Harry Heron Savage Fugitive

by Patrick G Cox

  His eyes took in the thickening fluff of a beard, the wild mop of dark reddish-brown hair styled to resemble the Canids’ mane, and the bulky Canid clothing. “You’ve made quite an impact on the Interstellar News Channel, and the Admiral feels you should be part of the treaty ceremony.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Harry responded. It wasn’t easy adjusting to once more being a very junior officer after eighteen months in command. He found taking orders on almost everything frustrating.

  “It won’t be long, and you’ll be aboard.” The Commander sympathised. He’d learned just how tough things had been at times, and this young Sub-Lieutenant — technically still below the age required for his rank — had managed to inspire his people to endure it. “The Marines will be remaining, so once this treaty is signed off, you’ll be shuttled up and can get some well earned relaxation. While I’m at it, I’d like to say that I’m really proud to have served with you on Daring, Harry. I know there were problems for you, and I think you have proved yourself more than capable of leading any men entrusted to you, and women. You’ve won the respect of the Rates and the Warrants, and that is saying something.”

  “Admiral.” Harry saluted Karina Hartmann and the party who flanked her. “May I present the Canid Council?” He introduced each of the twenty Canid leaders by name, adding their status and the role they’d played in the conflict. “They welcome you to their home planet and wish me to say they look forward to hearing the proposals you bring.”

  “Lieutenant.” The Admiral’s salute was punctilious. “I thank them for their welcome and present to them the representatives of the World Treaty Organisation. Please assure them we look forward to welcoming them as partners in future.” She frowned as the device in Harry’s hand growled and yipped the translation.

  “I beg pardon, ma’am. It’s a translation device. It has already conveyed your words into their language.”

  He stopped when the device broke into speech as one of the older Canids addressed the newcomers. “The young leader Harry Heron has shown us much and promised your friendship. We have learned that he honours his word. We look to you to do the same.”

  Harry almost laughed at the expression on several of the dignitaries’ faces, but the Admiral responded with an assurance.

  “Ma’am, there is another here, though we cannot see it. The Provider, the Canids’ form of AI, is able to hear us and direct our allies through the medium of the translation device I have here and which you will need for the treaty signing.” He handed over the compact device and stepped back as the delegates followed the Admiral into the dome for the formalities.

  As he watched the ceremonial signing, he was conscious of the Provider listening to his thoughts, so he asked, “When I leave this place, will our minds be separated?”

  “If you so wish. Now that we have learned from observing your use of the intelligences you call AI networks, we can find you if you wish us to.”

  “There will be those who are disturbed by that,” Harry responded watching the expression of alarm on the face of the diplomat currently exchanging assurances of mutual respect with the head of the Council. It put him in mind of two stiff legged dogs sizing each other up for combat — which it probably was, he reflected. “My people are not used to having our communications and networks accessed by others. We are a very individual and private race.”

  “Then perhaps, if we understand this ceremony correctly, it will be best if we do not remain linked to you. But perhaps you will seek us out.”

  “I can do so.” Harry nodded, drawing the attention of the Flag Lieutenant. He had to signal that he was not trying to intervene in the ceremony before continuing his conversation. “But I do not understand your desire to remain in contact with us.”

  “You have been touched by the Siddhiche, as have we. That is enough to bind us to one another,” came the reply, leaving Harry wondering once again about the mysterious Siddhiche.

  The ceremony was nearing an end, so Harry made his apologies for an abrupt end to the conversation and turned his attention to the diplomatic exchange. Uncomfortably aware that he was the focus of several videographers, his Canid clothes making him conspicuous, he felt his cheeks flush. He was also very conscious that he looked like the ‘noble savage’ the news channels seemed to delight in calling him. Less complimentary networks, those funded by the Consortium (though they tried to keep this fact hidden), dubbed him the Savage Fugitive, but it didn’t matter to him. He knew who he was and that what he had done was honourable. And he inwardly challenged any of them to survive eighteen months on a planet in the back of beyond without a decent shower, shave or haircut.

  The Admiral approached him, and Harry saluted.

  “Mr. Heron, well done to you and your people. Your campaign here has been spectacular — far beyond anything we could have anticipated or expected.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You’ve earned a spell of leave and your place aboard. My Barge will take you aloft to the Vanguard. You and your team will take passage on her back to Earth. There’ll be a bit more for you to do there — a lot of people want to talk to you for one thing — but then I think you’re due some Survivor’s Leave and perhaps a spell in a less demanding post.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Harry’s delight was evident at being able to return to his friends and the comfort of quarters on a ship, especially the Vanguard. That ship had a special place in his heart because it was where he, Ferghal and Danny had first made their surprise appearance when they landed in this century. In his anticipation, it never occurred to him to wonder at his being sent aloft in the Admiral’s personal barge. The prospect of a return to Earth, Mary Hopkins and the old house at Scrabo, his home and safe haven, filled his mind as he took his leave.

  Chapter 33 — Reason to Celebrate

  The barge eased into the hangar deck on Vanguard and slid into a waiting bay. “There you go, Mr. Heron.” The pilot signalled the hatch to be opened. “There seems to be a reception committee. They know the Admiral’s not on board, so it must be for someone else.” His crew grinned broadly as they tried to conceal their enjoyment from Harry.

  Delighted to be home again, he missed the grins and the subtle hint. “Thank you for bringing me up, sir. I can’t wait to get a proper shower and shave, and back into uniform.”

  “Better get going then.” The Lieutenant was having trouble controlling his grin. It was true; this youngster really didn’t appreciate just what he had pulled off. He couldn’t wait to see his reaction once he left the barge.

  Picking up the small bag that contained his numerous letters to Mary and his family, he made for the hatch. There were dozens of sketches and written records he really wanted to keep from his eighteen months on Planet Lycania, observations and notes of his friends and the Canids, and many memorable events. It had been a life-changing unplanned deployment, but he wouldn’t trade this experience or his memories of it for anything in the universe. He was an older, wiser man in many ways.

  The Steward took the bag from him. “We’ll see to that, sir. Your friends are waiting for you.”

  Surprised, Harry resisted. “I can manage, thank you, Steward. I’ve nought else to carry after all.”

  “Quite, sir, but an officer shouldn’t carry his own bags from an Admiral’s barge, sir.”

  “Touché, you are right.” Laughing, he released it and moved to a door that slid open timed perfectly to his approach. As he stepped through it, he was deluged with flashback memories of his first reaction to such magical doors, and almost stumbled down the steps to the hangar deck when a Royal Marine band in parade dress struck up a rendition of “Hearts of Oak.” A full side party of his original survivors waited under Ferghal’s temporary command, with Rasmus at the end of the line stood at the foot of the steps. The rest of the men who had joined him were drawn up behind the ship’s officers, with Captain Grenville ready to greet him.

  Recovering quickly, he descended the la
nding steps and saluted. “Sub-Lieutenant Heron reporting aboard, sir,” he stated, a fiery blush burning his cheeks.

  The Captain maintained a straight face as he returned the salute then extended his hand with a big smile on his face. “Congratulations, Harry. Welcome home. A more comfortable arrival aboard than your first arrival in this hangar deck, I think. You’ve made a bit of a stir again. Not quite up to your attacking our Marines with a fire extinguisher, but possibly more effective. Come and greet your people, and then there is someone else wanting to see you again.”

  With a feeling of unreality, Harry stepped forward to receive the welcome of ‘his people’ on board. He was very close to shedding tears of happiness and had to struggle to control his voice as he walked along the row of smiling men and women and said a few words of thanks to each. When he reached Maddie Hodges, he stopped.

  “I’ve not had the chance to thank you properly for your work, Hodges — Maddie.” He smiled and took her hand. “I could not have asked for a better and more willing signaller. You may not have realised it, but more than once you gave me the encouragement I needed. Thank you.”

  “It was an honour to serve with you, sir,” she replied with a big grin. “Any time, but let’s hope for some peace and quiet for a bit.”

  He was quite choked with emotion, and merely smiled and nodded in response as he turned to address the group. He struggled to get the choke out of his voice as he spoke. “Thank you all for your support. I am all too aware of the sacrifices you made, especially those who are not here. I am aware I would not have survived had it not been for the help and support you gave me.” He was unable to continue without betraying his emotions.

  Chief Master Warrant Officer Abram Winstanley stepped forward. “Heron’s Hellions, let’s give it up for Mr. Heron. Hip-hip, hooray! Hip-hip, hooray! Hip-hip hooray!”

  The cheers proved too much for Harry, and tears filled his eyes. Seeing this Ferghal dismissed the parade and, signalling the Coxswain, managed to shield Harry and allow him a moment to recover.

  Captain Grenville watched with interest and judged the moment exactly. “Mr. Heron, the Rear Admiral has suggested that you might like to take some time out to have a shower and change into the appropriate uniform. I’ll leave Mr. O’Connor to show you to your quarters.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Harry managed. “I am deeply conscious of the honour you pay me.”

  “Nonsense, it was no more than proper recognition of your achievement. Now get yourself comfortable and ready for the Admiral, after which my Executive Commander will find you plenty of work to do.”

  The ship greeted Harry like an old friend. “Welcome aboard, Harry.”

  “It is good to be back,” Harry responded. The voice in his thoughts was exactly as he remembered it. “I had begun to think it would never happen. Have you much damage?”

  A list of all the damage appeared in his mind’s eye, and the ship said, “As you see, the list is extensive, but nothing vital is damaged, and much of this will be repaired before we transit again.”

  The door signal sounded and Harry said, “Come in.”

  The door slid back and Ferghal entered, a grin on his face stretching from ear to ear. “I thought I would bring you your post,” he announced, waving a packet of letters. “Some of it has been waiting your return for some time, especially these from a certain Irish lass.”

  “You rogue,” Harry exclaimed, snatching the package and hurriedly sorting the letters as he looked for the ones he had feared would never be sent to him. In his haste he ignored the fact that he was still wild looking, clad only in the breeches and heavy footwear he had worn for so long, he shuffled through the letters.

  By contrast, Ferghal had returned to the very epitome of a Fleet Officer, his uniform crisp and smart, his deep russet hair neatly cut and his beard trimmed. Harry found the missives he sought and ripped open the first.

  “I have waited for these for so long, I can scarce bring myself to read her letters,” he said.

  “I’ll leave you to it then.” Ferghal smiled fondly. “But I should tell you the ship’s barber is waiting for you and so is the Admiral. I’d advise you to get the haircut before you shower. Take your letters with you and read them as he shears you. You wouldn’t believe the pile of matted ginger locks I left on the floor!” He chuckled at his joke and left Harry to his letters.

  Nodding a reply, Harry sank to a seat, his eyes scanning the letter in his hand.

  My dearest Harry,

  I can’t tell you how delighted I am to hear through your Aunt Niamh that you have survived and are thought to be hiding on a planet called Lycania. Interesting name, and even more interesting inhabitants! Knowing your love of dogs, I hope with all my heart I can hear you tell me all about it face to face, someday soon, as we snuggle close together by the fire and enjoy the warmth of each other’s arms again. I don’t know when, if ever, this will reach you, but it helps me to feel close to you just to write it. The news of the loss of your ship was devastating — I didn’t know what to think, or to pray for. The months with no news have been the most painful I can ever remember, and I can’t wait until you are home to hold me in your arms again.

  Harry read on, joy filling his being as he scanned the neat handwriting filling the pages with news of concerts and performances, walks by the sea near her home, and much more besides, finishing with a simple,

  With all my love,

  Mary

  Carefully he put the letter back into its envelope and reluctantly put the rest aside to read that evening before bed. Then he went in search of the barber. Twenty minutes later, he was stepping into his shower. It didn’t do to keep an Admiral waiting, even if he was a relative — perhaps especially because he was a relative.

  Once ready, Harry, his hair restored to its neat mop, his beard gone and his uniform immaculate, presented himself in Admiral James Heron’s outer office.

  The Admiral’s android service unit greeted him. “Go on in, sir, he’s expecting you.”

  “Thank you.” Harry acknowledged the greeting, admiring the shapely titanium beauty afresh. “Good to see you again, Adriana. You’re a welcome sight after these many long months.” He flushed beet red and regretted this slip of the tongue as soon as it was out. I’ve been away from polite society too long. “I fear I was a little longer than expected in making myself presentable. My appearance needed more effort than I anticipated.”

  “Not at all, sir.” Adriana opened the door for him. “Some of the Rates hoped it might catch on as a new look.”

  Harry laughed and entered the Admiral’s quarters.

  “Well, young man.” Admiral Heron rose to meet him. “Do you feel a bit better now?”

  “Thank you, sir.” Harry took the extended hand and, to his surprise, found himself being drawn into a hug.

  “Harry, my boy.” The Admiral released him but kept hold of his hand, guiding him to a seat. “I can’t tell you how proud you’ve made me. Now I want to hear all about your escape from the Daring. I’m told you and your party had to use a launch on autopilot, and you not trained as a pilot — that’s what we call flying be the seat of your pants! Well done. Ferghal’s already told me how you rescued him from the Johnstone lab and of your campaign of disruption against the force on Lycania, but now I want to hear the rest from you.”

  The Admiral listened with focused attention as Harry recounted the Daring’s last moments as he and his people, as he still thought of them, had searched for a way to escape the dying ship. He told of his attempts to get the launch to help him fly it free of the wreck, and wryly admitted that the landing had left more than a little to be desired. His guardian listened as he told of his first encounter with the Canids, and then how Harry and his crew had discovered that the cities were a living entity, all part of a single giant life form.

  When he had finished, the Admiral remained silent for a moment. “I know there will be a lot of people who will want to hear this an
d to ask you a lot of questions about it, but they can wait. Do you remember what day this is?”

  “Day?” Harry was surprised, “Of course, sir, May twentieth.”

  “And what is special about the twentieth of May, Lieutenant?”

  Harry grinned. “It’s my birthday, sir, but I don’t see—”

  “You will in a moment.” The Admiral touched his comlink. “Are my visitors here, Adriana? Send them in please.” To Harry he said, “I think a little family celebration is in order, don’t you? After all, it’s not every day you turn twenty-one.”

  Harry stood as the door opened and Danny rushed inside just ahead of Ferghal and Rasmus. Behind them were Chief Master Warrant Winstanley, Maddie Hodges and the others from Daring.

  “I thought a little celebration with your friends would be appropriate.” The Admiral waved his guests through to the adjoining conference room laid out for a feast. “Unfortunately my accommodation is too small to have everybody, but we’ll move later.”

  The party, slow at first because the Rates were a little overawed by the presence of their Admiral, soon relaxed. Once Commander Nielsen and the other officer survivors joined them — with one notable absentee whose name happened to be Clarke — the Admiral’s ability to put men at their ease soon had the group relaxed and enjoying themselves.

  It was a night that Harry would long remember.

  Chapter 34 — Truce

  Harry’s comlink chirped. “Heron,” he answered.

  “Sub-Lieutenant Heron,” came a voice he didn’t recognise. “Surgeon Commander Knighton. One of my patients is requesting a talk with you. He says you saved him from a wrecked transport.”

  “Barclay!” Harry exclaimed in surprise. “He’s aboard the Vanguard?” His deeply ingrained sense of proper respect kicked in, and he added, “Sir.”