Savage Fugitive Read online

  Harry had nodded his understanding. Winstanley, the ship’s Coxswain, her senior non-commissioned officer, was also responsible for discipline. That he had spoken at all was sufficient for Harry to take his warning seriously.

  The Commander took his seat. “Swain, give us the rundown to transit, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Abram Winstanley, to acknowledge the command. “Transit in twenty seconds, sir. Fifteen, twelve, ten, eight, six, three, two, one — entering transit, sir. Drives at three quarter power. Diamond and Hecate in company.”

  “Good. Well done, all. Our orders are to assist in rounding up convoy HX4. They’ve lost the liner Durham Castle. Takes us off our main task, but that damned ship’s packed with refugees. Mr. Heron, I will need that special skill of yours in the Ops Control once we close the last reported position.” He stood up. “Mr. Clarke, join me in the cubby, please. I’ll send for you when I’m ready, Mr. Heron.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Clarke stood up. Unnecessarily he said, “Take over, Mr. Heron, but call me if there are any problems.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Harry responded automatically, his attention focused on running a course check. He missed the pained expression that crossed Aral Clarke’s face as he followed the Commander. Harry had caught the deliberate inference that he was only nominally in charge because the Lieutenant had deigned to “grant” him permission, which implied that the Lieutenant didn’t trust him to manage in a crisis, though Harry was the one who had gotten them out of the most recent near disaster that Clarke had caused. It was so ridiculous that Harry couldn’t suppress a rueful smile. His thoughts went to his and Ferghal’s voyage in the freightliner Twee Jonge Gezellen some twelve months earlier. I wonder how the Lieutenant would have handled that adventure. Probably would have failed miserably.

  Allowing a brief grin to cross his face, Harry remembered his near perfect destruction of the freighter’s control consoles and interfaces. His efforts had been extremely effective in preventing the criminal crew of the prize from retaking and controlling the ship, but it had left him, Ferghal and their crew with a ship that only he and Ferghal could communicate with in transit to Earth, with no certainty they would succeed in their endeavour to deliver her. As the Lieutenant originally in command had died at the hands of the wanted man Captain Heemstra, Harry, as senior Midshipman, had been left in command. Their reward had been early promotion to the rank of Sub-Lieutenant.

  Consortium Brigadier Gillian Newton stepped from the shuttle and saluted the waiting guard and the Colonel.

  “Welcome to Planet Lycania, Brigadier.”

  “Thank you, Colonel Rees.” After they shook hands, she fell into step beside him. “I understand the native population are rather primitive — these creatures the scientists have named Canids because of their canine appearance.”

  “Shades of opinion on that. They wear some impressive clothing in terms of protection from the harsh environment on this planet, but their weapons are very primitive, and no one has been able to communicate with them or examine them properly.”

  “That was in my briefing — something about the research team having captured a few of them, and they held one long enough to discover these inhabitants are apparently monotreme marsupials. Then they escaped — from locked cages, no less.”

  “Did they break out?”

  “Not that we could discover. They simply opened the locks and walked past the guards, who saw absolutely nothing.” Colonel Rees shrugged. “We couldn’t find out how, but now the natives avoid us, and that’s fine by me. We haven’t the forces to take on an entire population, despite what Johnstone’s xenoarchaeological team are demanding.”

  “Very well, Colonel Rees. I’ll address the troops after I’ve read myself into command, and then I will want a tour of all our facilities.”

  After they parted, Brigadier Newton pondered this situation. She’d seen the briefings and the demands, but with a garrison of just two thousand to guard the mining operations, Lycania was the source for vital rare metals essential to nanotechnology systems, plus it was a major source of elements used in fuel cell production as well as for the agriculture stations and satellites. She already had enough to keep twice that number of troops busy. And then there was the signal monitoring and decryption unit. Her commanders had been specific about it. That took top priority.

  “Mr. Clarke.” The Commander wasn’t smiling. “I don’t normally expect to intervene in the running of a division unless it involves a disciplinary matter. Your instructions to Sub-Lieutenant Heron are ridiculous. His old-fashioned manner of speaking is not a problem, and we both know it because we can understand him perfectly clearly. Furthermore, why do you object to his using his internal link to the ship’s AI? Do you know how valuable that is to us?” He held up a hand to stop the Lieutenant’s protest. “If I have another such complaint from you about him, I will investigate it and take a closer look at how you are managing him.”

  Clarke reddened and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I feel very strongly that I should correct him and make him work the same as everyone else, sir. He’s far too young for his rank, and that episode with the freightliner he and O’Connor supposedly recaptured is overplayed in my opinion. It’s made him overconfident. Besides, I can’t monitor what he’s doing if he uses his AI link, sir. About his old-fashioned way of speaking — well, that is just pretentiousness on his part, an attempt to be different.” The Lieutenant let out a nervous bark of laughter that was very nearly a snort.

  Frowning, the Commander studied the Lieutenant. “Mr. Clarke, the Grand Admiral promoted Sub-Lieutenants Heron and O’Connor after they pulled off something that neither you nor I nor the Captain could have done. If the Commander-in-Chief thinks they’re old enough to be Sub-Lieutenants, it’s not up to you to question that. As for your needing to monitor everything he does, why do you feel this compulsion? Is he incompetent at navigation? Not that I can see. As for Mr. Heron’s speech, I don’t have a problem with it and neither does the Captain. He is respectful and polite, albeit quaint at times, and his mannerisms do not negatively affect the efficient running of this ship, but your refusal to let him use his AI link does.”

  He paused until he had regained the Lieutenant’s reluctant eye contact. “Am I clear?”

  Lieutenant Clarke considered protesting. Then he read the Commander’s face — correctly, for once. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. If you can’t work with him in your division, I’ll move him to another, but I don’t want to have to do that.” He frowned. “He’s far too good at navigation to be wasted somewhere else.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the Lieutenant, and his face and bearing were respectful and compliant, but he was seething inside. As soon as he was out of the Commander’s office and striding down the corridor, his fury was on full display to anyone who may have passed by and glanced at him.

  Lieutenant Clarke resented this dressing down even though he knew that he was well outside his authority in the way he micromanaged Harry. Worse, he knew that Harry was more competent in navigation than he would ever be. Mathematics and the complex calculations required for navigating in space did not come easily to him, and he hated the way his subordinate seemed so at ease with these skills.

  He thoroughly resented having his control over Harry questioned, even by a senior officer.

  I’ll say yes, sir, to your face, Commander, but in the Navigation Centre, I’m in charge. We’ll see how far Heron pushes the boundaries, and I’ll decide where those boundaries are.

  Clarke wasted no time making good on his promise to himself. He strode into the Navigation Centre like a pudgy peacock, almost colliding with ComOp Hodges.

  “Mr. Heron.” Lieutenant Clarke loomed over Harry’s shoulder. “In my office, immediately.” He sounded peevish, an annoying tendency accentuated by his nasal voice. Harry followed him into the small office at the rear of the Navigation Centre. Clarke shut the door and launched in. “I’m not going
to tell you again. You’re to use the interface with the AI when you’re on watch, not your own special link. It’s unsettling to the TechRates when you don’t use the console and things just magically appear on their screens — or you tell them you’ve done something, but you haven’t entered any commands.”

  “It isn’t quite as easy as that, sir. The AI doesn’t allow me time to input the commands in the normal way, sir. It reads my intention and simply does it.”

  He knew the Lieutenant resented the fact that he and Ferghal had been fitted with AI links as Midshipmen to allow them to catch up on the knowledge they needed to close the gap between the nineteenth century, from which they came, and the twenty-third century they found themselves in now. An illegal gene splice performed on them by a Consortium laboratory after their capture on the planet Pangaea had an outcome that even the Consortium hadn’t intended: Harry and Ferghal were now living extensions of any AI system they were linked to. This created a number of problems for them, but it also had several benefits.

  “Don’t give me excuses.” The Lieutenant flushed angrily. “You have my instructions — now stick to them.” His receding hair was a mousey brown, and his features betrayed a tendency toward flabbiness. The reddening of his face accentuated the otherwise pasty pallor that was his normal appearance. “That’s an order.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Harry relished saying it just to annoy Clarke. He could feel his temper rising at the unfairness of his superior’s constant carping. He was rapidly developing contempt for the Lieutenant, a petty man whose ambition exceeded his ability.

  Lieutenant Clarke grunted in annoyance and shifted in his seat. “Must you speak like that? Get over yourself, man! I think it’s a pose to sound posh, as if you were educated at the best schools in England, which you were not, according to your records, and you’d better change your ways as long as you’re under my command, or you and I are going to fall out.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Harry gave him a level gaze, and waited for what was surely to come now that he’d said it twice.

  “You’d better learn some discipline, Mr. Heron. You don’t speak to me like that and get away with it.” Clarked smirked, sure of his superiority, at least in rank.” I’m reporting your insubordination to the Commander. I’m sure he’ll be interested to hear about it. He and I just had a conversation on this very topic. I’ve tried working with you, Heron, but you either won’t or can’t work with me. Stick to the procedures and stay within the rules.”

  He adopted what he considered a conciliatory tone. “I know it can’t be easy —this technology must be very confusing to you — but it’s for your own good. You don’t want a bad report from me on this deployment, especially one that says you’re unable to follow orders. It will affect your promotion chances later. I’d much rather work with you, Harry, than fight you.”

  There was a loud snap as the stylus in Harry’s hand broke. It sounded like a gunshot and caused the Lieutenant to startle.

  Aral Clarke glared at the ruined instrument and then at Harry’s face filled with contempt for him. He was about to say something when Harry stood up and cut across him, his voice taut with anger.

  “I shall do my best to comply with your direction, sir, and you had better place me on report for the wilful destruction of Fleet property.” The ruined stylus landed with enough force in the waste bin to capsize it as he added, “Sir!”

  “You can count on it.” The Lieutenant felt a glow of satisfaction at having provoked Harry into an action he could use to take this upstart down. “You had better learn to think before you speak, and to show some respect to your superiors.”

  “Yes, sir.” Harry’s face was stony. His friends would have recognised the look and known that any further goading would result in someone suffering an injury.

  The Lieutenant’s link chirped not a minute too soon. To Harry’s relief he heard the voice of the Commander demanding the Lieutenant’s immediate presence in his office. Aral Clarke stood up and made a clumsy attempt to defuse things. “I have to run. As you heard, the Commander needs me.” He frowned at Harry’s rigid glare. “I’ll consider your disrespect later. For now, consider yourself on warning. You’re dismissed.”

  “Thank you, sir. I have some work to do on the chart updates, sir. May I carry on?”

  “Yes — yes, of course.” Clarke cast about for a comment to add that would sound commanding and managerial. “Remember, everything must be done through the interface, not through your link to the ship’s AI.”

  Making his way back to his position, Harry dropped into the seat at the chart console with more force than needed.

  For several seconds he sat completely still, his eyes shut as he steadied his temper. He wished he could be a fly on the wall in the Commander’s office right now. He was certain that one of the Warrants had alerted the Commander to the run-in he’d just had with the Lieutenant, thus the reason the Commander asked the Lieutenant to report to his office again so soon after their last meeting. Of course, the Lieutenant would spin the story to make Harry look like a radical insubordinate who had damaged Fleet property — willfully! Lieutenant Clarke would bow and scrape in front of the Commander, and make sure to leave out the bit about his own disrespectful manner, unacceptable in a senior officer.

  Harry sighed and reminded himself that he could only do his best at this task and every task, and not worry about the rest.

  Setting to work, he carried out the updates using the maddeningly slow method Clarke had demanded he use, which took longer than necessary. Around him, several of the watch noticed this and his disgruntled demeanour. They had become used to Harry’s quick work, and wondered what had passed between him and the Lieutenant. Their wondering was dispelled when the Lieutenant scurried into the Navigation Centre. It was obvious he was not happy.

  Pausing to glower at each station in turn, his eye fell on Harry.

  “Good, so you do know how to do it properly, Mr. Heron. I’m glad to see that you are making an effort to avoid unsettling the rest of the team.”

  Abram Winstanley exchanged glances with his partner at the helm position. “Idiot,” he muttered under his breath. “The lad has twice his ability in his little finger.”

  “Something to report, Master?” the Lieutenant asked.

  “No, sir, just asking for a helm check.”

  “Carry on then.” The Lieutenant frowned. He had a feeling that the Master Warrant was not being straight with him, but he couldn’t push it without losing his dignity. He took his seat and mirrored Harry’s screen so he could oversee what Harry was doing. Of course the work was perfect. There wasn’t a single damn thing he could find wrong with Harry’s calculations.

  He would never admit it, even to himself, but Harry frightened him. He was far too competent, and very efficient. To Aral Clark, Harry was a threat that had to be suppressed.

  Abram Winstanley eased into a chair in the Master Warrant Officers’ Mess Lounge. It boasted a casual arrangement of comfortable armchairs and gave the appearance of having external views, though these were in fact display screens. Various trophies and ornamental features gave it a less institutional feel, a home away from home for the senior Warrant Officers on board. He accepted a glass from the android steward.

  “Thanks, Delta Fifteen. I need this.” He sipped and nodded to his companion, another long serving Master Warrant. “Tell you what, Sid, Mister bloody Clarke is a bloody idiot. He’s riding Sub-Lieutenant Heron hard, and he thinks he’s smart.”

  “Ah, yes, good old Clarke, always a problem. You wouldn’t know, of course, who tipped the Commander off that he was having a go at Heron straight after he’d been chewed out by said Commander just a few minutes earlier, now would you, Swain?”

  “Someone ‘accidentally’ left the comlink from the cuddy open to the Commander. I’ve had a word with ComOp Hodges — she was the Duty ComOp.” He winked and took a drink. “I’ll put a week’s credit on the table says Heron saves the Loot�
�s bacon before we finish this deployment — in spite of the grief he’s getting.”

  “Bloody hell. So the Exec must have heard everything. I was in the anteroom. I’m glad I wasn’t the one on the mat!” Sid grinned. “No taker on that wager either. I’d have to be an idiot not to know which of them really has what it takes — and it isn’t the Loot. My money is on how long it takes before Clarke really screws up. That near miss with the mining platform — a few of us wondered if we needed to change underwear after that bit of fun. You’ll have to take the Subbie aside, though, and caution him that if he loses his temper and gives Mr. Clarke what he deserves, he’ll be in a court martial hearing quicker than he can say ‘aye, aye, sir.”

  “Already done. He’s a good lad, is Mr. Heron. I just hope it isn’t something critical when the Loot does screw up. I want to live long enough to rob the pension fund blind.”

  Chapter 2 – Called to Task

  Harry stepped into the Commander’s office wondering if this was the result of yet another complaint against him from Lieutenant Clarke. “You sent for me, sir?”

  “I did.” Commander Anders Nielsen indicated a chair. “Sit down, Harry. I have a task for you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Harry took a seat and waited. He felt nervous just being in the Commander’s presence, but did his best not to let it show. His experience over the last few months on this deployment with Lieutenant Clark had made him cautious, and he had not yet got to know the Commander well enough to judge his mood.

  “Anything you want to say before we begin?”

  The question took Harry by surprise. He looked up and found the piercing eyes of the Commander fixed on his. He shook his head. “Not that I can think of, sir.” A part of him wanted to protest that Mr. Clarke was still goading him, but the warning from Mr. Winstanley, coupled with his experiences in the Gunroom in the Royal Navy of 1801, had taught him that such bullying was to be expected, so he remained silent.