A bell pinged and an overly bright voice announced the shuttle was ready to be boarded.
“Time to go,” said Zoe.
They were not alone in their grief. Departure lounges were also places of separation. Several couples and family groups were hugging and even weeping, but none made as pitiful a picture as the Tallions. Jasmine and Josie continued to plead with their dam, and eventually Zoe broke down too, forming a triumvirate of misery. They were the last to stumble out of the departure lounge. A bored guard accepted Zoe’s boarding pass. Beyond a flicked glance he ignored their distress. Desprend again.
Zoe drew herself up and dried her eyes. “It’s time to go. Please. Both of you. For my sake if not your own.” She stepped through the gate. The guard swung it shut. She shouldered her carryall and walked backwards down the ramp, waving.
The two sisters watched and wept. Then Jasmine slowly walked off, all the time crying steadily, the tears pooling under her chin. Josie remained by the gate, her face also wet. She saw her stepmother rise up on tiptoes to give a reassuring wave to Jasmine. Catching the sudden movement in the corner of his eye, the guard instinctively turned to see what was happening, and Josie saw her chance. She had a strong young body, tempered with plenty of exercise and enhanced now by reduced gravity. A quick standing leap and she was over the barrier.
“Hey, you! Stop!”
Josie didn’t stop. She ran instead, with practiced loping strides. She dodged a second guard, ducked under the outstretched arms of a third, leaned hard to avoid an alert technician who had spotted her. She was through. She was diving into the hold. She weaved around startled passengers, caught sight of her mother; saw her turn, saw her face twist into shock; and then a strong hand thumped onto her shoulder, jerking her back, before a second arm wrapped around her waist.
“Got you! What do you think you’re doing?” It was the beefy first guard, who she had clearly underestimated. He efficiently immobilised her with a swift transition to a semi-choke hold.
“I’m going to Courage, with my dam,” she gasped out.
“Without a ticket? I don’t think so.”
The intercom system came on. “Launching sequence initiated. All passengers proceed to their seats.”
“Sounds like I’ll have to buy a ticket.”
The hold loosened slightly. Josie sensed her mother had come running up.
“You got any money?” asked the guard.
“No. I’ll need an emergency loan.”
“For a passage to Courage? Girl, you'll be paying that back for the rest of your life!”
Josie wrinkled her nose at him, and instead looked her horrified mother right in the eyes.
“I started paying it last week.”
Chapter 2.
Founder’s rooms, Courage Asteroid, five years later.
In the middle of a rough-hewn cavern, just under the surface of a very large rock spinning in the emptiness of space, a man stirred and opened his eyes. He was in early middle-age, still reasonably trim, and quite smart in the undress uniform of an admiral in the Courage Asteroid navy. Ironically, his name was Jack Courage, but the novelty of sharing his surname with his homeland had long ago been dulled by repetitious comment.
He was seated on one of four back-to-back chairs in a room whose most salient feature was that it was utterly unremarkable. The walls were of transparent plastisteel, the miracle material that made up so much of the architecture of the asteroid colonies. It was light and strong and convenient, but also very manmade. It formed a little bubble of comfortable modernity around visitors, through which they could get excellent but very safe views of the tawdry contents in the cavern that enclosed them. The whole effect was pristine and civilised, but also more than a little detached.
He had been disturbed in his inner contemplation by another visitor. The man paid him no attention and sauntered through the room and out of the opposite door. Courage saw the fellow had an earlobe receiver on. Tied into the museum computers, it provided an automatic guide that not only gave a step-by-step tour of the caverns, but was intelligent enough to adjust its routine to subliminal interest from the listener. Mention of names or places that elicited a spike in brain wave activity were automatically noted and the system would respond by going into much greater detail, steer the user toward related artefacts, and even append further reading matter directly into personal computers. It was all very clever.
Jack Courage quite definitely did not have an earlobe receiver on. He knew all about this place. He had been here so many times that he could recite every tale and every item of interest, in some cases even down to the last syllable and tone inclination of the automatic guide. It was possible that he knew the caverns better than the computer did. In fact there had been a time when he wandered around the rooms, lips moving soundlessly as he recited the attributes of each exhibit.
That had nearly got him into trouble. At first he had dismissed the odd looks as irrelevant, and when they persisted, as ignorant. It was some time before he realised that folk suspected that he was a neo-human - someone who had computer links hardwired directly into the brain. The process gave much faster access, but it was expensive and a very definite social no-no. Neo-humans were the butt of many jokes. Urban legend had it that the hardwiring affected the brain, the mind, and even the soul. Neo-humans were portrayed as being inwardly preoccupied, to a level where they eventually distanced themselves from any social interaction.
Jack Courage would never agree to be hardwired, even if he had been able to afford it. Not that his conscience would stop him, but his self conscious certainly would. He could not imagine being the centre of that kind of attention! He had been much more careful in his inward preoccupations once he had figured out the social faux pas. Jack Courage had been blessed and cursed with an intensely logical mind. It made him good with things, but bad with people. He needed all the social conformity he could get.
He had been alone in this particular room for some time before the interruption. Now and again an erratic effect of acoustics made him aware of others moving about the museum. They were probably in the younger caverns, the ones that were better stocked with items. He was in the older parts. They were much sparser, and so attracted fewer people. Personally he preferred it. The solitude helped him to think. It meant he didn’t have to watch his behaviour, and that enabled him to better soak in the ambience of this place, despite the plastisteel walls that separated him from its essence.
He could tell there were very few other visitors today. The one who had disturbed him had been the first in nearly thirty minutes. His frequent trips meant that Jack Courage was very aware of how the museum operated. He had felt for a long time that attendance must be in steady decline. Last year his irritation had reached such a level that he had taken the time to delve into the official visitor figures, which had emphatically confirmed his suspicions. In fact the situation was far worse than he had suspected.
It had all been very depressing. Whenever he had visited as a small child the museum had always seemed to be packed. He remembered his father steadily pushing him to the front of a crowd of people gathered round the old airlock. He could still feel the calloused hand enclosing his own; the hard voice reverentially hushed as he pointed out the first handprint; the shattered remains of Building B, destroyed by an erratic meteor strike; the original main entrance, now ridiculously small. Subdued whispers from his father were unnatural, and pointed up the importance of this place far more than pious mumblings about tradition and values ever could.
Of course people were very busy these days. Gawping at the past had become a bit of a luxury. It wasn’t so much because of the current war with the Triangle League. Couragers were used to the idea of conflict. Warfare had been endemic in the middle solar system for nearly a century. Besides, only a small proportion of the population were actively involved in the fighting.
No, most people were too preoccupied with making money and gaining power and prestige to have time to visit a mu
seum. But it was important. These few small caverns represented the start, the very beginnings of colony NFY-453, better known now as Courage Asteroid. And as the Virtue Accords had been instigated largely as a result of John Sopis of Courage, you could even argue this was the very beginning of the Virtue Confederation itself. This place was the start point of the nation that held his loyalty, and more to the point, the source of most of what he was.
If this was indeed the foundation of the nation, why was it so empty? One part of him, buried very deep, feared that his people were beginning to lose their way. There were worrying signs, if you cared to look. The vids showed an increasing tendency to be preoccupied with the trivial, or the fatuous. There was more and more talk of rights and less and less of responsibilities. And as far as he was concerned, there was too much questioning of attitudes and practices that should have been treated as absolutes. The original colonists had been a hotchpotch collection of misfits, adventurers, and hard-nosed businessmen. They didn’t do discussion or consensus. Life was too hard and too dangerous to bother much with the “which-nesses” and the “why-fors” of an issue. Things were, or they were not. That was all that mattered to them. It had to be like that. In the early years of the settlement, lack of practical got you killed.
Then again, maybe it was he that was being too critical and out of step. Of course practical was good. Practical worked. Practical was essential, when trying to hack a meagre existence out of a small asteroid deep in the vast wastes of the middle solar system. But did it lead to happiness? What if practicality was a means to an end, not just an end in itself? After all, who wanted to live practically all of the time? And just as he recited that platitude a new, treacherous thought uncoiled from deep within his soul. You’re a hypocrite, Jack Courage. You say that with your mind but in your heart living practically is exactly what you would really prefer. Well isn’t it?
He shook his head and tried to regain his composure and the comforting link to the ambience of the museum. Objectively, it was little more than a network of very basic roughly-cut rooms, connected by a superimposed series of very modern buildings that efficiently muffled the original primitive grandeur. Oh he knew the arguments. The enclosed observation areas were necessary because the constant flow of tourists and study groups over the years was beginning to damage the site. “Visitor erosion” they called it, or some such high sounding term. Charitably he supposed it was reasonable enough, but he still missed being actually in the original caverns, as opposed to being in a room that was in them.
There was also a much stronger whiff of sordid commercialism. The gift shop, which had always been enclosed in a modern room, had grown since he had last been here. It now jutted out from its original tastefully hidden alcove and obscured a portion of the “airlock” cavern. Another sign of the times. The museum was an expensive establishment to operate. The subsidy from the Council of Cultural affairs had been cut several times over the past decade, what with the increasing pressure the defence budget was putting on public spending. If the number of paying visitors was falling as well, it was hardly surprising the museum was in financial difficulties.
And of course it was also quite a big place, on a small asteroid where living space was at a premium. There had already been a proposal to sell off part of the ‘areas of lesser historical importance’ to developers, making the museum smaller and easier to manage as well as giving it a significant cash boost. The local patriotic and historical societies had vociferously protested of course, and the proposals had been shelved. But Courage knew they would be raised again. It was inevitable, unless there was a significant change in the financial climate. Or in people’s attitudes.
As matters stood the museum was slowly failing. Most particularly and personally it was failing Jack Courage here and now. This place had always been his sanctuary. It helped him to think clearly about the matters that he found most difficult. Now the empty halls were more worrying than comforting He gave an internal sigh. This was hopeless. He was never going to find any peace or equilibrium here. Not now. He might as well go home.
That prospect filled him with a different kind of dread, so he dragged out his departure, dawdling through small rooms and stopping to examine exhibits he had already seen a hundred times or more. There was a scattering of folk in the large cavern, where tradition had it the original settlers had first set up their mining probes. There was a cobbled-together air purifier in here – a real masterpiece of innovation that had saved the entire colony in its fourth year. It was an example of the kind of thinking and determination that had made Courage Asteroid a going concern and then a major power in the middle solar system. Where was that level of self-reliance now? Two of the visitors, juveniles, were involved in some bizarre play-acting. They didn't look as if they could improvise anything else. Shaking his head at the giggling duo, he made for the exit.
The reception area was deserted except for a bored looking woman at the ticket stand. She rearranged trinkets on the stands occasionally, but more frequently accessed her wrist-mounted perscomp – an overly stylish model in lurid pink. Personal computers were universal and essential, but it was still considered impolite to use them all the time in public, particularly when one was supposed to be working. A public vidscreen on the entrance wall blared. As Courage arrived the midday program had just started and he stopped to catch up on the latest. The bored receptionist ignored the broadcast completely, contenting herself with the occasional titter as some outrageous statement from a friend popped up on her perscomp.
The lead item outlined the latest furore in the Pattern, Courage Asteroid’s legislative assembly. The second was a report from the stock exchange on a downturn in light metal sales. The third concerned politicians wrangling over trade agreements. Courage grimaced wryly. So that covered politics, business and the politics of business - a neat summary of the main preoccupations of the populace of Courage Asteroid, and even in the correct order of their importance.
The remaining items were actually about the war that had been raging on and off for the better part of a year. It was a quite detailed if not particularly accurate account. The first piece started with external shots of Virtue Confederation warships floating majestically in space, while a voice over extolled their strength and power. Then there was a cut away to a space map outlining the current strategic situation. It naturally concentrated on the Great Void Reach, the main area of space that divided the Confederation from the Triangle League, and spent a little time recapping the huge but indecisive battles that had been periodically fought there. An interview with an earnest staff officer followed. The fellow confidently predicted that the next battle would indeed result in the decisive victory that would settle the war. The section was rounded off with a Human-interest angle, basically a selection of impossibly young link warriors reminiscing about their families and lovers, their hopes and ambitions, and the need to do their duty.
It was all stock propaganda, and not particularly inspired propaganda at that. Not that it mattered much. Courage had never met anyone who believed more than a tenth of what such programs said. Then again, maybe it was necessary that they followed the same insipid format. People might not take note of what broadcasts said, but they most certainly would take note if they didn’t say what was expected. He turned to leave, musing over this curious aspect of Human psychology.
His preoccupation meant that he failed to notice that a young woman was walking very quickly towards him. Her head was turned over her shoulder, concentrating on some object inside the room she was exiting. She was obviously utterly unaware of his presence. He stepped quickly to one side, but the young woman was too close and walking far too fast. Some deep animal instinct caused her to sense his presence and her head started to turn, but it was too late. She slammed into him, and a clutter of bags, vidscrolls and shopping cascaded onto the floor.
He saw the shock in her face fade to contrition, and then into alarm as she recognised his undress uniform. She was also in a Cour
age Asteroid navy uniform, but not like his. She wore the single unipiece grey jumpsuit of a link warrior, not the dark blue of a line officer. The rank tabs were that of a humble Ensign, the lowest commissioned rating. The upper arms had a series of blanked mauve circles, indicating she had not yet passed any of her specialisation examinations. She was a link warrior cadet.
“Oh. Err...excuse me sir.” She scrabbled for her possessions, clutching them between her arms and torso, and at the same time tried to salute. Inevitably she failed at both tasks. A treacherous vidscroll dropped onto the floor again. They both bent to pick it up. Courage beat her to it, stood up and offered it to her. Her hands and arms were still full, so he wedged it carefully into the pile of objects she was carrying.
“Thank you sir. Umm…” She made another attempt at a salute, which threatened to tumble her possessions to the floor again.
“Belay that Ensign,” he said.
“Yes sir. I mean, aye, aye sir. Thank you again sir.”
She had an odd accent, and looked more than a little disjointed and clumsy. That was odd. She had crashed into him, and Link warriors were supposed to be coordinated and have good reactions. They had to pass aptitude tests. Maybe the expansion of the navy had lowered standards. She looked as impossibly young as the warriors on the interview. But she was here, in this special place. That bought her a certain leeway. She had relaxed a little at his summary dismissal of military etiquette, and sketched the beginnings of a smile. Then in a flurry of dexterity she managed to bundle her possessions into the one carryall in one smooth, coordinated movement. With one hand now free, she stood upright and gave a much tighter salute.
How astonishing! So the coordination was there after all! He noticed she was waiting. In truth he had never been very good at military protocol either, but good order and discipline demanded a response. He performed the necessary military acknowledgement, as sharp as he could.
The Jovian Sweep (Asteroid Scrabble Book 1) Page 2