Chapter 2: Disposition of Excess Materiel

Asset Disposition Office
Gonzo Three Shipyard, Earth Orbit
Monday, May 19, 2234

Lieutenant Commander Harlow Winslow sighed as he looked at the stack of papers on the table in front of him. Signing and filing paperwork was not what he had imagined the Navy would be like when he joined. He had been fascinated by space holovids as a child, with the mighty WestHem Navy defeating space pirates, battling aliens from other stars, and fighting Martian terrorists. His family was well-to-do and was able to get him an appointment to the WestHem Naval Academy in Departure City.

Along the way, he had met a beautiful young woman; she was only middle-class but educated well enough and was acceptable as a wife by both his family’s standards as well as the Navy’s. As far as Helen Conover was concerned, marrying a Navy officer with a wealthy family was a no-brainer. She wasn’t thrilled with the sex involved, since she secretly had a preference for girls, but that could put her in prison, so she fantasized about girls when she went to bed with Harlow. They had two children, and she didn’t mind staying on Earth when Harlow was deployed.

Things hadn’t worked out as expected for Harlow. There were no heroic battles defending WestHem from horrid enemies. Instead, the Navy had identified him as a paper-pusher, smart and useful, but not somebody to take into combat. He had been given extensive legal and business training and assigned to Weapons Acquisition. Along the way he had figured out his marriage was a sham, though he enjoyed the sexual release Helen provided when he was home.

Now he looked across the table at Jonathan Harrison. Harison was the Senior Sales Director of Ares Alexander in Gonzo Three, one of the four WestHem Navy shipyards Ares Alexander used. Gonzo Three specialized in smaller vessels, mostly Rattler stealth and Province-class anti-stealth ships. Gonzo One and Two both handled the much bigger Manhattan-class dreadnoughts; Gonzo Four built a variety of naval freighters, transports, and tankers.

What bothered Winslow now was the stack of paperwork that Senior Sales Director Harrison was rushing him through. Harrison was thirty years older than Winslow and was treating the officer as a child. “Just sign the damn papers! I have more important work than this,” Harrison said.

“That’s very nice. This is the important work I need to do,” replied Winslow. He was trying to be polite, but it was difficult. Harrison was one of the important muckety-mucks at Ares Alexander and he had already implied that if Winslow didn’t do as he was told, he’d be an ensign in the Havana recruiting base shortly. Still, from the time he entered the Academy it had been stressed that an officer had to pay attention to every possible detail, and that his signature was the equivalent of giving his word that what he was signing was legal and true. He was experienced enough to know that the WestHem Navy didn’t always work like that, but he still had some trace of responsibility that hadn’t been destroyed.

There were six stacks of paperwork on the desk in front of Winslow, all identical, and his job was to review each stack, page by page and sign each page. He was on the first stack, the transfer of WHSS Eagle from the Navy back to the builder, Ares Alexander. There had been a form transferring Eagle from the active Navy to the inactive reserve, a form transferring her from the inactive reserve to the decommissioning fleet, another form decommissioning Eagle, a form declaring her surplus war materiel, and a form to transfer the war materiel to Ares Alexander. Winslow read each form and reviewed it before signing it.

Then he picked up the last form and began reading. “Excuse me, but what is this? You expect the Navy to pay you for these ships?” Winslow asked. There was a bill from Ares Alexander to the WestHem Navy for $5,000,000.00, five million WestHem dollars, for transport and scrapping. For all six ships that would be a cumulative bill for thirty million!

“Of course. Each of these ships needs to be transported to their final destination to be dismantled and recycled.”

“What transport? They’re already docked at Gonzo Three. You’re going to dismantle them right where they sit!”

Harrison ignored the comment. “Just sign the papers. Don’t meddle with things above your pay grade.”

“There’s no transport, you’re getting six ships-worth of high-quality steel and alloy, and six old but fully functioning fusion reactors! We should be charging you five million, not the other way around!” protested Winslow.

Harrison sighed and took out his personal comm device. He pressed a button and started talking a few seconds later. “You need to get your boy under control and have him sign the papers ... he’s complaining about the cost ... now ... no, right now ... do it!” He clicked off the comm and sat back.

Winslow was on the verge of protesting when the comm on his desk beeped. He picked it up and said, “Lieutenant Commander Winslow.”

“Winslow, sign the damn papers and keep your mouth shut!” It was Commodore Admiral Morton, and he didn’t sound happy.

“Commodore, have you seen this stuff? They expect us to...”

“Shut up, Winslow. You’re not being paid to think. You’re being paid to sign the damn papers!”

“Commodore...”

“Do it and then report to me immediately.” The comm clicked off.

Winslow set the comm back in its holder. He picked up his pen and signed the final form. He glanced at Harrison, who had a big smile. “Now, do the other five.” Winslow quickly worked through the rest of the paperwork. Harrison tucked it all into his briefcase and stood up. Out of the thirty million, one million would go to Morton and Harrison would pocket three million. The balance of twenty-six million would go to Ares Alexander. “Enjoy the ghetto. Maybe you’ll get lucky and get to pick the one you end up in.”