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  The Commander held eye contact, an unusual thing when talking to Harry, he realised. It had taken some time and a little research to understand that, to the Sub-Lieutenant, it was a matter of respect and courtesy not to do this. Prompting him again, the Commander was more specific this time. “Any problems with your present work?”

  Harry’s face went blank, and he went into auto-response mode to keep his cool. “No, sir, I do not believe so.” He hesitated. The Commander seemed to expect more. “I enjoy the navigation and working with the others in the team for the betterment of the Fleet.” It was a classic textbook answer that kept Harry in safe territory.

  The Commander was tempted to challenge that, but he decided not to push it. “I’m glad to hear that, Harry. Now, moving on to why I called you here today. You are aware we have a science officer aboard. We were supposed to deliver him to the Fleet research ship Endurance at Pangaea. But this detour to find the Durham Castle on top of our main objective to gather intel on the Consortium’s deployments means he will be with us a while longer. He has a project to pursue and needs someone to assist him in part of it. I am going to assign you to that work — in addition to your present duties.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Harry felt relief. At least he would be out from under the Lieutenant’s thumb for some of the time. “I believe I have encountered the scientist, Mr. Schulte-Lubeck.” He knew the very tall German scientist by sight, as the man was hard to miss. He seemed to fill any space he was in, and his deep, booming voice did the same. “What does the task entail?”

  “Rasmus is a specialist in explosive materials, and I understand you have some knowledge in that field. His project involves solid fuel propellants for missiles and for some of our surface weapons. I am assigning you to assist him with setting up a laboratory and the necessary analysis systems for his work so that he doesn’t lose any time on his research while we swan about looking for the Durham Castle.”

  “Very good, sir.” Harry was beginning to feel more at ease and allowed himself a brief grin. “Though I fear my expertise in explosives is limited to the powder charges we used on Bellerophon and Spartan some four hundred years ago. My knowledge of the most recent charges is limited.”

  The Commander smiled in response. “Then this is an opportunity for you to learn more. Though it wouldn’t surprise me if Rasmus doesn’t pick your brain about the stuff you’re familiar with.”

  Harry entered the space allocated to their scientist passenger and paused to look about him. It contained several working surfaces and a number of interesting instruments he couldn’t identify. It also held a rather robust chamber, the purpose of which he could not imagine. About the size of a small cupboard, it squatted in the middle of the compartment with a complex cone-shaped chimney atop it. He spotted the tall and rather spare figure of the scientist rising from his workbench, and advanced to meet him.

  Rasmus Schulte-Lubeck seemed to move in an uncoordinated way, yet a bit like a cat, knowing exactly where each part of his body was and avoiding contact with equipment and furniture. His large hands drew Harry’s attention, and he wondered how such enormous appendages could handle the delicate instruments and sensitive materials scattered about the workspace. Then he thought of Ferghal, his best friend since childhood, who was also commissioned aboard the Daring, a tall and very solidly built Irishman, and his ability as a mechanical engineer to work with small instruments, wiring and equipment that required precise applications.

  “Mr. Schulte-Lubeck?” Harry began. “Sub-Lieutenant Heron, sir. I am assigned to assist you, though I am not sure what you would need from me.”

  “Ah, yes.” Rasmus smiled a welcome. “I am looking forward to working with you — your ability to speak directly to the computer will be most helpful — and I want to discuss with you some aspects of the manufacture of the coarse black powder your guns used.”

  “I shall be happy to offer what little knowledge I have on that subject, sir.” Harry returned the smile with a small inclination of his head. “Though I confess I am mystified by your interest in such a poor explosive when compared to those available to us now.”

  Rasmus grinned. “You may be surprised — the method of manufacture and the source of some of the ingredients is of great interest.” He waved a hand to indicate the compartment. “Welcome to our laboratory — and you must call me Rasmus. We do not need to be formal here.”

  Harry returned the grin. Instinctively he liked this strange giant of a man who never seemed to be still. “Very good, sir . . . I mean, Rasmus. What would you have me do first?”

  “Your Commander says you have some special ability with the AI network. I need these references available on the terminal on demand. Can you arrange them so that I can access them immediately?” He handed Harry a tablet with a seemingly endless list of reference material.

  Harry nodded. “I can try, sir — Rasmus. It should be possible. I can ask the ship to respond to a voice request to produce any or all of these documents for you.” He frowned as he skim-read the list. “I’m sure she understands German, though I’m afraid I do not.”

  Rasmus thought a moment. “How will you get the network to do this if you cannot read or speak German?”

  Harry smiled. “Actually, I talk to her all the time, but not in the normal manner. I shall just let her read this list through my eyes, and Daring will know what you want.”

  “Daring? Do you mean the ship?”

  “Yes, the ship.” Harry realised this could be difficult to explain, as few people knew that the ship had a personality. “She has artificial intelligence, as you know, but it seems to me that she has become a living entity as well.” Harry paused, not sure how to explain this next bit. Then he took the plunge. “I have come to know the ship well — and I have felt on occasion that she is alive.”

  “She?” Rasmus cleared his throat and looked flustered. “I see.” He frowned. “I wonder if she would speak directly with me.”

  “I don’t see why not.” Harry smiled. “I shall ask.” He linked to the ship. “Daring, have you been following this conversation?” He had only recently discovered that the Fleet ships followed a modified form of the Laws of Robotics established by someone called Isaac Asimov in the twentieth century. In a recent discussion with the ship, Harry had pointed out that he needed privacy occasionally, which was why he asked this question now.

  “No, Harry. That would be rude, as you have told me before. What do you require of me?”

  “I need you to make the references on this tablet available to my companion, Mr. Schulte-Lubeck. He speaks German. Is there a way you can respond to his requests by vocal command?”

  “Yes, but it will require the use of a vocal interface used for normal voice commands.” The ship paused. “I have activated the vocal interface used for the environment and view screen commands. Please request your friend to speak to me so that I may adjust to his vocal frequencies.”

  “I shall do so.” Harry turned to Rasmus. “Daring says she needs you to speak to her. To communicate with you, she will use the view screen or the interface that is normally used for environmental control. Please address her as Daring, and she will respond to you.”

  “I see.” Rasmus nodded. “Will she speak German?”

  “I expect so, sir. After all, she is a Fleet ship and programmed to provide information in all Confederate languages.” Harry focussed on the display and let the list scroll rapidly. He could feel the ship reading it through his eyes. “I believe she has all the items you requested.”

  “Already? Well, let me try it.” Rasmus felt a little silly as he said, “Good afternoon Daring, alles okay?”

  “Ja danke, Herr Schulte-Lubeck, mir geht es gut. Ich habe die gesuchten Veröffentlichungen gefunden. Was soll ich als nächtes tun?”

  Rasmus blinked. “Dankeschön!” To Harry he said, “It works perfectly.”

  “Good morning, James,” Niamh LeStrange greeted her brother as the holographic image
steadied. “I’ve a letter from Harry — he seems to be enjoying his new deployment on the Daring.”

  “So it seems.” James Heron smiled. As ever Harry was editing the letters he sent to Niamh, making sure they were always upbeat and contained nothing to worry her. His own letter from Harry had seemed reticent about some aspects, but the Admiral had been able to read between the lines based on his knowledge of Harry and the people he was serving with. “I believe they’re on escort duty now.”

  Niamh frowned. “Is that so? Well, I hope it’s not into enemy space.”

  “It’s on a regular convoy route.” He stalled the objection he could see coming. “So it should be pretty routine. There have been no reports of any attacks in that area.” He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll get a full account from Harry — with paintings — when he gets back to their regular patrol base.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” She nodded, mollified. “But I have a feeling he doesn’t always tell me everything.” She grinned. “It’s really rather funny the way he still thinks ‘ladies’ should be shielded from the gory details of some of his adventures.”

  James laughed. “Yes, but perhaps he knows your reaction to some of it all too well.”

  She nodded. “Probably.” She changed the subject. “Now, the main reason I called is to ask if you intend to be at Danny’s graduation ceremony from Fleet College. I hear he’s been posted to the Vengeance. He’s thrilled, although he really wanted to get a posting to Daring so that he could be on the same ship as Harry and Ferghal.”

  “Yes, I know. I had to ‘do the Admiral’ on him when he bombarded me with appeals to pull strings.” He grinned. “Poor lad, I think I’m in the dog box there, but he’ll be fine on Vengeance. Ben Curran is her Captain, and he knows Danny and will keep an eye on him.”

  “Well, at least it’s a starship and not one of your smaller ships.” She smiled. “And he’ll get over it.”

  The Admiral reflected that his sister, like most civilians, equated a ship’s size with safety. He suppressed a smile as he answered, “Yes, of course. He’s still technically a bit young to be sent aloft, but then Harry is technically well below the legal age for his rank. And all of them are at least four hundred years too old to be in the service at all.”

  “Yes.” She laughed. “But they are the most sprightly and youngest quadruple centenarians I’ve ever seen. Guessing how they will respond to anything is always a challenge. I hear Ferghal has taken up unarmed combat as a sport.”

  “So I heard.” The Admiral grinned. “But I hear he still has trouble striking a balance between sport and battle. A few people are reluctant to get on a mat with him.” His smile widened in pride. “And Harry is fencing — took the trophy in the last Fleet competition — though his style is death or glory, I understand.”

  “So I saw,” said Niamh with a sigh. “I was at the semi-finals, and he scared the life out of me when he disarmed his opponent. It really looked as if he would run through the poor fellow with his sword.” She paused, a frown creasing her brow. “He’s our only family, you know, and I hope you’re keeping an eye on him. I would never forgive you or the Fleet if we were to lose them. He may be our twelve times great uncle, but he, Ferghal and Danny are like sons to me, and I’ll wager you feel the same way.”

  “Midshipman Gunn reporting, sir.” Danny stood to attention as he reported his arrival to the Officer of the Watch on the NECS Vengeance. He couldn’t help recalling his arrival aboard the Vanguard with Harry and Ferghal when they were transported through time from a sea battle with the French in 1804 to the year 2204. He had been a terrified boy, his only experience being a powder monkey in the Royal Navy. Now, he was a newly commissioned Midshipman, but in some ways he felt just as frightened —he was merely better at hiding it now. He wished Harry or Ferghal were here to welcome him.

  “Take a seat, Mr. Gunn.” The Lieutenant smiled a welcome. “I’m Lieutenant Erikson, Weapons Department. I gather you are familiar with our sister ship, the Vanguard.”

  “Yes, sir,” Danny replied. “We — that is Sub-Lieutenants Heron and O’Connor an’ me — found ourselves on her four years ago.” He blushed as he recalled. “It was pretty terrifying — but Mr. Heron saw us right.”

  “Rear Admiral Heron? I believe he is a relative. Is that true?”

  “No, sir, Mister, I mean Sub-Lieutenant Heron.” Danny reddened with embarrassment. It felt like he was already fumbling things. “He stood up for us and got us out of Johnstone’s lab on Pangaea. The Admiral’s sort of like our father now, but back then, he was the Captain, and we didn’t know he would be on our side. We thought we’d been caught by the French when we landed on the Vanguard out of the middle of nowhere surrounded by all those men in strange suits.” Danny cringed inwardly. He was talking too much in his nervousness, a habit he had yet to restrain.

  The Lieutenant suppressed a smile. “I’m sure that was quite an experience. Well, Mr. Gunn, you’ve successfully passed out of Fleet College, you’re a Midshipman now, and all that is behind you. You’ll be working in Weapons most of the time, but you’ll also be on a roster as the Captain’s go-for. You’ll have your quarters in the Gunroom, and your duties are in this chip.” He consulted his screen. “I see you’re a musician. I hope you’ll join the ship’s orchestra and perhaps one or more of the other music groups.”

  Danny’s nervousness receded and his face brightened. “Oh, yes, sir. I have my instruments with me.” He grinned impishly. “Aunt Niamh insisted — it was her condition on my joining the Fleet.”

  “What instruments do you play, Mr. Gunn?”

  “The flute, keyboard and the Irish harp, sir, and I’m right good at it if I don’t say so myself.” Danny grinned again. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Ferghal studied the circuit board, one reportedly replaced at the ship’s last maintenance overhaul, and now showing fault signals. It seemed in order, but he had a nagging feeling that something was not right. The feeling was confirmed when the ship identified it as the source of a problem. He studied the schematic again, traced the circuit, and identified each component. There — he found it. One of the processors was in the wrong place. Running another check, he made a discovery.

  The board had been modified, yet there was no record of the modification in the maintenance log. Isolating the unit, he slipped it out and installed a new one in its place. He used his neural link to the ship’s AI to determine that all was now functioning correctly. Satisfied that it was, he logged the exchange and the fault.

  As an afterthought, he told the computer, “Daring, please inform me if there is any further modification or anomaly in this circuitry or any other.”

  “As you wish, Ferghal.”

  Ferghal packed his tools and closed the panel, then sealed it and added a tell-tale to alert him to any further tampering. He made his way to Engineering Control in search of his Lieutenant.

  “Good, you’ve finished.” Lieutenant George was brisk. “The system reports normal function is restored. What was the problem?”

  “This, sir.” Ferghal unpacked the board and held it out for the Lieutenant’s inspection. “The C858 processor had been replaced with a different component. I’ve changed it back again. But there’s no record of its replacement in the maintenance logs or of any access to that unit.”

  The Lieutenant studied the board. “Damn, that’s almost impossible to spot — how’d you do it?”

  Ferghal hesitated. Like Harry, he had been trained from an early age to be observant and to notice things that were out of place. He had difficulty understanding why his colleagues and companions couldn’t do the same thing. He considered how best to explain. “It didn’t look right when I checked the board against the schematic, so I went through it component by component, and that” — he indicated the rogue processor — “is not correct. When I checked with the ship, she confirmed it.”

  The Lieutenant paused. “Okay. At least we’ve found this one. I bette
r inform the Lieutenant Commander. He won’t be happy about what you’ve turned up, but it will move you to the top of his star list.” He smiled when Ferghal flashed a grin.

  Consortium Brigadier Newton surveyed the alien city through her vision enhancing optics. “These cities are unoccupied? The locals — these Rottweilers, as they’re called, interesting term — don’t live in them? What do the scientists say?”

  “The Rotties don’t live in them, ma’am. Fact is no one has been able to figure out where they live, other than it seems to be in burrows somewhere. They have been seen entering and leaving what we thought were mines.” The Major indicated the vehicle scanner currently showing nothing but interference. “That’s all we get when we try to scan them. The tech geeks think it is some alien technology hidden in the cities, and they’re trying to access it. Trouble is, as soon as they go into one, the Rotties arrive and chase them out.”

  “That explains why I have Dr. Ramswiki demanding we mount a seizure operation on one, the largest she can find, of course.” She paused. “I don’t like not being able to scan them. I think we’ll have to support the doctor and see what they can find.”

  Chapter 3 — Clarke Does It Again

  Captain Aisha Maia of the NECS Daring studied her latest orders with a feeling of frustation. Another set of searches to be undertaken for the missing ship separated from her convoy in an area where the Consortium had recently tightened its grip. At least Daring would have Diamond and a heavy cruiser in support. They’d probably need it.

  Captain Maia gestured to her Executive Commander to take a seat. “Anders, we’ve a fix on Durham Castle. Fleet finally got the data from the convoy as to when and where she dropped out of transit. She hasn’t shown up anywhere else, so she may have a drive problem, or something else has failed. According to the convoy Commodore, she reported having trouble with her nav system.”