“Yes, sir,” Jodenny said. Discussion was a polite way of labeling it. She had clearly articulated what she thought of him whisking Myell away before regular working hours for an impromptu interrogation. He had expressed his adamant belief that Myell was guilty as hell of rape and theft. Only the presence of Sergeant Rosegarten had kept things civil.
“I’ll be keeping my eye on things,” Picariello said. “Call me if you have any more problems.”
Three hours before the Aral Sea was scheduled to drop, Mrs. Mullaly came into Jodenny’s office and burst into tears.
“What if something goes wrong?” she asked.
Jodenny handed her a tissue. “Nothing’s going to go wrong. One minute we’ll be in normal space, and the next we won’t. It’s like dropping a stone into a river.”
Mrs. Mullaly blew her nose. “Sure. That’s what they all say. When we left Fortune, I thought it was hardly worth the fuss. You wouldn’t even notice if you weren’t looking out a porthole. But it went wrong for the Yangtze, right? It could go wrong again.”
“That was because of the CFP, not the Alcheringa,” Jodenny said. “The Wondjina built it very carefully. If we don’t approach the drop point at the right speed and trajectory, we just keep going in normal space.”
Mrs. Mullaly seemed satisfied by Jodenny’s explanation, although her nose was still dripping as she returned to her desk. Jodenny almost gave her the rest of the day off, but most offices and services were open for business and every department was under orders to maintain routine. She checked her queue for messages. No one had sent her anything in the last ten minutes. Jodenny reviewed the minutes of the Garden and Soil Committee twice before realizing none of the words were making any sense. When she scanned for the wreck of the Yangtze, it was too far out of range to display.
Her gib beeped. “Scott, this is Al-Banna.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Report to the CO’s briefing room on C-Deck.”
What had she done wrong? “Sir?”
Al-Banna didn’t mask the displeasure in his voice. “Now, Lieutenant.”
Jodenny hurried to the lift.
* * *
Because T6 was closed, Nitta told Myell to make himself useful in IR4 by helping Mauro straighten out his logs. The issue room had seen better days, but after a few hours of Mauro working the counter and Myell matching receipts, a small modicum of order was restored.
“You’ve got to stay on top of this stuff,” Myell said.
“I try,” Mauro said, “but it’s a lot of work.”
Myell checked the clock. Just about an hour until they dropped into the Alcheringa. He wondered how Lieutenant Scott was holding up under the pressure. He was trying to invent a pretext for visiting her office when Nitta pinged and said, “Mauro, get down here to LD-G and explain what the hell kind of COSAL you sent VanAmsal yesterday.”
Mauro grimaced. “Yes, Chief.”
Business died down after Mauro left, and Myell started restacking boxes of boots. He heard a shuffle behind him but swung around too late to prevent someone’s fist from driving into his side. The shock of it drove the breath from his lungs and sent him to his knees. Surging sideways, he tackled his attacker at the waist and knocked him against the shelves. Spallone. The bastard. A second attacker grabbed Myell’s shoulders, dragged him backward, and threw him facedown to the deck. A terrible weight pressed against his spine.
“Stay out of Olsson’s business,” Engel said, malicious glee in his voice.
Spallone crouched low beside Myell. “You make the same fucking mistake over and over, Myell. Curiosity killed the—”
“Medbot activate!” Myell ordered.
The flying robot swooped in to be of assistance. While Engel’s attention was momentarily distracted, Myell bucked him off. Spallone made a grab for him, and the two of them slammed against the shelves again. A sharp pain spiraled along Myell’s left ribs but he kept swinging his fist at Spallone’s face.
“Hey! What’s going on in there?” someone shouted.
“Fuck off!” Spallone said.
Three apprentice mates burst into the issue room and separated them. Spallone’s nose was bleeding, Engel had cut his head against a shelf, and Myell’s right hand throbbed as if he’d been hitting a brick wall. The medbot fluttered in indecision before zeroing in on Spallone.
“Please stand still,” it said to him.
Spallone twisted away. “Get the fuck away.”
AM Loudermilk, baby-faced and indignant, asked, “You hurt, Sarge?”
Spallone tried to free himself from Loudermilk’s grip. “You should goddamn mind your own business.”
“You want us to call Security?” Hoefer asked.
“No,” Myell said. “They’re not going to cause any more trouble.”
It wasn’t true, but it was expedient. Spallone and Engel shrugged themselves free and left the issue room. The apprentice mates gave Myell reproachful looks. He knew that in their eyes he was chickenshit, a coward, one damn poor excuse for a sergeant.
“Did you have some requisitions?” he asked, ducking his head.
Loudermilk answered for all of them. “Nah, we’ll come back later.”
His rescuers departed. Myell locked the door that Mauro had neglected to secure and closed the gate on the counter. He sat on a stool in the back until the worst of the shakes passed and he could hold his hands steady. When Mauro came back he didn’t say anything about the closed gate or Myell’s disheveled condition.
“Chief said you can go back to T6 once we drop into the Alcheringa,” Mauro said, his eyes averted.
“Yeah.” Myell slipped a hand into his pocket and touched the thin, flat server that had recorded the whole incident. “I bet he did.”
* * *
The captain’s briefing room was guarded by a security tech who opened the hatch for Jodenny. Once inside she saw several high-ranking officers and civilians as well as Chaplain Mow and Osherman. Most people were picking food from a buffet table or sipping morning cocktails. The ship’s Executive Officer, Commander Larrean, came over to introduce himself.
“Sorry I wasn’t available when you checked onboard.” He was a short man with round checks and a kind smile. “I’m glad you could come this morning.”
“Does the captain throw a party every time we drop, sir?” Jodenny asked.
Larrean’s smile widened. “Not always. Let me show you around.”
She shook hands with the governor of an Aboriginal colony in T9, the warden of the penal tower, and the Bishop of Baiame, who was returning from the Vatican on Fortune. Larrean didn’t tell them she’d been on the Yangtze, but more than one gaze lingered on her MacBride Cross. When she couldn’t bring herself to mingle anymore she stood by the vids and looked at the stars. The Alcheringa was out there, invisible, twisting, waiting to carry them down the line or herald their destruction.
Osherman appeared at her elbow. “I heard you’re shaking up Underway Stores.”
Jodenny deliberately kept her gaze on the vid. “I held a uniform inspection. That’s as far as shaking up goes.”
His voice was dry. “Challenging the status quo on this ship might not be the wisest course of action to take.”
“What would you suggest? Leaving things the way they are?”
“There’s some benefit in keeping under the radar.”
“It doesn’t benefit my people,” she replied.
“If you can’t be persuaded, at least take care,” Osherman said. “The stress can pile up on you in ways you don’t expect, make you do things you regret later.”
The hairs on Jodenny’s neck stood up. Her records were sealed. No one but Commander Campos was supposed to know what had happened. She turned to him and said, “I never saw you at Alice. Weren’t you there for temp duty?”
“Only on paper. Mostly I was doing odd jobs over at Fleet.” He stared at the vid. “It’s not going to happen again, you know.”
Their relationship or an explosion? The first
was a given, but the second was still to be determined. Osherman drifted off to mingle. With ten minutes left on the clock, Jodenny rehearsed the number and location of her lifepod. She plotted a mental map on how she was going to get there. She watched the countdown clock and realized that she should be with her people, wherever they were. She turned to tell Larrean she was leaving but he was deep in conversation with a commander from Drive. Why wasn’t he on the bridge, where he belonged? Why weren’t they all already in their lifepods, ready to launch?
Chaplain Mow caught her gaze and came straight over. “Don’t worry. Dropping into the Alcheringa is as routine as brushing your teeth.”
“It wasn’t last time I did it.” Jodenny started to shake. “We should go to our lifepods.”
Chaplain Mow steered Jodenny back to the vids. “What do you see out there?”
“Nothing.”
“Focus, Lieutenant.”
The snap in Mow’s voice helped. “The universe,” Jodenny replied.
“Imagine Jackie MacBride and her crew on that first accidental slide down the Little Alcheringa. One minute they’re approaching Mars and then—nothing! Sensors dead, no external data. They had no idea of what had happened or where they were going. Did they panic?”
“No.”
“But as far as they knew, they were already dead.”
“She held them together.”
“How?” Chaplain Mow asked.
“Faith.” Jodenny took a steadying breath. Back at the academy, the cadets had been required to read the crew logs from that fateful trip. Books, movies, and popular songs had immortalized the story. A picture of Jackie MacBride had hung in her room for years. “Discipline.”
“And what happened?”
“They reached Fortune, turned around, and came home safely.”
Chaplain Mow smiled. “As will we.”
The countdown expired. Without any sense of transition at all, the ship dropped into the stream and the vids went dark.
“We’re in,” Chaplain Mow said, and gave her a friendly squeeze around the shoulders.
In. On the circuit. Sliding down the Big Alcheringa. And alive, for now.
CHAPTER TEN
Myell’s gib beeped late the night the ship dropped into the Alcheringa.
“I’m sorry they hurt you,” Shevi Dyatt said, her eyes puffy. “Ish shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it, okay?”
Timrin was on watch again. Myell sat in the darkness with three pillows wedged behind his sore back and over-the-counter painkillers taking the edge off. On the desk, near a heat lamp, Koo amused herself in her splendid terrarium. He wondered how old Dyatt was—eighteen, nineteen?—and asked, “Is Olsson giving you problems?”
Dyatt wiped her nose. “I don’t want anyone else to get in trouble. I’ll be okay.”
Christ, to be so young and so alone on a ship of five thousand people. He tried to remember where her cabin was. Past the lounge, past Gallivan’s place, near the lift somewhere. Near Olsson and Spallone. “Are you safe right now?”
“I think so. They’re at the shop.”
“At this hour?”
“I can’t tell Sergeant VanAmsal.” Dyatt’s shoulders hitched up as she started to cry. “And I can’t tell Security, it’ll just make it worse. I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“Meet me in the lounge,” he said. “Dress in civvies.”
“But it’s so late—”
“Just do it.”
Ten minutes later, standing alone in the dirty lounge with his head throbbing, he wondered if she’d changed her mind. When she came down the passage she was dressed in trousers and a maternity soccer shirt. One of her hands clutched tissues.
“Where are we going?”
“Chaplain’s office,” he said.
“But I’m not religious.”
“Doesn’t matter. Everything you say will be confidential and they can’t report any of it if you don’t want them to.”
He walked her up to C-Deck. The chapel adjacent was open twenty-four/seven, and while Dyatt sat trembling in a back row he pinged the Duty Chaplain.
“You don’t have to put up with it,” he said while they waited.
Dyatt averted her gaze. “I can take care of myself.”
“Shevi—”
“You know what really sucks about being an apprentice mate?” she asked. “Everyone above you gives you orders you don’t want to follow and advice you plain don’t want.”
Myell closed his mouth. The nondenominational chapel had been painted in soft pink and yellow tones and smelled like sandalwood. Myell didn’t believe in holy places, especially in the middle of starships sliding down the dark void of the Alcheringa, but he had to admit that the colors and warm air soothed him, made him less skeptical about religion than usual. When Chaplain Mow arrived she looked sleepy but had a gentle expression on her face.
“I’ll take it from here, Sergeant,” she said as she led Dyatt toward her office. “Come back and visit sometime. It’s been a while.”
Myell nodded in acknowledgment but not promise. Back in his cabin he tried to sleep but rest was elusive, filled with Dyatt’s tears and Spallone’s fists and pain in his ribs every time he shifted on the bunk. What were Olsson and the others doing in the Repair Shop at such an hour? Long before ship’s dawn he got up, checked his imail, and surfed the ship’s message boards. A gym workout was out of the question but instead of going to T6 early he lingered on the Rocks. He didn’t want to see Nitta, who had set him up for the altercation in the issue room. But he wasn’t about to miss quarters, either. With just moments to spare he slipped into his spot in the back row. Dyatt’s place was empty.
“AT Lund.” Jodenny pulled Lund out of the lineup to confer off to the side.
“What’s that about?” Gallivan asked in a loud whisper.
Jodenny asked Lund something. He shook his head, but she insisted and in a moment he was sitting in a chair that Ishikawa pulled over from Myell’s workshop.
“Good grief,” Chang said.
Lund sat unhappily in his chair as Jodenny returned to the front of the assembly.
“Listen up,” Nitta said, reading from the plan of the day. “If you know a civvie looking for a job, have them contact Outsourcing during work hours. The Garden and Soil Committee’s looking for volunteers and the MWR Department still has slots open for field trips on Mary River.”
After standing in place for several minutes Myell’s vision began to gray around the edges, but then quarters was over and he was free to go to his workbench. Gallivan followed him.
“Are you okay?” Gallivan asked.
“Never better.” Myell pretended to be busy fixing a circuit tester.
“Why didn’t you report it to Security?”
“Report what?”
“You were always stubborn, but I didn’t think you were stupid.”
“Leave it alone. When we get to Warramala you won’t have to worry about a thing.”
Gallivan grabbed his wrist and forced Myell to look at him. “You think you don’t have mates here but that’s not true. You shut us out.”
“Let the fuck go,” Myell said, and Gallivan released his grip. Myell turned back to the DNGO and set to work on the access plate even though his hands were trembling. Maybe he did shut them out, but they’d shut him out first and some hurts were still too raw to be forgiven. He said, “I’ve got work to do.”
Gallivan left with a muttered curse. Myell put down the screwdriver and closed his eyes at the approach of more footsteps.
“Myell,” VanAmsal said. “What’s going on with Dyatt?”
“How should I know?”
“Because you tried to tell me yesterday and I didn’t listen.”
“I don’t know. Go ask her.”
“Terry—” VanAmsal started, but when he didn’t respond she too walked away. Finally, some peace. He sat on his stool and braced himself for the next visitor, Strayborn, who apparently shared the same grapevine as everyone else in
the goddamned division.
“I heard you fell in the issue room,” Strayborn said. “You should go to Medical.”
“If I hear one more piece of advice I’m going to shove someone out an airlock,” Myell said. “That’s a promise, Gordon. So if you have some words of wisdom, if you think you know my situation better than I do, if you have some miracle cure for all the ills of this ship, do me a favor. Write a memo.”
* * *
On her way to T6 that morning, Jodenny had received a ping from Chaplain Mow. Mow said, “I’d like for you to excuse AM Dyatt from quarters. She’s with me.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s going to be fine.”
At quarters, Jodenny sensed an odd undercurrent in the division. Myell was grim-faced and VanAmsal seemed more tense than usual. Even Gallivan had lost his good humor.
“Sergeant Strayborn,” she said after quarters was over. “Is something wrong?”
“Ma’am?” he asked.
“Something going on I should know about?”
“No, ma’am. Everything’s fine.”
He was probably lying, but Jodenny decided to let the situation stew until something arose out of it. She went up to the Rocks and to an apparel shop that sold sports shirts. The proprietor listened to her request and gave her a quote that didn’t seem unreasonable.
“I’ll get back to you,” Jodenny said.
She trammed back to Mainship and tackled paperwork until the ASUPPO called her that afternoon. Jodenny went up to the Flats wondering what she had done to merit Wildstein’s attention and found Master Chief DiSola in Wildstein’s office.
“AM Dyatt is going to Ops,” Wildstein said without preamble.
“Why?” Jodenny asked. “Is she unhappy with Underway Stores?”
Master Chief DiSola said, “It’s a department thing. I already let Chief Nitta know.”
A department thing. Jodenny wondered how much Chaplain Mow had confided in either of them. She said, “I’ll need a replacement. While we’re at it, I could stand a few more ATs. Ship’s Services is ten percent overmanned but I’ve got three billets empty.”
The Outback Stars Page 11
