The Warrant Officer heaved with all his might, expecting a struggle, and stumbled forward when the weighty machine moved easily on a pivot to expose the entrance to the chamber and the coms unit.
“F*ck me, how did you—?”
“Not difficult.” Ferghal bent down and peered inside. “No one there. Damn. Tech, get down and shut the thing off. We don’t want anyone else following the beacon now.” He straightened and grinned at the Warrant Officer. “I noticed a different sound as I stepped on the base plate. Then, when I looked at the bolts, I could see three had been handled recently.” He pointed. “See, here, the head is clean where I’ve touched it, and a slight bit of oil rubbed off on my fingers. Then I saw it was a lock bolt. Just a quarter turn to unlock it and you can withdraw it. With a spring washer under it, it would feel spanner tight normally.” He put the bolt down. “Now, the question is, where is Commander Heron and his people? I’ve a feeling, from the look of these things and that unit, that only they would have known how to get it working.” His comlink chirped. “Commander O’Connor.”
“Commander, we’ve located what must be their administration centre. There seems to be a riot in progress.”
Ferghal spotted the discarded helmet that had encased Harry’s head and picked it up. Noting the clumps of hair, he snatched up a handful and squinted at it. “Harry’s hair,” he murmured. To the link he said, “Stop the riot—use stunners if you must. I’ll join you immediately.” Snapping off the link, he signalled the others. “With me.” He tossed the helmet to the TechRate. “Hold on to that. I’m sure it wasn’t made by these folk, so it may have come with Commander Heron. It may be important later.”
By the time he found his search teams, the riot had ceased. Several guards lay where they had fallen in response to the Marines’ stun weapons, and the rest of the people clustered in a sullen group against the side wall of the Council Chamber—council members and their families, and various workers—all frightened and not saying a word.
Ferghal surveyed the gathering. “Is this everyone? The entire population?”
“This is all we managed to round up, sir.” The Marine sergeant snapped a salute. “We think there are a lot more, but this place is a rabbit warren, and most of their people vanished underground and have barricaded themselves inside.”
Ferghal scowled. “Damn.” He raised his voice. “Who is in charge here?”
There was a murmuring and shuffling, then one of the council members was thrust forward. “Captain is, but one of the savages—” He caught Ferghal’s expression and revised his words. “One of the strangers we captured attacked him. He’s unconscious.” He glanced nervously behind him. “We can’t tend to him because they’ve kidnapped our Medico as well.”
“Kidnapped him, did you say?” Ferghal’s voice was quiet.
“Damn it, you fool, tell them the truth or you’ll get us all killed.” The speaker was an older woman. “Our esteemed Captain thought to play the brave defender. Your man attacked him, that is true, but only after Captain tried to shoot their leader in the back. As for them kidnapping our Medico and the Mechanist—rubbish! Captain had thrown both of them into prison for mutiny because they helped the strangers.”
“Thank you.” Ferghal frowned. “And where are our people now?”
“Are you looking for us, sir? Tsk, and with such force against these poor defenceless folk.”
Ferghal whirled round in disbelief as anger, amusement, and delight chased across his face. “Harry, you spailpín!” In two strides he was across the chamber, wrapping his arms around him and lifting him from his feet. “You set the cat into the pigeon loft this time, you rogue!” He set Harry down again, taking in the bruises and swelling that betrayed the beating his friend had taken. “Look at you, a fine example to your men I see.” Ferghal’s Irish accent had descended into a nearly incomprehensible brogue, and everyone watched and listened in utter befuddlement. “Begorrah, sir, a fine chase you gave us this time.” He grinned. “Some in the Fleet want to decorate you again, others want to court martial and hang you—and you’ve stirred up a real hornet’s nest elsewhere.” He became serious. “There’s a price on your head. Certain people do not want you to testify in the prosecutions being prepared against some very powerful people.”
“Well, well,” Harry smiled. “I’ll take each one as it arises.” He waved a hand toward the audience. “I think we’ve a need to help these folk as well—despite their lack of hospitality.”
“Aye, aye, Commander.” Ferghal saluted half in seriousness and half in fun. “I’m minded to think that it is not long since they wanted to capture and kill you, and now you give orders to assist them.” He shook his head. “You’ve not changed, my friend, nor would I want you to. Tell us what must be done.”
“First, have your people bring all of these folk outside. There we may talk to them and show them who and what we are. I think they have been deliberately kept in ignorance by their leaders for a long, long time, and now they must face reality.”
Ferghal nodded. “See to it, Sergeant.” He smiled. “Harry—Commander, if you are to appear in public, allow me to at least provide you with some fresh clothing.” He gave a mock scowl as he took in the rags that remained of Harry’s uniform. “Sure an’ all, this society seems very primitive, but the filthy rags you’re clad in are only barely decent even here, sir, and about that beard, I must say...!”
Harry leaned against the wall and laughed until tears streamed down his face. He had missed Ferghal’s blunt Irish honesty. “Thank you, my friend. I have long since forgotten what it is like to be clean, decently attired and presentable.” He glanced at his men and the bewildered doctor and mechanist. “To be honest, I’ve had other concerns. Clothing wasn’t one of them.”
Ferghal smiled. “I think we noticed.”
“And I have forgotten my manners. Ferghal, these are Boris the Medico and Leonard the Mechanist. A better pair of friends and companions on a misadventure like this you would be hard pressed to find. Now, find me something decent to wear—preferably a Fleet uniform, if you can conjure one for me and my men. We have work to do.”
Ten minutes later, Harry and his companions had fresh trousers and shirts. “Already I feel like a new man, but a shower and sleeping in a comfortable bunk will be luxury.” Harry smiled as Boris and Leonard watched in amazement as first the clothes then the medical equipment was produced.
“I’ve had a MedTech brought down from Lagan,” Ferghal announced. “I told her to bring the full medi-scan kit. You’ll have to tell her what she’s looking for.”
Harry nodded. With his beard and hair now neatly trimmed—courtesy of the Corporal of the Marines—he looked younger and yet more authoritative than ever. “Good. Boris, I think you will find this interesting. Medicine has advanced considerably in the last hundred years, and I hope the MedTech will be able to confirm your suspicions as to the shortening of your lifespans.”
“Next you’ll tell me it can be reversed.”
Harry shook his head. “That I don’t know. I hope the early aging process can at least be slowed to what is considered a normal lifespan on Earth. We’ll see.” He stood. “Now, with Lieutenant-Commander O’Connor’s permission, I’d appreciate your accompanying me to talk to your people. I suspect the World Treaty Organisation, or whichever of its treaty governments originally sponsored your ancestors’ migration to this planet, will want to relocate you to a more suitable planet for colonising. For now, I want to reassure them the plague is no threat and the Fleet intends them no injury—but I will also require their cooperation to find all the people you refer to as Enviros or Wanderers.” He frowned. “Originally they were descended from the Environmental Engineers on the ship that brought you here. Frankly, the reason they were expelled from your society is disgraceful.”
“Will you be here to oversee this, Commander?”
“No, Boris. That will be the responsibility of others.” Harry paused. “I’ve lear
ned we are in the midst of a war—again—and I must return to Fleet Command and face a Court Martial for my capture.” He smiled. “But I shall stay in touch, whatever the outcome.” He walked out to confront the assembled crowd, which seemed to have been joined by some of the workers who had emerged from hiding. It was going to be a difficult confrontation, and he was glad that neither the Canids nor the Lacertians were present. That bit of culture shock would come later for the misguided populace of Centaur.
It took a lot of persuasion and a great deal of patience, but eventually Harry got an agreement. He retired to the gig with Ferghal for refreshment and rest. “Well done, Harry,” Ferghal said as soon as they were alone. “You look done in. Take a nap. I’ll set things in motion now, and we can make a start on finding these outsiders they call the Enviros.”
“Thank you, my friend. I will take a short rest. Where are my two fellow travellers?”
“Ah, yes, about that. Warrant Officer Proctor and TechRate Dorfling had a little chat, as they called it, with one or two individuals. The SBT had to patch up the people they talked to. It seems to have been a very comprehensive talk.” He paused. “I’ve sent them both aloft to get cleaned up and rested.”
“Ah.” Harry hesitated. “I should have prevented that.”
“You couldn’t have.” Ferghal grinned. “I understand the fellows they talked to have declined to say anything about it, and are now very keen to cooperate with us. I suppose I should take action against them, but perhaps it is better left alone.”
Harry nodded. His head seemed full of cotton wool now, and he desperately wanted to sleep. “Have we a response from the Fleet about these people?”
“Yes. A refugee ship is on its way together with a team to assess and deal with the cultural issues.” Ferghal chuckled. “I believe the LPSL tried to get involved, but as they have been exposed as tied in with the pirates and the Charonians, they got very short shrift.” He looked across at Harry. “Now, sir, the bunk awaits you!”
James Heron smiled at his sister in the hologram projection. “Good news, Niamh. We found him. A little battered according to reports, and tired, but otherwise intact. He sends his love to Mary, of course.”
“Where is he? Mary will want to talk to him herself.” She smiled. “And tell him off for breaking his promise to stay out of trouble.”
“I’m afraid that pleasure will have to be delayed. We’re keeping his whereabouts quiet, and we’ll keep him out of circulation for the moment. There’s been a development that makes it necessary. Ferghal has him in hand for now, and will take care of him.”
“Development? Ah. Don’t these bastards ever let up?” Niamh frowned. “No, don’t answer that, I know without your telling me. I meet that type all the time.”
“Then you know what I mean.”
“Yes. Just take good care of them, James. Bring them home safely.”
Chapter 21
Prodigal’s Return
_________________________
“So, it seems you were right, Commander.” The Surgeon-Captain from the refugee ship Fort Belvedere leaned back in his seat. “The radiation from the faulty fission drives must have damaged this people’s original DNA, and that combined with inbreeding, their limited diet and the harsh environment explains their shortened lifespans. They age at roughly three times the normal rate for us Earth-born humans. It has made them susceptible to further degradation through their contact with some of the creatures here, and the lack of certain minerals in their diet. But I’m curious to know how you arrived at this conclusion.”
“I didn’t,” said Harry. “It was suggested by the man they call Medico—who seems to have a passable amount of medical knowledge—and I found confirmation in the computer core they preserved.” Harry frowned. “This explains why so many behave as if they are children, though they appear much older.”
The medic nodded. “Many of them are little more than teenagers in terms of development and years. Has that data been copied to my team?”
“Yes, sir. I believe the entire unit has been recovered and all the data is being processed. Hopefully, it will also reveal what went wrong and how they managed to establish themselves there.” Harry shook his head. “We were incredibly fortunate in our wanderings. I have learned that the creature they call a sand dragon is but one of a number of extremely venomous predators. That we didn’t encounter any of the others is nothing short of miraculous.”
The surgeon finished running his tests. “Quite. Okay, Commander, you seem to have suffered no lasting ill effects from your enforced liquid diet. You’ll need to regain your body mass and build up the muscle you lost, but that apart, you’ll be fit for duty whenever Fleet decide to return you to active involvement.” He handed Harry a data chip. “This contains my recommendations for exercise and dietary suggestions.”
Harry grinned. “Thank you, sir. I’m to travel home on the Lagan, and I must say, I’m looking forward to departing this particular corner of the universe.”
“Yes, I can imagine.” The surgeon smiled. “Best of luck to you.”
Ferghal checked the equipment of Leonard and Boris. “I’ve put you into these suits as a precaution.” He grinned. “They monitor your vital functions and keep you comfortable. It can be a little alarming during acceleration to escape the planet’s gravity.” He checked their seat belts. “We’ll be weightless for a while since the gig only has artificial gravity when we’re tethered to a larger vessel.”
Both men looked excited but nervous. “This ship you’re taking us to—is it a large one?”
“The Lagan? Bless you, no. She’s a patrol ship, bigger than a corvette but about a third the size of a frigate.” He finished strapping himself in. “Secure, Coxswain. Take us aloft, please.” He glanced at Boris and Leonard as the hatches shut and latched. “You’ll be able to see the refugee ship your people are travelling in as we meet up with mine. She’s the Fort Belvedere, and she’s quite large.” Ferghal noted their puzzled expressions. “We weren’t sure how many of you were on the planet, so they sent a ship large enough for ten times as many as you turned out to be.”
The gig, her start-up and first gentle lift completed, now turned slowly on her horizontal axis, the semi-circle of viewscreens providing a panoramic view of the rock carved settlement as she did so. The large passenger barges from the Fort Belvedere could be seen at one end of the crater with queues of people boarding.
Boris asked, “Are these windows we’re looking through?”
Ferghal smiled. “I thought so the first time I saw them. No, these are screens. Sensors outside the hull collect the image and display it.” He saw their confusion. “It’s part of the ship’s scanning system, but it only shows us a small part of what it is seeing all around it. I know, humans aren’t very good at handling multiple streams of data—information—but the ships are.”
Boris and Leonard nodded wordlessly, and their expressions said it all: We believe you, but we don’t understand… They didn’t want to appear ignorant, so they remained silent and took it all in.
Ferghal sensed this and remembered how clueless he was when he first encountered such modern technology after dropping into this century straight out of the nineteenth. He decided it was best to let them take it all in. Understanding would come later.
Clear of the rim, the gig began to accelerate and climb. “I’ll take her up the long way, sir.” The Coxswain indicated the passengers with a slight inclination of his head. “Not quite so dramatic if you get my drift.”
Ferghal nodded. “Good idea, but try to keep the spell in weightlessness short.” He grinned. “Tricky if you’ve never experienced it.” His companions hardly seemed to notice as the gig climbed, gradually accelerating. Their focus was entirely on the landscape of the world they were leaving, a barren kaleidoscope of reds, browns, greys and shades between. Here and there brilliant white patches suggested dried lakes or seas, but nowhere was any sign of water visible.
As they ascended, the sky gradually darkened and the speed increased; then, almost without transition, they were above the planet engulfed in darkness.
“Lagan’s closing to pick us up, sir.”
“Very good,” said Ferghal. To Boris and Leonard, he said, “See the bright star over there, just above the planetary horizon? That’s the Belvedere. If you keep your eye on her, you’ll soon see how big she is.” Both men were a little pale, but their eyes were riveted on the breathtaking views opening before them.
Ferghal continued. “If you look to starboard—that’s your right—you’ll see the Lagan closing us.” He felt a touch of jealousy as he looked at the graceful shape becoming clearer against the backdrop of the stars. There was no doubt the ship was Harry’s even though he, Ferghal, had officially been given the command. Just the manner in which the AI had welcomed her former commander had said more than anything else could possibly have done: Harry’s charm. Well, he’ll need that and a lot more in the current mess.
He shook his head and turned to Boris. “I’m sorry, I was miles away. You were saying…?”
“No, Ferghal, the Captain’s quarters are yours. You are the commander appointed in my place. I shall be perfectly comfortable in the spare berth until we rejoin the Fleet.” He shrugged. “Then we shall see.”
Ferghal frowned. “It doesn’t seem right, Harry. The ship is yours. Your absence was not of your choosing.”
“I know, but you were given command of her for this mission, and I must face the Enquiry.” Harry smiled. “Come, my friend, we are together again, now tell me what has transpired in my absence.”
Ferghal grimaced. “It would be far easier to describe what has not happened.” He exhaled. “Where to begin? Soon after we learned of your being kidnapped, there was an attempt to take over almost two-thirds of our ships. Some were so badly damaged they will be months in rebuilding. The Flag Captain—Greenacre—committed suicide in his Command Centre rather than surrender, and Senator Samland was arrested when she made the mistake of visiting a planet to meet some of her conspirators.” He grinned. “She was recognised by a certain pianist who was there on a concert tour and just happened to mention it to a certain lady in old Ireland.”
Harry Heron: Hope Transcends Page 20