“I will arrange a covering party for you, Navigator.” The Lacertian studied him a moment longer. “You are careless of your safety. Do not trust this human. He is too arrogant to notice that he is playing with fire.”
Harry nodded. “You’re right, Lieutenant, but now we must consider how we may extract the people he has betrayed with his stupidity from the clutches of the woman involved in the taking of the Harmony Voyager.”
Chapter 34
Misjudged
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“Leader, this prisoner is not one of these others.” The Canid wrinkled his nose. “She wears the uniform of this crew, but she is of the people they held prisoner.”
“What?” Ferghal felt the hair on his neck prickle. “This is the woman they said was Kali. Are you sure?” He saw the Canid’s droll expression. “Of course you are. My apologies.” He looked round. “Then Kali must be … Quick! Lagans! Sabres! Follow me. We have to stop Commander Heron from entering this viper’s pit.”
Regidur caught the urgency and snarled rapid-fire orders that sent his people hurrying to join Ferghal, then he gave orders to others to first secure the prisoners before following Ferghal.
Ferghal tried his link to the ship. “Harry, for the love of mercy, take care—Kali has escaped.”
“Escaped? Oh, well, it’s too late now, Ferghal. I am already with the Centaur captain. I must concentrate on his demands. I’ll link up with you again soon. Wish me luck.”
Ferghal broke into a run, his companions sprinting to keep up. “Harry, leave him! Get away from there, now!”
Harry positioned himself in plain view of the door to the compartments in which the refugees from Centaur had confined themselves. He checked the time; two minutes before his deadline expired. Would the misguided leader of these unfortunates appear? Would the woman known as Kali intervene? The door slid open, and Harry forced himself to remain still and project an air of confidence.
The man who styled himself as Captain of Centaur stepped into view, his expression a mix of arrogance and insolence. He sneered when he saw Harry. “Ah, the brave Commander Heron. Are you ready to take us home? We’ll want compensation, of course, since you destroyed everything we built on Centaur.”
Harry didn’t respond immediately, as he was listening to Ferghal through his link. He played it off as if he was considering his options. “I see, Captain. We can discuss this once we have your people safely off this ship. Perhaps they should be given the opportunity to decide where they want to go before any final decision is made.” He held the man’s eye.
“Why? Crewmen don’t make decisions. They take orders. They’ll do what I tell them to do. We’re going back to Centaur, and you will see to it that we receive the compensation we demand.”
“Have you considered that some of your people might choose a different life if given the opportunity?”
“No!” Fury showed on the man’s face. His voice rose. “They will do as I order—and I say we’re returning to our home. I outrank you. A Captain outranks a Commander! You will do as I order.”
Harry had the distinct impression that he was negotiating with a toddler, but the toddler was brandishing a deadly weapon. “I’m afraid you’ve been misled. Please put that weapon down so we can work this out like men—”
The flare was dazzling, and Harry felt himself falling. He collapsed to the deck and lay there wondering what had happened. There was noise and commotion everywhere, and his limbs felt leaden. His vision clouded and he felt himself slipping away, and then his vision cleared, but there was something wrong. He was looking down at a body. He could see a large wound, and the face was his. He was in the midst of a battle, but no one seemed to see him. In fact, several armoured Marines rushed toward him and went right through him, but he felt nothing, and they seemed unaware of him.
Another figure emerged from the direction of the fighting—Medico, thought Harry. Boris—yes, that’s his name. What’s he doing? He watched as the medic knelt and tried to resuscitate the body on the deck. He became aware that he was moving. It felt as if he was being drawn away from the scene. Reluctantly, because he wanted to stay and watch what Boris was doing, he turned and entered a well-lit passage. A feeling of warmth engulfed him—no, it was more than warmth; it was the feeling he had when he held Mary in his arms, the feeling he’d known when, as a child, his mother held him close.
Now another figure approached, and Harry smiled in pleasure. “Father, how kind of you to come to meet me. I’ve needed you for so long, and I’ve missed you…”
Ferghal arrived with the reinforcement squad as Sci’enzile’s crew attacked the Centaur Enforcers. His rage went ahead of him as he advanced into the makeshift hospital ward where the refugees were held.
Ferghal’s tall, muscular frame crowned by his russet red shock of hair and matching beard struck fear in everyone who saw it. He made almost no apparent effort to dodge any weapon aimed in his direction while using his own to devastating effect. Worse was his fluent use of every epithet his Irish Gaelic gave him as he roared his demand above the noise of weapons, the screams of the wounded, and the cries from the women and children among the refugees being released and moved to safer parts of the ship.
“Kali!” He roared. “Show yourself, coward! The rest of ye—lay down yer weapons, or by the living God, I’ll gut ye as the scum ye are!”
One of the assassin’s henchmen attempted a shot at Ferghal, but a Canid warrior seized the man’s weapon and him with it. Seconds later his broken corpse was hurled into the concealed group of Enforcers further along.
“Kali! You vile scum! Where are ye, yer coward. Yer no woman—lower than the foulest demon of Hades. Yer a gutless thief—using others to do your dirty work, always in the dark, never in the open. Give her up, you scum! Yer filth.” He waited. Nothing. “Do not make me take this ship apart to find her, but I will if I have to!”
Suddenly weapons clattered to the deck, and then several men and a few women crept from their hiding places.
“Where is she?” Ferghal demanded.
“We don’t know. Really, we don’t know. She left us a while back. Said she was fetching help.”
A chill hand clutched at Ferghal’s heart. “Where?”
One of the men indicated the way they’d come. “Back there. Near the place you came through.”
“Secure the lot of them,” Ferghal barked. “Pack Leader Lucanes, Lieutenant Sci’enzile—you’re with me. Quick, she’s after Harry.”
“Harry—Commander Heron’s been shot.” The Flag Lieutenant couldn’t keep his concern out of his voice. “Lieutenant Gunn is transhipping to the Hobhouse to stand by. According to Commander Whitworth, Commander Heron hoped to negotiate a peaceful resolution of the stand-off with the Centaur captain, and the captain shot him.”
The Admiral was on his feet. “Is Harry alive? Who let him go aboard that ship?”
“I’ve no confirmation, sir. The man who shot him is dead. A Lacertian warrior got him before he could escape. The weapon was a modified Charonian device, and the full effects are not good. A Surgeon-Commander is on the Hobhouse doing what he can to save Harry.” He swallowed hard. “Apparently Harry believed he could talk them out of their scheme, sir—and Commander Whitworth’s team thought they’d identified and killed all the assassins.”
“Keep asking about Harrry’s condition…no, scrub that. They’ve enough to do. Danny or Ferghal will let me know.” He sank into his chair. “What else is there?”
“Commander Whitworth reports that the woman who calls herself Kali, who they identified as the assassin, is disguised as one of the refugee women. Commander O’Connor is hunting her now, sir.”
“Is he? Damn. Ferghal will not be in a mood to take prisoners either.” Drumming his fingers on the desk, he stared at the bulkhead. “Get me the C-in-C and then the Advocate Admiral. When I’ve talked to them, get me a link to my brother-in-law.”
“Yes, sir.” Th
e Flag Lieutenant withdrew gratefully. It struck him that the Admiral never blamed his staff when things went wrong or didn’t go the way he wanted them to, even when everyone could see the fury in the older man’s eyes. It always made the Flag Lieutenant extremely glad to be able to walk away intact, and even more appreciative that he was not the target of that anger. “God help the people behind this if he gets a chance to repay them,” he murmured to himself as he hurried away from the Admiral’s quarters.
From his perch way up high, as if he were touching the ceiling, Harry watched the group at work around his body. He felt light, free, and enveloped in love. I think I’m dying … my sweet Mary … I hope she finds a good man who will love her as I do. He watched Ferghal stalk away. Ferghal, do no murder on my part. I was careless, as you so often warned. Do not endanger yourself over my mistake.
“Ferghal must find his own peace, my son, as must you.”
Harry turned to the figure next to him. “Where am I?”
“Between life and death, my son.” The figure, who resembled a younger version of his father, indicated a group pushing a med-unit into the room. “For now, you must remain here. It will be difficult for you and for many others. It remains in the balance.”
“Must I wait alone?”
“We are never alone, my son, even in death.”
The group around his sprawled figure lifted his body and placed him in the med-unit. He felt drawn to follow them into another compartment, this one hastily cleared and sterilised. He watched as the MedTechs removed his clothing, cleaned his injuries and inserted devices into his wounds to facilitate healing.
“Will I live?”
“That remains to be seen.” His father smiled. “Whatever happens, my son, we will be here when you join us. Remember, you are never alone.”
The light began to fade and Harry felt himself getting heavier as he slid back down into the bloodied and burned wreck of a body beneath the surgeon’s hands.
The MedTech never saw her attacker. She was busy checking one of the many wounded. The blow, delivered with precision, broke her neck. It took Kali, whose real name was Catherine Ashley Willingford-Smythe, no time at all to drag the corpse into an empty office, strip it of its uniform, take off her clothes and stash them in a desk drawer, and put on the uniform. She grimaced as she checked herself in the polished surface of a viewscreen. The fit was a bit loose, as the MedTech had a bigger body than Catherine’s lithe frame, but it would have to do.
She checked the corridor, saw that it was clear, and walked purposefully to the entrance to the hospital. She stepped in with the demeanour of someone who belonged there and watched as a team of medics treated her target.
“MedTech.” The Surgeon-Commander beckoned. “Take over here. The med-unit has him in stable condition. You shouldn’t need to adjust anything. The team will be here to move him to the Ariadne in a few minutes.”
She couldn’t believe her luck. “Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it.” She watched the Surgeon-Commander walk away, his mind already on other wounded. She smiled. Now she had Harry Heron himself, the ultimate bargaining chip.
Chapter 35
The Destroyer Destroyed
_________________________
Danny Gunn stood at the door. “MedTech, my people will—”
He stopped as she turned and said, “Your people will do what?” Her grin could only be categorised as evil.
Danny immediately recognised her from the files Ferghal decrypted. “Get away from that unit!”
Her fingers were already on the controls. “I will not, Lieutenant. Make one move I don’t like and I’ll kill him. These units can kill as easily as they can heal. My choice. Tell your people to stand back. Weapons on the deck.” She watched as Danny signalled his people and laid his sidearm on the deck. “I want the Djinn brought alongside. I want her crew released and restored to her, and I want Zorvan released and placed in her as well. I am going to board her, and we’re taking Heron with us.”
“My superiors will never agree.” Danny did his best to keep a calm appearance. “And the man you call Zorvan is in a med-unit. We won’t be able to place him aboard.”
“Don’t try to bluff, Danny boy, you’re no good at it. Now get on your link and make the arrangements.”
The Surgeon-Commander appeared at Danny’s shoulder. “What the hell is going on here? Med, what do you think you’re doing?”
She produced a weapon and touched off a blast of plasma. “Do as you’re told,” she shouted.
The blast was her undoing. The door behind her shattered as Ferghal plunged through the opening, his jacket cut to ribbons as he burst in. She swung her weapon toward him, but the twenty-two inches of his cutlass blade were already slicing through the air in her direction. She screamed in agony as the blade severed her wrist. Her hand dropped from her body and the weapon it held clattered across the deck as she stood there mesmerised watching the blood gush and feeling her body weaken.
Ferghal’s ancient training took over. The enemy was still standing, still a threat. The cutlass whirled, the blade a silver blur, and caught the woman at the joint between her neck and shoulder.
Jerking the blade free and wild with rage, he prepared to deliver another blow but Danny grabbed his arm and restrained him, the adrenalin causing him to lapse into the accent of his childhood. “Enough, Fergie, she be dead. Easy, nah … Mr. Heron be foin nah. He be safe.”
The red mist of rage ebbed from Ferghal’s vision as he wiped the blade on the sleeve of his torn jacket. He became aware of the onlookers crowding the door on the opposite side of the med-unit. They had seen it all, and would later tell their friends they had seen nothing like it in their lives.
“How’d she get to be alone wi’ Harry—Commander Heron?” Ferghal snarled. “She’s the last of ’em. The ship’s secure, Surgeon-Commander, yer people can deal wi’ the wounded.” He turned the jacket on the corpse to examine the nametag. “Sergeant, somewhere is t’ body o’ t’ MedTech she took this uniform from.”
Felicity Roberts looked up as Keiron entered her office. “You certainly outdid yourself this time, Keiron. What’s the butcher’s bill on that damned hospital ship?”
“Too high, ma’am.” He studied his hands. “I slipped up. I should have refused to let Harry—Commander Heron—go aboard her. I thought we’d nailed the three main assassins—”
“Don’t blame yourself, Keiron. We’ve all made mistakes dealing with this lot.” She thought of her own career. “You were probably still a cadet when I first had a run-in with the Pantheon, a goddess named Bast. An expert in biotech, she knew how to disguise her DNA and take on that of her victim. They’ve been getting away with it for years, but now we’ve got the people behind them—the bastards funding and protecting them.”
“Yes, but Harry was different.” He swallowed. “You should have seen Ferghal. I’ve never seen anything like it. Even the Lacertains and Canids were shocked, and they’re no slouch at fighting.”
“So I’ve heard.” She studied him. “Things are going to get ugly at home. It’s inevitable. There are some very important, very wealthy and very high-profile people involved, and they’ll do anything and everything to protect themselves. So here are your orders. You and your team will look after Harry round the clock. Admiral Greene has assigned our own medical team to attend him, and you’ll have four Lacertians and four Canids supporting you.” She smiled. “Look after him, Keiron. We need him back on his feet for the trials.”
Ferghal stared down at the still and deathly pale features of his friend, fellow traveller and brother. He loved Harry with all his heart, and it terrified him to see his friend like this, hovering at death’s door.
“Harry, I know the Banshee is malingerin’, but I’ll gut her if she dares attempt the takin’ o’ you. Ye cannot leave us’n now.”
“He’s stable for the moment, Commander.” The Surgeon-Lieutenant finished adjusting the med-unit. “If that Medico cha
p from the refugees hadn’t stopped the bleeding the way he did, I don’t think Commander Heron would be here at all. I’m not sure what he used, but it was effective.” He shook his head. “Even so, it’s going to be touch and go for a while yet.” He straightened. “Now, sir, I need to run a few checks on your wounds, then you’d best get some sleep. The Commander is in a coma, and the longer it lasts, the better, as it will help his body rest and heal.”
Ferghal was dead tired. For the last forty-eight hours he’d not left Harry’s side, fearful that his friend might die while he wasn’t there. “Very well, doctor, but can I sleep here? I want to be the first face he sees when he wakes up.”
The doctor nodded. “I think I can sort that for you,” he said as he examined the burns, cuts and puncture wounds on Ferghal’s body. He shook his head. “You don’t remember getting any of these wounds? You didn’t feel them when they happened?” He stared at one of the deeper ones. It was definitely healing a lot faster than such a wound normally would.
Ferghal grunted. “No. The battle rage was on me.” He grinned. “I think I frightened meself at times.”
The Surgeon-Lieutenant laughed. “I can tell you, you frightened your Sergeant of Marines, and my boss has taken to religion after seeing you smash your way through the door then kill that assassin.” He laughed. “He said he’s seen a glimpse of hell and doesn’t want to see it again. His team agree with him.”
Ferghal chuckled. “Aye, I’ll have to make my confession as soon as I see a priest. Harry will insist on it, I’m thinking. He always warns me to hold my temper in check.” He looked up as Pack Leader Regidur entered followed by a Lacertian Lieutenant. “Pack Leader, Lieutenant, Harry is in good hands now, though I’ve seen him lookin’ better—even when he was seasick.”
Harry Heron: Hope Transcends Page 31