“I don’t like being threatened.” The doctor tried to sound tough, but it wasn’t very effective given his bandaged head.
“I’m not threatening you, Doctor. I’m making you a promise.”
“But . . .”
The Brigadier held up a hand. “And what’s more, I am placing this on record with the Board. I will not tolerate any experiments on any POW under my jurisdiction.”
“But he’s a valuable research asset, and we need—”
“He’s a human being, not some laboratory specimen! Your experiments broke every line of the damned Convention. Just who the blazes do you people think you are? Do you have any concept of what you almost derailed here? That man is an officer of the North European Confederation Fleet. Have you any idea what a half decent lawyer would make of your experiments?”
“Brigadier, you obviously don’t appreciate the importance of this research. If we can replicate this man’s ability, there are immense benefits for all of us. Sometimes one individual must be sacrificed for the benefit of many.” The doctor would have said more, but the Brigadier stopped him.
“Don’t continue, Doctor.” Her voice was harsh. “That argument has been advanced in the defence of every atrocity and injustice in human history. It is not going to be used here to allow you or anyone else to abuse prisoners of war. Now, I have work to do even if you do not. Good day.”
Ferghal woke, a gradual process that took some effort to crawl from the deep sleep of exhaustion to the reality of lying on a hard mattress in a cold cell, and remembering why everything hurt. He ached all over, and his mouth was dry. His knuckles were sore and swollen, but he felt a grim satisfaction as memory returned.
A cheerful voice greeted his stirring. “Good, you’re awake. I was a bit worried for a while. Some people don’t react well to a stunner.”
He groaned and struggled to sit up. For a bleary moment, he wasn’t sure if a person had asked that question, or if it was more of the annoying chatter of the network burbling happily to itself in his head. Its functions were garbled and utterly mindless after the abuse it had suffered.
“Did I kill the bastard?” Ferghal said aloud.
“No, but you came close.” His visitor chuckled, and lowered his voice. Ferghal turned his body to face the man sat on a chair in the corner. “The rest of us reckon you did a bloody good job in there, sir. And the Brigadier has given orders that you’re to be left alone in future.”
“That so? Well, I hope it means I can have some tools and a few things to work with.” He focused his eyes on the man’s face. “You’re new. What happened to the old guard?”
“Brigadier’s orders. They’ve all been relieved. I’m afraid you have to stay here, though. We can’t take you to the Base.” He gestured around him. “Not after what you did here.” He stood up. “I’d better get going. Give me a list of things you’d like, and I’ll see what I can do. Just wish I’d been here to see you take that lab apart,” he added with a grin.
Ferghal shrugged, returning the grin. “Just doing my duty as an officer of the Fleet, but I’ll confess I had some pleasure in giving those bastards something to remember me by.”
Ferghal’s mind was already working out a solution. Someone would come and repair the damage. They’d have a portable system or something with them. He could wait his chance, especially now that he knew how to get past the security programs.
The guard laughed. “They’ll remember you, all right — every time the doctor looks in a mirror, I should think!”
Ferghal grinned. During this brief conversation, he had noticed that the door to his cell had a makeshift mechanical lock. When the time came, he knew exactly how to deal with that.
Chapter 11 — Refuge
Harry disembarked from the transport they’d confiscated from the Consortium soldiers. He and his crew had taken a very circuitous route to reach their new camp, a route planned by Harry to give a completely false trail to any pursuers. He had chosen this spot precisely because it was in the midst of a large complex of abandoned yet remarkably preserved buildings. Through the vehicle’s data links, he’d managed to learn a great deal about the activities of the Consortium and their interest in these cities. Now, he finally knew why the Canids responded with such wariness toward humans, but this opened a new puzzle for him. Why did they allow him and his crew to occupy one of their buildings?
He stood next to the Coxswain overseeing operations. “The Consortium research team gathered information on these sites, but it seems they could not scan them because some manner of shield prevents it.” Grinning, Harry added, “It suits our purposes perfectly, Swain.”
“Damn right, sir. Think we’ll be able to take some time out now, sir?”
“I hope so, Swain. We need a little rest, and this will be luxurious after living in caves.”
“Strange that the Canids have not attempted to prevent our entering the city, though,” Rasmus joined in.
Harry nodded. “More important, why do they not live in these cities? Is there some hazard to doing so, or simply a taboo against it, which we are breaking without realising it?”
“Perhaps these buildings have some other purpose.” Rasmus frowned. “Why have you chosen this site?”
“The data files I accessed on the way here indicate that this area is as far as possible from the site the Consortium drove the Canids out of for their own selfish gain. These buildings block our scanners, so we may hide here for the winter, I think.” The nagging sensation that something was trying to connect to him dragged at Harry’s subconscious. He studied their surroundings, but could detect nothing unusual or out of the ordinary.
“Sounds good to me, sir,” said the Coxswain. He studied the building Harry had selected. “Looks pretty alien, don’t you think?”
Harry nodded. “It does, like nothing on Earth at least.”
Rasmus stepped closer to a wall to examine it. “These walls are completely organic — grown, not built. Amazing.”
Up close, the organic nature of the structures was obvious. Even their shape and layout suggested a living organism rather than a purpose-built structure. The material used to create them was unknown to Harry, and Rasmus simply shook his head when asked.
“Weiss nicht. No clue my friend. One day, when you get me back to my laboratory, perhaps I can tell you.”
“In the meantime,” said Harry, “tell our people not to cut or pierce any of the walls. The reports in the Consortium files say any attempt to do so causes the Canids to attack.” He frowned remembering something in the record he’d accessed. “Strange, but the Consortium research team think these buildings may not be buildings at all, but rather some strange life form.”
Rasmus touched the wall, careful not to nick it. “Interesting. The surface has scales. They remind me of very small photovoltaic cells.”
Harry glanced at Rasmus. “Photovoltaic? Do you think they are a form of electrical generating system?”
Rasmus frowned. “It would explain the orientation and the internal structures. With these surface areas, you could generate a very large charge. I would need to examine it much more closely though.”
“Do you think they still occupy these cities?” asked the Coxswain. “Maybe they’re just gone temporarily, like it’s their hunting season or something.” The thought of being the hunted occurred to him and made him go silent.
“No one knows where they live,” said Harry. “They’re seldom seen in the structures or in the streets. But as soon as there is any attempt to damage one of these structures, they arrive, seemingly out of nowhere, and get very aggressive about defending it.”
Conxswain Abram Winstanley studied the entrance to the building. “You said you had a second reason for choosing this site, sir.”
“Yes. It’s roughly three hundred miles from where we were and a long way from where I shall send the vehicle when we have unloaded it.” Harry smiled. “There’s a reason for that. Since the Consortium
people have examined other cities, it seems unlikely they will visit this one — and we are well to the west of their base and far from the area they will expect us to hide in.”
The Coxswain indicated the long inlet that stretched across the front of the building dividing the city in half. “And we’ve a sea of sorts. Wonder if they’ve got any boats we can use.”
“At least we can fish in this water — I think,” remarked Will Turner to laughter from the rest.
“Right, your job then, Turner,” the Coxswain shot back. “Any more volunteers?”
“Get everything off the transport, Swain,” Harry ordered, his attention on the task in hand. “We’ll make ourselves at home here for now. It won’t be long before someone discovers the vehicle’s tracker signal is just the transponder at our prisoners’ location. I want to send this vehicle to a false destination well away from here before then.”
“Good thinking, Harry,” said Rasmus. “This will give us some breathing space — provided they don’t find the transport anywhere near us.”
“That is the one difficulty.” Harry nodded. “I plan to program it to take itself to a point in the far south. According to the maps it carries, there are canyons and difficult terrain in that region.”
“Is it far enough that they won’t come sniffing around here?” said the Coxswain.
“It will be at least five hundred miles from our starting point there and six hundred from where we are here. There is too little time of darkness left for it to reach that destination before dawn, so I will direct it to conceal itself by day at an alternate destination to the south east and to go on to its final destination tonight.”
“I suppose we should be thankful we have longer nights,” Rasmus commented. “But I’m not looking forward to the six weeks of perpetual night that will engulf this part of the planet soon when the winter snows hit. Even though it’ll mean the Consortium won’t have patrols out during that time, it will make hunting and fishing impossible.”
“Yes,” Harry agreed. “I’m hoping we’ll find shelter and the means for heating ourselves among these structures during the severest weather. The sharp tilt of this world’s axis certainly creates some very severe seasons. From the manner in which the nights are lengthening, I think we must be entering the autumnal period.” He glanced at the inlet. “If there are any boats, we may find one useful.”
“Transport’s clear, sir,” Errol Hill reported.
“Thank you, Errol,” Harry acknowledged. “Right, Rasmus, I’d better get this done. ComOp Hodges, perhaps you’d assist me. I want their coms monitored while I’m doing the programming.”
“Yes, sir!” She grinned, eager to get started. “Anything in particular, sir, or just the general traffic?”
“Just the general traffic, I think, but particularly anything that suggests they know we’ve got away.”
With their stolen transport sent off to mislead any pursuit, Harry and his motley team made themselves at home. As Maddie Hodges watched the armoured transport skim away on the route Harry had programmed, she reported, “No signals about any missing squad, sir. Pity I couldn’t strip out that com unit. We’d have been able to monitor them.”
“True, but it was an integral part of the AI system. No matter, we will have to find another way.” Having made that pronouncement, Harry turned and hurried into the building, hoping to distract himself. Maddie awoke feelings in him he wasn’t at all sure how to deal with. Best to get on with the business at hand.
Inside the building, Harry noted just how unusual its structure was. “There don’t seem to be any right angles,” he remarked to Rasmus.
Rasmus nodded. “It resembles the cell structure of a plant.” He ran his hand over a surface. “It feels almost like a form of cellulose.” He peered at it more closely. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Light and warmth come from within, and both are uniform.”
“Could an electrical charge cause it to give off this kind of soft, muted light?”
“Maybe.” Rasmus stood back and studied the walls. “It appears to be a form of photoluminescence.” He looked at Harry. “But it is unlike any I know. This is the first I have encountered that illuminates when you enter the space.”
“I thought it strange,” Harry said. He touched the wall again, aware of its warmth, and had the impression that it was like a computer screen. He also felt a peculiar sensation inside his head when he was near it.
“The temperature seems very regular,” said Rasmus. “In here it is quite comfortable.”
This had been puzzling Harry. “So it seems, but why, and for whom? Those who examined this place on previous excursions thought it might be used by the Canids, but could find no specific source for the heating or the lights.”
He decided not to comment about the sensations in his head.
Lieutenant Aral Clarke seated himself in the small makeshift office used by Commander Nielsen. As senior surviving officer in captivity, the Commander was now the man to whom the prisoners and their guards looked for any matter of discipline or guidance.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes.” The Commander’s eyes seemed to drill into his visitor’s. “As you know, there’ll be a court martial when we are freed from here. The loss of the Daring will have to be explained. As senior survivor, it’ll be me in the dock, and I’ll need all the information available concerning the ship’s final moments. You were the last officer to leave the Nav Centre, I believe.”
“I think so, sir.” Aral Clark relaxed. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “I had the order to clear Control and abandon ship from the Captain. So I took all the surviving people in the Navigation Centre and loaded them into the remaining life pods. Ours were the last ones to leave the ship.”
“You checked to make sure the Emergency Helm Control was cleared?”
“No, sir. I assumed Mr. Heron would clear it.” The Lieutenant wondered what had prompted this question. “Of course, it was quite difficult by that stage. The coms were failing, and I had to get the people with me clear — and only a couple of pods remained.”
“So you can’t be sure that everyone was accounted for. I understand the Coxswain didn’t make it. Was he killed before you left the Nav Centre?”
“I don’t recall, sir. I thought he was with the others when we left.”
The Commander’s face was unreadable. “Very well. Tell me about the manoeuvring from the moment we were attacked please. What evasive manoeuvres did you adopt?”
“We ran variations of the standard La Grange patterns, sir.” Aral Clarke felt his uncertainty rising. “As I’ve often pointed out, they offer targeting the best options for tracking an enemy while we manoeuvre.”
“Variations on the standard manoeuvres.? What sort of variations?” The Commander’s voice was quiet.
“I recalculated the standard manoeuvres, sir. It allowed variation within them, which would allow Targeting to follow and remain within the best parameters for battle conditions.” Aral Clarke faltered, the expression on the Commander’s face a mix of rage and contempt.
“That would certainly explain our inability to shake them off. Didn’t Captain Maia give you a direct order on a previous occasion never to use the standard manoeuvres again?”
“Sir?” Lieutenant Clarke could see the trap yawning before him. “I varied them as much as possible . . . yes, sir, I mean . . . there was no time to calculate a different set, sir.”
“No time to calculate? You had several weeks! Did you task Mr. Heron with any of it? No, I thought not.”
Clarke swallowed. The Commander’s expression said everything.
“So I may record that you used standard manoeuvres despite knowing they could be tracked and predicted by the enemy.” The silence was deafening. “And then you abandoned ship leaving a number of your people aboard.”
The Lieutenant’s face told the Commander all he needed to know, but he needed a clear, verbal answer for the
record.
“I take it you are aware our captors believe a small group managed to escape by some unknown means, and that it may include at least one of our fellow officers.”
“Sir?” Aral Clarke swallowed. “Er, no — I mean, yes, I have heard the rumour, sir.” He felt cold. Some of his fellow prisoners already treated him like a pariah because he had insisted they surrender without a fight. Certainly none of them would forgive his betrayal of Sub-Lieutenant Heron.
“It is more than a rumour. There is a group out there on the loose, and by the sound of it, they’re causing our captors considerable concern. And we know that they didn’t use a life pod to escape the ship.” The Commander stared across the table. “So how did they escape, Mr. Clarke? As senior Lieutenant, perhaps that is something you should have checked before making your own escape.”
“I did my best, sir.” Lieutenant Clarke shifted in his seat and took a defiant posture. “The ship was falling apart, and you were injured and unconscious, and being evacuated by your team. I waited until all the other departments had cleared the ship!” His voice rose in desperation.
“Apparently not. Someone remained on board long enough to plot the helm orders for the Captain to ram our attacker. Was it you?” The Commander glared at the now white-faced Lieutenant. “No, I thought not. So whoever it was is also the person now leading a group of survivors on this godforsaken planet without equipment or survival gear. And yet this group and their officer are making enough of a nuisance of themselves to the Consortium ground forces that they’ve got all their spare troops out searching. Any idea who that officer might be?”
“No!” Clarke exclaimed. He coughed and cleared his throat to cover his abrupt response. “I mean, no, sir.” He thought quickly. Heron! It had to be Heron, but how the hell did he survive? Clarke was absolutely certain there had been no life pods remaining when he’d triggered his own.
Harry Heron Savage Fugitive Page 12