Harry Heron Savage Fugitive

by Patrick G Cox

  “We need months, Colonel — months. This place is an absolute goldmine. Sentient buildings? You have no idea how this could benefit us.”

  “I think I do. Months? I can maye give you a few hours. That will have to do. We can’t take on the entire population even if they apparently have no modern weapons.”

  Chapter 6 — Hopeless Position

  Midshipman Daniel Gunn looked up when he heard his name called. Sub-Lieutenant Richthofen entered the Gunroom and made his way to where Danny stood waiting.

  “At ease, Danny.” Arno Richthofen grinned. “Your musical talents are required. The Admiral requests your company this evening. Take your flute and the rest of your favourite instruments with you, especially the ones you use for your folk music.”

  “Yes, sir.” Danny returned the smile, but he was nervous. “I hope she’s not wanting me to do a solo act for her.”

  Arno laughed. “No, she has a small group of officers who join her in a musical jamboree when she can spare the time. She plays the cello, but I expect you know that. The rest of the group includes Flags, her Writer, the Royal’s Bandmaster and the Executive Commander.” He grinned at Danny’s expression. “And one of them seems to have shopped you and your ability with instruments — so now you are bidden!”

  Danny grinned. “Any idea what she likes to play?”

  “You name it — anything except pop music, I’m told.”

  “Pop music, sir?”

  When Arno saw Danny’s puzzled expression, he realised the young man didn’t understand what he was referring to. “Never mind, you probably don’t play any of that anyway. I hear that she’s very good on her cello, so expect a real workout.”

  “Thanks.” Danny gave a brisk nod. “I’ll be prepared, sir.”

  Arno spent a few minutes discussing a change to the duty roster with another Midshipman, and then he left.

  Immediately the Gunroom senior called across to Danny. “Don’t go getting a big head now, Gunn. Playing music for the Admiral isn’t going to get you any slack from the rest of us.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Danny retorted. “Should I play badly, do you think? Then, maybe she won’t invite me back.”

  Several of the other Midshipmen hid smiles at this. Danny might be the youngest member of the Gunroom, but he had several times demonstrated his courage. They had begun to admire his refusal to succumb to the deliberate campaign of intimidation that Midshipman Gareth Arbiel waged against him.

  Not once had Danny acknowledged the older man’s constant barrage of insinuations. He had shown himself well able to deal with any attempt to intimidate him. Like Ferghal, he could be very direct in dealing with anyone who tried to rough him up, and also like Ferghal, he usually had the aggressive edge needed to turn the tables. He didn’t spend his early childhood years as an orphan on the rough streets of Portsmouth without learning some survival skills.

  If only you knew what I endured in the lower decks of the Spartan when I was just a boy, he challenged the man inwardly. I held my own, and I did so on the Vanguard when the Marines captured us.

  “Ignore him, Danny.” Spike Rajput stood up. “He’s just jealous. Don’t worry, the rest of us will be praying for you tonight, especially now that you’ve survived a month as Flag’s doggie without getting bitten by her too. Hard luck, old fellow.”

  “Thanks, Spike.” Danny grinned, though he didn’t feel happy about the baiting or the order to attend the Admiral’s jamboree. He found the sniping from Arbiel tiresome, and sometimes wished he could talk to Ferghal or Harry about it. But that, in his eyes, would be to admit failure that he couldn’t handle the men in the Gunroom on his own.

  When he returned to his cabin, he collected his flute, a tin whistle, a small harp, his set of Celtic pipes and the music scores he thought might be appropriate. He wondered if there was likely to be a piano. He knew there was a keyboard in the recreation theatre near the Royals’ barracks, but, he reflected with a grin, even the Admiral would be unlikely to have that moved.

  The Consortium’s assault on the chosen city site was going well. “The Rotties don’t have plasma weapons, sir. Just those dart bows of theirs and those axe things they carry.”

  “They’re not giving up though.” Colonel Rees watched his battle display. “A pity our stun settings don’t seem to work on them. They’re damned determined to keep us out.”

  “Yes, and they’re learning not to take us head-on.” The Captain watched his advance troops storm another building. “They wait until we’re inside, then somehow appear behind the lads. Always have to watch your back, and they’re bloody murder up close — if you let them that is.”

  “I see the troops are using grenades before entering any space. The researchers are worried it might damage the sentient buildings and make it difficult to get the samples they want.”

  “Well, they’ll damn well have to work with it,” the Colonel snapped. “This has cost us over thirty casualties already, and we’ve killed a hundred or so of the Rotties for less than half this damned city!”

  The Captain shrugged. “They wanted one of the Rottie corpses for research. We got them three. If they get nothing else, that’ll keep them busy.”

  “At least a dead one can’t let itself out of the cage, overpower three guards, release its friends, and walk out of the damned facility!”

  “Mr. Heron!” Aral Clarke sounded more than usually angry. Ever since the Consortium destroyer had surprised the ship, he’d become nervous and perpetually short tempered. “These latest chart corrections — why didn’t you check with me before you did them? This means I have to change all my course calculations for the next stage. If you’d told me, I could have saved myself the effort.”

  Harry looked up in surprise. “I beg pardon, sir. I believe I notified you through the correct procedure. I posted the notice of changes as per the procedures on your console and the tablet. If you prefer, I can do the adjustments to the courses. It won’t take me long.”

  “I’ll do them myself,” snapped the Lieutenant. He bit back a further comment, but old habit made him unable to restrain himself. “Damn it, Mr. Heron, I can’t do everything and check on your work too. You’ve really got to work with me — I must know before you take any action in future.”

  Harry was stung. His efforts to ‘work with’ the Lieutenant had so far earned him more hostility from that petty little man. “I always do my best, sir. I have followed your instructions and the procedures carefully in an effort to work with you, sir.”

  The Lieutenant frowned as he busied himself with his tablet. “But you still insist on working through that link of yours. How can I check your work if you refuse to do it the way the rest of us do? And your insistence on deviating from the standard manoeuvres has created all sorts of problems for me. Do you realise I have to rework all the LaGrange calculations so that we can take non-standard evasive action in future without reference to the Manual? Have you any idea how difficult that is?”

  Harry opened his mouth to issue a snarky ‘yes, I do in fact know how difficult it is to do it manually’ but restrained himself and took a deep breath instead. He had no doubt the Lieutenant was struggling to find the correct calculations. Harry had already found several that needed recalculating after the Lieutenant entered the data. The Daring herself had flagged up a number of serious errors.

  Taking the respectful approach, Harry said, “I could assist you with those, if you prefer — I do enjoy the calculation of such tables, as you know, sir.”

  “So you can take even more credit from the Captain? No, I’ll do them myself.” The Lieutenant seemed to be running out of steam. In truth, he knew he had made several serious mistakes in the calculations, and he was terrified his inadequacies would be revealed. He sat down heavily. “Ever since you convinced her the standard manoeuvres were compromised, she’s been giving me a hard time for using them. How the hell did you know the enemy could track our manoeuvring?”

>   Harry was surprised by the question. “It is obvious, sir. They managed to predict every move we made. They must have used the same standard manoeuvres we used. This was proved as soon as we changed the pattern. They couldn’t match us move for move as soon as we deviated.”

  “So you say,” the Lieutenant flared. “But it’s also possible they would have lost the sequence if we had continued — but you had to interfere.”

  “I regret I cannot agree with you, sir.” Harry stood his ground. “Mathematically, the odds of their having followed our movements so closely without being able to read our manuals are extremely remote. I have calculated . . .” He broke off when the door opened and Commander Nielsen entered the office.

  “Ah, good, you’re both here.” He nodded in acknowledgement. “The Captain is very pleased with your work, Mr. Heron. Now, to business: Mr. Clarke, the calculations on the alternative manoeuvres — I want them completed today for our next visit. The Peiho system is the last on our list of checks, and there’s every chance we could run into trouble when we start that survey.” He looked directly at the Lieutenant and held his gaze. “The Captain is very clear on this. The standard manoeuvres are to be abandoned. She wants it understood once and for all that they are not, under any circumstances, to be used in future. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” Aral Clarke felt the sweat prickling. He daren’t admit that the replacement calculations were a long way from finished, or that he had not, as yet, removed the standard evasion programming from the system.

  The Captain activated her comlink as the display of the Peiho system sprang into focus. “Scan, check for any signs of mining activity in system, especially in the ring systems round the inner planets.” The system lay just ahead of the ship, the various planets each showing a marker against the background starscape.

  “Yes, Captain.” Lieutenant Barolong nodded to his senior ScanTech, who was already on it. “Some anomalies are showing up around the fourth planet. Could be auto mining equipment, but we’ll get a better idea when the drones can be moved closer in.”

  “Okay, as soon as we complete the outer circuit.” Captain Maia watched the data scrolling across her screen then looked at the starscape displayed around her. Something was out there, but where? To herself, she added, “And more importantly, what?”

  “Sorry, Captain?” Commander Nielsen looked at her.

  “Talking to myself, Anders. Sorry.” The Captain flashed a smile. “We’ve swept through four out of five systems looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. There has to be something — but where? And what the hell are we looking for?”

  “Good question — a Consortium base, according to our orders, but what sort of base? I’ve checked and double-checked. All HQ can tell me is that it is on a planet, and they are now reasonably certain it’s in this sector.” He indicated a small bright dot in the display. “My bet is it’s there, on the fourth planet. It’s got a population, some sort of anthropoid life form. A mining survey was done before all this started, and the Johnstone Group applied for permission to establish a research station there to investigate some new species and alien artefacts. It was granted, and I think they put a construction team in. It’s reported to be evacuated. If I were looking for a place to build a base in a hurry without arousing suspicion, I’d choose someplace like that.”

  Captain Maia nodded, her face thoughtful. “You’re right. Thanks for putting your finger on it.” She activated her link. “Navigation, prepare to move us into orbit mimicking the usual track of the planet Lycania, but keep us far enough out to avoid raising any alarms.”

  “Yes, Captain,” said Lieutenant Clarke. “I’ll have the course laid in a few minutes.”

  “As fast as possible, please.” The Captain turned to the Commander. “If we’re right, there may be a hostile reception. Sound off Action Stations.”

  Harry dozed, his book open in his lap. The alarm startled him. Leaping to his feet, he made for the door, his book forgotten in his haste to depart. Behind him, Rasmus picked it up and placed it on the table, and followed the last of the officers as they exited the Wardroom, but he headed to his laboratory.

  In Engineering, Ferghal slid into his seat and linked himself to the ship. “Daring, what is happening?”

  “The Captain has ordered Action Stations as a precaution. I am moving into position in the fourth planetary orbit so we may observe the fourth planet without being too close.”

  “Thanks.” Ferghal was relieved to hear this. They had seen more than enough action lately. He focused on his screens and checked his team. The ship shuddered slightly as she dropped out of the brief transit and decelerated.

  “Scans on Planet Lycania, Northern Hemisphere, all electronic signatures and any signal beacons.” The Captain’s orders were quietly given, but her face was taut as she stared at the image of the planet on the view screen. “Focus on the major landmass in the eastern half of the Northern Hemisphere.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Lieutenant Clarke seemed distant and pre-occupied, but the Captain tried not to let that worry her.

  An alarm blared, jolting everyone to action.

  “Ship in system, closing fast. She’s firing on us!”

  “Return fire.” Captain Maia gripped the arms of her command chair. “Navigation, commence evasive action. Coms, send the Under Attack signal and our position.”

  The ship shuddered as it received a devastating hit.

  “Damage report,” barked the Captain.

  “Two hyperpods destroyed,” Commander Nielsen reported from the Damage Control Centre. “Manoeuvring is restricted, but we can still fight the ship.”

  “Our signals are being jammed — hypercoms are out,” reported the Coms Officer.

  “Damn. Engineering, keep us moving as best you can. Weapons, hit him as hard as possible — keep firing no matter what happens.” She winced as another shudder rippled through the ship. “Navigation, bring us about and head toward the planet. Let’s try to pull him into the ring system round Lycania.”

  In the Emergency Helm position, Harry checked the manoeuvring orders and grimaced. He could not believe it. Lieutenant Clarke had reverted to his beloved LaGrange Manual again, and this time in direct disobedience of the Commander’s orders. No wonder the enemy was all over them. Even worse, as he was no longer in the Navigation Centre with the Lieutenant, and there was nothing he could do about it. He winced as the ship cried out in his head, “I can’t hold together much longer, Harry.” The Daring sounded strange in his ears. “My signals are disrupted and do not reach the relay. I can no longer transit.”

  “Hold up, old girl. The Captain is doing all she can to shake him off.”

  “But I cannot transit, Harry, and we are approaching a dangerous orbit path that will bring me within the orbit of the larger moon.” The ship shuddered again. “And I have just lost the last environmental lung space.”

  Harry ran a check. It wasn’t reassuring. The ship had suffered major damage, structurally as well as mechanically. He could feel the AI system losing its capacity to reason, and he realised the ship was dying even as he listened. Feeling helpless and rather alone, Harry fumed. Why couldn’t Clarke understand that most situations were nonstandard at best? He felt very uncertain of what to do now. He couldn’t find Ferghal through the system and was worried that something had happened to him.

  “Abandon ship. All hands, abandon ship. Muster at the life pod stations and commence evacuation immediately.” The Captain’s voice was calm as she spoke over the comlinks. She switched to a personal channel. “Engineering, transfer propulsion to my console, please, and evacuate your station.” She switched channels again. “Navigation, switch helm to my station, then clear out.”

  There was no response.

  She tried again. “Navigation. Lieutenant Clarke, transfer control to my station.”

  Again, there was no response. She switched channels and contacted the Emergency Helm Station. “Mister Heron,
do you have the con?”

  “No, ma’am, but I can acquire it. Has the Lieutenant fallen?”

  “He doesn’t respond. Transfer the con to my console and get to a life pod.” She felt tired. The helm information joined the propulsion data on her console. She punched in her orders and waited. The last life pod indicators signalled their departure. “Good,” she said to the empty Command Centre. “All our boys are away. Now we’ll take at least some of the bastards with us as we go, old girl.”

  Leaving the Emergency Helm position, Harry hesitated. Should he run to his cabin to retrieve the letters he’d written to his family? There were at least three, and paintings for Mary among the several waiting to be shipped home. “No time,” he told himself, making his way swiftly to the life pods. It had been two weeks since his last call to his sweetheart. The embargo on personal communications while they were in enemy space irked him. This deep in hostile territory, the ship had been running with communications in receiving mode only. He thought of the unfinished letter to Mary and to his Aunt Niamh as he made for the life pods.

  “Damn, I shall have lost all of that,” he said aloud as he dove through the last door and entered the life pod station just in time to see the last hatch seal. Fear clutched his heart as he realised that the other bays were already empty. He raced to the next station and found those already gone. Turning, he retraced his path across the dying ship and collided with Abram Winstanley, the ship’s Coxswain.

  “All the life pods seem to have departed in this section, Swain,” he gasped as he recovered. “Any left on the other side?”

  “None, sir,” replied the Coxswain grimly. “And several of us are still aboard, including your scientist mate.”