The Jovian Sweep (Asteroid Scrabble Book 1)

by Martin Bourne

  “You did this after the fight at Mathilde too.”

  “I do it after every campaign.”

  “Sir, I think you need help. Doing this is, well, self-destructive. And we need you Admiral. The Confederation needs you.”

  He gave a short barking laugh. “They got another no-win, dead-end crisis already?”

  “Sir, you won this campaign.”

  “Not well enough for some people – Captain MacMorris and Dragon, specifically. The two lifeboats from Griffin we never found for another. And mostly, the staff at Ganymede Ultima base.” He gave a “humph” and staggering to the desk, flipped on the vidscreen.

  A personnel file appeared – showing an oldish looking link warrior with wild hair and a slack jaw. Courage turned away, stood at tipsy attention, and recited from memory. “Lieutenant Illric Vadal, born at Themis dependency, thirty-seven years ago. Father: William Vadal, miner. Mother: Jemmy Vadal, hydroponics technician. Two siblings: Endeavour and Jerrell. Trained at the Delaney military academy; qualified with a silver comms and a bronze gunsight. Assigned to CM-1414 squadron, served ten years. Commendation for meritorious service at the second battle of Jupiter. Assigned CM-1121 squadron, sixteen standard months ago, Depot Ship Amethyst, Jovian defence fleet. Later transferred, together with the rest of CM-1121 squadron, to the Depot Ship Belofte.” He paused.

  “Honourable discharge following a medical assessment that he was ‘no longer able to perform assigned duties’.”

  He snorted. “No longer able to perform…We all know that’s just a euphemism for chronic link fatigue!” He poured out another drink. “A whole ream of the poor guy's brain neurones have simply shorted out. Oh, he’ll be alright. He’ll do well in civilian employment. He’ll be able to lead a perfectly happy and healthy life. He just won’t be able to link into a military drone system ever again. His mind just wouldn’t be able to take the strain of it. Certainly not in a combat situation.” He took a deep pull at the drink. “Maybe he’s luckier than we are.”

  He punched the vidscreen controls again. The image of a rather flouncy looking young blonde with pouting lips and sparkling eyes flashed up. Courage grimaced and turned to face Cromarty again. “Ensign Celene D’Abro. Born Caldera province, Courage Asteroid, nineteen years ago; Father Jem D’Abro, engineer; Mother Constance D’Abro, nurse. One sibling, Henry, twelve years old; cat called ‘Bouncer’. Trained at the Delaney military academy, qualified silver cloak and silver wings. Transferred straight from training class 502 to CG-366 squadron, Ganymede Ultima station. Present at the bombardment of Ganymede Ultima station. Posted missing. Subsequently posted killed in action.”

  He turned back to face the vidscreen and slowly brought his hand up in a silent salute. “She was a long way from home eh? Will the shade or whatever is left of Ensign Celene D’Abro forgive me Sally? Will her parents? Her friends? Will any of them forgive me?”

  Cromarty pursed her lips. “Sir, you did not purpose what happened to either Lieutenant Vadal or Ensign D'Abro.”

  “No, and I know that I did all that I could to prevent it, with the resources at my disposal and with the information I had at the time. And I would have taken exactly the same decisions if I had known what I do now. I’m not wallowing in self-pity here Sally. I know that none of what happened to any of my people was my fault.” He saw her look down. “It was my responsibility though.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’m in command Sally. The buck, as they say, stops here.”

  Cromarty paused for a moment. “You didn’t doubt any of your decisions at the time sir.”

  Courage shifted. “Of course not! There was no time for this kind of thing then. If I considered all the pain and suffering scattered around by my actions I wouldn’t be able to make any decision at all. To be an effective I have to school myself not to feel anything.” He scratched at his head. “At the time, at the instant of decision, all that matters is to win. Nothing else. Just victory. The time to mourn comes later.” He picked up the bottle again. “This time, to be exact.”

  Cromarty caught at his arm before he could pour.

  “Sir, just how long have you been in here doing this?”

  He raised his other arm and checked his perscomp. “A little over nine hours. 543 minutes to be exact.” He dropped his arm. “To be even more exact – 32,604 seconds. Or 35,300 of my heartbeats. Heh.”

  Cromarty shook her head. “It’s just not right for you to torture yourself like this sir. I mean, even if you do have some responsibility for all of these tragedies, there’s nothing you can do about any of them now.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong Commander. I can do one last thing for all of them. I can make sure I am AWARE. I can make sure that I know…really know…that when I am calculating all the little strategies in my head, juggling x and y and z, I can know that one of those factors is Human life.”

  He half-filled the glass again. “I know there are some folk who think I’m some kind of military genius. I suppose this campaign might build up the legend a bit more. Only problem is that I’m not that person. In fact, I’m not really all that smart. All I am is a damn good games theorist. That’s all. That’s my gifting. My talent. It’s a natural aptitude I possess, the same way that some people can run and some can paint and others play instruments. I would be despising my gift if I didn’t use it. And who is to say it’s less important than any other gift that someone might possess?” He took another casual swig from the bottle. “Who? Why that would be those who have the ‘right’ gifts and talents. The ones that are - acceptable. The ones that someone, somewhere has decreed are more worthy. And that’s the reason why I am never going to be promoted again.”

  Courage put the bottle down and stared at Cromarty balefully. “Sorry. That’s another story. The point now is that I didn’t choose to have the kind of brain that can look at a strategic problem and reduce it to a series of equations in two seconds flat. That’s a natural gift. I can’t be proud of it. It just is. I might as well be proud of having an appendix. In the end it’s not what we are that matters, but how we choose to act.” He paused to take another deep drink. “So I can and I do choose to be a moral man.”

  He saw her frown. “That’s why I force myself to do this. I need to look at the death and the destruction Sally. If I didn’t, all those numbers and equations might just take over. If ever that were to happen…well, it might make me a better admiral, but it would certainly make me a much poorer Human Being. It would become all too easy for me to see a report that says we lost four, they lost ten, and think to myself – that’s a good deal. That’s a good exchange. And of course it is, except for the four that we lost.” He gave a snort. “And their families, and their friends, and their dependents, and everyone they came into contact with.”

  Cromarty considered. “I’ve just realised. When I asked how long you'd been in here, you translated the minutes into seconds and heartbeats without using your perscomp.”

  Courage put his glass down and removed the offending perscomp from his wrist. “Yes. I’ve always had an affinity with numbers. I like them. I really do. In fact, I prefer them to people. You know why? There is a precision to numbers. A totality. When I handle numbers, I feel – right somehow. Complete. I feel I am bringing order out of chaos. Sometimes it’s like touching joy itself when I handle numbers. There’s a kind of absolute quality with numbers that you never get when dealing with people. People are so much more complex. You might even say difficult.”

  Cromarty circled him. “Difficult as in ‘difficult to deal with or ‘difficult to understand’?”

  “Both.” He turned bloodshot eyes upon her. “I envy you Commander Sally Cromarty. Yes, I do. Your ability to handle people, the way you have of just knowing the right thing to say and the right time to say it. Oh I get it right sometimes, when I feel passionate about something and haven’t had the time to consider what I’m going to say, or what effect I’m trying to make on people. But I’m not a natural. I couldn’t work withou
t you and the likes of Thom Prince. If you weren’t covering my back, my esteemed subordinates would have mutinied by now.” He levered himself up. “Yes indeed they would.”

  He put the glass down and turned the vidscreen off. When he turned to look at Cromarty he saw there was a glistening on her cheeks.

  “Do you weep for Ensign Celene D’Abro Commander Cromarty? Or is it me you are sad for?”

  She shook her head. “Neither sir. I’m crying for myself.”

  “What?”

  “You say you envy me sir, but really I envy you. All my skill in handling people – it’s all compromise and sordid double-dealing in back rooms. It’s very rare I get to do what I know to be right.” She lifted her head. “It’s like living half a life. Stunted. Incomplete. Am I going to be proud when I look back on my career?”

  “Yes but I’m an Admiral. I have more power. Well, sort of anyway. I can get away with doing what I want.” He scratched his head. “As long as it turns out right.”

  “In other words, you aren’t scared of consequences. Maybe I am. Perhaps I’m too terrified, of what others think about me, of what might happen. Stunted you see?”

  He didn’t know what to say.

  “Sir, I think we both need to get some sleep.”

  “Yes I think you might be right. That would probably be for the best.” He carefully levered himself out of his chair. Cromarty leisurely bustled around the room, picking up discarded vidscrolls and abandoned cups. When she wasn’t looking he snaffled the bottle. He took a swig, found it was empty, and set it down again.

  He stumbled towards his bunk. Cromarty caught him about the waist, helped him walk the thousand steps there, eased him onto it, straightened him out, and stuck a pillow under his head and a duvet over his dishevelled body. He lay back into the smothering comfort of the sheets, then sat up, eyes wild.

  “Sally. Not a word of this. Not to anyone. You understand?”

  “I understand sir. I’m not sure I approve, but I do understand.”

  He lay back slowly. “That’s good Sally. That’s very good. I hope and pray you never get to the point where you do approve.”

  Chapter 38.

  Courage asteroid, near to the apartment of Rose and Jack Courage.

  Jack Courage paused as he reached the last corner of the corridor. Just past here, just up some ways on the left, was the apartment where he lived with his sister. Carefully he looked around. Nobody in sight. The late-night flit and the labyrinthine changes of direction seemed to have paid off.

  This was the first time he been alone in nearly a week. Since returning from Jupiter he had first been debriefed, then been given an official reception, and finally paraded in front of the public. Each event was ruthlessly exposed to general scrutiny. He had been subjected to hordes of people; well-wishers who wanted him to be better than he was and protestors who desperately needed him to be worse; politicians after votes and past-it admirals wanting to show how clever they would have been in his place; guards who followed him everywhere and worse – far worse – reporters requiring interviews so they could officially rubberstamp whatever stories they had already written. He had been the flavour of the moment, but eventually everyone had gotten what they wanted and moved onto the next thing, which oddly enough was a scandal over yoghurt.

  He slid slowly around the corner. He had tactically chosen his time. The hallways around here were likely to be deserted in the middle of blue shift. Gingerly he inched his way to the door of his apartment, half expecting a rush of feet, the click of holocams or the inane questions. No reaction. Nothing happened. The apartment to the left was empty, and old man Quirrel on the right was partly deaf, mostly anti-social, and completely apolitical. Carefully he activated the entry code to his apartment, slipped in quickly and sealed the door behind him.

  Safe.

  “Hello?”

  Or was he?

  The querulous, over-pitched tone came sudden and sharp from deep within the apartment. It reverberated around each room, jangling both the ornaments and his soul.

  Was it good to be home?

  Gingerly Courage stepped over the debris piled by the door and looked around for some free space to place his carryall.

  “It’s me Rose,” he called out. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  “What?”

  “I said it’s me Rose.”

  “Jack? Why didn’t you call?”

  “I did. I rang this morning. There was no answer.”

  Rose clattered down the stairs. She was still in her nightclothes, but threw herself into his arms. “Oh Jack, I’m so glad you are back! I’ve been hearing such terrible things on the news vids.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. It can’t have been easy.”

  “When did you get out of the Admiralty?”

  “Last night.”

  “When?”

  “Late last night.”

  “Why didn’t you ring me from the terminal?”

  “It was very late. I didn’t want...”

  Rose hugged him tight and hard. It was comforting, but also uncomfortable.

  Rose disengaged. “I was so worried. I was up all last night. I couldn’t sleep, what with the stress of it all. I think I might have another attack of the gantry fever.”

  “Oh, I’m sorr…”

  “It gets into the lungs you know - makes it impossible to rest.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I saw the news reports. Oh, and that’s a point. The holoviewer is playing up again. We’ll have to get another one.”

  “Can’t it be repaired?”

  “It’s old and useless. We need a new one. I mean, look at it!”

  She held up a remote control. It was badly scuffed and the front part had come loose. Bare wires dangled accusingly from the interior. She held the thing in silent condemnation.

  “Umm, yes ok.”

  She finger-punched the remote control unmercifully, a main cause of its dilapidated state. The holoviewer sparked and flickered. “Slagging thing! Come on, work you…“ An image appeared in terrified response. As usual the holoviewer defaulted to the shopping channels. A breathless talking head was enthusing wildly over some strange domestic product. Rose punched the controls, repeatedly and hard. The ancient remote control shuddered under the onslaught. Eventually the holoviewer flickered and the breathless salesman was replaced with a soberer example, earnestly trying to sell a rather different product.

  “…gressive party have already said, very clearly, that as much as they deplore the loss of life, firm measures are needed to counter Triangle League aggression, and…”

  “Did you say you had seen the news reports?”

  “I didn’t say, but I haven’t.” Courage managed a tight smile. “I’ve been more in the news than watching it.”

  “Oh right, well look at this…”

  The picture pulled back to reveal a second speaker, a severe looking woman with pursed lips who spat her words into the ether as if they were rivets being hammered into a beam.

  “Once again the aggressive policies of the so-called progressive party have brought disaster to the Confederation. This time the price of their unwarranted militarism has been the lives of fifty-two Confederation citizens! If they had any decency they would resign for these war crimes…”

  The first speaker interrupted. “The representative is being utterly disingenuous. It was the Liberty party who first…”

  The severe looking woman shouted over him. “You cannot deny that your party…” The program dissolved into a maelstrom of pointing fingers and frenzied shouting. Rose turned it down.

  “THAT’s what has been happening! A whole crowd of lying, devious politicians using you as a dodgeball every night! I’m just glad that father isn’t around to witness such a degrading spectacle. The honoured name of Courage being trampled in the mire like that. It makes me sick! I'm almost ashamed to go out in public.”

  Courage was sure the probable presence of reporters had been a factor in that
decision, but tactfully did not mention it. Instead he adopted as mollifying a tone as possible. “The way these things usually work is that they all get so worked up with blaming each other that after a while they forget about the original cause of their dispute.” He turned the program back up. The politicos were still violently interrupting each other. Fortuitously one of them got his name wrong as she yelled her argument. “See? Another few days and they won’t be mentioning me at all.”

  Rose huffed, in the way she had when seriously considering she might be wrong. Unfortunately, at that precise instant one of the shouting heads on the holoviewer made a loud reference to “killer Courage”. Rose gave him a terrible look and walked to the door.

  “Rose? Come on.”

  She shook her head. Courage caught a glimpse of a tear at the corner of her eye. “No, I need to be alone for a while.”

  He was left forlorn, looking round a room cluttered with Courage family heritage. There was nothing for it. He sighed and clicked to an alternative channel. An image of a giant pot of yoghurt appeared. He turned the vidscreen off.

  His perscomp pinged. He carefully chose the non-audio mode before pushing ‘accept’. Rose hated talking perscomps. It was an aspect of modern life he agreed with her about. “New messages, high priority.” popped up on the screen. What now? Rose had disappeared into the fortress of her bedroom, and would probably take some time to re-emerge. He had a little time to check. After the spat, he had the inclination too.

  He selected the new messages. There was a long list of requests from various people and organisations, most of whom he had never heard of. Some were from news media outlets. He deleted those out of hand. A couple were from folk wanting favours. There were always some hopefuls that thought that an admiral, even one out of fashion, could be a source of patronage. His sudden emergence into the public eye had brought them out of the woodwork. He forwarded those requests to Sally Cromarty. What was left were two messages from the Courage High Admiralty; two from the Virtue Confederation Admiralty; and one, curiously, from the Fortitude High Admiralty.