The Jovian Sweep (Asteroid Scrabble Book 1)

by Martin Bourne

  Bleary-eyed and confused, the ex members of training class 502 hurriedly bundled their meagre possessions and stumbled out. The corridors were filled with unfamiliar faces, all bustling around hauling their own carryalls. During their shipboard ‘night’ shift transports and shuttles had brought a whole slew of new people and equipment in. Two entire squadrons had transferred in from Amethyst. The newcomers were blundering around Belofte’s unfamiliar layout.

  “So now there’s lots of new stuff being put into the places we’ve just taken everything out from,” said Ben morosely.

  “Well, that must be why we did it,” said Marilyn. “So there would be room for all these people.”

  “Yeah, but they have more stuff than their personal belongings.” He ticked off the points on his fingers. “There will be all the life support they need, and all the drones they will be using, and the spare parts that go along with the. So who do you think is going to get the job of shifting all that?”

  There was a chorus of groans.

  The cadets had been on the ship for months now, but no one had any idea where the mysterious room 618 was. Even the ship’s main computer wasn’t too sure. Eventually, after twenty minutes of stumbling around the Depot Ship, they found that it was an auxiliary storeroom. There a harassed sailor issued each of them with a ‘one person portable sleeping habitat’.

  “Where’s this lot come from?” asked a bewildered Packer.

  “Shipment just in from Persephone,” said the sailor. “You’re all to report to the portside environment bay”.

  “Portside environment bay?” asked Lilybeth.

  “As in where all the food is grown?” continued Marilyn.

  The sailor grinned. “The very same.”

  Packer spread his arms wide. “What for?”

  The sailor only just stopped himself from laughing out loud. “That’s going to be your new home.”

  The ‘portable sleeping habitats’ turned out to be anything but portable. They were obviously designed as emergency overnight accommodation for surface movement on the Jovian satellites. Amorphous lumps of metallic textiles in mind jolting shades of yellow and purple, they seemed to have been deliberately designed to be difficult to carry. They were too flexible to be easily dragged and too thick to be readily folded over. They were too long to be easily held upright and too wide to be straddled comfortably with both arms. The only recourse was to haul them, and it was a nightmare.

  “So basically,” seethed Packer, as he struggled with sleeping habitat and bulging personal carryall, “we are gonna be sleeping in a cramped emergency pseudocanvas pod surrounded by a lot of plants!”

  “Well, at least we’ll wake up in a nice natural woodland setting,” said Josie.

  “You mean artificially natural,” exclaimed Packer. He motioned at the fluorescent ‘easispot’ covering of the habitat. “I don’t remember seeing colours like that in any nature documentary.”

  “It can’t be helped,” said Marilyn mildly. “There isn’t enough room for all the extra people on board.”

  “Yeah, but why does it have to be us who get moved out?” said Lilybeth. “We were here first!”

  That brought another chorus of groans, this time sprinkled liberally with obscenities.

  Encouraged, Packer vented on. “Elitism, that’s what it is“, he fumed as he wrestled his ‘portable sleeping habitat’ around a sharp bend in the corridor. “We’re only trainees. We are not as important as the so-called ‘proper’ warriors. Hey watch it!”

  The man he had run into turned to face him. Packer looked aghast. The newcomer stood impassively, his arms studded with silver emblems, his breast pocket adorned with the rocket emblem of CM-1121 Squadron and the insignia of a Lieutenant Commander on his shoulder pads. It was one of the newcomers from Amethyst.

  "Your idea of your relative worth is spot on, cadet," he said.

  Packer gawped stared at him. The stranger waited. Finally Packer gave a belated and untidy salute.

  “Correct answer Ensign.” The newcomer gave a crisp return salute and strode off. As soon as he was out of sight Packer was surrounded by a giggling crowd of his fellows.

  “Well played, Packer!”

  “Close one there.”

  “Ensign Packer, NOT assigned to CM-1121!”

  Packer grinned. “Heh, yeah, ok.”

  “We’d better get moving,” said Josie.

  “I suppose so. Give me a hand here someone?”

  The solution was ludicrously simple and afterwards there was much dispute over who came up with the idea. They dumped the sum of their luggage in a big pile in one of the rec rooms, and then two of them carried each of the portable sleeping habitats to their destination. It was still difficult to manoeuvre around the corridors, but no longer impossible. Of course, several officers also gave them grief for ‘creating an untidy mess’ in the rec room.

  The portside environment bay was one of the two areas tasked with producing oxygen and fresh food for the ship, specifically the one that had been causing the Depot ship trouble. Part of it had been cleared of fast growing vegetation to create a space for them. A gaggle of grinning techies were fencing off another large area. One of the original plant trestles was still in place, and a vidscroll note had been attached to it explaining how they were to neatly divide the area into primitive mini replicas of their dorm clusters. They were strictly ordered to stick to their assigned areas and they were most definitely not to walk on the grass.

  Assembling the portable sleeping habitats proved to be surprisingly easy. Placing them in the specified locations was not. The scribbled instructions did not include the orientation of the area and half the class set up in one way and the other half in the other. The error was not spotted until a good twenty minutes had passed. There was much shouting and gesticulating. By the time everything was sorted out everyone was very tired and stressed. Ben redeemed himself for his epic part in the confusion by lugging the girl’s portable habitats as well as his own into the correct position.

  “Where’s Celene?” asked Josie, suddenly aware that she had not seen her friend.

  “Ensign D’Abro was not included in our eviction notice,” said Marilyn disgustedly. “She is still snugly asleep in her pit. Or rather she is at the moment. I am going to take great delight in rousting her out of it as soon as I’ve bedded down. Ow!” this last as she tripped over her ‘portable sleeping habitat’ and did a complete somersault before landing on her back right on top of it, to a great chorus of cheers and laughter.

  “That’s not a bad idea Marilyn,” said Packer above the hubbub. “There’s bound to be a good bed in the sickbay.”

  Marilyn closed her eyes and relaxed her face. “Oh, that is it. That is really it. Leave me here to die.”

  Packer promptly dived onto the habitat next to her. “Make me a happy man before you go!”

  “Get out of it!” yelped Marilyn, as she swatted him hard and scrambled to her feet in record time. Everyone laughed, except Lilybeth.

  “I’m going to find Celene,” said Josie.

  She turned to go, and bumped right into her friend. Celene was stood in the doorway. The bubbly blonde was watching them silently, a strange expression on her face. She looked bland, lost, deflated and puzzled all at once.

  “Ah, our deserter!” said Packer.

  “Where’s your portable habitat Celene?” asked Lilybeth.

  “I don’t have one. My personal belongings are still back at the dorm, all packaged up. I’m not coming in here with you. It came through on my perscomp while you were away.”

  “What did?”

  Celene swallowed. “My assignment.”

  A live grenade dropping on the floor would have had less impact. “Assignment?” blurted several people all at once, suddenly surrounding her.

  “You’ve been posted?” asked Josie.

  “Already?” said Marilyn.

  “Like to an actual combat squadron?” asked Lilybeth.

  Celene nodded. Josi
e felt suddenly sick.

  Packer climbed to his feet. “Where you going to?”

  “ZG triple five squadron,” said Celene. “They are shy a countermeasures operator apparently, and well, someone somewhere thinks I should be that person, I guess.”

  There was a pause.

  “ZG triple five?” said Packer at last. “A ground squadron?”

  “Yes. They’re regular Confederation navy, but part of the Ganymede garrison.”

  Another pause. Josie could tell what everyone was thinking. A garrison squadron, even a regular navy one, based way out on a Jovian moon rather than a Depot ship was hardly a plum assignment.

  “Is this a permanent posting?” Marilyn asked.

  Celene shrugged.

  “Nah, no chance,” said Packer, with more conviction than he obviously felt. “It’ll be just for the duration. They’ll have you out of there when this emergency is over.”

  Celene shrugged again.

  Josie couldn’t think of anything to say. Celene didn’t meet her eyes.

  “When does all this happen?” asked Ben eventually.

  “Tonight. 1800 hours. Green shift.”

  *******************************************************************************

  At 1600 there had been an impromptu leaving party, including a touching little ceremony commemorating Celene and her time in 502. There had been speeches and backslapping, hugs and kisses and promises to keep in touch. It had all been a bit forced. Yes Celene leaving was short notice, but that wasn’t the main issue. In the back of everyone’s mind was the thought that it might be their turn next. The party didn’t end so much as slowly peter out as people steadily drifted away. By 1730 Josie and Celene were alone in a corner of the rec room, sipping slowly from coffee cups.

  “I always knew, well I suppose we all did, that training class 502 would one day be disbanded,” said Celene after a while. “I mean I knew up here, in my head. It’s just that now it's starting to happen, it’s all a bit of a shock. Especially as it’s happening to me first.”

  “I know what you mean. I don’t think anyone had worked out in their heads that it would all end just yet.”

  They both sipped at their coffees.

  “At least the food will be better on Ganymede,” said Josie at last.

  “Yes. There is that.”

  There was another pause. Josie couldn’t stand it any longer. She took Celene’s hand and blurted out her feelings. “It won’t be forever. This is just because of this emergency. After we’ve knocked the stuffing out of the Trigs, they’ll rearrange all of 502 and complete our training. You’ll be back on Belofte soon enough.”

  Celene pursed her lips. “I was more kind of hoping that after this is all over we’ll both get transferred onto the same, decent sized modern Depot ship. And with all respect to your homeland, I wanted it to be somewhere closer to the Confederation.”

  “No offence taken. A modern Depot ship would be way better.”

  “Not just any Depot ship. One of the new ‘Hero’ class.”

  “Oh, at least.”

  “After all, if we’re going to dream we might as well make it a good one.”

  Josie smiled. “You’re right. We’ll crew a ‘Lancelot II’ heavy attack drone together on a ‘Heavens’ class Depot Ship.”

  “It needs six warriors to control one of them. Who'll be the rest of the crew?”

  “The four hottest, sexiest, most talented male link warriors in the Confederation. Two each.”

  “Mmm. I like your dreaming.”

  “I’ve been saving it up.”

  They both sipped at their coffee. Celene checked her perscomp.

  “Twenty minutes before the shuttle goes.”

  “I suppose we had better make our way down there.”

  “Yes, I suppose we had.”

  They drained their cups. Josie gathered one of Celene’s carryalls. They ambled slowly to the shuttle bays, trying to drag the time out. A cluster of people, link warriors, techies, deck officers, were already shuffling into an interfleet transport bus. Celene turned and collected the rest of her possessions from Josie’s nerveless hands.

  “Look Celene, I wanted to…”

  Celene pressed a finger to Josie’s lips. “No. You don’t need to say anything. I know. And I hate goodbyes.” She gave a tentative smile. “Look after yourself Jose. Remember I won’t be there to look after you.”

  “I was more worried that you won’t have me to look after you!”

  They grinned. They embraced. Then Celene took a deep breath and joined the milling crowd trudging into the shuttle bays. She turned once before she reached the marines checking passes at the gate, smiled again, waved and then turned and was gone.

  Chapter 20.

  Light Depot Ship Belofte, Persephone orbit.

  Josie took a roundabout way back. She head was reeling and she needed to process all that had happened. Being assigned onto a Depot Ship, the end of training, final exams, failing at those exams, the sudden redeployment – and to near home at that - and now Celene leaving. Everything seemed to be moving so quickly, and not in directions she expected or desired.

  She was so distracted she found she had walked to the old dorm cluster. One of the new occupants gave her a hard look when she rolled. She hurriedly retraced her steps and headed to her new home at hydroponics. When she got there the place was beginning to reach a semblance of normality. For simplicities sake the layout of the dorms had been duplicated into the fenced off area. Josie slowly walked over to where the former members of her dorm cluster had set up. There she found Constance holding court.

  “It’s quite simple, she should have contested it!” the tall woman pouted, her voice filled with patrician fury. “There’s no way she should put up with getting a grubby assignment like that. We got rights you know, as much as anyone else. More than anyone else – it’s our careers that are on the line. It doesn’t matter that we signed military waivers. They can’t just push us around.”

  “I don’t think it would have done much good,” said Marilyn, a hint of resignation in her tone. Apparently the discussion had been going on for some time. “Admiral Courage has activated the emergency powers act for the duration of this campaign.”

  “That’s outrageous,” exclaimed Constance. “That’s only supposed to be for the direst of emergencies!”

  Marilyn pursed her lips. “We might be fighting a major battle in a few days time. I’d call that a pretty dire emergency.”

  “Emergency? Pah!” Constance’s voice softened – an unnatural event in itself, but this time lending her comments a cloying syrupy quality. “Admiral Gohir never saw the need to activate emergency powers. He let us be free, so we could fight like free people - and that’s how we beat the Trigs at Pharon V!”

  “We outnumbered the Trigs two to one at Pharon,” muttered Packer.

  Constance didn’t hear, or took no notice, and continued stamping about. “Emergency powers act – another Unite party trick. I hate that kind of thing! Bossing people around, treating them like nobodies! What about our contracts? What about our rights? What’s the point of fighting for freedom if our own government is going to take it away,” she snapped her fingers, ”just like that?”

  Constance made this argument, forcibly, several times over the next fifteen minutes. Eventually, Marilyn told her to her face to shut up. Constance’s eyes bulged and her mouth flapped open as she struggled to think of a reply. Marilyn forestalled her by walking to her habitat, lying on the mattress inside, and turning her back. No one, not even Lilybeth, said anything to support Constance.

  Interesting times! Still, it was probably nothing more than a minor glitch in the various interrelationships. After all it had been a particularly long, stressful day and everyone was tired. Rerunning the events wasn’t going to do any good, so Josie lay down to sleep. Maybe it had all been a bad dream. Maybe in the morning Celene would still be here. Maybe they would still be at Delaney Academy instead of speedin
g to an uncertain future in the hydroponics gardens of a run-down Depot Ship.

  When she awoke a few hours later the noises and smells were all wrong. Her bed felt 'wrong'. Her surrounding were unfamiliar. Where was she? Then it all came flooding back. She was in the hydroponics bay on board Belofte. That meant that everything that had happened had not been a bad dream. She actually was still on Belofte, wrapped in a “one-person portable personal habitat” in the hydroponic gardens, and Celene had really been packed off to Ganymede.

  There was a loud buzz of conversation outside. She threw some clothes on and staggered bleary-eyed into the open area. People were stood, partly-dressed or hurriedly fully-dressed, in several small, excited clumps and one particularly large mass, centred on Marilyn. Lots of people were talking all at once. Apparently the stocky brunette had gotten an assignment with a squadron serving on the Depot Ship Amethyst, and she was thus the centre of attention, particularly for her female colleagues. The squadron, CM-2396, was known as “the charmers” and their shtick was the wearing of multi-coloured sashes around the upper arms and waist. A virtual catalogue had been delivered to her perscomp and everyone was helping Marilyn with designs. There were gasps and squeals, and indrawn breaths and pointed fingers. Marilyn had a decided look of over stimulation about her. Of course no-one paid any attention to that.

  “Look girls, I checked,” she said eventually. “Amethyst is over by Europa now. “I won’t be able to join her for…well…maybe weeks.”

  “Yes but you got to be ready, Marilyn,” enthused Lilybeth. She held up her fancy perscomp and activated a 3D hologramatic representation of a sheer black sash infused with glittery red and gold. “Look at this one! It’s just to die for!”

  Constance’s lip curled. “Very garish dear. I mean, are you serious about wearing that? I mean for real? You’d look like you were in mourning for someone you’re really quite glad has died.”

  There were a few titters at this clever play of words, which Constance acknowledged with a typical smug grin. Marilyn and Lilybeth did not join in the merriment. Neither did Jose, but then nobody was paying any attention to her.