Harry Heron Savage Fugitive

by Patrick G Cox

  Rasmus laughed. “Were there any accidents in the manufacture?”

  “Many, sir.” Harry grimaced. “The manufactories are — were — dangerous places, and accidents resulting in fire or destruction were frequent. Though, it had become safer with the introduction of new mechanisms for mixing and grinding, and with greater regulation.”

  “Still exploring explosives, are you?” Ferghal joined them, adding to Rasmus, “There are those who say that I am the destructive one, but Harry is far more dangerous. He thinks of mischief others would not consider or expect of him, and then he carries it through to the great detriment of those it is directed against.”

  “It is knowledge such as this that sets you guys apart,” Rasmus told him. “I have watched you with your models and your work with metals — there are not many people who can work raw steel or iron the way you do.”

  “It isn’t difficult,” protested Ferghal. “It requires only heat and tools — anyone can do it.”

  “Not quite,” Rasmus told him. “How do you know when the metal is hot enough? How do you make the small items I have seen you make?”

  Ferghal had, with the permission of the Engineer commander, set up a small forge, the furnace powered by electricity, in a workshop. He was currently building a scale model of HMS Spartan, and this required the forging of all the metal parts he needed. It went without saying that this was a major source of fascination for many of the crew — especially as the detail that Ferghal was building into the model included the creation of every item he could recall seeing in the real ship.

  “Aye, well, it is just the look of it tells you. Then you must aim the hammer carefully, using it to shape the metal and bend it to your pattern.”

  “My point exactly, you know the appearance you need. Most of us wouldn’t recognise it at all — and where are your patterns? In your head, I suppose.” Rasmus had a sudden thought, and leaned back, his arms folded. “If necessary, could you make a gun — one that could use the powder Harry describes?”

  “I suppose I could,” said Ferghal. “It would be tricky, for it would require a mould and ingots or ore, and the smelting of iron, no easy business. If I were to do something of that nature now, I should probably attempt to use whatever was already available — anything to secure an easier life!” He chuckled.

  The blaring sound of the general alarm interrupted them.

  Rasmus found himself alone as Harry, Ferghal and several others in the Wardroom went from relaxed enjoyment to alert response and departure in the blink of an eye. It took seconds for the Wardroom to empty — yet not one of the officers broke into a run. Rasmus finished his drink and retreated to his laboratory.

  Taking his place in Navigation, Harry reported himself ready. “Closed up for manoeuvring, sir,” he said, activating his console.

  “Very good, Mr. Heron. Wait for my orders. We respond only to orders from the Command Centre, remember — no independent actions.” Aral Clarke’s voice sounded tense.

  Out of his view, the Chief Master Warrant rolled his eyes, and ComOp Maddie Hodges shook her head then focussed on her comlink monitors. Lieutenant Clarke was not one of her favourite officers. She’d served under a few she considered prats, but he made most of them look good by comparison.

  Harry thought Clarke’s instruction stupid and unnecessary. Of course he would wait for orders. The Captain was in command and must direct the ship.

  He began to prepare to carry out the plot checks he would need for any evasive manoeuvres the Command Centre ordered.

  “Navigation, give me an intercept course to the enemy position. Evasive plotting, please — I don’t want to be a sitting target if they can predict it.”

  Lieutenant Clarke’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point. “Give me a course, Mr. Heron — quickly.” Before he had finished speaking, the helm instructions filled the displays.

  Consulting his options list in the ship’s databank, Harry connected to the AI. “Daring, give me an optimum to intercept target, please.”

  The ship responded with a stream of coordinates and headings that adhered to standard Fleet La Grange manoeuvres.

  “Not the La Grange,” Harry replied. “Those are too predictable. Run in a counter pattern, please.”

  There was a moment of streaming data and a solution. The ship queried, “Shall I transmit to helm?”

  “Do it and link them to Targeting. Our enemy knows our LaGrange Manual as well as we do — that’s why I don’t want to use those manoeuvres. A counter pattern may surprise them.”

  “Course laid in, sir,” Harry reported. He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice, conscious that mere seconds had elapsed.

  “Took your time,” the Lieutenant snapped. “Warrant, activate. Let’s move, people.”

  The ship entered the first of the series of micro transits that Harry had calculated, dropping out of the final jump slightly behind and beneath the larger of the two enemy ships.

  The Lieutenant noticed the variation immediately. “What are you doing? Revert to standard manoeuvres now! Otherwise, you’ll throw Targeting off completely.”

  Harry corrected the courses, but he did so reluctantly. He could’ve predicted the result. Immediately the enemy was all over them. Matching them move for move, the enemy could not be shaken off.

  The ship shuddered as several plasma bolts struck her.

  “Navigation, what are you playing at?” the Captain demanded. “Keep him guessing. Weapons will track the target — just keep it unpredictable.”

  “We’re using standard manoeuvres, Captain,” said Lieutenant Clarke.

  “Damn the bloody standard manoeuvres,” she replied. “The Cons are all over us! Give me something unpredictable.” When Clarke hesitated, the Captain said, “Now!”

  “Shall I?” Harry asked. Not waiting for an answer, he said, “Daring, we need to run manoeuvres that defy La Grange — action them quickly.” The ship shuddered again, and he felt it suffer damage to a part of its neural system. Another lurch and he was thrown half out of his seat, catching his knee on the console and sending pain lancing up his thigh.

  “You heard the Captain,” snapped the Lieutenant. “Give us something that gets them off our backs!”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Harry wanted to laugh at the irony, but he stifled it. He sent to the helm the manoeuvre that his instruction to Daring had produced. The change threw the enemy off. Dropping out slightly ahead and above the enemy, she sent fire at the other ship. Harry sent the next manoeuvre to the helm as the enemy recovered, which brought them to a new position directly alongside. Both ships snapped off a series of plasma blasts and scored damaging hits. Harry’s next set of manoeuvres took them apart and clear of each other, the enemy’s navigation station having guessed a different intention in Daring’s manoeuvre.

  The next series of courses saw the ships close again, and this time the enemy succeeded in scoring the most damaging hits before Harry was able to break off and leap the Daring away. His next manoeuvre brought the two ships closer than he had intended, and the enemy ship sheered away — a move that threw her targeting system off, which allowed Daring to get in the heavier punch.

  The ship shuddered, and an alarm displayed on Ferghal’s console. He ran his checks, isolated the damaged controls and rerouted the commands as the Daring assisted him. He was aware of a sense of pain in the system. “Easy, Daring. Hold together for us, and we’ll get through this.”

  “I am taking damage to my neural net,” the ship explained. “The attacker is well handled, and her weapons are penetrating my shielding.”

  “Is that so.” Ferghal switched to another part of the system and adjusted several settings. “Is that better?”

  “It helps. I have taken damage to my hyperpods, and I have hull breaches in several places, but the enemy is retreating now that the Diamond has joined us.”

  “Diamond joining,” the links reported. “Enemy breaking off. Enemy ships ha
ve entered transit.”

  “Take us back to the planetary orbit, Navigation.” The Captain sounded pleased.

  “Don’t any of you get big headed,” Lieutenant Clarke said as soon as the Captain’s order had been acted on. “You were slow to respond there, Mr. Heron. You shouldn’t have waited until the Captain demanded action. And your deviation from standard manoeuvres threw targeting off completely. You’ll have to do a lot better next time.”

  Harry opened his mouth to respond, struggling to contain his anger at his superior’s refusal to acknowledge that following the standard manoeuvres had resulted in near disaster. His voice taut, he said, “Very good, sir.”

  The Captain’s voice on the link broke the tension. “Well done, Navigation. When you deviated from the standard manoeuvres, it foxed the enemy targeting completely. Good thinking to run a counter set and link helm to targeting.”

  Harry felt the hatred of the Lieutenant’s glare. He concentrated on an assessment of what he thought of as Daring’s injuries, which might affect navigation, and felt it justified his act of disobedience. He sensed in the silence from the Lieutenant, after he had acknowledged the Captain’s compliment, that his divisional officer had no intention of changing his mind, and he accepted this as confirmation of his decision.

  The Master Warrant on the helm glanced at his assistant and shook his head.

  A few minutes later the stand down alert sounded, and the crew began the task of checking damage and carrying out repairs.

  “We have some hull damage, but not enough to prevent transit, sir.” Commander Nielsen accepted the seat the Captain offered. “Two sub-compartments are open to space, and we have one hyperpod non-operational. All weapons systems are operational, and we have no loss of manoeuvring ability. We have five dead and twenty-two injured. Whoever decided to abandon the usual engagement course variations did us a favour. The Consortium had us dead to rights and could’ve knocked us out if we’d followed standard manoeuvres.”

  “You’re right, Anders,” the Captain agreed. “It wasn’t Lieutenant Clarke, but I doubt he’ll admit it, or be prepared to do it again the next time. It’s not his style.”

  “I’d like to relieve him of the role he’s in, but we have no one else at that rank with the Nav ticket besides Heron. I’ve had a formal complaint from Mr. Clarke regarding the Subbie’s objection to the standard manoeuvres. He claims it throws off our targeting. Weapons says that’s rubbish, and I agree.”

  “I’ll ask Command to replace Lieutenant Clarke as soon as possible. The deviation saved us, and I agree with you. Weapons had his target plots linked to the helm, and their shooting was excellent. The deviations threw the enemy off, though.”

  “In the meantime, I’ll deal with this complaint. I think I’ll move Heron to the Emergency Helm in Action Stations as soon as I can get someone trained to assist in the Nav Control. It will keep things under control until we get a replacement.”

  “Hmm . . . okay, but I’ll have a serious talk with Lieutenant Clarke. He’d better get used to the idea of abandoning that damned manual.”

  Chapter 5 — Close Call

  Vengeance, her consort Victorious, and their escorting frigates dropped out of transit on target, catching a Consortium convoy and its escorts by surprise. Captain Curran smiled in satisfaction. The intel reports had been spot on, and his squadron was in the perfect position to do some real damage to the enemy for a change.

  In hyperpace, two cruisers and their three landing ship platforms, or LSPs, continued toward their destination. The squadron would catch up once this little task was complete. Curran was enjoying his independence as Captain of the Vengeance. Soon enough, Admiral Hartmann would be joining the ship when her command conference at HQ was completed.

  He checked his deployments and activated his link. “Strike squadrons launch. Target the cruisers on their flanks as we engage.” He watched his display as the strike craft erupted from the fins on either side of the ship. In the distance, Victorious’s squadrons were also deploying as they closed the targets. He activated his link again. “Signal the escorts. Target the convoy. We’ll deal with the cruisers.”

  Midshipman Danny Gunn concentrated on his targeting plot. The ranges closed rapidly. Compensating for trajectory and speed, he kept his weapons locked to his target, his finger hovering on the firing command. Judging the moment, he touched the interface.

  The five heavy plasma projectors erupted in a cone of fire enveloping the smaller cruiser in an incandescent halo. He maintained fire until the other ship accelerated into transit, a spreading cloud of debris suggesting serious damage. He switched to a new target.

  “Cease fire,” said the Lieutenant Commander in charge of Secondary Weapons Control. “We’re disengaging. Remain on alert. They’ve retreated, but our intel says they have some big ships in the offing.” He studied his scan display. “Good work. Three of their cruisers will need major repair, and the convoy lost six of the supply ships. That will give them a headache for a change.”

  The ten targeting stations acknowledged his order, and Danny adjusted his scan to increase its view. Next to him, his friend Midshipman Andy Kelly grinned. “Good shooting there, hotshot. I reckon your last target will need some serious repairs.”

  “Thanks, but yours didn’t get off light either.” Danny grinned broadly, thrilled by the compliment.

  “Concentrate, you guys,” Lieutenant Ramsingh interjected. “Stay alert. They could be back at any moment.”

  Captain Ben Curran listened to the damage reports coming in from his heads of department. His Command Chair occupied the centre point of the spherical display of their surroundings, an exact replica of that provided in the Admiral’s Battle Command Centre. As each department and division reported its state and condition, he felt justifiably proud of his command. With their weapons still fully functional, shield generators at 98 percent, engineering undamaged, hull integrity good, all damage to the outer hull contained and leaks already being sealed or isolated, the ship was ready for battle again.

  He was worried about the intelligence assessment, though; it mentioned three enemy starships operating in this sector against his two. His destroyer and frigate escorts were down in number as well — two detached to make their own way to the nearest repair facility, leaving eight of these small and handy ships as the eyes and ears for the starships and the two cruisers. He keyed his link. “Patch me to Victorious.”

  “Gamal,” Ben greeted the second ship’s Captain. “The intel report suggests we could find ourselves meeting up with a superior force soon. I’m pretty sure our last targets were waiting for a fleet. I suggest that we should push on. The forces at Calistos need our support. Any delay could leave them cut off.”

  “I agree. Even if we do encounter a larger force, we still have superior firepower, and your ship has the particle beam projector. That thing was bloody effective at Pangaea.”

  Ben nodded. “Agreed, but it caused a few problems as well. The good news is Admiral Hartmann has signalled. She’s on the ship Admiral de Ruyter and will join us in twenty-four hours. I’ll get my people to signal course and head to the rendezvous.” He grinned. “We gain some punch, and I lose my independence again.”

  “The penalty for being Flag Captain,” laughed Gamal Weitz.

  Harry strode into the Wardroom, dropped into a seat across from Ferghal, and accepted a drink from the android steward, who knew his preference by now. He’d just enjoyed a fabulous half-hour holocall with Mary and was feeling on top of the world.

  “Back from your tour of the Zukov already?” he said to Ferghal.

  “These repair ships are amazing.” The opportunity to explore the massive ship Marshal Zukov had been eye opening. “The repairs were so fast — all because we could be pulled into a bay and the work done under atmosphere.”

  The Marshal Zukov was a giant in every sense of the word. Having drawn the Daring into her huge repair bay, the securing arms embraced her as sw
arms of workers began clearing her damaged sections. Ripping out entire modules, they manoeuvred new ones into place and quickly had the ship back to full fighting strength within a matter of days.

  “Indeed,” replied Harry. “And the ship reports that she is fully functional again — even better, she tells me, since she has also received some upgraded programming and new components to her neural net.”

  Ferghal laughed. “And to think that not that long since, you and I had never heard of living machines or networks or artificial intelligence — much less ships which voyaged in the vastness of space.”

  “Just what Mary was teasing me about! She says my letters are full of how Daring says this, Daring says that, and new music I have discovered, thanks to Daring, and she knows Daring is female.” Harry grinned.

  “She may be jealous — you think more of the ship than of her!” Ferghal had the enjoyment of seeing his friend blush.

  “Scoundrel. I do not! Mary is always in my thoughts.”

  “And in your dreams, I’ll wager!” Ferghal deflected the cushion thrown at his head.

  “What are you two laughing about?” Rasmus joined them. “Another of your jokes that play with words?” His expression was rueful. “It is something I will need explained, isn’t it?”

  “Not at all.” Harry smiled a greeting. He had discovered that many of the jokes he enjoyed depended on wordplay and puns — and these did not always translate into another language. “We were laughing at ourselves and the fact that it is hardly four years since we were plucked from our sailing ship and a life of hardship to this age of wonders with all its convenience. Until then we had never even considered the possibility of travelling beyond the sky in ships such as this.”