“Oh.” Rasmus studied them for a moment. “It is true, we forget that you are not, as you say, from this time. Yet you fit in so well and have adapted beyond everyone’s expectations, exceeding our own abilities in some things.”
“Well . . .” said Ferghal, glancing at Harry. “We do have an advantage, but it came at a price, courtesy of the Johnstone Group and their dungeon lab on Pangaea.”
“Yes, I know.” Rasmus broke eye contact for a moment. “But look at how you work with the ships now. No one has been able to reproduce your ability, so there must be some other factor that has not been identified.” He grinned and changed the subject. “Still, I have had the chance to discover with you a great deal about your coarse powder.”
“And I have learned about some of the more modern materials, though to what purpose I have yet to discover,” retorted Harry.
“Ah.” Rasmus laughed. “Now I must tell you that some of the tests we have made have been very helpful for my project.”
“I am happy to have been of assistance to you, Rasmus. I confess it has been most interesting — and some of the experiments were fun.”
“Aye, and of some concern to those of us who must repair the equipment you two so happily damaged with your explosions,” Ferghal added with a hearty guffaw. He had built an apparatus to allow the mixing of a variation on gunpowder that Rasmus concocted and Harry tried to make. A small miscalculation on Harry’s part, unusual in itself, had resulted in the mixture igniting with a flash and a bang that had set off alarms in compartments adjoining the lab.
Rasmus laughed. “I apologise — we have miscalculated on occasion, but your work has been most helpful when we have done so.” He was being tactful. Harry had, in fact, been careless because he was enjoying it so much, and the explosion and fire could have been much worse — not to mention, his eyebrows would take some time to grow back. He was lucky not to have suffered permanent damage.
“Captain Maia,” said the Base Admiral as he greeted Daring’s Captain. “I’ve a new assignment for you, a bit of a haul across the sectors, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, sir.” The Captain nodded. “We’re ready.”
“I want you to carry out a sweep through this sector then pick up a group and take them to Pangaea. You can also drop off your semi-permanent resident scientist there, Rasmus I think is his name.” He indicated a long patrol line through a sector on the borders of the area controlled by the Consortium. “We have a number of things going on out there. There is another matter — they have a base or possibly a command centre equipped to intercept our signal traffic. We think they have cracked some codes and can work out deployment positions from it. We need to find it and put it out of action fast.”
Captain Maia nodded again. “I heard that buzz. A leak in our Coms Branch is suspected. Just one question, sir. If this base is so important, why are they allowing the independents to operate on its doorstep?”
“Probably because it provides them a degree of cover for what they’re up to. They may be after some alien tech as well. There’s reported to be a lot of preserved cities on the planet and a primitive population that defends those cities but doesn’t live in them. We think they are just on the border, and a couple of planets would support such a base in that general area. Your force is small enough to look for pirates yet big enough to carry the scan gear you need, and fast enough to outrun anything you can’t out shoot.”
“Yes, sir. Any hope of progressing my request yet?” The Admiral’s quizzical expression prompted her to add, “Concerning Lieutenant Clarke’s possible transfer.”
“Ah, yes, that. I’m afraid not. I’ve read your report carefully and can see the problem, but we’re very short of qualified navigators at the moment. I hope we’ll have someone by the time you reach Pangaea though.” Hesitating, he added, “I shouldn’t tell you this, but the Lieutenant has, shall we say, some rather senior support. They don’t want him moved for some reason.”
“Mr. Gunn.” The voice of the ship’s Chief Warrant Officer was crisp. “Report to the Admiral’s Command Centre, sir. You’re assigned to her staff from today.”
“Aye, aye, Chief.” Danny grabbed his jacket and made for the door of his cabin tugging it into place and making sure he was smartly turned out as he hurried to obey. As he crossed the Gunroom, he passed his friend Midshipman Rob Shaw. “I’m summoned to Admiral Hartmann. I wonder what she’s like to work for?”
“A real dragon,” said Rob with a wily grin. “She eats Midshipmen for breakfast — poor old Spike Rajput is nearly a nervous wreck after only a month in her company. Good luck,” he called as Danny shook his head laughing and exited the compartment.
His stride purposeful and brisk, Danny negotiated the several passageways and decks that led to the Flag Command Centre. Though this was not the first time Danny had seen this space, or the almost identical one on his guardian’s flagship, Vanguard, he still found it awesome.
He spotted the Admiral conferring with her senior plot officers and the Flag Lieutenant. Approaching the platform, he waited until the Flag Lieutenant glanced his way as the other officers left to return to their own positions. Snapping a salute he said, “Midshipman Gunn, ma’am, reporting as ordered.”
“Good.” The Lieutenant acknowledged the salute. “You’ll be on my team for the next few days, Mr. Gunn, handling signals and codes.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.” Danny was conscious of the Admiral’s penetrating gaze in his direction.
“Mr. Gunn, is it?” she demanded.
“Yes, ma’am.” Danny stood to attention.
A flicker of a smile crossed the Admiral’s face. “One of Admiral Heron’s ancient mariners, are you?”
It seemed she intended this to be amusing, but Danny didn’t want to second-guess her meaning and get it wrong, especially because her comment had dented his pride somewhat. Stiffening his back, he replied, “I have that honour, ma’am.”
Admiral Hartmann laughed suddenly, turning heads. “You’ll do, young man. James warned me you were inordinately proud of your association with Sub-Lieutenants Heron and O’Connor.”
“They saved my life, ma’am, when I was a wee lad.” He winced inwardly as soon as the words were out, and hoped he hadn’t been too forward by interrupting her.
“Ah, yes, I recall the story — brave young men, all three of you. Now, as Mr. Radetski will tell you, I expect quick wits and accurate work. You’ll be with my staff for a month, and I expect you to measure up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I hear you are very good on targeting, and you’re a fine musician,” she added.
“I find the targeting quite easy, ma’am, and I enjoy the music.”
“Well, I may require your company one evening, Mr. Gunn. I have a small group who join me for musical sessions. From what I’m told, you would make a good addition to our number. “ Her link chirped, and she nodded a dismissal to Danny with a crisp, “Carry on.”
Danny stood flustered, not sure what to make of her last remark.
The Flag Lieutenant signalled him. “This way, Mid. I’ve a pile of signals for you to process.”
Danny found himself seated at a console and absorbed in processing the endless stream of signals between Fleet HQ and all the scattered squadrons, fleets and individual ships. Among the stream of orders, he saw one requiring Daring to complete her repairs and to sweep an enemy sector. He felt a twinge of envy. How he wished he could be with Ferghal and Harry instead of stuck on the flagship!
Touching his jacket pocket, he smiled as he felt the letter nestled there. Harry was such a fantastic friend and a real gent. Even when they had served on HMS Spartan, it had been said on the lower deck that Harry was a real officer, one who really cared for his people, and Danny had good reason to know that was true.
He still sometimes woke from a dream convinced that his elevation from illiterate powder monkey aboard a “wooden wall” sailing ship to Midshipman aboard a sp
aceship was just that, a dream. In a sense it was.
He snapped back to the present as he spotted a signal that looked out of place.
“Sir,” he said to the Flag Lieutenant. “There’s something odd about this signal. Message zero eight zero seven at eleven hundred stop zero five ordered Daring and Diamond to Sector NG Fifteen. Why would anyone repeat that signal to a base in Sector Four?” He frowned. “That’s one of the bases we evacuated four months ago because the Consortium had overrun that area.”
“What?” The Flag Lieutenant was at his side. “Show me.”
“Mr. Heron.” Lieutenant Clarke sounded even more irritated than usual. “The course you plotted doesn’t comply with the standard routes for this Sector. I’ve told you before. You must not deviate from the Pilot Manual.”
“Yes, sir.” Harry’s temper boiled at the Lieutenant’s rudeness, and he had to force himself not to snap in response. “But there is a Fleet amendment in Pilot Note Four Zero Four One which directs that as the standard route is compromised, Fleet ships should adopt a course variant, and it provides options on five variations, sir. In plotting our present course I adopted Variants Three and Five.”
“Pilot Note? What are you talking about?” Clarke reddened when he realised he’d just revealed his ignorance. “Oh — yes, yes, of course.” He attempted to regain the initiative. “Nevertheless, because I am your senior officer, you should have confirmed this with me before you adopted any variations.” Even to himself Lieutenant Clarke sounded rattled. He glared at Harry. “Your independent attitude is a major problem, Mr. Heron.”
“I beg pardon, sir.” Harry’s fists were now tightly balled and showed white across his knuckles as he struggled to hold his temper in check. “I shall refer all my course plots to you in future if that is what you require of me.”
“What? No, that isn’t what I meant.” The Lieutenant seemed to be struggling with himself. “Damn it, Heron, just follow standard procedures in future.”
“Aye — yes, sir.” Harry watched the Lieutenant walk away and wondered what had occasioned this outburst. Surely, the Lieutenant had seen the Pilot Note and the warning that the standard courses were compromised and known to Consortium forces. Well, to hell with him, Harry fumed, and he made his way to the laboratory. Rasmus was waiting to test a new mixture that promised to be even more powerful than anything they had tried so far.
Ferghal looked up as he was joined by one of the other Engineering Officers. “Hello, Hannes, what brings you to my forge?”
“A fascination,” the newcomer replied. “I heard you hammering and came to see what you’re making this time.”
“Well, you had better put on some ear protection then,” said Ferghal replacing his own. “This will be noisy — I must reform this blade, and that requires considerable hammering.” He drew the glowing metal strip from the furnace and placed it on his anvil. Then, after a moment to study the metal, he struck it with the hammer, the blows seemingly random until the eye picked up the pattern. He finished and plunged the long strip into a tank of oily liquid. “There, it is done for now.” He grinned at his visitor. “I can shut down the furnace and give your enviro systems a rest.”
“Yes, we can always tell when you’re using it.” Hannes Lange grinned. “We get a real spike on our atmosphere controls as soon as it fires up.” He nodded toward the smoking blade as Ferghal wiped it down. “And no wonder. That must get pretty hot. What is it, anyway?”
“A cutlass blade. I could get the replicators to make it, but the steel from them is a bit brittle, so I thought I’d forge one myself.” He showed it to the visitor. “And it has turned out well.”
Hannes opened his mouth to speak and was interrupted by the urgent sound of the general alarm.
In the Navigation Centre, Lieutenant Clarke settled into his seat, his heart racing. “Navigation Officer in post. I have the Con.”
“Acknowledged, Pilot. Plot an intercept to the contact.”
“Interception course. Yes, ma’am.” Aral Clarke entered the coordinates then selected the standard manoeuvre options from his menus. Quickly he plotted in the manoeuvres for this system and the type of engagement suggested by the reported contact. He sent these to the helm.
At his console, Harry watched as the coordinates streamed through the network. The ship jumped toward its target. Not for the first time Harry thought these manoeuvres were safe only as long as the ship’s movements remained unpredictable. The trouble was that the enemy could, if they had access to the program or the Manual, predict exactly where a ship would emerge from the microtransits.
The shudder and the sensation of pain the ship felt as she emerged from the third sequence told Harry that they had taken a heavy hit. He hoped the shielding was holding. He contacted Lieutenant Clarke. “Sir, I suggest a variation in the manoeuvres. The Consortium ships are using predictive shadowing, I think.”
“You concentrate on your work, Mr. Heron, and I’ll do mine,” Lieutenant Clarke snapped even as the ship shuddered again. “I have the con, and we will do this exactly according to procedures!”
Harry acknowledged the order, but even as he did so, he spotted that they were about to jump into a possible trap. He flagged this up to Targeting, as he knew it would be futile to say anything to the Lieutenant. As expected, the ship dropped into the gap between three Consortium ships. Fortunately, thanks to Harry’s alert, Weapons got in the first body blow, but the enemy returned fire, and Daring took a mauling.
“Navigation.” Captain Maia sounded angry. “What the hell are you playing at? Give me some unpredictable evasions, please! I don’t feel like being a sitting duck today.”
“I’m doing my best, ma’am, but they are imitating and following our standard manoeuvres.” The Lieutenant sounded nervous. His forehead glistened with sweat.
“I’ve told you for the last time — throw that bloody book away and do something unpredictable! Use your initiative and get us clear of them!”
The Lieutenant looked at Harry, uncertainty in his eyes. “Suggestion, Mister Heron?” His sarcasm was poor cover for the desperation he felt. “You heard the Captain. You always have something clever to suggest.”
“If I may suggest adopting a reversal of the La Grange, sir,” said Harry. When he saw the Lieutenant’s confusion, he added, “Shall I?”
“Do it.”
“Daring, remember the manoeuvres we used last time? Repeat them, but adjust them for this system.”
The ship danced rings around her enemies, leaping in and out, throwing off their targeting completely until the five small attackers withdrew into hyperspace.
“Pilot.” The Captain sounded angry. “I want to see you and Mr. Heron in my quarters once we have secured the ship and I can relieve you at the con.”
The interview with the Captain was one-sided and brief. Neither Aral Clarke nor Harry was spared her tongue-lashing.
“You spotted the trap, Mr. Heron, and alerted Targeting — yet you let us enter it. Why?”
“Ma’am, I did not feel it proper to intervene with the con. Lieutenant Clarke had control, and he is my senior officer.”
“Did you suggest anything that might have avoided this?”
“I did suggest that we deviate from the standard manoeuvres, ma’am.”
Her gaze locked on the Lieutenant. “And did you consider this, Mr. Clarke?”
“No, Captain, I feel very strongly that we should follow the procedures. They are intended to give targeting the best option for tracking the enemy.”
“And does it occur to you that this particular enemy might have a copy of that nice little textbook?” she snapped.
“That’s not possible, ma’am.” The Lieutenant looked shaken.
“Not only is it possible — it’s the only explanation for the way they can track our evasions so accurately. It stops now! You’ll throw that manual away and use your initiative from now on.” She held up a hand as the Lieutenant made to p
rotest. “That’s an order. Dismiss.”
In the Consortium Base on Planet Lycania, Colonel Rees studied the strange buildings through his scanning optics. This was the fourth of these alien cities they had tried to secure for the research team. Like all the others, the buildings looked like they had grown organically, not constructed, and though they had all the features one expected inside such a structure, there were no furnishings and nothing to indicate their function or use. Even more eerie, they were in perfect condition but unoccupied — until anyone attempted to examine them. Then the native population, nicknamed Rottweilers or Rotties by the Consortium troops because of their canine appearance and willingness to attack, swarmed into them and chased the intruders out.
“You say the Rotties attacked you as soon as your team tried to set up your equipment?” the Colonel asked a researcher.
“Correct, Colonel. As soon as we tried to take samples of the structural material, they swooped in seemingly out of nowhere. We tried to use a laser cutter to open a panel. Next thing they were swarming all over us, and they weren’t gentle about it, either.”
“Your equipment?” The Colonel refrained from expressing his opinion. The xenobiological team had captured several ‘specimens’ and tried to run tests on them. They’d learned a little about these hominids that resembled rather savage bipedal wolves, but the specimens had escaped, and now they shunned contact, or were extremely forthright in repelling any attempt at contact or capture.
“The Rotties smashed everything. We were lucky to get away with our lives. I don’t know what they’re hiding in their cities, but it must be important. Damn, if we could just figure out how they grow a structure like that — self-regulating for temperature, weather and storm proof, non-combustible in the main, it can adjust to translucency, and it illuminates its own interior at night — imagine what we could do with this technology.”
The Colonel paused. He could imagine what some of the Board would do with it, and how they’d exploit it. “Right, well, my orders are to see that the Rotties are cleared out and that you and your people get what you need. I can’t take on the entire Rottie population, but I can clear them from here. How long do you need?”
Harry Heron Savage Fugitive Page 6