The Jovian Sweep (Asteroid Scrabble Book 1)

by Martin Bourne

  The woman was so infuriating it was tempting to just slap her silly. In her wilder moments, after suffering another session of emotional trauma at Constance's hands, Josie revelled in the thought. She sighed. It was a terrible idea. Even if she were to win the resulting fight she would be labelled the aggressor, in spite of all the provocation. The Virtue Confederation navy was extraordinarily lax, but even they would have to take action if that happened. There would be enquiries, disciplinary hearings - maybe even a court-martial, and in such matters contacts and pull mattered. She could get suspended, drummed out of the service, even imprisoned. She simply couldn't afford that.

  To be fair, anything more than a fine would be unlikely. Warriors were simply too valuable to be disposed of cavalierly. Unfortunately, for her a fine would be almost as disastrous. She was stony broke as it was. And there was always the possibility she would lose the fight. The consequences of that would be dire. At the least the harassment would get a lot worse. She sighed and twirled a lock of her hair. Surely she could think of a way around this. She was in the navy for slag's sake! She should be able to apply strategy to her personal situation!

  And then, miraculously, the very next day something happened that gave a glimmer of hope.

  The Outreach proving grounds were the sink overflow of the stream of naval life. All kinds of people washed up here - technicians in transit, warriors re-training, scientists with pet projects to be tested, and a few confused folk who seemed to have simply gotten lost in some administrative snarl-up. There were a few that had been here for years.

  One of the most familiar was Jonathon James, a tall, wiry, and immaculately dressed fellow often seen loitering at corners and making occasional entries onto an improbably sized perscomp. He popped up regularly all over the base, a disconcerting presence that wobbled at the edge of the eye. He had come prominently to the attention of training class 502 at the now infamous post-examination party where Josie had appeared in her navy undress uniform. He had been one of the most ardent of the revellers and had made a very deep impression on the female cadets. Josie recalled the expression of unadulterated lust on Constance’s face just before she had left.

  Just before she had that little chat in the corridor with Donal Courage.

  Constance was clearly very taken with Jonathon James. She had raved about the time she had spent with him several times since, usually as a counterpoint to ridiculing Josie for her lack of style and insufficient money to afford “suitable” party clothing. Jonathon James was apparently “very important”, an officer on the promotion fast track, someone who allegedly had the ear of many “influential” people and who was certainly a big noise in Unity party politics.

  Josie couldn’t see the attraction herself, and not just because Constance liked him. James was good-looking enough, with a clean-cut image and piercing eyes, and he had a patina of sophistication, but it all came over as superficial and rather over affected to Josie. There was something indefinably wrong with the fellow. For a start no one quite knew what he did, for all the deference he received. He would regularly turn up in meetings about health, life support, engineering projects, even budgets. Everyone wanted his input, but no one paid any attention to it. It was all very odd.

  It therefore came as a great surprise to find out she and James were distantly related.

  The revelation had come from the weekly vid message she got from her dam. Zoe Tallion had been overjoyed when Josie had passed her link warrior aptitude tests and never ceased trying to help her in any way she could. She meant well, although Josie found the whole art of applying patronage downright grubby. Couragers were raised on it. Her dam was much better at it than she could ever be, not that there was much to do. The Ridgeways were hardly a wealthy or influential sub-clan, but as Zoe never ceased telling her, were always the possibility of contacts, no matter how distant.

  "There is a fellow at the Outlook Proving grounds you could look up," she said after the perfunctory greetings. "Name of Jonathon James. He's the second cousin of my sister-in-law's aunt."

  "Slag dam, that's a bit tenuous," muttered Josie.

  "I know that's a very convoluted connection," continued her dam, confirming her suspicions, "but any connection is better than none. Please promise me you'll look him up, make him aware of the family link, see if there is any way you can help each other."

  Yes. Very grubby.

  "People need to help each other Josie. You helped me, remember."

  Josie sighed. If it had to be done...

  It was not hard to find Jonathon James. Just two hours later she came by him in a corridor. He was propped up by an opened power conduit and, inevitably, making entries on a perscomp. She steeled herself.

  "Excuse me sir."

  He looked positively startled that someone had actually addressed him. It took him a few seconds to respond to her salute. Josie noticed that his arms had unconsciously crossed over his perscomp display.

  "I'm sorry to bother you sir, but I believe we have a family connection."

  "Ah, really?"

  "Yessir. My name is Tallion, but my dam's name was Ridgeway? I believe you have an Aunt Ronke? Well she is related to my uncle Frederick Ridgeway."

  "Oh good. Yes. Auntie Ronke. Lovely lady. Actually my cousin I think, but I always called her auntie."

  "Second cousin I think sir."

  "Yes I think you are right. Lot older than me of course, so she was always Auntie Ronke. Ha ha."

  Now what? It seemed crass to press further, but James had the look of a man who had exhausted his stock of conversation. "Well sir, me and my dam only came back to Courage three years ago, just after my father passed away..."

  "Oh. I see. I’m sorry. Terrible tragedy I’m sure."

  "Yessir. It's just very hard to start up from scratch, and I was wondering if you could give me some...guidance." Oh that felt so terrible.

  James looked her over, a bland look on his face. "Oh." It was like checkmate. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and his brow furrowed. "Well, I would say, work hard, keep your nose clean, and try and get a good assignment."

  Josie felt the heat rising in her cheeks at the implied reprimand, but then she saw he was being utterly serious. Could he really be so obtuse?

  "Could you recommend an assignment sir?"

  "Not really my department Ensign. Not what I'm involved in at all. I concentrate on looking after the base here. Very important work. Lots to do." His face cleared. "I could get you a ground assignment here if you like. We’re always looking for talent. There are some spare billets in my own dorm cluster."

  Not a very appealing prospect. "Thank you sir, but I'd like an active field assignment."

  "So would we all, so would we all. Well, have a think about it anyway Ensign Ridgeway." He saluted, forcing her to do the same. "Now, I'm afraid I have to be getting along. These reports don't write themselves you know. Ha. Ha." He gave her a winsome grin, and was gone.

  Josie twirled a lock of her hair. She supposed that had gone quite well, although she felt a sudden need for a shower.

  She turned to go, and caught Constance staring hard at her from the far side of the room. The blonde turned away sharply when she realised Josie had noticed her.

  How interesting! The anger in the woman’s eyes cheered her up immensely.

  Josie's shift seemed interminable, and she was tired when she finally stumbled back to the dorm. Surprisingly, Constance was waiting up when she arrived, and dived into her straightaway.

  “Didn’t I see you talking to Commander James earlier on?"

  Josie carefully eased her carryall onto her bed, easing the knots in her back. Celene was snoring softly on the upper bunk. “You did. I was.”

  “What about?”

  “Just business.” It was hard not to rise to the woman’s rudeness, but she did have such a very good card to play. “Family business.”

  “What?”

  Josie took her time taking off her top. “I recently found out we are conn
ected by marriage on my mother’s side.”

  Constance just stood there, a slight flush to her face.

  “We just had a few words together. Catching up on family news mostly.” An idea came. “But he did mention some of the opportunities available on this base.”

  “Opportunities? What kind of opportunities?”

  “Well, you know. Career opportunities. Promotion. That kind of thing.” She shimmied off the rest of her uniform and clambered onto her bunk. “They are rather short-staffed apparently.”

  Constance bit her lip. "Commander James told you all this?"

  Josie slipped under the sheets, silently seething. There had been just enough of an emphasis on the word 'you', to imply doubt that someone as insignificant as Josie would warrant such attention. She could tell Constance was rattled, but it was typical of the woman that even in defeat she simply could not resist one last little dig.

  "That's what he said."

  "This is a training base."

  Which was true. Constance was on the hook, but she could still wriggle off it. Josie didn't like lying, but what about emphasising parts of the truth so the unscrupulous would read more into it than was actually there?

  "It is mostly," she said carefully, giving a yawn that was only half acted. "But there's a lot of field testing too - new techniques, new equipment, that sort of thing. You've seen all the scientists hanging around. Sometimes they test new drones here."

  Which was also true, and likely to be very appealing to someone as ambitious as Constance.

  Josie closed her eyes. "It might be worth chasing up," Josie said, as diffidently as she could. She rolled onto her side, putting her back to Constance. "I'll sleep on it."

  There was no reply. After a few seconds she could hear Constance making her preparations for bed. That had definitely gone well. Maybe her approach to Commander James really had been worthwhile, just not in the way her dam had thought. That brought a grin to her face, and she was still smiling when sleep took her.

  ************

  She didn't see much of Constance over the next five shifts. Nobody did. When she was about she seemed to be in a permanent rush, rarely pausing to deliver even routine put-downs. Then one afternoon Josie, Lilybeth and Celene arrived at their dorm cluster to find the entrance blocked by a stocky female cadet all covered in carryalls. She was peering uncertainly at her perscomp while punching keys on the entrance lock.

  "Hey Marilyn," said Celene. "What are you doing here?"

  "You trying to steal Josie's fashion secrets?" said Lilybeth, stumbling over the words.

  "Oh hello girls," answered Marilyn. "Actually I'm your new roommate."

  "What?"

  "Just been assigned. They gave me the code for the door, but I can't seem to get it open."

  Celene leaned over and punched in the correct combination. "Glad to have you, but how can you be moving in? There isn't enough room!"

  "Don't know," said Marilyn, hefting her bags. "I mean, I know why I'm being moved, after that little disagreement with Frothy..."

  "Perhaps one of us is being moved out," said Lilybeth, as she helped with Marilyn's carryalls.

  Josie could feel her heart lifting as she hefted a carryall herself. Freed up, Marilyn was able to push open the door and lead them in. Inside Constance was piling the last of her possessions into a carryall.

  “Didn’t you hear us at the door?” asked Lilybeth.

  “I was a bit busy,” said Constance, smoothing down her full dress uniform.

  "What's going on?" asked Celene. “How come you’re all dressed up?”

  “I’m moving out,” announced Constance, giving the strap on her carryall one last tightening.

  “Moving out?” asked Lilybeth, her eyes wide. So Constance had not bothered to tell her chief confederate? Well, that confirmed Josie’s thoughts about her selfishness.

  “I’m moving…I’ve been moved onto the base proper,” Constance explained, giving Josie a triumphant smirk. “I’ll be sorry to go of course.”

  “Would it be Commander James’ dorm cluster you'll be bunking down in?” asked Josie sweetly.

  Constance’s eyes shifted. “I wouldn’t know.”

  And that confirmed Josie’s thoughts on Constance’s honesty too.

  “But why?” asked Lilybeth plaintively.

  Constance spread her arms wide. “Can't be helped. It’s orders.”

  Chapter 14.

  Depot Ship “Tourmaline”, Diplan naval dockyards, Courage asteroid.

  Captain Irvin Wentzel, AKC, MOH and three service commendations, was just about as contented as he ever got to be. He even allowed himself a tight smile as the track car rattled along the number four causeway of the outer naval dockyards. Of course, he took great care to make sure that his assorted subordinates could not see his satisfaction. It wouldn’t do for them to become complacent.

  They were on their way to the inner dockyard to board the Courage Asteroid Navy Depot Ship Tourmaline. As he had stridently promised that has-been Admiral, Jack Courage, the ship had indeed been fitted out for the Jovian expedition in record time. A lot of that was down to Wentzel’s insistence on a prime berth in the inner dockyard area. It wasn’t that the outer dockyard was unsuitable. On the contrary, it was what the outer dockyard was designed to do. It had the advantage of being larger than the inner dockyard, and its facilities were perfectly adequate. However, it was also further from the main warehouses, which meant that re-provisioning and re-equipping always took that little bit longer.

  It certainly would have been more than good enough for Tourmaline’s needs too, which might be quite extensive but were also routine. However, Wentzel did not believe in ‘adequate’, ‘good enough’ or ‘making do’. For him perfection was the only possible standard. He had pulled a few strings, bullied a few of the low-level dockyard types, and cozened up to some of the more important administrators, and Tourmaline had duly been assigned a prime spot in the inner dockyard. Of course, there had been howls of protest from other captains. Mysteriously they thought that their own needs merited priority. He wasn’t sure if any of their complaints were justified. They probably weren’t, but he hadn’t bothered to examine the details. In his experience, people lied about such things so they could get their own way. Frankly, whether they were more important or not was of no concern to him. That was for senior officers to decide.

  And he had taken the trouble to get all the senior officers onside.

  All in all, Wentzel had worked very hard to make good on his promises. He felt justifiably well pleased with his efforts – he had no use for false pride. Getting Tourmaline ready to sail on schedule had been a particularly impressive achievement, given the amount of work that had needed to be done. Or rather, the amount of work that was supposed to have been needed to be done. He knew engineers “padded” their estimates, but he was well on to that trick. He had simply unilaterally halved their estimates. Naturally they had squealed. One balding console analyst had been particularly vociferous, whining about work patterns and safety. Wentzel allowed himself a brief instant of undisciplined pleasure at the memory of how he had dealt with the situation.

  The fool had fallen right into the trap. It was a trick he had learned early in his career. Push hard enough at first and the troublemakers always showed their hands. Now he had been exposed the man had provided the perfect object lesson. He had dropped on the loser like an avalanche. The man had squirmed very prettily as he had been tongue-lashed into subservience. An imposed schedule of one third of his so-called estimate meant he wouldn’t have the time for any more bellyaching. That had quietened them all down! And - miraculously - the work had all gotten done. Every one of his deadlines had been met. If that wasn’t evidence enough of their lies, nothing was.

  Yes, getting Tourmaline ready so promptly was going to look very good on his record. If he had been forced to step on some toes in the process, and bash together more than a few heads, then that was just an inevitable consequence. It was w
hat you had to do if you wanted to get things done. There would be time to smooth over hurt feelings later, if he felt like it. Meanwhile he had very definitely gotten what he wanted, and that was what counted.

  The track car pulled up with a long squeal and a wrench. They had reached the terminus interchange that separated the outer from the inner dockyard. Wentzel jumped off and strode purposefully across the concourse towards the inner dockyard monorail tracks, not bothering to see if any of his subordinates were still with him. He was a tall man with a long stride and some of his senior officers were soon forced to break into trots to keep up with him. Wentzel permitted himself a brief glance round to enjoy their discomfiture, and noticed that three of the junior officers, newly assigned, were still stood at the monorail terminus, hefting carryalls and looking around uncertainly.

  He pulled up sharply, causing one of his coterie of followers to swerve sharply to avoid crashing into him. The gaggle of senior officers clustered about him while he yelled at the rookies. “Hey!” he shouted. “What are you lot waiting for? You want servants to wait on you, and show you the way? Get yourselves over here now!” They began to amble towards him. “I meant quickly. Move! The navy does not have time to waste!”

  They began to walk uncertainly towards him. One dropped his carryall. Wentzel raised his voice. “You are keeping me waiting. I don’t like to be kept waiting.” Instantly they picked up speed, scurrying like rats towards the track car. The errant carryall crashed to the floor again, ensuring its owner would be last. Wentzel made a mental note of the offender.

  At the transfer nexus there were no track cars immediately available. Unfortunate. It would have been good to climb directly aboard and left the stragglers to catch the next one. Instead he was forced to wait, allowing the rookies to rejoin the main group. Wentzel hated wasting time, so he took the opportunity to indulge in a few playful put downs of the junior officers, concentrating on the unfortunate individual with the wayward carryall. The newcomers quickly learned to avoid his eye. Good. That was the proper level of respect.