The Outback Stars (11 page)

The lights were down, the displays dim. Perplexed, her pulse beginning to pound against her temple, Jodenny went to the Underway Stores office and saw Nitta at his desk.

“I'm routing the inventory to you right this minute. Ninety-two percent.” Nitta leaned back in his chair to beam at her. “We did a damn fine job.”

Jodenny didn't return his smile. “I look forward to reading it. Don't forget that uniform inspection in the morning.”

“Come on, Miz Scott. Don't you think we could forego that? Everyone worked late.”

Jodenny glanced pointedly at the clock. “Not that late.”

“I think it'll go over well if you postpone it.”

“No.”

He chuckled. “Then I better go hem my trousers.”

Jodenny watched him go. In the fourteen or so hours that she'd known him, she hadn't thought he was capable of a good mood. She went to her desk and activated Holland.

“Take a look at the monthly inventory sitting in my queue,” Jodenny said. “Run all the standard fraud and irregularity checks. Double-check the ID numbers, purchase orders, accounts receivable, issued goods, and dingo retrieval rates.”

After a moment Holland said, “I've detected no anomalies, Lieutenant.”

Ninety-two percent. Not bad. She could think of one or two of her supply school classmates who would be happy to score that high.

Maybe her job wasn't going to be as difficult as she had feared.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Myell woke earlier than usual from nightmares. First he'd been in the slots, lost in the dark maze while something sinister and cold ruthlessly tracked him down. Then he'd been back on Baiame, running from his older brother's wrath across an immense field of rotting crops. Black vines reached for his ankles and tried to drag him down to the dirt. “Come take your beating!” Daris yelled, his voice booming across the steel-gray sky. Legs numb, chest laboring, Myell fell to his knees. Just before Daris's unseen fist rammed into the small of his back (he couldn't see it but he knew it was coming, with the odd prescience of dreams) a voice commanded, “Stop!” The same naked Aboriginal he'd seen on the tram appeared on a nearby hill. The circles and swirls on his body were silver in the odd light, and his spear pulsed with unnatural power. He was a shaman, Myell realized. A medicine man fallen out of Aboriginal history.

“Begone!” The shaman stabbed his spear at a point over Myell's shoulder. The spear turned into a multicolored snake that arched through the air with a hiss like falling rain. “You are not welcome in this world!”

Lightning; thunder; the heavy smell of ozone. Myell blinked his eyes and found himself curled up in his rack. Koo stared at him from the perch of a rock he'd placed in her terrarium. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest like a thing gone wild.

“Shit,” he said, and Koo skittered off her rock to burrow under some grass.

Timrin was away on watch. After a few minutes Myell snapped on the light and got dressed. He went up to the E-Deck gym and did a half hour on a treadmill, but not even a brisk run could drive away lingering feelings of doom. The terror he'd felt in the slots was just the result of an overactive imagination. Daris was a demon he'd long put to rest, or so he'd hoped. And what was his subconscious doing, mucking around with that weird shaman? Myell had no Aboriginal ancestors that he knew of, and certainly didn't need any defending him in his dreams.

He returned to Supply berthing downladder into the lounge, which was littered with leftovers and empty beer cans. Erickson was asleep on one of the sofas, no doubt kicked out of his cabin so Chang could have a girlfriend over. Joe Olsson was waiting for the lift. It would have been easier to pass him by, and smarter, too, but Myell stopped anyway.

“Olsson,” he said.

“What do you want?”

“You still seeing Shevi Dyatt?”

“What's it to you?”

“Wanted to make sure she's not unhappy about it.”

Olsson stabbed the lift button. “Fuck off, Myell.”

“No need to get hostile,” he said, and wished he had a way of recording the conversation in case Olsson got physical.

Olsson's lips thinned. “She say something to you?”

“No. And I'm not getting involved. Just be careful.”

“Yeah, like you were with Wendy Ford.” The lift doors opened and Olsson stepped inside. “Find that dingo you lost on the Rocks? No, and you're not going to. Keep asking questions, and you'll lose a lot more.”

As Myell watched the doors close he imagined the stupefied expression on his own face. He had toyed with the idea that Chiba's dogs had taken Castalia, but why would they? Just to mess with him? Dumbfounded, he returned to his cabin, showered, and donned his neatest uniform. He still had an hour before Lieutenant Scott's inspection began and was heading for the mess decks when Security pinged him.

“Report to Lieutenant Commander Senga's office,” he was told.

He went, his throat tight. The Security offices were open twenty-four/seven, but the day shift had yet to come on duty. A regular tech directed him past empty desks to Senga's office, which was grammed in black tile and smelled like burned coffee. Sergeant Rosegarten was standing with Senga, an unhappy expression on her face. Senga, who'd been Wendy Ford's staunchest supporter, gave Myell a cold look.

“Sit down, Sergeant,” Senga said. “Tell me what you really did with that dingo you reported missing.”

Myell sat. As evenly as possible he said, “I left it on the Rocks and it disappeared, sir.”

“On its own,” Senga said, and there was no missing the sarcasm. “It just flew away.”

Rosegarten's frown deepened.

“No, sir,” Myell said. “It was fitted with a restraining bolt.”

Senga hammered away at his story. Why did he take the DNGO to the Rocks if the Repair Shop was closed? Why didn't he leave it there when the alarms sounded? How hard had he tried to retrieve it? The insinuation that he'd stolen it was clear, but Myell refused to be baited. He tried not to look at the clock, but the minutes ticked away toward division quarters.

“You know what I think?” Senga said. “I think you'll say anything to cover your ass.”

He wasn't about to repeat what Olsson had said in the lounge, and he certainly wasn't going to show them the bruises that Chiba had left from the manhandling. Senga would probably blame him for fighting and get him thrown into the brig again.

“I don't have any reason to lie to you, sir. But I do have to be at division quarters in ten minutes.”

Senga smiled for the first time. “Well, Lieutenant Scott will understand. She's the one who called me, after all. She wanted to know why you weren't charged for raping AT Ford. She's worried more equipment might go missing.”

Myell had expected Jodenny Scott to hear about the mess, but had held on to some faint hope that she might give him a chance to have his say. “If you suspect me of something, I demand written notification of my legal rights and want a lawyer present.”

“You
demand
?” Senga leaned forward, fists curled.

“Sir,” Rosegarten said, “may I speak with you outside?”

“How about you go outside and Sergeant Myell and I talk about his
demands
?”

“Sir,”
she insisted, an edge in her voice that even Myell couldn't miss. Senga and Rosegarten left. Myell watched the clock. Oh-six-forty-five came and went. He couldn't do anything about it, not unless he bolted from the room without permission. Finally Rosegarten returned alone.

“I apologize for the lieutenant commander,” she said, her expression stoic. “You're free to go.”

Myell left. The trams were running slow, and it was several minutes before he was crossing the access ring to T6. He hesitated at the command module, wondering if it was better to miss quarters altogether than show up late, but duty compelled him to ride the lift down. The division was still assembled in ranks and Lieutenant Scott was inspecting Ishikawa with Chief Nitta beside her. Nitta smirked at Myell's tardiness. Jodenny gave him the briefest glance and said, “Into line, Sergeant.”

He did as told and fixed his gaze on the back of Chang's head. The hold was very quiet, with only an occasional shuffle of feet and Lieutenant Scott's low murmurs of approval or disapproval. “You need a better haircut,” she told Lange. “Nice boots, AM Dicensu,” she said a moment later. When she reached Myell she gave him a thorough scrutiny from top to bottom. He didn't dare break attention to meet her eyes, but knew they were full of disappointment. “Satisfactory,” she told Nitta, and with a soft beep the judgment was entered into Nitta's gib. “Two demerits for being late.” Then, louder, she said, “Underway Stores, dismissed.”

The assembly broke up quickly. Jodenny and Nitta left without a word, but Myell didn't imagine he'd escape so easily and he didn't. “Where the hell were you?” Strayborn asked.

The tone of it grated on him. “I got delayed,” Myell said, and headed for his workbench.

Strayborn followed. “What kind of delay?”

“Don't worry about it. I can handle—” Myell broke off when he saw the empty places where he had left Circe and Isis. “Jesus. They did take more.”

“What, the dingoes? I had Ish bring them to Repair Services.”

Myell's temper rose. “I told you I could fix them!”

Strayborn put a hand out as if he were a pedestrian crossing guard. “Stop right there. I don't know what's gotten into you, but calm the hell down.”

“I could have fixed them,” was all Myell trusted himself to say. Isis he didn't mind so much, though it would have taken only a few more minutes to get her working. But Circe was over on a stranger's bench, probably in pieces, at the mercy of Chiba's men and with the mystery of those erroneous records wired into her data core.

“What's the drama?” Strayborn said. “The inventory's done and the dingoes will be back in a few days. If you tell me why you were late, maybe I can get the lieutenant to drop your demerits.”

“Forget it,” Myell said. “Just let me work, all right?”

“But, Terry—”

“Go away, Gordon,” Myell said, and Strayborn did.

*   *   *

Jodenny went straight from the morning inspection to a division officer meeting on the Supply Flats. Fifteen minutes early, she sat in the drab conference room and rehearsed good things to say about Underway Stores. The inspection had at least gone well, except for Myell's tardiness. She would confront him later about that. No sergeant of hers was going to stroll in late without a damn good reason.

“Didn't they tell you?” Lieutenant Commander Vu from Food Services entered the room. She looked like an Asian elf—petite, slim, with cropped hair and delicate features. “The most junior DIVO always brings breakfast. Commander Matsuda was big into muffins, but Commander Al-Banna's a doughnut man through and through. He'll be furious if there aren't any.”

Jodenny replied, “Well, it wouldn't be the first time I've pissed him off.”

Vu laughed and extended her hand. “I'm Margaret. Congratulations on your new position. Or condolences. Depends on how you look at it.”

A male lieutenant commander with jet-black hair entered. “What, nothing to eat?”

Vu said, “Jodenny, this is Sam Zarkesh. Complain to him when your decks aren't clean.”

“Decks on this ship are always clean,” Zarkesh replied loftily.

Wildstein arrived next. “The SUPPO's in a foul mood. Let's make this short and sweet.”

“Short and sweet, aye,” Vu said.

Al-Banna walked in, his uniform impeccable and shoes spotless. He growled, “What, no doughnuts?”

“My fault, sir,” Jodenny offered.

“Damn right.” Al-Banna sat down, leaned backward, and drummed his fingers on the table. “Where's Tony? Can't anyone get to a goddamned meeting around here on time?”

“We're here, sir,” Wildstein said, turning her attention to her gib.

“Thanks, Grace.” Al-Banna didn't sound appreciative. “Zee, you first.”

Zarkesh leaned back in his chair. “The Flight wardroom's complaining that their air-conditioning keeps going on and off. I've sent mechbots through their vents and checked the programming, but I think they're mitzi. We'll keep working on it. I've got sixteen dingoes in the shop, most of them fixable. One went missing from Underway Stores during the GQ.”

Jodenny sat up straighter. “Yes, sir. A Class III.”

“How did you lose it?” Al-Banna asked.

“One of the sergeants was on his way to the Repair Shop when the alarm went off, sir. He couldn't take it with him so he left it on the Rocks.”

“Which sergeant?”

“Myell.”

Jodenny didn't miss the frown that passed over Vu's face, or the way Wildstein glanced up, ever so briefly, from her gib. Immediately she said, “I don't believe he's responsible, sir.”

Al-Banna's expression didn't change. “Security will figure it out. Anything else, Zee?”

“No, sir,” Zarkesh said.

“Anything from Underway Stores?” Al-Banna asked.

“The monthly inventory came in at ninety-two percent, sir.”

Wildstein didn't look impressed. “Maybe you could spend some time on the backlog. I've got requisitions that are over a month old sitting in your division.”

“Yes, ma'am. I'll get that backlog down.” Jodenny turned to Zarkesh. “And I can tell you exactly what's wrong with the a/c in the Flight wardroom.”

Zarkesh's eyebrows quirked upward. “Can you, now?”

“There's an auxiliary data storage closet above it that only gets used if Core takes a cold drive offline and needs someplace for temporary backup. When the closet gets turned on, the a/c in the wardroom gets diverted.”

In an admiring voice, Vu said, “Clever, isn't she? I say we keep her.”