by Jacen Aster
Then Robertson's voice cut into the channel and a shiver of dread went down Jack's spine.
“The portside thruster just blew a control line! It's swinging free. Power down twenty percent, ascent destabilizing! I've got to shut it down.”
“NO! Fire the maneuvering thrusters! Keep it stable!” Henry commanded, and Jack's heart froze as he saw Henry's grappler swerve back toward the station. “I'll get the cable!”
Jack was panicking. “Henry, you can't! You won't have enough power to get free.”
“This is me you're talking about, Jack. I'll tweak the grappler's engines to get more for less.”
Jack was still worried, but it was Henry. He'd have to trust him. “Damn it, Henry! Fine, but I better see you back on the station!” Jack was free now, leaving the station behind.
“Sure, Jack, just keep a glass cold for me.”
Jack gave a tight grin but didn't acknowledge. The ride was getting rough, and Jack ran an eye over his options. Henry had probably intended for them to burn the fuel out and just drift farther away from the star. Have a shuttle from the observation station pick them up. Jack didn't like the idea, and the movement of the research station had slowed enough that...he double checked his numbers. Yeah, he could swing back into the maintenance bay. He smirked. That would one up Henry at least. Assuming he didn't screw up and become a splatter on the back of the maintenance hangar bulkheads. Oh well, his life insurance premiums were paid up.
He ignored the controls for a moment and opened the grappler's programming interface. This wasn't supposed to be done in flight, but hey, he was Jack Amaril damn it. He knew there was no way he could get the timing right himself, but a few rewrites...there! He smirked as the grappler changed course when the new, better, auto-dock code took over. He watched the numbers confidently as it approached the hangar, though he did hold his breath just a little as it slid between the opened doors. He grinned as the grappler set down. Top that, Henry.
Jack was out of his crash harness in moments and as his feet touched the deck he spoke into the comm. “How's Henry doing, Robertson?”
Jack waited for a few seconds. No answer. “Robertson?”
Nothing. Jack frowned and when no answer came for a full minute, he moved from a fast walk to a jog, making for the main control station. His insides clenched and a shiver ran down his spine at the silence. What was going on? Had something happened to the comms? “Henry, can you hear me?”
Silence. Jack moved from a jog to a sprint for the last few hundred meters, dodging around a worried looking alien and skidding to a stop at the door to the control room. He punched in his override and strode in. A glance at the room had his heart sinking to his knees. Everyone was still and silent. Every single crew member there seemed frozen and pale. He spotted Robertson standing at the primary control terminal. He strode up to him and demanded, “What's going on? Why weren't you answering the comms?”
Robertson's face was ashen as he looked at Jack. “We couldn't, Jack, Henry hacked them. They're in receive only mode. Have been since Henry first turned his grappler. We couldn't fix them, couldn't tell you.”
Jack's dread left him almost numb as he asked, “Tell me what?”
Robertson's mouth opened but nothing came out. He tried twice more before he managed to say, “Jack, he doesn't have the power to get free.”
“But he said—” Jack tried to deny, but was cut off.
“There is no way to access a grappler's power systems from the inside, Jack. He knew that. He cut his shields down by half when he turned, so that he'd have enough power for the repair.” Robertson waved at a display.
Jack stared at the indicated display. Henry's grappler was shown in stark relief against the side of the station. He had somehow snatched the free swinging armored control line, but the armored hull had been torn up where it came loose. He was cutting sections of the hull free with the grappler’s power hungry cutter, in order to access where the line had sheared off from. As he watched, the last piece came free and Henry wasted no time cutting the twisted line on both sides before he began to solder them together. To Jack's horror, he saw that the solder tool was starting to flicker, low on power. A glance at the readouts showed his shields were starting to fail and his thrusters were offline entirely. Their power stolen to feed the needed repairs.
“No.” He whispered, then jerked into motion. “No!” he said more firmly, frantically, as he tore the comm officer roughly from his position and began overriding Henry's work. Henry's hack had kept an entire team of the best from warning him. So, of course, Jack reversed it in less than thirty seconds.
He roughly slammed his hand down on the transmission control. “Henry! What the hell are you doing?”
A rough, weak sounding chuckle came across the comm in response. “Jack, I suppose I should have expected you'd somehow end up bypassing the comm lockout. How did you get back on the station?”
Jack's voice was angry and grim. “Rewrote the auto-dock programming. You didn't answer me, Henry. What the hell are you doing?”
Henry laughed. “Of course you did, and I suppose it only took a few seconds to override the comms once you were aboard.”
“Henry!”
Henry sighed. “You already know, Jack. It was one of us or the station, even if you don't want to admit it, and you're more important than me.”
“There is always another way, Henry!”
“No, Jack, there isn't. Do you think I would do this if there was another way? I'm better than you with last minute saves, and we both know it. I ran through a dozen possibilities before I veered off. I spotted the line breaking loose before Robertson even reported it.”
“Henry! Come on, pal. Tell me you've got something planned. Even if it's not likely to work!”
Henry was silent for a moment. “I'm sorry, Jack. There's nothing. No tricks this time. But it's not a bad way to go, I suppose. I always intended to 'go out with my boots on’ as the saying goes. I'm getting old Jack, and retirement would have killed me more surely than the star will.”
“Damn it, Henry! You're only seventy one. You're a decade and a half younger than me. You've got decades left.”
Henry chuckled. “What did I tell you before, Jack? It's not the age, it's the parsecs, and I've seen a hell of a lot more parsecs than you have, Jack. Out on the edge, having adventures, rescuing princesses. A few princes as well actually, but I don't talk about those. All the while you've been stuck living in the lap of luxury. It must have been hell for you, Jack. Boring hell. You need to get out more. Live a little. Maybe then you'd understand why I'm not afraid of this. Death and I are old friends, and I know where he's taking me, at journey’s end.”
The flickering heat of the solder tool cooled as Henry finished the repair. An indicator light on the port engine turned from red to golden yellow. The connection was imperfect, rough, but working.
“Henry, it worked...now get back in here.” Jack's voice was a plea.
“Sorry, Jack.” Henry's voice was almost a whisper. Then his grappler roughly pushed away from the station with its last strength, and his voice came back stronger, demanding, though his comm was clearly dying, with static backing his voice. “Robertson! Power the engine. Don't let Jack stop you. Every life on that station depends on you.” Then the comm link died.
Jack stared in agonized silence, unmoving, as the grappler went dark, its shields gone. He knew Henry was already dead as he drifted toward the star, picking up speed. The radiation would have killed him the instant the shields fell. Had already been slowly killing him from the moment he cut his shield strength in half. He didn't move as Robertson pushed the engines back to maximum. He said nothing, ashen and rigid, as the station picked up speed, breaking free of orbit. One of his oldest friends left behind.
As he finally, woodenly, turned away from the screen, he started as they all heard one more word from the dead comm channel. It was not recorded, but they would, every one, swear they heard it until their dying day. It was
the clear, strong voice of Henry Harper, young and vibrant. A single happy word. No, a name. “Mira.”
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There are no words in any language to express my sorrow for Henry Harper's passing. He was among my oldest and dearest friends and he died far too young. I know, however, that Henry himself was content with how he went out. The research station was, obviously, saved by his heroic actions. He was even posthumously awarded a number of honors by the various species aboard. I know, in truth, that he would have cared not one jot for such honors, but rather his satisfaction would be for the people he saved.
To be completely honest, and perhaps a little biased, for all that those aboard were the best and brightest, VIPs of the highest order, and at least three heirs to various thrones, I can't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, the loss of Henry Harper was the greater evil. His impact on the galaxy.... Well, I suppose these very chronicles give a decent, though horrifically incomplete, accounting for that. A more honorable, courageous, and stalwart man, and friend, I have never known, or ever hope to know again. Let his memory, and his chronicles, be a reminder to all of us to do what is right, rather than simply what is easy. To never forget the value and strength of people, regardless of gender or race, even in the face of the impossible.
I will say little more here, save that a few of Henry's mysteries were unraveled by his death. Included among those was the mystery of his seeming lack of wealth. His will and accounts showed that, as he often said, he was not a rich man. I reveal this only as a strike against the horrible people that have previously railed against my friend for some of his chronicles, claiming that he was a terrible hypocrite, merely another member of the elite.
The accusations never bothered Henry. In fact, I think they amused him to be perfectly honest. But I find myself unable to let go of the rage I feel at the slander of a good man. His will revealed the truth of the matter, solving a decades old puzzle for many of us, those of us aware how he had often been awarded huge sums for his heroics, and been paid quite handsomely for his many jobs. Heck, given their popularity, the proceeds from these very chronicles should have made him rich nearly beyond the avarice of man! When we finally unraveled the morass that was his accounts, we quickly discovered the cause. Virtually all Henry's riches, including all proceeds from these chronicles, have gone into funding a number of charitable organizations, including the Foundation of the Forgotten, run by Erond of Children's Tears fame. In keeping with his will, all continuing profits will be directed to these charities, and we ask that anyone who wishes to honor his memory do so by making such donations.
On a more humorous note, his death apparently caused the release of enormous amounts of data from those entrusted with the safety of said information; presumably either as a fail-safe against old enemies, or the final release from legal constraints. A number of planets have suddenly found their crime rates plummeting, the galactic underworld appears to be in total chaos, and we can only guess just what happened in either case. Oh, and a number of steamy love letters and risqué pictures that somehow wandered into his possession have embarrassed actors and actresses, politicians, businessmen and women. Though amazingly enough, nearly all of them laughed it off and admitted that Henry had long joked he would release them when he died.
On a final note, I know his journals and many notes for additional chronicles he had intended to write, or had already written, have now passed, by virtue of his will, into the hands of one Lorana Reichen. Hopefully, we can look forward to her one day releasing them to the public.
Cheers, Henry Harper! Enjoy paradise. We shall see you on the other side.
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Thank you for reading The Chronicles of Henry Harper! You can find more Chronicles of Henry Harper content by visiting the CoHH Universe Wiki, and by checking out a trio of bonus short stories on my blog, The Discordant Dreams of Electric Sheep. Let me know you enjoyed the novel by leaving a review at the site you purchased it (Please! Indie writers live on reviews!) or by emailing me at [email protected].
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Magical Misfits and Outer Space Oddities: A Collection of Unusual Perspectives
Contained within this anthology are a 14 fantasy and sci-fi short stories, each of which contain highly unusual viewpoints. From monster tea parties and the telemarketers of the spirit world, to space dwarves with power armor and first contact from the poor alien's point of view, this anthology contains a little bit of everything. The one thing all stories within have in common (aside from being either Science Fiction or Fantasy) is being told from a perspective you normally never get to see. Undead cosmetic surgeons, hydroponics officers on adventures, doctors aboard a medical ship. There is a unique perspective to each and every story. In a world filled with copycat vampire romances and standard-issue zombie apocalypses, this collection is a breath of fresh air for those seeking something just a little bit different.