He said it with a smile, but Myell didn’t think he was joking.
The classrooms were on the second and third decks of the building. Khaki-clad chiefs were already lecturing, administering tests, or conducting multimedia presentations. The upper decks contained computer labs, a library, and a chapel. The mess hall was in an adjacent building, and beyond it was the gymnasium.
“So where did they stash you and your wife for quarters?” Etedgy asked. “Widen? Sally Bay? My wife and I have been on the waiting list for Lake Lu for a year.”
“Nice, is it?”
“Best you can do for enlisted housing around here.”
“Is that how long you’ve been here? A year?” Myell asked, and successfully diverted the topic.
Just before oh-nine-hundred they returned to the main building and rode the lift to the fifth deck, which offered marvelous views of the sea traffic heading in and out of port. Myell kept his gaze averted. Captain Kuvik’s suite was impeccably furnished and much larger than a shipboard captain’s. The walls were vidded with photos of square-shouldered graduating students, all of them ready to march off into the fleet and inflict invoices for every last roll of toilet paper.
Not that Myell thought poorly of his career track. Supply sailors didn’t earn the same glory as flight crews and didn’t save lives like the medical corps, but someone had to keep food, equipment, uniforms, materials, and weapons moving down the Alcheringa and throughout the Seven Sisters.
“Chief Myell to see the captain,” Etedgy announced.
Captain Kuvik’s secretary, a thin man with antique glasses perched on his nose, gave Myell an unfriendly look. He pinged the inner office and repeated Etedgy’s words.
“Send him in,” a man replied.
Myell stepped into Kuvik’s office. Windows screened out the sunlight. Classical music from pre-Debasement Earth played softly on a hidden radio. Kuvik, an older man with rugged features and white hair, nodded Myell toward a chair. Five rows of ribbons were pinned above his left pocket. Some of them were for enlisted sailors only, meaning he’d worked his way up through the ranks. The office smelled like peppermint.
“Sergeant Etedgy show you around?” Kuvik asked.
“Yes, sir.” The chair was hard under Myell, and a little low to the floor. “It’s an impressive complex.”
“The enlisted school graduates three hundred ATs a month, and we teach advanced courses to twice as many RTs and sergeants. Do the job right or don’t do it at all, I tell them. I disenroll anyone who doesn’t take the job seriously, and I won’t have any instructors who think this is a three-year vacation after years of running down the Alcheringa.”
“I don’t think of this is a vacation, Captain.”
Kuvik gave no indication of having heard him. “Just because Fleet assigns someone here doesn’t mean you get to be in front of one of my classrooms. My instructors are role models for young ATs who need direction and guidance. You don’t pass muster, I’ll stick you in a basement office and make you count requisitions eight hours a day.”
Myell knew all about being shoved into dead-end, tedious jobs. “I hope I pass muster, sir.”
Kuvik’s gaze hardened. The music on the radio rose in crescendo. Something by Beethoven, Myell thought. Or maybe not.
“I know you were instrumental in saving your ship after the insurgent attack off Baiame,” Kuvik said. “That Silver Star they gave you proves that. Commander Wildstein on the Aral Sea speaks highly of you, and she’s damned hard to please. But you also married your supervisor, Lieutenant Scott, which indicates an appalling lack of decorum and brings up serious issues of fraternization.”
“No fraternization charges were filed against Lieutenant Commander Scott or myself,” Myell said, making sure Kuvik knew her current rank.
“I’m not interested in whether your former captain had the balls to court-martial you for violating regulations.” Kuvik leaned forward, a muscle pulling in his cheek. “Worse than your playing house with Lieutenant Commander Scott is the fact that you’ve never undergone chief’s training.”
Ah, Myell thought. The true crux of the problem. He and Jodenny had discussed the ramifications of his refusal, rehearsed possible scenarios, but he’d sincerely hoped the issue wouldn’t arise.
“I was promoted in the field while recovering from my injuries,” Myell said. “Authorized by my captain on behalf of Team Space to wear the insignia and uniform, and receive all the ranks and privileges of a Chief Petty Officer. When we arrived here, seven other sergeants on the Aral Sea were also approved for promotion.”
“And those seven sergeants immediately volunteered for chief’s training over at Fleet. You refused.”
“Because the training is voluntary, and has been ever since the death of that sergeant on Kookaburra.”
Kuvik wagged a finger. “One mistake shouldn’t override hundreds of years of tradition. Initiation marks the transition from sergeant to chief. You don’t just put on the uniform. You’re expected to be a leader, and being a leader means being accepted as an equal by your peers.”
Myell could already picture that basement office with his name posted by the door.
“That’s where we disagree, sir. A leader rises above his peers instead of hovering in the pack with them. Team Space promotes us because of who we are and what we’ve done, not so we can reinvent ourselves. You can do whatever you like with me, but you’re not going to convince me that a month of being humiliated and bullied will make me more fit to wear this uniform.”
Myell realized his voice had risen. He clamped his mouth shut. He’d given the captain enough to hang him with already.
Kuvik leaned back in his chair. The radio fell silent, and a cormorant cried out behind the windows as it swooped down toward the water.
“There are some people from Fleet in my conference room,” Kuvik finally said. “They want to talk to you. Something hush-hush and very important. Any idea what?”
Myell thought instantly of the Rainbow Serpent, and of the jobs he and Jodenny had turned down in a secret underground complex back on Warramala a few months ago.
“No, sir,” he said.
Kuvik rose from his chair. “Go talk to them, Chief. And if they offer you a transfer, you’d better take it. It’ll be a better deal than anything you’re going to get here.”
CHAPTER TWO
The outside world was too bright, even with sunglasses shading her eyes. Jodenny Scott resisted the urge to lie down on the sidewalk for twelve hours of sleep and kept walking down Sydney Boulevard. Train, home, bed. Those were her only goals.
She thought about pinging Myell, but he would already be at Supply School meeting his co-workers and getting settled in. The last few weeks hadn’t been easy for him. Her part, going off to work every morning, had been simple. He’d had to lease a flit, get them moved into housing, buy furniture they’d never needed before, and organize their personal lives. He had done it all without complaint, and had even arranged for a dozen long-stemmed red roses to be on her desk her first day at Fleet.
She hadn’t been able to send him off in style, but maybe she could make his first night home special.
“Jo?” a woman asked from nearby. “Jo Scott?”
Jodenny stopped. Sydney Boulevard was a wide avenue of shops, cafés, and office buildings, an eclectic mixture of old and new architecture. Foot and street traffic were both heavy. A redhead with a baby in a back carrier was standing nearby, her smile wide.
Jodenny asked, “Noreen? Is that you?”
“Yes!” Noreen Cross threw her arms around Jodenny in an exuberant hug. “It’s great to see you! You look fabulous!”
“And you look like you’ve got a baby on your back,” Jodenny replied.
Noreen juggled the carrier a little. A chubby-faced baby in pink clothes gave Jodenny a wide-eyed look and waved a clenched fist.
“My daughter Emma,” Noreen said. “My second. She’s my best sweetheart.”
Jodenny waggled her fing
ers at Emma, who responding by drooling. “Two? Already?”
“Tom and I want four. Tommy Allcot. You remember him, don’t you? He was in the class ahead of ours at the Academy. Big guy, soccer player?”
“I remember.” Jostling pedestrians forced Jodenny to step closer. “How do you do it? Kids and husband and work?”
“Oh, I resigned my commission.” Noreen wiped Emma’s drool from her shoulder with practiced ease. “They let you, you know, if you get pregnant. I figure one member of Team Space was enough for this family, and I still get all the benefits of being a dependent.”
The military word dependent was old-fashioned and politically incorrect. Jodenny was glad she didn’t “depend” on Myell, or he on her.
“But look at you, Miss Lieutenant Commander!” Noreen eyed Jodenny’s uniform with admiration. If she’d heard about Jodenny’s heroism on the Aral Sea and the Yangtze, she didn’t say anything. “Look at that ring on your finger. The girl who never dated. Who’d you marry?”
Jodenny pulled her hand free. Her wedding ring was a single diamond, purchased in haste on Baiame. Myell had promised to upgrade it. “He’s in Team Space, too. Supply.”
Baby Emma’s fists began to wave in earnest, and tears spilled down her cheeks. Noreen said, “You’ll have to come to dinner. Your husband and my husband, you and me—we’ll do a barbecue. We live in Adeline Oaks.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Jodenny lied.
Emma’s wails grew in volume, and her face turned red.
“We’re off to her pediatrician,” Noreen explained. “Call me! I’m in the base directory!”
With a wave and another hug, Noreen hurried off. Jodenny blew out a relieved breath and went up a flight of stairs to the monorail station. That Noreen and her husband lived in Adeline Oaks was an unfortunate stroke of luck. Myell was already uncomfortable enough living surrounded by officers. He’d never enjoy a barbecue with Academy graduates.
A train was already on the platform. Jodenny found a cushioned seat, wedged her briefcase between her ankles, and scanned the news on her gib. The upcoming election for Fortune’s Parliament had turned vicious and cutthroat. Other candidates were vying for positions open in the Parliament of the Seven Sisters. The Prime Minister of Fortune was secure in his job for another year or two, but increasingly strident action by the Colonial Freedom Project terrorists was affecting his agenda. Though they hadn’t discussed it, Jodenny had registered with the Prime Minister’s Liberal party and assumed Myell had done so as well.
A woman in a smart blue suit brushed by Jodenny’s knees, took the seat facing her, and murmured a question.
“Sorry?” Jodenny asked.
“Are we going outbound?” the woman asked brightly. She had a broad accent, from somewhere in the north.
“Yes. Last stop is Killarney,” Jodenny replied.
“Excellent. Thank you.”
She carried no briefcase, only a small purse. Her shoes were expensive but practical. She wore her red hair in a sleek ponytail. Although Jodenny ran for exercise, the other woman had the lean, disciplined look of an athlete. Someone used to hardship and success.
“I’m Dr. Anna Gayle,” the woman said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Commander Scott.”
Jodenny eyed her warily. “Is it?”
“Yes. To be frank, I need your help.”
Another crackpot, Jodenny thought. She attracted them like flies to shit. She reached for her briefcase and checked the overvid for the train’s progress. “I can’t help you.”
Gayle leaned forward. “It’s not about the Yangtze.”
Even now, Jodenny had difficulty hearing the doomed ship’s name. Her leg had healed up fine, as had the injuries she’d received later. Her nightmares had mostly faded. If at times she saw the faces of the dead in the crowd, or heard their whispered voices, then she was certainly allowed.
Jodenny asked, “Then what’s it about?”
“My husband. He’s an archaeologist. He’s been missing for four months.”
“What do I have to do with it?”
“You may have crossed paths with him in some remote, uncharted lands.”
Jodenny’s fuzzy brain took a minute to process that. “No,” she said firmly, and headed for the double doors.
Gayle followed her, still earnest, but with a hint of desperation in her voice. “It’s not only him. There are eight other people as well. People who have families that love them and desperately want them to return. Just as you returned.”
The monorail slid to a stop. Disembarking passengers jostled Jodenny, but she didn’t move. Gayle’s careful words were clear enough. Her husband and she were somehow affiliated with the secret project known as the Wondjina Transportation System. Traversing the system by accident had nearly killed Jodenny and Myell. They had turned down a subsequent offer of employment with the project, and vowed to put it all behind them.
Working at Team Space headquarters was an excellent career step. No one made an issue of Jodenny being married to an enlisted man, though they had yet to present themselves together at any social or formal events. Jodenny’s co-workers all seemed nice, and more importantly, competent. All in all, she anticipated a challenging but satisfying tour of duty.
And if her new job wasn’t quite as exciting as working with alien technology that could fling people across the galaxy, that was the price she would pay for a few years of stability with Myell in a home they built together.
Gayle asked, “Can we talk? One married woman to another?”
The doors gave a warning beep.
“He’s my heart,” Gayle said. Her face turned pink. “He’s all I want.”
The doors closed. Jodenny took a seat again, her briefcase clutched tightly against her chest. Myell was all she wanted, as well. But sometimes, without fully admitting it, she wondered if she might need a little more.
* * *
A gray, unmarked flit was parked outside Jodenny’s house.
“They’re just to make sure we’re not interrupted,” Gayle assured her, easily keeping pace with Jodenny’s quick strides down the street.
Adeline Oaks was quiet and drowsy in the morning heat, the children in school and the spouses off to their jobs or whatever kept them busy on a Monday morning. Jodenny thumbed open her front door and let Gayle follow her inside. Myell had left the house only slightly messy. They had yet to decide on a formal decorating scheme, though he’d bought a green sofa for the living room and put floor plants in all the corners. The plants were okay, but the sofa was ugly.
“Coffee?” Jodenny asked.
Gayle sat at the kitchen island. “Black and hot. Thank you.”
“Start talking, Doctor. I’m eight hours overdue for my bedtime.”
Gayle showed her gib to Jodenny. On the screen, a good-looking man with a thick beard and bright blue eyes smiled for the camera. “Robert. We met as graduate students. About two years ago Team Space recruited us both for help deciphering the Wondjina Transportation System. Robert was far more eager to conduct field work than I was. He went with teams on two trips through the Spheres at Swedenville. He was very ill, afterward. As everyone is. You and your husband found that out on Warramala, right?”
Jodenny handed over a cup of black coffee. “Keep talking.”
“I told him it was unsafe to keep going. And unfair to our children. Then the medical branch, which had been experimenting with prophylactic treatments to ward off the travel sickness, announced a breakthrough. He volunteered for one more mission, as much to test the new treatment as to satisfy his insatiable curiosity. They left just before you and your husband stumbled through the Spheres on Warramala. They’ve never returned.”
Jodenny poured herself a glass of soy milk but didn’t drink it. Traveling through the Wondjina Spheres had made her worst, most vile hangovers seem like minor headaches. She remembered the sickness working all the way through her skin and bones, and the way Myell had gone lax and unseeing in her arms.
“No o
ne was sent after them?” she asked.
Gayle abruptly shut off the gib. “We tried. The system wouldn’t activate. None of the Spheres on Fortune would send a token ring—what you call an ouroboros. When you and Chief Myell arrived on the Aral Sea, we read the classified file about your exploits. Obviously the problem was local. But then the Alaska docked yesterday.”
The Alaska was a month behind the Aral Sea. News on the Big Alcheringa traveled only as fast as the ships riding it along the route of the Seven Sisters.
“Our branch office on Baiame sent word that their Spheres also aren’t functioning. It’s believed they stopped working after you and Chief Myell returned to Warramala.”
“No one said anything to us there,” Jodenny protested.
Gayle replied, “I understand there were more pressing problems to be dealt with.”
Well, yes, if one counted the attempted overthrow of the local government. Jodenny said, “Whatever the case, you can’t blame us. We didn’t do anything that would make the system stop working.”
Gayle ran her fingers around the rim of her coffee cup. “We’re hoping that if you step into a Mother Sphere here, the system will respond—”
Something moved in the corner of Jodenny’s eye. Gayle saw it as well and bolted from her chair. Karl, the mechanical koala, had lumbered out of the bedroom and was rubbing himself against a potted plant. He turned his eyes on them and said, “Hungry, hungry.”
“He’s harmless,” Jodenny said.
Gayle turned her back on Karl. “Commander, all you have to do is give up an hour of your time. The nearest Spheres are at Bainbridge. If a token appears, we’ll take over. If the system ignores you, then you go home. No harm done.”
Jodenny didn’t answer. Karl scratched himself and lumbered toward the floor plants. He wasn’t programmed to eat, but sometimes he chewed on leaves.
“I’ll have to talk to my husband,” Jodenny finally said.
Gayle looked almost pathetically grateful. “Thank you, Commander. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”
When she was alone, Jodenny made sure the doors were locked. She slid into the softest T-shirt she could find, which happened to be Myell’s. She collected Karl. The bot agreeably snuggled up against her in the wide, warm bed. The mattress molded to her shape, Betsy screened down all the windows, and Karl snored softly. Quiet and stillness enveloped her.
The Stars Down Under Page 2
