Harry Heron: No Quarter

by Patrick G Cox

  “Yes, Warrant,” said Ferghal, embarrassed. He would rather engage in a race to rig a seventy-four-gun ship than disport himself in this way.

  “No worries, gents,” said the instructor, his accent completely foreign to the pair, although it had a familiar sound. “A bit of instruction, and we’ll soon have you up to speed.”

  Midshipman Barclay chose that moment to pass by. “You’ll have your work cut out then,” he sneered, speaking to the instructor as if they were of equal rank. “Fossils don’t float, and they don’t learn much either.”

  Harry felt his face flush as his temper flared. He despised the stupidity of these attempts to belittle him and Ferghal. In his view, the world was too often spoiled by those who sought to impose their will on others. Before he could respond, the instructor intervened.

  “Thank you, Mr Barclay, I’m sure you’ve a need for another two lengths. As fast as you like, please.” Watching the scowling midshipman depart, he added under his breath, “Drongo!” He turned back to Harry and Ferghal. “Now, Mr Heron, you need to work on developing your stroke. Some exercises will do it. Mr O’Connor, we need to work you up to a proper swimming stroke. Report to me here after class this afternoon and we’ll draw up a programme. For now, let’s just get you a bit more confident in the water.”

  Unnoticed, a lithe Saurian figure watched as Barclay walked away scowling. Unbeknownst to him and to everyone else at the College not directly connected to Security, the Lacertians had inserted several of their people into the grounds to guard the two young men they knew as the Navigator and the Sword Wielder — Harry and Ferghal. Their ability to blend into the background made them difficult to see, and their speed and phenomenal ability to cling to vertical surfaces gave them an advantage where their presence was unsuspected.

  Sci’genza watched the retreating figure with predatory focus, assessing him. The Navigator had already shown himself capable of dealing with that one, but there were others here he would not find so easy to escape. She reported her thoughts to her superiors.

  Chapter 4 – Lacertian Cadets

  “Eon, there’s a new development. A complication. Our plans have to change.” The older Barclay paused, the uncertainty in his face plain in his holographic image.

  “I knew it,” Eon spat. “It’s alright for you and Uncle. You don’t have to deal with all the bull crap discipline here, and being nice to a bunch of nobodies just because they’re wearing rank!” His scowl deepened. “You want complications? I’ll give you one. There’s a rumour that some of those lizard slaves are lurking around the College, and more are coming as cadets.”

  “That’s what I was calling about.” His father passed a hand over his face. “Damn it, Eon, pull yourself together. The Lacertians aren’t slaves. It was a massive mistake under the previous board to use them that way. And now they’ve a mutual aid and development treaty with the WTO, the North American Union and the Confederacy. They’re sending a party of cadets who will train with you.”

  “Like hell they are! I don’t want any of those damned snakeheads near me.” Eon drew a deep breath. “Not after what happened to Liam at the Johnstone facility.”

  “Liam’s death was unfortunate. Now put it behind you. We have far more important matters to deal with. Your Uncle Sean wants to know the timing of the training cruise you’ll be sent on. There is a great deal he needs to prepare.” His father’s bitter expression showed. “That, surely, is not too much to ask of you.”

  “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to share a classroom and the accommodation flat with the man responsible for Liam’s death, or with these snakeheads.”

  Losing patience, the older Barclay snapped. “There are much bigger things in play here than you imagine. Now do as you’re damn well told. And don’t do anything stupid that could get you thrown out of the Fleet either. Your uncle’s counting on you being where he needs you for now. Don’t screw up. You know what Uncle Sean is like when someone does.”

  Eon knew what his father meant. Reluctantly, he backed down. “Okay, okay, I’ll do it, but if those snakeheads—”

  “We’ll worry about them. Just keep your nose clean and do what you’ve been tasked with. If everything goes to plan, it’ll all be sorted out in a few months.”

  THE ARRIVAL OF SIX LACERTIAN CADETS AT THE COLLEGE caused something of a stir. Saurian but human in physiognomy, they were deceptively slight in build and very reptilian in appearance. They possessed the ability to camouflage their bodies in a manner that allowed them to vanish in plain sight, an ability Harry and Ferghal’s protectors used to considerable advantage.

  “They’ve been placed with us Yotties,” Keiron told his companions, “and accommodated on our flat. Eon isn’t pleased. I hear he’s protested about having to put up with seeing them.” Laughing, he added, “Got a right bollocking from the Commander.”

  Elize grimaced. “He needs an attitude adjustment. Trouble is, short of a brain transplant, I doubt you could give him one.”

  “So when do we get to meet our new classmates?” asked Howie.

  “This evening, probably. They’re on a crash orientation for the rest of the day.” Senzile paused. “You know, I’m sure I’ve seen more of them around the College. At first I thought I was seeing things. A bit creepy really.”

  Looking up from the letter he was reading, Harry said, “There are others here. I see Sci’genza regularly. She’s always around when we’re on any training exercise.” The others looked at him like he was out of his mind. “You haven’t seen them?” he asked, surprised. When he was met with blank stares, he admitted, “They are pretty good at not being seen when they don’t want to be.”

  Elize glanced furtively around the lounge. “Are any of them here now?”

  Ferghal smiled. “Right behind you, Elize. Hello, Sci’genza. Are you sailing with us tomorrow?”

  The others gasped in amazement as the Saurian moved into view, the realisation that she’d been in their midst startling them. She made the Lacertian gesture of greeting. “I salute you, friends of the Sword Wielder and the Navigator. The newcomers would be better suited to your vessel, Navigator. I will remain ashore.”

  THE SAILING VESSELS ALLOCATED TO THOSE INTERESTED in developing skills in this field were unlike anything Harry or Ferghal had encountered before. Broad-beamed monohulls with a single mast, the boats were quite shallow in depth between deck and bilge, and fitted with foils on which they rode above the water and achieved undreamed of speeds under suitable wind conditions.

  “The boat can be sailed in displacement mode, of course,” the sailing instructor told them. “But if you’re racing, your best speeds are achieved riding the foils.”

  Taking notes, Harry studied the hull form and the foils, noting the twin bilge keels and the manner the yacht rode in the water.

  “These are the boats used for the Class Cup races, sir?”

  “Correct, Mr Heron. I believe you hold a Yacht Master’s ticket?”

  “Aye, sir. Gained in a displacement hull though. I should like to explore these craft if opportunity serves.” Hesitating, he indicated the foils. “I should think a touch different to what I have sailed to date — and faster.”

  “Faster, certainly.” The Lieutenant laughed. “From a handling perspective, not too different. You’ll soon get the hang of it.”

  Harry did, even surprising himself. The rig and sail plan was efficient and relatively simple to manage, though he found it irritating that a network managed the sails for him, something he could have done quite well on his own. When he had the feel of the boat, he soon showed his mastery of this new skill.

  “Whew,” Keiron remarked as they secured the boat after returning from a sail. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone turn off the SailComp before. It got exciting there for a bit.”

  “The SailComp wanted to reduce sail all the time. The boat could carry the extra sail.” Harry paused. “This may go against what you know, but I hope you can se
e that I am correct in this assessment.”

  Keiron and the others nodded. Without a doubt, whatever Harry and Ferghal demanded of the boat, it complied readily, right down to their having sailed it straight onto the pontoon mooring.

  Elize laughed. “Okay, you were right, Captain!” She sketched a salute. “I’ll admit I didn’t know these boats could do some of these things, and the rush I got from the speed we logged on that reach just now . . . whew, that was exciting!”

  “Our slave-driving Captain apart, I’m enjoying this more than anything else here,” quipped Senzile. Clapping Ferghal on the back, he added, “Was he always like this?”

  Ferghal laughed. “Worse! A real tyrant, our Captain Heron. Wait until he whips us into a crew. It’ll be flogging round the fleet afore he’s finished.”

  His cheeks burning, Harry joined in the laughter out of embarrassment more than humour. Senzile’s home was in the part of Africa that Harry had known as the Slave Coast in the 1800s, and the remark about slave driving touched a nerve, as he would never do such a thing. Perhaps, he thought, he had been a trifle too demanding of his crew, several of whom had not sailed before this.

  “Midshipman Heron, report to Lieutenant Haäkinen.” The pipe interrupted a rare stand easy.

  “Your sins about to catch up with you, Harry?” Senzile gave Harry a friendly nudge as he stood to respond.

  With a grimace, Harry nodded. “I’ve been expecting this. The enquiry is at last taking place, and I am summoned.”

  “The enquiry? Oh, you mean the one about the problem that brought you here. Ferghal was telling us about it.”

  “Yes. I can’t think why they want us to attend, unless as some sort of specimens — not a role I am happy to accept.” With a frown, Harry made for the door.

  “I should think not. Good luck with the Lieutenant.”

  “THE ENQUIRY IS SCHEDULED FOR NEXT MONTH, MR HERON. I have orders for you and Mr O’Connor to be available as witnesses. You’ll be collected and taken to the location the day before you are required to testify.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Harry hesitated. “I do not understand what we may add to any enquiry into the malfunction of a device we had no knowledge of at the time, so why would they wish to hear from us?”

  “The enquiry has a broader remit. The malfunction of the Indian Ocean Transit Gate is a part of it, but the larger matter is what was discovered on Pangaea.” The Lieutenant tapped his tablet. “There is, as you know, what amounts to a civil war between the jurisdictions the Fleet serves and the group known as the Consortium. Certain of our political representatives and a lot of bureaucrats are doing everything they can to label the Pangaea situation an anomaly and to block any further investigation. What you and Ferghal uncovered in your escape could be vital in getting to the truth of it all.”

  “I see, sir.” He didn’t relish the prospect of having to speak about his time in the laboratory. “Have I any choice?”

  “Afraid not, Harry.” Aware of the midshipman’s reluctance, he added, “If it’s any comfort, Commodore Heron and his sister will be here to accompany you and O’Connor. They will stay with you until you return to College — hopefully only a couple of days away, or you’ll miss a lot of tuition.”

  “EON, WE NEED YOU TO ATTACH THOSE TRACERS to Heron or O’Connor, preferably both. We don’t want either of them to reach the enquiry and give their account of events on Pangaea. Make sure you plant the trace. A special team will deal with it from there.”

  “It’s not that easy, Uncle,” Eon whined. “I’ve tried several times, but he’s never alone.”

  “Damn it, Eon, it’s a simple thing to do! They’re small enough, damn it. Hide it in something he always has on him if you can’t get it into contact with his skin. Get one of your friends to do it if you can’t.” The older man in the hologram leaned back, his flushed face truculent. “Find a way. Those two must not reach the enquiry. Is that clear?” The hologram vanished.

  Furtively, Eon stowed his unregistered comlink, checked to make sure he was unobserved, and left his place of concealment. “I’ll get Miles or Laschelles to do it,” he muttered to himself.

  Sauntering between the neatly trimmed hedges leading to the boating facility, he failed to notice the shadowy figures drifting along the hedge behind him. There was nothing magical about the Lacertian ability to be unseen. Their scales refracted light when they adjusted them, and their skin tone changed to match a background in much the same manner as an earthbound chameleon.

  Eon turned his head suddenly, sensing that he was being watched and followed. He stared at the hedges and could see nothing, though on the edge of his vision, something didn’t appear right. He walked on, failing to notice the shadow that didn’t match those cast by the hedges.

  Behind him, the Lacertian appeared briefly as she changed position, vanishing and blending with the hedge on the other side of the path.

  Wrapped in his thoughts, Eon hurried on. He smiled as an idea formed in his mind. Changing direction, he sought out his cronies.

  DESPITE THE EXTRA COACHING THEY RECEIVED IN THE ART of swimming, Ferghal still floundered, and Harry hadn’t quite got a smooth rhythm. The morning swimming sessions were not among their favourite activities, but they persisted doggedly.

  Harry had completed one slow length when he became aware of someone swimming close beside him, in fact crowding him as he stayed in his lane. Alert for some mischief, he was taken slightly unaware when the swimmer gripped his leg, pulled him back and made a stabbing movement toward his groin. Rolling swiftly aside and breaking free, he avoided most of the contact but swallowed a large amount of water. The other swimmer dove underwater and darted away as Harry swiped water from his eyes and coughed to clear his lungs. Furious, he looked round to see who it was, and saw Barclay laughing at the other side of the pool.

  A disturbance in the water ten yards away drew everyone’s attention. A swimmer seemed to be struggling and appeared injured. The smile died on Barclay’s face when Ferghal emerged from the surface spluttering with fury, treading water and barely keeping his head above water. Their Lacertian guardian ripped through the water and hoisted Ferghal onto the poolside before Harry could reach him.

  Coughing and retching water, Ferghal struggled to recover his breath. Clearly very angry, he protested as he moved into a sitting position. The other swimmer seemed to be in even more serious trouble. Another member of Harry’s class swam to assist the second man, bringing him to the side of the pool with some difficulty.

  “You humans have a strange sense of humour, Navigator. Do you wish me to assist the Sword Wielder’s attacker?”

  As the swimming instructor helped Miles out of the pool, Harry noticed, not without a little satisfaction, that his friend’s attacker seemed to be having difficulty breathing. Retching water and bile, he looked very sick indeed.

  Climbing out of the pool and kneeling to check on Ferghal, Harry asked, “What did you do to him?”

  Before Ferghal could reply, the instructor joined them. “Mr Heron, Mr O’Connor, stay here. Mr Galika, get Mr Miles to the first aid station.” He looked across the pool. “Mr Barclay, a word with you, please.” His tone made clear this was not a request.

  Watching this interchange with interest, Harry looked at Ferghal. “What did he try?” he said in a quiet voice.

  “He came up close and struck me betwixt the legs, then he tried to hold me underwater.”

  “How did you respond?” asked Harry. He could feel his temper rising.

  “The same trick Colour Sergeant Nelson taught me on Vanguard, the point of my hand under his ribs,” replied Ferghal, making an upward stabbing motion with his open hand, palm up, fingers rigid.

  The instructor returned to where they waited, his expression serious. “Now then, gentlemen, I will have to report this to your Divisional Officer. I saw what happened, so neither of you can be blamed for starting this, but you may have done Mr Miles rather more damage tha
n we think, Mr O’Connor. Get dressed and carry on to breakfast, and don’t let Mr Barclay or any of his friends provoke you into anything more. Clear?”

  “Aye, aye, Warrant,” growled Ferghal. He had struck out in self-defence to prevent what he was convinced was an attempt to drown him, and he felt aggrieved and a little resentful at the warning.

  “Very good, Warrant,” echoed Harry, idly rubbing a sting on his leg. He worried that his friend might be in trouble, and a meeting with Barclay would likely end with one of them hurt. He hated this sort of underhand dealing. As the son of a gentleman, he had been taught from the cradle that no gentleman ever behaved in a dishonourable manner, and to Harry, the actions of Barclay and his friends were beyond the bounds of honourable behaviour. His fury drove from his mind the question of why they had both been attacked while in the water. His instinct was to seek a showdown, to call Barclay out and demand satisfaction, but he knew that was no longer considered acceptable, and he found that very frustrating.

  The instructor interrupted Harry’s thoughts. “Mr Heron, I saw who tried to pull that stunt on you.” He considered Harry’s expression, and knew what that look of smouldering rage meant. “If you saw him too, let me advise you to stay away from him. It’s a matter for the Commander, not for you.”

  Chapter 5 – Ingenuity

  Eon Barclay confronted his crony. ““Did you plant the trace? The survival exercise is the perfect time to deal with them.”

  “I think so. Are you sure the thing will embed itself in his skin?”

  “Yeah, if you did it as I showed you. He’ll think it’s an insect bite.” Barclay looked round. “What happened to Miles? It looked like he tried to get creative. Did he plant the trace?”

  “Not sure, but O’Connor jabbed him with his fingers just below the ribs. The medic thinks his spleen might have ruptured if the water hadn’t softened the strike.” Midshipman Laschelles scowled. “O’Connor’s bloody fast and strong. Don got lucky, and before you say it, no, I’m not going to take him on in the fencing. Heron I can cope with. O’Connor has no finesse, and he just doesn’t understand the concept of giving up unless he’s disarmed or wounded, and you don’t get a chance when he comes at you like a bloody madman.”