” His grin broadened. “Gareth wasn’t happy — he was commanding our cruisers. The Admiral gave him a real chewing out for his interpretation of her orders.”

  “Watch out, my friend.” Spike leaned closer. “Gareth doesn’t like losing on the simulator. You’ll make an enemy of him if you’re not careful.”

  “Then he’d better learn to be less predictable,” said Danny, brushing it off. He wasn’t easily intimidated by anyone. Changing the subject, he asked, “Is there any news on the Daring? Do they know if she’s been found or if there are survivors?”

  “There’s a rumour she was destroyed by the Consortium’s Sirte Global. The intel is that cruiser is now in repair dock having her fore end rebuilt after a run-in with a destroyer, possibly the Daring. I hear there were survivors, but I haven’t heard anything else.” Spike glanced at his friend. “I know Harry and Ferghal were on her — I hope they’re okay.”

  “So do I,” said Danny. “I pray for them every day.”

  Brigadier Newton of the Consortium Fleet tapped the desk, her thoughts on the elusive survivors. Her search teams had turned up nothing more since the theft of the transport. The vehicle was intercepted and destroyed when it refused to stop or surrender, but no human remains were found inside it. Where had the escapees abandoned it? More important, where were they now?

  The security arrangements for a visit by the Chairman and several Directors were going to complicate things. Her forces were already stretched due to the need to send a strong military force with every scientific team working in the cities. The Canids simply would not give up, and now that they’d learned that direct attacks on Consortium troops only led to multiple deaths, they employed guerilla strikes against targets of opportunity —any group or individual not being very, very careful. Even then, the Canids had some way they could hide in plain sight, and used this ability very effectively. Her troops were suffering mounting casualties from it, and the researchers weren’t immune either.

  On top of that problem, with a group of Fleet personnel on the loose creative enough to escape her patrols, and with the boldness to walk right into her soldiers’ campsite and take them off guard, she had reason to be worried. They might just be capable of pulling off a surprise stunt and endangering the Board members, especially as her troops’ best efforts had so far been unable to discover any trace of where the runaways had gone to ground.

  When the room was silent, she spoke. “We know they can’t leave the planet, and they don’t have transport.” Standing, she paced. “So where the hell are they? Could they be in one of these cities? The Canids seem to have withdrawn from all the cities near our Base.”

  Colonel Rees responded. “It’s possible, but we’d have to search each city individually. We can’t scan them. We’ve tried. No result. Some sort of field blocks our scanners, and we don’t have the time or the resources to visit every site and search it.”

  The Brigadier was thoughtful. “But we can concentrate on the ones within the range of our Bases. We can check as many as possible in the immediate vicinity of where the transport vehicle was recovered, and fan out from there. At least we can make sure they aren’t within striking distance.”

  The Colonel nodded. “I’ll get on it. If we don’t find them, it’s unlikely they’ll survive the winter unless they find some way of eating the stuff these Rotties manage to digest — and they’ll need heating and shelter, which might be a challenge, but that will help us locate them.” He paused. “We may just have to destroy the cities completely if we can’t smoke the Fleet fugitives out by any other means. We have the capability.”

  “As a last resort. I don’t want to use fission weapons unless we have no other choice. Besides, that would destroy any chance of cracking the secret of these sentient structures, and could impact on our other operations here. No, we need to find another way.”

  Chapter 13 — Discovery

  Autumn gave way to winter in a series of violent storms that brought an end to their ability to find food in the environs of the abandoned city. The replicator they’d acquired was unable to produce the quantities of food they needed from the culture stocks they had available, and they had to conserve its power pack to keep it functioning as long as possible. They could look forward to a very lean time. The only consolation was it also brought an end to their enemy’s efforts to find them.

  For Harry, it brought time that allowed him to think, and to wonder what was happening to Mary. Thoughts of his sweetheart at home brought other feelings now, made more difficult by the fact they embarrassed him, and sometimes invaded his dreams. His mood was worsened by the fact that Maddie Hodges and Errol Hill had formed a relationship, which the others tacitly accepted. This posed another dilemma. He struggled to understand why that made him jealous. After all, he truly loved Mary, didn’t he?

  He decided he’d wrestle with these thoughts another time, and went in search of Rasmus. He was always good for intelligent conversation that challenged Harry’s mind and distracted him from relationship worries.

  He found Rasmus pottering about in his sleeping quarters. Harry seated himself and plunged right in with the other matter that concerned him lately. “I cannot escape the feeling we are watched at all times, Rasmus. I wish I knew who or what was doing the watching. It has troubled me from the beginning. Do you feel it too?”

  “Yes, but not all the time. I sometimes think there is something or someone studying what I do — a ghost perhaps!” He hoped to lighten Harry’s mood.

  Harry laughed. “I do not think we have ghosts, but we must be vigilant nonetheless.”

  The Coxswain tapped on the wall. “A moment, sir? I think we’ve solved the cooking problem. Hill and Skoronski have cobbled together a stove of sorts, and Hodges converted a power supply from some kit she took off that transport. Means we don’t have to make a fire to cook the fish we catch.”

  “Well done.” This was something that had troubled Harry. “So it’s fresh fish for supper, is it? Where have they rigged the stove?”

  “Right this way, sir. It’s more a sort of heated plate, but it works. Now if we could just get a nice beef culture, or a bit of bacon . . .”

  Laughing, Harry and Rasmus followed the Coxswain to where the TechRates had installed their stove. The unit was a crude but satisfactory cooking plate. They’d also contrived a workable pan in which to cook.

  Harry surveyed the work. “Well done. That solves the problem of lighting fires, which I suspect is how our enemies have identified our location on occasion.”

  “We’ve had to call off the work on the cities, Brigadier. The weather makes it impossible to continue.” The leader of the Consortium scientif
ic team shook her head. “We’ve made a little progress, we think. We have at least managed to keep a sample from the latest one we examined. It does confirm our earlier conclusion that it is a life form.”

  “At least that’s something.” Brigadier Newton studied the scientist. “Are you any nearer figuring out the power sources? The lighting system?”

  Missing the sarcasm, the scientist paused. “We’re pretty certain the lighting is a form of bioluminescence, but why it reacts to any physical presence and isn’t constant, we haven’t managed yet. A pity your troops can’t keep those Rottweilers out of our hair. We could make much more progress without their interference.”

  “If you could tell us how to see them before they attack us, that would help,” snapped the Brigadier. “What is happening with your tests on Lieutenant O’Connor? I trust he’s not been allowed to get into the AI?”

  “Definitely not! We’ve taken every precaution to keep him isolated.” She looked up. “Doctor Wan is very frustrated by your orders. He plans to raise it with the Board when they visit.”

  “He may do as he pleases, but remind him that what happened was a result of his refusal to accept our warning, and I shall be saying so to the Board.”

  The scientist opened her mouth to retort, then thought better of it. “Yes, well, what happened is unfortunate. However, we are pursuing a new line, one suggested by a conversation with that Fleet Lieutenant – Clarke. He tells us that, with Heron, sometimes he’s unable to control the link. The AI ‘reads’ his mind. It’s an avenue we’d like to try using a portable system such as an android servant. If we fit one with a recorder, we can—”

  “I’ll stop you right there. You do know the androids are all in direct link to the Base AI, right? If one linked to O’Connor, that would automatically connect him to the Base.” She paused. “No. I can’t allow it.”