“Another of those sand dragons?” he asked the talkative man.
“Nah. Raider, but we crippled them. A patrol’ll sort ’em out now. Gord sent up a flare, and a heliograph passed the message.”
The vehicle was climbing now, the incline getting steeper and the pace slowing perceptibly as it did so. Then, judging by the change of sounds and the intensity of the noise, they entered a tunnel. When the vehicle stopped, the crew dismounted, and a few minutes later, a new group took their place. Judging from their outfits, they were soldiers. They set to work unstrapping Jack, Mike and Harry, then they blindfolded them and marched them down the ramp—at least, they prodded Jack and Mike along. Harry fainted as soon as he stood, and had to be carried.
“The mutiny has failed, but it all comes back to the same thing. The majority of those who took part believe they were acting in support of a movement that would benefit humanity—at least that’s amongst the officers involved.” The Advocate-Admiral shrugged. “The Rates and Warrants who followed them did so in the belief they were standing for a new order in government, with greater representation in national and supra-national parliaments, and, of course, a more equitable share of the wealth.”
James Heron nodded. The holograms of his fellow admirals and the C-in-C formed a semi-circle in his conference room. “I can believe and understand that, for the Rates at least.” He paused. “But, knowing who is behind it, and what their motives are…”
“Quite.” Admiral Le Jeune glared at a list of names they could all see in the holographic projection. “This came from the Lagan? And she got it from Commander Heron? Where did he get it?”
The Advocate-Admiral replied. “According to the Lagan, the AI on the Harmony Voyager downloaded it to him as soon as he linked to it. To put it briefly, it contains instructions to their people to start the revolution, only the start date here is two weeks from now.” He paused to consider something. “Commander Heron may not have realised the significance of most of the names on it, but he may have registered some of the notations.”
Grand Admiral MacQuillie, the Commander-in-Chief, finally spoke. “And you think they realised this, and attempted the coup when they did because of this knowledge?” He glanced at the others in the projection. “Is this what Security think?”
“We can’t be sure, but the AI on the Harmony Voyager is the key,” said Admiral Lüneburg, Chief of Fleet Security. “We need to find that ship and determine what else Senator Samland may have stored on the AI. It’s possible she was logged into this file when the Commander stepped aboard. If she had activated the standard access alert, which is likely, it would have notified her that he was in the system, but not necessarily what he was accessing.”
The Grand Admiral leaned back. “And in the meantime we still have two Treaty governments in the hands of the rebels, and the others in such a state of upheaval it’s a wonder anything is functioning at all, but that’s for their own military and security to sort out. Our task is to find that ship and arrest the ringleaders and those doing deals with the Charonians.”
Consciousness returned to Harry very gradually. He opened his eyes and tried to make sense of his surroundings, but couldn’t. He was lying flat on his back staring up at a rough-hewn rock ceiling. He was weak with hunger, thirsty and suffering a monumental headache, but his mind was clear. He struggled to sit up.
“Take it easy, sir,” said Jack, who had been dozing, and was startled at Harry’s movement. “You’ve a bad case of heat exhaustion.”
“Where are we?”
“In a prison, sir. They think we’re spies for some tribe or other, come to steal their food, or their kit, or something.”
Harry nodded. “Is there anything to drink? Any food you can get through this damned mask?”
Jack laughed. “There’s plenty to drink, sir. Something they call lime juice, and plenty of a kind of bread. I’ll make a porridge of it for you. The bread might taste strange mixed with this lime juice though.”
Harry smiled inside the mask. “I think anything edible will taste fine to me. Even some ship’s biscuit would taste like heaven, weevils and all.” He spotted Mike Dorfling stretched out on a low bed on the other side of the chamber. “Is Mike injured? I seem to recall we encountered one of those brutish beasts. Did it attack us? Who rescued us?”
“Mike’s fine, sir, just sleeping. Like you, the heat got to him a bit. Yes, we were attacked by one of those giant scorpions, but these guys killed it as soon as it jumped out at us. Don’t know who or what they are, sir. They say they’re human and from a tribe. They seem to have an enemy tribe called the Enviros. When I told them we were from a ship of the Fleet, one of them mocked the whole idea of space travel.” Jack shook his head. “I can’t make head or tail of them. If they are humans, how did they get here, and when? How can they be so clueless about a simple thing like space travel?”
Harry felt exhausted just listening to Jack’s explanation, and offered no reply. The whole situation was baffling.
A commotion outside the chamber drew their attention, then one of the guards appeared leading a strange group of men, some in minimal clothing which appeared to be little more than a harness and boots with leggings up to the waist. The group shuffled past, their ankles linked with metal cuffs and chains and their wrists manacled as well. The guard glanced into the trio’s cell. “Some more of you Enviros for company. Plenty of work for you all on the farms. We can always use a few more hands.”
“Enviros?” Harry mused. “Have they mentioned anything like mechanics or machiners, or perhaps some other ship’s function as a tribal name?”
Jack didn’t follow his reasoning at first, and then it hit him. He gaped at Harry. “You mean these people are survivors who’ve forgotten where they came from? Do you think their tribes were once various specialists on a ship that crashed here, maybe hundreds of years ago?”
“It would explain a great deal, but not necessarily why they appear to have regressed as a society, technologically as well as in other things.” He looked at the door as keys rattled against the bars. “I think we’re about to find out.”
Chapter 15
Ferghal’s Quest
_________________________
“Ah, Commander, come in.” Vice Admiral Petrocova smiled and indicated a chair. “Be seated.” The last three months with Ferghal working on her staff had confirmed her initial good impression of the young sailor thrown into a strange new world beyond his understanding, but absolutely determined to master it. “I’ve some new orders for you, something I think you’ll enjoy.”
Ferghal smiled, remembering Vice Admiral Petrocova as the Weapons Commander on the Vanguard who drove her team until she was satisfied they were the best in the Fleet, but she never demanded of her staff and her ships more than she demanded of herself.
“Thank ye, ma’am. Is there word on Harry?”
“No, but that’s what we’re going to address.” She pushed a data chip across the desk. “Your orders are in there. You’re to take command of the Lagan and use her to back trace the movements of the Voyager. You can get the ship to track back on the beacon codes she’s recorded. On one of those transits they dumped Harry and his gig. Get out there and find them. There’s a price on his head. Find him and bring him back before they do.”
“But I’ve not done the Perisher Course, ma’am.” Ferghal hesitated. “After the Niburu War, and the damage to my corvette when we killed the mothership, I was sent back to Engineering.”
“I know, but you’ve built quite a relationship with the AI on Lagan. She trusts you, so she’ll work with you, and your cyberlink gives you an edge no one else has, except Harry, of course.” She smiled. “One more thing: you’ve a few vacancies to fill. You’ll need a new Exec, as Lieutenant MacKenzie-Banks is taking another post. I can recommend someone if you prefer. There are two Warrant posts vacant and one or two Rates.” She smiled. “I’ve had the Lacertians breathing down my neck for the chance t
o work with you. You’ll have Lieutenant Sci’enzile at Weapons and Jenny Matlock in Engineering. There are three Canids waiting to see me as well, all demanding a place.” She paused. “Choose your team carefully, Commander O’Connor. You will be operating independently. Choose those you know you can trust absolutely.”
The guards pushed Harry and his companions into a large chamber that showed considerable effort had been put into making it a rather grand space. Only the lack of windows betrayed its location below ground, though this was, to some extent, alleviated by the provision of embrasures lit from a concealed source to give the impression of an external light.
“The strangers, Captain.”
A man seated on a raised platform looked up. He wore an elaborately stylised uniform that looked like a cross between an eighteenth century admiral and a member of some royal court. His finger stabbed the air in Harry’s direction. “Why has that one been allowed to retain his helmet? Prisoners and mutineers are to be presented to this table with their heads uncovered.”
“We cain’t get it off’n him, Captain. We’ve never seen one like it.”
“Rubbish, man. Saw the damned thing off then, if it’s only metal.”
“Tried. It blunted the saw.”
One of the other men on the dais, in an equally elaborate uniform, leaned across and whispered to the man addressed as Captain.
“Very well,” said the Captain. “Get Mechanist to look at it.” He paused and glared at Harry. “Who are you? What do you mutineers think you’re doing trying to return to our territory? Where is your protective clothing?”
“We are not returning to anyone’s territory, sir. We were marooned here by pirates—not our choice, I assure you.” Harry tried to rein in his anger. Who did this popinjay think he was? If he were a true Captain, he would never show such disrespect.
“I am Commander Henry Nelson-Heron, officer commanding the patrol ship Lagan of the North European Confederation Fleet. My companions are Warrant Officer Jack Proctor,” he gestured toward Jack with one arm, “and my gig Coxswain and Master at Arms of the Lagan, and TechRate Michael Dorfling, specialist Communications Rate, also of the Lagan.” His annoyance drove him to add, “Might I enquire as to your styles and titles?”
“You’re in no position to demand anything, whoever you are. I am the Captain of Centaur. All of it! The whole damned planet!” the Captain blustered, but there was a tinge of uncertainty to his demeanour. “Never heard of you or your fanciful tribe. Do you take us for fools? There’s no water anywhere capable of carrying a ship or even a boat. I know what you are. You’re a bunch of filthy, thieving, murdering Enviros, and you’ve come to steal our equipment—again. Your fancy titles don’t work with me. Where are your breathing filters? Even Enviros know better than to walk outdoors without breathing masks. Where are yours?”
“I did not say my ship sailed on water. The Lagan is designed for interplanetary travel and is one of the latest patrol craft capable of long-range transits and patrols.” It struck Harry suddenly that the Captain looked mature, but his body was almost childlike, as was his behaviour, as if his growth had been stunted during puberty. Harry had made this same observation of the other men too.
The Captain started chuckling in derision before Harry had finished his explanation. “Rubbish, there’s no possibility of space travel. Our ancestors tried for years and failed. I don’t know what tribe you’re from, but those old myths are just fairy tales. As for the machine the ancestors set up in the Observatory—it’s just useless junk. Who knows who made it or where they found it? I think it should be dismantled and the parts put to better use, but I’m downvoted on that every time it comes up for discussion.” He paused as the door opened and a tall man in a long coat of bleached hide entered. “Yes, Medico? We’re busy.”
“So I see.” The reply dripped sarcasm. “Ah, interrogating the strangers. Well, I’ll wait.” He adopted a lounging pose near the door. “On the other hand, I believe I should, according to custom, be given charge of them since they are not from any known tribe, and should be examined before they put the community in jeopardy.” He paused. “I understand that apart from the one in the helmet, they had no breathing filters or protective clothing when found.”
To Harry’s amusement, the council or whatever they called themselves seemed to draw back in the presence of this laconic medical officer, as did the guards. Even the Captain’s demeanour was suddenly deferential. “Oh. Oh, yes, that’s true. I should’ve considered this. Guards, escort the prisoners to the isolation cell.”
“We have contact, Admiral, extreme scan range. It appears to be the Voyager and four other ships. Three read as warships, but the fourth is an unknown type.”
“Very good, Battle Stations. Authorised to use the particle beam weapon on the unknown vessel. Lock on her and watch for any attempt to use a jamming shield.” He gazed into an optical scanner then entered his access code into the pad at his fingertips, and placed his hand on the device to confirm his finger and palm prints and DNA. “You may attack when ready, Captain Larsen.”
The display blanked briefly as the ship made a micro-transit, then resumed its normal output. The target ships had not detected them, and moments later the purple-violet beam engulfed the alien ship and exploded it. The other ships recovered quickly from the surprise, but were already under fire from several destroyer class vessels and the swarm of strike fighters released from the flagship’s launch bays. The Harmony Voyager attempted to break away, but was frustrated when accurate plasma fire disabled her transit pods. Only one of the pirate ships managed to escape, and she had taken serious damage.
“We’ve secured the Voyager, sir.” The Flag Lieutenant hesitated, listening to his link. “The boarding party report the ship is stripped of passengers and has only a minimal crew—but a load of odd containers stored in every compartment.”
“Send across the science teams. They know what they’re looking for. Those containers sound very much like bad news.” Admiral Heron stood. “Send the Marines to clear the other pirates. Have them searched for any Charonian survivors.”
“Now then, gentlemen.” The man everyone addressed as Medico studied them through the bars. “What crime have you committed to be dumped outside wearing that peculiar mask?”
Harry spoke for the three of them. “We have committed no crime. This was fitted to me so that I could not intervene in the computer networks of the pirate ship or the gig once they’d cast us adrift.” Harry paused. It seemed his explanation had fallen on deaf ears, and none of it made sense to Medico. While the man hesitated to reply, Harry observed his unique appearance. Like the Captain, this man seemed to be some fifty years old, yet his physique suggested a withered teenager. Harry took a conciliatory approach. “I’d be very much obliged if some means could be found to remove the infernal thing. A liquid diet is extremely debilitating after ten weeks.”
“Ten weeks? I’m surprised you’re still alive. No one survives on Centaur without a protection suit unless you’re an Enviro.” The medic moved closer. “If you are who you say you are, then you’re the answer to a number of prayers.” He glanced round the space. “You saw our ruling council. What did you think of them?”
Harry laughed. “I must ask that you respect my refusal to reply to what could be an incriminating question, sir.” He paused. “You call this planet Centaur? Is Medico your name or a title? “
“Never heard it called anything else.” The man laughed. “And about my name, both, really. I am what passes for a doctor here, but the role is hereditary, like a lot of other things. I would have preferred to be a mechanist or a keeper of the artefact, but…” he shrugged eloquently “…my father was the Medico, as was his father and so on. My given name is Boris, but only my friends use it.”
“I see.” Harry hesitated. “So all positions here are inherited? You become whatever your father was?”
“Or your mother, if she is one of the titled positions, as is the case
with our Captain.” Medico smirked. “He owes his position to his maternal parent. She is descended from the original Captain—or so it is claimed.” He raised his eyebrows in doubt, and let Harry form his own conclusion.
Medico’s choice of words caught Harry’s attention. “The original Captain? Do you mean one who commanded a ship? Are there records of your ancestry?”
“Of course. We aren’t complete savages, you know. We have records back to the ancestors. It’s claimed they came from another planet, but most people dismiss that as fanciful nonsense.” The man straightened. “But here’s the thing: most people have never seen or read the records. In fact, you have to be a member of the Executive Class to even see them, and few have bothered to read them.” He moved closer to the bars. “I have read them, and I believe your story, Commander. I shall have to play this carefully. As you have deduced, our Council members are not the brightest, nor are they much interested in anything but maintaining their own standards of living and position.” He smiled. “I think that helmet of yours may be the key. I shall have to concoct some story to enable me to keep you here—perhaps to treat some threatening condition which removal of the helmet may cause to spread.”
“I’d rather be rid of the thing if you don’t mind!” Harry was appalled at the thought of having to remain in this prison for any longer than necessary, just because that was more convenient for these people. “You have said yourself that I cannot remain indefinitely on a liquid diet.”
“Of course not.” The man moved closer to the bars. “Listen, I’ll bring someone who may be able to remove it, but I will insist on your isolation. A few of us do believe the stories. We’ve seen the artefact, and we believe it is a very sophisticated machine. There are other sources of information besides the official ones. For now, you’re safe, but we must work carefully. The Captain and his friends are frightened of anything that threatens their position and the privileges of their rank, and they are extremely ruthless when they feel cornered or they’re exposed for the frauds they are.”
Harry Heron: Hope Transcends Page 15