“As you were, Ensign. Carry on.”
“Ye…aye, aye, sir,” she gulped.
He turned sharply and walked on, deliberately not looking back. He imagined her stumbling away in relief from the unpredictable senior officer. He remembered doing the same when he was a mere Ensign. That had been a long time ago. At the thought, he checked the chronometer on his perscomp. It was getting late. There was nothing for it. He had to go home.
Curiously the incident with the cadet made him feel much better. She had been in the museum, and she had been suitably chastened at running into him. There had been none of the arrogance all too many modern cadets showed. Nowadays you had to be careful in your dealings with junior ranks. It wasn’t just the legalism that infested everything in the Confederation. The navy was an all-volunteer force, and had to compete for recruits with a huge industrial base and a large merchant marine, both of which offered far more lucrative terms for experienced link jockeys. A spiralling number of bright youngsters that joined the navy all dedicated and starry-eyed were leaving after one contract for better jobs elsewhere. The navy couldn’t afford to drive any more of them away by overdoing the discipline.
He had never been overly tempted to follow a civilian career himself, and he was probably too old to start one now, even if he had the aptitude to do a start up of his own. He knew he lacked the entrepreneurial spirit so highly regarded in the Confederation, and he wouldn’t want to work for someone else. Besides, after the incident at Verdrag he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to employ him, certainly none of the larger companies anyway. Hiring Jack Courage would mean bad publicity, and companies were very sensitive to that kind of thing these days. His appointment would no doubt be dubbed ‘highly controversial’ by the media, conveniently overlooking that it was mostly their intense interest that was making it so. In his experience something only became ‘highly controversial’ because enough people said it was.
It wasn’t very busy at this time of day, and no one else was waiting at the transport node. He did not have to wait long before a carriage pulled up. The door of the robot vehicle squeaked when it opened. There were no other passengers. The interior was a little worse for wear, the upholstery slightly frayed and the plastisteel shell discoloured in places. That didn’t matter to Jack Courage. It wouldn’t have mattered to any traditionally minded Courager. Who cared about aesthetics? The thing worked. That was enough.
The carriage set off. He entered his destination with a few flicks on his perscomp, and the system automatically debited a modest fee. Courage settled back as the carriage set off. Through the transparent plastisteel he watched the museum slowly recede from view. Would it ever even be worthwhile coming back?
Chapter 3.
Just outside the Founder’s museum, Courage Asteroid.
Ensign Josie Tallion peered out from a side street just across from the museum. At last she let her pent up breath out as she saw the man she had bumped into climb into a transit carriage and be whisked away, hopefully out of her life forever. Colliding with an admiral was not something a newly minted officer in the Courage Asteroid Navy could lightly dismiss - particularly one without any political influence. The man had seemed unconcerned with the incident, even vaguely amused, but you never could tell. The collective wisdom of everyone navy she had ever met was that admirals were dangerous and unpredictable beings that were best left well alone. The form had been drummed into her from day one. “Face straight forward, don’t know, and keep your expression blank. With any luck they won’t notice you.”
Josie took a few deep gulps of air. Then as calmly as she could she reran the episode in her memory. The incident had been minor, surely. There wouldn’t be anything to it, would there? She couldn’t think of anything that could get her into real trouble. He had seemed all right. He hadn’t berated her, or threatened her, or anything like that.
But then, again, you never could tell. One word from so mighty a creature as an admiral would be enough to earn her a reprimand, maybe even a charge, and that could lead to removal from link warrior training, and maybe even a deeper ‘look’ into her background and even her eligibility to be resident on Courage Asteroid. It was possible. It could happen.
She noticed a coffee bar across the street. She had some time, and a seat and a hot drink would give her a chance to relax her nerves. Besides, she needed to reorder the notes she had made in the museum. She hurried over to the entrance and walked into what turned out to be a rather pretentious little establishment with prices that made her eyes bulge. The effete man behind the counter clearly considered her beneath his usual clientele, which made her only more determined to stop here. It was only after she had ordered that she figured out that provoking that very reaction might have been the main reason for his disdain.
She gingerly navigated her way through several closely packed tables whilst at the same time clutching her files and carryall and holding on to a large cup of whipped coffee. She managed to make it to an empty seat and set her drink down just before some of the files treacherously slipped out from under her arm and spread spectacularly on the floor. In scrambling to retrieve them her carryall slipped off her shoulder and nudged a rather portly woman at a neighbouring table.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
The woman, one of a group of three middle-aged matriarchs, gave a pointed “tut” of disapproval. Trying not to redden, Josie secured the errant carryall and piled the files into an untidy heap onto her table. Inevitably the cup was jolted. Rivulets of coffee immediately began trickling down the sides, where they congealed into a mass of sticky brown driblets. Josie’s treacherous bag slipped off her shoulder again. She just managed to catch it before it struck the portly woman again.
“I’m so sorry. I do apologise.”
Uttering two whole phrases was a mistake. The woman’s pursed lips wrinkled, her eyes widened and she examined Josie much more closely. Josie knew that look all too well. It used to be because of her appearance, but she’d let her hair grow out and as her wardrobe of dull monotone one piece suits had worn out, she had replaced them with simple but very typical Courage styles. Unfortunately accents were much more durable than clothes. Now she only got the look when she spoke. Spoke like a Callistoan. An outsider. A foreigner.
Couragers, like all Belters, prized individuality above all other characteristics, but only if it was within the context of a team - specifically their team. The constant clashes with other powers in the middle solar system had created a suspicion of outsiders. Even the various interrelationships between Courage and the other six members of the Virtue Confederation could be tense. Internal Confederation politics were a constant dance of posturing, sycophancy and intimidation. In those circumstances interactions with someone from a minor client power, one that bordered on being a colony, were hardly likely to be smooth and straightforward. She had eventually learned to ignore the veiled suspicion in people’s eyes. The occasional patronising attitude was more difficult.
She managed to sit down with no more of her baggage going astray. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the portly woman on the neighbouring table lean over to her companions and mutter something. The other two, eyes gleaming, leaned forward to catch the tasty titbit. Slag it! Why did Callistoan accents have to be so very persistent? Five years and it hadn’t softened in the slightest!
She felt her cheeks begin to redden, and her pulse begin to climb, and fought to remain calm. She distracted herself by starting to arrange her files into some sort of order. First she selected the notes she had made on the last piloting class. A quick thumb over the corner and the thin flexible scroll lit with electronic life, triggered by her bio identification. Schematics, pictures and text appeared. All the time she was careful not to look at the gossiping group at the next table.
The course seemed overly complex, particularly as so much of it was procedure and routines, as opposed to actual technical requirements. What would happen if she forgot one little element of one minor sequence? Would the
y really fail her? It wasn’t as if the Virtue Confederation navy was blessed with a massive surplus of link warriors. They surely couldn’t fail too many recruits. But then, Instructor Mohan’s sharp words at their induction floated unbidden into her head. “You might have heard we are short of people. Wrong. We are short of good people. We have standards. If you can’t meet them, if you can’t hack it, then you are gone, no matter what the psych tests say about aptitude. They don’t count squat to me! I want to see you do it!” The words had reverberated through her head for days.
Rattled, she took a good, deep gulp of the coffee. It was actually quite good, if still not worth the money. However she had forgotten about the sticky mess on the side of the cup. The treacherous chemical quickly transferred itself onto her fingers. In the next thirty seconds, in spite of furious dabbing, in quick succession it managed to get onto her face, her suit, the table, and, inevitably, the vidscrolls. When she stood up to better dab at her possessions, she noticed some had even managed to get onto her shoes. How had that happened?
There was a sudden loud tapping noise on the window. Startled, she looked up and saw Celene D’Abro, her best friend at the academy, waving wildly at her. Dear bright, bubbly Celene! It was impossible to stay unhappy around her! She felt her own lips begin to twitch upwards in response to Celene’s mock-silly thrashing and lopsided grin. Celene motioned to the door and then started towards it.
Josie managed to clear some space at the table just in time for Celene’s grand entrance, and without any more coffee mishaps. As always, she felt a faint stab of envy. Celene was one of those people who managed to effortlessly look good all the time. Petite and pretty, she even managed to make the lumpy Cadet undress uniform into a bold fashion statement. Josie had soon realised that the ditzy demeanour and butterfly mind were only a front. Underneath the giddy extroverted behaviour Celene had a grim determination and a fierce intelligence. She was also a Courager through and through. Josie often wondered why they were so close.
Celene exploded into the situation like a demolition charge. She gave Josie a very loud halloo, and when one of the staff approached her disarmed the fellow immediately by launching into an involved discussion of the merits of the various brands of coffee on sale. Having decided on something called a “virgin mazagran”, she bulldozed her way to Josie’s table, dropping observations and advice on all and sundry as she did.
The hen party at the next table favoured her with multiple frowns and shakes of the head. Celene either didn’t see them or ignored them, and blundered on, intense as always. Josie knew it wouldn’t have mattered if she had noticed the casual rudeness of the three women. She would simply have laughed at them.
“Hiya Jose! What you doing here? This is a bit upmarket isn’t it?” Celene pulled up a chair, forcing one of the matriarchs at the next table to adjust her own seat. Oblivious to the woman’s irritation, Celene plonked herself down and began to chatter away.
“That last lecture was soooo boring – and I’m sure we covered it all in basic training. Hey look! New carryall – the decoration on the top is just to die for! Have you done the assignment on gating yet? I have. I tried it out on the simulators last week. I kind of got the hang of it, but it’s not easy. It takes loads of time, and it only works against one attack at a time anyway. How useful is that going be?” Her face collapsed into a frown. “Are you ok Josie?”
“I was just wondering which point to answer first.”
“Oh you are so slow!” Celene grinned, and settled. “OK. Did you attend the lecture?”
“Yes. You’re right. It was tedious.”
“Assignment on gating?”
“Done it.”
“And?”
“Awful and not useful.”
Celene picked up her carryall.
“LOVE the colours.”
Celene dropped the carryall to the floor and held up her coffee cup.
“Nearest place to the museum.”
Celene frowned. “The Founders museum? What were you doing there?”
“Research for advanced Systems Engineering.”
“What’s the museum got to do with that?”
“I was gathering examples of improvisation.”
Celene’s frown deepened. “Sheesh…I don’t know why you bothered signing up for advanced Systems Engineering.”
Josie twirled the hair on one side of her head with a finger, an unconscious habit she had when nervous or preoccupied.
“Instructor Mohan suggested it.”
“’Suggested’ is the operative word! You didn’t have to agree. He’s got you on, what, four Majors now? It’s too much Jose. You can’t be doing all of them justice.”
Josie twirled her hair faster. “I know. I don’t know why I agreed to that. I guess in the end I don’t think it’s enough just to use the stuff. I want to know how it all works too.”
Celene wrinkled her face. “You’re a glutton for punishment. Learning enough to be able to use it is more than enough for me - especially when it involves gating.”
“You’ll get through it. You’ve got a real knack for countermeasures.”
Celene took a sip of her coffee. “You think so? Well, perhaps I do. But I’m still kind of hoping to specialise in Sensors. I reckon it'll be easier to get a good billet. There’s more need for Sensors specialists, and they get more duty.”
“Hit them before they hit you eh?”
“Exacta-monto!”
They chatted on. The time flew by, and Josie’s worries – her identity, her exams, the unknown admiral, were all soon forgotten. Celene was very good for her morale. It was only when she saw the last of the matriarchs march out of the bar that Josie realised that the light was beginning to fade.
“Oh…shift end in ten minutes! We ought to be going.”
Celene gulped down the dregs of her now cold coffee. “Mmm…guess so. I got a tutorial first thing tomorrow anyway.”
They paid the exorbitant bill and joined the change of shift traffic on the walkways outside. It was noticeably darker than when Josie had entered the coffee bar. Very few living areas on Courage had visual access to space, and the sun was small this far out in the Solar System. Nonetheless, the multitude of artificial lights high above them were slowly dimming. Humans were diurnal animals. Body clocks expected rhythms – night/day, summer/winter – and so Courage Asteroid Life Support provided it artificially. The lights burned brighter or dimmer as “day” proceeded, and even released bluer light in the "morning" and a more yellowish shade at "night", as Human brains only thought right. It was a little touch that Josie appreciated. Straightened Callisto had skimped on such details. “Night” felt so much more real here.
Another difference was the excellent public mass transit system. Courage Asteroid was hardly a vast place but an efficient net of monorails criss-crossing the colony enabled people to move from one end of it to the other quickly and comfortably. The system was heavily used but then there were a lot of carriages. Waiting for one would not take long. The two ensigns reached a transit node and were chatting affably when Celene suddenly started and pointed behind Josie.
“Hey, what’s going on over there?”
Josie turned. There was a small public square beside the transit node, a chance meeting place of several walkway intersections, used for rendezvous and trysts. A small statue rose at its centre, surrounded by an artistically produced cascade of streamed light. Two people were clambering up on top of the monument. A growing knot of passers-by was gathering around them, whooping and hollering. As she watched the two figures reached the top of the statue and joined hands.
“I think that might just be a Shouting,” said Josie.
“Really? Oh good!” cried Celene. “Come on, I love a good Shouting!”
“What about the time?”
“Oh it’ll be alright – it doesn't matter if we miss the next carriage! There’ll be another along soon.”
Celene promptly took off at a fast jog, forcing Josie to hurry to
keep up with her. At the plinth the male of the duo, a very tall fellow with a wiry build and coarse curly hair, was trying to give a speech over a rapidly growing and increasingly vocal throng. They were giving him a hard time, whooping and cheering. Calls of “Speak up!” and “Come on, are you ashamed?” seemed to rise above the chatter. Stood slightly lower down was a slender woman with shoulder length blonde hair and a rather simpering expression. Josie pointed her out to Celene.
“I think she might struggle with this.”
“Hah! Don’t you believe it! I bet she’s tougher than he is.”
The curly-haired young man was trying to wave the noise down. It wasn’t having any effect, so he used his free hand to form a cup around his mouth instead. “I call on you all now to witness,” he bellowed, his voice cracking, “that I, Radge Molenor…”
“Never heard of you!” came from the rabble, suddenly loud. There was general laughter.
“…that I, Radge Molenor, take this girl…”
“LADY!” came a dozen shouts.
“…lady, Yutka Bihari, to be my…my…wife.” His voice cracked severely on the last word, but it hardly mattered. He was mostly drowned out by cheers from the multitude. The female half of the duo clambered up higher onto the plinth, her beau helping her.
It took some time for the commotion to die down and she could be heard. Josie chanced a look at Celene. She was clapping and whistling and stamping her feet with the best of them, her face flushed with enjoyment.
“And I, Yutka Bihari,” in spite of her appearance her voice was deep and strong, “do call on all present to witness that I take this man, Radge Molenor, to be my husband!”
Applause. Cheering. Cries of “we so do” from the more traditionally minded. The two clambered down to handshakes and backslaps, and more than a few ribald suggestions. Josie, a product of reserved Callisto, pursed her lips at the casual intrusion. Celene laughed, but at least did not add remarks of her own.
The Jovian Sweep (Asteroid Scrabble Book 1) Page 3
