He sat down, grabbed a scriber, and began to add to the copious notes he had already made. Deployments, search patterns, contingency plans – the list of things to do was never ending. He took a long meditative gulp of strong coffee.
The door alarm pinged. He pressed accept. Cromarty and Prince trooped in and saluted.
"Greetings Commanders. Is it time for the conference?"
Cromarty slung out some vidscrolls. "Yes sir. As per your orders, our military attache to Ganymede left on a small transport two days ago and has closed enough to make a conversation not too laggy." She handed a vidscroll over to Courage. "Lieutenant-Commander Cossha sir."
"Thank you. Tune us in."
Prince whispered a command through his perscomp and a few seconds later the main vidscreen activated, showing a rather corpulent young man in a well-cut uniform.
Courage leaned forward. "Lieutenant-Commander Cossha, thank you for coming part way to us for this conversation. I appreciate the inconvenience you have suffered, but I needed an up-to-date appreciation of the local situation from someone with first-hand experience."
There was a pause while the message reached across the immensity of space. Cossha gave a little bow. "I am pleased to be able to serve sir."
"So, could you outline the state of local opinion?”
They saw Cossha shifting uneasily. He was obviously unused to addressing senior officers. Hardly surprising, stuck out on Ganymede on his own for the last two years. “It’s already common knowledge that extra Virtue warships have arrived and that more are on their way. It won’t take long for the reason why to hit the streets. Some of the speculation on Solarnet is already getting too close to the truth.” He paused. "As to the likely reaction, the natives are both independent and ambivalent sir. Most still accept our presence, but they have also started to resent it.”
He shifted in his chair. “We helped them back in '63, and there’s a lot of Virtue money tied up in their economies. We are held in no little regard, and that guarantees a lot of unofficial support. But the downside is that if we once lose that prestige…well, we might never regain it. A military reverse would be a serious blow.”
Courage pursed his lips. “In your opinion how solid is their support?”
A minute later Cossha got the message. He looked like he was about to shrug, thought better of it, and settled for a grimace instead. “I have confirmed they will give us technical support – sell us fuel and supplies, give us docking facilities and so on. If the fighting starts to affect them though, well, I don’t know where it will end.”
Courage paused. The man should have learned more than this. “There is a nationalist insurgency group in the Jovian system, is there not?”
Cossha straightened when he heard that. This was obviously something he was on surer ground with. “Yes sir, the JIN – ‘Jupiter Independence Now’. They started on Ganymede about twenty years back, and spread out from there to all of the Jovian satellites. They have always been more vocal than numerous, but they are gathering strength. Concentration on the war effort has meant fewer resources being allocated to combat their influence. An attack on any of the Jovian satellites is bound to strengthen their arguments for distancing the entire system from Belt politics.”
Cromarty motioned. "Permission to speak sir?" Courage nodded. Cromarty turned to the image of the attache. “This JIN organisation - are they being backed by the Triangle League?”
Cossha did shrug this time. “We’ve never been able to prove a link, but there’s no doubt their agenda suits the League very well.”
Courage rubbed his chin. "Have we not managed to penetrate the JIN?"
Cossha looked even more uncomfortable. "We have managed to insert several agents into the organisation, but none of them are very senior."
Courage somehow to not sigh. "Very well Lieutenant-Commander. Download all information on the situation to us, and then return to Ganymede. Keep us appraised of the political situation. If you need muscle let me know."
A few seconds later Cossha saluted, and the vidscreen went blank. Cromarty pursed her lips. “Not an ideal situation,” she muttered.
"No," admitted Courage, "but no worse than I expected. It ties into that geopolitical report. Anything less than a definite victory is going to be construed as weakness by the local insurrectionists."
"Which would embolden them," said Prince. "Maybe even enough to convince people that it is possible to oust the Confederation."
"Right," said Courage. "There's not much point in beating the Trigs if we lose control of the Jovian system anyway."
No one had anything to say to that. "Alright," said Courage at last. "Go through the download Cossha sends and see if there is anything useful to be gleaned from it."
The two saluted and left. Courage thoughtfully got another coffee. His mouth felt suddenly very dry.
Chapter 11.
Light Depot Ship Belofte, Outreach proving grounds.
Instructor Mohan strode up and down, his eyes darting over the double line of cadets. He didn’t look happy. But then, he rarely did.
He stopped in front of Josie. “Ensign Tallion! What kind of turn out do you call this? Your uniform is crumpled. Your shoes are filthy! You look like the lookout for a Tyndali brothel!”
Mohan quelled a chorus of muffled titters with an irate glance and a roar.
“Shut up! You’re not much better, any of you!”
Mohan circled Josie slowly.
“Do you have a problem with your laundry bills cadet?”
“Yes sir.”
More suppressed giggling from the grey-clad rabble. Mohan brought his face close to Josie’s.
“Are you trying to be funny cadet?”
Josie flicked her eyes from the approved position of straight ahead and looked directly into Mohan’s eyes. “No sir. I am not.”
Even in the easy-going, all-volunteer, contract-locked Virtue Confederation Navy defying military practice was a dangerous pastime. But then honesty was a virtue, even if there was no asteroid of that name. She held Mohan’s gaze. Miracle of miracles, a faint flicker appeared in the hard eyes.
Mohan about-faced. “Alright cadet, you’re up first. Flight bay one.”
“Aye, aye sir.”
Josie came to attention and marched out, trying to ignore the goggle-eyed looks from her classmates. She glimpsed Celene mouthing the words ‘you should have said’. Yes, she should have. Celene would have helped, but it was embarrassing always having to ask.
Josie inwardly sighed. Stupid pride - she’d gotten a credit statement that morning, panicked, and tried to do the laundry herself. Her inexperienced hands had failed dismally. Well, if any of the previous sessions had been anything to go by, a turn on the sensor simulators would leave her struggling too much to feel sorry for herself.
And so it proved. Today’s exercise involved spotting and sorting contacts as quickly as possible. It wasn’t easy. The contacts appeared at random intervals and locations. She knew there would be extra marks for correct identifications, but that took precious seconds and concentration, which meant there was more chance of missing one, and that would lose far more marks.
It didn’t help that the link didn’t feel right. She tried to concentrate, but there was an odd, slightly disorientating sensation, whenever she moved her head. She hoped all that meant was that the link wasn’t quite fitted correctly. She tried to banish the insecurity. Thinking she was no good was a sure-fire way of making sure she wouldn’t be.
Two blips appeared, widely separated. She tagged the left one, but missed the other on her first attempt. A third blip appeared directly ahead, momentarily distracting her, so she missed the second blip again, and by the time she had tagged it the third blip had disappeared.
What to do? She could either concentrate on finding it, or she could investigate the two she had already spotted. If she put more sensor power into re-acquiring the third contact, she might lose track on the two she did have tagged. But if she concentra
ted on the two contacts she did have, the third one might pop up again close enough to be counted as a “potential danger.” If that happened the simulator might mark her as virtually “dead” - a very hefty minus on the test.
One thing she certainly should do was report the contacts. She mentally transferred the locations to the virtual representation of the rest of the drone crew. It took longer than it should have. The botched id must have made the simulators decide the drone pilot would not respond as decisively. She had to find the contact she had lost! She threw more sensor power into scanning its last known position, hoping she still had enough to maintain track on the other two.
Nothing. The mysterious third contact had disappeared. One of the two she did have tagged started to jink, its acceleration fluctuating. She had to pay more attention to maintain contact. It was hard – much harder than it should have been. The slagging thing must be using wide dispersal jamming! She adjusted the sensor sweeps to compensate. Luckily the other one didn’t seem to be doing anything.
Where was that third contact?
She widened her sensor sweeps. Still nothing. She mentally cursed. She had been concentrating so hard she had missed the signal that indicated the virtual pilot was turning the drone. She scrambled to alter the sensor field. The troublesome contact wobbled as she was forced to divert power and attention from it. She couldn’t put much more effort into finding the missing contact without losing at least one of the two she was holding.
Then the third contact suddenly popped up. It was directly ahead and very, very close. Surprised, she automatically put all her concentration on it. The other two contacts promptly disappeared. The sensor sweep was intense at this range, and it instantly revealed a studded and pitted object, rolling slowly. Oh no. It was a slagging meteor!
She sent her appreciation to the virtual pilot. Another mistake, she was getting rattled. A meteor was no threat, the two missing contacts might be. She redirected her sensor sweeps, and one appeared immediately. There was a sudden flash, and it disappeared, together with half of her sensor net. What the…oh slag. That had been an energy discharge! Her virtual drone had been marked as damaged by weapon fire. She tried to locate the hostile, but the sensor array was heavily degraded. Attuned to Systems Engineering, she instinctively checked to see if it could be repaired, but the virtual simulation didn’t go that far.
The distraction was lethal. She just made out another flash, and the simulation abruptly came to an end. Her virtual drone had been virtually destroyed. In much the same way as her career. The link collapsed, and she was back on Belofte.
An instructor wordlessly helped her remove the awkward hand links, and then stood back and began making entries onto a vidscroll while she slipped off the remaining connections herself.
“Are you feeling alright?”
The woman was looking at her oddly. “What? Oh, yes, I’m fine. Umm…when will we know the results?”
“You will be notified eight hours after the assessment is completed.” The woman gave a tight grin. “It might be some time – you’re the first to finish.”
“First?”
The woman returned to scribbling on her vidscroll and replied without looking up.
“Please leave the flight deck.”
Josie wobbled as she reached for the door.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yes. Just a little tired.” A little devastated more like.
Numbly she trudged back to her dorm. First out! At least she would be spared meeting her classmates. She didn’t know if she could take that right now. She sat on her bunk and tried to make sense of it all.
It was a very long time before a few cadets drifted back. Celene usually gossiped with the best of them after a test, but this time she hadn’t hung around. She burst into their dorm and gave a plaintive cry.
“Jose! Why didn’t you ask me for help?”
“I know. I know. I should have.” She turned and looked at her friend. “It’s just that I owe you so much already.”
Celene gave her a hug. “Oh, don't be silly!”
“I know – and I botched the exam too.”
“What?”
“I finished way before anyone else.”
Celene struggled with negativity. “Well, I find that you always do better than you think when you’re sure you’ve done badly,” she said at last.
“Celene, I finished a LONG time before everyone else.”
Celene began to shrug off her uniform. “I’m sure it will work out.”
Josie levered herself up. “Where’s everyone else?”
“We’re in here,” came a voice from the bathroom, “We’re getting ready to go out.”
“What’s going on?”
“Post exam party, dorm clusters 46 to 48, at 1800,” said the voice.
“The boys set it up while we were comparing notes on the exam,” Celene elaborated as she disappeared into the bathroom.
“How did you do?” asked Josie.
Celene's voice took on a muffled tone as she changed. “I made a couple of mistakes but I think I did OK.”
Josie wandered to the bathroom door and listened to the giggling excitement. The collective relieved banter threw her misery into sharper relief. Eventually Celene emerged in something filmy and gauzy.
“Why don’t you come for once?” said Celene brightly.
“I don’t feel like it.”
“Come on Jose. You need to get your mind off things.”
Josie struggled, then came to a sudden decision. “Yes, you’re right. It's no good moping around here. I’ve done my best. All the worrying in the System isn’t going to make any difference now. Let’s party!”
“That’s my girl! Oh, it’ll be good to go out together!” Celene clapped her hands together, eyes shining, but then her expression dropped. “Oh, but you’re not ready! We’ll be late!”
Josie checked her perscomp. “I thought you said the party started at 1800. We’re already late.”
Celene gave a gasp of exasperation. “We are fashionably late yes, but we don’t want to be actually late.”
“What?”
“The invitation was for 1800, so we should be there at 1900.” Celene grimaced. “Not easy. You’ll have to rush.”
“I don’t follow.”
Celene tapped her own perscomp. “You don’t have much time to get ready.”
“I figured that bit out. I meant if the party started at 1800, why are you still here?”
“I didn't say it started at 1800. I said the invitation was for 1800.”
Josie twirled a lock of her hair. “Run that by me again, will you? Slowly.”
“Everyone is late for parties,” explained Celene, as if to a child, “but there’s a massive difference between being actually late, and being really late.”
Josie digested this. “So when a party invitation says start at 1800, in reality it means we should start at 1900?”
“Duh, yes!”
“And actually being late isn’t the same as being really late?”
“Naturally!” Celene frowned. “How do you not know all this?”
“Wouldn’t the organisers be upset the guests turned up an hour later than the invite?”
Celene gave a barking laugh. “Of course not! It would be terribly embarrassing if anyone were to arrive actually on time! I mean instead of really on time. Whoever was hosting would be totally unprepared.”
Josie considered. “Wouldn’t it be easier to have a party invitation that said ‘start 1800 sharp’, rather than one that said ‘start at 1800’ which actually meant start an hour later?”
“That’s crazy talk.”
Josie frowned in mock concentration. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. Actually late is up to an hour late, but is ok, whereas really late is up to an hour after being actually late, and is bad?”
“Sort of,” said Celene diffidently. “Fifteen minutes late – I mean really late not actually late - would be acceptable.
Thirty minutes you could probably just about get away with. Forty-five minutes would be difficult. A whole hour late – I mean really late not actually late - would be a scandal. Better not to go at all than to be a whole hour late. I mean really late, of course, as opposed to just being actually late.”
Josie slowly twirled her hair. “You do realise that nothing you've said in the last five minutes makes any kind of rational or logical sense whatsoever, don’t you?”
Celene shrugged. “It’s just the way things are.”
Josie motioned to the wispy garment emphasising her friend’s curves. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have anything like that to wear anyway.”
“I’ll lend you something.”
“We’re not the same size.”
“Well, one of the other girls will.”
Josie shrugged out of her practical one-piece undress uniform. “No thanks. It was silly not to ask for help over the laundry, but wearing someone else’s cast-offs is too much. Everyone is bound to have seen a borrowed dress on someone else at some time anyway, so it'll be obvious it's borrowed. Besides, according to the ‘modern Courage girl party code’, we don’t have the time.”
“Josie what are you doing?”
“I’m putting on my dress uniform. It will only take a minute and they’re the only smart-ish clothes I have anyway.”
Celene looked horrified. “Josie you can’t wear your dress uniform to a party!”
“Why not? We’re in the navy and this is a naval vessel isn’t it?”
“That’s not the point!”
“Then what is the point?”
Celene managed to look shocked, baffled and exasperated all at the same time. “The point is it’s not…stylish.”
The Jovian Sweep (Asteroid Scrabble Book 1) Page 12
