Harry Heron: No Quarter

by Patrick G Cox

  “We’ll work over here on the 2D display.” He led the way to the flat-topped display. “Easier to do plotting on this. We’ll run a full check on the normal 3D once we’ve run through the calcs.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “I’ve been told you’ve an AI implant. I believe it’s a bit special. Can you access the AI and get it to display the latest list of updates?”

  “Aye, sir.” Harry switched off his blocking wand. A rush of code filled his eyes and ears. He addressed the AI in his head. “Good afternoon, Leander. Would you display the latest updates for the Pangaea system for me, please?”

  “With pleasure.” The pause was imperceptible. “May I address you as Harry? If we are to be joined in this manner, I would hope to be a friend.”

  Surprised, Harry nodded. “Of course, Leander. I hoped we could be friends as well.”

  The watching Navigation Officer saw Harry smile as he stared into space and wondered what he was doing. He was about to intervene when the display produced the updates he’d asked for.

  “Thank you, Leander. Do you mind if I remain linked to you while I assist Commander Dalziel?”

  “It will be interesting to see how you do this. Please remain linked to me.”

  Nodding again, Harry turned to the Navigator. “Leander wishes to watch how I work on these updates, sir. Shall we proceed?”

  Staring at his new midshipman for a moment, the commander frowned. “Leander wishes to? How exactly does this link work, Mr Heron?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand the exact mechanism, sir, but when my blocking device is switched off, the ship sees me as a mobile node, sir.”

  Letting out his breath in a soft whistle, the Lieutenant Commander nodded. “Ah.” A memory stirred and his face lit up. “This is what the DGK people were talking about. Right! That’s going to be extremely useful, Mr Heron.”

  FERGHAL SALUTED. “MIDSHIPMAN O’CONNOR, MA’AM. I’m ordered to report to you.”

  The small fierce-looking Engineering Commander studied him for several seconds before returning his salute. “So you’re O’Connor, the man Commander Reuter on the DGK says can control the drives through his AI link.”

  “Er . . . aye, ma’am.” Ferghal, all six foot four of him, suddenly felt like a small boy in the presence of this woman. “We did our training cruise on the DGK, ma’am.”

  She smiled suddenly. “So he said. And a right shower for the most part, but he seemed to think you were alright.” Indicating a console, she said, “That’ll be your responsibility once we get underway. In the meantime I have a list of checks and routines for you to run. Find Lieutenant Sci’Angelli — she’s a Lacertian in case you don’t know — and she’ll put you to work.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.” Ferghal turned toward his console.

  “You’ve worked with the Lacertians before? You don’t seem surprised to have one as your supervisor.”

  Ferghal smiled. “Met them first on Pangaea, ma’am. They sailed with us from New Caledonia to Pangaea City, an’ they’ve a knack for being wherever Harry — Midshipman Heron — and me and Danny are—that’s Danny Gunn, our powder monkey aboard the Spartan . . . but he’s away at college now.”

  Commander Behr leaned back, her eyes narrowed as she considered this. She was at first baffled by the term powder monkey then recalled the story of these three young time travellers. “So the rumour is true about some link between you and the Lacertians.” Straightening, she smiled. “Carry on, Mr O’Connor.”

  LIEUTENANT COMMANDER VALLANCE SLIPPED INTO HIS SEAT at the bar. “Bring me a gin and tonic, please,” he said to the android bartender. He wondered why he’d been invited to meet a representative of WeapTech, the supplier of most of the Fleet’s weaponry. His posting to the frigate Naiad had been a welcome surprise as he’d begun to feel Fleet Security were getting too close and too interested in him at the College. He was keeping a low profile to avoid suspicion, and now this. He knew the woman from WeapTech wasn’t just a specialist engineer.

  The bartender returned with his drink, and before it departed, a woman stepped forward and took the barstool next to him.

  “Commander Vallance? Good evening.”

  Ari studied the newcomer as she ordered a drink. He wondered what the real reason was behind this invitation.

  Settling back into the barstool, she smiled. “It’s been a while.”

  “It has been a while.” He sipped his drink and pondered his next move. He played his cards close. “My last posting had its moments, but it’s good to be on a ship again. How about you?”

  “Oh, you know, here, there and everywhere. Always something needing my attention.” Changing the subject, she said, “I hear your flotilla is heading out to Pangaea. You might be interested in a little opportunity there.”

  “That depends on the opportunity.” Alert for some trap, he shrugged to appear disinterested. “I’ve enough on my plate without upsetting the Fleet.”

  “I expect so.” She sipped her drink. “How is your son? I heard the medics had some new treatment they hoped would stop the degeneration.”

  Ari Vallance froze. How did she know? “It’s early days. The source for the modified genes is not available at present.”

  She nodded. “Exactly. But they are going to be on Pangaea when you are. Something can be arranged.”

  His eyes narrowed. “It would be bloody risky. You know that planet has been turned into a major forward base. It’s crawling with troops. What do you have in mind?”

  “Me? I’m just the messenger. There are people in place, but they’d need to be steered by someone who knows the targets, someone who can pass on the word as to when they’re accessible and where. It would be extremely lucrative, and it’s an entirely private matter this time — no Board involvement.”

  He almost used an expletive to express his feelings on that matter but coughed to cover it. He’d damn well had enough of certain Board members and their overreach. “Yes, well, they’ve certainly made a mess of things so far. Who’s involved in this?”

  “Johnstone himself. He’s offering a premium on the recovery of his assets, he says. You’ve the perfect cover for it. Legit reason to be there, good reason to know where they are.” She hesitated. The next thing she said would seal the deal. “Johnstone will also pay for the treatment your son so desperately needs. He says it’s the least he can do to repay you for your loyalty and service.”

  Vallance leaned back in his seat. His young son suffered an incurable degenerative disease, and the doctors’ efforts had done nothing but slow it down. He needed a specialised treatment that was beyond Vallance’s pay grade. This was a major reason he’d got involved in this mess to begin with. He would do anything for his boy.

  He sighed with the weariness that only a beleaguered parent could understand. “Okay, let me have the details and I’ll deal with it.”

  Chapter 24 –Ferghal’s Oneupmanship

  The invitation to send representatives from the Gunroom to the recommissioning Dining In aboard the Der Grosse Kurfürst provided a welcome interlude to the demands of preparing for a deep space voyage. Resplendent in their Formal Mess uniforms, the midshipmen joined the Wardroom representatives and the Captain for the brief trip to the DGK’s berth. A full side party welcomed them aboard.

  Arno stepped forward to guide the guests. Saluting Captain Rafferty, he clicked his heels. “Sir, Captain Haakon’s compliments. I am to take your party to the Wardroom.”

  Returning the salute, the Captain smiled. “Lead on, Midshipman. I know your brother, I think. Good to see you keeping up the traditions of the family.” Indicating Harry, Ferghal and the others, he added, “Some of my officers are already familiar with your ship, I believe.”

  “Yes, sir.” Arno nodded toward Harry and Ferghal. “Herr Heron and Herr O’Connor were with us for their training cruise, sir. Herr Heron had to manually calculate our transit solutions when the operating interfaces went off
line.”

  Greg Rafferty had heard rumours of this feat, and now that he was in the presence of that young man, he glanced at Harry, who was engrossed in conversation with several of the DGK’s midshipmen. “I heard there was a problem with the interfaces. All fixed now?”

  “Yes, sir. All is in working order.” Arno held the door for Captain Rafferty then stepped inside and quietly told the rigid Marine Warrant Officer the Captain’s name.

  Stepping aside, he saluted as the Marine announced in a stentorian voice that filled the space, “Kapitän Rafferty of the Leander!”

  ONE OF THE HANGAR BAYS HAD BEEN TRANSFORMED into a large dining hall for the event. The seating had been carefully arranged so that the DGK’s officers and midshipmen could mingle with the visitors from the Leander and other ships, with all the captains seated at the head table, which formed the long bar of the E-shaped design of the table arrangement.

  Everyone wore the Formal Mess uniform, with one exception.

  “Who is yon man?” Harry asked Arno, seated next to him. “The gentleman with the piratical look next to Lieutenant Commander Reuter.” The man looked anything but happy.

  “Herr Doktor Glasfiend, a scientist we have to take with us.” He made a face. “He has some mad project that is supposed to overcome the Consortium interference screen. The Kapitän Leutnant is not happy with him.”

  “I can see that,” Harry remarked, studying the man. Clad all in black, with the smallest eyeglasses he’d ever seen, the scientist seemed to have no idea concerning table etiquette at a function such as this. “He seems rather out of place here.”

  “He is a nightmare to work with,” Arno retorted. “Very, very, clever, but sometimes.” His expression said all that he couldn’t.

  “I think the Lieutenant Commander must be hard pressed to keep his patience then.” Ferghal recalled all too clearly the engineering officer’s insistence on everything being exactly right, and more especially, his lack of tolerance for anyone who would not work as a part of his close-knit team. Catching sight of his own new boss, Lieutenant Commander Heather Behr in conversation with another officer, he grinned.

  “This Dr Glasfiend should be glad he is not dealing with our Engineering Commander. Mama Bear would likely devour him.”

  “Mama Bear?” Arno exclaimed.

  Ferghal had to suppress his laughter. “That’s what everyone calls her when she’s not within earshot. We don’t know if there is a Papa Behr, but she is quite fearsome when she wants something done.” He paused and grinned, a witty remark coming to the fore that he couldn’t resist. “I don’t think I’d want to be her Papa Bear. Can you imagine being stuck in a den with her?”

  Harry chuckled. “Her team must be the Baby Bears then,” he said, dodging Ferghal’s elbow.

  Their companions laughed, and Arno said, “And what does she give you to do?”

  “I am tasked with renewing some microcircuitry that wasn’t up to her standards.” He looked smug and very pleased with himself. “She has expressed her satisfaction thus far.”

  “Oh, really?” parried Arno. “And exactly how did she express it, Fergie old boy? You working that Irish charm on her already?”

  Everyone laughed again, and Ferghal shrugged it off, concentrating on the prime filet, his face an expression of pure bliss as he savoured every bite. “I’ll never tire of how well they feed us,” he added, remembering to use his cloth serviette to wipe the corners of his mouth.

  “What did she say to you about your cutlass demonstration for the Royals?” asked Harry, mischief showing in his face. He wasn’t letting Ferghal off the hook that easily.

  “That I’d best leave my carving knife in my cabin lest I be accused by the Consortium of breeching some convention.” Ferghal set his knife and fork across the edge of his plate to take a sip of wine, and Harry noted with quiet pleasure his old friend’s improved table manners, remembering the rough stable boy that Ferghal had once been. “Then I told her I’d taught some of the Royals at the College the art of how to properly wield a cutlass, and she said the Royals were menace enough, and now I’d made them worse.”

  His companions laughed, and the discussion moved on to the merits of the various ships, and speculation on the coming deployment.

  Sub-Lieutenant Mariam Isfahan joined in, slightly troubled because her group, sat at the very end of the table and farthest from the head table, seemed to be getting the same service as the Captains and Senior Officers. She put it down to the presence of the Lacertian midshipmen in her party, and got on with enjoying herself.

  Further up the table, Lieutenant-Commander Dalziel noticed that the midshipmen appeared to be receiving Captains’ Table service from the android stewards. Curious, he mentioned this to his counterpart on the frigate Hermione.

  “Am I imagining it, or is that group — where the midshipmen from the DGK are entertaining my lot and those Lacerations — getting Captains’ Table service?”

  His companion watched. “You’re right. They’ve got some pull, obviously. I didn’t think the androids could be persuaded to break protocol like that. Someone must have reprogrammed them.”

  “You’re right, but why only that group?” Hoping he wasn’t going to get the answer he thought he might, Bob Dalziel stopped a passing android. “Steward, who requested Captains’ Table service for that group of midshipmen?”

  The android paused. “Friederich Wilhelm instructed us to provide it, sir. Do you wish for more wine? I see your glass is low.”

  “Friedrich Wilhelm?” Both officers chorused. “Who is Friedrich Wilhelm?”

  “Der Grosse Kurfürst, sir,” replied the android, topping up their glasses. “He ordered that we take special care of his human nodes and their companions.”

  It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. “The ship ordered you to do this for its — what did you call them? — human nodes?” Dalziel leaned back in his seat. “Well, I’ll be damned. Thank you, steward.”

  “What the hell was all that about?” asked his companion. “Human nodes? Who the blazes are they — or should I say what are they? Don’t tell me we’ve now got cyborgs in the Fleet. I’m just getting to grips with the androids.”

  “Not cyborgs, no, but something unusual, I think.” Bob Dalziel decided not to enlarge on this. It explained a great deal about the relationship Leander seemed to have with Midshipmen Heron and O’Connor. Mama Behr had remarked on it as well. He laughed. “I wonder if Fleet Command know the ship named itself after the original Great Elector of Brandenburg? Probably not.”

  The discussion dropped as the Executive Officer of the DGK struck the ancient bell and announced the traditional toast to the Fleet. There followed the usual Toast to the Ship introduced by a Rear Admiral who spoke wittily, the reply given by an equally witty Commander, and then, with dinner over, the party began in earnest.

  “PILOT SAYS SOMETHING ODD HAPPENED ON THE DGK at the Dining In.” The Executive Commander relaxed slightly in her seat. “He noticed that the androids were giving the full Captain’s Table service to the table where Heron and O’Connor were seated. When he asked the steward serving his group why, it told him that Friedrich Wilhelm had instructed its human nodes be given the full treatment.”

  “Friedrich Wilhelm?”

  “I looked it up, sir.” Commander Sönderburg smiled. “Friedrich Wilhelm von Hohenzollern, Prince Elector of Brandenburg and Duke of Prussia in the 1600s, otherwise known as Der Grosse Kurfürst. Seems the ship has named itself after him.”

  “Well I’ll be damned.” Captain Rafferty leaned back in his chair. “Have you passed that on to Captain Haakon?”

  “Had a word with his Exec, sir. He was quite surprised, but he thought it amusing.” Commander Sönderburg continued. “It’s not been made public, but when they had that problem with the controls during the training cruise, they discovered — after reverting to manual operation of the drives and the navigation — that Heron and O’Connor were somehow linked
to the AI and could have done both functions through the link.”

  “I think I need to talk to Mr Heron.” Captain Rafferty stared at the bulkhead. “I’d heard a rumour about this, and Pilot mentioned that Heron’s updating of the star charts was a one-man show. The star charts appeared, the updates and corrections happened, but he didn’t use the interface to do it.” Pausing, he frowned. “On second thought, I think I’ll take the opportunity to watch him at work, and then I’ll talk to him. Mama Behr said something about O’Connor. I’ll follow it up.”

  “MR O’CONNOR.” LIEUTENANT COMMANDER BEHR beckoned Ferghal. “I’ve an errand for you. I sent MechWarrant Brunton to collect the final allocation of spares I ordered, but he says there’s some bureaucratic problem. Get over to Dock Engineering Stores and sort it out.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  “Take TechRate Klein with you. You’ll need a stores transport as well.” Her frown deepened. “I’ll tell them you’re coming.” Under her breath she added, “And they better have the problem sorted by then.”

  Ferghal found Klein and headed for the ship’s quarterdeck and the station gantry. Saluting the Honours, he led Klein onto the dock and requisitioned the small transport from the pool assigned to the ship.

  Klein leaned close and said, “Any bets it’s the usual problem, sir? Someone hasn’t signed the right form in the right order.” His suppressed snort of derision told what he thought of their needless errand.

  Ferghal laughed. “Probably. They do love their forms. Worse than the purser on Spartan — he was convinced all the stores belonged to him, and he hated to part with anything, even the most rotten salt pork.” Quietly he explored the dock station AI and found the stores system and then the requisitions. He frowned at the bulkhead when he saw the approvals displayed, and notices that the stores were to be redirected to a different ship. Armed with this knowledge, Ferghal entered the Stores Office.