The Outback Stars (13 page)

“Why don't you scoot up there on that table?” Moody ran a scanner over her thigh. “Still giving you twinges?”

“Not really.”

“Your chart says you weren't sleeping well at Alice. How's that now?”

“Better.”

“Any other complaints or concerns?”

“No.”

Moody shut off the scanner and asked, “Do you always become monosyllabic when the topic is your well-being?”

“‘Better' has two syllables in it,” Jodenny said. Moody raised his eyebrows. She added, “I don't like to talk about my injuries. They're all healed now.”

“Do you know we have several other
Yangtze
survivors onboard? I'm starting a support group that meets twice a week. Sometimes it helps to talk to other people who went through the same thing.”

“We all went through something different.” Some people had escaped in their lifepods without incident. Others had been trapped for days until collapsed decks could be pulled apart. Jodenny preferred not to dwell on her own experiences extinguishing fires, freeing trapped victims, and ushering the wounded to safety despite her own injuries. Much of it was a jumble anyway. She had only done what she was supposed to do, what any officer should have done. And afterward, what she had done in the hospital—well, that wasn't going to ever happen again.

“Keep the invitation in mind,” Moody said. “That's all I ask.”

On her way out of Sick Berth, Jodenny was met by a civvie with a Science Corps patch on his arm. He was young and earnest, with Asian features and long dark hair held back in a ponytail.

“Lieutenant Scott?” he asked. “I'm Dr. Ng. I've been trying to reach you. Space Sciences Department. I wanted to sit down with you for ten or fifteen minutes.”

“About what?”

“The
Yangtze.
I could buy you lunch or dinner—”

“Dr. Ng, I can't help you.”

Jodenny moved away.
How does it feel, having survived the death of your friends and crewmates?
the reporters on Kookaburra had asked.
What's it like to face death in the line of duty?
She considered herself lucky that base security had kept the media away, and that their imail inquiries had dwindled to a trickle.

Ng followed her, saying, “I have a theory about the accident—”

It was hard to keep her voice even. “It wasn't an accident, Doctor. It was the deliberate destruction of Team Space personnel and property by the Colonial Freedom Project.” And of that, what could she say? She'd never given much credence to separatists. Any colony that thought it could do without Team Space was crazy. The explosion proved that the separatists were not just crazy, but also more dangerous than anyone ever expected. She hoped that the people responsible were apprehended and sent to prison for the rest of their miserable lives. “I have nothing more to say about it.”

She started up a crew ladder. To his credit, Ng didn't follow. On the next deck Jodenny stopped to rest her burning face against the bulkhead. When she could breathe easier she boarded a tram and headed straight for T6's gloomy silence.

Myell met her at the bottom of the lift and asked, “Can I help you, ma'am?”

“No, Sergeant.” With horror Jodenny realized that she wanted to bury her head against his neck and let his comforting arms hold her tight. She told herself it was a natural response to stress and not specific to Myell himself. “I just came to check out something.”

Jodenny climbed up to level one and sat on the cold deck with her back against a storage bin. The slots had always been Jem's favorite retreat when he needed to get away from it all.

“Lieutenant?” Myell's voice drifted up the ladder.

“What is it, Sergeant?”

“I locked down the level for you.”

She had forgotten. Easy way to get killed, that. Some DNGO on a mission from Core might careen around the corner and flatten her like a pancake. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

His footsteps receded. Maybe he would forget she was there. She could hide forever in the lower slots, foraging for food out of the galley supplies, sleeping on mattresses destined for crew quarters. She would recruit the DNGOs to serve her and create her own private autocracy in the dark fortress of T6.

Or she could wait awhile until she felt strong enough to face them all—Al-Banna, Wildstein, Dr. Ng, Osherman, ghosts, the Wondjina.

A kingdom of DNGOs sounded better.

*   *   *

Myell wondered what Jodenny could possibly be doing up there. He tried to concentrate on Leto, a Class II with a broken video relay. He popped in a new one and tested the unit, but the display still came up fuzzy. For a half hour he fiddled with it, listening for any stray sounds from level one. His only interruption was a call from Chang.

“Did you get it?” Myell asked.

“Working on it. You sure you want top-of-the-line?”

“Absolutely.” If he was going to get a pocket server with built-in audio and video sensors, he might as well splurge.

Chang promised to do his best. He was the division's go-to guy, able to procure any number of legal and illegal items on the ship. Not Sweet or other illegal drugs, but computer equipment was his specialty. After Chang hung up, VanAmsal pinged from Loading Dock G.

“You left a message?” VanAmsal asked.

“Is Dyatt with you?”

“No. She's on watch. Why?”

“I heard she was having problems with Olsson.”

VanAmsal glared across the link. “You stay out of my division, Myell.”

“I will if you take care of your people,” he said.

If she could have reached through the screen she would have probably strangled him. “Got the lieutenant wrapped around your finger and now you think you're running things, is that it?”

“She's not wrapped anywhere,” Myell said. “I don't want to see Dyatt get hurt.”

“Like Ford?” VanAmsal asked, and cut out before he could answer.

Myell had expected her to be annoyed after the meeting in Jodenny's office, but the strength of her bitterness caught him off guard. He hadn't asked to be invited and it had been a surprise when Jodenny took his opinions seriously. In retrospect he supposed he should have told her about Lieutenant Commander Senga, but what had Senga said? Jodenny had raised suspicion first. It was her fault, then, that he'd been late to quarters and set a bad example.

Despite his disappointment and resentment over that, he couldn't bear the silence anymore. Myell went over to the ladder and asked, “Miz Scott?”

Her boots appeared on the top rung. Myell moved aside so she could climb down.

“Everything looks good,” she said, as if she'd been conducting an impromptu inspection. Her eyes were slightly red but her voice was calm. “What are you working on?”

“Repairs. Nothing too urgent.”

Jodenny started walking toward his bench. “The SUPPO asked about the missing dingo. What do you think happened to it?”

He worked hard not to sound defensive. “I don't know.”

“Is that what you told Security?”

She wasn't looking at him. Myell folded his arms. “You talked to them.”

“I talked to Sergeant Rosegarten. When I see Mr. Senga, I'm going to tell him that under no circumstances is he ever to question members of my division without letting me know.”

Myell was confused. “No. I mean, you told Lieutenant Commander Senga that you suspected me. That's why he called me in.”

“Sergeant, if I had suspected you of anything, you would have heard it from me.”

Abashed, he said, “Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it this morning.”

“Why didn't you?”

He shrugged.

Jodenny peered down at the DNGO on his bench. “What's the story on this one?”

Myell was grateful that she'd changed the subject. “This is Leto. She has a broken relay.”

“Did you name all the dingoes?”

“Not me. There was a chief who was working here when I first came into the division. Chief Mustav. He did it.” Myell showed her the inscription underneath Leto's registration tag. “The repair techs hate them and keep scrubbing them out.”

She ran her fingers over Leto's hull. “I used to help fix these.”

Myell offered her a wrench. “Be my guest.”

For the first time since he'd known her, she smiled. Myell liked her smile. It made her eyes less haunted and brought color to her cheeks.

“Maybe later,” she said.

“Anytime. It's usually just me and the dingoes down here—your secret will be safe.”

So would her other secret. If she wanted to come down and cry in the slots, that was nothing that had to be shared with the rest of the ship. Because of the separation in their ranks he would never be able to comfort her, but he could protect her in at least that small way.

Jodenny gave him a speculative look. “When do you take the chief's exam?”

“I'm not.” Myell took the wrench back and plugged the broken relay into a testing unit. “I wasn't recommended for promotion on my last evaluation.”

“You'll get a new eval in a few months.”

“I'm getting out at the end of this contract.”

“If you make chief, you might change your mind.”

Damn her for making him say it. “There was an accusation.”

She didn't blink. “Was it true?”

“No.”

Jodenny stared at him for a long moment. He guessed she would take Ford's side. She had no choice, really. When a young woman cried rape she always got the benefit of the doubt, and whoever had his pants down at the time was guilty as charged. But then Jodenny said, “I believe you,” and something that had been frozen inside him began to thaw.

“Thank you,” Myell said. And there, he felt it again; sadness that they would never be able to get to know each other the way a man and a woman could, regret that rank would always keep them separated. He would have to work hard to keep his feelings locked away, but he was accustomed to that. A starship was no place to share one's heart.

“Take the chief's exam,” Jodenny said. “You never know what's going to happen.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, but just to see her smile again.

CHAPTER NINE

Forty-eight hours before the
Aral Sea
dropped into the Alcheringa, Jodenny called Commander Calinder and explained she'd been tasked to be the watchbill training officer for the Supply Department.

“Good luck to you,” Calinder said. “I turned the job over to Commander Osherman last week.”

“Thank you, sir. I'll contact him.” Jodenny hung up and buried her head in her arms. After several minutes she mustered enough strength to ping Osherman.

“Jodenny,” he said when he answered his gib.

“I've taken over junior officer training for the Supply Department. I didn't know you were in charge of the program.”

“I'll send you the meeting schedule.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Jo—” Osherman leaned closer to the vid. She remembered the tenderness of his touch, the way he sighed sometimes in his sleep. “Are you sure you're ready to be back in space?”

“As ready as you are, Commander,” she said, and cut the connection. Her health and well-being certainly hadn't been a priority for him when he had so abruptly broken off their relationship on the
Yangtze.
She was still glaring at the comm when Caldicot pinged her to say Lund had arrived. He came into her office with a pained expression.

“Ma'am. You wanted to talk to me?”

“Sit, sit,” Jodenny insisted. “I'm worried about you. You've been to Sick Berth twelve times this month.”

“Irritable bowel syndrome. Chronic indigestion. My headaches—you wouldn't believe my headaches.”

She offered him a bottle of water from her refrigerator. “It's criminal that none of the doctors onboard have helped you.”

Lund looked pitiful. “They try, ma'am.”

Jodenny shook her head. “They're not doing enough. I'm going to complain to Commander Al-Banna on your behalf. The staff is obviously incompetent.”

“I wouldn't go that far, ma'am. They do a lot of tests.”

“Tests are nothing without results. I've scheduled you to see some specialists at Fleet when we get to Mary River. And if they can't help, specialists on Warramala. Everywhere we go, I want you to see physicians until we get you proper treatment.”

Lund's face was almost comically indecisive. “
Everywhere
we go?”

“Everywhere,” Jodenny said. “And every test there is, every procedure, no matter how arduous—you need to undergo it.”

“Arduous?” he squeaked out.

“But this is the hard part, AT Lund. Even though you're ill, even though you may not feel your best, I need you in this division. We're falling apart without people like you who know how to do their jobs. Will you promise me that you'll do your best to come to work, even though you might feel ill?”

“I'll try, ma'am,” he said, his voice faint.

“Good,” Jodenny replied. “Thank you.”

Twenty-four hours before the countdown to the Alcheringa expired, Jodenny pinged Ensign Sanchez in Ship's Services and said, “Commander Al-Banna put me in charge of watchbill training. We're having a meeting tonight, at twenty hundred hours, in the wardroom. Why don't you come to dinner first?”

That night the wardroom table was full. Sanchez, a dour older woman with a pin for prior enlisted service, had joined the usual complement of Hultz, Francesco, Zeni, Ysten, and Weaver. Also joining them was the ever-talkative Cally Gunther, who dug into roasted eggplant and papita.

“I should eat here more often,” he said around a mouthful of food.

“I hear you've been working out at the main gym, Jodenny,” Zeni said. “Didn't anyone tell you there's an officers' gym on F-Deck?”