The Jovian Sweep (Asteroid Scrabble Book 1)

by Martin Bourne

  Suddenly there was a series of loud handclaps, followed by a bellowing cry of “attention to orders”. One by one people turned towards the source of the noise. It was Instructor Hollins, by the entrance, and he looked happy, which was usually a very bad sign.

  “Right, I don’t care that some of you have finished your exams. I don’t care if some of you are scheduled to leave. At the moment you are still under my command and I have some lovely little jobs for you.” Hollins pressed a button. Instantly there was a flurry of “message received” signals from everyone perscomps, followed by a series of groans. “No moaning and no dawdling,” he said, with a nonchalant wave of his hand as he walked away. There was some grumbling, but none of it loud. Even Constance kept quiet.

  “Not you Tallion,” said Hollins, his voice booming as he turned at the doorway. “I’ve got a special job for you.” He held something up. Two ‘somethings’ in fact. Two thick, black, armoured ‘somethings’ covered in tubes. He tossed them suddenly at her as she approached. She managed to only catch one, and thus had to humbly bend over to retrieve the one that had fallen.

  “Safety gloves Tallion. They need you down on number two flight deck for some nice advanced Systems Engineering course practical work.”

  They looked brand new, no sign of wear. No hint as to their purpose, but she could guess. As she straightened from picking the errant glove up a voice took up a little ditty.

  “A-scrubbing we will go, a-scrubbing we will go, the micrometeors are biting hard so a-scrubbing we will go.” There was a chorus of giggles. She hid her blushes by scurrying straight after Hollins, but of course that meant he could see her straight on. She saw his ugly face split into what passed for him as a smile.

  “Get used to it Tallion,” he said, low so no one else could hear as she walked by. “It’s probably what you’ll be doing for the rest of your pathetic time in the navy.”

  *******************************

  It seemed Ben’s earlier prediction was coming true. Over the next few days more and more of Josie’s classmates received assignments. All of them were classed as 'temporary', but most people were cynical about that. 'Temporary' assignments in the Confederation navy could last for years.

  "You ever heard of Ensign Wolfins?" said Ben one day. "He was assigned to check out the drones in storage after he graduated. It was only supposed to be temporary duty until he got assigned to a combat squadron. Ten years later he was still there, still running diagnostics on obsolete drones in storage."

  "When was that?" asked Packer.

  "Few years back. Apparently his name was accidentally deleted off the personnel lists."

  Marilyn checked her perscomp. "There's no record of an Ensign Wolfins. That's just an urban myth."

  "Well, they're hardly likely to keep something like that on record are they?" reasoned Ben.

  To her obvious annoyance, Constance was not one of the first to get an assignment. Lilybeth explained it very succinctly one night when Constance was on a late shift. As far as Constance was concerned the best link warriors would naturally be snapped up first by the best squadrons. The fact that she wasn’t one of the first was a severe blow to her self-esteem.

  Only one ex-cadet shared Celene’s fate of being transferred to a ground station. Many joined one of the squadrons newly deployed to Belofte. Those assigned to one of the established squadrons on other Depot ships mostly had to stay too. As with Marilyn, their new squadrons were on Depot ships too far away for easy transfers. They would have to wait until operations took them close enough.

  Packer and Lilybeth got billets with the attached recce squadron, CZ-119. After a week Constance got a billet as a Pilot with CM-2506, the squadron they had collected at the Outreach proving grounds. She enthused over the event until she bored everyone. Even so, Josie could not resist a stab of envy. It was a plum assignment. CM-2506 was a crack unit. Even if Constance had gotten in late, she was on her way.

  It was Donal’s squadron too. Constance would be bumping into him all the time now. And there was the fact that he had the rank and suspected “pull” that would be very attractive to someone like her. The thought of Constance trying to ingratiate herself with Donal set Josie’s teeth on edge.

  Then one day, when the female members of 502 were in a little get together at the start of a shift, Constance made a big mistake. She was raving on about her assignment as per usual. “I’ve been directly assigned to a drone crew too,” she stated confidently, “not to ‘pool reserve’, where all the second-stringers and substitutes sit waiting for someone to fall ill or forget their contraceptives.”

  Josie noticed the stunned reaction on many people’s faces. Constance had forgotten, or perhaps didn’t care, that the majority of those who had been posted had been allocated to ‘pool reserve’. Amazingly it was Lilybeth that challenged her.

  “So Constance, you got your dream billet?”

  “I’ve just been saying haven’t I? Oh I know I do go on, but it’s just so exciting!” Constance primly adjusted her tunic so that the newly sewn on emblem of CM-2506, crossed laser cannons, was fully displayed, but her smug smile slumped as she at last registered the hostile glares.

  “Yes you have mentioned it a bit,” said Lilybeth slowly. “One thing I did want to ask you though. If you’ve been assigned as regular front line crew in CM-2506, then how come you’re still here, and not bedding down with them?”

  Constance went very still. “There’s a shortage of space on board, isn’t there?”

  “’Rangy’ Anderson was assigned to CM-2506, and he’s over at their billet now.”

  “He’s a man,” said Constance, her tone clipped. “There’s a bigger shortage of female accommodation.”

  “When Marilyn visited her cousin in CM-2506 she saw two female four berths with only two people in them.”

  Marilyn nodded. “It’s true.”

  “Maybe they hadn’t arrived yet,” said Constance, rather lamely.

  Lilybeth stared straight at her. “Or maybe you’re not as essential as you think you are.”

  Constance looked daggers. Things might have gotten interesting, but just then Packer slouched in and all but collapsed onto a chair.

  “I am wrecked.”

  The tension level dropped markedly at the down to earth bonhomie. Josie walked over to a drinks dispenser and touched her perscomp to it. The dispenser bleeped erratically. The display on her perscomp flashed an alarming shade of red before it accepted payment. Fortunately everyone was too distracted to notice.

  “You look it,” said Marilyn, eyeing Constance carefully. “Double piloting shift?”

  “Yeah - second time in three days.” He frowned as he finally sensed the atmosphere. “What’s up?”

  Lilybeth folded her arms. “Constance was just telling us all how wonderful she is.”

  There was a collective restrained reaction. Constance glared. Josie piped up quickly.

  “How’s your assignment working out Packer?”

  Packer looked around, trying to figure out what was happening. “Oh not so bad I suppose. It’s pretty tiring though.”

  “Well, most people are smart enough to realise that everyone is working so hard they’re going to be tired,” said Lilybeth. Constance glared at her, and levered herself up.

  Josie collected a steaming cup and walked right in front of her to reach out to Packer.

  “Oh thanks Jose.” Packer picked up the cup and rolled it in his hands, a time honoured link warrior method of stimulating jangled nerve endings. “I tell you, I’m not so sure I’d have signed up for this lot if I’d known I’d be spending day after day pushing scout drones around the Jovian system.” He made the mistake of taking a long slurp from the cup. “Urgh! What in the name of all that is Virtuous is this?”

  Josie looked over at the dispenser. “It claims to be coffee.”

  “’Claims to be’ is right! Isn’t there some kind of international convention against biochemical warfare?”

  “Psy
ch warfare is ok though,” said Lilybeth, her eyes not wavering from Constance.

  “Well,” said Josie hurriedly. “For sure everyone is busy, but at least you all get to operate drones.”

  “Some of us even get fighting drones,” said Constance automatically, her eyes still locked with Lilybeth’s.

  The interplay was still lost on Packer. He wearily got to his feet, walked over to a food recycler and poured the contents of his cup into it. The machine gurgled in electronic horror. “You still not got an assignment Jose?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “They’ve forgotten you,” said Marilyn.

  “More like they’ve remembered,” sneered Constance, turning to face her.

  Packer gave a wry grin. “Well, assignments aren’t all they are cracked up to be, I can tell you. Apart from sleep assignment, and I’m going to do that right now.”

  At that moment Ben sauntered in and sat down heavily.

  “Don’t tell us,” asked Packer. “You’re tired as well?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Ah - just about to start a shift?” asked Marilyn.

  “Just about to start a double shift.”

  Constance sauntered towards Josie. “Looks like you’re the only one who gets to take things easy, Tallion.”

  "Not so. I’ve been helping out in the tech sheds.”

  “The tech sheds,” sneered Constance. “Why…”

  “…why that means you get plenty of early get ups too,” finished Marilyn. “You must be pretty tired too Jose.”

  “I suppose. Puzzling over circuit diagrams and taking drones to bits isn’t as exhausting as linking into them, but I still feel zonked at the end of the day.” She sat down and twirled a lock of her hair. “It’s hard to describe. It’s a different kind of exhaustion. And of course I don’t get flight pay.”

  “Oh yeah, there is that.”

  “Quite a problem for you Tallion,” sneered Constance.

  Lilybeth gave a particularly loud snort. There was an awkward pause. Packer broke it by sitting up straight. “Hey Marilyn, I meant to ask you something. You know that the assignment rotas are made public now? Well I was checking what I was doing this morning and I saw your name on the rota, but it just said "Marilyn" and not your full name. How come?”

  “I don’t have a surname,” replied the brunette shortly.

  Packer pulled his head back. “What?”

  “I’m just Marilyn.”

  Lilybeth came up next to Packer. “Well, what was your parent’s surnames then?”

  “They didn’t have surnames either. My dad was just Ravi and my dam was just Jemima. It’s traditional in my family not to have surnames.”

  Ben scratched his head. “That could be confusing.”

  “Useful for tax purposes though,” grinned Packer.

  Lilybeth chortled. Marilyn grimaced. “I researched it a bit back. One of my ancestors, a long time ago on old Earth, deliberately ditched her surname. I mean properly and legally got rid of it. As in ‘made representations to a court of law’ got rid of it. She claimed surnames were a quote ‘obsolete reactionary symbol of the domination of the patriarchy’ unquote.”

  There was a pause. Lilybeth looked confused. “What does that mean?”

  “To be honest I’m not sure.” Marilyn shrugged. “A lot of strange things happened on old Earth before the collapse.”

  “Well, what used to be her surname before she got rid of it?”

  Marilyn coloured. “Wobel-botom.”

  There was a chorus of less than successfully suppressed titters. Constance’s braying laugh stood out.

  “Suddenly everything becomes clear,” grinned Packer.

  “No,” said Marilyn, striving to speak over a renewed chorus of hilarity. “No, she wasn’t in any way influenced by what her name sounded like. She just didn’t think it was right that women should change them after they were shouted for.”

  “I’d have thought she’d have been thankful for the custom,” opined Ben.

  “Me too,” said Lilybeth.

  Marilyn sniffed. “Well, this way the matter doesn’t arise at all.”

  “I still say it’s some kind of dodge,” said Packer. “I think you should be assigned a surname. It could even be a double-barrelled one, like your ancestor started out with. How about ‘Marilyn Good-Gunner’?”

  “Very funny.”

  “Why should she settle for just being ‘Good-Gunner’?” said Josie. “If you’re going to do something like that you might as well go for ‘Marilyn Great-Gunner’ at least!”

  Packer warmed to the topic. “You’re right! In fact, if you want to impress all those senior officers in the selectors and promotion boards, you might as well go all out with something truly heroic! How about ‘Marilyn Depot ship-Destroyer’?”

  “Another brilliant piece of humour.”

  Constance slinked around the cluster of people to collect a drink. “Maybe Josie should change her surname. Josie Second-Stringer.”

  Josie gulped. Packer’s face fell. “That’s a bit uncalled for.”

  Constance sneered. “She started it. She was the one who was giving Marilyn names.” She turned to face Josie. “If you can’t take it, don’t give it.”

  “I…well…but what I…”

  Constance turned away sharply, leaving her floundering. The same tactic again. Josie felt her cheeks redden. She knew it was a mistake, but she walked away anyway. She just caught one last snatch of conversation. A reproach from Marilyn, probably aimed at Constance. “Why can’t you just leave her alone?”

  She stumbled along a corridor, mentally rerunning the conversation. It had all been so innocuous and fun and then suddenly all so embarrassing and painful. Why hadn't she been able to handle it? Why did she never think of the perfect comebacks until it was too late?

  And then a sudden question, close and loud, jerked her out of her reverie.

  “Ensign Tallion?”

  Josie, startled, looked up. It was Donal Courage. His face was full of warmth, with just a trace of concern.

  “You look a little preoccupied.”

  She gulped and tried to not be flustered. “Sorry sir. I was just thinking, well worrying I suppose, about not getting an assignment.”

  His smile froze. “Drone commanders choose their crews.”

  Slag it! He thought she was soliciting him!

  “Err, no I didn’t mean…I was, well I haven’t gotten…and I rather need…but I wasn’t at all..."

  He held up his hand. "Ok, ok, I'm sorry. I believe you. It’s just that I'm rather sensitised to the subject. Being responsible for flight ops you get a lot of hopefuls badgering you, and it doesn't help when your cousin is the new fleet commander."

  “What is Admiral Courage like?”

  His smile disappeared completely. “He’s a robot,” he said shortly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “He’s a machine - very intelligent, very skilful, very practical, but with as much empathy as a tranquillised mattress.”

  “No I wasn’t asking for an explanation. I meant I was sorry for prying.”

  He looked at her intently. “Yes, you did, didn't you?” He sighed. “I’m sorry too, snapping like that. It’s just that I also get a lot of questions about my esteemed relative.”

  “That must be difficult.”

  “Well it was certainly very hard in the early years, just after the debacle at Verdrag.” He half smiled, half-grimaced. “I remember that life suddenly became very full. I seemed to spend a lot of time avenging insults.” He noticed her querying expression. “I was young, and teenagers can be very cruel.”

  “I can empathise with that.”

  “I’m sure.” He swung round a pillar. “Callisto asteroid?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I think we are both isolated, just in opposite ways.”

  Josie considered. “Neither of us are part of the in crowd?”

  “Exactly.”

  He said it with exactl
y the same tone and inclination she had used. She found herself smiling. He ambled along beside her.

  "I remember once...""

  Chapter 21.

  Depot Ship Valiant, 59 spatials corewards of Ganymede.

  The hatch opened and Admiral Jack Courage ambled onto the Bridge. He had just come off a 24-hour sleep binge and he was now relatively relaxed, which is to say that he felt merely jaded and bored, rather than utterly exhausted.

  The rest had been needed, after all his long hours, but that was then and this was now. Odd how he had dreamt of the oblivion of sleep when he had been wading through all those plans and deployments, what, just thirty-six hours ago? Now he had rested, and his overly logical mind was already looking for another escape. He merely nodded at the watch officer who was standing ramrod-straight saluting. The man’s hand wavered uncertainly, but eventually he dropped it as Courage walked by. Commander Sally Cromarty was stood at the main tactical holotank. Courage sauntered over.

  She drew herself formally erect as he approached and saluted. “Good morning Admiral Courage,” she said.

  “And to you, Commander Cromarty,” he replied, casually returning the salute.

  She relaxed and resumed entering details into her perscomp, pausing occasionally to bring up details from the icons in the holotank. Not for the first time he felt a twinge of envy as her fingers flew expertly across the controls. He waited for her to say more, but she did not elaborate. He always found these situations so awkward.

  “Been working on this for long?” he ventured at last.

  “About half an hour sir.”

  “So long? I thought your watch was not due to start for another ten minutes.”

  Cromarty shifted. “I long ago got into the habit of arriving early for duty sir. I found the extra few minutes invaluable in getting me up to speed.” She gave a dry chuckle at some fondly remembered incident long ago. “Saved me plenty of times when I was a cadet, I can tell you.”

  “Good idea,” said Courage, looking around the Bridge. It was unnaturally quiet. There were very few people about and all of them were preoccupied. Beyond the low background hum of electronics, the only sounds to be heard were Cromarty’s fingers tapping on her perscomp. He was slightly surprised when she broke into his reverie.