The Jovian Sweep (Asteroid Scrabble Book 1)

by Martin Bourne

  She gave a wan smile and began to climb up. She paused and looked back. Dinjer waved once, and walked away.

  Taking a deep breath, she continued. The entrance was closed. Perhaps she had beaten Donal here? She unlatched the hatch and peered inside.

  Donal was sat on a bench, grinning. "I win," he said, pulling out two glasses and a bottle from behind a chair. Carefully he poured out a measure of something fizzing into each glass, while she clambered in and secured the hatch.

  “You think anyone followed you?” he asked.

  “No. You?”

  “Definitely not. I jumped down into the central Zero-G shaft and sailed the whole length of the ship before doubling back.”

  “So that’s how you got here so quickly…”

  Donal sauntered forward, proffering a glass. “I knew all those Staff College strategy courses would come in useful eventually. I just didn’t think it would be my wedding day.” He tapped his glass against hers. "Skol."

  "Skol."

  She tipped the glass back.

  "Mmm...that's very sweet."

  "Pseudomead. Traditional for weddings." He gathered the empty glasses. His hand brushed against hers as he did, and he held on and delivered the glasses to a table with his other hand. His touch was sending pulses directly into her core. Then he wrapped his arms around her and the stimulation flowed everywhere. They kissed. "Mmm, sweeter than the pseudomead," he said at length.

  She giggled again, and revelled in his embrace.

  “It’s a bit chilly in here.”

  “I turned the room temperature down.”

  “Why?”

  “I figured you would be more likely to hold that gorgeous body next to me if it were cold.”

  “Is this another example of the strategy they teach you at Staff College?”

  “Nope. I thought of that one myself.”

  “Beast!” but she snuggled into the muzzy warmth anyway, shivering a little at the contrast. He responded by hugging her even tighter. It felt fantastic, but she tensed.

  He picked up on it immediately. “What’s the matter?”

  It was silly. She knew it was.

  “Come on. We're married. There should be no secrets between us.”

  He was right, but it was still hard. She swallowed, composed herself, and came out with it. “No man has ever told me I’m gorgeous.”

  “I’m not surprised. I’ve noticed a shocking lack of discernment amongst my male contemporaries.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “Sorry.”

  She could tell he meant it. Shel drew another deep breath. “I’m not someone who’s had much success in life Donal, socially, professionally, any other way. It’s hard for me to accept happiness. I keep thinking it’s going to be snatched away suddenly.”

  He was still for a few seconds. “In my experience happiness is fleeting for everyone. You should be on the lookout for it all the time, and grab it when you get the chance. Take it from me Jose, you truly are something special.”

  Josie clasped him even tighter. His clever hands began their now familiar thorough massage of her upper back and arms. This time though, the caresses gradually became more demanding.

  * * * * *

  Josie opened her eyes to a half-light and a sudden panic. Black space. White stars. Had she been sucked into space, like those poor people on Ganymede? The scene came into focus. The observation dome. She twisted round. Donal was beside her, one hand propping up his head, his soft brown eyes watching her tenderly. She remembered. All that had happened yesterday was real. It had not been a dream. She was here, with him.

  “Good morning Josie Courage,” he said, smiling.

  She was beginning to get very comfortable with giggling.

  “I think I could get very used to waking up next to a gorgeous naked woman.”

  His light emphasis on the word “naked” was too much. She felt a flush come to her cheeks. She heard a muffled snort and looked up sharply, but Donal was carefully tucking straying covers around and under her.

  She snuggled into him. “You’re not like the image of the mighty link warrior Donal. You’re dashing and all that, but you’re also very gentle and considerate and really good.” Then she jerked up suddenly and assumed a tone of mock anger. “In fact, you were too good! You were suspiciously good! How much practice have you had?” She wrestled his arms. “Come on - confess! How many innocent maidens have you corrupted with your good looks and cunning words?”

  “None, I swear,” he said, joining in the game. “I have eyes for you and you only my sweet!”

  She settled back down. “Better not have. If I find any other girls around here I’ll scratch their eyes out.”

  “Ooh catfight!”

  “And then I’d kill you.”

  “Ah.”

  Giggling was good. There had been too much pain in the past. This was like having the childhood she had never had with the adulthood she had always wanted.

  “I can guarantee I am a rank beginner in these matters,” Donal went on. He struck a mock-proud pose. “I guess I must just be naturally talented.”

  “Mm, lucky me.”

  He carefully lifted her face and looked deep into her eyes. “I’m the lucky one,” he said, suddenly serious, and kissed her very firmly. She responded hungrily, and began to pull the intervening sheets away. Surprisingly he pulled back.

  “As much as I would love this situation to move to its natural and mutually enjoyable conclusion, I’m afraid we both have watches today. In fact, you are down for a reconnaissance flight in less than an hour.”

  “Can I call in sick?”

  “That would be a wicked lie.”

  “Then I’ll call in married.”

  He kissed her hard again. “Good plan, but devious.”

  “Alright. I suppose I’ll have to get dressed.”

  He leaned back and leered. “Works for me.”

  She swatted him playfully. “You are thoroughly incorrigible!”

  “Hey, I did say I was getting to like having a naked woman around. Anyway, I’m a husband in love with his wife. What’s your problem?” And he cut off any possible reply in the best possible way.

  “Mmm,” said Josie after a while. “Are you sure we don’t have the time?”

  “Who’s being incorrigible now?”

  “Hey, I’m a wife in love with her husband. What’s your problem?”

  “Touche!” He rolled away from the clinch and swatted her this time. “Come on Ensign, jump to it. Duty calls.”

  * * * * *

  She was late for her assignment, but that meant most of her colleagues were already linked in and she could use the excuse of having to get linked in herself to avoid everyone else.

  Reconnaissance was easy duty. Ruwewang and Vadal were both under medical supervision, but she would have been on her own anyway. No one expected a clumsy Epee to spot anything with its rudimentary sensors. Her job was to cruise behind the picket line. If anything did appear, she could prep the drone while a ready crew linked in. Nobody expected there would be a contact. It was generally known the Trigs were retreating. Nonetheless the patrol whizzed by. The recall signal was a surprise.

  Carefully she docked the drone and unlinked. Incredibly she was the first back. She didn't recall ever being first in anything during training. She stretched to clear the knots in her back, while a medical officer fussed around her.

  “Jupiter’s rings, what is going on here?”

  Josie looked up. It was the same medic who had grilled her the previous day. He was staring even harder at his perscomp than before. She craned her neck, and caught a glimpse of varicoloured lights pulsating on overly complex graphs. “Sir?”

  “Your concentration rates are up a further 5%! Your reaction rates are better by 20%, compared to six months ago! I’ve never seen such an increase! Are you on super strength vitamins or something Ensign Tallion?”

  “It’s Ensign Courage now sir.”

  “Wha
t?” The medic ran his finger over his perscomp. “You’re married? It doesn’t say anything about that here.”

  “It only happened yesterday sir.”

  “Eh? Oh. Well. It obviously agrees with you. Erm…congratulations. Carry on.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “And get your records updated as soon as you go off duty.”

  “Yes sir, I will.”

  The medic sniffed, shook his head again at the schematics, and wandered off Josie smiled faintly at his back, then noticed many of her colleagues had completed unlinking and were making a beeline for her. She didn't care anymore.

  Chapter 37.

  Fleet Auxiliary “Constant Virtue”, in transit to Courage asteroid.

  Admiral Jack Courage yawned and stared balefully at the plush furnishings around him. This cabin was quite possibly the most comfortable he had ever had. He had a private washroom, a large vidscreen with full entertainment options, and a very nicely upholstered chair. Of course, its assignment to him was more a happy chance of convoy scheduling than a deliberate policy decision on the part of the navy.

  The problem was that enjoying all this nice comfort was a bit premature. As far as he was concerned the Jovian campaign was not quite over. There was still one battle left to fight.

  He stretched and mused, running his mind over the events of the past few months, and even occasionally touching on the horrors of the immediate future. It had been a whirlwind. He had planned, he had organised, he had argued, and finally he had seen his strategies successfully realised. The Trigs had overshot them, going far too fast and having burnt up far too much fuel to be able to reverse course and come at him again. He had been able to disengage very easily, and even take out two of the tankers in the tail of the Trig fleet. They had taken the sensible decision to continue with their slingshot and use it to propel themselves back to the asteroid belt.

  So the actual fighting was over. The long nights, the worry, the stress and the overuse of stimulants had caught up with him. He had flushed out his system by consuming nothing but pure water for a day, and had then slept solidly for forty-eight hours. Physically that had sorted him. He had felt supremely refreshed when he awoke, but after a few hours he began to experience an anticipated swell of nausea.

  Curiously his main worry was not what waited for him when they finally docked at Courage Asteroid. It had filtered back that some of the events of the Jovian campaign had been proclaimed as “controversial” back home. That translated to media interest, which meant a pack of loathsome reporters and a battery of inane questions. He inwardly sighed. It was another disadvantage of being unconventional.

  As appalling as that prospect was, it paled into insignificance compared to the certainty of a detailed ‘debriefing’ at Fleet HQ, a positive blood sport that would inevitably lead to an enquiry. Depending on which people had been upset and how many stood to gain by it, that enquiry could even turn into a court-martial. The politically inspired battles at home were invariably worse than the military ones that initiated them.

  None of that would be pleasant. He had long known that he wasn’t very good at explaining or justifying his own actions. Having to do so multiple times would no doubt affect him very badly. He was almost certain the stress of the last court martial had inspired a massive muscle spasm in his back that had laid him out for two whole weeks. But bad though all those things would be, at least they were problems for the future, and ones that were largely beyond his immediate control. No, his current unease was more of a personal issue, an internal trauma, one that had to be dealt with right here and now.

  It was time.

  Even by the standards of his previous campaigns this one had been long and draining. When the crisis finally came to an end he had taken to his bed and succumbed to the demands of his body and slept around the clock. In both physical and mental terms, he had paid fully for his successes. But that wasn’t enough. He would have to pay spiritually and emotionally as well.

  He took a deep breath. It might very well be something he had to do, but it was also something that he would struggle with, and not just because it wasn’t going to be enjoyable. The first problem was Sally Cromarty. She had seen this before and she was smart enough to figure out it might happen again. She had said she understood, but he knew she didn’t approve. Probably Prince would feel the same. So he had one last tactical problem to solve. He had to make sure his aides would not interfere with the last battle of the campaign.

  He slowly opened the door to his cabin and peered carefully around it and into the main suite of the transport. The time setting was currently late evening. The lights were slowly dimming and the temperature was gently dropping. It was a brave attempt to satisfy Humanity’s basic diurnal urges, although inevitably the fundamentally synthetic situation of travelling through space in a metal box defeated it.

  Cromarty and Prince were sat at the same table making entries onto endless piles of vidscrolls. They occasionally exchanged questions and answers but mostly they worked silently, absorbed in their own problems. After a while Cromarty pushed aside the vidscrolls, took off her perscomp, and stretched out. Her chair instantly reclined back. She looked tired. He could see a flashing signal on her perscomp that meant an incoming message. He saw her notice it. He saw her ignore it. Promising.

  Prince continued to annotate and update his vidscrolls. He was so involved he failed to notice his fellow aide had tuned out. Courage saw him turn to ask her a question. He saw her mumble some reply, without moving or looking at him. Prince grimaced, and returned to his tasks. Cromarty waited. After another short pause, he saw Cromarty lean back fully. Her eyes closed.

  Courage weighed up the scene. It was highly unlikely either of his aides would be interrupting him for a few hours. Cromarty was too tired, and Prince was too conscientious. Assigning them an analysis report of the effect of crew morale on performance had been an inspired idea.

  Carefully he closed the bulkhead door and crept back to his room. Once inside he locked it, instructing the ship’s computers to not disturb him for the next twenty-four hours. That should be enough. They were still three days from Courage Asteroid. Long enough for him to do what had to be done, and then recover.

  He dimmed the lights, and then crossed to his desk. The next challenge was to gather his resolve. This one was not going to be easy. Not after the loss of Dragon and Griffin, and especially not after the bombardment of Ganymede. Taking a deep breath, he tied in the main flag bridge computer and set it to display onto the small 3D display in his room. Normally it was a simple repeater of the main holotank display on the flag bridge, but it could be set to show just about anything. Now he was tying it into a special archive he had been adding to over the course of the campaign.

  The program began to run. He set the computer to play martial music as background, very low. Then he rummaged in the lowest drawer in his desk, finally bringing out a bottle of an amber liquid, and labelled with a pseudo-heraldic image that gave an entirely false impression of great age and dependability. Carefully he unscrewed the top and poured a measure of the liquid into a tumbler.

  Like most of the older generation Jack Courage was not a drinking man. Alcohol affected the judgement and deadened the senses, and in the harsh environment of the early asteroid colonisation period that could quickly get you killed. That had created a social revulsion against alcohol, which was only just beginning to break down now that life had become a little less dangerous. In Jack’s case he personally didn’t much like the taste of alcoholic beverages anyway, and he certainly didn’t like most of their effects, particularly the losing of control.

  Besides, Rose didn’t approve.

  He took another deep breath and settled down in front of the vidscreen. Words, pictures, the occasional graph, all began to appear. Some were in 2D - details of the deployment, entries from his diary, dry navy reports, alarmist and melodramatic civilian newsreels – a positive melange of the events of the past few weeks. Others were in glor
ious 3D – tactical analyses, scenes from the Bridge repeaters – did he really look and sound like that? Some were dry fact, others wild emotion. It didn’t matter. He sieved each item, each image, and each commentary through the filter of his own experience; probing, querying – remembering.

  It wasn’t a static experience. He roamed through the story told by the display, pausing or fast-forwarding freely as the mood took him, absorbing and reliving one aspect in detail, skipping over another. It didn’t matter. He’d go completely through each and every element eventually.

  Time passed, some of it quickly, some of it slowly. Sometimes he chuckled, but more times he wept. Sometimes he absorbed, and sometimes he relived, but more times he simply reflected. His spirit wobbled, his emotions churned, and the level in the bottle steadily declined. The emotions rose, and gradually, ever so slowly, they dimmed.

  He was just slowly easing back from his immersion when he heard the gentle ‘thump’ of something heavy falling onto a padded floor. He looked down. It was his now empty glass. He must have been about to doze off. He looked up. Sally Cromarty was stood by the door.

  The light came on. He groaned. It dimmed back a little. Cromarty padded round in front of him.

  “Sir, begging your pardon, but you look awful.”

  “Thank you.”

  She picked up the bottle, glanced over it, looked back at him.

  “Medicinal purposes.” He managed to straighten himself, reached down and picked up his fallen glass. “Fancy a shot? Hah! No of course you don’t. Good little Belter that you are, you don’t indulge in mind-numbing chemicals. They’re far too dangerous. Too much chance they’d make you overlook sealing that suit, or forget to tie a safety line when you’re out prospecting.”

  Cromarty bit her lip. “I don’t like seeing you like this, sir.”

  “You shouldn’t have walked in here then, should you?” The reply came out too hard and fast. He breathed out slowly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’re concerned Sal, but I’m all right.”