The Outback Stars

by Sandra McDonald

  The nausea suddenly rolling in her gut had nothing to do with radiation sickness. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Of course, you have me, so it’ll all work out just fine.”

  “Oh.” Jodenny almost but not quite laughed. She had more than Cheddie, if she could just hang on.

  Cheddie went to talk to Myell. For a while she dozed, lulled to sleep by the sound of the air vent over her bed. She awoke when Cheddie returned with Myell in tow. Jodenny was careful not to leap into Myell’s arms or do anything else Cheddie might misinterpret.

  “I didn’t kill Commander Matsuda,” Myell said.

  “Of course you didn’t,” Jodenny replied. She thought he looked pale, and cleared a space on the foot of the bed for him to sit.

  “Here’s what we’ll do,” Cheddie said. “I’ll arrange a meeting with the SUPPO and the Security Officer, maybe the XO. Lieutenant Scott, you tell them what you told me, all the same details, nothing left out. Sergeant Myell, you’ll corroborate. The thing to stress is that you believed you were following Osherman’s orders. I’d like to set it up for right after lunch.”

  “Excuse me.” Myell lurched off toward the head. Cheddie grimaced at the sounds that emerged.

  “Only if you’re well,” he said.

  “We’ll be fine,” she assured him.

  Cheddie was gone when Myell came out. Jodenny said, “You didn’t have to do that for his benefit.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Oh. All right, back to bed you go.”

  Myell gazed meaningfully at her mattress.

  “No, your own,” Jodenny said, nevertheless pleased. She walked him back to his room and made sure he was tucked under the blankets with some appropriately affectionate gestures. Dr. Genslar came in seconds after she smoothed the sheets.

  “Am I interrupting anything?” the doctor asked archly.

  Myell said, wearily, “Dr. Genslar thinks the rumors about us are true.”

  Jodenny eyed the physician. “Fraternization is against regulations.”

  “Yes, I know. And while I was a lieutenant, I was a firm believer in regulations. The nurses tell me there’s been some emesis. Is that true?”

  “Guilty as charged,” Myell said.

  Dr. Genslar ran a scanner over Myell’s abdomen. “You might need another radvax. Lieutenant Scott, you can return to your bed. I’ll take care of this.”

  At the hatch Jodenny asked, “Why aren’t you a lieutenant anymore?”

  “I resigned so I could marry my chief,” Genslar replied. “Gave up a very promising career in the Medical Corps.”

  From under his blankets Myell said, “Good for you.”

  Genslar replied, “We divorced five years later.”

  By the time the meeting rolled around, Myell was still vomiting and Genslar vetoed his attendance. Jodenny fidgeted in her chair in the physician’s conference room, wishing she could be by Myell’s side. Wrapped in a thin bathrobe, tapping her slippers against the deck, she stood up when Al-Banna and Picariello entered. Captain Umbundo was with them, which startled her.

  “Sir!” she said.

  “At ease,” Umbundo said.

  Jodenny felt foolish addressing them as she was, but she explained what had happened as clearly as she could and omitted only the personal aspects of her and Myell’s ordeal in the tower. Cheddie took notes. Picariello stared at the bulkhead. Captain Umbundo’s face was impossible to read, but Al-Banna leaned forward and seemed interested in every word.

  When she was done Umbundo said, “You’ve been one busy lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jodenny took a steadying breath. “Was Lieutenant Commander Osherman lying about being an Inspector General agent?”

  Picariello said, “It’s best if we don’t discuss that, sir.”

  Cheddie said, “Captain, the lieutenant and Sergeant Myell were nearly killed. They deserve to know who to trust, and if their lives are still in danger.”

  Picariello said, “It’s not wise—”

  Umbundo held up a silencing hand. “You did stumble across something, Lieutenant. You weren’t the first. I can’t jeopardize any ongoing investigations by telling you more, but rest assured that you’re in no danger as long as you follow orders. Until this affair is concluded—and I’m assured that will be very soon—you and Sergeant Myell will be in protective custody on Mainship. There are too many people who would benefit if your voices fell silent.”

  Jodenny knew how Myell would feel about protective custody. “Surely there’s another way, sir.”

  “Follow your orders, Lieutenant,” Umbundo said.

  He stood, nodded at Picariello and Al-Banna, and departed without any further word. Jodenny watched him, agape. That was all he had to say?

  “A few days of relaxing in a VIP suite won’t harm you, Lieutenant,” Picariello said. “Sergeant Myell can stay in transient berthing.”

  “No, sir,” Jodenny said stubbornly. “Both of us go to VIP quarters or both of us go to transient.”

  Picariello shared a look with Al-Banna, who said, “You might reconsider allying yourself with Sergeant Myell.”

  “I’ve heard about the fingerprints, sir. They’re perfectly explainable. I don’t believe for a single instant that he’s somehow tied to Commander Matsuda’s death.”

  “Frankly, neither do I,” Al-Banna said. “However, some irregularities have come to light regarding your April inventory. It looks like Sergeant Myell and Ensign Strayborn wrote off three hundred transactions to make your score better than it actually was.”

  Jodenny had expected some kind of divide-and-conquer, but not so soon. “That can’t be true.”

  He handed her a gib. “It’s all in the raw data.”

  She scanned the information. “Holland would have caught it. I have her check for discrepancies and run standard fraud tests on every inventory.”

  “Your agent was impaired,” Picariello said. “The subroutines were compromised so that she wouldn’t alert you. If you’d done a manual check you would have seen the changes.”

  Her cheeks heated up. “Why would Myell and Strayborn do such a thing?”

  “You tell me,” Picariello said. “And then you tell me why any of us should trust anything Sergeant Myell has to say.”

  * * *

  “Here he is,” Timrin said.

  “You, bucko, are as green as an avocado,” Gallivan said as he and Timrin appeared at Myell’s bedside. Gallivan was as cheerful as ever. Timrin had a few more worry lines than Myell remembered.

  “Shut up,” Myell said, and reached for a bucket.

  Gallivan handed him a glass of water after he was done retching. “At least you showed up in time to bid me a tearful farewell.”

  “You’re leaving today?”

  “On the fifteen-hundred-hours birdie. Otherwise I’d stick around to see how this mess turns out. Three days left in damned Team Space and I’m free forever.”

  “Lucky you.” Another wave of nausea swept through him but quickly passed. Maybe Dr. Genslar’s last radvax was taking hold. Myell said, “Can you see if they’re still in the conference room?”

  Timrin asked, “Who?”

  “Lieutenant Scott, Al-Banna, some others.”

  Timrin poked his head around the corner. “Looks like it. What are they talking about?”

  “Fraternization. Murder. Motives.” Myell put the bucket aside and swung his legs off the bed. He should be there, protesting his innocence. Timrin’s hand kept him seated.

  “There’s a few things you should know,” Timrin said. “Security’s been down in Underway Stores since yesterday, turning things top to bottom. They found Lange’s porn collection and the cat VanAmsal’s been keeping over at LD-G. Caldicot’s saying you and the lieutenant have been carrying on since we left Kookaburra, which is rubbish. And they called Strayborn in for questioning, something about you and him gundecking the April inventory.”

  “Did you do it, Terry?” Gallivan asked.

  Myell gape
d at them. “Strayborn squared it away.”

  “Not, apparently, to the right people,” Timrin said.

  Gallivan added, “Before you do drop your shorts in the lovely lieutenant’s company, you should know that she and Lieutenant Commander Rokutan have been consorting in a most familiar way.”

  “Says who?”

  “Rokutan himself. Told Zarkesh, who mentioned it to Zeni, who made a joke in front of Ashmont—”

  “Enough.” Myell’s stomach threatened to revolt. Somewhere down the passageway a comm was buzzing in a most annoying way. “It’s just gossip.”

  “I’m only telling you as a friend. Apparently she has a birthmark right about—”

  “Shut up,” Timrin said. “The point is, if you’re not careful, Terry, they’re going to blame as much as possible on you.”

  No one was answering the damn comm. Myell said, “Lieutenant Scott won’t let them.”

  “Looks like their chat group is breaking up,” Gallivan said. “Large group of officers heading this way.”

  A moment later Jodenny appeared in the doorway with Cheddie behind her. Myell didn’t like the pinched expression on her face, the utter lack of anything remotely resembling affection. He expected her to wear a mask of professionalism in front of others but this woman was a stranger, unsympathetic and harsh.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant,” Gallivan said, but she ignored him completely.

  “Did you fake the April inventory?” she asked Myell. “Write off three hundred transactions?”

  A cold fist wrapped around his heart. “That’s not what happened.”

  “You did. You and Strayborn.”

  “Lieutenant—” he started.

  Jodenny turned to Cheddie. “Tell them I’m ready to go back to Mainship. I’ll take the VIP quarters. Sergeant Myell can stay in transient.”

  He needed to make her understand. “Kay—”

  Her voice was as cold as her gaze. “That’s Lieutenant to you,” she said, and walked away.

  “Ouch,” Gallivan said.

  Cheddie eyed Gallivan and Timrin. “Sergeant Myell, once you’re feeling better, you’ll be going into protective custody while we settle this whole thing.”

  “Yes, sir,” Myell said woodenly. He should have expected it. Love never lasted; friends always betrayed. He’d been stupid enough to forget the lessons of Baiame and the whole Ford affair, but now they came back like buckets of ice water dumped over his head.

  “But the last time—” Timrin started.

  “It doesn’t matter, Mick,” Myell interrupted. “Leave it alone.”

  Cheddie nodded and followed Jodenny.

  “You can’t let them do that,” Timrin said.

  Myell squeezed the bridge of his nose. Protective custody. Not again. Then again, why not. His reputation was ruined. If he wasn’t blamed for Matsuda’s murder, he’d still get demoted for the trick with the inventory. Jodenny despised him. And somewhere just beyond the horizon, Chiba was mocking him with laughter. Nothing meant anything if Chiba walked away free.

  “Jesus, what’s that?” Gallivan demanded, recoiling from a dark splotch on Myell’s pillow.

  “Koo!” Myell said.

  Timrin chuckled. “Scared of a little gecko, are you?”

  “Shut up,” Gallivan said.

  Myell picked Koo up. For a lizard on the lam, she appeared pretty healthy. She peered up at him, circled in his palm, and poised with her head held high. His eyes watered. It was silly to be so emotional, but he’d thought her dead for sure. “Where did you come from?”

  “She must have been in my jacket pocket,” Timrin said.

  Koo flicked her tail and curled up in the palm of Myell’s hand. “That’s a good girl,” he murmured. Surely her reappearance wasn’t a coincidence. He stared into her beady eyes and waited for inspiration.

  “So what are you going to do?” Timrin asked. “Let these officers push you around?”

  Koo’s tongue darted out in search of an imaginary fly. In that instant he caught a glimpse of a barren landscape, the sun boiling like gold on the horizon, the uncurling of a vast snake. Whatever the future held, it wasn’t to be found in the confines of protective custody.

  “No.” Myell tested his footing. “Are there any clothes in that closet?”

  Gallivan opened the door. “Just some pants and a scrub shirt. Why?”

  “I need a uniform. I need the two of you to help me get out of here. Then I need to be on that birdie at fifteen hundred hours.”

  “You’re going down there?” Timrin asked. “You can barely stay on your feet.”

  Gallivan folded his arms. “And just how do you propose to get on that birdie? You don’t have a flight pass.”

  “No,” he admitted, “but you do.”

  “It’ll never work,” Timrin said. “Your face has been plastered over the news for almost two days. Security will recognize you in a heartbeat.”

  Myell reached into the bedside table for his dilly bag. “Then I’ll go with Plan B.”

  “Which is?” Timrin asked.

  Where could he find haven in the middle of a starship? Who would shelter him and assist him in getting down to the planet?

  “Take me to the governor,” he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Everything was arranged in short order.

  “My launch will take you down to Waipata,” Ganambarr said. “I was expected to travel on it, but I’ll go down with the rest of the colony in the tower. This diplomatic visa will allow you to bypass Customs and Immigration, and then you’ll be free to begin your search.”

  “Are you sure you’re up to it, Terry?” Chaplain Mow asked, having been summoned to Ganambarr’s suite as soon as Myell showed up, sweating and shaking, on the doorstep.

  “No problem.” Myell was sitting on the sofa because his legs felt rubbery after the walk over, and he wasn’t sure they could support him much longer. He fumbled for the ouroboros pendant that had been in his mother’s jewelry box. “Can I ask you one last thing? Have you ever seen this before?”

  Ganambarr examined it carefully. “The craftsmanship is very good. I don’t know who made it, or who it belonged to.” He gazed at the map of Old Australia. “We’ve lost so much, you know. From the time the Europeans first sent their convicts, through the systematic trampling of rights under so-called modern law, to the Debasement. The sons and daughters of the land left it, sometimes against their will, sometimes by choice. What is a land without its children, Sergeant? What is a land with no one left to respect it?”

  Myell didn’t know how to respond. Chaplain Mow cleared her throat. Ganambarr shook himself from a reverie and said, “The launch is waiting. You should hurry.” He gave the pendant back. “Hold it tight, and perhaps you’ll find your answer someday.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you for all of your assistance.”

  Myell had asked Gallivan and Timrin to stay out in the passage to keep them from being implicated in his crimes. They were still waiting for him, heads bowed low in conversation, when he emerged from Ganambarr’s quarters.

  “Don’t ask,” Myell said. “If you don’t know, you can’t be charged with anything.”

  “Fuck them,” Gallivan said. “What can they do? Keep me in Team Space against my will?”

  “They could,” Myell said. “It’s called administrative hold. And you, Mick, could jeopardize your pension. Thanks for your help. I’ll take it from here.”

  Timrin scratched his jaw. “I don’t like it.”

  Myell squeezed his shoulder. “I know.” To Gallivan he said, “Take care of yourself.”

  Gallivan said, “The same to you. And good luck with your lieutenant.”

  His lieutenant. No, not his anymore. In Ganambarr’s launch Myell curled up in a seat, pulled his civilian jacket tighter, and watched the Aral Sea recede in the vidscreen. The radiation sickness was still with him, making his bones watery and his muscles ache, but the worst was past. He fell asleep and woke when they touched down
. Koo, nestled inside his shirt pocket, poked her head out in interest.

  “The governor asked me to give you this,” the pilot said, and handed over a package full of paperwork and yuros. “Said you’d be needing it.”

  As promised, the visa got him past the all counters and clerks without even having to log his DNA. The Waipata terminal, a sprawling complex that linked air, sea, space, and rail transportation, was so busy that he began to feel dizzy under the onslaught of voices, music, advertisements, and announcements. The Corroboree and the World Cup had brought an influx of extra visitors, many of whom were headed for the Wondjina Spheres to the north. He stood, momentarily overwhelmed, wondering how he was possibly going to find Chiba and the others while avoiding the Shore Patrol, who would surely be searching for him soon.

  He knew one way. It was a beginning point where he had none, a resource that Chiba and Quenger didn’t have. To use it he only had to put aside a lifetime of humiliation and trust Colby, who was so many light-years away. He had to recognize the person he’d once been, and keep that person from coming into existence again.

  The alternative was letting Chiba and Quenger get away with it all, in which case he might as well have remained on the Aral Sea and endured Jodenny’s scorn.

  Didn’t mean he had to like it. Didn’t mean he could quell the butterflies in his stomach, or maybe that was just the radiation sickness again.

  Myell checked the map kiosk, took an escalator down two levels, and rode a people-mover for several minutes. When he was far from the space gates he located a public comm and asked for city information. The address he wanted was unlisted. He ran another query, rode the people-mover to yet another terminal, located an employee entrance for the port workers, and went inside. A shift manager took his request and told him to wait.

  He waited with his hands in his pockets and Koo resting her little weight against his heart. After a few minutes a thin man in faded overalls approached. He was older than Myell expected, his complexion weathered by hard living and the strength of Warramala’s sun, but his features hadn’t changed at all over the course of a decade. What did surprise him was his brother’s height. Ever since leaving Baiame he’d remembered him as a giant, but now he seemed only a centimeter or two taller than Myell.