“How long will the alert last, sir?” Vallance asked.
“As long as the IBs take. We’ll just have to run as normal an operation as possible until this is over.”
“Quite right, sir. Will do.”
Chapter 7 – Hornet’s Nest
The Surgeon Lieutenant dropped the small sample container on the desk. “I found this embedded in Heron’s calf. He thought he’d been bitten by something.”
The security officer picked up the container and stared at the minuscule object inside it, a small amount of skin still attached to it. “A homing trace? How long did he walk around with this?”
The Lieutenant wrinkled his brow. “He said he first noticed it the day after the incident in the swimming pool. That was the day Cadet O’Connor put a midshipman in a med-unit when the fellow attempted to dunk him, most likely in an attempt to embed something like this in him too. Whoever did the same to Heron succeeded.”
“Who tried to dunk him? Was it the same person who did this to Heron?”
“I didn’t ask. O’Connor’s waiting outside. He’ll be able to tell you.”
The investigator touched his link. “Bring in Mr O’Connor, please.” To the Surgeon Lieutenant, he said, “I’m betting we’ll find one of these on O’Connor.” He placed the container in a clear plastic evidence bag. “I’d appreciate your retrieving it if he has, and I’ll need a statement from you as to where this one was found and how it was recovered.” He looked up as the door chimed. “Come in.”
The door slid back and Ferghal saluted, glancing from the man in civilian dress to the Surgeon Lieutenant, unsure of the person to whom he must report. He played safe and addressed the Lieutenant. “You sent for me, sir?”
Glancing at the investigating officer, the Lieutenant nodded. “Yes. Actually, the Captain did.”
A brief smile flashed across the investigator’s face. “I don’t always wear a uniform, Midshipman, so no worries. Sit down.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Ferghal took the chair indicated. He was still angry at what had happened, and suspicious of everyone and everything as a result, but he kept a closed expression.
The investigator indicated the evidence container. “The Surgeon Lieutenant found a tracer on Midshipman Heron. I want to know if you have one. During the last three or four days, have you felt something like an insect sting? Has anyone attempted to touch you on the back, arm — anywhere?”
Ferghal frowned, thinking over the past few days. “Aye. In the swimming pool.” He hesitated. “And on the wrestling mat. Both o’ them regretted it.” He broke into a grin.
The Surgeon Lieutenant looked at the investigator. “Midshipman Miles required treatment for severe bruising of the diaphragm and torn muscles in the upper abdomen. Midshipman Mustermann got a dislocated shoulder and concussion.”
The investigator’s face remained blank as he studied Ferghal’s broad frame, the powerful musculature showing through the uniform jacket. Only his eyes showed his amusement. “I see. Where did they touch you? Have you noticed any irritation in the area?”
Ferghal’s frown deepened. “Aye, sir. Just inside my thigh. Looks like a bite o’ some sort.”
The intelligence officer nodded. “Lieutenant, I’d appreciate your taking a look. If it’s what I think it is, I want words with Miles and Mustermann.”
“WE’VE GOT A PROBLEM, SIR,” SAID THE MEDTECH. “They’ve found the tracers planted on Heron and O’Connor, and now they’re trying to work out who planted them.”
“Not our problem. The team that planted them don’t know us and therefore can’t expose us.” Lieutenant Commander Vallance waited while the technician examined his eyes.
“That’s a relief.” The MedTech paused, checking his results. “Pity we lost some of ours. Where did those damned snakeheads come from? The place is crawling with them.”
“Damned if I know, but I think they’ve been here a while. We should have been warned they were involved.” Vallance wished he could communicate with his Consortium handler and have this out with him. “I’d have taken a very different approach if I’d known.”
“Should have just killed the pair. This business of trying to take them alive is garbage.” The technician packed up his equipment. “All due respect, sir, but if it’s about making sure they can’t testify, we should just kill them.”
“I agree, but the top people want them alive — something to do with a gene splice they got.” Pulling on his jacket, he prepared to leave. “So far we’re not under suspicion. Keep your head down until this blows over. I’m expecting a visit in the next couple of days with new instructions. After that, we’ll see.”
“MR HERON, MR O’CONNOR, MY OFFICE PLEASE.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Harry responded for them both, gathering his tablet and notebooks. He and Ferghal followed the Lieutenant, one of their instructors. Harry felt nervous at being summoned like this. The recent attempt to capture him and Ferghal had shaken them both, and the uncertainty surrounding who could be trusted was unsettling.
“Is there some problem, sir?”
“Nothing major, Mr Heron.” The Lieutenant sat behind his desk. “Take a seat, gentlemen. There’s been a change of plan. I’m to see you two off immediately to the enquiry. I’ve a transport waiting, and the security detail are in place.”
“But we’ve nothing packed, sir. Have we five minutes to fetch our kit?”
“No, but you won’t need anything. Everything will be provided for you. It’s essential that no one knows you’ve left.”
Something about this made Harry uneasy. Only an hour earlier he’d received very specific instructions concerning their transport to the enquiry site. “This is not in accordance with the written order we received an hour past, sir.”
“I know.” The Lieutenant pushed a tablet toward Harry. “These are the latest instructions. Check your orders tab. I expect it will have been updated as well. But don’t delay, please. As you can see, my orders are labelled urgent.” Pretending to study the tablet, Harry used his internal link to connect to the College network, and asked if there was a change of orders for himself or Ferghal.
“Negative, Harry,” the AI responded.
“Any update on my existing orders to attend the enquiry?”
“No. I have received no change of orders concerning you.”
The tablet in front of him seemed to have all the correct information, which he found interesting in light of what the AI just told him. “I had best check my orders again, sir,” he said, returning the Lieutenant’s tablet. “They were very explicit.” He fished in his holdall and withdrew his own tablet, making a show of checking to buy some time. “I have no change at all, sir.” He handed it to the Lieutenant. “As you can see, sir, the final paragraph is rather definite.”
The Lieutenant studied it and nodded, his expression serious. “So it seems. What about you, Mr O’ Connor? Any update?”
“No, sir. My orders are the same as Harr . . . as Mr Heron’s, sir. We’re to leave the College only under escort of a security team who carry the code to activate the clearance seal accompanying our orders, sir.”
The Lieutenant frowned. “Stay here. I’ll have to check this out. Something’s obviously gone adrift. You should have received this change of orders.” Collecting his tablet, the Lieutenant hurried out, shutting the door behind him.
“I like this not, Harry.” Ferghal’s face showed his suspicion.
“Nor I. The AI has no knowledge of orders for us beyond what we received this morning.”
The door opened and two men burst in, weapons at the ready. Without a word, they fired, and Harry and Ferghal collapsed.
A MedTech entered, checked them both, and administered an injection into the neck. “That’ll keep them quiet for the next few hours. Getting them off campus is going to be a bit of a trick though.”
“We have that worked out.” The Lieutenant was back with two large sail bags. “Wrap them in the
se and get them loaded. I’ll bring the boat party round.”
HARRY’S FAILURE TO KEEP AN APPOINTMENT FOR A TUTORIAL caused an alert to be raised a lot earlier than the abductors anticipated.
“Damn. Stow them in the cabin. We’ll have to play this off the cuff.” The Lieutenant glanced at his companions, all dressed as if for a sailing session. “Haul some of the gear on deck and set her up for sailing.”
“Hope none of those damned snakeheads are in on the search,” one of the team commented, a good-looking youth who’d discovered that fencing with Harry or Ferghal was not quite the pushover he’d thought it would be. He had mixed feelings about this opportunity to get his revenge for a humiliating defeat on the fencing piste that had dethroned him as the College champion. It was one thing to pull a stunt that would get Heron and O’Connor into trouble, but this was altogether more serious if they got caught.
“We’ve taken care of any Lacertians we could find. You can see them with infrared lenses if you adjust them properly, and we know where their cadets are.” Laughing derisively, the Lieutenant added, “The group leader has them running after phantoms on the far side of the campus.”
“So how are we getting these two out of here?”
“Not our problem. We get them up the lake and leave them for a second team. They’ll get this pair off the campus and deliver them.” The Lieutenant paused, watching the approach of a group of security branch operatives. “You know your roles. Stick to the script.”
“They’ll want to search.”
“Let them. Just make sure those sails are piled over the bags.” He stood as the security team approached. “What’s up, Barry? Have we lost someone?”
HARRY CAME TO IN COMPLETE DARKNESS AND REALISED his wrists and ankles were bound. Tape covered his mouth, and he had a pounding headache. As he wriggled, he made contact with someone else in the same situation.
The now familiar sound as if someone were speaking softly in the background of his hearing told him an AI system was nearby. Listening carefully, he recognised it as the network that served the Weapons School. Linking to it, he searched for an indication that Ferghal was also linked, and he found him.
“Ferghal, we must work ourselves free. Can you move?”
“Aye, though I am bound. Are you?”
“Aye. Can you release my hands? Or perhaps I release you?”
Ferghal wriggled into position, and Harry repositioned himself to meet his friend. Groping fingers explored each other’s wrists.
“Damnation,” said Harry. “They’ve not used a line. There is no knot.”
They lay still.
“Where are we?” Ferghal asked.
“Somewhere in the Weapons School, I think, but not a frequented part if the silence is an indication.” Harry focussed on a command to the AI. The lights came on but remained dim, exactly as he requested, and revealed a circular space occupied by a large generator unit, a host of shielded tubes and pipes, and the training ring of a heavy plasma projector.
Ferghal recognised it instantly. “We’re in one of the training turrets on the testing range.” Struggling round, he spotted what he wanted. “There’s the maintenance kit. If I can reach it—”
“Someone comes! Feign unconsciousness. Perhaps we may find a means of escape.” Too late, Harry remembered the light, which went out even as the door opened.
LEAVING THE SLOOP AT HER JETTY, THE TEAM GATHERED their gear. “They’ll be collected by an outside team. Disperse to your usual posts.” Picking up a sail bag, the leader smiled. “That went better than I expected.”
One of the team nodded. “Easy money. They won’t cause any problem for anyone once the Johnstone lot get them back.”
The leader nodded. “Yeah. It’s funny though — I think they have AI implants. O’Connor must have. Sometimes in class you can see he’s adrift, then suddenly he’s alert again.”
“I know what you mean,” said another of the team. “I heard they did something to the Johnstone AI on Pangaea — changed the program or something.”
The leader glanced at the speaker. “You heard right, and that’s one reason Johnstone is so keen to have them back. They did a gene splice on them, and it’s affected them in a way they didn’t expect. I heard Heron can talk to the AI, and I think O’Connor can too.”
“That explains a lot.” The speaker glanced at the others. “Bloody useful to be able to do it though. Do the collection squad know that?”
“Probably. Not our problem though. They should be on their way by now. Team One had the task of drawing off the Lacertians, and if they’ve done that successfully, the pair will be off site already.” They stopped as armoured Marines stepped from cover.
“Remain absolutely still, Lieutenant, gentlemen. You are all under arrest. Any attempt to retrieve a weapon or to make any move we construe as hostile will result in your death.” The security Captain paused. “Sergeant, secure them. Full search of their gear and full strip search once you have them in cells. I want them kept in isolation until I interrogate them.”
The Sergeant secured the Lieutenant’s wrists with handcuffs.
“You can’t get away with this — sir.”
“Can’t I, Mr Crossley?” said the Captain. “I think you’ll find I can. Espionage is not something we take lightly.” His scornful gaze swept over the group, taking in the terror on the faces of the four midshipmen. “Yes, gentlemen, espionage. Minimum jail term is around twenty-five years, I believe. Sergeant, take them away.”
Chapter 8 – Our Own Resources
Fighting to avoid the tranquilliser shot, Harry and Ferghal lashed out with their feet, and the smallness of the space worked to their advantage. No one escaped the thrusting and pounding of their boots. Even so, it was a very unequal struggle. Harry was the first to be overcome, but as the tranquilliser took effect, he managed to give firing commands to the turret weapon using his link to the AI.
The whine as it powered up and charged to full strength lent desperation to the abductors, and Ferghal, held down by three strong men, joined Harry in oblivion.
“Get them to the transport,” said the leader. “We have to get out of here before anyone comes to check the reason this thing is powering up.” The training mechanism engaged and the turret trained. “What the hell? I thought this thing was inoperative!”
“We better disable it. According to the power indicator, it’s fully charged and armed.”
“Impossible from here — no access to the AI or the targeting system. We don’t know what it’s targeting, and I don’t want to be around when the bloody thing fires. There’s a damned good reason there’s no vegetation within a hundred yards of these installations.”
The pair nearest the door lifted Ferghal and promptly dropped him as the projector in the turret fired pulse after pulse of incandescent plasma toward a target.
“Someone’s shopped us,” said the leader, swearing under his breath. “This damned operation has gone sour. Plan B. Get them in the ground transport before it gets caught in the heat flux this’ll build.”
By sheer chance, Harry’s choice of target was the team’s escape transport. As the drug had taken effect, he’d looked for something to aim the projector at to attract attention, and had chosen the one thing on the range that looked out of place. The sleek stealth craft was now rapidly becoming nothing but a ruin of incandescent molten metal, the remains of its crew already ash.
The all-terrain ground transport sped off with its cargo just ahead of the Weapons School team’s arrival to shut down the malfunctioning turret. Meanwhile, the Consortium team were so focussed on reaching their back-up hideaway that they didn’t notice when a passenger latched on.
The Lacertian had moved with the incredible speed of her race and attached herself precariously to the rear access of the ground transport. There wasn’t much to grip, not even with her retractable claws, and she struggled to hold on as the transport hurtled from the firing range.
“Command, we have a problem. Alert security — the abductors have been and left. They’ll be on a ground transport.” He laughed sourly. “Their aerial vehicle got the full benefit of the projector.”
The whine of the coolant pumps as the deactivated turret was disarmed made him move to a quieter position.
“Whatever set the emplacement in action isn’t clear here. There’s been no access to the control unit. The instruction has to have come through the AI.”
A TechRate approached. “Better come and take a look, Master. There was someone in the flyer and a Lacertian on the outside of it.”
The Master Warrant Officer swore. Over his shoulder, he called into the turret. “Is the projector deactivated fully?”
“Confirmed.” A weapons specialist emerged and walked with the pair toward the remains of the target. “I’ve isolated it completely.” He frowned, puzzled by what he had discovered. “These turrets aren’t designed to develop full power, only enough to mark a target, but this one ran up to full power and then into auto firing. It took the entire command team to get in, override the firing codes and get it to the cease fire.”
Arriving at the wreckage, the Master Warrant grimaced. “Bloody weapon is enough to rip holes in a starship! This little HST didn’t have a hope in hell against a full strength pulse. Hell, even the usual ten-percent pulse for the target range would have done some damage.”
Several transports bearing the Fleet Security markings drew up. “Well, not our problem now. Don’t interfere with anything. If you do, the Jaunties will be all over you.” The Master Warrant turned away and walked to greet the officer dismounting from the leading vehicle. This was going to get very ugly.
Harry Heron: No Quarter Page 6