The Outback Stars

by Sandra McDonald

  “Take it up with Lieutenant Commander Vu,” Wildstein said.

  “I think I could reduce that backlog if—”

  “That’s all, Lieutenant.”

  “Actually, ma’am, I have a request. I’d like to use some official funds to buy shirts.”

  “Shirts?” Master Chief DiSola asked. “For who?”

  “For my division.”

  Wildstein said, “They get a uniform allowance. Let them buy their own.”

  “I was thinking of something special, ma’am,” Jodenny said. “Something to build unity. Maybe something with the Underway Stores logo on it.”

  DiSola laughed. “Underway Stores has a logo?”

  “I don’t care if it has a logo and a theme song.” Wildstein rose and grabbed a pile of folders. “You can’t use ship’s money for optional clothing.”

  Deterred but not undefeated, Jodenny went to LD-G and watched from the command module while VanAmsal supervised Amador and a small contingent of DNGOs. The sergeant stomped up to the module saying, “Lieutenant, this is ridiculous. Lund’s in Sick Berth, Dyatt’s not here, and I’m getting two hundred shipments an hour coming through.”

  “Pull Chang out of IR2,” Jodenny said. “Gallivan can handle it alone. You’re not getting Dyatt back—she’s going to Ops. Any idea why?”

  “How should I know? No one tells me anything.”

  “Take a moment and review your attitude, Sergeant.”

  “Lieutenant, I can’t run my loading dock if you want to stand around and chitchat.”

  With an attitude like that, VanAmsal might soon not be running a loading dock at all. Jodenny said, “Why are you so angry, Sergeant? It’s not Dyatt and it’s not the shipments, so if it’s me then we have a problem.”

  VanAmsal stormed out of the module. Jodenny watched her get halfway down the stairs before reason took hold. On the loading dock floor, Amador sent two DNGOs to the conveyer belt and shouted a question Jodenny couldn’t hear over the rattle of machinery. VanAmsal waited another minute before doing an about-face and coming back.

  “I apologize,” she said with a face as hard as stone. “I was out of line.”

  Jodenny closed the hatch. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I think Dyatt’s been having trouble with her boyfriend. AT Olsson. Works in Maintenance. Myell tried to tell me about it but I wouldn’t listen. She’s a good kid and I haven’t done right by her.”

  “Maybe you have or maybe you haven’t. You’ll have to ask her. What else?”

  “I don’t think you’re handling the situation with Lund correctly. You can’t coddle him, Lieutenant. It’s what he wants.”

  “Observation noted. Next?”

  A muscle spasmed in VanAmsal’s cheek. “Lieutenant Commander Greiger had his faults but he didn’t interfere down here.”

  “Maybe he didn’t care as much as I do,” Jodenny said.

  “Lieutenant, caring is only going to end up making you disappointed. I’ve been here two years. I should know.”

  “I can deal with disappointment. So can you. It’s the achievements we have to focus on.”

  VanAmsal shook her head. “Being short another person isn’t an achievement. Hearing that I might be sent over to T6 isn’t a big thrill either. You can’t listen to everything Nitta and Strayborn tell you.”

  The shrill ring of a DCS alarm ground operations to a halt. Jodenny left VanAmsal and Amador to deal with breakdown and went to her office. She almost pinged Myell to ask what he knew of Dyatt’s problems but decided she had enough of her own and simply forwarded the personnel file to Ops. When Nitta showed up she said, “You told me you were going to run a spot check on the agroparts. Where is it?”

  “Still working on it, Lieutenant. You didn’t say you were in a hurry.”

  She allowed herself an uncharitable thought or two about how he’d ever gotten promoted, which reminded her of something else he’d neglected. “Strayborn’s got his hopes pinned on the ECP, but VanAmsal and Myell should be signing up for the chief’s exam. Double-check that their paperwork is in order.”

  “I don’t think encouraging Myell is a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  Nitta leaned back in his chair. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. “You know. He’s had some problems. People on this ship have long memories.”

  So did she, and it occurred to her that Security had yet to route her a copy of the Loss Accounting report on the DNGO that had disappeared in Myell’s care. She made herself a note to have Holland call over and get it.

  “And he’s not doing a spectacular job down there in T6,” Nitta added. “There’s been trouble with the dingoes. He tries to fix them himself and won’t take them to Repair Services.”

  “Maybe he’s trying to show some initiative.”

  “You’re not thinking of doing anything rash, are you?” Nitta asked.

  “Such as?”

  “Like putting him in charge of anything. Morale will suffer if you started giving him preferential treatment.”

  “Make sure he signs up for the exam,” was all Jodenny had to say. “I’ll worry about morale.”

  * * *

  Now that the ship was safely cruising the Alcheringa, Jodenny made a list of improvements to make in her division, and brainstormed several ideas on how to change the Supply wardroom for the better. In the meantime she set up an exercise schedule for herself and started working out before breakfast each morning.

  After flipping through the treadmill hologram choices she settled on a tropical beach routine. Palm trees tipped toward her in the salty breeze and golden sand kicked up from her every step. The vista was supposed to represent the North Island on Fortune, but she could have just as well been on pristine Earth, back before it had been ruined. She heard birds and the pounding of the surf but as she passed the two-kilometer mark all else was quiet—no overhead announcements, no ATs clambering for her attention, and no indication whatsoever that she was really in the middle of the E-Deck gym.

  At the five-kilometer mark an alarm pulsed against her wrist. She took off the hologram glasses and earphones, slowed the machine, and took a long sip of water.

  “Lieutenant.” Dr. Ng climbed on the treadmill beside her.

  “Doctor.” Jodenny plugged herself back into the program for another two kilometers. She pushed herself until her thigh started to ache in earnest. When she disengaged Ng was still there, red-faced and gasping as he attempted one of the more difficult inclines.

  Jodenny stepped down. “You don’t work out much.”

  Ng wiped his face. “I hoped that if we had something in common, you might talk to me.”

  She went off and showered in the women’s locker room. When she emerged, Ng was slumped on a bench with two water bottles in hand. He offered her one.

  “Truce?” he asked. “I’m sorry if I upset you last time we met. I’m not some kind of ghoulish nut. I’m simply not convinced the Yangtze disaster was caused by the Colonial Freedom Project.”

  “I disagree.” Jodenny made her way through the rows of machines to the exit, Ng at her heels.

  He said, “The CFP haven’t claimed responsibility, which they usually do. They had to know that destroying an entire freighter would harm their cause more than help it. The bad publicity will last for years to come. Team Space has yet to release any information on what kind of bomb was planted in the cargo hold, or explain how the CFP got around standard security. Those facts alone should make any reasonable person suspicious.”

  Jodenny pressed the lift button. “Information on the investigation is classified. People a lot smarter than you or I are working on it, and I’m sure they’ve considered those factors.”

  Ng’s gaze was intense. “But perhaps it wasn’t a bomb at all. I’ve been doing simulations, re-creating the Yangtze’s course and speed. The explosion occurred at a particular point in space that can be correlated back to a set of Wondjina Spheres on Kookaburra.”

  The damn lift was taking its ti
me. “Correlated how?”

  “There are fourteen triads of spheres on Kookaburra. That includes the ones at Point Elliot, just south of Alice Training Base. Like all Spheres, when mapped from center to center, they form a perfect triangle.” Ng drew an imaginary line on the bulkhead. “If you extend a line from the center of that triangle to the coordinates of the Alcheringa drop point, it forms a track the Yangtze crossed at the same moment her tower number six exploded.”

  So he was one of those Wondjina conspiracy nuts, sure that the Spheres and Alcheringa were all part of a grandiose alien conspiracy to enslave mankind. That no actual aliens had ever been discovered was irrelevant to their belief system. The lift doors opened and Jodenny stepped inside with relief.

  “Don’t call me, Dr. Ng,” she said. “Don’t send me imail, don’t come to this gym, don’t even come near me on the mess deck. You’re as crazy as any of the dingbats back on Kookaburra, maybe even more so, because you’re supposed to be a scientist. If I hear from you again I’ll file a complaint for harassment.”

  The doors closed on his crestfallen face, and she hoped that would be the last of him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Remember, Lieutenant,” Holland said the next Saturday afternoon as Jodenny trammed over to the Rocks. “The wardroom Hail and Farewell begins in ninety minutes.”

  “I know.” Jodenny had been considering ducking out on the affair, but as she disembarked and made her way across T6’s access ring she couldn’t think up a good excuse. Two hours, she promised herself: enough time to make an appearance, then escape back to the peace and quiet of her cabin.

  Once in T6, she saw Strayborn and Hosaka upsynching in the command module. Someone in an EV suit was tugging a DNGO toward the docking cradle. Jodenny went straight down to the base. Lange, who was supposed to be manning the lower safety controls, was sitting with his feet up playing Izim.

  “Miz Scott!” He pushed back and nearly caused the chair to fall over. “You scared me.”

  “Give me that gib.”

  Lange grimaced and did as ordered. She killed the program.

  “Hey—” he said. “I mean, Miz Scott—that was my best game yet.”

  Jodenny said, “You can get this gib back after you go see Chief Nitta and get a counseling chit. Now go up to the control module and send someone else down here.”

  Lange stormed away. Jodenny pinged Nitta and told him what she’d done.

  Nitta asked, “You sure that’s a good idea, taking someone’s gib away?”

  “He’ll get it back. When he comes to see you, tell him he has to write a five-hundred-word essay on ‘Why I Shouldn’t Play Games on Duty.’”

  “Ma’am?”

  “You heard me.” Jodenny cut the connection.

  Ishikawa came down from the command module wearing a wary expression. She saluted. “Ma’am!”

  “AT Ishikawa, you don’t salute onboard ship unless you’re wearing your uniform cover. Where’s Sergeant Myell?”

  Ishikawa gestured upward. “One of the dingoes got stuck in the slots again.”

  Jodenny craned her head. She could barely see the glimmer of Myell’s EV suit. “How are things going for you?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Is your job what you expected it to be? Are you enjoying your off-duty time?”

  “My job’s okay, Lieutenant. I didn’t really expect having to do so much drudge work. But don’t get me wrong—it’s better than a lot of other departments.”

  “And off-duty?”

  Ishikawa shrugged.

  “There’s talk that you might be doing kasai.”

  “Oh, Lieutenant.” Ishikawa rolled her eyes. “People say that because I go out a lot. There’s nothing wrong with that, right? Sometimes my dates buy me stuff because they like me.”

  “That’s more or less what kasai is all about.”

  Ishikawa turned bashful. “Lieutenant, it’s not like that.”

  “It’s not against regulations to do it,” Jodenny said, “but people will still look askance at it. Think about the long-term consequences to your career.”

  “Oh, I don’t plan on having a career,” Ishikawa said earnestly. “I’m getting out of Team Space as soon as my contract’s up. Who would want to do this all their life?”

  Jodenny watched Myell’s efforts to retrieve the lost DNGO for as long as possible. His communications were terse and unhappy-sounding. She wondered if he was the kind who got nervous in the slots. Finally she went back to her cabin, dressed in her formal uniform, and trudged over to the Flight Deck. Lines of birdies and Fox fighters had been neatly parked against the bulkheads to make room for banquet tables, three large buffets, two wet bars, and a deejay. The launch doors were closed and decorated with flags and streamers. Most of the ship’s four hundred officers were already circulating with wine and hors d’oeuvres in hand. Music played from the Flight Ops booth overhead. Francesco, Zeni, Hultz, and Weaver were admiring a large blue and gold cake.

  “It’s about time you showed up, Jodenny,” Zeni said. “We thought you had a hot date.”

  “With who?” Jodenny asked.

  Hultz smiled. “How about Commander Rokutan? He’s very cute, though maybe not so smart.”

  “All elbows and knees.” Weaver sipped from her wineglass. “How about the SUPPO? Man of mystery—”

  “Enough,” Jodenny said. The last thing she needed was a rumor of anything between her and Al-Banna, who had a wife living over in T2. Rokutan was a different matter, though. His awkwardness was appealing, those elbows and knees charming. Funny how a man so fluid on the soccer field could be so klutzy off it.

  Hultz gave her a wicked grin. “Quenger.”

  “More than enough,” Jodenny warned.

  “Where is our Davy boy lately?” Zeni asked. “He’s hardly ever around.”

  Weaver shrugged. “I think he’s still dating that teacher.”

  Zeni lifted some sushi from a tray. “I think he’s still sulking over not getting Greiger’s job.”

  Quenger showed up a half hour later and circulated through the room, shaking hands and slapping shoulders. He didn’t look like he was sulking at all. Jodenny stayed by the bar and sipped her beer. The old Jodenny—the predisaster Jodenny, her younger and untainted self—would have been eager to make friends and connections, to start establishing the ties that might make or break her career on the Aral Sea. But having a mentor hadn’t saved Jem from losing his life. Being respected by her peers hadn’t saved Dyanne from being crushed.

  At nineteen hundred hours the captain arrived. Umbundo asked, “How’s Underway Stores, Lieutenant Scott? You’ve had an entire fortnight to clean the place up.”

  “It’s fine, sir. I’m enjoying it very much.”

  “She’s a great addition to the department, sir,” Quenger added, appearing at Jodenny’s elbow as if by magic. “We really enjoy having her.”

  Umbundo’s gaze narrowed. “Quenger, is it?”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied.

  “I hear good things about Disbursing,” Umbundo said.

  “Yes, sir,” Quenger said, though A. J. Francesco ran Disbursing.

  A ringing bell announced the beginning of the evening’s festivities. Seven officers were being hailed, including Jodenny, Osherman, and Dr. Moody. Five others were being farewelled, ready to disembark at Mary River for new duty assignments or civvie jobs. The hails came first, with the honorees sitting on stage. Umbundo himself spoke for Osherman.

  “Commander Sam Osherman comes to us out of tragedy, but we’re extremely lucky to have him. Ever since he put on his lieutenant’s bars, he’s made a career of terrorizing junior officers.”

  Laughter from the assembly. Jodenny didn’t smile. When it was her turn, Al-Banna spoke without jokes.

  “Lieutenant Jodenny Scott graduated from the academy in the top one percent of her class. She earned her Supply pin two years later, and worked in Underway Stores and Maintenance on the Yangtze. For her heroism and quick thinking du
ring the disaster, she was awarded the MacBride Cross.”

  Respectful applause followed. Jodenny kept her eyes locked on the far bulkhead. The last hail was a lieutenant from Ops, and once that was over she followed Osherman off the stage so quickly she nearly tripped into him.

  “Steady,” he said.

  Jodenny pulled her arm free. She didn’t need his help or his touch. “I’m fine.”

  “Let me buy you a drink,” he said. “God knows I need one.”

  She didn’t want anything from him, but Osherman was already ordering two Scotches from the bartender. Osherman’s gaze swept the crowd. “I should have scheduled myself for a watch.”

  Jodenny couldn’t resist. “You know you love this.”

  “You really think so?” he asked.

  On the stage, Umbundo gave a faux leather briefcase to a departing commander from Flight. Jodenny tried not to brood over the fact that Jem’s and Dyanne’s farewells had been funeral services. She pictured the Yangtze’s flight decks as they currently existed—dark, stripped bare, ice-cold.

  “There’s a scientist onboard who’s been asking questions,” she told Osherman. “He thinks the explosion had something to do with the Wondjina Spheres.”

  Osherman’s lips thinned. “Dr. Ng?”

  “He talked to you?”

  “I told him he’s full of shit.”

  “Here you are!” Vu hooked her arm around Jodenny’s. “Come cut the cake.”

  After the cake-cutting, Jodenny told Vu she was going to the head. Instead she went straight back to her cabin. She stripped off her uniform, curled up in her bunk, and tried not to think about the Yangtze even as her mind circled back to blood and death. She wished she had Greiger’s bottle of brandy from her office. She wished she had gone down with her ship. No. She wished instead that the ship hadn’t gone down at all.

  The door pinged. Jodenny threw on a robe and opened it.

  “You skipped out early.” Quenger waved a bottle of champagne and two glasses. His tie was loose, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal a smooth chest. “Thought you might like a private celebration.”

  “With you?”

  “We got off on the wrong foot.” Quenger’s gaze dropped to the top of her robe. “I just want to be friends.”