A Midwinter's Ski: Vergassy Chronicles

By James Young

Lieutenant Andrea Rowe has a problem. No, it's not the multi-million dollar weapons test she flubbed due to burnout. Nor is it the fact that her boss sent her on an involuntary two months' leave. Instead, Andrea's problem is that recent events have led to her having even more stress...and a 24-hour guard from the local ski patrol. Then "Victim Number Seven" sat down at her table with a bowl of nachos and a surly attitude.

Jason Owderkirk was expecting a normal "dirtside" leave free of the usual troubles that dogged a fighter squadron commander. Instead in less than twenty-four hours he's had to fend off an old friend carrying the galaxy's largest torch, navigate an overcrowded ski resort, and deflect a best friend who thinks that the best way to shrug off relationship troubles is to collect ski bunnies' pelts. Forced to sit down with a mysterious femme fatale who has been terrorizing any and every male who even looks her way, Jason soon finds himself engaged in the most dangerous duel this side of the atmosphere.

"Midwinter Ski" is a novel set in James Young's Vergassy Chronicles universe.  The first book in the series, An Unproven Concept, is available from your favorite bookseller.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Young
• Release date: Dec 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540177568

James Young

James Young was born in Oldham. He has tried his hand at a number of careers, including working in a cotton mill and as a car park attendant. In the early 80s he abandoned a promising academic future at Oxford to become Nico's piano player, after which he wrote Nico, Songs They Never Play on the Radio - a biographical account of the eight years he spent with the doomed Warhol chanteuse. He lives in Oxford.

Book preview

Prologue

C.S.S. Buri

1000 Standard Spacefarer’s Time (SST)

Winterhaven System

21 September 3045

Lieutenant Andrea Lowe, Confederation Fleet, walked to a point precisely three steps in front of the heavy oaken desk that dominated the small, grey compartment.  The sound of her heels echoed off the four surrounding bulkheads, and for not the first time the young officer questioned whether she should have gone with her issue flats.  Dark blue eyes fixed forward and her face set in an expression whose severity matched that of the tight bun her raven hair was clenched into, Andrea brought one slender hand up in a crisp salute despite the chair behind the desk being unoccupied.

Not bad furnishing for a ship that’s merely in system as a cover for the facility below, she thought.

Lieutenant Lowe reporting as ordered, Sir, she said, the harshness in her voice making it sound far deeper than its usual contralto.  Tall and lithe, Andrea’s frame, posture, expression and dark blue Fleet dress uniform made her look like she belonged to a strict, dour religious order rather than the Confederation of Man’s bulwark against enemies internal and extraterrestial. 

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate some of this military bullshit? a low, gravelly voice said from behind her.  At ease, and pour yourself something to drink, Lieutenant.

There was a moment of confusion on Andrea’s face as she dropped the salute.  Turning cautiously, she turned to see the head of the Winterhaven Research Facility, Dr. Teun Abimelech Raynerson, standing by the refreshment dispenser.  The tall, dark-skinned man looked like the prototypical absent-minded professor, down to the brown tweed jacket, white dress shirt, and wire frame glasses resting on his broad nose.  Behind the man’s unkempt appearance, however, lay one of the finest minds in the entire Confederation, and his brown eyes sparkled with intelligence even as a slight smile split his face.

Were you expecting a rack, a fire, and some chanting acolytes? Dr. Raynerson asked, indicating to Andrea her bewilderment had managed to pierce her military bearing. 

Not exactly, Si… Andrea started, beginning to set her face back to its impassive state. 

If you call me ‘Sir’ again, I’ll be happy to send Captain Anselmetti in to deliver the flogging you apparently believe you deserve, Raynerson said, his tone conveying that he was not exactly joking.  Now, you going to have that drink, or you going to keep standing there like some blue scarecrow?

A few minutes later, as she sat cross-legged across the desk from Dr. Raynerson, Andrea found herself completely befuddled. 

I’m not sure I’d be more shocked if someone turned off the Buri’s artificial gravity, the young woman thought, watching Raynerson consult his notes.

So, if I’m reading your own report correctly, you feel that you have singlehandedly nearly caused the death of a Confederation test crew, the destruction of a weapons sled, and wasted approximately one hundred man hours of test preparation, Raynerson said, his tone even.

Andrea took a deep breath.

Yes, Si…Doctor, I think that is an honest assessment, Andrea replied, proud that her voice did not shake as she lit her career on fire.

Interesting.  What I see is a young, promising officer who just made me roughly three hundred credits, Raynerson replied with a smile.

What the… Andrea